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The Shredder is dead.
Michelangelo gazed into the bathroom mirror, a charred reflection of himself stared back intently.
It didn't look like him at all.
This version of himself had many large, pink scars that stretched across all parts of his body.
A three fingered hand that did not look or feel like his own pulled at the healing scales beneath his eye.
The exposed flesh on his cheek felt rough and gritty against his cold, textured fingers.
Mikey clenched his jaw. A few flakes from remaining charred scales fell from his cheek as the fingers brushed the area.
The sight was rather unpleasant, it reminded Mikey how glad he was that the shredder was gone, so so glad.
The Shredder was a monster, no other way to phrase it.
Shredder had destroyed so many lives. Mikey's was one of them, and he hated him for it.
Mikey looked away from the mirror and reached for the ointment that his brother, Donnie had mixed up for him and Leo.
It was supposed to help the burns heal quicker. It's been months though and Mikey was starting to think his wounds would never heal!
"Thanks alot, Shredder," he scowled, at least he had someone to blame.
Not that he remembers The Shredder though.
It's kinda funny when he thinks about it, he barely remembers The Shredder, only bits and pieces. And yet he hates him more than anything.
His gaze returned to the mirror and he began applying the paste.
He winced, the ointment was cold. He let out a low hiss as he rubbed it into his skin.
That isn't the point.
Michelangelo doesn't remember much from the past.
He knows that he and his brothers used to fight The Shredder regularly.
Not that he remembers it, only a couple snippets here and there. Like, he remembers a metalic head hitting the floor, of a rooftop?
He remembers the sound of glass shattering, April's(?) shop burning to the ground.
Mikey remembers a few other things as well, like a bloodthirsty dragon seeking revenge on his family, although He cannot remember the reason.
In fact he doesn't have many memories from before… that night.
Michelangelo spread some of the ointment on his shoulder. He rubbed his fingers over the burn in a circular motion.
He doesn't like thinking about that night, despite it being one of the few things he still remembers vividly. He wishes that he didn't.
That memory haunts him like a ghost. It Attached itself to him like a leech, a constant buzz in the back of his head that doesn't go away no matter how badly he wants it to.
It's like a row of dominos, all lined up perfectly. But the moment one is pushed, triggered, they all come crashing down.
It resurfaces at the worst times, when he's reading a comic, or when he's hanging with his bros
It was one of his most hated memories,
Partially because of how painful it was, both physically and mentally.
Mikey bit his lip as his fingers moved down his arm.
And partially because it was the day he had forgotten everyone, and lost everything.
God he hated this 'shredder' as his brothers liked to call that maniac.
The Shredder was the reason for all of his suffering, The Shredder was the reason why his brothers always looked at him with that same look in their eyes.
His fingers dug into his bicep, irritating the skin. His eyes burned slightly.
Although it was months ago, Mikey felt like it was yesterday.
He had been chained to a street lamp. Surrounded by flames.
The entire area was on fire.
The Shredder had decided to burn it all to the ground. And Mikey was in the center of the conflagration.
His face contorted as he watched a nearby comic store crumble to the ground, the flames only growing the more of it it consumed.
"No! Not the comi-"
His whining was cut short as well as his airway and Michelangelo began to choke on the billowing clouds of smoke that helped keep him contained within the scorching heart of the blaze.
Burning hot chains rendering him completely helpless to prevent the inevitable fate of himself and his home.
His mouth grew dry and his skin crawled.
The flames grew brighter and larger, lapping desperately at the night sky.
If mikey wasn't currently about to burn to death he might have thought the sight was beautiful.
The fire closed in around him, licking desperately at his feet.
His scales dried quickly, all moisture evaporated almost instantly as the flames danced at his feet, and crawled up his body like magnets.
A blood curdling scream was ripped out of him.
The chains grew in temperature, burning through his scales like butter, leaving a rather gross roasted scent that made Mikey feel twice as sick.
God was it hot in here.
Mikey's blood felt as if it was boiling. (maybe because it was) his scales were dry and chipping off, and the flesh that was being gripped by the scorching hot chains was actually bubbling.
The keratin layer of his plastron was burning away, causing a tangy, sour ash like smell.
He took a gulp of the pungent air, it stabbed like daggers and felt like he was trying to breathe rocks.
His body jerked forward, he coughed.
He coughed again, and again.
The blood rushed to his head, desperate for any amount of oxygen.
His coughing fit continued, nothing but sour tasting smoke filled his lungs.
His vision clouded and his eyelids felt heavy.
It was so so hot in here. it felt like he was the burning wood within a furnace.
Tears pricked at the corners of Michelangelo's eyes.
His brain clouded, his breathing grew rapid, and he tried desperately to draw oxygen into his lungs.
His lungs felt heavy and his chest tightened. He gasped quickly.
His mouth quivered.
He choked as he forced the smoke-like oxygen down his air pipes.
–"breath with me"
The instructions sliced through the graphic memory like butter, the words themselves being louder than his own thoughts.
A wet drop fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek as he coughed.
