Work Text:
Control.
Splinter taught them once, when they were all very little, how control is the key to everything. Once you learn control, you'll be settled.
What he failed to explain was, that control does not mean restriction; one cannot deprive themself from oxygen and hope the breathing part resolves itself.
Restriction only leads to disaster.
Control also does not mean punishment, and that was a concept the four turtles tended to take for granted before realizing that punishing oneself for our mistakes is just as wrong as punishing others.
Michelangelo found this contradictory, however. Splinter had always punished them for messing up, even if they were all just teens trying to do their best most of the times. So, unless his father was lying, he was a firm believer that Splinter was a hypocrite.
Was this the reason why the rat's death didn't affect him as much as it did his brothers? He felt like such a horrible son for thinking this, though. It's not that he didn't love his father, his Sensei! But when you grow up not being the perfect son, the perfect brother nor the perfect ninja... that can really mess with your perception of fatherly love.
Control.
Because he couldn't control his own emotions. Because he couldn't control his destiny. Because he couldn't control the perception others had of him (even if he has very much tried, with all his might he has tried and failed miserably).
But he could control this. He could control the pain. He could control the punishment he received because 'fuck you, Splinter, I'm disobeying your teachings! What are you gonna do about it?'
Nothing. No one could do anything about it. He was punching himself, beating himself down, degrading himself because of the mistakes he committed.
'Screw you, Splinter! A dead rat won't control me anymore!'
The pain is, oh so sweet! It's relieving and exciting and the thrill of committing an act so taboo was such a nice change from all the numbness his soul has grown accustomed to feeling.
The pain was his confident, his family and the only one he could trust. His family died with Splinter a long time ago and now, this was all he had left.
Control
But the cracks on his mask started to show themselves, and his brothers couldn't pretend like they didn't notice anymore. What kind of brothers would that make them now that they couldn't pretend to hide in blissful ignorance?
And the young turtle knew this. He knew that his act was falling apart and now, the thrill has been replaced with anxiety.
What gave it away? What did he do that made the others grow suspicious? What was the thing he could've done to prevent this?
It doesn't matter, there's no point in thinking about this anymore, because Mikey found himself cornered in his own room, every crevice that could've worked as an escape to make a run for the exit had been blocked by three worried brothers who didn't look like they'd be moving anytime soon...
Two of them pinned him to the wall to make sure that he wouldn't be able to break free while Donatello, ever so carefully, grabbed his arm in between his hands and removed the wrappings hiding the wrist's secrets from prying eyes.
None of them dared to breathe, everything felt like it froze in time from how stiff the two turtles' stances were, as if they had been cemented to their places and were physically unable to move.
He hated how strong his brothers' grips were on his arms, because it didn't matter how much he squirmed and struggled around, none of them had any intentions on letting him go.
He wasn't in control anymore.
With no more fight left in him, the youngest finally went limp and his eyes darted to the floor, finding the concrete much more interesting than the imminent disaster that was about to unfold.
It would be unprecedented. A catastrophe of enormous proportions.
'I bet the old man is up there, somewhere, shaking his head and humming like he always used to do.'
'Disappointed.'
The thought made him sick. He already had enough as it was, he didn't need the ghost of his condescending father to rise from the dead and also lecture him.
When Donnie was finally done unwrapping his wrist, Mikey was able to notice that his brother went for his right arm.
'He remembered I am left handed...'
Why was that suddenly important to Mikey? It was a fun fact about himself, yes, but not crucial.
Then he remembered.
He always used his left hand the most when swinging his weapons.
He always used his left hand unconsciously to point at anything that would catch his eye to show his brothers whenever they went topside.
Ever since they learned how to grab, he had always used his left hand to grab things he wasn't supposed to.
But it was important because, even if he didn't tell them he was left handed, he didn't have to. They just noticed.
They were always looking after him, noticing the small things, checking up on him even if he thought no one ever noticed... that no one ever cared.
'That's how they found out.'
And suddenly, he didn't care about the voice in his head telling him how fucking stupid he was for not doing enough of a good job to cover his tracks, to stay under the radar, to act normal. It didn't matter how hard he tried, because there wasn't anything he could've done to prevent this.
It wasn't his fault he got caught.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn't matter how guilty he felt when he looked up from the ground, eyes open wide with realization and saw Donnie's eyes tear up as he unwrapped the last bandage from Mikey's wrist to uncover the nasty truth.
It didn't matter that he turned his head left and right to make sure his two older brothers were still holding him because he truly couldn't tell anymore and realized they too were crying in concern.
It didn't matter.
They noticed because they cared. They really cared.
He wasn't in control anymore.
But that's okay. He'd get through this.