It was kind of hard to focus on anything, knowing his brother was in the hospital. Mikey flipped idly through his math book, cheek propped up in his hand, and didn't even try to give off the vibe that he was paying attention.

Leo got Donnie and Mikey out of school for a few days, after a long call to the principle to explain the circumstances, and April and Casey were happy to collect their homework for them and bring it along when they stopped in to visit. But Wednesday rolled around all too soon, which was the day they had all compromised on as the day they stopped camping in Raph's hospital room and rejoined society.

It was just kind of really hard to leave him, even when, by that time, Raph could stay awake and glower and complain about everything without wincing each time he moved. He put up a really good front, acting like he wasn't in pain basically all the time—Mikey could appreciate that on some level. He'd been there before, acting okay so his brothers wouldn't worry. But that didn't mean he was going to let Raph get away with it, not when he'd just been hit by a car.

If Leo didn't work at the hospital, and didn't have a bunch of awesome coworkers willing to pop in on Raph when Leo was too busy to, then Mikey probably would have dug in his heels about going back to school at all.

A tap on his arm drew him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up into kind gray eyes. Renet was turned around in her seat and watching him with a worried frown—they sat together ever since they became math bros, it made passing notes much easier—and once Mikey looked at her, she whispered, "You okay?"

Word spread pretty quickly in high school, not that Mikey had any idea how. April might have told a few of her friends what had happened, or Casey maybe, or maybe the principle spread the word; but by the time he and Donnie came back to school on Wednesday, all of their friends and most of their classmates swarmed them with worry and condolence and questions.

Maybe it should have been nice, or sweet, but mostly it was kind of annoying.

Except for Renet. She was his buddy. And her question and that concerned look on her face only stirred something warm and grateful in the pit of Mikey's stomach, instead of the irritation he didn't have to look far for these days.

So Mikey smiled crookedly and gave her a thumbs up, hoping he looked at least halfway convincing when all he felt was tired and impatient. Four hours to go until he got to see Raph again, that was basically forever. Ugh. Renet didn't seem moved by his lackluster response in the slightest, but their teacher was walking up and down the rows of desks to check on their work and Renet had to turn around before she could say anything else.

Mikey went back to his distracted turning of pages, algebra the farthest thing from his mind. All the numbers kept reminding him of money, and how much of that his family didn't have. His brothers hadn't said anything new on the subject—with Raph so weak and groggy, and Leo trying to juggle work and his little brothers' extended stay in the hospital, and Don devouring every article on WebMD that had anything to do with car crash-related injuries, Mikey could understand why another budget talk wasn't the first thing on their list of things to talk about. It wasn't like last time, they weren't excluding him—they just... hadn't talked about it. And maybe, a little bit, they didn't want to talk about it.

But Raph had been really upset, that first time he woke up after surgery. Mikey didn't think he'd ever forget how upset Raph had been. Raph had cried, and apologized over and over—and maybe in part that was the drugs and the trauma and the stress piling together on top of each other, making him overemotional and distressed and confused. But Mikey was certain that he was at least a little really, honestly hurt.

And Leo had told him not to worry, it was okay, it wasn't his fault. But there was something telling in Leo's eyes that night, something that hadn't been entirely truthful—something he wasn't exactly willing to say out loud. And so Mikey did a little research of his own. On his phone, in a very unsuspicious manner, because at any given point his brothers would just assume he was texting one of his friends. (One of the benefits of having lots of friends.)

First of all, insurance was confusing. That was exactly the first thing Mikey learned. There were a bunch of different kinds, and things like payouts and premiums, and altogether it looked like just having insurance cost an arm and a leg. Mikey hoped that Leo didn't have to pay hundreds of dollars for his; if he got it through work, then they might have given him a deal, right?

So yeah, he hadn't really learned very much about that—it was a hard thing to Google, when he didn't know anything about Leo's coverage, and when the hospital website was pretty vague about their employee benefits. Mikey had gritted his teeth in frustration, put his phone down hard enough that the nurse in the room had given him a quick look, and then after a minute, scooped the cell right back up again to cast a wider net.

And that's how he ended up scrolling through tumblr and reddit, reading people's first-hand accounts of hospital stays, and all the horror stories that came with the bill—hundreds and hundreds of dollars for a lot of really, really stupid stuff. The prices were so inflated it was insane, and for a minute it had felt like Mikey had swallowed ice, because Raph took an ambulance to the hospital, and he'd already been there for two days, and that was already close to a thousand dollars flat. On top of the surgery, the medicine, the anesthesiologist, the implants...

