Summer and Joy

His flesh felt cold and loose, something not alive, but like rubber; wet to the touch from sweat, water and blood. So much blood. It ran down the side of his body onto the muddy stones under his hip to mingle with the rushing water moving through the storm drain. Had it not been raining so hard, they would have never been able to make it out of the compound alive. The blood would have led the soldiers directly to where they were sitting, shivering, huddled tightly together under the highway overpass, just inside a large storm run-off pipe. There was just enough room for them to crouch or sit.

It had taken him several attempts before he got the tourniquet right. His shaking fingers kept slipping. They were numb from the cold and shock. Mikey's gaping, ragged wound coated them in a syrupy waterfall of his precious life's blood. Black and shining in the low light; copper over the scent of their terror and salty sweat; thick in the back of his mouth, tasting like something already dead, acrid. Surreal how it poured out of him. So fast. Challenging Raph with every gush that his brother's fluttering heart beat brought. He knew he'd cut it close. Too close.

The sound of men shouting; the staccato popping of automatic firing; the thunder of explosives detonating and distant screams reached him beyond the sound of the rain falling. He huffed. Maybe it wouldn't matter anyway, though. He looked over the make-shift tourniquet made with a broken branch and his belt. It would have to do. For now. Raph had had his share of injuries in his lifetime, but there had never been one like this. Not like this. Not this bad. Mikey squirmed and Raph covered his mouth as he peeled back his upper lip in a stiff rigor mortis of anguish. Raph's eyes widened. No. He couldn't scream. He knew it hurt like hell, but he couldn't let Mikey scream and alert the soldiers to their hiding spot.

"Shh-shh, Mikey," Raph hissed, his own gore-covered face a mask of remorse and pain.

Mikey shuddered and shook his head miserably, moaning behind his brother's filthy palm. His eyes were clamped shut, his head smashed between the brick ceiling surrounding the pipe and Raphael's bloodied forehead. His whimpering, gasping, and groans were growing louder from behind his hand.

"Be strong. I know it hurts. Be strong," Raph's voice cracked and broke down into a soft whine. He trembled in empathy to his little brother's agony. He choked out, "Keep it together, okay? I've got you. We made it out. You're doin' great. You're doin' real good. Just-Just keep . . . keep quiet."

The panic and fear were running circles just behind his consciousness. He couldn't deal with this, but he had to. He had to keep himself calm, or he'd lose his brother. He took in a breath and blew it out hard, then did it again; trying to remember what Leo told him once about keeping your head under stress of a battle. His thoughts scattered with the image of his older brother, leaving only frustration and hurt in the hollow of his mind and heart.

That dumbass. That stupid fucker. That stupid, stupid, fucker. Dammit. Get it together, Raphie.

Refocusing on Mikey, he pulled back a little. Chest heaving as he brought his temper under control, his good eye scanned over his little brother's pale, grimacing face. Raph ran his hand over the side of Mikey's head, keeping his other hand firmly in place over his brother's mouth. The kid was still freaking. His body was bucking. Don't do this to me, bro. He brought his forehead down again and pressed it gently onto Mikey's. A sob erupted from his throat, choking him. He'd thought he lost him once, when they were caught by the Shredder's men and separated. He thought he'd never see Mikey again. But he fought them. Caught the sharp end of a naginata upside the left portion of his head, but he pushed on. Nearly died to get back to him and rescue him. He couldn't handle it if he lost Mikey after all this. But if he screamed now, they were as good as dead.

"Please, Mikey," he croaked. "Be strong."

He pinched his eyes shut. Struggled against the blackness threatening to take him under. Not yet. Not yet, mother fucker. The situation was so fucked up. The fact that he was being forced to tell his brother not to cry out in pain seemed beyond ludicrous and wrong on too many levels to count. Raph was reeling from his own injuries, but they were nothing. They were nothing compared to Mikey's. His arm had been torn to ribbon-y mess of tendons, shattered bone and mashed muscle; crushed beneath the rolling tracks of an armored vehicle that patrolled the compound in long cramped lines.

