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tori_angeli) wrote2007-11-10 05:11 am
The Halfway Point, chapter 9
Leo woke earlier than usual, staring at the ceiling and wondering why he was awake. He rolled over and stared at the clock. It was 4:21, set to go off at five. He liked to get up at least fifteen minutes before everyone else and meditate. Lately, it had turned into an hour. He lay still, breathing deeply and wondering if he should try to go back to sleep. He wasn’t tired. He may as well get up and make use of himself.
Splinter was downstairs, sitting in the rocking chair in front of the television, watching some program or another with the volume turned down low. Beside him, slumbering peacefully on the couch, was Raphael. Leo crept down the stairs, careful not to wake his brother during what looked to be the one healing sleep he’d had since the attack. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he padded toward Splinter’s rocking chair. Splinter’s eyes flickered up from the television to look at him in restrained relief. Leo halted and bowed.
“Come with me, Leonardo.” the old rat whispered, slowly rising from the rocking chair. “I must speak to you. But we must not wake Raphael.”
Leo nodded and followed his sensei to the kitchen. Splinter wasted no time in beginning to prepare tea for himself and his son. “Raphael’s spirit wanes,” he murmured as he poured the loose leaves into the tea kettle and placed it on the stove. The dial clicked as the old rat turned it to “hot.” “I can feel it, and I believe you can as well. He has spoken to me long, and said many things that frighten me.”
Splinter set two teacups on the counter and looked Leo in the eye. “He tells me of dreams in which he does terrible things to himself, but will not say what things they were. I told him such dreams may have meaning, and he said that he already knew their meaning. Leonardo, your brother is in such pain.” Splinter’s ears sank, flattening slightly against his head. “Such pain that I cannot fathom the depths, try as I may to ease it even a little. Such pain is wearying, and so terrible that one would do anything to be rid of it. Even die.”
Leo’s eyes widened, and his heart crashed against his sternum.
“You and your brothers must watch him very closely. Do not make it look as though you are watching him, but watch him nonetheless. He must not be allowed to bring about this end.”
“Hai, sensei—wakarimashita,” Leo said under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder, into the living room, at Raphael, who had not stirred. Raph’s breathing was slow and deep. He was still asleep. “Hai,” he repeated. “I won’t let him hurt himself.”
“You must tell your brothers,” Splinter continued. “You will lead practice this morning while I remain with Raphael. Tell Donatello and Michelangelo what I have told you. Tell them in secret. If Raphael knows what you are doing, he will resist.”
Leo nodded. “Hai, sensei.”
Splinter gently touched Leo’s shoulder. “You are dismissed, Leonardo.”
Leo began to turn away, but halted when Splinter’s grip tightened on his shoulder. He froze, searching his father’s face. Splinter’s gaze had gone vacant—he had probably held on to his son on impulse. After a moment, his eyes flickered to Leo.
Leonardo leaned forward and wrapped his father in an embrace. Splinter held him tightly, running a hand up and down his carapace.
“I won’t let him, Master.”
“Hai—ohayou, minna-san.”
“Ohayou gozaimasu, o-nii-san.” The greeting was muttered quickly by Donatello and Michelangelo as each gave a quick, truncated bow. Good morning, brother.
“Kyou wa, ore wa kangaete ageru.” Today, I’m teaching. “But, before we begin…” Leo lowered his voice. “Raph’s on suicide watch.”
Mike’s eyes widened. Don didn’t look surprised.
“Wakattajyanai yo?” Leo asked softly. Don’t you understand me?
“Uh, no, Leo, I think it’s safe to say the memo…uh, got lost in the interim,” sputtered Mike. “What the hell did he do?”
“Splinter got a good idea from something he said last night—he was seriously contemplating suicide.”
“That’s quite common,” Don said quietly. “About a third of rape victims”—
“Raph’s not a third of rape victims!” hissed Mike. “He thinks it’s stupid to kill yourself!”
“You have no idea what he’s just gone through, Mikey,” Don pointed out. “Raph is in a severe state of depression right now, and it’s normal for depressive people to have suicidal thoughts.”
“You’re making it sound like a good thing,” snarled Mike.
“It’s—“
“We know you know a bunch of crap, okay? That doesn’t matter.”
Don held up his hands. “I’m saying everyone should have seen this coming. I was looking for this a long time ago. Now that he’s had a run-in with House—“
“You don’t know anything about that,” snapped Mike.
“Quiet, Mike,” Leo said warningly. “Raph’s right in the other room.”
