...

We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain
We come from different places, but have the same name
'Cause we were, we were born for this, we were born for this
We are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flame
Watch as our fire rages; our hearts are never tame
-"Born for This", by The Score

CHAPTER 14: BOYS NIGHT OUT

The late-August wind whipped up a discarded, crumpled flier and sent it tumbling down the sidewalk, past Raphael's ankles. He jammed his hands as far into the pockets of his oversize trench coat as he could, twisting the fabric from within to keep the buttonless bottom half from flapping open, and tucked his chin a little more so his hat wouldn't blow away. It wasn't the best disguise, but with an impending thunderstorm on the horizon, it also wasn't completely out of place.

People scurried past him, paying him no mind. Raphael had found, in situations like this, people were too busy and distracted to really look at him if he made the effort to blend in. Most humans did not want to seek out confrontation or danger, and even more did not want to analyze something that seemed a bit 'off' if it didn't immediately affect them. The danger was that if someone did notice, they could froth up a crowd against him very quickly, so being in the general public was always a calculated risk.

Karai had called a meeting for several of the Foot higher-ups, which included any of the members that would be trusted enough to spy on him and Karai while Shredder was away. It allowed Raphael to sneak off without being followed, for Casey's protection and his own peace within the Foot. He was fairly certain that Karai was going to expect him to return the favor soon, even though she was the one who had volunteered him to visit Casey in the first place.

In fact, it was probably why she had done it.

He huffed under his breath and started thinking about what kind of busy-work he could make up to keep the Foot Clan off of Karai's back for an evening. They could certainly use some more drills on fighting the turtles in particular. He could do some one-on-one sparring, let them exploit all his weaknesses and give them a much-needed morale boost.

I can feel the bruises already, he almost muttered to himself.

He and Karai had been running interference for each other ever since they were kids, though, and Raphael took it all in stride. She deserved some time to herself as well.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost walked right past Casey's unremarkable apartment building. Raphael entered the lobby and buzzed the code for the faded, barely legible number next to JONES, A. Casey buzzed him in without responding, and Raphael skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs.

The hall was empty on Casey's floor as Raphael's feet padded down the stained, threadbare carpet, but he hesitated before knocking on the door. What the hell was he even doing here? He contemplated leaving, just roaming the city for the evening, but Casey opened the door before he could turn away.

"Nice hat," Casey greeted, opening the door to usher him in.

Raphael scowled, but hung his jacket and hat on a coat rack next to the door. Besides his usual black wraps and red mask, and a few small blades tucked within, he hadn't worn any armor or weapons as a sign of good faith.

He wasn't really sure what to say or do, so settled for his default of silence.

Casey rubbed the back of his neck and was also looking like he thought this whole thing might be a mistake, so he resorted to what seemed to be his default – alcohol.

Casey waved him over to his refrigerator and opened it, revealing a couple take-out containers, some condiments, an empty Brita, and as much beer packed into the remaining space as possible.

"I'm very well stocked," Casey boasted. "I know you guys ain't lightweights, that's for sure."

Raphael's eyes widened in surprise and he gave Casey a look.

"What?" he said, looking a bit defensive. "The guy who owns the liquor store on the corner doesn't card me. I'm chasing scumbags out of there for him practically every week."

Raphael shrugged and grabbed the cardboard handle of a six-pack of tall cans. "Thank you," he said, finally finding his voice.

"No prob." Casey seemed relieved and relaxed a little, then followed suit with his own six-pack. "Game should be starting soon. Yankees playing the White Sox."

"I didn't watch much American baseball, but I know those teams," Raphael said as he followed Casey into the messy living room.

"Is there a pro league in Japan?"

"Yeah. Baseball is very popular."

Casey flopped down on the Lazyboy chair, and Raphael eyed the couch for a moment before sitting. It seemed Casey was able to get his bloodstains out of the fabric after all.

"That was a fucking chore, by the way," Casey griped, knowing what Raphael was looking for.

Raphael just shrugged and leaned back into the cushions, getting comfortable. "You were the one who brought me here."

"Clearly, I don't learn from my mistakes," Casey joked.

Raphael chuffed out a laugh. "I hope you returned that wheelbarrow."

"Of course I did. Things have been pretty quiet in Chinatown lately. Murikami says you haven't visited him in a while, he told me to say hello."

"I'll go see him soon. No more trouble with the Purple Dragons?"

"Not in Chinatown. They've just moved on to shit-stir in other parts of the city."

"Bottom feeders," Raphael said with disdain.

"Nothin' better than busting up Purple Dragons, right?" Casey quipped with a grin.

Raphael smiled in savage agreement.

"Not like that!" Casey said hastily, as if remembering who he was actually talking to.

