tushanshu_logs | I need you. You. You. You. In the Morning. When my soul's on fire!

For a moment, Raph's kind of impressed at how Mike stands up to Leo. And how Leo actually listens, if only partially. He's fighting for him. He's freakin' fighting for him after he pounded his face into the ground in front of a bunch of strangers. Probably almost killed him. And now he's trying to pry Leo off his case.

It almost sucks the anger right out of him, because holy crud.

But it's too easy to fall back into anger. Too easy to keep pouring his hate in Leo's general direction. Though at least his urge to punch him square in the face is ebbing.

Instead, that hand goes for his mug again, taking a defiant slug of his coffee, glaring moodily straight ahead. He wants to eat now. He'll deal with Leo and his bullshit later. He's siding with Mike on this one, and Leo can freakin' deal.

Everyone just needs to leave him the hell alone.

Edited 2014-03-16 06:34 (UTC)

That...actually kind of worked.
Mike honestly wasn't expecting that, and as such it's a little hard for him to keep the pride from his expression. When he turns to fetch the items, he does so with his shoulders squared just that little bit more than usual.

Mike returns with a dishtowel, a container of white vinegar, and a plate of previously cooked but not fully reheated sausage. The plate is gingerly placed in front of Raph. The dishtowel gets a liberal shake of vinegar, before it's wiped across the exposed surface of the table.

He just so happens to hum, "Girl from Ipanema" while he does this.

Leo's a bit ticked off, but he's not unreasonable. He's the intruder here. He'd been scrambling for a foothold in the situation, and he's finally got it; there's no reason to push it more than he already has.

In fact, he's extremely compliant as Mike cleans the table and sets a plate of food in front of Raph, busying himself with organizing the vials in the box in the meantime. May as well let Raph eat in peace while the needle and thread boil. There's no rushing the laws of physics. Besides, now that Leo has established what his actual intentions are, he hopes it'll leave Raph just a little less viable to explode in his direction.

Keyword: hopes.

It works well enough. The second the plate's put in front of him, Raph's tearing into the sausage. He didn't even realize how hungry he was until this minute, and it's almost good enough to diffuse him completely. Eat now, fight later. He can tell Leo's less than happy with this little arrangement, and that only makes things better. Mike took his side. Even after everything, he took his side against Leo and won.

The sausages are lukewarm and it hurts his face to chew, but they taste like victory. It's hard not to forgive Mike after that.

He's starting to feel better already.

Leo's ticked.
Raph's eating.
Mike is getting his way.

He couldn't be more chuffed if he actually was the proverbial cat eating the equally proverbial canary. This, of course, only encourages Mike, who pushes the envelope and takes as much of his sweet time as possible. Something that is sadly cut much too short for his liking by the sound of the water returning to a boil post addition of the needle and thread.

And just when he'd gotten in the swing of savoring his victory over life too.

Mike returns to fetch the needle and thread from the water, leaving the water on to boil for Leo's tea.
...
What? It's sterile.

Some of that stormy aura from Raph seems to diffuse right into Leo as time drags on. It's glaringly obvious that Mike is taking as much time as mutantly possible just to be difficult, and what's worse, he can feel the satisfaction rolling off of Raph in waves.

Yeah, Leonardo is public enemy number one. What else is new?

He tries not to let it get to him. An effort he attempts to sustain by channeling every ounce of his focus into his menial task of sorting the medicine. He takes out the vials, crushed herbs wrapped in paper, and bandages improvised from bits of cloth and blankets, and spreads them out in front of him, arranging them by type, application, color.

He knows a seaweed-haired kedan who works at a clinic, and she has been gracious in supplying them with medical items for a while now. Though the need for such things has decreased ever since they met Korra, it's something he's been grateful for... though one couldn't tell, the way he's glaring down at the supplies as he shuffles them around.

Okay. His mood might be darkening rapidly after all.

Just as Leo's mood begins to darken, Raph's has gotten better exponentially.

So far Leo's the only one mad at him (But what else is new?), he's getting fed, and it feels like he's regained some control of the situation without even trying. Because Mike stood up for him. That's still a hard concept to grasp.

But for now, he's decided to take it as a win. Maybe he'll talk to Mike about it in private later, but probably he won't. At least it doesn't feel like the world's coming to an end anymore.

So he eats his sausage, glaring moodily out of the corner of his eye at Leo doing his OCD thing. And with each passing moment, he feels the heaviness inside him lighten, the panic dull a little more. It's still there, but now at least he can breathe. His whole body hurts, but this is a pain he can bear.

By the time the suture is ready, he's licking the sausage grease from his fingers. (He never did see the point of forks for things like this.) He's still sulking, still not willing to look at anyone for more than a half a second, still hating with his every nerve that Leo's gonna get in his space real soon. But for now, it's okay. Not great, but okay.

