C u r t a i n

Michelangelo

It happened two days ago. My brothers and I had been watching TV. It was one of those cheesy horror flicks (The kind I love, you know?) The ones with monsters and the screaming damsels-in-distress and such. I forget which one it was, but then again, it isn't really important anymore. Raph was sitting next to me, doing that thing that people do when they're half asleep, sort of slumped against my shoulder. Leo was sitting in one of our armchairs, just a little away from us and Don was sitting next to me.

When Raphael sat up, I didn't think anything of it at the time. I knew that his arm felt rigid where it was pressed against mine, his whole body tense. But maybe I'm just making that up, now that I know what I do, know that I know what was about to happen. Maybe I'm just trying to justify things. I think Donnie is trying to do that too, but he's too smart, he can't kid himself like I can. But maybe I can't lie to myself either, I can't tell.

And then there's Leonardo. I think Leonardo is trying to justify everything too, give it meaning, give it reason… But I can't really tell with him. You can never tell with Leonardo.

At the time, I was too engrossed with the movie to reallyregister what was happening. All I noticed was that at first everything was still and then Raphael moved; it was this jerky, almost spastic, twitch.

I remember turning to look at him then, maybe to make some off handed comment, I don't know. Again, it's not really important anymore.

Originally, I thought that none of us saw what was happening. At least, not at first, not until after. But now I think that Leonardo saw, because in the end it was Leonardo that stopped him.

One moment Leonardo had this sort of horrifiedlook on his face. He looked like he couldn't quite grasp what was happening, like he was in some kind of shock. But again, my mind could just be fabricating things, now that I know more.

Then Leonardo was launching himself at Raphael and the next minute they were lying on the floor, in a tangle of arms and legs, and I could see Raphael's sai poking from under them. I could see something wet, shiny and slick on the tip. It was red and I realized that it was blood.

Donatello reacted faster than me. While I was still sitting on the couch, dazed, useless, and gaping in shock, Donatello was at their side, pushing them away from each other, checking them for injuries. Leonardo was breathing heavily, giving Raphael a look that I couldn't quite place. His hands were fisted and his knuckles were white. I had a second to wonder what exactly that look meant, but not more than a moment. After all, it wasn't him that I was focused on.

The one thing that I remember best, remember with complete clarity, was the look on Raphael's face right at thatmoment. He was lying half-sprawled against the couch, one arm tucked to his chest, one leg bent.

He was pale. Pale and clammy. I remember, he was looking at his left hand with wide eyes, touching the gash that bled against his palm, dripping through his fingers. And at that moment, I remember, he looked like all the life had been sucked out of his world. I remember, because it was also the first time I have ever seen my brother look truly terrified.

*0*

"I think you're over reacting Leo."

"Over reacting? Raphael just tried to…You think I'm over reacting?"

I stayed still, crouched against the wall, just out of view of the kitchen and their occupants. In this case, they were my brothers and I could see their shadows falling in the light on the floor.

"We don't know what happened Leo." Donatello. Always the rational one, the calm one.

"We know exactly what happened Donatello!" I didn't like the sound of Leonardo's tone. It was cold. Colder than I can ever remember him sounding, "We know what he tried to do and now he's alone in his room!" I could see Leonardo's shadow raise its hands, gesturing wildly, "Alone!"

"And what do you think he's gonna do, huh?"

"I wonder."

They were both sounding angry now, but it was probably the stress. This could take its toll on anyone. I could feel my own hands shaking, trembling and damp, and I shoved them between my knees.

"Look Leo. We need to hear everything before we jump to conclusions."

"Raphael…" Leonardo sounded calm again, and for some reason, that scared me, "Raphael had a bladeat his throat and if I hadn't stopped him he would have…"

All of a sudden, my brother sounded choked up, but not like he was crying, more like the words got stuck in his throat and he couldn't quite force them all the way up.

"Leo."

Leonardo takes a deep breath, "Okay. Okay we'll talk to him."

"Later?" It's not really a question.

After a long moment, Leonardo concedes, "I'll talk to him later."

Only when Leonardo's shadow moves, begins to grow bigger, do I realize my mistake. Cursing under my breath, I pull myself closer to the wall. Stupid, stupid,stupid!

As Leo strides out through the door, I see him pause. He looks straight into the shadows, right in my direction. It's just a casual glance, but somehow, he has me pinned to the floor. I don't move, just sit there, not daring to breath, not daring to wipe the drops gathering on my brow even as my leg muscles ache from lack of movement.

Then he nods. It's almost unperceivable but I catch it. He looks up once, in the direction of Raphael's door, and then back at me. After another second of just standing there, staring, he leaves.

But my job is clear.

Raphael

My bandana feels soft in my hand, supple. I twist it around my fingers, letting it drip from my hands. There's a dark stain on it, but it sort of blends with the color. I see an oil stain next to it, at the place where the fabric tapers. Oil and blood. Not an unusual combination. Accidents happen in the kitchen. Accidents happen on bikes, in garages. Accidents happen everywhere.

If only this were an accident too.

What do you say? When you know that something is real, when you know that the things in your dreams, in your nightmares, in your headare real. What do you do when you know that your time is running out and you're clinging to the last freaking strands but they're snapping, you're snapping and you don't know what to do?

