Michelangelo felt more then seen his brother enter the dojo, but he didn’t stop his onslaught on his punching bag.
“You‘re gonna end up opening that cut on your shoulder at this rate.” Raph’s gruff voice filled the room, but his brother still didn’t stop.
With a frustrated sigh Raph walked over to his agitated brother, holding the punch bag still for him, making sure that he couldn’t be ignored. “How many stitched did Don put in there?”
“Four.” Michelangelo grunted, punching the bag with enough force to knock his brother back.
For a second Michelangelo’s eyes flashed with emotion as he watched Raph stumble backwards before regaining his balance, but it was gone before Raph could even see it.
The younger turtle grabbed his water bottle and drank half the bottle in one go. “Why‘d you come in here Raphael?”
“It‘s a free gym Mike.”
With a sharp nod Michelangelo turned and walked out, leaving his brother with narrowed eyes to watch him leave.
Raphael wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, if Michelangelo was refusing to talk to everyone then he was determined to change that.
Only five minuets had passed before Michelangelo found himself with a six pack of beer trust into his chest.
“You. Me. Roof. Now” Raph’s voice left no room for arguments, but Michelangelo looked like he was going to try. The beer was thrust back to Raphael, but he didn’t manage to move away before his brother grabbed his arm.
Almost automatically, Mike turned and swung a fist at Raphael. His brother brought an arm up to block it but there wasn’t any need; Michelangelo’s fist stopped just short of his brothers arm before quickly pulling it away.
Once against the six pack was pushed into his chest, but he didn’t look like he was going to argue this time.
The two brothers made their way up to the rooftops in complete silence.
“I get it if you don‘t want to talk about it.” Raphael’s voice was strangely calm as he looked out over the postcard-like view of night time New York. “But we aint seen you like this since we first moved out to the farm.”
Mike’s face hardened slightly at the grim memory of almost losing Leonardo on that dark Christmas, taking another swig of beer from his can.
Michelangelo didn’t usually drink beer, it was an acquired taste that only Raphael seemed to really enjoy, but tonight he found himself not caring as the bitter liquid burnt his throat.
“I‘m…I don’t know.” Mike admitted, his eyes on his can as he rolled it between his hands. “I just… need to think about something, I guess.”
Raphael nodded his understanding. “I get that. Just don’t forget we’re all here if you need to talk about it.”
“Thanks.” Mike drained the rest of his can in one go, choking slightly as it went down the wrong way. “Where‘d you get the beer from anyway?”
“Casey left it last time he came ‘round.” Raphael shrugged, opening another can for himself. “Figured if you leave beer around a group of teenagers you don‘t expect to see it again anyway.” He joked, holding the can at arms length as the beer fizzed over the rim of the can.
“Don’s gonna wanna stitch you arm again.” Raphael pointed out. The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was wide, two of the stitches were already noticeably broken from his brothers workout.
“I‘m not that bothered if it scars.” Mike shrugged, grabbing another can but not opening it yet as he stared up at the few visible stars.
“Should still get it stitched up.” Raphael grunted. It was strange for the younger turtle not to care about his appearance. Raphael had the most scars out of his brothers, but Michelangelo was careful not to get his skin marked; he always joked that was too pretty to have scars.
Raphael’s lips quirked into a smile at the thought of his youngest brother’s antics. It was hard to imagine that the same energetic teenager that was so full of life, was the turtle that now sat beside him.
Michelangelo could get on his nerves from time-to-time, but the two of them were the best of friends. Even after a fit of anger had almost caused him to fatally strike his brother with a lead pipe, Michelangelo had forgiven him.
Whenever he’d needed him, Mike had been there to help him. But now that Michelangelo was the one who needed help, Raphael had no Idea what to do.
He felt completely helpless as he drained his second can.
“I told you to be careful. I knew you’d manage to tear the stitches.” Donatello sounded annoyed as he gathered the medical needle and string from his first aid kit. “Have you been drinking?” His face scrunched up as the faint smell of alcohol hit his nostrils
Michelangelo didn’t say anything as he knelt down next to his brother, his injured arm across the others lap to grip at the seat of his chair; positioning himself so that Don could easily reach the top of his arm that needed re-stitching.
“It’s too soon for you to have another painkiller, so you’re going to have to make do without. Not that I could give you any with alcohol in your system anyway.” His annoyance ebbed down slightly as he spoke, giving way to sympathy as he steeled himself for the painful procedure. “The alcohol should help.”
Mike nodded once, signalling that he was ready as he gripped the seat in anticipation, his other hand brought the blunt knife they used to bite down on in between his teeth.
For once he didn’t scream out as he bite into the knife. His tears ran silent as the needle continuously pierced his skin.
For Michelangelo the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotions that threatened to tear him apart from inside his own head.