“Nothing wakes him up—you know that, Leo,” Mike shot back.
“Don’t push it. And I do think Don’s right. This comes very close to proving to me that Raph killed House.”
Mike looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?”
“Raph heard you talking to April. He came after you, not because of Casey, but because of House. The more I think about it, the more I think Raph took House away from the scene and killed him. Nothing else makes sense. He wouldn’t leave him there. House was why he’d come.”
Mike stared at Leo with a slight frown on his face, trying to pinpoint the problem with that assumption.
It wasn’t until after practice that he approached Leo with his conclusion. Don had gone to take a shower while Leo replaced the fallen punching bag onto its chain.
“Raph wouldn’t kill House,” Mike said softly.
Leo glanced at him sharply. “What do you think he would do?”
“I think he would want to hurt him. I think he’d want to let him know who’s in charge now. He’d make sure both he and House knew that Raph was, I dunno, superior, then…he might kill him. But…” Mike trailed off.
Leo’s eyes had become swords, cold and alarmed and focused. “But what did House say to Raph?” he said softly. “What if Raph wasn’t so much stronger after all?”
It made sense. Too much sense. House was alive, kept somewhere by Raph. Which meant he was still a danger, and was still doing harm. And Leo had to find him.
“Thank you, Mike,” Leo whispered.
He would find him.
When Donatello came out of the shower after practice, Raphael was still asleep on the couch. Splinter had left the rocking chair and was in the kitchen placing a frozen waffle in the toaster. The television was still on, set to cartoons—a staple of Michelangelo’s morning, but said younger brother was already making a beeline for the bathroom. Don picked the remote up from the coffee table and changed it to Discovery Health. Then he glanced at the couch, where Raph slept on.
Raph would never agree to a check-up. Not after the fight about the amitriptyline. But just last night, something had happened that had so shaken him that he had sat in the darkness of his room and refused to let anyone near him.
Raphael’s leg wound had kept him from practice the past few weeks, and though it was now nothing more than a scar, Raph still did not return to practice. He did not lift weights. He did not exercise at the punching bag. All possible physical outlets were ignored. His sleeping brother lay motionless on the couch. Beneath his head was tucked an arm, shrunken from weeks of inactivity, just like his stout legs and broad shoulders. Don found it difficult to believe, even with the atrophy, that a common thug could overpower a ninja. But this was House, and an emotionally crippled Raphael. All it took was a wrong word, a wrong touch during a scuffle, and Raph would be down for the count.
After that, House could do anything at all, anything he wanted. What sort of sick person would continue to torment someone they had already thoroughly broken? Once Raph came back to himself, he would panic, and the adrenaline would allow him to overpower House. House might have died by intent or by accident—Raph’s strength and natural aggression were so out-of-control—but either way, Raph had stumbled back to the lair, blinded with trauma upon trauma, and isolated himself in his room.
Raphael would never agree to a check-up.
Don’s fingers toyed with the edge of Raph’s blanket by his feet, wondering if an invasion of privacy would be justified in this case. Raph could be sporting hidden wounds, small unattended injuries that would swiftly lead to infection and shock. His brain flashed an index card before his eyes, a picture of Raph lying in the shower, damaged and bleeding. He could see each of his brother’s wounds—an abrasion on his cheek, bruises on his face and arms, leg punctured by a careless bullet, and hidden, what his eyes could not see and his mind could not look away from, the most dangerous wounds of all. Inside Raph’s body, ruptures in a delicate intestine could be leaking toxic fecal matter into his bloodstream, poisoning him.
A flash of the image he’d had for days—Raph shivering and thrashing in bed, fever mounting into an inferno, eyes unaware of the world around him, gasping out a few feeble final breaths and then…
Fingers pinched the edge of the cover and lifted carefully, trying not to disturb the sleeper. There, the scar from the bullet wound, a deep, pale dimple in the smooth green flesh. Further up, there was no way to tell—Raph’s knees were together, and his shell covered everything in shadow. Still, Don was perfectly able to seize the nearby lamp and shed some light on the mystery.
That was going too far.
He lowered the blanket slowly, gently, not wanting to disturb his brother. For several seconds, he stared at the blanket, a little stunned at what he’d almost done. Then, hearing the sound of a throat clearing, he froze. Almost against his own will, his eyes heaved upward as though weighted.
Splinter stood on the other side of the couch, gripping his walking stick and looking sorely tempted to use it. “Donatello,” he whispered in barely restrained anger, “come with me.”
