Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Michelangelo watched on as Uno continued to take the small, tentative and awkward steps to explore the nursery. These steps were the first of many in the little guy’s life, and Michelangelo couldn’t help but smile that he was there to witness them. After everything, the deaths, the destruction, the hurt—it was nice to be a part of something new.

Sure, Uno’s motor skills had progressed faster than anticipated, outright scaring Michelangelo at the sudden agility the tot began to display. In the back of his mind, Michelangelo was already aging rapidly at the thought that soon this little troublemaker would be able to run around the lair by himself. Was this how his father felt all those years ago?

His mind was suddenly alerted to the present, and Michelangelo was able to catch Uno in time after the guy had tripped over his own legs. With a chirp, Uno wrestled away from Mike’s hold, a small pout of annoyance at having to be saved. He looked up at Michelangelo with a boastful expression and a shine in his eyes before walking off again. Uno’s beak soon scrunched up in concentration, and with every few steps he would look back at Mike to make sure that his grunkle was watching.

When Uno was sure he had Mike’s full attention, the tot returned to the task at hand to show off that he was a walking prodigy. The kiddo was oddly confident, Mike thought, for a toddler who had only just learned the act of walking itself barely a half hour prior. Uno kept attempting to take bolder, longer strides, but found himself having to be caught by Michelangelo’s hand every time he went off balance—which was quite often.

Mike absentmindedly took a glance at the clock before doing a double take, balking at the time as his brow ridges raised at the numbers that read 9:42. He really needed to put Uno back to bed. The tyke was supposed to be already sleeping alongside his siblings, but Uno decided that tonight was the night he was going to give Michelangelo a heart attack by slipping out of the nursery bed and walking on his hind legs for the first time without aid.

As if on cue, Uno let out a little yawn, audibly sounding like a little squeak. The old turtle let out an amused sigh, walking the three paces it took to close their gap and picked up the drowsy child. Uno let out sounds of protest from being interrupted, but was quickly placated when he felt soothing circles on his shell. A familiar lullaby was being hummed, and Uno was about to surrender to sleep for the night when he heard rustling from the entranceway of the lair.

Uno’s head immediately perked up, recognizing the noise of Casey-Marie returning home from patrol. As if he had forgotten about being sleep-laden in the first place, Uno squirmed around to look at the open arch of the nursery. The moment Casey’s head popped in, Uno reached out with his hands in a grabbing motion to garner her attention. Casey’s eyes widened in an obvious surprise, but nonetheless reached out in kind, and Uno transferred himself to her hold. The tyke snuggled up against the crook of Casey’s neck, taking in the scent of the urban topside.

“Welcome back. You smell like petrichor, was it raining?” Michelangelo asked in a whisper. Casey sniffed the back of her wrist, wondering how on Earth he could have even smelled that. It wasn’t like she was rolling around in the dirt, or anything. 

“Hey Sensei, it literally started to pour on my way back,” Casey answered in the same hushed tone. “What’s Uno still doing up?”

“He decided to show off some new moves he just acquired,” Michelangelo said. After taking in Casey’s confused expression for a second or two, he continued, “Uno started walking today.”

With a gasp and a beaming smile, Casey’s eyes brightened instantly as she looked down at the toddler in her arms. Her eyes flitted up as she met Mike’s gaze once more. “Really?”

“Really,” Michelangelo replied with a nod. 

Casey’s smile widened and she gave Uno a small squeeze. “My little champion,” she cooed, rubbing the back of Uno’s head. It didn’t take long before the toddler’s breathing soon evened out as he began to doze off. If Michelangelo was jealous at how quickly Casey could get the kids to sleep, he wouldn’t be caught ever admitting it. April had the same talent, and Michelangelo had long told himself it had something to do with body warmth.

“Did the kids get mutated by some form of advanced mutagen or something?” Michelangelo jokingly chuckled. “They’re growing way too fast.”

Mike then could have sworn he heard a strange hum from Casey, but the sound was too quiet for him to be completely sure.

“When do you think the others will walk?”

“Who can say?” Michelangelo said with a shrug.

“What katas can the little ones do?” Casey asked. The question pierced the air in a way Mike did not expect. The question seemed innocent enough, and his answer should have been simple—but the underlying implication elicited a chill that ran up his spine. She couldn’t be suggesting... they were way too young.

Michelangelo frowned. “What are you saying?”

Casey tilted her head. “I mean, it’s obvious they can’t do any of the advanced stuff, but like, surely there’s some child friendly katas they can do.”

“Child friendly—what, are you saying... you want to train them? Now?” There was an edge to his voice, something that Casey picked up on as she cleared her throat nervously. Michelangelo kept a steady gaze on Casey as he processed her words. He just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Uno just learned how to walk, and Casey was already thinking about training? 

“Yeah? I mean, not right now, but when the others can walk! The sooner they learn, the more experience they can—” Casey was immediately cut off as Michelangelo strode over faster than she expected, hands already in position to lift Uno from her hold. Finding the action odd, but not wanting to go against her sensei, Casey only gave Michelangelo an arched eyebrow as she allowed Uno to be taken from her.

The transition was fast and smooth, and surprisingly, the tot was still sleeping soundly. Michelangelo brought Uno over to the nursery bed and tucked the tyke in, making sure not to disturb the other children. He gave Uno one final brushing pat on the tot’s head before turning his attention back to Casey. Then, in almost a blur, Michelangelo grabbed Casey by the shoulder, leading her out towards the kitchen.

“Sensei?”

Michelangelo didn’t bother to answer, his silence causing the tension in the air to grow heavy. Once in the kitchen, Michelangelo finally let her shoulder go, signaling for her to either take a seat at the table or stay where she stood. He made his way towards the center of the room, pacing back and forth to gather his thoughts. Casey only stood and stared, rubbing at her shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but Casey could still feel the phantom grip as if it was still there.

“Why do you want to train them?” Michelangelo finally asked. His voice was low but clear.

“I mean,” Casey said as she straightened her posture. “They’re going to have to learn how to fight eventually, right?”

Michelangelo let out a sigh. “Learn to defend themselves? Sure, but why do you want to start them so early?”

Casey blinked. “Because kids absorb things quicker, yeah?”

“No, but isn’t this pushing it? Babies don’t need to train.”

“They can handle it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Don’t worry, Sensei. I made sure that they’re strong enough—” Casey stopped herself the second she saw the look on her sensei’s face.

Michelangelo’s eyes were dark, a quiet expression etched into his features. An emotion that Casey had never seen on her master before.

“Casey. What do you mean by you made sure?”

Somehow, Casey knew that if she answered, nothing would ever be the same again. “Nevermind, Sensei, just speaking nonsense and messing up my words. What can you do, you know? Oh would you look at the time, I should head off to bed.”

She turned around in an attempt to make her escape, but was stopped by Michelangelo’s voice. “Casey-Marie Jones. Tell me this instant on what you meant.”

Casey faced Michelangelo again but kept her mouth shut. All of her instincts told her that it was imperative that her sensei didn’t know, that he didn’t find out. But Casey herself didn’t know why.

“Casey. Did you mutate the kids yourself?”

She nodded.

And the other shoe finally dropped.

Michelangelo let out a strangled breath, his brow ridges furrowed as he put a hand on his forehead. “Oh, Casey…” he said with a shaky voice. Deep down, he always had an inkling that this was the case. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

The fact that Michelangelo never bothered asking before today was self confirmation that he always knew. He just didn’t want to accept the truth. How could he? Instead, he made excuses for himself and by extension, made excuses for Casey. He chose to hold onto theories like she had rescued them from a lab, or found them near a pet store covered in mutagen. But realistically, what were the chances she would just come by four mutated baby turtles by coincidence? 

He should have known. No, he did know. But he had just refused to see the truth for what it was. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think that Casey would do something like that. To his family. To him.