Mike trusts Leo to not physically lash out in anger. Lashing out with lectures has always been his oldest brother's retaliation of choice, and he's betting on that being this Leo's particular favorite as well. Either way, he's won this battle, and that's all he really had his sights set on in the first place.

Victory firmly in hand, Mike is all to happy to reclaim his beta male status, and melt into the background, offering help as needed.

"Looks like you two have made up," Leo says suddenly, his voice sickeningly tight. He taps a jar on the table a few times, the sound of glass clacking against wood echoing loudly through the kitchen.

There's no hiding the edge of petulant bitterness in his voice. It's taken him mere minutes to realize one thing: he's on his own now. He's the odd one out now. And as long as the three of them live under one roof, that's how it's going to be.

It's easy for Raph to read into that far deeper than it's intended. So Mike told him. He had to have told him, because there's no way they could be this freakin' obvious. Of course not.

So Leo was letting them sort out their own stuff for once. And for some reason, that pisses him off even more. They were all just playing his little game, weren't they? Let Mike bribe him into not wanting to strangle anyone anymore, and then pounce on him with a lecture.

"Stay out of it, Leo," he rumbles darkly, every inch of him coiling tight as a wire, glaring dangerously at the table. "Just shut up and stay out of it."

Mike's at the stove, his back turned to his cousins. Which is good, because then it means they both can see his reaction to Leonardo's full frontal passive aggression.

No, Leo. Don't do this. Don't break this peace I've only just won. Don't. Please.

And Raph! Don't fall for it. Don't fall into his trap. Don't...no. Please. PLEASE!

His grip on the wooden spoon in his hand tightens.

"Oh? Were Raph and I fighting? I hadn't noticed."

His eyes dart between Mike and Raph, fingers turning white around the glass jar in his hand. This whole ordeal is unbelievable. He's angry at them for stonewalling him, angry at himself for acting like such a child about it, angry at the whole situation. When did it start feeling like he'd lost his place in this household completely?

You know what? Fine. If they were so determined to wrest away the little control he'd fought tooth and nail for, they could have it. He's still acting like a petty brat, but the sting of being shut out curls his tongue and sends stabs of shame through his chest. He expected this from Raph. He just didn't expect Mike to shut him out too.

"My mistake," he grits out like he's spitting gravel. He skids the chair back as though to stand up and leave. "Well then, if everything's under control here, I'm going for a morning run."

Yeah, well Raph's not gonna stop him. It sounds like a great great idea to him. He's not in the mood for Leo and his little mind games right now.

"Great," he rumbles, tightening his grip around his coffee mug before he finishes the rest off in one swallow. He's so tempted to throw a snide mark his way as a little parting gift. But he's dug a deep enough grave for himself already, so for once, he keeps his stinkin' mouth shut. "See ya later."

Mike says nothing until Leo is long gone from the room. He stands motionless at the stove until finally...he breaks.

With a powerful backhand the pots on the stove top are knocked to the floor. The clatter is punctuated by a rare use of profanity.

"FUCK!" he hisses under his breath.

Edited 2014-04-08 18:28 (UTC)

Leo leaving isn't what bothers Raph at all. This time it's Mike and his rare show of temper. The sound of the pans makes him flinch, the sudden movement making his hand throb tenfold. His throat is tight, and there's that sick feeling he always gets when he's fighting with Leo. But this makes it so much worse.

Words press behind his teeth, working his jaw against them. I'm sorry is the first. It just doesn't feel right. Sounds too pathetic in his head. I keep screwing up.

He doesn't mean for things to be this way. He really doesn't. He just... needs space. Needs some time to think before Leo starts forcing him into it.

"He'll be back," is all he can manage. He says it quietly, but the bitter tone is still there.

He braces both arms on either side of the stove, flexes and relaxes his shoulders, and then sighs long and hard.

"that's not the point," he says with resignation in his voice. "The point is that it's my fault. That in true Mikey fashion I've gone and screwed everything all up." The nickname comes laden with rancor and spite.

He sighs again as he releases the stove, and then then turns towards his cousin. All that negative emotion is gone from his expression, repressed back to where it belongs: out of sight.

"Here, lemme look at your hand."

Did Mikey just take the blame for something? Seriously?

If there was ever any evidene before that this Mike is nowhere near his own, it's this. His Mikey would've brushed this whole thing off in a heartbeat. Probably would've pouted around until he and Leo managed to sort things out on their own. Then it'd be back to the jokes and the teasing in no time.

That's just how it worked. His brother cared in his own annoying, infuriating, freaking selfish way. But he always did care.

This Mike isn't his brother. He never was. But if all of this has proven anything, it's that despite all their differences, he's still family. He still cares for him and Leo just as much as their own brother ever would. And over time, Raph's come to do the same.

Over time, he's come view Mike with the same fierce sense of love and loyalty he feels for all of his brothers. And that's a feeling no amount of broken trust could ever destroy.