Mikey had taken a breath, hesitated—then looked up the average cost of in-patient care per day.

And then he had looked it up a few different times, worded a few different ways, because no way was it going to cost two thousand dollars a day. There had to be some mistake. People didn't have a choice when they came to a hospital, they were very sick or very hurt, they didn't want or choose to be there—why would it cost so much? Who decided that?

Mikey didn't have any talent with numbers, but he could remember all those figures he had looked up with sick vividness. Mikey didn't know much about Leo's insurance, but—they were pretty poor, weren't they? Leo's insurance couldn't have been that great, if they didn't even have cable T.V. at home.

Mikey put his head in his hands, his next breath shuddering a little, ignoring the lesson happening up front on the whiteboard. It was okay, it was okay. Leo said it would be okay. Leo always took care of them, and at every unfortunate twist and turn of their lives, Leo always made things better.

But—Leo couldn't do everything. And Mikey was beginning to feel so, so bad about depending on him so much. It was what he was used to, and it was Leo raised him to do, but that didn't mean it was fair. Leo had been so scared when Karai first called them, when they first arrived at the hospital after she did, he was like a whole different person. And if things had turned out any worse—if Raph... if Raph hadn't been okay—then Mikey wasn't sure Leo would have been okay, either, ever again.

Leo couldn't do everything. He needed help. Donnie had that paid IT internship through the school, and if Mikey knew his brother, which he definitely did, then he knew Donnie would be gunning for more hours—as many of them as he could get. And Mikey... well, Mikey was fourteen for a few more months, but that didn't mean he was useless.

"I need a job," he told Woody at lunch. Donnie had sequestered himself in the library, and Mikey certainly wasn't hungry enough to go eat on his own, so he had slipped outside and around the back of the old band hall where kids went to sneak cigarettes. Woody and Mondo were there among a few other people, no surprise, and so was Timmy even though Timmy didn't smoke. Mikey bumped fists with Tim on his way past, and waved to Mondo, but it was Woody he climbed up to sit beside on the rusted railings. And his Irish friend gave him a sideways look, as he rubbed his cigarette out on the wall.

"A job? You're just a kid."

"Yeah, but I need one anyway," Mikey retorted, and Woody had the look on his face of someone who had just mentally slapped themselves.

"Oh, shit. Of course you do, Mikester, that's my bad," he said, looking apologetic. Woody hadn't forgotten about Raph. He had actually texted Mikey on Monday, about a hundred times, to make sure he was okay. Almost the whole team had, and it had warmed Mikey up to the very top of his heart. It made him smile a little now, too. "The American health care system is heckin' flawed. You gotta be a millionaire not to need some serious cash after a hospital stay."

"I know, it's insane. I had no idea," Mikey said glumly, rubbing a hand through his hair. It looked like rain outside, the sky overcast and gray, and he was a little chilly despite his combo of jacket-and-Leatherhead's-hoodie. "I just really wanna help out. I know that like, no one is gonna hire anyone my age, but... I'm tired of bein' no use, y'know?"

At that, Tim looked absolutely crestfallen, like Mikey had just done something personally terrible to him. "You're not no use, Mike."

"Thanks, Timmy."

"Shut up, Tim," Mondo said, then added, "For real though, Mike."

"Thanks, Mondo."

Woody wrapped an arm around Mikey's shoulders, smiling at him through the shadows in his eyes. "Hey. Ol' Woody's got you covered, amigo. My uncle Rupert owns that pizzeria down in Little Italy, yeah? And he's been hounding me about doing deliveries for him, after the holidays are over. I'll see if he'll take you on, too. You could like, take orders over the phone and buss tables and do dishes, that kinda stuff. Lowkey."

Mikey nudged him with an elbow, grinning widely for what felt like the first time in years. "Dude, you mean it? You'd ask him for me?"

"Heck yeah, Mike. The Queens' Vikings soccer varsity dudes stick together."

"Bro," Mondo said, through a curl of acrid smoke, "we need a shorter slogan."

On his way to Psych, Mikey stopped at his locker. Just stopped there, with his hand on the rigged dial, hyper-aware of his big brother's locker right next to his.

He cut a glance down the hall, and the digital clock mounted on the wall above the B wing doorway. Just a few minutes until the passing period was over. This day had officially taken forever, and it wasn't even over yet. Three more hours until he could get out of here, and go back to Raph, and spend another night in a super uncomfortable plastic chair.