It was no secret that a life as a mutant was more trouble than it was worth. Nothing good came from their lives as warriors. They had to deal with all the losses that came at their doorstep because they dared to simply exist in a world not meant for them. After everything that had happened to his family, the back and forth of revenge was finally at a standstill. He put an end to it. And yet, here Casey was, fanning the flames to start a cycle anew.

“How could you?” Michelangelo’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t understand,” Casey said. “How could I what?”

“Why would you mutate them? Bring them purposefully into this world?”

“Because we need them.”

“Need?” Michelangelo asked. What did she mean? A small hope fluttered in his chest. Perhaps needing them for what they were? Children to care for? Did he misjudge her? “Need them for what?”

“We need their help.” The remaining hope was dashed. There he went again, making excuses for Casey-Marie. “Help in making things right again.”

His eyes glowered. You mean you need them to fight. “No, we don’t.”

Casey’s head jerked in reaction to his words. “What do you mean, Sensei?” she asked as she raised her hands to the lair’s exit, before gesticulating to the world above their heads. “Have you seen what’s going on?”

“The war is over.”

“And yet here we are, reeling from the aftermath. The world is still in bad shape, Sensei. But the kids can help. They can make the world better.”

“Why can’t they just be kids, Case?”

“And they will be! They just will also know how to help others. To do that, they need to be prepared, which means we need to train them!”

“So you want to turn them into weapons? Child soldiers?”

His words took her aback. It was now Casey’s turn to frown. “What? That’s excessive, wouldn’t you say?”

“But that’s what your goal is, isn’t it?” Michelangelo said with what could only be described as a snarl. “You want to turn them into little fighting machines that follow your every word. Have them at your beck and call?”

“Sensei, where is all of this coming from?” she sputtered, her eyes widened at the accusation.

“Where is this coming from?” Michelangelo let out a sharp laugh. “I lived this life, Case. And you’re turning them into a copy of my family.”

The room became silent once more.

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Casey finally asked.

Michelangelo’s blood ran cold. “What?” he asked her through gritted teeth.

Casey let out a breath. “Come on, Sensei. Both you and I know the world would have been worse off without your family. Your family were heroes. You are a hero. They can be heroes.”

Michelangelo barked out another laugh. There was nothing amusing about this conversation, but how else was he supposed to react to such ludicrous notions? “Heroes? Raphael rushed a Foot camp by himself and died for his troubles.”

He took a step closer to Casey, a lump now forming in his throat as he felt his voice growing louder.

“Your father and Leonardo played hero and died in an explosion, not to mention your mother lost an arm and a leg for her efforts.”

The scowl on Casey’s face deepened. Was that a cut too deep? At this point, Michelangelo could hardly care. He took another step towards her. Casey didn’t move from her position, her expressions were now probably mirroring his, no doubt.

Casey started to speak, “You can’t just say that about—”

But Michelangelo raised his voice over hers, “Donatello spent his last dying breath protecting a man that let a blood feud cloud his judgment.” The sound of contempt was practically dripping from his words. “And I—”

He was now right in front of Casey, looking down at her dead in the eyes. He pointed a thumb at himself, his voice quiet and low once more. “I’m no fucking hero.”

Michelangelo then walked past her to exit the kitchen. “Neither are you. And neither will the kids. Not ever. Not if I have anything to do about it.”

It took Casey a few seconds before she was able to fully register what his words meant. She turned around immediately to follow him.

“Sensei, what are you saying?”

“I’m taking the kids,” he told her. “And if you know what’s good for you Casey-Marie, don’t mutate any more children.”

“You can’t just leave—”

“But I can.”

Casey grabbed his wrist, stopping Michelangelo in his tracks. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

Him, or the children?

“I don’t want to make a scene, so your best option is to let me go. I don’t want to fight you either, Case.”

“You said that we’re a...” her words trailed off. Michelangelo just wanted her to say the word. Family. He had previously said they were a family. When she had shown him the children for the first time, that was what he had said. Why was she having such difficulty saying the word? Was it because she didn’t know how he would react, or that it conflicted with her own views?

When Michelangelo realized Casey wasn’t going to move or let him go, he tore himself from her grip. She continued to stand there, contemplating her words and options. And then she rushed him.

If he was anybody else, Michelangelo would have gotten successfully ambushed. So good thing he was Michelangelo. He turned around to deflect her strike just in time, deploying an attack of his own on a pressure point. Her body fell and Mike was able to catch her, slowly laying her down on the floor.

“At least now I know you’re willing to fight to keep us together,” Michelangelo said. He chose to think of it as a good thing. Already making an excuse to forgive her? He pushed the thought down. No, of course not, he told himself.

“Please don’t go,” Casey forced herself to whisper through the paralysis. Her sensei said nothing as he got up to walk away.

Michelangelo was a fast packer, taking only the essentials. With practiced ease, he took the four sleeping baby turtles and carried them comfortably on his person in a sling.

He left just in time to hear April’s voice from the hallway, “Case? Mikey? I heard some noises? Are you two alright?” A pause. “Casey!”

And he was gone.

Chapter Text

Michelangelo could hardly believe that he was back. Back in his old home with the kids, back to the familiar walls and the nostalgic décor that made his heart ache. The sight of new trinkets which no longer looked out of place weaved between the old bric-a-brac had at first given him hope. The hope of starting something different—something that included the old and the new. But that supposed plan veered severely off course half a day prior.

He was prepared to never set foot back into the lair ever again. Something he was willing to do without hesitation if it meant keeping the kids safe from her. But despite his willingness, he was surprised as much as anyone when he found himself in the lair’s foyer. The four bundles wrapped in the baby slings around his person were none the wiser, still sleeping soundly when he had started his trek back.

“Welcome back, Mikey,” April said, her voice calm and collected.

“Hmm,” he grunted in reply.

April greeted him with a hug, careful not to crush any baby turtles between them. Casey-Marie stood on standby, hesitant to engage. Good, Mike had thought. He wasn’t sure if he could compose himself enough to interact with her. Not at this very moment, at least. She also watched from a distance as April and Michelangelo returned the tots back to their crib—again, he was grateful for the wide berth. 

Silently, Casey slipped out of the nursery. Judging by the direction of the noise, Mike deduced that Casey was in the kitchen. She was making tea from the sound of it, as he heard the sound of running water, closely followed by a clink of the tea kettle being put on the stovetop.

As Mike looked on at the sleeping children, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to process what just transpired—couldn’t help but steal a quick moment for himself in order to take it all in. He was here. So were the kids. It still felt surreal to him, how they were all back as if he didn’t just attempt to leave with the little ones in tow.

After all these years, it was still a wonder to him how April was so convincing at times. It must be all the experience she had in wrangling him and his brothers when they were teenagers, Mike assumed. All it took was one conversation to get him back, with the promise of several more. Serious ones, involving all the individuals involved, where running away wasn’t an option. That last bit was probably aimed towards him, specifically.

And they did talk. In the early hours of the morning, around the kitchen table, each with a cup of tea, they began to talk. Everyone said their piece, especially an eager Casey-Marie. In fact, she was the one that talked the most, pouring her heart out in an attempt to make her sensei understand. Her words made Mike realize that not only did the war fractured his family, it messed with the new generation’s minds—their way of thinking—as well. To be raised during a war, in an era of an oppressive totalitarian government, fighting against it all was their normal. Because that was what they were used to, it was all they have known.

Even with The Foot gone, the world was still broken. Without a clear leader, the power vacuum that was left behind toppled the city into chaos. Multiple factions began to fight for dominance, the weekly turf wars leaving destruction behind in its wake. From one war to another, huh? It did not take a genius to take one look of what was happening in the city to see how dire the situation was. Casey-Marie saw the wrong and wanted to make things right. Not only for now, but for the future. She wanted to give a hand in creating something that would make the world right again.

