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Casey Jones wasn't known as a patient guy. He wasn't exactly a ‘Waiting in the wings’ type, and he sure didn't like being cast out on missions, no matter how persistent Raph might be about it.
He didn't understand it at all. Yeah, in retrospect, he was likely the weakest out of everyone. But that doesn't make him weak.
How many times has he stepped up when the turtles couldn't? Just because he was a squishy, breakable human doesn't mean he can't live up to what the turtles need him to be. He can! He just…He just needs to prove himself.
But that's what he's been doing for so long. And it's exhausting.
Constantly trying to prove that you're not just some punching bag for a street gang. Trying to prove that you can keep up with them in a spar, or a wrestling match. Trying to prove that he's not that angry kid picking fights in the playground. It's tiring.
At his very core, Casey was a fighter. It was just in his blood.
Everyone at school knew him as some mentally unstable kid who goes too hard at Gym and always shows up to class with a black eye.
He was just…Odd.
Someone to avoid in the halls. Someone to avoid in general.
And then...He met the turtles and suddenly he wasn't that rageful kid. He was Casey.
He was Casey Jones.
Determined, passionate, inventive.
He wasn't as smart as Donnie, but he had a talent for thinking outside the box. Creating gadgets out of old spray paint pans and firecrackers, making his own taser out a potato masher. That was his jam.
He likes tinkering with old vehicles, to draw and mimic the comic book style from the only literature he actually enjoys reading. He likes writing in his journal (not his diary!!) and boosting his ego.
And for once, he felt seen. Raph praised him for the weapons he had. Leo complimented him on his smarts during stressful situations. Heck, even Donnie could see that he was good at something other than fighting!
But, like everything good, it didn't last long.
He doesn't know when it started, but all of those other ingredients that make Casey Jones up were suddenly discarded.
His love for mechanics, his ability to bear responsibility for his family and friends…It…didn't matter anymore.
In an instant, he was back to that angry hurricane on the yard. Fighting whoever and whenever he wanted. Maybe it was because he came back from a particularly nasty fight bruised or something. Maybe a PD got to him.
Whatever it was, it narrowed the turtles’ vision back down to the common person’s. And now, he was a liability.
Raph started to get more impatient with him. He got mad at him for being so reckless, when he was being a total hypocrite just saying that!
All of his other achievements were belittled. Thrown aside. Those didn't matter. Because the turtles realised something. Casey Jones wasn't like them. No. He didn't have freaky mutant biology that helped him regenerate faster. He didn't have a turtle shell to protect his back, or years of training in numerous martial arts. Casey Jones was fragile.
And unlike April, he wasn't half-Kraang and psychic. Which made him the weakest. The one they have to look out for. No matter how many weapons he had, or how many people he smacked with his hockey stick, it didn't change the fact that they all saw him as incapable.
It probably didn't help that he wasn't exactly a think-before-you-act kinda guy.. Charging into fights, sometimes looking for them, seeking the thrill and relief of beating up people who deserve it.
They all suddenly cared about him in their own, over-protective, frightened way. And he hated it. All of his life he's been trying to prove something. And just when he thought he could relax, the rug was pulled from his feet.
It didn't matter now, though. The Super Shredder was attacking, and it was all hands on deck.
Fortunately, Casey was on the team with April and Raph, his best friends. So, he would be fine. Completely, utterly fine.
Although his legs were tingly from the stairs, and heart pounding with either adrenaline or ice cold fear, he was ready. And that's all he needed. The will to do it.
Splinter attacked first. He was relieved, as it gave him a few more moments of recovery before he had to join. And when he did, he felt a grin on his face and his thoughts quiet. He began to set up his weapons. A few distractions, of course. Some firecrackers, makeshift paint bombs, anything that will create a loud noise and a messy aftermath.
When Slash, the big, bulking mutant he was, slammed his mace into the man, Casey sent the first spray paint can. It exploded in an array of pink, clouding the air and successfully forcing the Shredder back.
Flicking his lighter, he lit the fuse to some of his firecracker-pucks (modified for a better explosion), and set them down, quickly shooting them through the smoke and straight to the mutant.
Loud bangs and crackles, followed by a yell, made his heart lighten. A laugh escapes his chest, and he quickly skates in an arc, letting the others begin to get their hits in. Hit after hit. Punches, kicks, swings with swords, jabs with sais. Anything came for the Shredder, yet they barely made a dent.
He joins the fray, swinging and slinging his hockey stick like a man with nothing left to lose.
Perhaps that's what made Casey feel it.
Or when he saw Raph get grabbed.
Casey was busy setting up his next attack when he hears Raph's: ‘Oh Shit’ sound, and when he looks up, his brain began to ring the alarm bells.
Super Shredder has snagged his friend, sending huge fists into the turtles’ face. Something in his stomach gets heavy at the sight. It looks painful. If Raph's groaning is anything to go by.
Suddenly, his brain is filled with a cold panic. He has to do something— Without another thought, he goes behind the Shredder, taking out his grappling hook and shooting it straight for his arm.