Don wasn’t in trouble often, but he knew what Splinter’s room looked like when he entered it for a reprimand. Normally, his sensei’s room was a haven of peace and protection. Whenever he came into Splinter’s room as a convict, the shadows seemed to deepen, the candles emphasizing the fathomless darkness with their cold bronze sparking. Don knelt automatically on the tatami mats, nerve endings barely sensitive to the rough weave that always left impressions in his knees by the end.
Splinter did not kneel himself. He loomed over his son, hands clasped behind his back. “Justify yourself,” he demanded.
Don noted he hadn’t asked for an explanation. Splinter knew why Don had done what he did. “It was for his own good,” Don said softly, knowing he was already doomed.
“His own good?” Splinter’s voice was very quiet, but powerful. “To violate your brother once again with your own eyes is good?”
“He won’t let me do a check-up.” Don’s words began to fall into the pattern he always took when he ranted. “He won’t let me look him over to see if he’s hurt, and I know House must have tried something, otherwise he wouldn’t be this”—
“Have you asked Raphael to let you look at him?” Splinter said sharply.
“There’s no point,” Don protested helplessly, starting to get a little angry himself. “He’d just say no—“
“And why would he say no?”
“Because I tried to trick him…” The tempo of Don’s words slowed to a pause, and he sighed. “…with the amitriptyline.”
“And he does not trust you.”
“Right.”
“Because you broke that trust, Donatello. You have no right to be angry at him because of this.”
“But…but,” Don sputtered, “what if House was able to…again…and…and Raph’s hurt there, and he goes into toxic shock—“
“Would there be anything you could do to prevent it?” Splinter’s eyes bored into him like dull knives lit with napalm.
Don stared at his master, wide-eyed as the enormity of what he’d been doing hit him like a thunderbolt, freezing his hands and feet with electric shock.
“Donatello?” growled Splinter.
Don’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t make a sound.
Fortunately, Splinter didn’t wait for him. “You will spend the rest of the morning in your room, in meditation.” He turned away from his son. Growling, he added, “And you will thank our ancestors that you did not wake your brother as you gawked at him.”
“Hai, sensei,” Don choked. “I’m so sorry—“
“Donatello! Your room!”
Don jerked to his feet and bolted through the door. Walking quickly through the living room, he could not even glance at the couch to see if Raph was awake. He didn’t want to know if his brother had awakened before Don had gone into Splinter’s room. He was better off not knowing.
In his room, he sank onto his bed and doubled over, stomach churning with acid and nausea. He was sure he had used a year’s supply of Pepto Bismol over the last month, and wished to God he wasn’t out.
Maybe he was too dangerous to be around Raph. Every time he tried to help, he only hurt him more.
Maybe it would be better for them both if he left him alone.
The thought made Don feel even sicker, but it made horrifying sense.
Mike returned to the couch to find it empty, and, glancing up, saw Raph rummaging in the cereal cabinet. He hesitated, then approached the kitchen cautiously. His brother had yanked a box of shredded wheat from the cabinet and set it on the counter. A dive into another cabinet produced a bowl, and a venture into the fridge uncovered milk.
“Mornin’,” Mike said carefully, not wanting to set his brother off for no reason.
Raph glanced over his shoulder. “Mornin’.” With that, he turned back to pouring the shredded wheat into the bowl.
Mike cleared his throat. “April’s letting me borrow the first season of Family Guy.” The DVD was actually Casey’s, but Mike was not convinced that mentioning the vigilante would earn him bonus points. “Interested in a Stewathon?” He forced a little pep into his voice.
Raph paused while dousing his cereal with milk. “No, Mikey,” he growled, “I ain’t interested in watchin’ more movies with ya while ya keep lookin’ at me ta see if I’m cured yet.” He continued to pour, and poured too much. He swore and picked up the bowl to sip the excess milk away.
The younger turtle couldn’t resist a small smile, half-certain that Raph was at least half-joking. “Aren’t we pissy today?” he teased, leaning against a counter. “They make birth control pills for this kinda thing, Raph.”
Raph snorted and said nothing as he shoved the milk back into the fridge, slammed the door, and sorted through a drawer. Suddenly he stopped, staring blankly into space, then back down at the drawer in confusion. Mike stepped forward quickly, but stopped himself. For once thing, he wasn’t sure what he could do but make things worse. For another, even if he could, Raph would resist his help.
“You okay?” he ventured.
