He didn't know if he was going to vomit or cry. Neither were desired options. Both would make him look weak.
I'm not weak, he thought to himself. Though the voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Donatello's.
He hated that. He didn't want to have anything in common with his younger brother, and he hoped to God that he didn't look as pathetic and exhausted as Donnie.
It had almost drawn out the smallest bit of sympathy in Raphael, to watch Donatello tremble from head to foot, covered in blood and sweat and bruises, hoarsely screaming that he was capable of getting a stupid piece of string through a stupid needle even though he couldn't even do that much.
Raph was glad Splinter had forced Donnie out of the room and made Mikey run out after him. Neither of them needed to know that Raph's little bit of sympathy for his geek of a brother had evaporated the moment barely-conscious Leonardo had coughed up Donatello's name.
Why Donnie? he thought, the words practically throwing a fit on his tongue, pushing hard against his teeth at an attempt to burst through with an angry scream. Why Donnie?
He didn't know. He didn't want to know. And yet the question continued to repeat itself as he stomped through the archway in pursuit of the sanctity of his own room, where he could bury his face in his pillow and maybe stop breathing. What else was he needed for? Leo quite obviously didn't want him around.
He didn't notice Mikey stepping out into the hall and closing the door to Donnie's room, until his little brother tackled him, throwing all of his weight into Raph's side and shoving him into his own bedroom before Raph himself could even get the door open.
Raphael, who had been completely involved in his own sulking, lost his footing and fell back on the floor, blinking up at his little brother as Mikey slammed the door shut, trapping them both in the shadows of Raph's room.
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
Raph bared his teeth, now jumping up on his feet. "Don't!" he bellowed, jabbing a warning finger in his brother's direction. "Don't you dare! I don't need a lecture from you."
"You could've gotten them killed!" Mikey shouted, eyes wide, hands gripping the sides of his head as though to keep it from exploding.
There was so much negative energy engulfing his blue irises that Raph couldn't name what was going through Michelangelo's head. Usually he was really good at that. Usually the answer was nothing important.
Not this time.
"Don't you think I know that?" Raph hissed, turning his voice down, wary of Donnie in the next room. "How d'you think I feel right now?"
The little orange-banded turtle wrinkled his beak in disgust. "I can never tell, Raph," he said. "Not anymore. I don't know you."
Raphael gritted his teeth and looked away, taking a few discreet steps back. Mikey was truly frightening when he was angry, it happened so infrequently. Usually the little turtle just brushed off anything that made him uncomfortable, like he was shooing a fly from his shoulder. He might flash a frown, which was more like an indiscernible drop at the corners of his mouth, but two seconds later he'd perk that persistent smile back up and insist that there was something in this goddamned world still left to joke about.
Raph always thought Mikey never knew how to be angry—not truly angry at least. He'd seen him with an indignant squint to his eyes, a slant to one side of his mouth if he was offended by a tease one of his brothers made about his lack of intelligence, maybe he'd snap occasionally if he thought he or his siblings were being treated wrongly, but never angry. Not like he was now.
And Raph felt a twinge of guilt from this. He knew how enthusiastic Mikey was about him, looking up to him as though he was some kind of hero. He'd never understood it and always knew that one day he'd end up disappointing the little bugger, but he didn't think it'd be this soon. Neither had he thought it would affect him so much, make his stomach turn and his heart feel like someone was trying to squeeze the blood out of it.
"Why did you do it?" Mikey asked.
When Raphael said nothing, he asked again, louder, demanding. "Why did you do it, Raph? And don't lie to me this time. I want the truth."
The red-banded turtle dug around quickly inside his own chest, in his stomach, his throat, his palms, the bottom of his feet, searching every part of him for that limitless supply of defiance he'd never had to restock on before. He found just enough under his tongue.
"I don't know, Mikey," he snapped.
"Yes you do," Mikey shot back, better prepared. It was as though he'd been thinking of this argument for weeks. He didn't even wait for his older brother to revise his answer. "You're totally jealous of Donnie, bro," he stated. "I know you are. You've been—"
"I am not jealous!"
There was a flash of green, a loud smack, and Raphael lifted his hand to his cheek, staring with wide, gaping eyes at his little brother, who didn't even blink.
"Bullshit!"
Raph's mask creased worriedly at the center of his brow. He took a step away from Mikey, this time without hiding it.
He didn't understand. He thought his little brother had just slapped him and screamed a curse in his face, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe he was having a nightmare? Maybe he'd passed out on the floor of the lab or in the Shellraiser on the way home, or maybe he'd fallen asleep waiting for Leo and Donnie to blow up Tigerclaw?
This smallish turtle standing before him didn't look anything like his brother, and it certainly didn't sound like Mikey either. But the sting in his cheek was warning him not to toss away the reality so quickly.
