Work Text:
Casey is knee deep in Red Dead 2 when his phone starts buzzing, pulling him out of the gaming haze he’s been in for who-knows-how-long. He pauses his game, stretches a bit as he digs through his blankets for his phone. It doesn’t take him long to find it, screen lit up with an incoming call from Raph. He hesitates before answering—Raph is at that business school mixer tonight. Why would he be calling Casey in the middle of a party? He picks up, anxiety coiling in his gut.
“Raph?”
“Heyyyyy, han’sum,” Raph slurs into the phone, his voice a little to the left of how he usually sounds, dripping like molasses.
“Raph, what—”
“I think I h-” he hiccups, and Casey moves to get up, “had a little too much to drink. Ugh.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No, no, don’t worry, he’s gonna bring—eurgh—bring me home.”
Casey stops moving, one leg in his pants. “Who.”
Raph’s voice gets distant, like he’s pulling away from the phone. “No, just a l’il dizzy.” A pause, then, “I wanna go back to mine.”
That gets Casey moving again, ice flooding his veins. “Raph, stay right there. Don’t leave with that guy. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Raph laughs, bright, too bright for whatever is happening. “Case, the hotel is 15 minutes away!”
“Five minutes. Stay put.”
“Mmm, okay. Don’t feel good though.”
“I know, babe. Promise me you won’t leave with that guy.”
Raph hums, and the call drops.
Casey’s finished getting dressed, and he rushes to grab his bike keys and helmet, fumbling out the door while shoving his wallet in his pocket. It takes him too long to get down the stairs and out to the parking lot, too long to start his bike, too long to get to the hotel. But he makes it in seven minutes, almost the promised five, and he prays to whatever gods are listening that Raph is still here. He tosses his helmet towards his bike, rushes for the door, nearly trips up the steps as he reaches for the handle.
He stumbles into the lobby, looking around for a sign or something with directions towards the ballroom, when he spots Raph in the corner, leaning heavy against the wall, boxed in by someone Casey assumes is another business major. The guy is gripping Raph’s arm tight enough to bruise. Casey stalks across the hotel lobby, boots stomping noisily on the polished marble, and drops his hand harshly on the guy’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy. Get the hell off him.”
The guy looks over at Casey, “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused. Now fuck off.”
The guy grips Raph’s arm tighter, and Raph blinks up at Casey blearily. Casey freezes again, focusing on Raph’s eyes. His pupils are blown so wide Casey can barely see the beautiful green of his irises. Raph smiles at Casey, opens his mouth to greet him, but all he gets out is this barely-intelligible slurred version of Casey’s name. He frowns, confused, tries again, and gets the same result. Casey reaches for him.
“It’s okay, babe. I gotcha.” He glares at the other guy. “Fucking let go of him. Are you the one who drugged him?”
“Drugged him? C’mon, man. He’s just… drunk.”
Casey glances around the lobby. As far as hotels go, it isn’t super fancy, and the only other person around is a very tired looking desk clerk. Fuck it.
He socks the guy in the face, sending him reeling away from Raph, gripping his nose. Casey gets in between him and Raph, vaguely aware of Raph sliding to the floor without his arm being held. The guy pulls his hand away from his face, and his nose is bleeding. Casey bites back a laugh.
“Get lost, man.”
The guy glares back at him. “He’s just drunk. He’s not drugged.” And then he stalks back off to the ballroom.
Casey sighs through his nose, forcing his shoulders to relax before turning back to Raph. He’s slumped in the corner, eyes shut, breathing maybe too slow. Casey’s shoulders immediately tense again as he kneels beside Raph, shakes him. Raph opens his eyes just a little, and Casey sighs again. Mostly conscious. He regrets taking his bike, but his car is in the shop… Guess Raph is riding frontsies.
“Alright, man, let’s go.” Casey hauls Raph to his feet, who in turn stumbles forward until Casey is almost entirely supporting his weight.
“I brought the bike. You’re riding on the front.”
He’s never been so glad to be taller than Raph. If Raph’s height matched the rest of his build, they’d be totally fucked. Casey would have to resort to calling Leo or something, and she’d be pissed, and he’s very glad he doesn’t have to deal with that. As it is, the worst he has to deal with is hauling a mostly unconscious Raph back to his bike so he can get them both home. Casey has to halfway drape Raph over the bike to stoop down and pick up his helmet from where he’d abandoned it on the asphalt. He straightens Raph back up, maneuvers him onto the bike, gets on behind him, puts the helmet on him. Casey only brought the one helmet, didn’t even consider grabbing his spare on his way out the door, and there’s no way in hell he’s letting Raph on his bike (awake or not) without one, so he’s shit out of luck for the 15 minutes back to the dorms.
Whatever keeps Raph safe.
The ride is relatively uneventful, excluding a couple of side eyes from some judgy sedan drivers, and Casey is silently grateful for the lack of cops, even as they make their way onto the residential side of campus. He pulls up, kills the bike, struggles to get Raph off it. Looks up at the 3rd floor, where both his and Raph’s dorms are. The dorm buildings are old, and especially notorious for their lack of elevators. He looks down at Raph, now vaguely awake but not quite present, still leaning fully on Casey, and genuinely considers just crashing on the lawn for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time someone passed out right outside the entrance. But, no. Raph has been drugged, for fuck’s sake. Casey’s going to get him behind a door with a lock if it kills him.