As he listened, Mike began to finally fully understand Casey’s plight. To her, the turtles were a symbol of good. Good triumphs over evil. How frustratingly simple and straightforward. But just because he understood, it does not make him sympathize with the sentiment. Surely, there were other steps she could have taken before she jumped to ‘creating lifeforms to raise as fighters for justice’, right? Somehow, Mike couldn’t help but blame her father for how she came to that conclusion. He didn’t want to admit it, but it seemed like a Jones thing to do.

“I even made sure they’ll be even sturdier than you guys were, Sensei,” the young woman commented, smiling at the accomplishment. “Like, their plastrons are connected to their carapace, so that’s already more protection. Oh, did you see the other day, when Moja retracted into her shell? That was, like, so cute! When I picked her up, she started giggling, and it was kind of echoey. Not to mention, with proper training, they’ll be faster and stronger, too—”

“Casey,” April chastised, making her daughter look at her. April shook her head, which only made Casey more confused. Casey turned to look at Michelangelo, realizing too late she must have made some sort of mistake as she saw the grim and tight line across his beak.

He let out a weary sigh, letting Casey’s words sink in. Of course that was the case. If she created them on purpose, no doubt she would have done some tweaking to make them different. Michelangelo... didn’t know what to think about that. On one hand, she gave them better means to protect themselves, keeping them safer. On the other hand, the way that she treated them like subjects of an experiment... it made a shudder run up his spine.

Did she see herself... as a parental figure? By all means, she was literally the person who created them. But what did she see herself as? Their mother? Creator? Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, not today.

Thankfully, they had April there to steer the conversation to a different topic.

“We should move,” she said, taking a sip from her tea.

“Move? Move where?” Casey asked.

Michelangelo nodded. “Somewhere quiet,” he suggested. Away from all the fighting, was the silent addition.

“Exactly,” April agreed. “Like the outskirts.”

“Wha—? What are you two saying? We can’t just leave the people,” Casey countered, her brows knitted in frustration.

“I’m not stopping you from protecting the people,” April responded. “I just think it’d be better for the kids if we move somewhere further from the center of the city, away from where all the action is.”

Michelangelo could see Casey-Marie physically deflate, but was surprised that she didn’t protest. The conversation was deemed finished once the tea ran out and everyone turned in for the night. At least, they would have, if it weren’t for the fact that one of the tots started to cry.

Casey-Marie automatically reacted. Under normal circumstances, this would have been her turn to check on the children. She started to make her way towards the nursery, before April stopped her by a gentle hold on her wrist.

“I’ll take care of it, Case. You go rest,” she told her daughter. Casey shot a glance at Michelangelo before nodding and excusing herself for the night. April turned her attention to the senior turtle. “And that goes for you too, big guy.”

“What, are you going to tuck me in like the good old days?”

April snorted at the suggestion. “Do you want me to?”

“I think I can handle it,” Mike chuckled.

Despite her initial protests, Casey-Marie was the one that suggested the perfect place to move into. Mike wanted to check the place out for himself, so he begrudgingly followed Casey to its whereabouts. April was informed of its location as well, but Mike didn’t feel safe leaving Casey alone with the children. It just didn’t feel right. 

The new place was a spacious—really spacious, like Mike didn’t even know they made tunnels this big spacious—sewer system in a part of the city that had been long abandoned. The main hub of it all was a huge chamber that was connected directly to the surface, bathing the place in natural sunlight. The chamber alone was as big as the entirety of all the rooms of the current lair combined. Where and how did Casey find such a place?

“I found Uncle Don’s map of potential hideouts. It was coded so it took a while to decipher it, but here we are!” Casey announced, looking pleased with her discovery.

Because of course Don had a list of hideouts. Still looking after the family even after his death. What an overachiever. Now that Mike looked closer, there were signs that Donatello had indeed been here—if his signature supply caches were anything to go by, as worn down as they may be. His mind was then alerted to the new information that was given to him.

“Uncle Don?” Mike asked. It was news to him that Casey-Marie referred to his brother that way.

“She used to call you Uncle Mike, too,” April explained over his commlink. And even though he couldn’t see April, he could hear the smile. “Before meeting you, that is.”

His curiosity was piqued. “Oh? What changed?”

“Mom,” Casey protested, pulling up her hood. Despite that, he noticed her face reddening.

“She never thought she’d meet you. So when she actually did, Case was flustered and didn’t actually know what to call you, not knowing if you’d like to be called Uncle—”

Casey yelled out in embarrassment, pulling out her commlink. She briskly walked away from Mike, kicking a pebble that was in her pathway. The young woman then suddenly found the architecture of the place very interesting, choosing to stare at a particular brick in the wall with extreme intensity.

Although it was located far from the main parts of the city, the chamber and its attached tunnels was by no means quiet. Water still flowed freely into the chamber from the surface, giving the place its own waterfall. Enough sunlight was supplied where grass grew abundantly along the rocks and rubble that fell in from the giant skylight above. There was even a tree resting on a giant stone slab in the center of it all, sitting there, all quaint and peaceful-like. Untouched by man for years, growing as it pleased from upon its rocky perch. 

A definite fixer upper, what with the overgrown moss and algae—not to mention the worrying skylight that was made from the road above caving into the sewers below it. But Mike had to admit it was nice. He could already envision where to set up a garden and was already planning on what to grow in it.

There were matters the women had to attend to before they could begin to initiate the move. These included deals to follow through, issues to settle, favors to cash in on, and investments to set up. Casey was even stepping down from her position in her peace crew as Commander. She would still be a member, and a high ranking one at that, but she would no longer be the final say in matters, the one to call the shots. The new home would be far from the epicenter of all the action, and she did not feel like it was fair to the others for her to remain in charge when she would not be around as frequently.

Her friends and fellow cohorts came by to say their farewells, especially to the little ones. The tots, familiar with all the faces, babbled incoherently at their visitors. Michelangelo hovered close by, keeping an eye on the children.

“Out of all of us, I didn’t expect you to be the one that goes on maternity leave, Jones,” one of Case’s friends had joked.

“Hardy Har-har,” Casey sarcastically shot back. She was carrying Odyn, who had fallen asleep from the chatter. Moja and Uno were seemingly holding a very important conversation with one another, while Yi was observing everyone around her. “I’m not gone, though? I’ll be around. Just not as much.”

The rest of the conversation retained that jovial tone, but Casey couldn’t help but feel eyes on her the entire time.

After everyone left, Casey turned to Michelangelo. “Okay, Sensei, what’s with the constant guard watch?”

“Just making sure nothing happens to the kids,” he replied. He took Odyn from her, who still slept soundly throughout the transfer.

“Oh come on, Sensei. You know them, they wouldn’t hurt the kids.”

Despite his better judgment, Michelangelo replied, “It wasn’t your friends who I was worried about.”

The temperature in the room dropped in an instant. Casey’s face froze in shock as she processed his words. Her expressions morphed into a hurt that Michelangelo had never seen on her face before. “Sensei... you’re not suggesting that I would hurt them?”

You already have, Michelangelo thought.

“I would never do that,” Casey insisted. “Why can’t you just act like before? Don’t think I haven’t noticed—it wasn’t just today, but ever since you came back. Always coming into the room when you notice I’m alone with the kids, treating me like I’m some kind of danger to them, some kind of ticking time bomb.”

But just because he was back, it did not mean things were the same. It seemed like all Casey-Marie wanted was to have things back to the way they were. How could they?

“How can I fix this?” she pleaded.

“I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth. The damage was too new. But he knew it would take time. A lot of work and a lot of time. The discussion died down, with neither party knowing what else to add. Yi fortunately, definitely knew what she wanted, signaling to the adults that she wanted to be fed.