Mikey could hear an exaggerated gasp of air, then a loud exhale.
"C'mon,"
Then it repeated, inhale, a short pause, exhale, inhale, another pause, exhale.
A hand was gently placed on his shell.
"Breath with me,"
The pattern repeated. Then it repeated again, a slow inhale followed by an equally as slow exhale.
Slowly, Mikey started copying the pattern.
After a moment their breathing became synced.
"That's right, in and out," the other's voice was calm, and soothing.
A long gasp followed by a long whistling sound. It was grounding.
The burning smoke was replaced by cold air. Breathing was quickly becoming easier.
The flames subsided and the burning sensation cooled.
Mikey's eyes cleared and his vision returned.
He found himself on the bathroom floor.
His brother, Donatello was sitting on his knees beside Mikey with a calm expression plastered on his face.
One of Don's hands was tightly clenched in what looked like a grip of steel.
The other was placed gently on Mikey's shell.
They both continued breathing for a moment longer.
"Better?" Don asked.
Mikey pulled his knees to his chest and loosely wrapped his arms around the limbs, letting out a hiss when his hand brushed against a not fully healed burn.
"Yeah"
The corners of Don's mouth pulled upward, a small smile settled on his face.
Don wrapped his arm around Mikey's shell, and pulled him against his side.
They sat together in silence for a minute.
"Raph and I were gonna watch Pirates of the Caribbean, do you want to join us?"
Donnie asked suddenly.
Mikey buried his face in his knees, fiery hot pain shot through him but he tried his best to ignore it. "Yeah, alright"
Donnie's smile faltered, he rose to his feet.
"How about I get Raph to order a pizza?"
Mikey perked up at the mention of pizza.
Donnie offered a hand, Mikey took it. He stood up and Donnie rewrapped his arm around Mikey's shell.
The familiar feeling of the cold appendage was comforting, and Mikey found himself leaning into the touch.
Together they waddled out of the bathroom, feet tapping against the pavement as they entered the living room.
Raphael was sitting on the couch. He was leaning back lazily, one arm slung over the back of the sofa.
His ankle was placed on his knee.
The bathroom door clicked shut.
Raph looked over his shoulder. "Took ya' long enough," he paused, "ya' ready ta' watch or what?"
The pair made their way over to the couch.
Donnie sat down first, he sat on the far end of the sofa and rested his elbow on the arm rest.
Mikey sat down next to him. He let himself sink into the soft cushions.
Don's mouth shifted into a soft smile.
"Um yeah, but could you order a pizza maybe?" His eyes closed and tilted his head to the side
The corners of Raph's mouth pulled downward in a loose frown. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, "why do I gotta do it? Can'cha order one yourself"
Don's gaze shifted to Mikey. Although his gaze was cemented on him, Mikey could tell that it was directed at Raph. and then they shifted again, this time they fixed onto Raph.
Donnie gave Raph a very pointed look.
Mikey wanted nothing more than to crawl into a very large pit and never come out.
After a moment Raphael's expression changed, he sighed. "Right,"
Raph placed a hand on either side of himself. The couch dipped, a quiet creek could be heard as he pushed himself to his feet.
He placed an arm in the crook of his other arm's elbow, and groaned loudly as he pulled into a stretch.
He then intertwined his fingers together and pushed his arms forward, a cracking sound could be heard.
Mikey couldn't help but grimace at the display.
"What toppings do ya' want?" Raph said through a hip stretch
"Pepperoni" Don replied instantly.
Raph tilted his head in a nod. He pulled his arms into one last stretch before making his way out the exit.
____
The layer was quiet. The only noise that could be heard was the constant rush of water that came hand in hand with living in a sewer.
The silence became sickening.
"So, uh lovely weather we're having,"
Mikey broke the silence with the most awkward conversation topic he could think of.
Don nodded seriously, "yup, nice and sewer–ey"
Mikey snickered.
The door slammed open before Mikey had a chance to reply.
An oversized sewer turtle with a red mask stepped in. "Got y'er pizza,"
Raph leaped over the couch and plopped down next to Mikey. He held the pizza out, it was so beautiful it almost appeared to be glowing.
Raph set the pizza on the short coffee table and began fiddling with the TVs remote.
Mikey placed his attention on the beautiful work of art before him.
He reached his hand out and carefully opened the square box.
Inside were eight almost evenly sized triangular slices.
He scanned the pizza. his eyes quickly identified the biggest slice, He snatched it.
He brought it to his mouth and took a first bite.
The flavor combination was so perfect it made him see stars.
Suddenly he felt a light punch on his shoulder, which removed him from his trance.
"The movie's starting knucklehead,"
Mikey glared at his brother.
He watched Raph place a finger over his mouth, as he leaned back into the couch.
Mikey sighed before letting himself sink into the soft couch once again.
The title appeared on screen and the movie began.
____
Throughout the film the brothers fought over the snacks, and overall they had a good time.
But although Mikey had fun watching, he still had one thing to say by the end.
That was a really bad movie.