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It was supposed to be a normal night. It was supposed to be fun. Patrols with Raph were always fun, they got to blow off some steam, beat up a few bad guys, and Casey definitely did not mind getting out of the house for a night.
And at first it was fun. At first it was just another night for Casey Jones, vigilante extraordinaire.
At first it just felt like he had been punched.
So he turned and punched back, and the Purple Dragon crumpled to the ground easily. None of those crooks could really land a hit on Casey, they never had.
Which was why he was confused when the ache in his shoulder didn’t go away.
And why Raph was staring at him with wide eyes, full of an emotion Casey couldn't quite place. He’d never seen it on Raph’s face before.
“What?” he asked after a long moment of silence.
“Turn around,” was Raph’s shaky answer. Casey, ever trusting of his best friend, turned. He expected to see something behind him, maybe a Purple Dragon rising up from the ground, maybe police lights flashing out in the street, maybe even a more serious threat, one that Casey didn’t like to imagine.
He didn’t expect Raph’s hands on his back, and he definitely didn’t expect the stabbing pain as soon as their skin made contact.
“What the hell?!” Casey jerked away from the touch. “What’re you doing?!”
“Don’t move!” Raph hissed. “Dammit, Casey! Can you not feel it?!”
“Feel what?!” Casey reached over his shoulder and felt around. The same stabbing pain returned as his fingers brushed over something torn and wet. He looked down at his hand. It was covered in dark blood.
Time seemed to slow down.
Raph’s hands were on him again, guiding him to the ground.
The tension of his shirt across his back was suddenly gone. Cold air met his skin.
Fingers pressed against the front of his shoulder.
Raph was searching for an exit wound.
He didn’t find one.
“—you hear me? Casey!” Raph’s face was in his line of vision now. Casey tried his best to focus on him through the painful haze. “Listen. Nod if you can hear me, Case.”
Casey nodded. Slowly. His vision was swimming, making Raph’s features blur and distort.
“The… it’s still in there, okay? I need to get it out.” Avoiding the word like the plague. Like they were pretending this wasn’t happening. Like Casey hadn’t just gotten…
…Okay, he can see why Raph was avoiding saying it now. His stomach rolled uncomfortably just at the thought of what was going on. He just wanted to keel over and shut his eyes and—
“Casey!” Raph’s hands were on either side of his face. “Do not pass out, jackass. I will take you to the hospital.”
Casey shook his head as vigorously as he could without upsetting his shoulder. Raph knew the rules. Hospitals were the last resort, for Casey as well as the turtles.
“You need to get it out,” Casey managed, trying to show Raph he was listening now. “So, get it out. Please.”
He would have been embarrassed about how desperate his voice sounded if it didn’t make Raph get right to business.
“Clean the wound,” Raph muttered to himself.
“Clean,” Casey repeated, and heard the sound of ripping fabric behind him. Then, pressure on his shoulder and—
“Fuck!” Casey swore loudly. “Fuck! Shit!”
Raph shushed him just as loudly, the asshole. The pressure disappeared, then returned, disappeared, returned, again and again until Raph finally spoke.
“We should go back to the lair.”
“What part of ’get it out’ do you not understand?” Casey snapped, trying not to let the throb of his shoulder sneak into his words and failing miserably.
“I don’t want to fuck this up,” Raph retorted. “What part of fucking up your shoulder possibly forever do you not understand?!”
“I don’t want Donnie poking around in there! I’ll be fine!”
“You were just shot, you idiot!”
The truth spoken aloud hurt nearly as much as his shoulder.
“Shit, I’m sorry—” Raph lurched towards him as soon as Casey leaned over to vomit. He pulled Casey’s hair out of his face like a damn good best friend because that’s what he was and dammit, Casey had dragged him into this mess and probably fucking ruined their patrol nights forever. He was just plain bad luck, wasn’t he?
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled after the gagging had stopped. “This is so stupid.”
Raph laughed, so nervously Casey thought he had misheard him. Raph didn’t laugh like that. “Why’re you sorry? I’m the one who wasn’t watching your back and— oh, for fuck’s sake, this doesn’t matter. You ready?”
“For what, exactly?” Casey slurred.
“I’m, uh, I’m going to get the bullet out. Which means, you know…” He didn’t finish his sentence. They both knew what he meant.
“Sure,” Casey replied, trying to suppress the shake in his voice. “Go for it, man.”
Raph laughed again. Nervous. A little shaky. Like he was pushing something else down.
The look on his face earlier was fear, wasn’t it?
“I wish you weren’t so stubborn,” Raph murmured as he reached for Casey’s shoulder.
The split second of warm hands on him was the only taste of relief Casey got for the next several minutes. Or hours, or days, or years, or eternities, because in the moment the pain was endless, ripping through him like he thought the bullet would, tearing his very existence in half, flooding his body until Raph had to hold him down with a hand on the back of his neck because of how he was writhing.
He slammed his other fist into the ground, desperate to distract himself from the pain. He could feel tears and sweat mixing on his face. When he started to scream, Raph started to apologize.
“I’m sorry, God, I’m sorry.” A piece of fabric brushed against his mouth. “I’m sorry, Casey, you gotta bite down on this. You gotta be quiet. I’m sorry— dammit—”
Casey just sunk his teeth into the fabric and kept falling apart.
He barely noticed when Raph began wiping away the blood. He barely noticed when his shoulder was bandaged up. He barely noticed when Raph pulled him carefully against his plastron and held him as tight as he could without hurting him.
He spat out the fabric in his mouth. It was ripped and worn at the edges, and had two big holes in the center. It was red. But not with blood.
“I’m sorry,” Raph whispered in his ear.