Archive of Our Own ^beta

Michelangelo was well aware of his reputation for cluelessness in his youth. When he was young, he took great offence to the notion that he was unaware of his surroundings. It was not that he failed to comprehend the intricacies of the world around him, but rather that he accepted his inability to understand everything the world could offer. He was content in his lack of desire to unravel all that made up the universe; he knew what he needed to.

He saw how this hunger for understanding consumed his brother, Donatello, at the worst of times. Where Mikey found optimism in the unknown, Donnie found anxieties and unease.

Michelangelo felt the edges of his mouth curl unhappily as he recalled the day Donatello tested his first prototype of a microchip meant to be implanted deep within his frontal lobe—something about enhancing his cognitive capabilities and improving the overall function of his mind. He’d insisted on the safety of the procedure, as well as the necessity of it in their battle against the krang.

All of that effort, that pain, the fear the event evoked from every member of their family…all for a taste of infinity. Donatello had survived the failed procedure, even perfected the microchip that led to its eventual success, but no amount of polishing could undo the emotional damage he’d caused the rest of their family.

Perhaps back then, Michelangelo could have understood his brother’s desperate hunger for more knowledge, but not now. He had achieved everything Donatello could’ve yearned for and then some, and Michelangelo wished for nothing more than the willful ignorance of his past.

Nothing was worth being forced to grieve a brother twice, much less when he could sense Donatello’s death just a day before it happened. It wasn’t nearly enough time to process, much less find closure or warn his family.

He felt that same tremor in his hands now, felt it spread throughout his body in an unpleasant hum, as he sat at the foot of a shrine dedicated to all that had been lost in battle.

“Still here, little brother?” Leonardo entered the room, glancing around at the numerous candles that lit the space. “We need you in the war room, it’s about tomorrow’s mission.”

Michelangelo opened his pale eyes for the first time in a good hour, trailing plumes of smoke that rose from the incense he’d lit earlier; all of it was nearly burnt out. He opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. I think we should postpone the mission. He knew that wasn’t an option, and he knew better than to challenge the whims of the universe. Omniscience was not omnipotence, as badly as he frequently wished it to be.

When he first felt like his heart had been torn from his chest, he knew Raphael was the cause. Michelangelo thought he did everything right. Every time he felt that dreaded sensation from the soles of his feet to the space behind his eyes, he stepped in to set things right. Each time, new visions of his brother’s death flashed through his mind, only growing more sickening with every attempt to save his life.

He’d managed to buy their protector another day, almost two, only to die a grisly death and breathe his final breath in Leonardo’s arms. Michelangelo stopped trying to interfere after that, even when he began to see visions of Donatello’s end not a month later.

He felt Leonardo’s presence closer now, adding to the thrum beneath his plastron that threatened to turn into a full-body shiver. “Mikey?” he asked.

Michelangelo looked over his shoulder, finally facing his brother with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They can wait,” he said, simply. “Sit with me. I want to spend a little longer with Raph and Donnie.”

Leonardo couldn’t refuse. They sat knee-to-knee before the shrine, silent for a moment as the candles around them licked at the air. It was quiet, too much so for Leonardo’s liking. He glanced sideways to make some offhand comment about keeping April waiting, only to watch as hot tears rolled down Michelangelo’s cheeks.

His smile didn’t falter.

He held a hand out to Leonardo without looking at him, and he took it. Thanks to Michelangelo being on his left side, Leonardo could feel the tremble in his brother’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Michelangelo whispered. “I’ve been seeing it for a week now, every time I try to sleep.”

“...It had to happen sometime. We can’t postpone this mission any longer, it’s our last shot.”

Michelangelo laughed. “You know, I’ve always hated when you talk like that. You sound too much like Raph.”

Leonardo couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes. He blinked them away, squeezing Michelangelo's hand. “Do you ever feel them? Do you know if they’re okay?” he asked, turning his eyes back to the shrine before them. Raphael's sai had been hung in the middle of the wall above the shrine, while Donatello's bō staff was leaned against the pillar on the right side. Leonardo couldn’t help but wonder how his sword might look mirroring his brother’s staff. He wondered when a pair of nunchaku might join them, and if it was selfish to hope that it wasn’t for a long, long time.

“They’re okay,” Michelangelo assured. “And they’re proud of you, so proud. Almost as much as I am.”

Silence enveloped the room once more, offering the pair time to process what they’d just shared and learned. Michelangelo attempted to reconcile with the concept of solitude, Leonardo tried to steel his resolve for the coming battle.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Leonardo said, suddenly.

“I know.”

“I wanted to say it anyway.”

Michelangelo said nothing more. There was nothing left to say that wasn’t already mutually understood.

After a few more minutes, their time together ended. Light footfalls filled the hall just beyond their quiet chamber, yet Michelangelo rose long before the owner could be heard. Leonardo stood alongside him, knowing better than to question him.

