Disclaimer: We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction.

A/N: This summer a 'Pay It Forward' fic was started. So far, it hasn't traveled that far, but we thought we'd start putting up the few chapters we have, to see how you guys feel about it. Being so many authors participating in this, we decided to post it under a shared account. Also, the title may change later on. Enjoy and don't forget to review. Thank you.


a TMNT round-robin


Green Little People

Chapter 1 written by Mickis and Sassyblondexoxo. Go read their stories.



(Raphael's POV)

A ringing noise in the distance forced me back to consciousness. Slowly, I opened my heavy eyelids and fumbled for my cell phone. I managed to grab it and flap it open without even having to lift my throbbing head from the pillow, and while longingly shutting my eyes and rubbing my beak, I put the phone to my ear and listened to the voice that erupted from the other end.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for hours!"

Leo, I realized with a heavy thought.

"I was sleepin'..." I managed to answer, my tired voice raspy and gruff, not to mention pissed off.

"It's 3 o' clock in the afternoon, Raph. Were you ever planning on getting up?"

A low growl took form in the pit of my throat and I continuously rubbed my swollen eyes, trying to process the information I'd just been given.

"Raph?" he questioned alarmingly. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here, a'right? Jeez, don't get yer panties in a twist, Leo."

"You should be glad I agreed to cover for you last night, but if you're not back home in thirty minutes, I'll personally write Sensei an essay about your drinking habits."

"A'right, already. Give a guy a chance ta open his eyes."

"Thirty minutes, Raph. That's it."

The angry voice on the other end was replaced with a peaceful silence, one that left me to discover my expected headache. I grumpily brought the phone to my face and read text on the bright display.

(12 missed calls)

Not to my surprise, they were all listed from 'High and Mighty cell,' which is what I'd named my oldest brother in my phonebook. I also discovered I had a new text message and tiredly pushed the buttons I needed in order to open it.

(From Pinhead cell
Friday 11:42 pm
Hey, bro! Drunk off your ass yet? LOL Anyway, on your way back home, pick up a curling iron, will ya? I'll explain later, and don't worry; I'll pay ya back once you show. Later/ Mike the Man)

The hell does he need a curling iron for? I thought to myself, trying to remember whether I'd used up all my money for booze. Realizing I had no idea, I flapped the phone shut and dropped it on the nightstand on my left. When rolling over on my shell - my left hand placed behind my head – I realized I wasn't as alone as I'd hoped. Resting on top of the black college sweater I wore for disguise was a hairy arm. I traced the limb back to its owner and realized to my disgusted horror that I was sharing a bed with a none other than Casey. His motionless face was turned to me, mouth open like a drunken hobo and while most of his face was buried in the pillow, the stench of his breath had no problem to reach my nostrils, which I swear to god were trying to shrink for the purpose of self-preservation.

When slapping his arm off of me as is it was a fat, dead rabbit, the idiot began to moan in protest.

"Baby, c'mon," he said, his clingy arm finding its way back to my plastron. "Don't do me like that."

"Casey, get offa' me!" I exclaimed, reaching over to hit the guy across his unfortunately unclothed chest.

Startled, the drunk shot up from his pillow and observed his surroundings with the unmasked confusion of a newborn. Once realizing the person next to him wasn't the woman he'd hoped, or even the specie he preferred, his unshaved face twisted in brainless shock.

"Raph?" he questioned, as if he had trouble connecting my face to the name.

"Yeah," I snapped in confirmation, "so juz keep yer monkey hands ta yerself, a'right?" I clumsily kicked the sweaty covers off of me, only getting myself further entangled in his smelly sheets.

"Easy, man," he chuckled, reaching over and stealing the covers to wrap them around himself. "I hate to break it to ya, but yer not really my type, y'know?"

"I'm truly heartbroken," I mumbled, sliding my legs off the bed. With my shell turned to Casey and my headache dancing the night away in my brain, I realized I was still wearing my jeans from last night.

Damn, musta' been pretty wasted to pass out with my clothes on.

I painfully rose to my feet and stared at the corner that was the kitchen area, which wasn't that far away from the bedroom area. Things were pretty crowded in Casey's apartment; living room, bedroom and kitchen were all one and the same. His place consisted of an uncomfortable bed, a kitchen counter with two barstools to sit on, a fridge/freezer, a kitchen sink and a beat up television in one of the four corners. Luckily, the bathroom was blessed with a door of its own, but unfortunately, the lock didn't work. I guess old Case couldn't afford such luxury.

I reached for my cell phone on the bedside table and dropped it down one of the bottomless pockets of my baggy jeans. Realizing I was thirsty enough to almost drink my own pee, I set off in the direction of the kitchen. Not looking where I put my feet, I managed to trip over something on the floor and ungracefully hit the ground with a loud thud.

"Dammit!" I cursed, lying flat on my stomach in the middle of Casey's messy apartment, my headache setting off fireworks in my head.