Michelangelo had a fitful sleep that night. He hadn’t had a peaceful sleep in decades, but this seemed like one of those nights where it’d be more difficult than normal to get rest. He tossed and turned, even tearing the blanket off his person—only to later retrieve it once more when it proved to be a bit too cold without it.

Just when Michelangelo was about to succumb to slumber, a shrill cry coming from the nursery jolted him awake. He immediately leapt out of bed and bounded towards the noise. The crib was empty. Panicking, he began to search the lair for a sign of the turtle tots.

From the peripheral of his eyes, Michelangelo noticed a strange green glow coming from Donnie’s old lab. He quickly made his way towards the strange light. Although there was a baby gate to prevent the kids from entering, he had to make sure.

Strange enough, Casey was in the lab. Her body was between Michelangelo and the green light, her back towards the entrance.

He wanted to ask why she was awake, but there was a more important question on his mind at the moment. "Have you seen the kids?"

"Don't worry,” Casey replied. Her voice was distorted, as if muffled. “They're right here."

Casey turned around, reaching out to show Michelangelo the source of the green glow. The first thing he noticed was her face. It was off, her eyes wide and her smile too elongated for her face. When Michelangelo looked downward at her offered hands, he felt his breath taken from him. In her arms were four baby turtles. Not mutant baby turtles. Four regular baby turtles.

He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

"Casey,” Michelangelo whispered. He felt the tears prickling in his eyes. “What did you do?"

"I just want to make things right," she said. "I fixed it, Sensei. Isn't this what you wanted?"

“No!”

Michelangelo was suddenly in his bed, sitting upright. Cold sweat clung onto his scales, his breathing haggard and unstable. In a haze, he rushed towards the nursery. He had to make sure. The old turtle bumped into Casey-Marie on his way there. Her eyebrows were etched in worry as she looked up at him.

“Sensei? I heard you scream—” In a sudden flash, the nightmare version of Casey superimposed itself over her real face. The resulting visage was too much for him. Michelangelo clamped his eyes to shut the image out.

“I’m fine,” he gruffly replied. “Go back to bed.”

Her face was back to normal, but the frown she gave him made his heart hurt. “But I—”

“Go back to bed!”

In the nursery, he could hear the soft snores of the children. He had to make sure. In the crib, he counted four sleeping tots. They were still there. Michelangelo let out a deep sigh. A nightmare. A really fucked up nightmare.

“Mikey?” April called out his name, her voice soft so as not to wake the kids.

“Hey, April,” Michelangelo replied.

“Is everything alright?”

No, everything was not alright. I just had the nightmare of a lifetime, one where your daughter was the front and center villain. I think it took years off of my lifespan.

“Oh? What was it about?”

Michelangelo blinked. “I just said all of that out loud, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Is it too late to say psych?”

“Michelangelo,” April said firmly.

“I just... She um.” How on earth was he supposed to explain this? “In my nightmare, she wanted to ‘fix things between us’ by... de-mutating the kids.”

Silence.

“Fuck,” April whispered.

Michelangelo let out a sigh. “I know...”

She signaled for him to follow her towards the kitchen. He had no choice but to do as he was told.

April lit a candle on the kitchen table and told him to sit down. Okay, so they’re doing this.

“Water?”

The nightmare did make him pretty parched. “Yes.”

April grabbed them both a glass before sitting across from him. The flame illuminating her face was warm, but it only made the darkness of the kitchen even colder.

“That is some nightmare,” April said.

“Yes, it was.”

“You know she wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.” Did he? If she just saw them as experiments, failed experiments, it wouldn’t be far off for her to—

“She wouldn’t.”

His mind flashed to all the times she held them. The smile on her face when she talked to them. The look on theirs when they saw her. “She wouldn’t,” he agreed.

April nodded. “Now. I’m not saying you need to forgive her for what she did, but I fully expect you to not treat her differently for something she didn’t do.”

“I can differentiate between realities—between what’s real and what’s fake.” Do you, though? he thought to himself. He took big gulps of water, chasing away that thought.

“You better,” April warned, her tone warm.

“It’s just not fair. What she did to the kids. And she just expects us to return to normal after that revelation?”

“It’s unfair she was raised in this world, too.”

“But that doesn’t give her the right to do what she did, to do what she’s planning to do to them.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But you and I can work together to get her to see things differently. But we can’t do that if you keep acting like you do around her.” April paused, taking a sip of her water. She allowed the silence to let the words sink in. She was right. But even if she was right, how could she expect him to change when he wasn’t the one who needed to? “You know Mikey, she’s putting on a face around you.”

“A face?”

“She didn’t tell you, but it hurt when you left.”

“All I did was paralyze her for a little bit.”

April shook her head. “Not that, but it hurt her how you didn’t stay when she asked. And it particularly hurt when you apparently came back without hesitation when I asked.”

“You made compelling points,” Mike attempted to defend himself.

“Regardless, she’s been feeling inadequate ever since. Haven’t you noticed she’s been trying harder to impress you?”

He would by lying to say that he hadn’t, but it didn’t change the facts of the matter. It didn’t change what she did. He couldn’t just pretend she didn’t.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Again, I’m not saying you need to forgive her. Just thought you should know if you didn’t before. Maybe use it as leverage or incentive to get her to understand instead of just staying a grumpy old fart.”

“Hmm,” was the best thing he could think of as a reply.

“Now that we have that clarified, we should go back to bed. Gotta start packing tomorrow.”

“I just realized,” Michelangelo said. “I don’t think I ever moved... like, on purpose. Like, with packing and stuff.”

April couldn't help but let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. It’ll be easy,” she reassured him.

It was not easy. Maybe for someone as organized as April, it would have been. But for Mike himself? The whole thing was already overwhelming him, both physically and emotionally. He hadn’t yet given his family’s stuff a close inspection since he started living in the lair again.

And before that, he didn’t even realize they were still here for nearly two decades. Least to say, the sudden waves of emotions were almost overstimulating. When it got too much, Mike had to take a seat on one of the living room couches, something he’s done so many times before ever since reuniting with April.

But somehow, now it all just felt so raw. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that their stuff was currently in boxes. Maybe it was because for the last two hours, he had to hold their belongings in his hands. Seeing and touching objects belonging to his family caused a lump to form in his throat.

Recalling how he and his family mourned the loss of Raphael on this very couch made his chest tight. Remembering a particularly fond memory when they were all together years before that made it even tighter. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

After noticing his distress, April managed to get his attention. “Do you want to take a break, Mikey?”

“I’m taking a break right now,” Mike replied.

“I mean an actual breather. Maybe with snacks and tea? Casey’s in the kitchen right now, we can give her a holler to get her to bring you something.”

“No, I’m good,” he lied.

April gave him a knowing look, but didn’t press him on the matter.

As if on cue at the mention of her name, Casey-Marie suddenly made an appearance in the living room. She went up to her mother to ask her where the black and orange scissors were. Thinking nothing of it, April gave Casey the pair. The teen nodded a thanks before bounding off to return to where she was before.

After several minutes of silence passed, Mike’s mind started to wander. All the memories... the pain... the laughter. Mike’s eyes drifted lazily towards the coffee table, noticing a small dent on one of the edges. A very familiar looking dent.

“Hey, April. Did anybody ever tell you how that happened?” Mike asked her, pointing at said dent.

April got up from where she was packing to take a look at what Michelangelo was talking about. “Where what happened?”

“The dent,” he said, leaning forward. “This one, right here.”

April followed his finger towards the marked wood. She arched an eyebrow at him. “Looks like a normal dent to me.”

“Oh, it’s not. Raph was chasing me around when we were little. I tripped and broke my head open on the table,” Mike reminisced, a small smile on his face. He took the same pointer finger and tapped at his forehead. “Do you still see the scar?”

April leaned in closer. “I can kind of see it? It’s very faint.”

“Father had to give me stitches. Of course, Don was eager to watch. Leo tried to follow suit but got squeamish at the needle. Raph cried because I was bleeding, though.”