On a whim, he opened his locker and shoved his bag inside, books and all, shutting it again with a sharp slam. He didn't want to go to Psych, or the rest of his stupid classes. His brother was in the hospital, and the lunatic that put him there was still in the city somewhere, and his family was hurting—why did Mikey have to be at school?

"Easy, Hamato. The locker didn't do anything to you."

Mikey turned to find Bradford behind him, hands shrugged into the pockets of his jeans. The football player's face was still pretty messed up, but it looked like he'd iced it, at least. The Animaniacs bandaid on his cheek screamed Xever, and made Mikey smile.

"Hey, Brad," he said, and Brad relaxed a little, smiling back.

"Hey. You look like hell."

"Thanks," Mikey said dryly, rubbing a sleeve over his face a little self-consciously. He looked as good as he felt, then. Nice. Bradford watched him for a minute, then looked over his shoulder down the hall.

"I have early out today, for practice," he said, slowly. "If you're planning on skipping the rest of the day—which is just what it looks like, since you ditched all your shit—then I can give you a ride home. This is probably the last place you wanna be." He hesitated, rubbed an arm awkwardly, then added, "I heard about Raphael. I don't like the guy, but he's your brother, so—I'm sorry about what happened to him. Really."

And like with Renet, Bradford didn't rile up that itchy, unhappy feeling most everyone else did. Mikey shrugged one shoulder, and didn't let his half-grin go away, and said, "He's okay. We're taking good care of him. Thanks, Brad." The bell rang, signaling them late for class, and Mikey said, "If you're serious about giving me a ride, d'you think you could drop me off at the hospital instead?"

Bradford nodded, and gestured with a sweep of one broad hand, and led the way at an unhurried pace down the hall. They walked in silence mostly, Mikey itching to get his phone out and trying to wait until they made it to the parking lot, and they were halfway down the athletic hall when Bradford spoke up again.

"Mondo told Xee that you were lookin' for a job," he said abruptly, and Mikey blinked. It was so easy to forget Mondo and Xever were friends.

"Yeah, I am. I thought I'd ask around first, before embarrassing myself in the application process."

"That makes sense." Was that a smirk, Chris Bradford? "But, uh—my mom's been looking for some help in her shop. I'm busy with practice a lot, but I know the soccer season's over, so—if you want, I could—"

"Yes," Mikey said enthusiastically. "Dude, yes! That is so rad, Brad, thank you!"

Bradford looked a little uncomfortable, nodding a quick, "Yeah, no problem," but there was definitely a pleased pink in his battered face. And Mikey was quickly deciding this day didn't suck, after all, because his friends were awesome.

"Hey—that rhymed. Rad Brad. I'm so calling you that, now."

"Yeah, feel free not to."

In the car, Mikey texted Leatherhead that he was on his way to the hospital. If his friend thought it was odd that he was out of school so early, he didn't mention it; only agreed to meet him there in a few minutes. As he slid his phone back into his pocket, Mikey thought it was kind of ironic—the last time he'd been in Brad's car had been the day he met Leatherhead for the first time. And now he was friends with them both.

Who would have thought?

"No shortcuts this time," Bradford said suddenly, like a mind-reader. And after a single, stunned moment—did he really make that joke?—Mikey burst out laughing. His laugh muscles were a little rusty, but man, it felt good.

Bradford dropped him off in the back, with a promise to text him later with his mom's verdict, and Mikey waved until his car turned the corner. Then he made his way in through the EMT entrance, waving hello at the paramedics he'd gotten to know in the last few days.

Sally Pride was clocking in, buttoning up her uniform as he rounded the corner, and lit up when she saw him.

"Mike! How are you, little dude?"

"Hi, Sally!" He bounded forward for a hug, and she wrapped him up in strong arms. She had a short, bleach-blond mohawk and gold eyes, offset by smooth brown skin, and she was solid against him, like she could take on a tank. She was the one who saved Raphael that night, and she was so cool. "Do you have a long shift tonight?"

"Sure do, I'm here till five in the morning." She leaned back and smiled, ruffling his hair. "So I'll bring some treats by Raph's room later, sound good?"

"Sounds awesome. Also, please don't tell Leo I'm here," he added, as sweetly as he could manage, and Sally released him, stepping back and looking theatrically in another direction.

"Tell Leo who's here?"