You wait. You sit and wait and hope to God that somehow everything will turn itself around. But when has that ever worked? I can't just sit here and wait, just sit here and do absolutely nothing.

My brothers always said that attitude would get me killed. Now, I reckon it may just be the thing that saves my life. Ifthere is a way. And therehas to be a way. I wish I could think clearly, like Donnie or Leo. Don would have a logical, scientific reason for this, he would have something that could explain what is happening to me, or at least have medication, treatment, something that could fixit. Leonardo has all his spiritual shit that he loves so much. He could come up with something.

I don't feel like myself. I can't think straight. I can't think. Wonder what Mike would say about that.

I'm so, so tired. But when I sleep, he's there. When I sleep, it's game over and I don'twant to loose. I won't.

I wonder what they think about me, my family. I wonder if they think I'm crazy, if they think I'm some suicidal freak. I wonder if Leo knows how damn grateful I am that he stopped him, stopped me. I know I won't get around to telling him, that bastard is too ego-freaking-tistical to start with, but I wonder if he picked up on it. That blade was close. So very, very close and I rub my eyes. They hurt.

I wonder if I'm really worried about anything, everything…

I decide that I should be, but I'm just too damn tired to care.

Michelangelo

I've always wondered how Master splinter got all of his fur to dry so fast. Always. I would go ask him, if he were here. He's not though, he's at the Daimio. I wonder if I could call him, ask him. I doubt it, I think Leonardo would throw a hissy. Right now though, anything is more inviting than opening this door.

The door is brown, dark, and I trace my finger across it, across the scars in the wood. I know Raphael has thrown things at his door before. It's no secrete. It happens when he gets home late, chucking things, swearing, some more loud noises, swearing some more and then everything is quiet again. He hasn't been doing that too often lately. Not to say he's gone to bed early, but he hasn't really left the lair. He had a bout about a week ago when he drove Leo crazy and then he just stopped. I don't know if I like it and I keep thinking- what if it was all a build up to this? And then I wonder what this is.

I wonder if this is procrastination. Isn't that one of the seven deadly sins? Or it is sloth? I forget.

Risk Heavens fury, or open that door and face my brother?

I can feel perspiration on my brow and I wipe it away, almost irritably.

I wonder why he did it.

I haven't thought about it before, which is weird. I just sort of assumed that there was some logical explanation. But what it there isn't? Do I want to hear that? Do I want to know why? I wonder if Leonardo is right, or if his judgment clouded by whatever I saw in his eyes. Or is Donatello right to trust Raph? I don't know, but suddenly I'm scared. My eyes dart to the door and back down the passage. I know I can't dawdle too long. If Donatello should walk down here, he'll probably ask me what I'm doing, and knowing me, I'd spill everything and end up blubbing on the couch. I don't want that. Not today, I don't think it would be very good for me, or Leonardo.

Leonardo.

I remember the way he looked at me, looked at Raphael. I think that look might have been pressure, it might have been pressure and responsibility crumbling around his ears as he sat there, helpless to do anything.

I think I know how he feels. There's a rope around my chest, my lungs, my heart, that is making me feel the same way. It's made out of terrible, terrible emotions that no one ever wants. And I think Leonardo has one too. But I cant be sure. One can never be sure.

My hand has found its way to the handle now. My fingers twitch, electric. It takes me a while to get it together, to pull that handle down and give the door that final push.

When I finally do, I am greeted by darkness.

The room smells of something stale, something almost coppery. I wonder, for a moment, what it is, before I click. Of course, he went straight to his room, he probably didn't even think to look at his hand or stop the bleeding. On top of that I can smell cinnamon and something spicy, something strong. It smells like my brother and I take a tentative step forward.

"Raph?"

No answer and I feel a lump rise in my throat.

"Raphael?"

A few more steps in and my eyes have adjusted. I can see him now, sitting slumped over on the edge of his bed. He's okay and relief, sick, traitorous relief, bubbles in my chest. What did I think he was going to do?

He looks up, but his movements are slow, uncoordinated almost and his eyes are bloodshot as they meet mine, "What?"

His words are lacking something, that hard, sarcastic bite. No one goes into Raphael's room without reason, if you do, you get your head bitten off. It's just this thing he has with his privacy. But now, he doesn't seem to care and I think that scares me the most.

I swallow, "Raph, what was that?" No niceties. Maybe not the best tactic. I don't move closer, or back away, I don't sit beside him, or crouch on the floor. I just stay still, waiting for him to say something, anything.

When he speaks, his voice is low, hoarse, and I can tell that he's testing the waters, "What?"

"You know what." My own tone surprises me, and from the look on his face, it surprises Raphael too.

"I don't know."

I laugh, but there's something bitter, hard and dormant that makes itself known, "You don't know?"

Raphael shakes his head and the rope that is coiled around my chest squeezes that much tighter.

But still, I laugh, because it's all i can do.

I don't want to give too much away. Thanks so much for reading this, I appreciate it. Also: Standard. I do not own TMNT and none of the comments in the fic are meant to offend anyone in anyway.

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