April let out a snort, taking a seat beside him. “Really? You guys must have been very young, then.”

“Very young,” Mike said as his smile grew wider. Only a little bit. April noticed it, regardless.

“I’m surprised you guys lugged this from your old lair,” April pondered aloud, nudging the table with her foot. “Not exactly the lightest of furniture to carry around in the sewers.”

“Ah, well. It survived when the lair got trashed and I guess we were all sentimental over it,” Mike mused.

April hummed in affirmation. It was then that Casey-Marie made her way into the living room once more, carrying a small box labeled “Blades (knives and scissors)”. April sat up, eyes wide. “Case... did you pack away the kitchen shears and scissors?”

“Yeah?” Casey asked back.

“Honey, we need those for packing.”

“The tape has the roller things with the teeth,” Casey pointed out.

“You have the only one,” April explained. As if to emphasize her point, April picked up a nearby roll of packing tape for Casey to see. Lo and behold, it did not have a dispenser.

“Oh crap,” was all Casey could say in reply.

“I’ll get a knife,” Michelangelo offered, standing up from the sofa, walking towards the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, looking at Casey. “You packed those too, didn’t you?”

“The ones in the kitchen? Yes, Sensei,” she replied with a single chuckle.

Michelangelo turned around and began walking towards the direction of the dojo. He wondered what his father would think, him using one of the spare tantōs meant for fighting to open up a cardboard box. Splinter would probably be rolling in his grave. Spinning in his urn? One of those things.

With April and Casey’s help, it took less than an hour to finish packing the shared living spaces. It was now time for Mike to tackle his bedroom. He saved his room for last by design. It was one thing to be organizing his family’s things, it was another hurdle to be handling his own stuff.

Not only was it difficult to determine what items he wanted to keep or throw away, he just kept getting distracted. Michelangelo kept getting sidetracked, going down memory lane at almost every particular object of significance to his past. Which was basically everything, as this was his own bedroom. His abode. He specifically remembered that he called it his casa. He didn’t even know Spanish. 

The more he looked around his room, the more cat plushies he found. Most of them he recognized, some of them he had no memory of at all. He didn’t even remember keeping this many plushies. Where did he even find this many? He could recall all the ones that were given to him as gifts, sure. But there were at least three times as many for the ones that he supposedly procured himself.

Mike’s hand soon faltered over one feline friend in particular. Miss Kitty. She looked roughly made, face askew and proportions wonky, as if she was made by inexperienced hands. It was because she was. Homemade by a five year old mutant turtle. Raph had made her and gifted her to Mike, as an apology for (accidentally) making him dent his head on the coffee table.

As years passed, Raph ended up disliking how Miss Kitty looked—like how one usually cringed when looking at their old handiwork. Mike didn’t care about the imperfections though, and had refused all offers to have Raph fix her up or make him a replacement.

To him, Miss Kitty was flawless the way she was, the way she still is. She was made by his big brother, after all. Mike gave all of the plushes a thorough onceover for mold and decided they were safe enough to give to the kids. He might keep Miss Kitty for himself, though. For old time's sake.

There was a box underneath his bed. Mike tried to scan his memories to remember what was in the box, only to come up with nothing. He dragged the box out. Inside, he was met with another object he hadn’t thought about for decades.

It was his old instant camera. A hobby he picked up (quite literally) during the war to lighten the mood for everyone—to capture the candid memories in between the battles to remind them of their relationship with one another, to remember to live for things other than to fight. Although it wasn’t beneficial for the war effort, even his father had allowed him to keep up with the photography.

The camera had obviously seen better days, with Mike never having seen it brand new in the first place. He found it in some rubble during the aftermath of a battle. Donnie fixed up the broken lens, and Mike remembered his purple-banded brother was the first to be captured by the camera. Thus began his photography craze.

He took a photo of everything. If people saw Mike, they also saw the camera. It wasn’t until Raphael’s death that he stopped. It took Mike months to even pick up the camera again, and even then he couldn’t muster the strength to take another photo.

His big brother wasn’t ever going to appear in another one of his photos again. He wouldn’t be able to view them. He wouldn’t be able to compliment how handsome he looked or how the camera made him look stupid. Not ever again. So Mike couldn’t bring himself to take another photo. And one day, he never touched it again.

Beneath the camera was a photo album he didn’t recognize. He vividly recalled keeping his photos in a freeform pile, so this was new. Mike held the album in his hands, unsure if he wanted to take a trip down memory lane. Objects were one thing, but photos were another matter entirely.

“Sensei? Mom says you needed help?” Casey-Marie said, appearing from the doorway.

“Come here,” he told her, lifting up the album into her view.

Casey-Marie’s eyes brightened, indicating that she recognized the item. “You found them!”

“Did your mom make this?”

“Uhuh, we both did,” Casey explained as she knelt beside him. “She has a crazy good memory, recalling the month and year of every photo at the drop of a hat.”

Mike gave her the album, allowing her to turn the cover. He let out a hitched breath as he laid eyes on the first photo. On the very first page was Donatello, eyes half closed as he was taken by surprise by the camera. His hand was in front of his face, reaching out towards the camera in an attempt to stop the picture from being taken.

Casey chuckled and Mike couldn’t help but share the same sentiment after his initial shock. One by one, she went through the photos with him, asking for his input and his side of the story in certain photos. There were a lot.

She even pointed out some of her favorites. A photo of Leo and Master Splinter meditating. A blurred photo of her dad and Raph roughhousing. One where Donnie and April were tinkering with some machines. A mistletoe photo of her parents. A photo of food on the dinner table. Several photos of his family napping. Raph was even drooling in one of them. So many memories, all in front of him in chronological order. Casey was right, April had a crazy good memory.

Mike didn’t even remember even taking the last photo. It was a selfie of him trying to get everyone in frame. It looked like they were getting ready to head out. Even his father was with them. The last time they were planning on heading out together was...

Was the day April and Casey invited them over for dinner—for a supposed big announcement. The day they got ambushed on the way by The Foot. The day his father was injured. The day Raphael ran off to exact revenge.

The day his brother died.

“Sensei?”

“I’m fine. Why are there so many blank pages?”

“Mom says it’s in case you wanted to take photos again.”

Mike half smiled at the thought. “Have you ever had your photo taken?”

“Not with a camera like that—” she answered, nudging her chin towards the device. Before she could react, Mike snapped a photo. Casey-Marie sputtered indignant noises at the ambush. Mildly surprised it even worked, Mike watched the photo print with satisfaction.

After recovering from her initial shock, even Casey was amused at how it turned out. “We should take one of the kids. And one with everyone.”

“We should.”

Mike didn’t miss the beaming smile April shot his way when she saw the camera in his hands. As if she was a mind reader, April corralled the children into place. 

“Keep that one away from the camera,” Mike said, pointing an accusing finger at Yi.

“Agbah,” the tot gurgled.

“Yeah, don’t think I don’t know what you did with that screwdriver.”

She looked up at him, tilting her head in confusion.

Mike added the new photos into the album. The first one of Casey-Marie made him chuckle. Her face was skewed as she was in the middle of talking, and the flash harshley contrasted her features against the darker background.

The second one was brighter in nature, with everyone bathed in a glowing warm light. They were all surrounded by boxes, the sign of moving and starting anew. As Mike looked at everyone’s faces in the photo, he had a feeling that maybe things will turn out alright in the end after all.

Chapter Text

With a deep and satisfied sigh, Michelangelo took a step back to take a better look at the completed shrine. He had just put on the finishing touches to the monument, adding some carefully curated photos that were displayed proudly amongst the weapons of his fallen brothers.