Enjoying how taken aback Casey was, Raphael smiled even wider and popped the tab on one of his beer cans. "Whatever you say…"

"Anyways," Casey said pointedly, grabbing the converter and turning the volume up. He also cracked open a can and leaned forwards. "Thanks for not letting Xever kill me, cheers."

Raphael tipped his can to clink off of Casey's gently. "Cheers."

They both took large gulps from their cans, and Raphael swished it around in his mouth thoughtfully before swallowing. Americans seemed to make such a big deal about beer, but sake definitely tasted better.

The first inning was under way, and Raphael went between watching the game and watching Casey's body language for any sign of ulterior motives, as his life had taught him to be suspicious of anyone trying to befriend him. The only person he'd ever trusted implicitly besides Karai was Ryuu, whom he had not been able to contact since leaving Japan.

He had heard that his fellow Elite had been promoted to running a small network of spies in one of the more rural territories, and his whereabouts were on a strict need to know basis. Casey's banter and demeanor reminded him of Ryuu, and Raphael had to admit that was probably why he had the tiniest bit of a soft spot for the guy.

"What?"

Casey had caught him spacing out, staring in his general direction.

Raphael shook his head. "I was thinking that you remind me of a friend back home."

"I'm sure that I'm a piss-poor substitute, but I do what I can."

Raphael huffed. "He saved my life once, too."

"Too?" Casey quirked an eyebrow. "As in, as well? As in, you're admitting that I did, in fact, save your life?"

"Don't let it go to your head, Jones. All I'm admitting is that we are now definitely even. And speaking of near-death experiences, you seem to have survived work last night. Was anyone acting odd?"

"I don't know," Casey said. "I saw one of the big-wigs in the kitchen and almost had a heart attack. He was just there sayin' hi to Tommy, but they both saw that I was jumpy there for a sec. Got suspicious. Then I realized the guy was our bookie, so I told him I wanted to make some bets but wasn't sure if he would be pissed about it because I'm technically underage."

"Did he believe you?"

"I think so? He said he was happy to take my money as much as the next guy's. So now I'm pulling out all the cash I have on me and placing bets on baseball games. Then he offers to show me the horse racing forms…"

Raphael watched as Casey raked his fingers back through his long, dark hair in something close to despair, not understanding why that was such a problem.

"I'm turning into my fuckin' dad. Drinking, gambling, doing more harm than good." He sighed deeply, his voice lowering as he sunk further into his chair and added miserably, "I just wanted to help people."

Lightning flashed around the borders of the closed drapes in the living room, and the skies finally opened up. The sound of the rain pounding was loud enough to be heard clearly over the commercials playing on the television.

"Where is he?" Raphael asked, not knowing how else to react at the unexpected outburst.

Casey laughed bitterly. "I don't know. He was always talking about taking off to Vegas and never coming back, so that's a possibility. Realistically, though, I don't even know if he's alive."

The game came back on and they drank and watched in silence for several minutes, eyes on the screen.

"Do you want me to find him?" Raphael asked finally.

Casey's gaze snapped back to him.

"If he left, there are ways to track him. His car, phone, credit cards, police or hospital records, hotels that were checked into. The Foot has connections. I can find him for you, if you want."

Casey nursed his beer thoughtfully and waited until the next commercial break to speak up. "That is a generous offer, but to be honest, I don't know that I'm ready to find out."

"Fair enough."

Raphael's mood eased a bit, letting his guard down far more than usual to enjoy this simple pleasure in peace. Another inning and a few beers later had him feeling a pleasant buzz.

Casey had his money on the Yankees, so they cheered on their home runs, yelled at the shitty calls the umpire kept making, and heckled the White Sox from the comfort of their cushions.

A scraping noise at Casey's window caught Raphael's attention. He jumped up in alarm as the drenched form of Michelangelo struggled past the drapes after slamming the window shut again, fully armed and with a large sack slung over one shoulder.

"I was able to come out tonight, did I miss the pizza?" he asked as he turned around. His eyes widened behind his orange mask in surprise and he smiled. "Raph?! What are you doing here?"

Raphael instinctively went into a loose fighting stance, ready to react to any advancement. "What is this? A set up?" he growled at Casey, instantly feeling a sting of betrayal.

"No!" Casey hopped up in surprise, waving his arms to emphasize.

Raphael bared his teeth and clenched his fists as Michelangelo set down the sack he was carrying and drifted closer, slowly, as if Raphael were a cornered wild animal. It didn't feel far from the truth.

Casey jumped between them, his back against Michelangelo's plastron to try and stop him from moving forward, and his face imploring Raphael not to act.

"Stop, both of you settle down!" Casey exclaimed with a note of panic in his voice. He turned sideways, his arms spread between them as if he couldn't be crushed to death by hundreds of pounds of shell and muscle in a second.

