Casey Jones had always loved the drive up to Northampton.
Sure, getting out of Manhattan sucked. But after that, it was a two-hour cruise through New York or Connecticut, up to Longmeadow and Springfield, and then along the back roads to the familiar gravel drive. He'd been travelling that route since he was a kid, and there was nothing like it.
When he was little, he'd watched the smoke curling up from the paper factories in Chicopee. When he was older, he'd taken off on his bicycle to try to get into the parties at Smith. And then, he'd worn out his legit ID drinking at the Toasted Owl and the Monkey Bar.
But that was all a long time ago.
Now, he was standing in the living room where he used to play with his cousins, and instead of a mass of hyperactive kids, there were two mutant Turtles who looked like they had passed out sitting up, and one who was sprawled on the floor with a blind cat licking his face, and one more standing next to him and swearing incompetently.
"Crap crap crappy crap shit."
"You gonna do something about this?" Casey asked.
Mikey sucked in a breath, possibly to curse some more, and then simply said, "Yes." In one bound he was across the room, and then he was leaping up the stairs, taking the steps five at a time.
In seconds, he was back with a plastic basket containing a jumble of what looked like medical equipment. He skidded to David's side on his knees, braking himself with the leather pads and his calloused toes, and he was shoveling stuff out of the basket before he even came to a complete stop.
"Glucose meter," he said, palming a rectangular device onto the floor. "Finger poker. Test strips. I got this."
Mikey nudged the cat out of the way, then rolled David over onto his back, deftly catching his head before it thumped against the hardwood floor. "Snowflake, here," he ordered, tapping the floor under David's skull with his free hand.
Obediently, the cat wormed under David's head, letting her master use her as a pillow. Now with both of his hands free, Mikey seized one of David's arms and stabbed it with the pen-like device he had thrown on the floor. Tossing that implement back into the basket, he wiped a tiny strip of paper against the welling blood, then jammed the paper onto the gizmo sitting by his knee.
"18.2?" Mike screamed at the meter a minute later. No one reacted to this except Snowflake, who startled but didn't flee her post, and Casey, who took a step closer, feeling useless, but thinking he should show some investment in whatever was going on.
Mike snatched a rectangle of cardstock out of the basket, staring wildly at whatever was on it. "14 to 16.7, no. Pointy arrow 16.7… where is pointy arrow 18.2? Before dinner, at bedtime…. Where is 18.2 passed out on the floor?!"
Mike winged the card at the couch, where it actually lodged on end between the back cushions. Plunging his hands back into the basket, he pulled out a syringe and a vial, hastily filling the one from the other. "I sure hope this works, bro," he said, as he spread a patch of skin on David's bicep and slid the needle in.
His hands were remarkably steady until he was done administering the medication, and then they shook like crazy as he capped the needle and put it back in the basket.
He took just one breath to calm himself before pressing David's wrist with one hand and using the other to pry open his brother's mouth. Casey wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but Mike peered inside with intense curiosity.
"You still got some medicine," Mike said. "You're gonna be there a little while longer. I hope you're safe. And almost done."
He pressed David's mouth shut again, then gently lifted his brother into a sitting position, pulling him close against his chest.
"So, uh," he said. "You're probably still waiting for that explanation."
"You know what?" Casey said. "I don't gotta know. Long as you don't burn the house down."
"I've never burned anything down," Mikey said, as he rocked his brother slowly. "I once almost burned my hands off, but that's completely different."
Casey decided he didn't need to know about that either.
"You mind relighting the incense?" Mikey asked, and Casey mumbled "Sure" and went to the kitchen to find a box of matches.
He'd gotten the little sticks of incense relit, and had turned the electric lights back off, and was settling in on the couch when Mikey started his little medical routine all over again. This time, when the meter beeped, he laughed in relief. "5.9," he said. "Okay. We're good, bro. You're gonna be okay." He pushed David into a fully upright posture, and then left him like that, standing up and wiping his brow.
That was when Casey heard tires rolling up the gravel drive.
"Shit!" Mikey yelled.
Casey was instantly on his feet too. Who would be coming up his driveway at this hour? Besides him? He had an excuse; he worked an odd schedule and also it was his house. But nobody else had any business parking in his driveway in the middle of the night.