She was seriously so cool. Mikey darted around her with a grin, and waved at her partner Ray as he hurried past. He pushed open the employees door carefully with a quick look around the hallway—no Leo. He stepped out and made his way toward Raph's room at a brisk pace, hurrying through a few more texts before he got to the point where he'd have to put his phone away.

A few of the nurses greeted him, and a few more looked exasperated he was there during school hours, and at one point, he almost ran straight into Karai. She froze, looking at him over her clipboard, and he blinked at her like a deer caught in the headlights. Then she rolled her eyes, more fond than anything else, and gestured for him to run along.

Yup, Karai was cool, too. Leo was lucky she liked him.

Mikey was in pretty good spirits by the time he made it to Raph's room. They'd moved him out of ICU last night, which meant he was getting better, and his brothers didn't even have to worry that that mean he wouldn't get as much attention from the nursing staff, because he was Leo's little brother, so he got more attention than he really needed. Cheerfully, Mikey pushed open the door, and saved his hello for when he was sure Raph was awake, and Leo wasn't there to—

He froze in the doorway, hands still on the polished wood.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and it came out harsh and sharp, and the hulking figure beside Raph's bed spun guiltily around. Something hot and hysterical was forcing its way up Mikey's throat, an uncomfortable knot of not-anger that made his arms shake. "Why do you keep showing up out of nowhere?"

"I just—wanted to see him," Slash said lamely. And it was his normal voice, not his Boogeyman voice, but Mikey had heard them both and didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. He moved into the room quickly, skirting Slash as widely as he could without being obvious about it, and stationed himself by Raph's bed.

His brother was sleeping, tight lines of pain on his face. Mikey felt a surge of protect him that he'd never felt before. It reminded him of how he'd felt holding little Klunk for the first time in that alley, only magnified to a thousand times larger than life.

"Well, you've seen him," he said shortly, trying to keep his voice down. "How did you even get in here?"

"I told the front desk I was family," Slash said, adopting a small smile. "I just wanted to—to see him. To apologize."

"Like I just said, you've seen him. So why don't you—" And he stopped. And stood there, looking up into Slash's eerie turquoise eyes without a trace of fear, comprehension dawning slowly, from far away. "Apologize for what?"

And Slash blinked, and waffled back a step, but Mikey followed him with a step forward. Disbelieving, almost.

"Apologize for what?"

"I didn't—I didn't mean to. It was like I wasn't even there, I didn't know I—I wouldn't hurt him on purpose, Mikey, never."

"You mean like you hurt Leo?" Mikey said numbly. "Like you tried to hurt me?" His hands had curled into fists, but he wasn't sure when they had. He was trembling. He had never been angry like this before, angry in a way that ripped him open and made him bleed, angry in a way that made him want to grab and tear and hurt. "You didn't mean to hit him with a car? It was an accident when you tried to kill him?"

"Mikey—"

"Don't call me that!" Mikey shoved him, hard, throwing every ounce of muscle memory and six years of trained strength into the move, not even gratified when Slash staggered back into the other hospital bed. Not even gratified when Slash looked at him with wide, blue-green eyes, like Mikey was a terrible stranger. "Get out! You aren't family, you were never family. Family doesn't do this!"

"Michelangelo?"

Mikey didn't look away from Slash for a second, not even at the sound of Leatherhead's voice in the doorway.

"Get out," he said again, venomously, taking another forward step, shaking violently with the urge to fight this giant man who had lurked in his nightmares for so long, who had hurt his family. "Get out!"

There was no fight in Slash—he gave Leatherhead a wide berth, circling around to the door and ducking out of it without a backwards glance—and then Mikey was wrapped in Leatherhead's hardened arms, and his friend was pressing a broad hand to the front of his chest.

"Breathe, Michelangelo," he said, kind voice calm and smooth. "He's gone. Try to breathe. You'll wake your brother if you don't calm down, my friend."

"He—he's the one, Leatherhead, he—" His face was wet, eyes dripping stupid tears, and he rubbed them away with the sleeves of the hoodie he had never returned, still panting harshly for breath and angry all the way down to his bones. "He—I hate him. I hate him!"

Leatherhead looked sad for some reason, eyes shadowed the way Woody's had been, but he nodded, and smoothed the messy curls back from Mikey's forehead, and didn't ask any questions even though he probably had at least a hundred. And Mikey cried, because he couldn't stop; crying out of so much frustration and so much rage and so much wounded love, pillowing his face in his hands and muffling, over and over again, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him."