"I told you, Raph," Casey said firmly. "This is usually mine and Mikey's Monday night tradition, but he said he couldn't make it. I thought it would be safe to invite you." Then he turned to Michelangelo and scolded him. "Dude! Just one text. Just one!"

"Sorry, Casey. I brought the watermelons, though!"

Raphael focused on Casey's vitals enough to establish that this was, in fact, an unintended situation.

It was disappointing, in a way. He would have rather this been a cut and dry betrayal and fought his fight. That was second nature to him. Instead, he'd had an evening he was actually quite enjoying randomly interrupted by accident, in a socially awkward and complicated sort of way. That was quite out of his depth.

"Raph, can we talk?" Michelangelo asked eagerly.

It always struck Raphael harder than any blow how genuinely thrilled this brother was to see him. "No," Raphael responded automatically.

"Okay. Ground Rules of Casey's Apartment," the human between them announced loudly. "This is neutral ground. There is no fighting in the apartment. Ever, end of story. If you want to go beat the shit out of each other, please do so anywhere else but here. Thank you."

Raphael grumbled and shifted his weight, but Casey seemed to be on a hair-trigger and was having none of it. He turned on Raphael and pointed a finger at him. "You break the rule and you're banned, forever. Any association we have is over, no more information, and good luck finding someone else you can trust with Chinatown."

Raphael glowered at Casey's finger in his face.

Casey lowered his hand but stood tall and resolute, clearly unwilling to bend his rule at all.

"Fine," Raphael bit out.

"Are we leaving?" Michelangelo asked Raphael, tilting his head to the side to make eye contact around Casey. "Do we have to fight now?"

"Have to?" Raphael repeated. It was such a frank, odd question, and wasn't asked eagerly. Michelangelo actually looked tired, like a fight was the last thing on his mind. Then again, that was the expectation set on them, wasn't it? "Are you not supposed to eliminate any threats to your Clan whenever you can?"

"What? No," laughed Michelangelo. "They're not even here for you to threaten. I figure you're probably mad at me, and if all you want to do with me is fight, then we can go fight," he said with a shrug.

He squinted at Michelangelo quizzically, and Casey slowly eased out from between them so they could talk face to face. Raphael was having a hard time following Michelangelo's logic. There was no foresight to it. Raphael's continued existence, in general, was a threat against Michelangelo's Clan and Hamato Yoshi, but he obviously did not have orders from Yoshi to kill him on sight. On the other hand, Raphael did have orders to kill or capture his brothers if it might lead them to finding Yoshi, but he had no reason to be personally mad at any of the turtles.

Except, maybe Leo, he thought sourly.

The whole situation was surreal and Raphael was feeling more uneasy with every passing minute. The fact that he was well on his way to inebriation wasn't helping, either. "I'll just go."

"It's okay," Michelangelo said, already heading for the window again. "I should have called. Casey, can I come back later and crash here for the night? They say it's okay, but I know that they're not happy with me right now after the whole thing with Leatherhead."

"Sure, Mikey," Casey replied sympathetically. "I'm glad no one was hurt."

"What's a Leatherhead?" Raphael asked suspiciously, finally noticing some bruises on his brother's arms.

"Oh, he's my new friend. He looks big and scary, but he's very kind and was also hurt and needed help. He flew into a violent rage at the mention of the Kraang and tried to kill us all, but Master Splinter was able to take him down before he did any real damage, but bringing him home at all was my screw-up. Again."

Raphael blinked; the way Michelangelo spoke was dizzying. It was a lot of information to process and didn't actually answer his question. "What is he?"

Casey made a face at Michelangelo that went ignored.

"Oh, a mutant crocodile. He is ginormous!" Michelangelo exclaimed excitedly, spreading his arms as far apart as they could go.

Interesting. "And Splinter was able to kill a giant mutant crocodile, alone?"

Casey cleared his throat and stared at Michelangelo.

"Bruh. We don't just go around killing everyone. Splinter knocked him out and I was able to keep him calm when he woke up. Leatherhead didn't mean to attack us, it was the word."

"Is he still 'at home' with the others?" Raphael needled.

"Mikey!" Casey snapped at him loudly, abandoning subtlety. "Watch your goddamn mouth, he reports to the Shredder! No offense, Raph."

Michelangelo was nonplussed. "It's fine, I don't know where he went. He wanted to be left alone until his rage was under control."

"Because he's triggered by the word Kraang?" Raphael clarified.

"Yeah, aren't they just the worst?" Michelangelo asked.

Casey was making a disgusted face, clearly in agreement with the sentiment.

"Who are Kraang?" Raphael was starting to feel agitated, clearly out of the loop on something important.

They both stared at him from either side of the window, aghast.

"He doesn't know about the Kraang?!" exclaimed Michelangelo. "What kind of informant are you?"

"I assumed he knew!"

"Do you know what Donnie told me about the word 'assume'?"