As he drags himself and Raph through the entrance and begins the hike up the stairs, he considers whether he should get Raph to his room or Casey’s. Casey’s room would hypothetically be easier, his key is handy and there wouldn’t have to be any feeling-up of a non-consenting Raph to get in. Casey has a single, though, and even though he and Raph have shared his bed before, throwing drugs into the mix makes everything a bit more. Questionable.
Raph tends to wake up anxious on his best mornings, something Casey assumes is a symptom of whatever ninja training his dad put him through as a kid. He’s not sure which drug exactly is running through Raph’s system, but the chances of it being a date-rape drug are almost 100%, and so are the chances that Raph’s memory will be hazy in the morning. If he wakes up in a less familiar place, with his last memory being something with that guy who definitely drugged him, Raph will absolutely jump to the worst case scenario, even if Casey sleeps on the floor.
Raph’s room it is, then. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Mikey will be in so he doesn’t have to search Raph’s pockets.
They make it to the top of the stairs, Casey exhausted and Raph totally out again, and Casey finishes the journey to Raph’s door. He knocks, waits. Knocks again. Mikey opens the door in orange pajama pants, rubbing his eyes in a way that makes it obvious he was just asleep. Casey feels a pang of guilt cut through the still-present anxiety.
“Hey,” he greets, as Mikey takes in him, then Raph, and straightens up as the anxiety that’s been eating at Casey starts to get him too.
“What the hell happened?!” he snaps, not meanly, as he holds the door open for Casey to drag Raph into the room. “Didn’t he have that mixer tonight?”
“He called me while he was there,” Casey explains, letting Mikey help get Raph onto his bed, “said he’d had too much to drink and that someone was taking him home. He didn’t sound right, so I went to get him.”
Mikey looks at Casey with gratitude shining in his eyes, offers him a small smile. “Thank you. He never calls any of us for help. I’m glad he called you.”
Casey blushes and turns away as Mikey finds a flashlight and checks Raph’s eyes.
“Doesn’t ask for help, huh? Sounds like him.”
“You know him well, then.” Mikey sighs, and Casey hears the flashlight click off. “Thanks again, man. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.”
“Sure thing,” Casey mutters towards the carpet, then crosses to the door. “Come get me if you need anything. I’m right next door.”
The door shuts behind him with a gentle click, and he shoves down a pang of regret. He wants to protect Raph, but he knows he made the right decision. Waking up with his brother right there is going to be what’s best for him.
Casey goes back to playing Red Dead 2, swallowing thick around the anxiety.
…
He wakes up to a gentle tapping on his door, the humming of the pause menu dragging him back into awareness. He saves and closes out of the game, leaving the controller behind on his bed as he answers the door.
It’s Raph, wearing black gym shorts and looking like hell warmed over. Casey keeps his voice quiet, gentle, almost certain Raph’s got a killer headache.
“Hey, handsome.”
“C’n I come in?” Raph rasps, and Casey thinks it’s a combination of drug-hangover and Raph’s typical morning rasp.
Casey steps to the side to let him in, and Raph drops himself on the bed, narrowly missing the controller. Casey scoops it up and moves it to the desk as Raph gets comfortable. He’s totally not staring, but he might be watching out of the corner of his eye, and there’s this glimmer of fondness as Raph tucks into his covers like he damn well owns them. He checks his phone for the time. 10:30.
“Little early for a nap, don’t ya think?” he teases as he turns back to face him.
Raph holds out a hand, “C’mere.”
“Pushy.”
“I’ll get up to drag yer ass over here. Don’t make me.”
Casey laughs, still quiet, and acquiesces, sitting on the bed next to Raph.
“That ain’t what I was askin’ for.”
“Why don’t you use your words?” Casey’s grinning, a sharp contrast to his tone and the way he’s holding himself.
Raph looks away in a way that screams embarrassed, which strikes a discord in Casey’s mind, because he’s never been embarrassed to ask (or more often, demand) for physical affection before.
“Thanks for last night.”
“‘S that what this is about?” Casey asks, laying down next to Raph, on top of the blankets.
“Dunno what happened. Guess I didn’t cover my drink well enough.”
“It ain’t your fault.”
“Sure,” Raph says, sounding distinctly like he disagrees.
“It ain’t,” Casey says, a little more forcefully. “That guy was a fucking asshole. I hope I broke his nose.”
“You hit him?”
“Yeah. Hey, show me your arm?” Casey mutters, sitting up.
Raph pulls both arms from under the blankets, brandishing them. “What’s up?”
Casey spots what he’s looking for immediately: a ring of bruises just above Raph’s elbow. He reaches out and gently touches it.
“Hurts?”
Raph shrugs. “Mikey noticed it, not me. It looks like a hand, but I. Don’t really remember how it got there.”
“Same asshole I hit,” Casey mutters, as if it’s a satisfactory explanation.
Raph just nods, tucks his arms back under the covers. Cracks half a smile.
“You gonna get under the blankets now?”
Casey does, slides in and throws an arm over Raph’s waist, gentle. “I still think it’s too early for a nap.”
“Shut the fuck up, Case.”