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“Of course it’s your fault”
Mikey squeezed his eyes shut as the phrase resurfaced in his mind. It didn’t matter how Raphael had said it, or where it came from; his mind had only understood one thing: he had failed. Again.
He hugged tightly the remains of the stuffed toy that had been with him since childhood, something that once protected him in his innocence. He understands it perfectly; he knows he never should have trusted someone as vile and cruel as Chris Bradford. He put those he loved most at risk; everything he knew could have been destroyed by his mistake. He understands that Raphael’s words came from fear, from concern; thinking about everything he could have lost only makes it hurt more.
He let out a tired, exhausted sigh, with the little energy he had left. He turned over, now facing the nightstand—or rather, the worn wood they had found in the trash. On top of it, the small clock read 3:31 a.m.
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t sleep. He closes his eyes and only thinks about what happened, blaming himself. “If I hadn’t been so naive,” “if I had seen the malicious intentions from the start.” Those thoughts run through his head, but once again he failed, and his mind won’t let it go. He painfully remembers that this isn’t the first time he’s failed; he remembers the looks and comments he himself caused, the disappointment he generated. His eyes began to water.
—They’re right, no matter how awesome I am, I’ll always find a way to ruin it —he whispered to no one in the dark room. He hugged the stuffed toy tighter.
He gave up on the idea of sleeping. Heavily, he got out of bed and decided he’d eat something; with luck, there would still be leftover pizza in the kitchen, some comfort for his poor heart.
The hallways were almost completely silent, empty; the only noise came from the lab, where Donatello was surely working on an experiment.
Mikey may be clumsy, but he’s still a ninja. He trained fifteen years of his life; it wasn’t hard to reach the kitchen without making much noise. His smile grew as he placed his hand on the refrigerator, hoping to find delicious pizza.
—Oh, come on! Unfair life —when he opened the fridge, he realized all traces of junk food were gone. In their place were the salads Leonardo usually eats— Damn vegetarian.
With no other option, he grabbed one of the many containers, letting out pouts and typical curses. After the first bite, he remembered why he forbids his leader from entering the kitchen: it felt like he was eating leaves pulled straight from the ground, unwashed and unprocessed. Mikey rolled his eyes in disappointment; what could he expect from the turtle who once set water on fire?
Sitting in his torture, he remembered a few years back, when they were barely ten years old after the mutation. His blue-clad brother had asked for help: he wanted to impress their sensei with his culinary skills. It was a disaster. No matter how much Mikey tried to help, Leonardo always found a way to ruin the food. The orange one laughed as he remembered how his older brother couldn’t follow a simple instruction. The kitchen ended up in chaos, though both were punished for their mischief. What the youngest remembers most is the laughter they shared: two children who found fun in disaster.
Mikey’s smile faded as quickly as it came. It’s been a long time since his brother laughed like that, without worries. Now, with his new role as leader, anxiety, stubbornness, and responsibility consume him.
Mikey doesn’t know when his brother stopped laughing with him. The way he changed over the years was so natural that he accepted it as normal.
For Mikey, Leonardo was always his hero: the older brother who could handle everything, the one who protected them all, the one who—rightfully—was their father’s favorite, the one who was never afraid.
Except he was afraid. He remembers the look his blue brother gave him when he found him tied up, prey to a dozen ninja robots. Even though they defeated them all, Mikey can’t get those blue eyes full of fear and worry out of his mind. He feels so guilty, so useless for not being able to prevent those eyes from being sad.
Any hunger left his body; he felt incapable of continuing to eat, partly because of the memories tormenting his dawn, partly because of how horrible his brother’s creation tasted.
—My admiration for you is in every way except the culinary one —he whispered, putting the rest of the salad back in the fridge; his palate cursed in every language imaginable.
Mikey sighed again. He walked, tired, through the living room. He paced in circles, wishing he could close his eyes; the noises from the lab accompanied him and, for some reason, were starting to irritate him.
The living room was a mess: exercise equipment everywhere, Raphael’s favorite training dummy thrown angrily on the floor; the scratches showed it had been used recently.
—People talk so much about me not cleaning my room, but nothing about the horror Raph constantly leaves in the living room.
Mikey knows his red brother doesn’t know how to express his emotions; fury is the best he can show, and apparently, he showed plenty of it that night. Fear made him lash out at the first thing he saw. Mikey can only feel pity and guilt: he made his brother lose control again.
His brain betrays him once more. Lately, his red brother gets angrier with him; his mere presence triggers hatred in the temperamental one. He feels like there’s something wrong with him, that he’s too annoying for his older brother; the constant insults hit his heart like blows.
But there was a time—a time when his Raphie was his best friend, his greatest ally in mischief. They spent hours planning their best pranks; that duo gave their father most of his gray hairs. His favorite brother.
But everything changed. Raphael changed. Mikey didn’t.
Mikey only wishes he could go back to those days; he misses the brother who didn’t push him away, who openly said he loved him, who would never treat him badly, the one who looked for any excuse to have sleepovers. With all his heart, he wishes someone would bring back that happy child and take away the grumpy teenager.
But they were no longer happy children, ignorant of the world’s cruelty, of disappointment and hatred, of pain and fear.
Of deception and betrayal.
Mikey lets out a tear.