Casey Jones came into view in the archway of the entrance, hesitating to enter when he sensed the somber tone between his sensei. “Master Leonardo, Master Michelangelo…I hate to interrupt, but--”

Michelangelo chuckled, waving a hand. “Tell April we’ll be right there.”

The boy disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

“You work that kid too hard.”

Leonardo laughed now. “I have one arm, let me enjoy formal titles.”

…

Within the war room, there was a large, worn table. Small pieces of carved wood were scattered atop a crudely drawn map, each piece given a unique look to differentiate everyone’s roles in the upcoming mission. Leonardo stood at the head of the table, looking around at the sullen faces of his comrades. Michelangelo stood at his side, wearing an unreadable expression as his eyes flicked from one wooden piece to the next.

He couldn’t find it in him to focus on what was being said. He knew it didn’t matter anyway, as pessimistic as the thought was. Even so, he smiled when April met his gaze from across the table.

Michelangelo took in her worn appearance once she looked back to Leonardo to focus on what he was saying. His gaze shifted to a pale scar that burst from her braided hairline, covering half of her right brow. At once, images flashed across his vision.

If he wasn’t floating in a cross-legged position at his brother’s side, Michelangelo was sure his knees would’ve given from the shock.

His hands folded together in his lap as he simply allowed the visions to come and go, shutting his eyes slowly. He saw April’s bat clatter to the ground, surrounded by rubble. He saw her hand sticking out of said rubble at a sickening angle, while krang-operated mechs vaporized rebel squads one after another.

Unable to fight the onslaught of images, Michelangelo saw Big Mama’s corpse, skewered on a spike of rebar. He saw Todd, crushed beneath a crashed ship. As if to add insult to injury, said ship sported Donatello’s signature mark.

He saw the resistance being completely wiped out. They didn’t stand a chance, even taking the krang by surprise.

He saw Leonardo bleeding out in his student’s arms.

“But Sensei…”

Michelangelo snapped back to the present as Casey’s voice cut through Leonardo’s speech. He watched the boy fidget uncomfortably under the weight of his allies’ stares.

“...how do you know this is going to work?”

Leonardo fell quiet, casting his eyes down to the wooden pieces he’d been moving around as he spoke. “I don’t, Casey, but we need to have faith that it will.”

When his pupil fidgeted still, Leonardo asked, “what is it?”

“Why not ask Master Michelangelo?”

“Casey, that’s not--”

“It’s alright,” Michelangelo cut in. “He has a point.”

He met Casey’s eyes, but he saw nothing. Odd.

“Walk with me,” he said, sounding intrigued.

Leonardo sighed, giving the boy a nod of affirmation when Casey showed hesitance. Michelangelo didn’t take it to heart, he knew he could be intimidating to approach with how often he appeared to be lost in his own little world.

As they left the war room, Michelangelo’s feet met the ground to walk alongside Casey properly. It was his best attempt at bridging the gap between them. The resistance had come to view him as a sort of otherworldly being at times, on account of how often he meditated a few feet off the ground or sported bright, glowing eyes while utilizing his mystic energy.

“So,” Casey found the courage to begin, “do you know what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

Michelangelo’s eyes were tired when he looked at Casey, yet there was a hint of mirth to his expression. “I think so.”

Casey faltered mid-stride. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll have to see tomorrow.” Michelangelo set a hand on his shoulder, steady as a mountain. “Have faith in your allies. Everything that needs to be, will be.”

It was a short while later that a mildly irritated Leonardo found his brother meditating in his private chambers. He and his complaints of Michelangelo purposely stressing Casey out were dismissed with a cheerful laugh.

“I’ve got one foot in the grave, let me enjoy teasing the youngsters.”

That night, when Michelangelo laid his head to rest, his visions returned. He wasn’t so lighthearted the next morning as everyone prepared for their final stand.

He supposed that he ought to have known better than to hope against the future he’d already seen for his comrades; for his brother.

But how could anyone blame him? He felt no tremor in his body when he’d touched Casey, and saw no visions of an abrupt and cruel end when they’d met eyes. It felt natural to hope that this unusual void in his understanding meant the potential to change the end they were barreling towards. The violent and bloody dreams he’d had said otherwise.

“Are you almost ready to go?”

Michelangelo found himself once again standing before his fallen brothers’ shrine. As he kneeled and laid his nunchaku down at the base, he felt the worn handles glide across his calloused palms. He stood and turned to his older brother.

Leonardo’s gaze softened. “You know you’re not helping my confidence in this mission, right?”

“Don’t be like that. Where’s your dramatic leader speech about a ninja’s greatest weapon being hope? That, and a…” Michelangelo faltered. These words were not his own.

Who’s were they?

“A what?” Leonardo waved a hand in front of his brother’s face, snapping him out of his stupor. “Don’t go spacing on me now, Mikey.”

“It’s nothing, let’s get going. Big Mama and April are already at each other’s throats at the exit.”

-

“I got you, Sensei. Stay with me!”

“You’re a lifesaver, Casey Jones.”

