Hello once again! I actually wrote this a couple of months ago for a very awesome RPG that I follow. I was auditioning for Casey, and this was my entry. You need not be familiar with the RP to understand this. It's a short piece, after all.
When setting out to write this, I was prompted to show Casey's interactions with April and Raph. Thus this is what you see. Also, for me anyways, this was a really good character exploration with Mr. Jones, here. He hasn't been in many of my fics, come to think of it.
Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: (stands up) Hi, my name is Pi. And I haven't thought I owned the TMNT for three years now.
He's not sure when they came up here. He doesn't even think they had a real plan when they did; just get away from there and go somewhere else. That was sorta like a plan. Actually, in his head it was a damn good one.
Casey had grown up with the full knowledge that people die every night. Some for a cause, but most for no reason at all. Knowing this was an entirely different matter than seeing it, however.
He could only think of two specific times in his life where he'd touched a dead person. The first had been a brief flicker of his hand over his father's at his funeral. The second had been tonight; two fingers to a neck for a pulse that was no longer there. He kept his hockey stick over his lap, steady grip on it. The wood against his fingertips was the immediate sensation, and it could make his hands forget that feeling of lifeless flesh.
The grip turned tight. The memory all together would not be as fleeting. He'd seen death countless times by now--hanging with ninjas would do that for you. It had gotten to the point where he could roll it off his shoulders without much difficulty.
Until the death of an innocent. The injustice of it all made his blood boil. Cowards with guns painting the ground red like they thought they were the next Picasso. Trigger-happy fuckers. Greedy little bugs; cockroaches climbing back up the toilet bowl, no matter how many times you flushed.
…Always bringing the innocent into their filth.
God her eyes. Terror then emptiness. It was something Casey hoped he'd never have to see again. He was only grateful he hadn't been entirely close enough to hear what she's had to say; it'd seemed to have shaken Raph so bad-
Raph. Shit. Nice going, Jones. Casey looked over at his friend. There were times he forgot just how much older he was than the turtle--times when he forgot that the person beside him was only seventeen. This was the guy who'd gotten himself more battle scars in the last two years then Casey had yet to earn in his life. His life had hardened him in more ways than one, and he'd learned to roll with what flew his way in a manner Casey found similar to his own.
They were nearly ten years apart though, and Casey had to try to remember that. Because despite everything Raph had ever seen in his life, there were still some things that could come as a shock to anyone. There were things to make you look your age.
"So, uh…" Casey was finding it oddly difficult to form the words he wanted to say. "You okay?"
Raph turned his head slightly to look at him. He was quiet for several moments, as if skeptical of what he'd just heard. "…What kind of question is that?"
Casey snorted. "Right. Sorry." Raph just shook his head at his friend's articulation skills, or in this case: lack of them, and turned to look at the dark skyline once again.
No less than a minute later, Raph was standing. "I'm… uh… Gonna head back," he announced, though he didn't move. "Look, Casey. I…" he cut himself off, jaw tightening before he tried again. "With what happened… tonight. I don't…"
He nodded to show he understood, Raph trailing off once more once he knew the point had been made. "Don't worry, man. I won't say anythin' about it."
The turtle in red nodded then shrugged his shoulders. "Good," he said, looking to the left. "I'll catch you later, Case," he added, turning to walk away.
One of the things Casey had always appreciated most about his friendship with Raph was that there wasn't really anything about it that was forced. They hung out when they felt like it and spoke when they had something to say. If there wasn't anything to say, the message still got through most of the time.
"Hey, Raph," he called out to him, before his friend disappeared off the roof. "Call me if you need anythin'," he reminded him, watching the shadow out of the corner of his eye. There was the faintest shift in the position of his head, and then that shadow was gone.
There were dark red handprints on the hockey stick now, and a small smudge on his baseball bat. He'd barely touched the girl, but with all of the blood he had still managed to get some on him. Casey thought that Raph had looked worse than he had, with her blood standing out on parts of his plastron.
On his way back home, he stopped in Central Park to use one of their restrooms to clean it off of his palms. There was no need to worry April by showing up like that.
A part of him realized that she was used to this by now. 'Playing vigilante' meant coming home with blood and bruises… Often. Adding that into consideration along with the fact that their closest friends were ninjas, it seemed pretty safe to say that she'd seen much worse.
Still he washed his hands.
He tried to sneak back in quietly, but grace had never exactly been a strong point for him when he wanted it to be. First he bumped the top of his head into the lower sash of the window, which put him off balance just enough to trip over his own two feet. He hit the hardwood with a dull thud, cursing as he picked himself back up.
Before he was upright, the door to the bedroom was flung open. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out April's figure standing there. Her posture relaxed a bit as she saw it was him and not some burglar. Come to think of it, she'd probably been expecting ninja assassins over the burglar.
She folded her arms over her chest as she watched him, a small smile on her face. "You were out pretty late tonight."
Looking away, Casey moved across the room, dropping his golf bag off beside the couch. "Yeah," he said, running one hand through his hair as he headed towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge door, staring at the contents therein. He closed it once only to reopen it, taking a can of beer out.
When he turned around, April was watching it with a frown. Her eyes turned to him, paying closer attention now. "Aren't you going to come to bed? I thought you had work in the morning."
Popping the can open, Casey drank quietly. He set it down on a nearby counter. "Yeah… I think I'm gonna take the day off."
She stepped over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"
Casey straightened his back, grabbing the can again. "Nothin' happened," he spoke as nonchalantly as possible.
The silence that followed was only interrupted by him drinking. It lasted longer than he would've liked, though he couldn't honestly be sure it was even a minute. It finally occurred to him that she was waiting for the truth.
He risked a glance at her, then looked away again. "I'll tell you later," he spoke quietly.
April nodded. "Okay," she said, putting her hand down and giving a little half sigh--the kind breathed solely from the nose. The redhead turned her head in the direction of the bedroom and then back to him. "I'm going back to bed. You should get some rest, too."
Grabbing the beer, he walked back into the living room. "I will. Just gonna watch some TV for a bit."
He could feel her eyes on him, though only for another moment. Then the soft padding sounds of her feet could be heard heading back to the bedroom. When the door clicked shut, Casey began nursing the beer again. He forgot to turn the television on.
When he was done drinking, he tilted his head back and rested it on the couch, the empty can in his lap. And inevitably, he thought of her again. "…Fuck."
Sitting up abruptly, he threw the can at the wall. Long after the sound of aluminum denting had left his ears he finally stood, walking to the bedroom.
April had her pillows positioned to support her back, meaning that she'd waited up for him instead of sleeping. Wordlessly, he moved over to his side of the bed, kicking off his shoes but not bothering to change. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling.
He thought of blood spilled over the ground.
Closing his eyes, Casey turned over on his side and put one arm around April, feeling hers snake around him in the same moment, one hand rubbing small circles into the center of his back.
When he woke up the next morning, his golf bag was on the couch instead of beside it. Someone had washed the blood stains off of the hockey stick and the bat.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!