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Raph

Raph started to make his way back to his room. During the fifty second duration period, he thought nothing other than what he and his father talked about. He didn't realize how almost difficult it was to mention his mother; his father usually had to be the one to do it first. After her passing, his father did whatever he could to make sure Raph and his siblings didn't drift away from their mother— that included talking about her (especially that), praying at her shrine together, and keeping pictures to look back on precious memories. It was hard, of course, knowing your mother's existence was now intangible; the only way to 'see' and 'feel' her was either through photos or watching old videos from a camcorder.

Throughout these years, Raph felt like he was running into guardrails, like something was preventing him from moving on. It was beyond frustrating— knowing why those guardrails kept appearing, but also realizing the solution was quite literally out of his grasp. Close, but no cigar.

When he arrived upstairs, he found something he wasn't expecting: a plate with a delicious-looking toasted sandwich placed on the floor directly in front of his bedroom door. Raph could tell it was made just recently. But why would anyone leave this for him?

As he wondered, he saw Mikey leaving his room, wearing headphones and lip-synching to whatever song he was listening to and dancing his ass off— all at the same time. Mikey must've had the volume turned all the way up because Raph could hear the lyrics and in a matter of seconds, guess what song was playing.

"Mikey?" Raph said. Mikey was doing some feet shuffling. Raph approached his brother and snapped his fingers. "Mikey!" Now Mikey was twerking. Oh, geez. Since nothing was working, Raph tipped Mikey's headphones back; no more pretending to be Beyoncé. No more pretending to be one of her backup dancers.

"Hey!" Mikey exclaimed. He picked up his headphones, glaring at Raph. "You cut me off at the best part, dude!"

"I just saved you from catching a bad case of tinnitus," Raph said. "You can thank me later."

Mikey stuck his tongue out. "You're just jealous because you know you can't shake it like you're supposed to."

"Shake it? I assure you, my ass outranks yours."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it. Right now."

Raph rolled his eyes. "I didn't come to you for a dance battle."

Mikey scoffed. "Just as I thought."

"Did you leave that there?" Raph asked before Mikey could resume what he was doing. When Mikey blinked, Raph groaned. He pointed to the sandwich.

"Oh," Mikey realized. "Is that supposed to be for you?"

"Well, it was left at my door so. . . I guess so? But just answer the question."

"If you're asking if I made it just for you, then no. I mean, not that I wouldn't ever make anything for you, but I definitely didn't put that sandwich together. . ." There was a sparkle in Mikey's eyes, the same sparkle that appeared whenever he stared into the eyes of his three main food groups— crust, custard, and cone. "Say, if you're not going to eat it, though. . ." He slowly outstretched a hand in the direction of the sandwich.

Raph frowned. He immediately put himself between Mikey and the sandwich as if he were Wall Sina. "Don't even think about it." That sandwich was clearly intended for him, which meant the only one allowed to eat it was him. No one else.

The sparkle vaporized from Mikey's eyes. He now looked bored. "Whatever, dude." He put back his headphones on. Instead of hearing Single Ladies blaring, Raph heard Billie Jean. "Who needs sandwiches anyway. . ." he muttered as he started moonwalking toward the stairs, probably in pursuit to the fridge to find something for his tummy.

Raph was stumped. Mikey was his best guess; if he didn't do it, then who did?

Around the corner, a voice answered as though it had been reading Raph's mind: "Peanut-butter-banana-and-honey sandwich, toasted. Your go-to snack every time when you were a kid."

Raph turned to the source of the noise, surprised when he saw a pair of legs step out from its hiding spot, which were obviously attached to a body and that body was attached to a head— Leo's head, to be precise. He stared at Raph, arms crossed and tilted head, as if he were awaiting Raph's next move.

"My favorite," Raph said. "However did you find out?" He asked with a sarcastic undertone.

"Because I know you so well," Leo replied, using the same amount of sarcasm.

"Never thought you'd pull a Mikey on me— trying to bribe me with food."

Leo shrugged. "Figured you were hungry, y'know? You were stuck in your room all morning."

"Oh. . ." Raph scratched his nape. "Well, you didn't have to. I'm not that—" he was interrupted by the growling noises coming from his stomach. He looked down at his feet sheepishly. Damn you.

Leo smiled. "Riiight. And those are most certainly not hunger pangs."

Raph scowled, but he was blushing a little. "Okay, well, what do you want from me? To take the sandwich and invite you to my room so we can talk?"

"That would be nice, yeah."

Raph rolled his eyes, but he didn't exactly object. He picked up his sandwich and with a nod of his head, instructed Leo to follow him back to his room. When inside, Raph shut his door and set the plated sandwich on top of his dresser. Leo went up to Spike's tank and said hello to the little turtle. Both Raph and Leo then proceeded to sit on the bed in silence. It was obvious neither one knew who should start or where; well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. Leo always knew where to start because the true Leo would always know what to say. Raph thought Leo was just waiting for him to speak first so he could admit he was in the wrong and his big brother was right (as always).

But to his surprise: "I should've listened." Those three words that came out of Leo's mouth had Raph leaving his mouth open agape.