The shrine itself was a giant piece of fallen stone that had miraculously landed right dab in the middle of the giant chamber that was adjacent to their new home. The slab stood proudly, quite literally being the rock of support for the tree that grew around it. Despite its imposing stature, the scenery it made was anything but. The shrine rested serenely in front of a waterfall, making the view picturesque in every way.

Michelangelo had to admit that it was beautiful. As equal parts beautiful as it was somber.

Everything fit so completely, as if it was all by design. As if this exact stone knew that one day its purpose was to be the memorial shrine for a broken family—one that inevitably would come across it when they wanted a new start.

What a thought, huh?

“Sensei, I got the incense,” Casey-Marie said as she approached Michelangelo. The sticks were still in its plastic wrappings, clean and glossy—indicating that they were bought, not scavenged. Along with the sticks was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and a net of clementine oranges. Persimmons would have been ideal—but it wasn’t exactly in season. Besides, the clementines were already a luxury considering the circumstances. “And the other stuff.”

Michelangelo grunted in affirmation, indicating to her to help him with the set up. Soon, the incense was lit and the offerings were given, with no words exchanged between them as they both moved in tandem. Casey followed her teacher, kneeling before the shrine to pray for someone she never got to meet.

Casey finished her prayer, opening one eye to look at Michelangelo in her peripheral vision. He was staring dead ahead, eyeing the weapon belonging to the one this was all for. Understanding the silent request, Casey excused herself to leave Michelangelo alone with the shrine once more.

“Nii-chan,” Michelangelo started. “Sorry this couldn’t be at your grave... You can’t blame us, though. Since you don’t exactly have one...”

He let out a sigh, trying to find the right words. Was his brother’s spirit even listening in? “I’m sorry we couldn’t get persimmons. I know they were your favorite. But we got your second favorite.”

It wasn’t important, but for some reason Michelangelo felt the need to explain himself.

“Did you see who just left? Her name’s Casey-Marie. Yep, you heard that right. I’m actually her sensei, can you believe that? Me, a sensei?” Mike let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “I know, right? I couldn’t have seen it coming, either.”

There was no one there to reply. The apparitions of his brothers were no longer with him. For the first time in a while, he was truly talking to himself.

“You two would probably get along like a house on fire. Knowing your personalities, though... safe to say that in one moment, you’ll be at each other’s throats, and in the next second, you’ll be laughing it off.”

There was a lump in Mike’s throat now.

“She calls you Uncle. You’d probably like that, knowing your track records with kids. You big softie.”

Mike lifted his head up, staring past the shrine, focusing on nothing in particular.

“Speaking of kids, you would have loved the little ones. You would have definitely spoiled them rotten,” Mike barked out a genuine laugh. “They’d give you one look and no doubt you’d be instantly wrapped around their impossibly tiny fingers.”

The thought made Mike hum in content. He let out a long sigh. The lump in his throat was still there.

“There’s Yi, precocious little thing. She already knows how to use a screwdriver, so I am now living in fear for some of the electronics around the lair. I think she already knows the meaning of most of the words we say, especially when the adults are talking. She looks at us as if she understands.” Mike let out a small chuckle. “She’s like a little Donatello, except tinier.”

Michelangelo mentally facepalmed himself. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course she was tinier—she’s an actual toddler.

“Odyn’s a big fella. The biggest one out of all of them. The strongest, too. He loves to laugh, but he also likes to cry. A lot. Well, he doesn't like to cry, he just does it a lot. We know it’s not for attention, he just gets upset easily. And boy, does he have an appetite. He’s not a picky eater, either. We have to keep a closer eye on him during playtime because his first instinct after picking something up is putting it in his mouth.”

Michelangelo looked down at his fingers, the tiny visible bite marks given to him by Odyn were still plenty visible. The tyke’s jaw strength was strong, and Mike was the only one who could pry the foreign objects from Odyn’s teeth without the fear of losing his fingers.

“Moja is quieter, so it worries us because we don’t know if she’s comfortable or not. I think we’re starting to get the hang of her facial expressions, though. She also likes music—it always calms her down. She’s also competitive. The second she saw Uno walking around, she decided it was her time to walk, too.”

He chuckled at the memory. Mike remembered how Moja’s eyes grew wide when she saw Uno walking. And just like her brother, the turtle tot just... stood up and started to walk around. Just like that.

After getting the hang of her new motor skill, Moja walked up to Uno and gave her brother a staredown. After a quick glaring competition, the two legitimately started a race. April had to drop the box she was carrying to catch them after they had made their escape from the old nursery. After the initial shock, everyone had a laugh afterwards.

“Speaking of Uno, he’s loud. Not as loud as Odyn, but he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to voicing his frustration. The thing is, he makes the same noise no matter the situation. Too little food, too much food. Too little attention, too much attention. When he’s sleepy and even when he’s had enough sleep. We’re trying to stop it, but he’s also a little bully. Either that, or he’s trying to assert dominance considering the only one he bullies is Odyn.”

Yeah, Uno was trying to become the Alpha Toddler, or something. Can’t become the king if there’s a bigger and stronger threat around, right? But Odyn was hardly a threat. Maybe Uno can’t see that, yet.

“Moja tries to stop him, which leads to them hissing at each other and arguing in their little baby language a lot. I swear Moja and Uno are already developing some sort of rivalry. A little like you and— god, do you think Father saw the dynamics between us that early? I wonder what our baby fights were like. Were they as adorable?”

Michelangelo reached up to massage his cheek. There was a subtle ache on both sides of his mouth. Why did it hurt? After his face fell back into a neutral position, Mike realized that it was because he was smiling. He didn’t realize he was even smiling. How long had it been since he smiled for this hard—and for this long, for the matter? His face fell deeper when he remembered. Oh, right. 

“I miss you.”

Usually when Michelangelo thought about his brother’s death, an anger washed over him in waves. It was so preventable. So avoidable. But maybe it was because today was the anniversary, the actual day he had died—the feelings that Mike was experiencing today were different.

He had mourned so many times over the years, but he had never observed. Never took the day to really, truly remember. Today was the first.

“Raphael,” Michelangelo breathed. “Why did you have to go?”

Today was supposed to be a day about remembering his memory. The life that he lived. What could be said about Raphael? Raphael was fierce. He was loyal and dedicated. He protected his family. He wore his heart on his sleeve, even when he tried to mask it behind a hardened exterior.

He loved doing everything in excess, which ironically included the act of loving itself. Mike learned the day when Raph ran off that you could in fact have too much of a good thing. What Raphael had too much of was love.

“Father was still alive. You didn’t have to go.”

The blinding love that Raphael held for his family in the end caused more grief than good. A rage fueled love that had one motive, one goal. Like a flaming inferno that couldn’t be stopped, Raph ran to seek revenge for his father for whom he loved.

And he died for it.

He left them. 

Left them to pick up the broken pieces that he left behind. Pieces that were too small to be put together again.

Michelangelo tried not to dwell on the thought.

“Do you know what Casey told me? I don’t know how the kid came up with the conclusion, but she said you’re the reason that that Hiroto bastard developed and I quote, ‘mommy issues.’” 

If the attack on their father was the spark on the powder keg, then Raphael’s retaliation on the base camp was the gasoline that was poured on top of the whole thing.

“I can’t even argue with that.”

Because it was true. Karai might have instigated their ire by breaking the peace treaty, but Raphael’s actions was what caused her son to grow up to be the well adjusted individual that he was as an adult. That was sarcasm.

“And you know what they say. Daddy issues make you a people pleaser. But mommy issues? Mommy issues make you a sociopath.”

Mike wondered how his brother would react to that statement. Laugh? Probably.

“Casey told me that, too. I don’t even know if it’s real. But I can believe it. Who the hell blames their mother for not being in their life when she’s in a coma?”

God, he was rambling, wasn’t he? If Raphael was still alive, at this point Mike would have gotten smacked upside the head—to get him to shut his mouth. And then Mike would snicker and do the same thing back. And then Raph would chase Mikey around the lair... 