Raph had managed to find where they had Mikey. Head partially torn off and stabbed multiple times, he endured the pain and put all of his famous stubbornness to task as he wrestled with staying conscious for however long it took to rescue his little brother. It took his trembling hand more time to swipe the key-card through the slot than it did to fight through the regiments of men he swam through to get there. His dexterity had plummeted. Eventually, he was able to open the cell and get Mikey out. Beaten and half-starved, Raph collected his brother like gathering up a pile of wet laundry. Mikey was too weak to stand. He had to carry him. Cursing low and under his breath, doing his best to ignore the agony shooting through his body from his own torture and near decapitation, Raph managed.

But out in the rain drenched field, there were too many soldiers milling about, too many to avoid without having to crawl through narrow passages between vehicles. Some of the engines were starting to rumble to life; rolling off the grounds to fight in the city. Beyond the expanse of the grounds crowded with the heavily armored, heavily armed tank-like vehicles, lay the tall barbed wire fence. The way to freedom. It was illuminated by the sparse white lights positioned every twenty feet or so. But the light ahead was out.

Raphael hurried on his elbows and knees. Only a few yards. A few yards to the fence where they'd squeeze beneath and head out into the ruins of the city. But as Raph crawled forward, thinking his brother was directly behind him, a dread settled in his stomach. There wasn't a sound so much as an absence of noise. A held breath before the gasp. A frozen second before the terror sets in. When your heart is perched at the very tip of oblivion and even it stops beating to take in the moment.

He glanced over his shoulder. His brother was not behind him. Sure enough, Mikey had fallen behind and as Raph turned his body back to get him, he froze, then scrambled forward; watching in horror as one of the armored cars missed crushing him by inches. One of the links in the track. It pinched and caught his arm. Lodged it firmly and dragged him. Rolling Mikey's arm along with his body up and over and under, twisting his little brother's convulsing body around like a rag doll. His scream was covered by the sound of explosions rocking the nearby neighborhood.

He rushed towards the massive vehicle, grabbed Mikey by the shoulders as his brother writhed, bucked and screamed, thrashing like an animal caught wrong in a snare. Swearing and fumbling, Raph couldn't get him out. Couldn't manage to see where or how he was caught exactly so he could disengaged him. Mikey's eyes rolled back up into his head and shrieked again. Panic overwhelmed him. He had to do something. He had to. So he pulled. There was no way to get his arm loose. He pulled. There was no way to save the limb. He pulled with all his strength.

And Mikey came free. They tumbled back into the frigid mud, rolling under the back of another vehicle as several more lumbered past them. They stayed like that for a few seconds as Raph counted in his head, holding his breath and awaiting the decent of the soldiers upon them. Waited for death to make her appearance at long last. Almost hoping for it. If it hadn't been for the presence of his baby brother there, he would have welcomed it with open fucking arms. An end at last to his misery. An end to the pain. An end to the struggle to survive. To find water that wasn't poisoned. Food that was edible. A place to sleep without jumping at every creaking snip and snap of the wind in the singed, burnt out trees that remained upright.

But he was not alone. And he could not accept death. Not yet. Not yet. He patted his brother's shell. Mikey lay silently and limp over his chest. For a heart-stopping moment, he feared his brother was dead, but upon a closer look, he'd found Mikey had only passed out.

Even Raphael's strength was limited. No matter how angry he was, no matter how he tried to feed it his fury; at the situation, at their torture, at their lives in general, he couldn't go any further. A mere twenty feet out from the compound, less than that from the barbed wire topped fence, his legs gave out. Mikey and he toppled down the sloping embankment, through mud and slick grass, rocks and jutting roots, just as the sirens started to blare behind them. Just as the torrents of men thundered past, searching for them through the storm. No doubt ordered to shoot on sight. They had made it by the skin of their teeth.

He could not let Mikey's pain ruin the only chance they had. Slim and rotten, desperate and pathetic, but it was all they had. And while Mikey still lived, so would Raphael. If only to protect his brother.

"Please, Mikey," Raph murmured as tears, hot against his icy cheek, slipped free.

The terrible pain from the tourniquet must have eased off, for he fell still and finally gave Raph a trembling nod. Raphael removed his hand, and Mikey sighed. Promptly, Raph wrapped his arm back around his brother's shoulders. He knew he had to keep him warm. He was shaking so hard. It was most likely shock. And he knew that could kill Michelangelo. It could kill them both.

