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Raphael hadn’t seen his youngest brother for a few nights now. He usually waited for him in the pit, mindlessly watching some movie on the TV, or in the kitchen island with a dinner already cold by the time he got home.
At first, he doesn’t think much of it—he’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with Mikey’s lectures, if all people, that he didn’t have to begrudgingly accept and eat whatever thing his baby brother made so he wouldn’t be hungover the next morning.
Then, he just figures Mikey had gotten sick of dealing with his drunk ass. He’s fine with it he isn’t, he wonders why it hurts so much to be given up by Mikey for a few days after that and keeps on with his life as usual, but with more bruises from falling on his drunk walk to his room than before.
But he misses him, he can’t be in denial for long. He misses his baby brother and his cold dinners that he never bothers to heat before eating because he’s too gone.
That doesn’t stop him from getting drunk, if anything he’s just getting even more wasted. He’s sure he’s puked all over the lair’s floor and Leo has lectured him and Donnie has cleaned and—
Mikey still isn’t there.
And Donnie doesn’t clean as thoroughly as their youngest.
Raph doesn’t ask about the whereabouts of his baby brother, he’s sure they would be too exasperated to truly answer him. And he doesn’t blame them, really, but it’s been a while by then and the lair stinks.
Honestly, that’s just another excuse to not be there and get drunk again and again and again.
Do his other two brothers not care?
Maybe Mikey has just been adopting a more diurnal routine like they once had before Splinter’s death. It’s alright.
(Where’s his baby brother?)
It fucking stinks like rotten flesh.
Raph just leaves again that night.
And he doesn’t remember how he gets back home, but that’s to be expected—he never remembers his way back, he just gets there. Their little path engraved on his brain, even when drunk and too gone he’ll always make it home. That’s good. He wonders if Mikey left sometimes, if he made himself forget the way back just to not see Raph ever again, he knows Mikey was definitely tired of dealing with him.
And thinking of Mikey—have they even checked his room?
He trips on his way to Mikey’s, because the floor is too full of trash and dust and it stinks, stinks, stinks—the floor is moving under him. The lair spins around him but he needs to check.
He needs to, even if he’s sure he’s fallen on his face more than he’ll care to admit.
Holy fuck, they need to deep clean the lair at some point—the door’s hinge is moving and he can’t seem to get it, missing it a few times and when he opens the door—
He wants to puke, he probably drank too much, more than usual, he can’t help it because Mikey probably hates him and—oh, Mikey never left, Mikey’s there.
He’s just asleep, with his body turned to the wall.
They always joked about how Mikey slept like a corpse, too still to even be the bundle of energy he was when awake.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey—
He was always a deep sleeper, just the way he was a tornado when awake, not even one could ever wake him up; that was just the way their brother was.
He’s sure he actually pukes on Mikey’s floor. He probably muttered a small sorry before trying to get him to wake up. He’s still facing the wall.
It smells so bad, and he’s so fucking drunk.
Mikey, hey Mikey— do you hate me? Wake up, c’mon. You hate me right?
He moves his brother too harshly, he makes his body turn to him and—
“Oh. I’m sorry, baby bro,” he wants to puke again, again, again— “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s slurring his speech and Mikey’s room is spinning and Mikey’s half open eyes are staring at him and— “H-hey, you got something on your face.”
He cleans the corner of Mikey’s mouth, it smells so bad and it’s been dry for a while now, he’s sure—there’s more of that on the pillow and the side of the bed next to the wall, and on the wall.
“I’ll let you sleep, okay? Sleep well, sweet dreams Mike,” he covers him up again, and he leaves, stumbling and feeling another bout of nausea just right in his throat and—
He leaves, he closes the door and goes to sleep on the pit’s couch because his room feels too far away and too close at the same time. It’s more comfortable anyway, yeah.
At some point, he’s sure he hears some voices, worried ones. He isn’t sure who’s who though, he hears shuffling and a door clicking open and then—
There’s just a scream