Well too bad, Raphael, since you’re not here, this turtle was going to continue talking.

“Oh, right. Yeah, you didn’t kill her. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. A little late, yeah. But better late than never, right?”

Michelangelo realized that the lump in his throat was gone. When did that happen? That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Regardless, he was now at a loss of what else to say to his brother. All the things he had to say that were bottled up inside seemed to have disappeared. Ironic, when there were nights he wanted to curse his brother, but never had the time to do so. But now in the present, when he finally got the chance to confront Raphael like this, Michelangelo was coming up blank.

A welcomed distraction finally came from the stovetop, the aroma reminding Mike of the stew that was simmering away. Dinnertime was around the corner.

“Do you smell that? I’m making chicken adobo tonight, your favorite. Or at least try to. Missing some aromatics. Had to use a whole chicken instead of just thighs—we don’t exactly have cut selections anymore, you know? So the adobo is going to be a little different. But we got enough vinegar and soy sauce to give you a heaping portion, don’t you worry.”

The only reply Mike got was the sound of the waterfall.

“Don’t get used to the special treatment, it’s just because it’s your special day.”

Special day... odd way to phrase it, huh? He then felt a presence behind him, the weight of the footsteps notifying him just who it was. The old turtle turned around to greet the shrine’s new visitor.

“You have room for one more?” April asked.

“For you, April? Always.”

Chapter Text

“And the winner is.... Tuuuuurtle Titan!”

Michelangelo’s hand was raised as his victory was announced. Cheers erupted throughout the crowd. The title he had grown to loathe was chanted by the audience in unison. Michelangelo tuned the voices out as he tried not to acknowledge the already drying blood that clung to his skin. It wasn’t his blood, no. He didn’t know the name of who the blood belonged to. He didn’t want to. And it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Because the owner of the blood was dead. A mutant cadaver was barely two feet away from him, and the crowd was celebrating like their favorite baseball team had just batted a homerun. The corpse of his opponent was carted away and all Michelangelo wanted to do was wash off the blood. His heart stung at how little remorse he felt, but quickly buried the feeling deep inside him. He couldn’t afford to feel pity in this situation.

Like always, after every victory he was allowed to take a private shower and was provided a meal. ‘Private’ meaning he didn’t have to shower with the others—but he was still being watched. At least ‘shower’ still meant an actual shower, and that the guards didn’t hose him down—at least not anymore.

His meal’s portion was larger as a reward for winning, but it didn’t really matter, because it tasted like nothing on his tongue. There was nothing wrong with it, but Michelangelo could never seem to taste the food after securing a victory. For him, it was just nutrients to last him until his next meal. He always made sure to finish it, though. You never know what whims his captors were feeling the next day. It was not uncommon for their meals to be shirked for days just to see how desperate they were in their next fights.

What Michelangelo looked forward to more than anything was when he was released back to the pens. That meant he could finally meet up again with his one true friend in this hellhole. The one person that made this place bearable.

“Mikester! My man!” The voice made Michelangelo happier than he would like to admit. On the other side of the chain link fence was Shaka, his best friend for the last two years.

Despite the literal divide and segregation between humans and mutants, Michelangelo found himself to be closest to a human. Probably for the best, considering the matchups of the fights made it impossible for Michelangelo to face Shaka in the first place.

The thought of becoming friends with someone he had to eventually fight to the death with down the line made his stomach turn. Shaka held the same sentiment. They were both loners in the respective brackets, only having each other for company.

“Hey,” Mike replied.

“Why so glum, chum?” Shaka asked, smiling. Shaka was always a smiler. How he decided to stay friends with Michelangelo was a mystery to the turtle himself. He hasn’t smiled for a while—not since Gerel’s death. “You won, didn’t you?”

“Shaka, I just killed someone.”

“Yeah, and? Sounds like a typical Tuesday to me,” Shaka replied. After a beat he put a hand on his forehead. “Fuck, just realized how fucked up that made me sound.”

“You’ve been in here for too long,” Mike retorted.

Shaka huffed. “You’re telling me. When we get out of here, I’m going to need a lot of therapy.”

Michelangelo’s heart skipped at the ‘we’. Was that what Shaka truly believed? That they both could make it out of here? Or was he just talking in hypotheticals?

“Shaka!” one of their beloved overseers barked. “You’re up!”

“Guess it’s showtime,” Shaka said. He pretended to push back his hair (it’s funny because he has a buzzcut). “How do I look? You think I’m ready for my solo?”

“You better get your ass back here,” Mike told him.

Shaka pointed a thumb to himself, a confident smirk on his face. “Oh Mike, you know I never lose.”

And so Michelangelo waited. For an hour. Then for three. With each passing hour, the worrying pit in his stomach began to grow. The match should have been over by now. Shaka should have been back by now. Michelangelo tried to get some of the human fighters’ attention. It was to no avail as not one of them bothered to look in his direction.

“Hey!” Mike shouted to the guard on the closest tower. “What happened to Shaka!”

He was promptly ignored. If it weren’t for the chip in his neck that was set to explode the second he was out of line, Michelangelo wouldn’t have hesitated to climb that tower to give that guard a piece of his mind.

Soon the sun was setting and everyone was corralled to their sleeping quarters for the night. Shaka was still nowhere to be found. The worry began to fester to the point where Michelangelo felt like he was going to throw up.

Sleep was not an option that night for him. Mike found himself tossing and turning on his bunk until one of his fellow competitors threw a pillow at him to get him to stop. So he laid there, staring at the ceiling as his mind swam with thoughts that plagued him for the rest of the night.

“Why’d you have to talk to him, Mike? You know the second you say hello to someone, a part of you wants to be their best friend instantly,” Raphael berated him.

Shaka’s gone.

“Well, it’s no use being critical about him on that front,” Donatello said. “He’s Mikey, he can’t help it.”

He’s dead, too. Just like you guys.

“Well, now he’s going to mope about it!” Raphael pointed out. “If he had just left Shaka alone, He wouldn’t be sad about his death.”

“Raph!” Leonardo scolded his brother.

“What! It’s true!”

It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.

“Maybe you should stop making friends, Mike. Considering everyone you get close to keeps on dying.”

Michelangelo didn’t know who said that. He threw the extra pillow towards their voices, anyway. Of course, the pillow does nothing, harmlessly colliding into the wall. It fell onto the floor with a silent thud. His brothers didn’t come back after that. But Mike stayed wide awake until it was time for the competitors to wake up.

When the routine allowed them to be in the pens, Mike made a beeline towards the fence to where he and Shaka often met up. Five minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. Mike sank to the ground, head in his hands as he muttered his regrets, his apologies.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” a familiar voice made Michelangelo whip his head up.

“Shaka...?” Mike’s voice was trembling.

“Yeah?” Shaka answered unconfidently, as if he was unsure of the question itself. There was a patch over his right eye. Other than that, Shaka looked no worse for wear. “Woah, you looked like you just saw a ghost.”

“I thought...” Mike trailed off as he scrambled to his feet. “You’re okay! You’re alive.”

“You’re killing me off already? I’m hurt.”

Mike snorted. “I’m going to ignore your sass and sarcasm because I’m just so happy you’re alive.”

“Hah!” Shaka barked. “I made you laugh!”

“No you didn’t,” Mike denied the accusation.

“Oh no, you totally let out a laugh. More like a snort, but it was a laugh!”

Michelangelo turned his head away to hide his face. “Whatever, dude.”

“And now you’re blushing!” Shaka cooed.

“I hate you,” Mike muttered under his breath.

“No, you don’t.”

No I don’t, Mike thought to himself. Thank you for staying alive.

He should have said it aloud. He would have said it if he knew what would happen in a year’s time. In a year’s time, it became too late. Eventually, they found out it was the tournament’s plan all along to make the strongest mutant and the strongest human fight as the final showdown.