Casey palmed his forehead and sighed. "I know exactly what he said, thank you."

"Maybe you should stay," Raphael suggested, seeing an opportunity. "Order pizza and tell me about the Kraang, since Casey can't be bothered."

Michelangelo's entire face lit up like a lantern. "Awesome!"

"Can you at least dry off if you're going to stay?" Casey pleaded. "You're makin' puddles on my carpet."

"Yeah," Michelangelo said, and rushed off to Casey's bathroom to clank around noisily.

Casey marched up to Raphael as soon as Michelangelo was out of sight. "I know what you're doing," he growled through gritted teeth. "Do not take advantage of him."

"How else am I supposed to learn about everything you've been keeping from me?" Raphael snapped back under his breath.

"I don't mean about the Kraang and you know it. Don't bait him into giving up his home."

"Fine," Raphael blew out a frustrated breath. He really was going to need to find a replacement for Casey, this was getting far too complicated. "But why assume that I know what the Kraang are?"

"They were at the fucking hotel when their bomb went off and Bradford got mutated!" Casey exclaimed, no longer trying to keep his voice down. "They're aliens from another dimension, trying to take over Earth and maybe the universe. It's a pretty big fucking deal!"

Raphael looked back at him incredulously. "You have got to be joking."

"That's the hardest part for you to believe in all of this?"

"Why did you guys want to stop us from defusing that bomb, anyways?" Michelangelo asked, interrupting as he returned to the living room.

"The mission was to draw out Yoshi, by whatever means necessary," Raphael replied. "Everything else was inconsequential, but the coward never showed up to help you."

Michelangelo pursed his lips. "It wasn't like that…"

"It's not worth it, Mikey," Casey said, waving a hand. "Raph," he sighed, "if you had stopped Donnie from defusing that bomb, it would have mutated half the city. I thought you would've figured that out once one of your own was mutated."

Witnessing Bradford's mutation had been horrific, and Raphael generally tried not to think of that night, but now that he was, it did make sense. Shredder had inadvertently almost destroyed thousands of lives just to get to Yoshi. "I remember watching you fight men and robots before we attacked, but we had no idea what was really going on," Raphael said. "Aliens and mutant bombs wouldn't be anyone's first guess."

"It was my first guess," Michelangelo boasted.

"They are aliens piloting human shaped robots," Casey said. "They just give some of the robots a generic human skin so they can walk around freely, but they all look the same. The Kraang themselves look like ugly little brains with mouths and eyes and tentacles."

"I did see one spill out of a robot while watching the fight. I was so far away, later on I thought my eyes might have been playing tricks on me."

"Nope, you saw right," said Michelangelo.

"And that ooze, it made all of us mutants? They were here that long ago and no one knows about them?"

"Yes, and the experiments they are doing here seem to be ramping up," Casey said.

"They took Leatherhead when he was just a baby and mutated him," said Michelangelo sadly.

"Like us?"

"Kind of. We were babies when we were mutated, too, but the Kraang didn't take us away and experiment on us. We were an accident, along with Splinter, and he hid us away and took care of us. Leatherhead had to escape after years of torture."

"Where is the last place you saw Leatherhead?" Raphael asked.

"Don't answer that," Casey said, exasperated.

"I know, I know." Michelangelo's stomach growled loudly and he grinned sheepishly. "Can we eat?"

Raphael realized they were all still standing tensely around the cramped living room, the forgotten baseball game on in the background. He wasn't feeling as sharp as usual due to the alcohol, which was an annoyance, but he had other ways of looking into a giant, potentially dangerous mutant roaming the city some other time, so he let it drop.

"Sure, Mikey, the usual?" Casey asked.

"Yes!"

"You good with a meat-lovers?" Casey asked Raphael.

"Vegetarian. I don't eat meat, just fish."

"Wow! You're Presbyterian?" asked Michelangelo.

Raphael scrunched his face, not understanding.

"It's pescatarian," Casey corrected, grabbing his phone.

"That's amazing!" Michelangelo said in awe to Raphael.

"Why?"

"You must have grown up with so much food around that you actually were able to choose which ones you wouldn't eat." Michelangelo made a gesture above his head, and a noise mimicking a bomb going off. "Mind. Blown."

"Reptiles grow larger and quicker the more regularly they eat. Probably why he's so much bigger than you guys," Casey noted. "Tall like Don, but broad like you, who will eat anything," he laughed.

They both looked at him silently while he dialed the pizza parlor.

Casey made an exasperated face. "What? I read." Then the parlor picked up on the other end and he was ordering.

"You didn't have enough food growing up?" Raphael asked, trying to spur a more natural conversation since his direct questions were putting Casey on edge.

"I mean, we had no money, so we didn't have much of anything growing up, besides each other. We're all still here, though, so I guess it was enough. How about you? It must have been so cool growing up in Japan."

