tushanshu_logs

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Characters: Raphael and YOU
Date: Catch-all for End of July and August
Location: Water, Wood, and Metal Sectors
Situation: Just a Turtle doin' his thing
Warnings/Rating: None

Things were getting better, much as Raphael would hate to admit it. Ever since they'd split his family up, ever since Don discovered his new power, things have felt off-kilter. Unbalanced. And that reflected on his own stability.

He started going to the fight ring in the Fire Sector again. Spent weeks stumbling home late at night with cuts and bruises he wouldn't talk about. Disappeared for days. Went quieter than usual, his thoughts turned inward, closely guarded. It's his own way of coping.

Lately, more than ever, he could feel things changing, feel the bones of his family shifting. The growing pains are hard to avoid.

But move on with their own cadence, building a new familiarity around him. Leo comes almost every evening, and they meditate. Talk. He and Mike spend quiet nights over home cooked meals and idle conversation about the kids he teaches at the dojo, the people they've met, and it helps. Makes the chaos in his head go quiet for a little while. The days get longer and hotter, and the heat soothes the aches.

As much as he'd hate to admit it, he hasn't felt this good in a long, long time, and it shows. After a long disappearance, he shows up at the dojo again, hoping he still has a job. Hoping he could pick a fight with Korra like they used to. He starts collecting books about building motorcycles with plenty of diagrams. Even starts gathering a handful of parts. But without Don, he doubts he'll get very far.

But things were getting better. Falling into a new rhythm that hurts a little less each day.

He has to tell himself to enjoy it while it lasts, because he knows all too well how fast these things can change.

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Don doesn't move to follow just yet; his head is still spinning just from standing up.

"Help me out, Raph. What did I do?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he growls, glaring at Don from the corner of his eye. He impatiently nods toward the bathroom door. "Now come on."

Well, okay then. Don moves slowly in the indicated direction, picking his way around the mess on the floor. Something is not right in his head, and the rest of it he doesn't really care about right now.

When he reaches the bathroom, he sits heavily on the toilet, resting his face in the heels of his hands.

Raph takes care of himself first. He looks like something straight out of a horror movie with all the blood on his face and plastron. But it cleans up easy, splashing himself with cold water from the tap, the red giving way to rusty trails swirling toward the drain. It hurts, but he doesn't care.

When he looks halfway decent, he wets a cloth and grabs Don's injured arm, roughly wiping away the blood.

Edited 2014-08-23 04:07 (UTC)

"Ow." Don knocks Raph's hand away, reflex trumping pain for the moment. "I said I'm sorry."

"I don't care," Raph snaps, reaching for him again. "Hold still."

After a quick - if somewhat fuzzy - calculation, Don decides to submit rather than risk being punched in the head again. Whatever he did to deserve this, he will have to be sure not to do it again.

Grabbing his brother's arm again, he mops away the blood enough to get a good look at the cut his sai had carved into his arm. Though Raph's first aid could never be considered gentle, he's not even trying to spare his brother any mercy as he presses the edges of the cut to open it and see its depth.

Yeah, that's gonna need stitches.

Without another word, he starts rummaging through the cabinets in search of the first aid kit Don's sure to have stashed somewhere.

Don swears when Raph jams a thumb into his wound; as soon as Raph turns away, Don attempts to ninja right out of there. It's tough to ninja when you can barely walk in a straight line, though.

He ain't exactly stealthy, either.

"Sit down," he growls, opening another cabinet.

"No."

Don manages to steer himself through the door, and heads for his room. He's not exactly sure what his plan is if he gets there, but it's got to be better than being trapped in the bathroom.

Oh, for cripe's sake.

Raph jogs after Don the second he makes it out the door. It's way too easy to catch up to him, grab him by the arm and try to drag him back to the bathroom.

"I told you to sit down!"

Don struggles a little, but it's obvious he'll lose this fight too, if Raph is serious about dragging him back.

"Knock it off, Raph. I'm fine. I want to know what happened."

Oh, he's serious. Soon as he manages to drag Don back, he closes the door.

"I said I don't wanna talk about it! Now listen to me for once in your freakin' life and sit down!"

"You don't want to talk but I should listen to you?" Don throws up his hands, while remaining defiantly standing. "That's a big help."

Raph's eyes narrow, a dangerous tone in his voice. "You know what I mean."

Just. Fucking sit down.

He starts angrily rifling through the cabinets again. If Don tries to make another break for it, he's pretty sure he could catch up to him over and over again.

"I ain't done with you yet. So sit before I knock you out for real."

Don isn't about to let Raph talk to him that way. "You cannot be serious, the first aid kit is under the sink, and by the way I think you broke my telepathy. I don't know whether I'm hoping it's permanent or not."

Is Don seriously gonna start shit again? Because Raph might've tired himself out on the first round, but he's pretty sure he could win against Don's scrambled eggs for brains.

In one quick movement, Raph stoops to the lower cabinet, snatches out the first aid kit, then rushes to get right up in his brother's face, gesturing angrily.

"Oh, I broke your poor freakin' telepathy. I'm cryin' over here. Really."

"You are the most disrespectful person I've ever met," Don says, as he filches the first-aid kit from under Raph's angry gestures. "Sit."

At least he doesn't put up a fight over the kit.

"Why?" He snarls. "Why should I listen to you? You never listen to me! You don't care what I think! No, you wait 'til I start screamin' like some kind of psychopath, and even then!"

With a frustrated growl, he turns and buries his fist in the wall. As if he hasn't done enough damage for the day.

Don just raises a brow. "Raph, I honestly don't know what you're talking about, and I don't think I did even before you rearranged my neurons. Are you going to tell me, or do you just want to continue carrying on?"

Holy shit, he's gonna lose it. He's gonna seriously fucking lose it.

He shakes his hand free of the clinging bits of plaster, but still looks for all the world like he wants to punch something else.

"You know it's so freakin' convenient that your brain made up that happy little story," he snaps. "Like you and me were gonna have our little race and then what? I just snapped!?"

Don sighs, resting the kit on the edge of the sink and snapping it open. "You must be aware that concussions are often associated with short-term memory loss. So yes, it's likely my brain did make up a story. A more accurate version might come back later, or you could save us both some time and just tell me what really happened."

The room is too small. He can't even pace. Why can't Don understand that he doesn't want to talk about it!?

And now he's talking to him like he's stupid. He knows what a concussion's like, you ass. He's had a billion of them.

Don's obviously fine. He doesn't need or want his help. He doesn't give a crap about anything he wants or thinks. So why's he even sticking around? The door's right there, and everything is telling him to bolt.

"Just forget it. You're so tired of me ordering you around. So how 'bout this? You can take those plans we drew and shove 'em up your ass. My gift to you."

He heads for the door.

"I'm outta here."

"Raph..." Don rubs the bridge between his eyes, his other hand resting among the ointments and bandages. "Just go downstairs for a while, okay? Don't try to hike home like this."

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meanandgreen - 2014-08-24 01:04 (UTC) - Expand

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