Michelangelo:
Mikey harbored very few illusions that Raphael would be pleased with the offering of mashed potatoes, chocolate pudding, or the sandwich that had been chopped to finger food and covered with cheeze wiz. It was hardly gourmet, or appetizing, but it was the only food that was soft enough to pass Don's approval for the first meal.
It had to be soft, and easily chewed.
After seeing the bruises that trailed along Raph's jawline, the way he kept his jaw clenched, Mikey silently agreed.
Whether Raphael would eat or not, however, was a completely different matter. Don could only speculate on how hungry or tired Raph would be. Since he seemed to be on the mend, Don could only offer the suggestion of following Raph's lead, and letting him sleep and eat as needed. And Don had been very explicit in telling his hopeful, eager brothers that while Raphael was finally recovering somewhat, he had a long, hard road ahead. It wouldn't do to push him faster than his physical limitations.
Inwardly sighing, Mikey shook his head at the grim facts.
With an effort, he graced Raphael with a bright smile, and set the tray close enough to be viewed, with the air of presenting a feast.
"Dinner is served, bro! Hope you're hungry. Yum, yum!" Mikey popped the large kitchen towel open and laid between them with a flourish. He could only imagine how displeased Raphael would be if he tried to tie it like a bib around his neck.
Raphael said nothing at all, only looked from the tray to Mikey and back again, with a shrug.
"I hope you know how much I slaved away in the kitchen to cook this up, Raph."
The bright joke faltered miserably, as Raphael glared at his first meal with a scowl.
"Whad...what the hell iss dis?" Raphael flung his good hand over the bowls with the pudding and potatoes.
"Mashed potatoes, chocolate pudding, and a cheeze-wiz sandwich. And I guess water, if you want that."
"It's goop." Raphael eyed the tray distainfully, with a shake of his head.
Mikey apologetically nudged him. "I know that it's not your favorite, Raph, and I'm sorry. When you're better, I'll cook you a steak, okay? But, could you pretty please try to eat at least a few bites? For me?"
Mikey took great care to make his eyes as beseeching and pleading as possible. Raphael sighed, and gave him a resigned shrug as he finally nodded.
"Come on, bro, it can't be that bad."
Raphael rolled his eyes at the entreaty. "Y...yeah. Yum, yum."
It was the clearest sentence he had spoken since his fall through the roof.
For one odd moment, Raphael's old and familiar sarcasm made Mikey's gut clench with both joy and overwhelming loss. The glimmer of Raphael was almost enough to compensate for those horrible days when his big brother lay there, helpless.
"Well, Don said that you needed soft, mushy stuff that was easy to swallow. And this is better than baby food."
At that, Raphael gave Mikey a look that could scour paint from a wall, clearly disagreeing.
"Kidding. Sorry."
Mikey dabbed the spoon into the mashed potatoes, and brought the glob inches from Raph's mouth.
"Ready? Open up, bro."
Leaning forward, Mikey had only the innocent intention of feeding his older brother. He yelped in suprise when he felt Raphael's good hand suddenly engulf his own.
Raphael snarled, as he snatched the spoon from Mikey with his good hand. Giving Mikey a poisonous glare, he shoved the spoon into his mouth.
Mikey stared at his empty fingers, bewildered as Raphael grimaced but swallowed it down. Lip curling in disgust at the taste, Raphael set the spoon down, and carefully wrapped his fingers around the glass of water.
Glaring at Mikey over the quivering rim of the glass, Raphael growled,"I c'n feed m'self. Ain't a damn baby."
Mikey watched as Raph hefted the shaking glass to his mouth. Mike said nothing as the glass slid from his grip and dumped water all over his plastron.
Raphael grit his teeth, curled his fingers around the glass harder, and brought it back to his lips, swallowing down what was left. The glass clattered from his hand, rolled off his shell, and tumbled to the corner, ignored.
Mikey only watched in agonized silence. Raphael shut his eyes in humilation, clutching his good hand to his forehead to hide the tears.
He only heard Mikey's infinitely patient sigh, the clatter of the tray being moved, and the softness of the towel being shoved into his hand.
"Tell you what, Raph. Why don't you dry off a bit, and I'll get you a glass with a handle. And we can try this again, alright?"
Raphael cracked his eyes open, to see Mikey's soft smile of understanding. "I know that this is hard, Raph. But, I also know that you are my big, tough brother who is going to get through this. Ready to try again?"
Something warm and grateful flickered in Raphael's eyes as he finally smiled back at Mikey.
He nodded. And then, Raphael carefully worked his fingers into the towel, and started mopping up the wet from his plastron.
"Alright, bro. I'll go get another glass. Be right back." Mikey kept the bright cheer slathered on like concrete as he rose for the kitchen.
Leo warily tensed when he heard the glass clatter to the floor. From his perch at the end of the hallway, he couldn't make out any of the words, just Mikey's gentle soothing and the Raphael's low, rasped answer. When he heard the hasty way the tray was laid down, and the odd way that Mikey nearly bolted down the hallway, his worry grew to outright alarm. Mikey had scampered down the hallway too fast to notice Leo, even if he had turned around.
Leo stared at the open door to Raph's room with dread, wondering what sort of wound Mikey had inflicted now.
Shoving the door open, he strode in. "Raph? Are you alright?"
Raphael grunted from the corner he was propped in, struggling with one hand to clean up the last of the water.
Looking up with a raised eyebrow, he met Leo's worried question with a nod.
"...m fine, Leo." Raphael said, quietly, as he went back to cleaning up the mess.
"Are you sure? I just saw Mikey run out of the room, and I thought-"
Raphael looked up, sharply. "Mi'ey did'd do anyfing wrong, Leo."
It felt like a slap. Leo felt himself withering under Raphael's accusing glare.
Raphael sighed, and shook his head, before tossing the towel to the side. He winced when he saw it flutter a few feet away like a dying butterfly.
Before all of this, he could have thrown a sai a few hundred feet and sever a throat. Now, he couldn't even throw a towel across the room.
Leo said nothing as he walked over, picked up the towel, and folded it. Setting it on the dresser, he turned back to Raphael, clearly uncertain.
"I didn't mean to imply that Mikey is doing anything wrong, Raph. I just came in here to make sure that you're alright." Raphael blanched at the barely hidden plea in his words.
Looking down, he clenched his fists in the blankets, and watched as his good hand curled and his injured limb barely twitched.
"Leo...dis is so damn hard." The words were as soft as they were brittle, as Raphael shook his head.
He felt the blankets shift as Leo seated himself beside him. Wearily, Leo slumped, nearly against him, saying nothing. What in the hell was he supposed to say for this?
Raphael didn't protest or pull away when Leo laced his fingers over Raphael's good hand and brought it to rest on his own lap.
Finally, Raphael tightened his grip against Leo's hands with a grunt. "'s not as hard as it was, dough."