The sky beyond the opening of the drainage pipe lit up bright and neon white. Surreal and livid. The rain was a curse and a blessing. If it had been any other month than November, then it would have only served to aid them in their escape from the Shredder's captivity. Instead, they were pelted with ice intermixed with the frigid downpour. The pipe they were hiding in was like a refrigerator, gushing excess rain water from the highway above, icy and brittle against their flesh. Despite doing his best to position them better, both he and Mikey were getting soaked from the knees down. He could barely feel his feet anymore.

Raph settled closer, tucking his dripping legs up and nearer to Mikey's body. Slowly he became aware of his own pain as the initial rush of adrenaline ebbed and receded from his system. He reached up with his left hand and palmed the area where his left eye should have been. The throbbing was a bolt of anguish from the front of his head to the back of his skull. It was gone. He knew.

Mikey gave a short choked bark and Raph started. He sat rigidly, listening. Distantly, he heard the gun fire and was sure it was getting closer. They were trapped. If they could remain undiscovered until morning, then they'd stand a slightly better chance to get further from the compound and head out for a better, safer place to hide and recover. To hide so close from where they had just barely managed to escape from was madness. But this was the best he could do under the circumstances. If Leo were here he could have told him . . . could have given him another choice . . . a better plan. But Leo wasn't with them now and he felt the rage boil up.

Mikey shuddered and reached for his arm again. "Ahngh, Ah."

Raph grabbed his hand, stopping it before it could feel the space where his opposite arm should have been. He rubbed his thumb across the top of Mikey's hand, pressing it to his brother's chest. As quietly as he could, Raph said, "Mikey, ya gotta be quiet, okay?"

Mikey nodded, his face remaining a mask of pain. Eyes closed. Still. He hadn't looked at him since Raph first opened the cell door. A curl of unease worked its way through Raphael's middle.

"Mikey," he whispered, "Can you open your eyes?"

He shook his head. The unease became a crushing grip of terror. Had they blinded him? Had the bastards taken his little brother's sight? Would they have been that cruel? Raph gritted his teeth, breathing shallow and panicked, readying himself to order Mikey to open his eyes and let him see.

But then Mikey said, "Don't want to."

"What?"

He dropped his head. "D-Don't want to."

"Oh, okay." Raph sat back. Not blind, then. Small favors, thank . . . thank whoever the fuck you can for small favors, Raph thought sardonically.

The sound of rain shushed them, muffling the popping and crackle of gun fire and death only a few yards away from where they huddled. Michelangelo rested his head on Raph's chest. Raph held him closer, feeling him shivering hard. Unable to stop himself from shaking. If only he'd thought to grab something they could use for warmth . . . but that was something Leo would have thought of. Again, the anger flooded him. He clenched his swollen jaw.

"Raph, I'm scared."

"It's okay. Don't talk. Just try 'n rest right now."

"I can't."

Raph fidgeted and noticing how he had slipped lower, reached down to reposition his brother's legs up and out of the rushing water; bending the knees up close to his stomach like he was positioning a sleepy toddler. He was weak and limp in Raph's hands. Again, Raph had to fight the fear of losing Mikey. They had to just make it through the night, he was sure. If they just made it through the night, things would be better in the morning. He had to believe that for Mikey's sake. He had to. He'd get him some pain killers, they'd find a safe place to hole up for a while and they'd manage, like they'd been doing. Surviving through the nightmare that made up daily life. Raphael sat back, mouth set in a grim line of determination and Mikey settled once more against him.

"Better?"

"I dunno."

"Well, try 'n rest now."

He was quiet for a few minutes and Raph felt the drugging sense of sleep making his aching body heavy despite part of his mind being trained on the sounds of battle just beyond the soothing thrum of the storm.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"M?" It was getting hard to keep his eye open. Even with the throbbing of his missing eye, the seduction of slumber dragged on his senses.

"Lie to me."

This caught his attention, snapping his body back to being fully awake and aware. "What?"

"Like before."

Raph considered the request. He tilted his head a little and sighed. "Won't do no good, now."

"I know. I don't care."