Michelangelo was forced to fight his best friend. But Shaka had a plan. Even though he himself had a vendetta against those that captured him, Shaka concluded that Mike had more to live for. One of the many things they talked about was how they got there, after all. Shaka was kidnapped. Mike had his family killed twice by two different people that were still out there. And so, Shaka caused his own explosive chip to detonate in order to let Mike win.

“Maybe you should stop making friends, Mike. Considering everyone you get close to keeps on dying.”

Michelangelo, for better or for worse, found it easy to make friends. It came naturally to him. Not just any old friends, either. Michelangelo had the uncanny ability to make friends close enough to be called family. But it seems that by a cruel twist of fate, he also lost them just as easily.

He learned that the hard way. And it never got easier.

No matter how many times Michelangelo lost someone, the hurt stayed the same as it did the first time it had happened. No matter how hard he tried, he kept letting people in. No matter how hard he just wanted to keep to himself, something always happened to those that he loved.

It felt like the universe was taunting him. Disaster and death followed him with every step he took. But it was never him that paid the ultimate price, but those around him. Gerel, who looked after him after his sight was taken from him. He saw her like a little sister, a literal light in the days he spent in darkness. Shaka, who was his only companion during his time in the gladiator cage fights. The two became like brothers during their time together until the very end.

They both loved Mike and he loved them back, and now they were both gone. Eventually, he considered himself to be the problem—that he was everyone’s bad luck charm. What other conclusion could he have had? Everyone around him was destined to be hurt if they got too close to him.

But then Casey-Marie dragged him back to his family’s old lair and forced herself into his life. And like a fool, he allowed it. Some part of him was already preparing himself for the hurt, the inevitable loss. But a larger part of Mike was telling him to unlearn what he taught himself all those years ago. That part of him was telling him it was okay to love again, to have a family again.

“What are you watching, Sensei?” Casey-Marie asked him one day. Before he could answer, Casey took a peak at the screen. “Huh. Didn’t take you for an MMA fan.”

“Watching some old fights,” Mike admitted. Very old. But he wasn’t watching it for the fights themselves, but for one of the fighters. It was clear that one of them was dominating the other, and sure enough, the one Mike had his eyes on won the match. With a smile, Mike pointed to the champion. “I know him.”

“Shaka?” Casey-Marie inquired after reading the name that appeared on the screen.

“He was my best friend,” Mike reminisced.

“Wow,” Casey said. “You had friends?”

Mike threw one of the sofa’s pillows towards Casey, who caught it with a laugh. Without needing her to ask about Shaka’s story, Mike decided to tell her everything himself. She listened with interest, but it was obvious there was a distraction that held a portion of Casey’s attention elsewhere.

“Remind me not to tell you anything else about my past,” Mike snarked.

Casey’s eyes widened. “No, wait! Sensei, I love your stories. I just had to tell you something, is all.”

Michelangelo huffed. “Oh? What is it?”

“Okay. Well, first of all,” Casey let out a sigh. “You have to promise you won’t get mad.”

“What.” Not as a question, but a statement.

She raised her hands up in a placating manner, shaking them rapidly. “It’s nothing bad! I mean, it depends on how you look at it. I mean no, it’s not bad, promise!”

“Casey.”

Casey avoided his eye contact. “So... Moja snuck into my bag for the supply run.”

“What,” Mike raised his brow ridges. “How do you not notice a baby mutant turtle in your bag?”

“She was really light, okay?” Casey defended.

“And you didn’t think to tell me or your mother?”

She faced Mike at the accusation. “I texted you both!”

Mike checked his phone. Sure enough, there was a message from Casey-Marie around half an hour ago. “Well, is she back in one piece?”

Casey’s eye twitched at the comment. “Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“So what am I supposed to not be mad about?”

“She... brought home a new friend?”

He blinked at her. “What.”

“Okay, that makes it sound like we kidnapped a child. It’s not a child! Or at least, not like a child in a way that would cause alarm—”

Michelangelo didn’t allow her to finish. Instead, he got up to check on Moja and her new friend.

“Mikey, catch her!” April suddenly shouted as he rounded the corner. In an instant, Mike’s hand shot out to grab at a blur of black and white that attempted to whizz past him.

The feeling of fur was unmistakable. “What the—”

“Mew,” the little escape artist squeaked as two green eyes stared up at him. 

“A cat?” Mike gawked at the feline.The cat licked its whiskers, cleaning up some of the kitten formula around its mouth. Hey, that was the kids’ food. Where’d it get its hands on that?

“Very astute observation, Mikey,” April remarked.

“No, I mean,” Mike sputtered. “What’s a cat doing here?”

April shrugged. “Moja brought her back.”

“Moja brought home a cat,” Mike deadpanned.

“Specifically, she brought home a kitten. Can’t be more than a few weeks old. At least six, given the speed at which she barreled her way towards you.”

“We’re not... thinking of keeping it, are we?” Mike asked.

“You want to tell her we’re not keeping her new friend?” April asked back, pointing a thumb at Moja. The little turtle in turn was looking up at Mike expectantly, tilting her head with curious, pleading eyes. Christ, who taught her how to do that?

“I don’t—stop doing that,” Mike told the tot. Moja in turn simply tilted her head the other way. How did she get even cuter?

“Took Moja out of my bag when I found her,” Casey-Marie explained. She was leaning against the wall a few feet behind Mike, arms crossed but otherwise looking quite relaxed. “Had to cut the supply run short and walked back. Moja then noticed and pointed at one of the tunnels and the little guy was just standing in it. Ha, the thing was backlit by this light, kinda eerie, kinda cool. Then Moja babbled something and the cat walked towards us.”

“So you just scooped it up and brought it home?” Mike questioned, perplexed. They already had four toddlers to take care of, and Casey deemed it reasonable to bring a kitten home?

“You want to say no to her?” Casey shot back, pointing at Moja. “Trust me, I tried walking away, but Moja started to throw a tantrum.”

Now that just sounded wrong. Moja and tantrum didn’t really sound right in the same sentence.

“Yeah, doesn’t sound plausible, does it? But you should have seen it when they came back, Mikey,” April chimed in. “Moja was carrying her like a baby, and she wouldn’t leave Moja’s side, either.”

Mike quirked a brow ridge. “If the cat was so attached to Moja, why’d it bolt?”

“Uno grabbed at her tail,” April relayed, looking down at the tot in her arms. Sure enough, Uno was hugging April, gripping at her shirt tightly. His colors were inverted—indicating that his current state of emotions was not a positive one. Uno peeked at the cat in Mike’s arms and narrowed his eyes at the critter.

“Looks like someone got jealous his sister was giving someone else attention,” Casey cooed. Uno turned his face away from the accusation, burying his face into April’s chest once more. April chuckled before soothingly petting Uno on his head.

“I see...” Mike trailed. He looked down at the kitten, contemplating his choices before him. “Do you think she was separated from her litter?”

“I don’t know, Mikey,” April answered. “Anything could have happened to her. She could be separated, or they could have died, along with their mother. But she chose us—well, more specifically, she chose Moja. But we come with Moja, and she can’t really do anything about that.”

“What do you want to name her, Sensei?” Casey inquired.

“What makes you think I want to name her?”

“Well, Moja is probably going to name her something in baby language. And I’m probably gonna name her after a number and Mom’s gonna name her after Dad,” Casey reasoned. “Catty-Meowie Jones, or something like that.”

“Hey...” April protested.

“... You said you found her in a lit tunnel, right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah?”

“How about Gerel?” he suggested.

Casey hummed. “Gerel? What does that mean?”

“Light,” Mike said. “It means light.”

“How fitting,” April smiled.

“Welcome to your new home, Gerel,” Mike greeted the kitten. Gerel mewed, snuggling herself against his plastron.