"Hey, next time you get shot, tell someone, okay?"
@ramskulls you asked to be tagged in leo/casey stuff: I hope this Suffices !! ✌️
In order, it goes like this:
Donnie’s the best at tying bandages, then Splinter, Casey (loathe though he is to be patient), and Leo.
But Donnie’s checking Mikey for a concussion, Splinter’s trying to coax Raph out of a funk, and Casey’s the one clutching his shoulder, blood creeping through his fingers, so the job’s on Leo.
“I think,” Leo says, methodologically clearing blood off Casey’s bicep so he can see where the wound starts, “that next time you get shot, I want a head’s up. You know, before you limp into the lair bleeding everywhere.”
Casey grins at him. “Next time? You have such little faith.”
Leo presses hard with the antiseptic and Casey yelps, aiming a kick at Leo’s shin that Leo easily side-steps. He narrows his eyes at the graze on Casey’s shoulder like that’d stop him bleeding, and tries to figure out if it needs stitches. Tries to figure out if he’ll be able to get Casey to consent to stitches.
“Out of the six of us, you are the one who gets shot the most.”
“I can’t redirect bullets with my mind!” Casey protests, and Leo sets his jaw and keeps his eyes on the gauze. The mix of white and green always looks odd, but he’s still thankful April has kept their first-aid kit stocked. It’s better for the humans in their life that the bandages are clean, and they’re strong but he knows Donnie’s thankful for it too. Fewer germs, fewer threats they can’t fight, fewer weaknesses.
Fewer weaknesses, but they live with humans now.
“You’re reckless,” Leo says, and ties off the bandage a little tighter than necessary. Casey’s muscle jumps under his hands, warm and strong, but Casey doesn’t even hiss through his teeth.
Donnie’s best at doing bandages, then Splinter, then Casey, then Leo.
But Casey always asks for him. (Because Leo knows he likes it tight, knows that Casey wants to flex and feel the pinch of injury, the shift of the bandage; they’re the same, like that. The only difference is in how they scar.)
Leo takes his time checking the edges, letting his fingers run over Casey’s skin - tight is fine, constricting blood flow is not - and he can tell that Casey’s getting bored when he starts to shift on Donnie’s workbench.
“Thanks,” Casey says, when Leo can’t find another excuse for the length of time he’s spent with his hands on Casey’s arm, and Leo awkwardly pats the bandage once, like he needs to check it’s in place. Then he steps out of the way, so Casey can swing himself off the bench and windmill his arm to check Leo’s work.
Casey tilts his head and tracks him, hands braced against the edge of the desk. “All done?” he asks, and Leo frowns slowly, knowing that Casey’s fishing for something. He nods, and watches Casey grin. “I think you missed a step, is all.”
Casey leans forward, easy and open - an invitation if ever there was one, and Leo scowls. “No,” he says sternly. “I’m not going to reward you for getting shot.”
“What about a reward for sitting still?” Casey asks, pouting dramatically with his eyes wide. “Please? You should at least kiss me for saying please.”
“Not in my lab!” Donnie says from the corner sectioned off for the med-bay, and Casey’s pout turns into a grin as he tries not to laugh. He waggles his eyebrows, stupid and silly and happy and alive.
A weakness.
Leo steps in and picks Casey’s hands from the bench, tugging him along, and lets himself smile at Casey’s dopey look at their conjoined hands.
“Not in Donnie’s lab,” he says, and Casey’s cheer makes Mikey whine, ow, my head and Donnie yell, get out!
Donnie’s best at doing bandages, then Splinter, then Casey, then Leo.
But Casey likes Leo best.
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Letter from the grave to the People of Ireland
The old Fenian Plot
Glasnevin Cemetery
Finglas Road
Glasnevin
Dublin 11
A Chairde,
People of Ireland, one and all, all who live here from wherever you began, for all of you are Irish if you sleep within the bosom of Éiru. We all came from beyond the sea of Manannán once too.
I am beyond the veil, so near that I can see your breath yet far away in time. Here within these walls of glasnevin all our eyes are watching through the night what you do and what you don't. We are watching injustices happen all around you as you stay silent. Are you waiting orders from the captain, one more word for signal token? Hush and listen, it is time again for you to whistle out your marching tune, stand up now and rise with the goddess moon.
Those who listened to my words and rose up again and again to fight for all men and women, young and old, to be free are well known to you and me. Despite learning how the men with pikes had suffered they proclaimed a new and equal Ireland for you all. Their vision was true and just and should have been a guiding light for all to follow and it was for a time until greed and avarice displaced it.
I don't regret my words, I meant them, I don't regret a bit of my short life or what I stood for. I still believe in love, romance and freedom for us all. But you, my people, what do you believe in? What drives you forward if it is not justice for the poor and sick and trodden on? Do you not remember all who died before you to give you all of this? Is this web of lies and betrayal, brown envelopes and whispers in the corridors of power what we died and fought for? Do you believe those men in suits who bow their caps to masters in the banks and European Parliament? Hoorah me boys for Freedom, now you're shackled once again. Stand up and be together at the Rising of the Moon.
The cause of freedom and love for all is greater and more urgent now than ever, greater than when my neighbours died in famine or your ancestors died in workhouses. It is greater than when the hidden daughters and sons of Ireland died alone, in shame that wasn't theirs, within the walls of laundries and industrial schools, run by the new lords and ladies you replaced the others with. When I entrusted you to St. Patrick that was not what I imagined to behold.
The cause, for there always is a cause, is no longer just about our lady love this island, the cause is no longer at the old spot by the river, it is global now. If you want life to continue, children to be born and food for them to eat, if you don't want to hear the banshee's lonely croon echo loud through the land and waters, rise up and save our planet, now!
Be the blessed morning's light, be an example to the world as the Irish can and do and have done. That is your purpose here on mother earth. That is why you were entrusted with this land of saints and scholars, this magical place of hope and love. You do not own her, she owns you. There is no time, it is slipping away fast, species are dying by the day, babies are dying every minute, Mother Earth is writhing in pain and anguish. Get you ready quick and soon for we must stand together at the rising of the Moon.
I've twined the last leaf of my garland:
A lonely star shines in the sky,
And the heart of the poet is weary:
Oh Bright Eyes! Goodbye.
John Keegan Casey,
(Leo)
(Inspired by the life and work of John Keegan Casey (Leo), young Irish activist who died too young.)
By Ann Gerety Smyth, 2019
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