—Maybe I should follow your example. I’m not a child anymore. Maybe you’re not the one who’s wrong for changing. Maybe I’m the one who’s wrong for not changing —he carefully placed the worn training dummy back in its place.
He kept walking like a zombie in search of brains, so focused on his misery that he didn’t notice one of the weights Raphael hadn’t bothered to put away.
What followed was a loud noise and a muttered curse. Mikey hoped the fall would knock him unconscious; at least a way to sleep and stop his mind. He lay still on the cold floor, frustrated when he realized he was still awake—and now in pain. Even so, he didn’t get up. The cold was uncomfortable, but his body had no strength left.
Mikey is so frustrated and tired, yet he could still make a list of a hundred things he feels are wrong with him.
He heard a door open quickly, followed by running footsteps searching for the noise: uneven steps, not too loud, uncertain. Mikey is observant; he’s lived with them long enough to recognize the sound each of them makes when they walk. The shout he heard confirmed his suspicion.
—By Darwin’s beard! Mikey! —Donatello quickly helped him sit up. The orange one noticed the fear in his eyes as he checked that he was okay. When he realized there was no serious danger, he shouted— Did you lose your shell?! What were you doing on the floor?!
—It’s comfy and cool, you should try it —the orange one smiled as the other’s anger turned into disappointment.
He felt a hand tap his head, not hard.
—It’s too late, you should go back to sleep —said the purple one, helping his brother stand.
—Easily could say the same to you. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like what Leo cooked three days ago —Mikey groaned once he was fully upright; his foot hurt— We’re still growing, not sleeping will affect your health. If you keep this up, your brain and mine won’t have many differences.
His brother let out a small, tired laugh, subtle.
Mikey didn’t expect his brother to suddenly jump on him; he opened his eyes wide when he felt green arms wrap around him. His brother was hugging him, tightly and fearfully.
—You scared us really bad, seriously, I was afraid, I thought that… God, I thought— the purple one stopped speaking, unable to express what he felt with words, never good at that; he held his brother as if he were fragile glass— Please don’t do that again, don’t put yourself at risk. I couldn’t stand losing you.
Mikey stopped listening to his brother’s words; instead, his mind repeated “put yourself at risk.” It was his fault—the pain in the purple one’s voice confirmed it. He knew his brother’s words were a plea, born of fear, but he couldn’t find any meaning other than his own guilt: he put himself at risk, he made his brothers sad, devastated, and angry.
Because his naivety made him believe in the only human man who showed him a bit of understanding. He fell into his claws because he put himself there; he endangered everyone because he was too innocent to recognize evil. He couldn’t even defend himself when things turned ugly; he was humiliated.
“Who could be friends with someone like you?”
Bradford’s words would stay stuck in his mind, because he was right, because it was his fault, because he forgot he is the monster, because he is the child who never grew up, because he is the weak one.
He didn’t know when it happened, but he was crying on his brother’s shoulder, and the purple one on his—both shattered: one thought he was losing his piece of sunshine, the other drowning in guilt.
The orange one felt hatred toward himself as he saw his brother’s broken face.
[…]
He opened his eyes with difficulty; his eyelids felt heavier than the rest of him. He was just as tired, as if the little sleep he got hadn’t counted at all.
The first thing he noticed was the imposing shadow over him; the second, the purple arm draped over him. They had slept peacefully on the couch. The youngest smiled at the sight of him sleeping in peace; the last time he had seen him with his eyes closed was when the enemy of the week hurt him badly enough to knock him unconscious. He shook his head quickly, setting aside the exhaustion, focusing on the imposing figure.
His sensei stood before him, with the same impassive expression as always.
—Good morning, Michelangelo. I wish to speak with you about what happened yesterday, my son —the rat offered his hand, helping his son rise from the comfortable dusty couch— Please accompany me to the dojo; I do not wish to wake your brother.
Mikey followed without question; his mind barely worked due to lack of sleep, but his desperation grew with every step. His tired eyes stared sadly at the floor; he knew the scolding was unavoidable.
The great tree awaited them as they entered, along with the incense the youngest disliked; a smell that didn’t help him calm down. Mikey doesn’t understand how people can find peace in such a nauseating scent.
—I’m so sorry.
—What is it that you are sorry for, my son? —his father closed his eyes as they sat facing each other on the stools.
—It was my fault. I shouldn’t have trusted a stranger, I put us all in danger, I failed you again, because of me everything could have—
—It is not your fault, my son —his father interrupted him quickly, looking into his eyes— You were not the one who used others to obtain information. You were not the one who deceived.
—But I was the one who let myself be deceived! I should have known, I believed him! —Mikey began releasing his bottled-up anger, the frustration he directs at himself.
—You believed an adult who manipulated you —the rat placed his hand on the orange one’s shoulder— The only one at fault here is him: the adult who lacked honor and took advantage of a child’s innocence. You were not the one who had to know; he was the one who had no right to harm you —Michelangelo lifted his gaze to meet his father’s eyes— It was not your fault, my son, and it never will be.
The tears returned, just like hours before, in great amounts—but this time it was different, because now he knew the truth.
It wasn’t his fault.
“You deserve better friends than him.”
The words his brother had spoken earlier stopped hurting; he no longer found guilt in them.