Raph pressed his mouth into a line and shook his head in the darkness. His throat squeezed tight and he cleared it. Then once more, surprised at the lump that had suddenly formed.

"Okay. Uh . . . Let's see. Um."

"Start with Donnie."

Now his uninjured eye fogged up. He cradled his forehead in his hand and pinched the bridge of his eyes and nose hard, then placed his hand on top of his head. His opposite hand held tightly to Mikey's severed arm, feeling the sticky coating of blood along the edge of the belt he'd used.

"D-Donnie . . . Donnie is uh, Donnie is . . ."

"Please, Raph. I . . . need it."

Raph nodded rapidly. He could do this. For Mikey. He owed it to him, after having done what he did with his arm.

His voice was rough with emotion, thick but steady, "Donnie, if you recall, is at home. You know, in the garage. Like he always is if he's not in his lab. He's making us those new bikes he promised. Fast ones. Sharp ass choppers. Polishing the chrome until it's so shiny it'll blind people when we race past."

A ghost of a smile emerged on Mikey's face, eyes still closed. Raph felt him nod in agreement.

"April's there . . . you know, with him. 'Cuz, uh, they're, uh, together and Casey and him get along like brothers. Casey . . ." He shakes his head but doesn't go on about his departed friend. The man that was like another brother to him for so long that he didn't see him as anything else. Even if Mikey asked him, and he knew his intuitive brother wouldn't, he couldn't have said anything else. Not right now. Not with it being so close to when he lost him.

"But, you know, they're really happy and shit. And always laughing. April . . . April's laugh is nice and it sort of . . . brightens up the garage and Donnie is always smilin' like a goof when she's around. He can't help it, the ass. And Splinter," his voice caught and broke but he pushed past it. The tone rose an octave or two, "Splinter is, uh, meditating in his room and he can't wait until that reunion show. The one with all the people on his favorite show. His stories," he trailed off and laughed. Remembering with a soft shake of his head.

"And Leo?"

Raph licked his bottom lip then chewed on it. The split in the center blossomed with bright pain and Raph latched onto it. Using it to steady himself. He blinked and rubbed Mikey's shoulder roughly. He shook his head, unable to talk. Mikey waited. If he would have pushed, Raph would have dropped it now. But he didn't. It was his little brother's silent patience for the story of lies, the story of comforting, blatant lies to finish. Raph had started it when food was scarce and when Mikey's mood had started to shift into something unrecognizable and bleak. Cynical and cold. He didn't want to lose Mikey. Not in any way. If he was going to survive through this sorry excuse for a life, he needed his little brother intact. As much as possible. So, despite the pain in his chest, he went on.

"Yeah, aheh, yeah. Leo. Leo writes to us every day. He's really good about stuff like that. Always worrying about us. But you know . . . He's off living his life . . . in Japan with . . . with her."

"He's happy." It was not a question.

Raph was silent for a moment, trying to see it. Happiness for his older brother. Even pretending was nearly impossible at this point. His head hurt so much, he just wanted to finish, so he said, "Yeah, Mikey. Really happy." Then, in a moment of humor, he added, "They've got eight kids."

That last remark earned him a breathy sound from his brother. Raph's heart soared as he realized it was a chuckle and that alone made all the discomfort worth it. Now, though, the tears were flowing more freely and as he glanced down, Mikey's eyes were open. Looking up at him. Clear and blue like skies he almost forgot about, but still remembered; skies not marred with artillery smoke and ash, skies like summer and joy. Like his brother's eyes.

"Thank you, Raph."

Raphael's throat worked. "Get some rest."

Mikey nodded and snuggled closer, so much like the kid he once was, it's uncanny. Raph sat listening as the rattle of automatic assault rifles rivaled the thunder that rumbled across the storming sky. And clinging to his brother as he drifted, Raph held onto the lies of comfort he told until eventually, he too, slipped away from the world and when he dreams that night, the gun fire is the sound of his brothers laughing, his father murmuring and above him the wide open sky is filled with summer . . . and joy.

A/N: What did you think of my first ever SAINW fic?

edited the end because apparently, when I'm partially blinded by eye drops I lose the ability to tell present tense from past. Better now. XD