Title: 100 Miles and Runnin'

Summary: Mike's name is a synonym for "trouble"; Raph knows this too well. The debt collectors, the one in debt, and the one in debt's older brother. Human AU, around the ages of 23 and 26. Title has very little to do with oneshot, I was just listening to NWA when I opened the doc and thought it'd be a fun title.

Version/s: 2k3/2k7, 2k12, 2k14/2k16

Author: Nukas/bozanga

Technicalities Gutter: I don't own the turtles, buddy, or Niggaz Wit Attitude's 100 Miles and Runnin'. #missmewiththatlegaltroublebullshit

Warnings: Mentions of drug usage/alcohol, violence, my usual amount of cussing, and 100 miles of running. No, seriously, this short ass piece of work's main ex machina is Mike being chased.

Notes: Nothing except for stay safe during the outbreak and stay indoors! This is where me and all my fellow introverts/anti-socials thrive, but on a more serious note, stay away from others, even in your own home, and stay up to date about the current situation (both in your hometown and globally). Knowledge is key as with anything :)

Mike knew he still had his agility somewhere. Sure, he didn't exactly plan to prove he was still fit by running from collectors who wanted his dead body lined in chalk, but it works.

Okay, and maybe going to his favorite lounge (the same one where he does all his gambles and gets insanely fucked up at) a second time after he went the first time and saw them patrolling for him wasn't a smart idea. Well, definitely not his smartest anyways.

He grunted and his ever-present smile slipped up a little. It didn't feel right with it off his face though, so Mike pressed it right back on after he hauled his body over the alley fence, ignoring the taste of the blood from his nose. He had a feeling he looked like shit; one swollen eye, a busted nose, an even more busted right hand. His sneakers hit the wet concrete but he didn't slip and fall victim to his trademark clumsiness for once. They were right on his ass - and Mike'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared. They had guns. Connections too, sure, but guns.

He could handle a fist fight or even a knife fight, but Mike wasn't as dumb as other people thought; he knew he couldn't win a gun fight.

"He turned!"

"Cut 'im off!

"Get that fuckin' bitch, I wan'im dead!"

His sleek black jacket got snagged on the fence, but he hardly noticed. The rip in his under arm's sleeve was long enough to show the pink mesh t-shirt beneath it, making him easier to spot in the dark city.

His one honey brown eye that wasn't swollen shut was having a hard time deciding if it should look behind him or look ahead and the dark brown, bunched-up curly nest atop his head had these annoying curls that kept falling into his field of vision. He looked back to see them hopping the face, hot on his heels.

He looked forwards just in time to realize that his sneakers were hitting sidewalk pavement and stepping off of said pavement to-

Holy shit, all of a sudden he was running through traffic. Horns, tire screeches, insults, curses, and so much more noise was lost to Mike. All he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, the blood pumping through his body. Adrenaline took hold of him and his mind was completely silent, his only thought that of surviving all and any oncoming traffic.

He was in full sprint when the soles of one of his sneaks finally hit the curb and sprung the rest of his body onwards. He knew he had some distance between them already, but he wanted to be extra sure. Plus, he also knew that if he kept going straight on this street, he'd hit a subway station. He could hop on one and hide in the crowd so he could call the only brother that he knew was still in New York.

Every step he took propelled his body weight forwards and kept him moving. If he had to stop for anything, he probably wouldn't be able to get running again. Momentum felt like it was the only thing Mike had going for himself at the moment and he didn't feel like losing that too.

Sure enough, he reached the station's steps leading to the underground. In the back of his head, he felt bad for shoving past people and jumping over turnstiles and railings, but his life was kind of a thing of importance, and his instinct to survive overcame his mannerisms. He threw himself into the first subway he could, and only when he locked his clammy palms onto the steel pole and turned to look at the closing door did he see Marco's debt collectors just barely making it down the steps.

"Hey, kiddo, you alright there?"

"W-what? Uh? Oh...oh yeah, yeah I'm good. Thanks," he mumbled breathlessly, panting and finally realizing how much he felt like he looked. The man raised an eyebrow but turned his head to look somewhere else, realizing Mike wasn't a victim per se. This was the kid's own undoing.

Mike chuckled humorlessly at that thought.

It was true. He could've made better life decisions; Lord knew he was a purebred fuck up in a family of succession. He leaned his head against the pole in exhaustion when all his pain began to catch up with him. He dodged the glances from strangers and leaned a little more heavily on his trusty rod, then shoved away his inner Donny's lecture on all the germs probably swarming said pole.

It took him two stops for him to gain his bearings and overcome the pain enough to reach into the dirty, once-treasured black pants he loved so much to retrieve his phone. He couldn't help the instinctive mini-roar that came out of the back of his throat when his one good eye landed on the obliterated screen. If he wasn't so fucking pissed, he'd laugh to himself about how much he sounds like Raph. He didn't care that people jumped and seemed to edge ever-so-carefully away from him when he sent it flying to the floor. It shattered into pieces.

'Just like my life…' he couldn't help the pessimistic thought from drifting into his mind. He was left panting a bit again from the amount of strength he sent into his toss. Another stop later and Mike was left reflecting on his most-times-self-destructive-but-occasionally-others-destructive mood and decided to come out of it. He could pity himself later; he had even more problems to deal with.