He was about to storm out there and tell whoever it was off, when he found Mikey pushing him towards the door.
"Whoever it is, don't let them in!"
Casey stopped. Mike was a powerful little guy, but nobody pushed Casey Jones around when he didn't want to be pushed. "What if it's your parents?"
"Especially don't let them in!" Mike shoved him towards the door again, then pulled him back. "Wait wait wait. If it's our parents, don't tell them who you are. Master Splinter's never met you, but he knows your name."
"Right," Casey said, and then he stormed outside to tell someone off.
His own van, empty and idle, was closest to the porch. Further down the drive was another van, remarkably similar in shape. Casey did a double-take before realizing there really were two old box vans parked in front of his grandmother's house.
He almost missed the stranger striding towards him.
"Hey hey hey!" he yelled across the distance between them. "This is private property! What do you think you're doing?"
The stranger came close enough that Casey could tell from the movement that it was a woman. "Excuse me!" she said loudly. "I'm looking for a Casey Jones!"
"Casey Jones?" said Casey Jones. He moved closer, wanting to get a better look at the stranger. "Old Man Jones lived up the road. Died twenty years ago. Good riddance."
The woman crossed her arms. She was older and not especially attractive, though maybe it would help if she smiled. "Are you sure? I was told to look for him at this address."
"I'm telling you," said Casey, "there ain't no Jones here. Now are you going to get off my land, or am I gonna have to go back inside for the shotgun?"
"There's no need for that," said the woman, who, to her credit, didn't seem at all intimidated by the threat. "I must have been given the wrong information. I apologize for interrupting you."
And she turned and went back to the van, which, Casey noticed, seemed to be driven by someone else. Who were these people?
He watched the van fire up and slowly reverse out of the long drive, waiting until he was sure it was back on the public road. He thought about following in his own van, but decided to just go back inside.
"Who was it?" Mike asked, as soon as Casey shut the door behind him.
"Some lady," Casey replied.
"Some lady?" Mike looked about ready to strangle him. "What did she look like?"
"Average height," Casey said. "Pointy nose. Going gray. I'd give her maybe a four."
Mike slapped his forehead. "Casey," he said. "Two things. First, I need to teach you about women."
"You need to teach me about women?" Casey scoffed. "What do you know about women?"
"Excuse me," Mike said. "The first woman I ever met immediately agreed to go home with me."
Casey couldn't help being impressed by this bit of information. "Damn. Way to go, man."
"That's right," Mike said. They looked at each other. "Oh, and second, that was David's mom."
"Well, good," Casey said. "You said if it's your parents, get rid of them."
"Not good!" Mike shouted. "Now they know where we are!"
"Calm down, Mike." Casey double-checked the lock, then settled back onto the couch. "I told her Casey Jones was dead. She didn't ask about you guys at all."
"She didn't ask about me?" Mike said. He sounded hurt. Then he shook his head. "Of course she didn't ask about us! What if she really was at the wrong house? She would have totally blown our cover!" He started pacing the living room, thinking. "What if she goes to somebody else's house, asks about Casey Jones, and gets sent back here?" He threw his hands in the air. "Probably Master Splinter is with her! He always knows where we are! We're totally busted!" In a blink, he was in front of Casey, shaking him by his shirtfront. "The jig is up, Casey! We're done for!"
"Bro," Casey said. "I told you to chill out. I told that lady, if I saw her on my property again, I would shoot her. She ain't comin' back."
Mike stopped, his hands still fisted in Casey's T-shirt. "You told David's mom you would shoot her?"
"Sure did," Casey replied proudly.
Mike shook him again, more vehemently. "You can't shoot David's mom!"
Casey wrenched Mike's hands loose, and gave him a shove, just to ground him. "Dude! I'm not gonna do it! I just said that so she wouldn't come snooping around anymore!"
Mike stared at him for a long minute. Then he closed his eyes, pinching the ridge between them. "Okay. Okay. That was a good plan. Way to go, Case-man."
Casey just shrugged. "It okay with you if I run out to Big Y for some groceries? You guys gotta be getting low on food."
Mike glanced at the still-dark sky beyond the curtained windows. "They're open now?"
"Bro," said Casey, standing up and reaching for his keys. "New York ain't the only city that never sleeps. Not anymore."