Raph blinked. “Yeah,” he breathed as though sleepwalking. “I jus’…f’got what I was lookin’ for.” He stared hard at the drawer as he would at a fire that both frightened and fascinated him.
“Spoon?” Mike supplied helpfully.
Raph frowned and slammed the drawer shut, opening another right afterwards. He pulled a spoon from the drawer and stabbed it into the shredded wheat. He picked up the bowl and carried it to the table. “You still here?” he demanded gruffly.
Mike made a show of grabbing a can of soda from the refrigerator. He wasn’t actually thirsty, but maybe acting nonchalant about it all would put Raph in a better mood. Secretly, he was a little stung, but knew Raph didn’t mean any of this hostility. He was just being Raph. Depressed, post-traumatic, possibly suicidal Raph.
Mike sat in front of the television all day and watched nothing.
“’Sup, Tiger?”
“Angel, it’s Leo.”
“Oh! Uh, hey. ‘Sup?”
“You know members of the Purple Dragons.”
“Uh…yeah?”
“What do you know about House?”
“You too, huh?”
“Me too? Did Raph call about him?”
“Yeah, askin’ where he lived, that kind of thing. I didn’t like House, he thought he was better than everyone else just ‘cause he got a degree. Is…everything okay?”
“You told Raph where House lives?”
“Yeah…there a problem?”
“Did he say what he wanted with him?”
“No. Um... What’s goin’ on?”
“Don’t worry about it, Angel. Has Raph contacted you since?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Give me directions to House’s place. Speak slowly.”
Leo squinted through the window of House’s apartment. It was dark, with no signs of life. Whoever lived there wasn’t there right now, and that frustrated Leo. Either House was simply out, or he was still wherever Raph had taken him, which could be anywhere. Raph knew all the hiding places on these streets, every abandoned warehouse, every hole in the wall, every empty corner. Raph could be hiding House under Leo’s metaphorical nose.
Leo crept back up the wall and swung over to crouch on the rooftop. The shuko spikes came off and he tucked them into his belt. He was not satisfied with how this expedition was going. He had found House’s apartment, but the only thing he’d learned from it was that House wasn’t there—something he’d already suspected. Raph had House. He might have killed him by now. And Leo had no lead, no way of knowing where Raph had taken him.
He was probably keeping him somewhere nearby. That was the only thing Leo could think. Not in the sewers, of course—it would be too close, too much of a risk to keep an enemy so near their home. Raph would never endanger his own family like that. Not if he had retained any real sense of what was going on around him.
So the place to start would be in areas surrounding the manhole nearest their lair.
Leo took off over the rooftops, his search having only begun.
Sky. The hazy, shallow glow that cloaked the sky, at least, hovering somewhere over the rooftops. Light from the street stained the asphalt the color of dull brass. He’d spent the worst twenty minutes of his life in this alley. He lay there, on his back, staring up at the sky, legs sprawled apart. No one was there. No one could see him lying there, vulnerable, open, exposed.
He sensed rather than saw someone appear at the entrance to the alley.
No.
They approached, their footsteps echoing hollowly against the asphalt, against the walls.
“Look at that! How convenient!”
He knew without trying that he couldn’t lift his arms, couldn’t cry out for help, couldn’t kick or fight. He could look down, toward his parted knees, and see one of the passers by drop eagerly to the ground between them. His head jerked up again, eyes snapping onto the sky.
“No,” was all the resistance he could offer.
And beyond the man and his friend, an entire line of people watching, waiting their turn. Faces suddenly blocked his view of the dismal sky. Laughing Jezimar, idiot Jimmy, smirking House, leaning over him and sneering, “Whore! Bitch!”
Standing off in the shadows was a smirking Enzo, and unseen, Malcolm, who didn’t care enough to watch.
Suddenly Leonardo was in his face, holding a video camera. “You’re so popular, Raph, how do you feel?” he asked with the excitement of a news reporter at a football game.
A hand pressed against his plastron, then disappeared. Raph glanced down, and there was a gold star where he had been touched, and hovering beside him, a grinning Michelangelo.
“Check his blood pressure,” murmured Donatello’s voice. “We’ve got to get this on record.” Suddenly a host of Donatellos were everywhere, checking his temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate.
Raph glanced down the line, which had grown longer. At the end stood a dark figure, face shadowed in the depths of a hood, but he knew him from the bare ends of hair snaking from the shadows.
Casey Jones was waiting his turn.
The first man was finished with him, and Raph groaned long in pain, limbs twitching with shocks of terror as the next man dropped down between his knees.