"It is beautiful there," Raphael said wistfully. "I didn't leave the estate grounds as a kid, obviously, but there was a large forest on the property that I loved to explore. Then I spent a few years out in the country for special training, on a remote farm with other soldiers who wanted to be top ranked fighters and generals."

"A farm? Did you have a bunch of animals?"

"Only a crazy horse." Raphael considered for a beat. "And the other men."

Michelangelo smiled. "I have a pet tortoise named Spike."

"Of course you do," Raphael huffed. "I have a dog. Hachiko."

"Oh! I'd love to see your dog one day," Michelangelo said with a huge grin. "Being raised by humans must have been so interesting. We try to keep away from them as much as possible, but I've always wanted more human friends. Were they nice to you?"

Raphael scoffed. "A few of them. Most tolerated me only because Shredder would have had their hides if they really damaged me."

Casey set his phone on the counter. "Half an hour to pizza. How about we sit and pretend we all get along and watch the end of the game, huh?"

Michelangelo surveyed the empty beer cans on the coffee table. "I'm really behind. Where's the helmet?" he asked with a grin.

Raphael caught the way Casey's eyes darted to him before they went back to his brother. "Mikey, maybe take it easy tonight?"

"Helmet!" he demanded.

Casey sighed and dug around in his kitchen.

Raphael was not prepared for the monstrosity of a hard hat with a whirling red straw and can holder on either side. He watched as Casey loaded up two cans and Michelangelo set it on his head, put both straws in his mouth and drained both cans at once in about a minute flat. Then did it again, then one more time, before finally taking it off and letting loose the loudest, most obscene belch that Raphael had ever heard in his life.

Michelangelo took a couple deep breaths and nodded approvingly. "I think I feel something."

"Jesus Christ," Casey sputtered, laughing wholeheartedly. "I think your soul just left your body."

It was all so utterly ridiculous, a laugh stuttered past Raphael's lips despite himself.

Michelangelo grinned at him, winked, and chucked an entire six pack at his head. "Let's get our buzz on, bro!"

Raphael caught it a few inches from his face, and damn if he wasn't smiling a bit, too. Is this what normal teenagers did when they hung out? He cracked a can open and chugged it in about three gulps to the sound of Michelangelo cheering.

Did he not deserve just one evening without feuds and obligations?

Besides, he reasoned with his fuzzy brain, there wasn't much to be gained by the Hamatos if he told Michelangelo about the Foot and his childhood in Japan. However, the more he opened up, the more it invited his brother to open up about his home and childhood, here in this very city, and that information could certainly be pieced together and used against the Hamato Clan later on.

They drank too much beer and ate too much pizza, and their taunts to the White Sox, who eventually lost much to Casey's relief, became more creatively vulgar. They were all quite drunk as the game ended and Raphael received a text from Karai warning him that he was now on his own if anyone realized he was gone.

Raphael stood and stretched, surprised how disappointed he was that this little retreat from his real life was over. "This was fun, but I should head out," he said.

"What?!" exclaimed Michelangelo. "But the game just ended. And I brought watermelons! You should come with us."

Raphael stared blankly. "I don't know what that means…"

Casey chuckled. "Dude, I think I'm a bit too drunk for that," he said to Michelangelo. Looking up at Raphael, he quickly explained. "Mikey collects the old watermelons from behind the grocery store and we use them for target practice over at the city dump."

"Oh." Raphael was learning that context was everything when it came to understanding his brother.

"Pleeease, come on, Casey," begged Michelangelo. "Don't you want to try out the exploding pucks?"

"Those are ready?" Casey asked, excited.

"Donnie made four for you to try out," he replied with a tempting lilt to his voice.

"Damn. Okay, I'm game."

They both looked up at Raphael, who didn't feel qualified to make good decisions at the moment. "I shouldn't," he said.

"Buuuuut…?" Michelangelo prompted.

Casey looked at him hopefully. "You wanna do some training with us?"

Raphael sighed away his resolve and they cheered. "Maybe," he warned firmly. "Go without me. I need to get back into disguise, then I'll start heading over there, and if I don't have anyone tailing me I'll meet you there."

"Far out," Michelangelo said.

The possibility of Raphael being followed made Casey's face serious for a moment, as if he hadn't considered how dangerous any of this had already been until now. "Sounds good."

ooooooooooooooo

Raphael heard Casey whoop overhead in delight. To anyone else, the sound would have blended in with the drone of the New York City nightlife.

He rolled his eyes. How Casey could entrust his life to a very tipsy Michelangelo as he catapulted them across wet city rooftops was beyond him.

Raphael kept his chin down, the brim of his hat hiding his features, and headed out in the general direction of the dump. Once he got to one of the less populated, more industrial areas, he found a place to stretch and hop up onto a parked 18-wheeler.