It wraps around the bulging limb, and Casey lifts his feet up in order to be dragged forward. Whilst soaring, he activates his taser. The potato masher lands right in Shredder's back, and he happily digs the electricity into his pulsing body.
But he barely registers it. Instead, he throws Casey off with a jerk, sending him flying and hitting the nearby wall.
The cord of the grappling hook snaps, leaving part of it wrapped around the mutant’s arm, and the other half clattering to the ground. Rubbing his head, he blinks slowly and looks up. Slash and April are attacking, blurs of movement as Casey struggles to his feet. Raph’s lifted up once again, the body limp and defeated, before being slammed down, and that's when Casey grits his teeth and realises that he has to act.
His friend is down. And he has to help him.
Headfirst, he skates as quickly as he can. Pushing his body to just get there.
His legs don't feel real. Like they're disconnected to his body, but he skates. Skates and skates until he's just about parallel with his friend.
Two large fists bear down on the terrapin, before he's grabbed by the legs. Raph's lifted, his eyes half-closed and mouth open in a silent sound of agony.
He's thrown, and Casey swears he feels his heart drop.
His best friend's body is tumbling, rolling and rolling towards the edge of the rooftop, causing Casey to race even further.
Raph was shorter, but he was heavier. He was stocky from his training, a great, big heap of muscles and raw strength—whilst Casey is practically skin and bone.
He's glad when Raph collides with him. It's a brief spark, where perhaps he stops him from going over, saving his life.
But Casey knew when he started skating that that isn't how this was going to work. He can't let Raph fall. No. What kind of friend would he be then?
Casey's thrown off his feet. Pushed backwards by the curve of a turtle shell that feels oddly familiar.
He doesn't make a sound as he's tossed over the edge. A slight grunt from the impact, but he can't make a sound. He can't let Raph know his fear. Otherwise, he'll blame himself. And then make Casey sit the next mission out. And then the next. Then the next and…
The ground disappears from under him. It's a short moment. A joy that sparks from being midair, like when he reaches the peak of the rollercoaster. But then the wind rushes past him. Tackling his body and burning it in a way he didn't know was possible.
Falling, now, he feels weightless. A feather. In this very moment, Casey Jones realises why the turtles fear for him. He just got flung over the edge of the building. From a secondary impact! An aftermath of an attack not even meant for him. It is not an epic way to go!
...It's cold. Even with his numerous layers. The chill of the night is biting his skin. It's tousling through his hair, sending the not-very-neat locks into an even further state of disarray.
It hits him like a brick.
He's falling.
To his death.
He starts yelling. Panicked screams as he flails in the air, searching for a way out. His hands scramble across his harness, trying to find his grappling hook. It's— it's…. Not there.
Shit. He used it already.
The top of the building is shrinking, and he sees two figures peer over the edge. Even from the distance, he can sense their fear. Like they’ve swum in a river and have been swept away by the current. He has to prove them wrong. Casey has to stop acting like an idiot and find a way out of this. To…Grab onto a ledge. Or a fire escape. Or anything! He has to prove— What is he trying to prove?
That he's strong enough?
That he's smart?
That he's capable?
What exactly was he fighting for? It all seems so stupid. He feels the cold embrace of the end, and it all comes to fruition.
None of it mattered. No matter what he was trying to prove, trying to show, it. Doesn't. Matter. He can't change the team’s perspective on him, and trying to was…Useless. He just was weak. An angry alley cat. Too much fight in a malleable body.
Numerous passions that led him to nowhere, no matter how much effort he put into them. Because in the end, he wasn't needed.
They didn't need a mechanics guy, that's what Donnie did.
They didn't need a strong guy, that's what Raph specialised at
They didn't need a distraction, or an artist, they had Mikey.
They didn't need him. They don't need him. Why…Why was he there at all? All of his traits where already occupied. He wasn't his own person. He had nothing original to offer to the team.
Sometimes he wonders why they kept him at all.
Casey turns, facing his front now. His eyes water from the wind as he stares at the dark abyss that's growing closer and closer. A warm feeling spreads through his body. Encapsulating his bones and stretching over his fingertips. All of this endless fighting was going to be over.
Closing his eyes, he sees his Mom. A gentle, kind face. Silky black hair. Deep brown eyes that smiled on their own. A smell of the pine air freshener they kept in the house and fresh laundry.
He didn't…feel angry. Not at the moment. More of a...Melancholic acceptance of his fate
Now, he wasn't that spiteful kid picking fights with the older fourth graders. He wasn't that insane teenager in a hockey mask beating up petty thieves.
No...He was just a person. Falling. Quickly approaching his end.
He was always told he would die before he could live. That he would do something stupid and be killed in a meaningless way. That's what his Dad said during one of his nonsensical rants.
And yet, Casey felt completely fine. He saved his friend. And now, he can stop fighting. Take a break.
Maybe this was the remedy to his fire. Instead of adding fuel of the fight, he just needed to let the flame die out. Become ash so that something else may be reborn from it. A new beginning for the hockey player.
Maybe that's what he wanted all along. A new beginning. He takes one last breath before he hits the ground.
His body doesn't register the pain that follows.
Just the comforting embrace of his Mother.