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hc_bingo. Mostly Don and Mike. Love to lindentreeisle for betaing.
It wasn't fair. It'd looked so easy in the book.
How was he supposed to know that heating the oven to three hundred fifty degrees would make it so hot?
Mike whimpered again and closed his eyes in a futile effort to shut out the pain. Splinter said if he kept his hand up it would be better in the morning. (Splinter had also said he shouldn't have tried to use the oven on his own, but the cake had looked so good, Mike hadn't wanted to wait.)
Mike rolled onto his side, taking care to keep his right hand up, like Splinter had said. He thought of the other recipes in the book. Banana bread. Cupcakes, which looked like little rounds of yumminess. Brownies, though you had to cook those on the stove first, and Mike suspected Splinter wouldn’t let him near the stove for a long time after this.
A shadow moved in the darkness; probably another rat. But this movement was too large to be a rat--
Mike guarded his injured hand. Always be ready, Splinter told them. Mike worked really hard to be ready.
"It's me," hissed a voice in the dark. Donatello.
The last time he'd talked to Don, his brother had yelled at him about temperature, and the duration of heat, and how any idiot could've figured out that three hundred fifty degrees would be hot, geez, Mike, really?
Mike pretended to be asleep. Don shifted closer. Something cool touched Mike’s fingertips. He flinched, and they both started.
"Hey--"
"Mike--"
"What's going on?"
"It's, um. It's supposed to help with burns. Remember the stuff from the pharmacy?" They had scrounged the tubes and bottles out of a dumpster, and Don had made them carry it all home, insisting the find would be worth keeping. "It's called aloe."
His hand did feel better. "Thanks," Mike said.
"I," Don said. "I'm sorry. That I yelled at you. I got scared." He moved a little closer to Mike's cot.
"It's okay," Mike said. "I got scared too."
"The cake smelled really good," Don said. "Splinter made us throw it out. He said we couldn't cook without him around."
"He shouldn't have thrown it out," Mike said. "That's not fair!"
Don sat next to him. "We could've had it if we'd waited for him to come back. He said next time we can cook together, and you won't get hurt."
Together. It wasn’t fair. Don could scrounge for electronics, and Sensei let Leo do things by himself all the time. They were responsible, he said. Mike wanted to be responsible too. He wanted to have something he was good at. He knew he could be good at this, if Splinter just let him try. "I can do it on my own," he said. "I won't burn myself again."
"I know," Don said. "He just worries about you."
"I know," Mike said, to the floor.
"I found something," Don said, nudging a little closer, his voice uncertain. "Um, if you can't sleep--" He had a book in his hands. "I think you'd like it. You want me to read to you?"
Mike looked over at his brother. Don looked nervous, and worried. "Yeah," Mike answered. "That'd be good."
"Lie back down," Don said. "So you can put your hand back up, okay?"
Mike did, and soon Don was reading, his voice gentle, slow: "Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago...."
hc_bingo. Mostly Don and Mike. Love to lindentreeisle for betaing.It wasn't fair. It'd looked so easy in the book.
How was he supposed to know that heating the oven to three hundred fifty degrees would make it so hot?
Mike whimpered again and closed his eyes in a futile effort to shut out the pain. Splinter said if he kept his hand up it would be better in the morning. (Splinter had also said he shouldn't have tried to use the oven on his own, but the cake had looked so good, Mike hadn't wanted to wait.)
Mike rolled onto his side, taking care to keep his right hand up, like Splinter had said. He thought of the other recipes in the book. Banana bread. Cupcakes, which looked like little rounds of yumminess. Brownies, though you had to cook those on the stove first, and Mike suspected Splinter wouldn’t let him near the stove for a long time after this.
A shadow moved in the darkness; probably another rat. But this movement was too large to be a rat--
Mike guarded his injured hand. Always be ready, Splinter told them. Mike worked really hard to be ready.
"It's me," hissed a voice in the dark. Donatello.
The last time he'd talked to Don, his brother had yelled at him about temperature, and the duration of heat, and how any idiot could've figured out that three hundred fifty degrees would be hot, geez, Mike, really?
Mike pretended to be asleep. Don shifted closer. Something cool touched Mike’s fingertips. He flinched, and they both started.
"Hey--"
"Mike--"
"What's going on?"
"It's, um. It's supposed to help with burns. Remember the stuff from the pharmacy?" They had scrounged the tubes and bottles out of a dumpster, and Don had made them carry it all home, insisting the find would be worth keeping. "It's called aloe."
His hand did feel better. "Thanks," Mike said.
"I," Don said. "I'm sorry. That I yelled at you. I got scared." He moved a little closer to Mike's cot.
"It's okay," Mike said. "I got scared too."
"The cake smelled really good," Don said. "Splinter made us throw it out. He said we couldn't cook without him around."
"He shouldn't have thrown it out," Mike said. "That's not fair!"
Don sat next to him. "We could've had it if we'd waited for him to come back. He said next time we can cook together, and you won't get hurt."
Together. It wasn’t fair. Don could scrounge for electronics, and Sensei let Leo do things by himself all the time. They were responsible, he said. Mike wanted to be responsible too. He wanted to have something he was good at. He knew he could be good at this, if Splinter just let him try. "I can do it on my own," he said. "I won't burn myself again."
"I know," Don said. "He just worries about you."
"I know," Mike said, to the floor.
"I found something," Don said, nudging a little closer, his voice uncertain. "Um, if you can't sleep--" He had a book in his hands. "I think you'd like it. You want me to read to you?"
Mike looked over at his brother. Don looked nervous, and worried. "Yeah," Mike answered. "That'd be good."
"Lie back down," Don said. "So you can put your hand back up, okay?"
Mike did, and soon Don was reading, his voice gentle, slow: "Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago...."