He scanned the area for movement, but nothing was stirring in the mostly open lot he had paused in besides a stray cat. The fresh air had sobered him up some, and he felt confident that no one was tracking him. He pulled out his cell phone to send a message to Karai.

Raph: Don't wait up
Princess: Having a good time?
Raph: Yeah. And I'm about to find out what passes for training around here
Princess: Hah
Princess: You think you can cover for me for a few hours sometime this week? During the day?
Raph: Already have a plan
Princess: You're the best
Raph: I know

Raphael leapt down from the truck and took off in a full run the rest of the way to the city dump. Huge mounds of garbage and scrap made narrow trails through the refuse. Casey and Michelangelo were actually on the outskirts, where there was an open gravel pit bordered on one side with a huge privacy fence.

Raphael crept up on them, crouching behind some scrap metal as Casey complained about the humidity and shrugged out of the home-made harness that he carried his 'weapons' in. Michelangelo was setting up watermelons on top of different objects at roughly chest height, and caught sight of Raphael peeking out from the scrap.

Raphael put a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

Michelangelo grinned and went about setting up while Casey was still bitching about having to put his stuff on the damp ground.

Raphael stalked soundlessly up behind Casey as he bent to pull his hockey stick free of the harness on the ground and straightened back up.

"You're dead," Raphael whispered into his ear.

Casey let out a high-pitched yelp and spun around, trying to jab Raphael with a makeshift taser hidden in his sleeve.

Raphael stepped out the way effortlessly, him and Michelangelo both laughing.

Casey narrowed his eyes and readjusted his taser. "I should have never let you assholes hang out together," he muttered, but he breathed out a laugh with them and took it in stride. "Let's see these pucks, Mikey."

Michelangelo produced an object from his belt that was obviously meant to emulate the size and shape of a hockey puck as closely as possible, but looked much more dangerous. "Press this button first," he said, pressing it to demonstrate. A dot of blue light came alive at the top center of the disc. "And then give it a really good whack to activate."

"Okay," Casey said, taking it and toeing away the gravel underfoot to make a smoother surface. He set it down, scooped it with his hockey stick, bounced it lightly a couple of times on the bottom blade of the stick as if testing its weight, and then sent it soaring towards the nearest watermelon.

Jagged little blades sprung out from the sides in midair, and it thunked sloppily into the side of the watermelon, barely embedded enough to hang on. Then there was a loud pop, and it fell lamely to the ground.

Raphael and Michelangelo snickered.

"Hey, give me a break," Casey defended. "I'm still a bit drunk. I think I got this, now."

He similarly cleared spots for and set up each of the remaining three explosive pucks, and carefully eyed his targets. Casey rubbed his face roughly and shook his hands out, grabbed the stick again, and took a deep breath. In quick succession, a harsh cracking sound accompanying each slap-shot, he buried the pucks dead center in each watermelon. About three seconds later, each one popped, one after the other, into a spray of red mist.

Michelangelo was cheering, and Raphael found himself also caught up in the moment and joined in. Truly, it was an impressive feat, especially considering the state of the guy. Casey certainly had his own unique set of talents, and he seemed to revel in the moment, taking a deep bow.

"Those were awesome!" Casey said enthusiastically. "Tell Donnie they're perfect. I'll take as many as he is able to make for me. They'll definitely help me take down Kraang-bots way easier."

"Donatello made those?" Raphael asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah," Casey said. "The guy's a certifiable genius. Don't get on his bad side, he's liable to drop a nuke on you."

He grinned, but Raphael got the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that Casey was only half-joking.

"So now what? Sparring?" asked Raphael.

Casey laughed. "I'm not in any shape to spar with you guys tonight."

"You're not in shape to spar with us any night," Michelangelo pointed out.

Casey flipped him off.

"You do train with them, right?" Raphael asked, alarmed.

Casey shrugged. "We spar a little, armed and unarmed. Mostly target practice like this."

"Armed with what? Do you actually have any real weapons or training?"

"What is this? A job interview?" joked Casey, "'cause you've already hired me."

Raphael looked over at Michelangelo in disbelief. "He doesn't train with you?"

"Nope." Michelangelo touched his chin and looked off into the distance, as if thinking about it for the first time. "You probably should, though. Even April is training to be a kunoichi now."

Casey crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Maybe I don't want to be a kunoichi."

The turtles chortled at that.

"You can't be anyways, a kunoichi is a female ninja," Raphael said, shaking his head.

"Hey, don't crush his dreams," mock-scolded Michelangelo, laughing. "I think you would make a great kunoichi, Casey."

Casey let out a long-suffering sigh, but the smirk was still there. "I hate you guys."

"I can spar with you, Raph," Michelangelo suggested.

"That's probably not the best idea, Mikey," Casey said warily.