The simple act of me falling on my beak was enough to make Case laugh his hungovered ass off. Naturally, I didn't find the situation as funny as he did and rolled over on my side to force myself up with my right arm supporting my weight. Lying by my feet were my worn, black leather boots, which I'd drunkenly kicked off the night before, unaware of them turning against me the morning after. Meanwhile, Casey was still laughing like a four year-old on a sugar rush, and it was seriously starting to bug me.

"Shut up!" I hissed, tossing one of the boots at him.

He easily deflected it with his hairy arm and looked at me where I sat on the floor, basking in my misfortune. "Ninja stealth, my ass," he grinned, tossing the boot back at me.

Frowning in response, I waveringly rose to my feet and continued on my journey to the refrigerator. Once reaching the object in question, I curled my fingers around its cold handle and pulled the door open. The inside was surprisingly empty, even for Casey. Standing on the top shelf was half a six-pack of beers, which I would've thrown myself over at any other point in time of my life. Now, however, I wasn't as crazy about the concept of beer. The taste sickened me, the smell disgusted me and the memory had me twisting in my shell like a worm on a hook.

"Yo, Case?" I called to my friend who was still suffering from the aftereffects of last night.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, a messy head of brown hair looking up from the sea of light blue sheets.

"Got anythin' besides beer?" I asked, glancing at him over the open refrigerator door, my hand still clasped around the handle.

"Tap water," he replied simply, once again burying his face in his pillow.

"Right," I mumbled to myself, considering my two options before I swung the door shut. Stepping over to the tap, I found what looked like a plate of fuzzy leftovers in the sink, half filled with reeking water. He was really taking this bachelor pad thing a bit too far, if you asked me - and I'm not exactly the Queen of England. Deciding to risk it, I bent closer to the sink and turned on the tap, waiting for the water to turn my kind of cold. Once the temperature was freezing enough, I closed my mouth over the tap and drank as though I had spent days walking through the desert. Which was half true, I guess. If by 'desert' you meant 'late night bars' and 'days' being another word for 'hours.'

After filling my stomach with water that had a tad too much trace of iron for my taste, I splashed my sweaty face with it and turned it off. Turning around to check on Casey, I found the guy sprawled across the bed, strangling one of his pillows with the death grip of his arms. Remembering Mike's message about needing that stupid curling iron, which still after a few minutes awake didn't make any more sense, I dully reached inside my pockets for any leftover money. As predicted, the only thing I could find was some useless coins, which just wasn't going to cut it.

"Hey, Casey!" I yelled across the room.

"Mmph..." the muffled reply came.

"Got any money I can borra'?" I leaned across the kitchen counter with my lower arms planted on the filthy surface, drenching my sweater in something that smelled like spilled beer. If it wasn't for the fact that I already felt and smelled like shit, I probably would've cared, or at least reacted.

"What for?"

"I need ta pick up one a' those curling irons on my way home."

After seconds of no response, Casey lifted his head from the pillow, a stupefied look on his face. "You need to what?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Mikey asked me ta."

"Whatever," he moaned, once again burying his face in the pillow. "Check the piggy bank."

"You got a piggy bank?" I asked, for a moment wondering if I'd heard him right.


An angry face looked up from the bed. "Hey! You want the money or not?" he questioned, leaving me hardly any room for sarcastic remarks. I threw my hands up in mock defeat, and he pointed to a dresser in the corner. Shiny and nearly new, the pink pig sat giving me a lopsided smile.

Aw, how cute. Had to be a present from April… either that or my best friend was getting a little fruity around the edges.

Casey stuffed his head back under his pillow, groaning as I clambered noisily across the room. Sunlight streamed through the partially open draperies, painting a warm stripe across his bare forearm. He obviously wasn't wearing a shirt, and it dawned on me that he probably wasn't wearing any pants either. I cringed at the thought. I'd learned a few months ago that Casey liked to sleep in his underwear – it had been another drunk night almost identical to this one. Except that time we didn't make it to the bed. Barely able to climb up the stairs, the two of us had stumbled through the door in fit of laughter, rolled around awhile, and finally passed out in the middle of the floor. But not before my buddy had stripped himself down to his skivvies, a pair of too-tight boxers with little kangaroos on them. I remember them vividly; mostly because I'd woken up with my face only inches from his sweaty backside.

It was that moment that I'd vowed never to drink again.

Heh, that vow lasted all of about two days.

Trying not to think about the fact that I'd just slept in the same bed with a naked guy, I focused my attention back to the task at hand. Miss Piggy. I picked up the ceramic pig, giving her a little shake. Jackpot. Lucky for me, the pudgy pig was nearly full. I flipped her over, struggled a few moments to pull the plastic plug from her stomach, then let the change spill out across the dresser. There were a few dollar bills mixed in with the coins; I grabbed those first, then picked out nearly every quarter in the pile. I wasn't quite sure how much money I actually had. Who the hell knows how much one of those things cost? Not me. All I knew was that my pockets were full, and it was making my head pound to sort through all that change.

"I'm gone," I said to a still buried Casey. "I'll pay you back later." He mumbled something in return, giving a jerk of his hand that resembled something of a wave.