"I asked you not to lie to me, Raph," Mikey said. "You owe me that. I'm not stupid."
Raph's hand slid away from his face and he took another step back. He felt himself mumbling, though he'd never decided to say anything, and he heard a voice floating between him and his brother that sounded suspiciously like his own muttering an apology.
At this Mikey's eyes softened, became slightly warmer, a little more like they normally were, so full of sympathy and good nature, as though he hadn't expected Raphael to back down so soon. He didn't look as angry anymore, but he sure as shell wasn't smiling.
His gaze flickered quickly to the side. "I didn't mean to hit you."
Raph shook his head. He spoke again, but he still hadn't planned on it. "I deserved it."
Mikey chuckled dryly. The grin in the corner of his mouth was fake. "Yeah ... You did."
Raphael continued to back away until his shell hit the wall, he pressed his palms against it. It was cool and grainy, solid, still soaked in those evil shadows. They seemed to latch onto his arms as though to pull him through the wall, make him a part of it, part of the darkness. Or maybe he already was. Maybe he had been accepted as a shadow a long time ago and was now simply sinking back into the arms of his brethren, where he truly belonged.
He slowly sank to the floor, his carapace scraping against the wall. He sat with his knees drawn and his hands on the floor, palms open and facing the ceiling as though giving in. His back teeth came together and he drew in a long, full breath through his nose, leaning his head back against the wall.
When he let that breath go, he sighed the words, "You're too good for me, Mikey," looking toward the ceiling to fight the rim of moisture springing up from the corners of his eyes.
Michelangelo stared at him, then finally softened back to his original self and said, "Duh," as he crossed the room to plop down beside him.
He crossed his legs and looked down at his knee pads, hanging his arms off of them so that his fingers brushed against the floor as though he was dipping them into a pool of water.
There was silence between the two of them for the longest time, and Raph was glad that, of all people, Michelangelo had been the one with him when he'd made his greatest mistake.
Only his youngest brother could forgive him so easily.
Maybe this was why they spent so much time around one another, why Mikey never went away, why Raph only had to look over his shoulder to find the little sucker. Raphael could bite, and scratch, and claw, and scream, and hit, and kick the kid around all he wanted to and still Mikey would turn up by his side with the biggest smile in the world, like he'd never been offended, like he hadn't been threatened or abused or shouted at. He was completely fireproof. Raph's flames simply rolled off of him or else clung to Mikey's skin, flaring all around him, and the little turtle never burned.
Raphael had never realized how much comfort he found in this. Not until a moment ago, when it had been quite obvious that Raph had seared the little one a bit too deep this time. But the way Mikey nestled next to him now communicated that he'd heal, quickly, and he'd forgive just as effortlessly as always even despite Raph's complete undeserving.
"I won't say anything," Mikey said, looking at Raph now.
Raphael brought his eyes down from the ceiling to meet his little brother's.
"Not as long as you promise to do it yourself."
The red-banded turtle grimaced.
Mikey's expression became grave and when he spoke next, his voice was sickeningly soft. "You could've gotten them killed, bro," he said. "We don't even know if Leo's gonna make it yet."
At this an instant shine came to Mikey's eyes and Raph had to look away quickly, a knot rising in his throat. If Mikey started crying, that would be it for him. He wouldn't be able to hold the last of his hard-shelled façade. He knew that.
"Raph."
Raphael shook his head. "I can't, Mike," he whispered.
"Then Leo's gonna die, and I'm gonna have to be the one to tell Splinter and Donnie why."
Those green eyes flickered back on that freckled turtle with both wonder and terror.
Michelangelo was blunt and honest. He did not hide anything. He'd always been an open book, always shoving the vibrantly colored pictures of his life and how he felt about it in his brothers' and their sensei's faces, saying "This is what I think. This is how I feel. I don't care if you listen or not."
When Raph finally located his words, he found himself responding with, "Leo's not gonna die, Mike."
Mikey grimaced and Raph allowed him to lean into him, huddling in the space between his knees and his plastron.
Slowly, Raph tucked his left arm beneath his baby brother's head and used his right to absently stroke his shell.
He didn't understand Mikey. He didn't understand why anyone would beg for comfort from the very thing that brought them harm. But he was grateful for his brother's presence all the same and had no desires for him to leave anytime soon.
"Please, Raph," Mikey whispered. "I don't want you to hate Donnie."
Raphael pressed his lips against an argument.
"I don't want you and Leo to fight. And I don't want you to have to feel guilty about what you did for the rest of your life … They'll forgive you. But you have to give them the chance to."
Raph swallowed hard.
"Please, promise me you'll tell them."
The older turtle gingerly rested his hand on his brother's face and closed his eyes to ward off the burning. He dropped his head back against the wall and drew out the words from the deepest part of himself.
"I promise, Mikey."