"I thought you were tired," Raphael said, ignoring the way Casey shifted his weight uncomfortably. He really was quite protective of him.

Michelangelo shrugged. "We ate, we drank, we rested. It's just sparring. We're not going to hurt each other, right?"

"Maybe just a little," Raphael replied with a toothy grin, suddenly relishing this opportunity. The only other mutant he'd sparred with was Bradford, and he was a giant bastard who could pick him up with one hand. "No weapons."

Michelangelo nodded and stripped off his leathers, shedding the belt, harness, and the weapons sheathed within so he would be down to wraps and padding like Raphael.

They stuck to simple grappling at first, warming up and testing each other's strength. The blood thrummed through Raphael's veins in a quick, steady pulse, clearing the fuzziness from his mind and the lag from his muscles.

Michelangelo clearly had a wealth of knowledge to call upon from being trained at a high level for several years. The way he put it into action, however, was unpredictable. There were standard escapes to submission attempts in this type of fighting, but Michelangelo rarely used them. While he didn't slip free of all of the holds that Raphael put him into, he did escape some with more unconventional moves, and even managed some reversals to get the upper hand and make Raphael tap out instead.

It was no wonder Michelangelo and Casey got along so well. Fighting the two of them at once would be extremely chaotic.

As their wrestling became interspersed with more and more striking, the restraint Michelangelo was using started to get frustrating. Raphael pushed Michelangelo back a few steps so they could reset and square up again.

"Don't hold back," Raphael demanded.

"But we're just sparring!"

"We're bare-handed. There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't already been done several times over."

Raphael lunged forward, throwing a combo of four punches in quick succession that Michelangelo blocked or redirected while stepping back, which pissed him off even more.

"I don't want to actually hurt you," he insisted almost apologetically.

"You have no idea what I've survived," Raphael growled, still advancing. Michelangelo was only defending and it was infuriating. "Do not insult me by going easy!" He threw another punch as he ground out the final words.

And Michelangelo caught it in his palm, holding Raphael's fist in place, feet planted, eyes determined.

No one had ever stopped his fist mid-punch. The brief moment of shock gave his brother the opportunity to pull him forward head first towards the ground in a throw so beautiful that it would make a Judo Master cry. Raphael couldn't fight the momentum, instead tucking his head and rolling along his shell, then popping back up onto his feet, facing away from Michelangelo. He spun quickly as his opponent closed in, and finally, finally, Raphael had an invigorating sparring match on his hands with an equal partner.

"Yesss," he practically hissed, smiling. "That's more like it."

Raphael let himself enjoy the full contact sparring, and while Michelangelo was focused, he was a fun and challenging opponent. As soon as he let his mind wander, however, which he was apt to do, Raphael was there to exploit it. A few rounds in, a precise heel kick to the back of the thigh sent Michelangelo down on one knee, gasping.

"What was that?" he asked. "My whole leg is pins and needles!"

"Pressure point. Humans have it too, but it works particularly well on me. On us, I guess. It'll last about a minute."

"Can you show me?"

Raphael shrugged. "Sure. Nerve cluster right here," he turned away from where Michelangelo was now sitting in the gravel, pointing out the spot high up on the back of his thigh. "It's worse when you're hit on your non-dominant side. Lasts longer. Do you want to stop?"

Michelangelo stood up and shook his leg out and put his weight on it experimentally, then bounced a couple times. "Nah, it's my turn. I wanna try that."

"I know your target," laughed Raphael. "You think I'm going to make it easy for you?"

"Of course I don't."

Michelangelo grinned, and bounded back into the fray, once again laser-focused on his goal. Much to Raphael's surprise, just when his victory in their mock battle seemed imminent, Michelangelo managed to catch him on that very pressure point.

Raphael tried to step back and catch his balance on the leg that had just gone numb, arms pinwheeling, and tripped back into one of the piles of trash. As he attempted to sit up, the garbage under his shell shifted and collapsed, dropping him down another inch or two. Suddenly the tingling feeling in his leg seemed to be everywhere at once, and he realized to his utter horror that he had disturbed an entire nest of cockroaches. What felt like hundreds of them swarmed frantically from beneath him to avoid being crushed, scattering all around him and all over him.

"Roaches!" Raphael screeched. He flailed violently, trying to wipe them away while also loathe to touch them, unable to get up from the depression he'd made in the pile. "Help me! Get them off of me!"

"Raph!"

Michelangelo was calling him, and he realized his eyes were squeezed shut. He opened them, and Michelangelo was trying to offer him a hand to help him up. He reached out, and as he did, the sight of his hand reaching for Michelangelo's sent a blinding pain through his skull.

A memory resurfaced, of Michelangelo in this very position. This Michelangelo was a small child, his baby blue eyes as wide as saucers in fear, and likewise Raphael's hand was a child's hand. They grabbed for one another, but their hands just missed each other as Raphael rushed backwards, farther and farther away until there was only cold and darkness.