He woke with the same thought he’d had upon awaking each night for the past three days.
I am so fucked up.
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I-it-you-this-!!!
!!!!!!
<3<3<3<3
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Donatello... Splinter was right. Even if Raph has internal injuries, a punctured colon... what could Don do? Antibiotics would not be enough and there's no way to operate. But I can empathise with Donatello too; his desire to know what's wrong and fix it, the doctor's habit of seeing a patient rather than a person. And I feel terribly sorry for Donny.
I feel terribly sorry for ALL of them. It physically hurts - my chest actually ACHES - with the weight of my sorrow and grief. Healing MUST come; I understand that it will come slowly and that things can never be the same again... but this weight that I am under - the weight that all of them are under? It cannot be carried indefinitely.
Oh Raph... Raph... and LEO. Raphael is alway the one I want to protect, to heal, to enable to find peace... and here? Oh GRIEF! What you do to me, Tori.
The DREAMS... so painful. So fucked up. Casey fucked up but he never could never would stand in line and watch Raph suffer... much less join the queue. And even in his Depression, I think you bring across that Raph knows that, in that his first though is not betrayal, or anger or PAIN... but, "I am so fucked up".
He is. But unless he lets himself feel, grieve, talk, accept comfort, see that his family is blindly but lovingly doing all they know how to help him - and lets himself admit that he NEEDS that help, meets his brothers' and father's eyes and sees for himself that they HURT for him, not blame him... unless he can find a way to EXPRESS his agony and anguish... what can be done for him? How can he move on?
To recover from Depression you must first admit that you are in it, then find something to motivate you to get OUT of it... and then fight. Even with anti-depressants in the mix, that is still true. It is why counselling does not work until the patient asks for it and opens up to it; until one stops looksing inward and starts looking outward.
I now need to write or read something BLOODY cheerful or I'm going to be fit for nothing all night.
How's your NaNo going?
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Raph needs his brothers to stop treating him like everything has changed. At the same time, he needs to stop acting like nothing has changed. Healing WILL begin, and it will begin as soon as Raph takes a step for himself.
Thank you for your review.
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Tori? Have I offended in some way I don't know of? After all our exchanges on this fic I like to think that (a) you expect a review and (b) we've gone beyond the formalities. :(
You could AFFORD to slack off NaNo for a few days - you were WAY ahead of yourself. I on the other hand am desperately behind. :(
I hope you get as much writing done as you want and that your NaNo continues to go well. Best wishes and all that :D
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Thanks. I really am enjoying this novel. I'd enjoy reading it, I think. I don't know how long it will be like that, but...yeah. I'm learning a lot.
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The dream! The depression! The Don and Splinter talk! The Leo and Angel conversation! The dream! The last line! Did I mention the dream?
I mean, it just... *takes deep breath* If only you could have seen my face while reading this. It would make this review mean so much more.
I can't believe Don almost did that to Raph. I'm so glad he didn't. But I can't believe he almost did. Even though I feel bad for him now I'm glad Splinter talked to him and reprimanded him.
And hey! I love that Mikey is the one who could read Raph best. I mean, he was in denial about suicide but the leaving House alive thing. Good insight Mikey, good insight.
And oh my gosh. Leo's looking for House! Wow...I don't know what to say about that. I wonder if he'll find him...
Poor Raph! But fantastic writing on this, it was definitely well worth the wait!
Tewi
P.S. At least you slacked off of NaNoWriMo for a good reason...unlike me and just wanting to procrastinate...
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Thanks so much.
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The truth is, it's getting hard to read. In a good way, if that makes sense. It's just... so REAL and so graphic and so no holds barred that it makes me wince sometimes and feel a bit ill! This is a good thing! I know it doesn't sound good, but it totally IS. I'm loving the dynamics between the family and Raph's own internal struggle. Made of win and awesome!
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I'm appalled at Don's intrusiveness and at the same time, that is so Donatello, to put knowledge-- even though it is knowledge for his brother's benefit-- above sensitivity for his feelings. It's that part of Don where the Scientist overpowers the humanity (I'm thinking of the Dark Crystal-- where the darker half of the Alchemist is the Scientist-- knowledge without the Spiritual dimension) Okay, I digress, sorry.
Raph's nightmare is so telling. He feels objectified by everyone, enemies and loved ones alike.
This continues to be one of the most powerful fics I've ever read.
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I'm so sorry if my slow responses have given you that impression.
Part airhead, part turtle.
A really *slow* turtle.... =o/
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