#request night

He’d had his earbuds in before this started, swaying to his private concert while he waited next to Raph, but he took them out the second he noticed shit starting to happen. Mikey is listening, and growingfrustrated, and hating every new minute they spend standing here. Raph says toignore them, they’ll lose interest eventually. (They never do.) They don’t haveto stoop to their level, says Donnie, like the hypocrite he is. (Donnie would fistfight older students in uni over scientific theory if he could.) They don’t wantto draw any more attention to themselves than they already do, says Leo, whenhe’s sobered from his bravado of keeping an air of lazily not caring. (Leo and his barest hints of mascara and meticulous eyeliner, Raph and his little sewing crafts in his backpack, Mikey and hisglittery binders he couldn’t resist getting and now regret having done so, for the eyes that stare and stare and stare at them all.)

Someone shoves Raph hard enough he stumbles backwards,knocking into Mikey and nearly toppling them both. Their train still isn’there. None of the adults waiting for it look like they’re going to step in. Everything about this sucks.

Mikey has to jump away to avoid Raph’s wrong footed retreat; his brother,though he’s at least a head taller than everyone here, keeping his clenched fistsat his sides as some jerk Mikey doesn’t know tries to physically push Raph intolashing out.

And Raph won’t,because he can’t, it wouldn’t matterthat he’d been goaded into it, everyone would blame him and wouldn’t ever lethim forget that he’d hit back. Onceit’s done, it won’t ever go away, and no one knows that better than Raph himself.

So his fists stay by his sides, and the split second they’reraised it’s to block a punch aimed at his chest. Raph’s expression is tight andangry, trapped like he is as the crowd of boys press closer, taking turnsshoving him, calling out names, laughing at his lack of reaction. You scared? Are you scared? You even got anythingdown there, or did ya get ‘em chopped off like your fag brother-?

The biggest kid, next to Raph, winds up to throw anotherpunch, and Mikey can already tell that it’s going to make contact with hisbrother’s face.

Raph doesn’t pick fights.

Sometimes, when he has to, though… Mikey does.

He’s half the size of everyone else, maybe smaller, but hisknuckles still impact against the asshole’s jaw and sends him reeling. Mikey shriekswordlessly and throws himself at the crowd of bullies, knowing he’s got theedge of surprise and nothing else. For a few seconds, he manages to hold hisown.

Then, someone with a lot more muscle mass than him socks himacross the face, then the stomach, and Mikey chokes on his own spit.

He breathlessly tries to keep going, but he’s thirteen andeveryone here is fifteen and older. Not to mention outnumber him almost a dozento one.

It’s a blur of pain for a minute there, fireworks of lightflashing behind his eyelids every time someone punches him. Fists and feet hittingwhatever they can of his skinny body. Then, something grabs him by the collar,and pulls him out of the fray with strength far greater than anyone else’s.

The guy who started it all swims in Mikey’s vision, rightbefore a big shape obscures it and picks him up with ease.

Mikey coughs on the blood of his swelling nose, and staresalong with everyone else as Raph holds their leader almost a foot off theground.

“Gonna say this once,”Raph growls out. “Piss off, or I throw you on the tracks.”

He drops the other kid, tossing him away a few extra feetfor good measure. The asshole lands poorly and has to be dragged to his feet byhis friends, wide eyes staring at Raph as he folds his arms and glares.

Their train finally arrives, coming up to the platform withthe usual shrill sound of its braking. What few other people that’d beenwitness to the whole fight stow their phones and get into the train cars,sensibly getting away.

Mikey and Raph reach for each other at the same time, andboard the train, too.

Raph’s bullies don’t follow.

“You gotta stop doin’ that, Mike,” Raph scolds anxiously,pressing another band-aid over a cut Mikey hadn’t noticed himself getting in thefight. “You don’t have to get caught up in that shit. I can take it. You’re gonna break yourhand one’a these days and then where’re you gonna be? You can’t do art if youcan’t use your hands.”

“Eh, I’d be fine. It’ll be a good time to try feet art,” Mikey says, sitting on their bathroom counter while Raph half-kneels, not even wincingas his banged up knee is taken care of. He’d almost ended up on the floorduring the fight, which could’ve had the whole thing go way worse for him. He’s lucky he got out of that with just a fewdark bruises and bloody scrapes, even if they’re turning nasty purple and redcolors against his dark skin.

Raph glares at him, mouth in a terse frown. Mikey pretendsnot to notice, and puts a cheerily colored band-aid on his brother’s cheek. It’sgot a fading bruise from a different fight still, now mottled with yellow, and Mikeyfeels a little lonely, being the only one in the room with bright littlepatches all over himself.

Raph doesn’t even try to move away from the band-aid as it’sapplied to his face. He just sighs long-sufferingly, like all of Mikey’s olderbrothers do sometimes, whenever he’s done something like this.

“You can’t keep pickin’ fights you won’t win,” Raph says,staring hard at Mikey’s bruised face. He looks so sad it makes Mikey sad, too. Whichwon’t do at all.

Mikey gently slaps his hands on either side of Raph’s face,and grins. “I only pick ‘em ‘cause I’m with you guys, and if I’m with you guys I’llalways win. Four against whatever, plus one when we got April. Sostop being a sadsack already and feel loved ‘cause I’m willing to punch stupidpeople in the face for you.”

Mikey’s smile is opening the split lip he’s got all overagain, but it’s worth it to see a hint of an echoing smile twitch on Raph’s face.

“Stupid,” Raph mumbles as he ducks away from Mikey’s hands,and Mikey doesn’t comment on the gloss his brother’s eyes have before he rubsat them. Mikey just hums and leans on Raph’s head with his elbows, idlythinking about changing the slivers of red wraps around his brother’s longdreads again. Maybe using a brighter red this time instead of a subdued maroon.

It might be something akin to waving a red flagin front a bull, but Mikey doesn’t mind playing bullfighter if it’s for hisbrothers.