Raphael came back to himself with a wince, migraine in full force. Michelangelo was holding him up, and he and Casey were pawing at him. His entire body shuddered.

"It's okay, they're gone," Michelangelo said soothingly.

Raphael felt the bile rise into his throat and he gagged, but kept the contents of his stomach where they were.

"He's always been scared of bugs," Michelangelo said to Casey.

"Not scared," Raphael insisted weakly.

"Hey, man, it's fine," Casey said. "I have a phobia of rats. I get it. If I fell into a rat nest I'd probably have a heart attack."

Raphael wanted to counter, but couldn't find it in him to do anything other than shudder again. Embarrassed, he pushed away from them and took deep breaths, walking off the last remnants of the numbness in his leg. He wanted to ask about the memory, but was too afraid that if anything else surfaced it might actually split his skull in two.

"We can go, if you want to," said Michelangelo. He was putting his gear back on, and cast a glance at the remaining watermelons.

"It's fine, I'm fine," Raphael insisted. He pulled it together, on the outside, anyways. Masking his inner turmoil, bottling it up.

"I'll be quick," Michelangelo said. He went about setting up a group of watermelons at varying heights in a semi-circle around him, but most of them were about eye-level and obviously supposed to emulate heads. When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he drew his kusarigama and spun the blade over his head in a blur.

"Booyakasha!" he shouted, then unleashed his weapon at the unfortunate fruit.

The sound of the clinking chain and whirring blade set his already raw nerves even further on edge. Raphael shrank into himself and shivered through the chill that crept up his spine to settle at the nape of his neck.

Michelangelo noticed; when he was done, he looked quizzically in his direction. "You sure you're okay?"

"You missed," Raphael said, ignoring the question and feeling defensive.

"No I didn't," Michelangelo countered. "A killing blow is easy…" He demonstrated by sending his kusari blade straight into a watermelon, then snapping the entire fruit back on the blade and into his waiting hand with barely a glance at it.

"But a non-lethal solution takes real mastery and finesse," Casey finished for him, as if this were a quote they'd heard many times over.

Raphael hated the way he flinched. The way his breath caught in his chest at the glint and slide of chain and metal. His hand unconsciously came up to rub the scar on his plastron.

"What happened to you, Raph?" Michelangelo asked gently, his eyes following the motion as Raphael abruptly let his hand drop from his plastron. "Is that what gave you that scar?" he pushed.

"Yeah," Raphael said shortly, trying to brush it off. He walked away to inspect the supposedly non-lethal blows to the other watermelons because he had nowhere else to go besides running like a coward. He slowed his breathing, running his fingers over the little impact dents that must have been made by the blunt kusari handle. They were right. That did take finesse.

"Did it happen in a battle?"

Raphael sucked in a harsh breath and grit his teeth, turning on the turtle who had crept up behind him, but he had at least sheathed the weapon before approaching him.

"That one…was a punishment."

"From Shredder?"

"Yes. It was the first mark he ever put on me, a permanent reminder to follow his rules."

"The first?" Michelangelo trailed off, looking sad. "How old were you?"

The pity in his brother's blue eyes sparked a flame.

"Six," he snapped. "I never felt the urge to pick another one up after that, and I hated training around them. That almost got me killed not too long ago…"

"Raph…"

"And do you know who it was, wielding the kusarigama that almost killed me?" Raphael ranted. He was too riled up now, anger filling him like steam that needed release lest he burst with it. "The last Master Hamato in Japan, who trained gangsters and hit men and whoever else had the money. That is what your disgraced Clan is known for back home. Was known for," he added darkly.

"That's enough," hissed Casey.

"No, no, we're getting to know each other. Any other stories you want to hear about me being raised into organized crime, the horrible things I've had to do, the beatings I've taken? Or do you only want to know about how great it was to grow up rich with lots of food?"

"Raph…" Michelangelo tried again.

"Do you still really want to know me? Be my brother? While my goal is to bring revenge down on your Master? On you and the others, if you get in my way?" Raphael was breathing too hard, his face twisted into a snarl. Every inch of his being was screaming for Michelangelo to leave him alone, to regret ever trying to speak with him, make Michelangelo hate him. Make it easier for Raphael to do what he would probably have to do in the end.

Michelangelo pulled him into a hug, risking life and limb, but the steam was abruptly gone and so was all of the fight left in Raphael. He was exhausted, conflicted, his head hurt to the point of seeing spots, and holy fuck had this whole thing had been a mistake.

"Yes, I still want to know you and be your brother," Michelangelo said quietly, "because one day, you'll be ready for the truth."

"You're wrong." Raphael pulled away from the embrace, looked back and forth between Michelangelo and Casey. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," he muttered, then took the coward's way out anyway and ran.