Firstly, he didn't even check to see if the phone would turn on. He just smashed it. Next, he had his injuries; his nose and eye no doubt made him look nasty as fuck but it wasn't something that needed immediate attention. His hand however? He should probably take it to the ER or his older brother; both were equally good choices and equally terrifying. He used his hand way too much during his mad dash through the alleyways after it got wrecked when he first aimed a fist at one of those guys but missed and hit the brick wall directly behind him. The appendage could be classified as mangled.

Then, there was even getting anywhere. He didn't know where the nearest hospital was and had no way to call anyone now. Hell, he didn't even know where the nearest payphone was, let alone where he'd get the change to make a call on one.

Finally, what in the all-mighty fuck was he going to tell Raph? Even if he managed to find an ER and got there without his brother knowing, he'd still have to return back to the apartment they shared because he was a useless freeloader that still needed to live with his big brother until he got back up on his feet; for the fourth time since he dropped out of college and lost his dorm.

God, what was he doing with his life?

His one eye opened and drifted lazily to his left to look at the nice guy who had originally asked him if he was okay. He looked a lot less inviting now, probably because of Mike's public lethal assault on his phone, but at least acknowledged his presence when he cleared his throat pointedly towards him.

"Hey, uh, dude...can I borrow your phone?" His voice was raw and hoarse and the man's face screamed, "Oh god no, I don't want it to end up like yours, you phone beater." Mike just kept his eyes eye locked on the man's and followed through with his question.

The poor guy looked torn between saying what he felt and being polite. Eventually, words spoken out of pure, unadulterated fear left his mouth, "Um, sure…"

He must've looked worse than he thought.

Raph should've known who was calling but every once in a while he liked to have better expectations for his brother.

"What have ya done now?" He didn't need to ask. Different number or not, he was used to his brother always calling from another hook-up's phone or something or other.

"R-Raphie, can you pick me up? Please?"

"...what happened?"

"Just come and I'll expl-"

"I deserve an explanation, Mike. I ain't supposed to be used to you being missin' at ten in tha night."

"I-I'm sorry...I...fuck..." Raph didn't expect his brother's initially pissed off tone to melt into being close to tears. Raph was used to getting his brother out of trouble and that job often got him used to Mike's various emotions. The reckless abandon when he was way too drunk and became oddly down to fight anyone and everyone. The lazy, lost-in-space kind of drowsy that came from too much weed, which would knock his brother out on the nights when even his nightly ASMR couldn't get him to sleep. The I don't know where I am, nightmare of one day finding his brother roofied and taken advantage of mood that Raph's found his brother in one-too-many-times in the early morning half-way across the city.

Then there's the mood like the one Mike is currently in. The one where he's had a horrible day and about ready to crumble where he's standing, so Raph has to rush his ass to wherever his baby brother is so he can carry him home before he does something dumb.

"Where you at? Mike?" he couldn't help the tiny explosions of panic in his chest. He never liked this about his brother; the substance abuse and partying. The gambling and odd jobs for income. The new partner every other night or so because Mike's too afraid to commit to another soul after that motherfucker left him in a hospital bed.

"I'll get off - I'll get off at, uh, that stop, uh, fuck, what's it called? It's the next one. Um…"

"Buddy, now ain't tha time to be scatter-brained," Raph tried his best to be gentle in his reminder, but it didn't come off as such. His voice was naturally harsh, sue him.

"M-Main...can you pick me up at Main?"

"Gimme thirty minutes, 'kay?"

"I-I don't have…" Raph didn't like his brother's trail off, "...alright. Um, see you in thirty."

Raph could just barely make out his younger brother's form slouched against the side of a building about two blocks down from the station. If he hadn't caught a glimpse of his adoptive brother's flashy pink shirt, he would've thought Mike wasn't there.

Raph's world did a whole 360 when his brother entered the car. There was only one word to describe Raph's mind when he saw his brother's appearance; rage. Who the fuck hurt him? Left his face looking like that? What bastard tore his dorky jacket? Or dirtied his favorite pants? Who put that frown on his face?

All Raph wanted to do is ask. Ask question after question and figure out what sad sack of shit he was leaving on life support.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on the little bitch that ruined his baby brother's day.

However, the look on Mike's face said that questions weren't appreciated at the moment.

"I b-broke my phone…" he started, voice watery and barely audible, even in the dead silent car, "...my hand too, I think…"

Raph put the car in park and finally tore his eyes away from his brother's broken form. He couldn't say anything when Mike started sobbing.

He finally brought himself to turn his body and eyes to face his brother, who was hiccuping his sobs. Raph just wanted to wipe those stupid tears from his brother's freckle-dusted cheeks. It wasn't right; the Scottish-Jamaican crying. There was always a lopsided smile on his face and a burning energy behind his eyes. Even after he fell into depression and dropped his college classes, he was this bright light that hardly ever stopped shining. On his worst days, Mike still made Raph smile somehow. Mike was kind like that; even when his day was complete crap, he still wanted to make others' days brighter.

Raph acted like his brother squatting with him was something that irked him, and sometimes it actually did, but most times? Mike was something that livened his day up in a small way that worked wonders on his usual temper; if only Mike would stop scaring him with his nightlife activity, but there was nothing he could do about that as of the moment. Mike looked close to collapsing if he wasn't already sitting and wanted to go home. So, Raph would do just that. He'd take his brother home, fix him up, write down some names, and find a good secret place to start digging a really deep hole.