It's the only reason Raph surrenders his personal space, placing his mug back down with a heavy click of ceramic. When he pulls off the ice pack covering his hand, he clenches his teeth. His tight expression pulls at the open wounds on his face.

"I think it's busted," he murmurs bitterly, more mad at himself than anything.

There are still a million words trying to claw their way from his mouth. Too many excuses, and more apologies than he could ever put into words. But all they do is make his throat tighten, his jaw clamped down like a steel trap.

It's too hard to find the words. To say what he really means. Too hard to talk when he's too busy listening to the howling storm, the thing that's tearing him from the inside-out.

His knuckles are swollen huge and bruised a deep purple-black. There's no questioning they're broken. Raph's done it to himself enough times to know.

It hurts like hell and he feels like he deserves every second of it.

Edited 2014-04-09 08:23 (UTC)

"Really? You think?" he quips easily, taking Leo's seat at the table. It's an attempt at a joke, something to lighten things back up and move a step closer to normalcy.

His lips press together in concentration as he takes his first up close look at Raph's hand since nearly being brained by it. It doesn't look good, and from the looks of things, it must feel even worse.

"Whelp, there's only one thing that can be done for this. We're going to have to amputate."

He looks up to meet his cousin eye to eye, and offers him a lop-sided smirk that looks a whole lot more genuine than the one he had before sitting down.

"Hold still, I'll get the pizza cutter."

The look of annoyance crossing over Raph's expression is just about as harmless as it can get. Mike's trying to lighten things up, he knows that. It's kind of a lame attempt, but you gotta give the guy credit. And it does work to some degree.

"Yeah, that's real funny," he drawls, throwing Mike an incredulous sideways glance. He's still having a hard time looking anyone in the eye, especially Mike. It's easier to just keep his eyes on his busted hand. "Just bind it up and it'll heal."

Depending on the level of damage, that might be just what a doctor would order. Nothing a few weeks of taking it easy, anti-inflammatories, and a bit of masking tape wouldn't cure. That is, if they had human hands. Kind of hard to Buddy Tape fingers when you've only got three.

And that's really only if the bones are still where they're supposed to be and the breaks themselves are closed.

"What's your range of motion been like? Any loss? Anything you haven't felt before?"

Because he's Raph, so clearly he's busted a hand at least once before. While he waits for his cousins grudging reply, he begins to palpate one of his hands with the other, committing to memory what the arrangement of bones and ligaments is supposed to feel like. Maybe even preparing Raph for the inevitable setting of his hand, should that need to happen.

Wrapping it up is just the easy fix. It's the type of first aid he'd do. So it might not be the right way to do it, but it's quick and it's fast and he doesn't really care. He did this to himself. He's not too focused on fixing it.

"No," he says vaguely, though he doesn't give it much thought. It honestly hurts too much to tell, and he hasn't really tried to move it. There has been some pins and needles in his fingertips, but he's done his best to ignore that. He's had bigger things on his mind.

And here's another weird thing: Mike's good at this. He can already tell. Not that his Mike isn't incapable of basic first aid. They all are to some degree. It's just that his brother's always been, well, kinda squeamish around this kind of thing. But Mike... he's reminding him more of Don right now than anything, and it's really making him miss his brother. Though at least he's not expecting the usual lecture.

You have to take care of yourself. You have to stop doing this. I'm tired of fixing you up like this. Blah blah blah.

"No?" Mike repeats with as much of an impersonation of cousin's vague tone as he can cobble together on short notice. He looks back up at Raph, one brow ridge raised ever so slightly in a challenge.

Everything Mike knows about triage he learned from Splinter, and considering how much trouble he and his own Raph got into as kids...it's surprising the two of them aren't both doctors by now. Or at very least veterinarians.

"You really aren't going to make me say it, aren't you."

He shouldn't have to. Raph is a master of the sai, a weapon damn near designed to bust wrists, effectively crippling swordsman with a simple twist and pop.

It's a combination of his incredibly thick skull and his ever-frustrating, oh-so-reliable deflecting tactic of playing dumb that has his brow furrowing. But he still won't lift his eyes. No, that confused, ornery look gets thrown right at the table.

"Say what?" He mumbles, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

Shouldn't, but still does. That...that's Raph in a nutshell. If ever Mike learns how to embroider, he's going to put that on a pillow.

Mike sighs.
"Nerve Damage and you? A five part mini-series? I'm pretty sure you narrate it, actually."

Finally, his eyes leave the table, sucking in a breath through his teeth like it stings. It's obvious, but it does sting. This is the kind of thing he's trying not to think about.

Still, he keeps his head turned from Mike, looking off to a corner somewhere to keep him from reading his expression. For a minute, he works his jaw, thinking.

"So?" He grits out. So what if he loses it? So what if he can't use his sai anymore. So what? He doesn't care about himself right now. He's a giant hunk of shit for all he cares, and Mike shouldn't even be this nice to him right now.

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