Michelangelo halted. Presently, he fought alongside a squad of his closest allies within the resistance. April was quick to notice his hesitance, finishing off a krang hound before running to his side in the midst of the two warring factions. She noticed the faint glow his eyes cast.

“Mikey! What is it?!” she rushed, shaking him by the shoulder. Michelangelo snapped to attention.

“I have to go. Something happened.” He met her eyes with a conflicted expression.

April nodded, firm. She took him by the shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Go, we’ll manage here.”

They wouldn’t.

Michelangelo, against his better instincts in the middle of a battle, tugged April into a tight hug. She was startled, but she didn’t push him away. “Mikey…”

She pulled back just enough to meet his teary eyes. April smiled. “If this is where it ends, let me go out in a blaze of glory. Grant an old lady her final wish, Mike.”

“You’re only two years older than me,” Michelangelo pointed out with a weary laugh. He wiped his tears and April didn’t miss the way his hand shook.

“Yeah, yeah, and I aged like wine. Now, get out of here and finish this, finally.”

Steeling his resolve, Michelangelo left her. He turned off his comms for the sake of his sanity.

He appeared in a burst of golden light just as Leonardo and his pupil were about to be torn to shreds by ravenous krang beasts. With a flourish of his arms, Michelangelo summoned golden chains to cut down the shrieking monsters. Somewhere behind him, he heard his brother chuckle.

“Impeccable timing, little brother. Very dramatic.”

Michelangelo turned to face them, a new feeling working its way into the very core of his being. Achingly familiar feelings of dread remained, as this would be the end one way or another, but something else had joined the flurry in his mind…

“Help him, Michelangelo!” Casey pleaded, “he’s hurt, bad.”

He floated closer to assess the damage. His gaze fell to the wound Leonardo was pressing his false hand to; his plastron had been cracked open. Hurt, but alive.

Grisly as the sight was, Michelangelo felt confusion at the forefront of his emotions. He had not foreseen this injury. He was relieved to see his brother still breathing, that was a given, but he didn’t understand how. He had seen his death just as he’d seen the deaths of Raphael and Donatello before there was any indication that their lives were soon to end.

As Michelangelo struggled to correct this error in his foresight, Leonardo spoke.

“That’s it. The resistance failed. The Krang won…but…but it isn’t over. We’ve still got a ninja’s greatest weapon: hope. That, and a badass mystic warrior.”

Oh.

“Mikey, we need a time gateway.”

Michelangelo understood now, what that unfamiliar feeling was. It was not as new to him as he’d initially thought, but instead something he’d been deprived of for far too long. It was jarring how pleasant a sensation it was.

Surprise. He was surprised by Leonardo’s request. His visions and dreams had showed his brother dying at the hands of the krang, helpless to spare young Casey from the sight as his student was forced to watch, knowing he was next.

Michelangelo fought the sting of tears. He was overjoyed, even as his whole body ached with sorrow. This is where his story ended.

“It’ll take everything I have,” he told Leonardo.

His brother looked pained. “I know, but this is our last chance. It’s our only chance.”

With a short nod and a look that reflected his resolve, Michelangelo turned away from the pair.

Casey watched his retreating form. He looked between his teachers. “Wait, what’s going on? Where is he going?”

“Casey, listen…”

Michelangelo only heard the beginning of Leonardo’s explanation before he was drawing his foot across the scorched dirt beneath him in a quick spin. A golden ring was cast around his form as he summoned every ounce of his mystic power. This was it.

He didn’t know if this plan would work.

He didn’t know, and what a wondrous feeling it was.

Hands outstretched, sparks of mystic lightning danced across his knuckles. The sparks of light crawled up his forearms in painful bursts, but he did not falter.

A portal of blinding light tore open before him and lit up the darkened sky of the apocalypse. Michelangelo doubled his efforts, wincing at the rapidly increasing shots of pain from the tips of his fingers to his shoulders.

It felt like he was being torn apart in order to open this unstable portal to the past, yet he felt no despair. If he had to give his life for a second chance, so be it. Michelangelo only hoped that he and his family would all be reunited again when the dust settled.

“Mikey!” Leonardo rushed.

He looked down at his arms, watched the streaks of light inch further up his limbs. It didn’t take omniscience to understand that his end was drawing near. With a roaring cry, Michelangelo’s power surged as he summoned the last of his resolve to stabilize the portal.

“Master Michelangelo, no! You’re gonna--”

Casey’s words died in his throat when Michelangelo looked at him. He was smiling.

How hadn’t he seen it sooner? Casey was the variable in all this; he was their second chance. That was why he couldn’t see Casey’s future, it was still undecided.

Michelangelo felt a surge of renewed hope fill him. He didn’t know what would happen once he was gone, but that was okay. He trusted in Leonardo to make the right choice, and he trusted in Casey to change their future, just as he’d changed his own, whether he knew it or not.

He flashed a wink to his remaining brother and ally,

And just as fast, Michelangelo was gone.