Leo sighed, grazing his fingertips over his knuckles. "I should've listened to you explain, at least. I had a feeling deep down you had a reason for doing what you did, but the way things happened yesterday felt all too familiar and I. . . snapped. I don't want a repeat of. . ." he left it at that.

Raph pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he felt like shit. How was too busy thinking about his feelings and the mission that he never once thought about how the certain patterns could possibly resurface bad memories for Leo. The last time he lied about his whereabouts to sneak into someplace ended in more than a catastrophe— almost a tragedy.

"I know," Raph said. He prayed to God that such a thing would never happen again. "You were right. I wasn't thinking— which I know is a shitty excuse and any lawyer would tear me apart in court if they heard that— but all that really mattered to me was getting a lead. All that really mattered was helping Talia."

After repeating what he told his father earlier, everything about Leo's gaze softened. He nodded empathetically. "I get it, Raph. I really do. But why didn't you come to me or any of us about it?"

Raph turned his head away from Leo's view. He could his heart growing tighter and tighter. He didn't want Leo to read his face. He didn't want to give Leo a chance to pick up on clues and draw conclusions. He couldn't. If he did. . .

"I. . . I don't know. I guess I couldn't bring myself to do it," Raph said. He hoped Leo would be satisfied with that answer, but then again he knew Leo long enough to know that Leo did not get along with short and uncertain answers. He needed the full story.

"You can say you miss her, Raph," Leo said softly. "I miss her, too."

Raph rubbed his jaw. His other hand clenched the bedspread tightly. "If she came back to life and walked into this house right now, what do you think her reaction would be?"

"Probably relieved that Dad got rid of those hideous green couches. She had been telling him for years."

That caused Raph to smile a little. If their father told their mother white, she would tell him black. "Or be shocked after hearing the number of times Donnie had to fix the toaster because you broke it."

"It's not my fault!" Leo defended, but he, too, was smiling. "Toasters just don't like me for some reason."

"Oh, sure, the 'killer' toaster comes alive at night and torments you in your sleep," Raph smirked. "Just when it couldn't get any wilder."

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I sure as hell am."

Leo scoffed but then went silent. It took him a few seconds for him to start talking again. "This feels good, you know? Talking about her. It's been a while."

". . . Yeah, it has." Raph swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat. "Anyway. . . sorry I was acting like a brat last night. You had every right. Oh, and about the fake-crap sympathy stuff I said. . . don't listen to me on that. No matter how anyone sees it, it was my fault. It was my stupid decisions that practically led you into the lion's den."

Raph then felt something firm on his shoulder. He knew immediately it was Leo's hand. Leo sighed, then said, "Yes, you made a mistake, but you didn't know any better. In the end, it was all about coercion and making threats on your life— none of which was your fault. And about me. . . I made my decision, Raph. I don't regret it."

"How?" Raph asked in an almost glum voice. "When you could've died?"

"Anything to make sure you didn't take the hit." Leo clutched Raph's shoulder a little more tighter in order to force Raph to look at him. When he did, he saw the steady look Leo was giving him and the look in his eyes— a look that told him he would do it again in a heartbeat if he had to. Raph wished he wouldn't. He wasn't going to let any more blows meant for him strike his older brother. He couldn't lose Leo again.

"You shouldn't have," Raph said brusquely. "I could and still can take care of myself."

"Raph, it's not about whether you can protect yourself or not. It's about making decisions quickly and my responsibility as your older brother; whether you accept it or not, you were in that moment, in that room, my responsibility."

Raph didn't say anything. He only stared at the 'Y-shaped' shaped crack in the wall. Maybe one day he would believe Leo.

"Since we now talked this out like adults," Raph said, "let's just shake hands and un-fuck-off you or whatever."

Leo snorted. "You really need to work on your apologies, man."

Raph stomped his foot, feeling his face grow hot. He tried again: "I. . . am. . . sorry. . ." He struggled to get the words out.

Leo shrugged but revealed a tiny smile. "E for effort. But you're forgiven."

"You loved watching that, didn't you?"

"Oh, without a doubt. But seriously, promise me—" Leo's eyes squinted forcefully, "—no more going behind our backs to find intel. That's why you have your family to help you out for that."

Raph knew he didn't have the best track record at keeping promises, but the almost pleading look Leo was giving him made it nearly impossible for him to say no. Unlike the other promises he let fall and break, this was one he had to attempt to preserve.

"I—I promise." Raph nodded.

Leo hummed, sliding off the bed. "The results for that green powder should be ready soon, so just make sure you're present."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Leo headed for the door, but before turning the knob said, "Raph." Raph looked at Leo, blinking. Leo smiled warmly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

The warped facial expressions on Leo's face gave Raph his answer. In that moment he understood. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Right back at you."

Another smile. Leo left the room, leaving Raph to stare at his plated sandwich. His stomach growled again. He grabbed it and took a bite, the combination of chewy banana slices and creamy peanut butter hitting all the spots that hadn't been hit in quite a while. He instantly feeling a flurry of emotions— both bitter and sweet— curdling inside of him. When was the last time he had one of these?

It tasted like coming home after school and finding his mother fixing the sandwich together and then eating it while she listened to how his day went. But it also tasted like the day he first ate a slice since the funeral, knowing it could never be prepared the same way again.