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Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
The sound of the leaky sewer pipe in Michelangelo’s room was the only thing he heard as he laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t the most entertaining thing to do, the usually energetic turtle will agree, but he couldn’t muster up any strength to do anything else, much less sit up.
His blanket was thrown carelessly onto the floor as he flopped onto the bed half an hour earlier, at least he thinks so, the time he spent in his room went by in a daze. Though he regretted it now, with the chilly breeze that swept through the lair this time of night.
Speaking of, they had patrol soon, didn’t they? Mikey turned his head to the side lazily to look at the clock on his right, his eyes avoiding the cardboard cutout in the corner. He still had another hour until his brothers expected him to get ready for patrol.
Sitting up with a groan, Mikey stretched his arms as his joints felt thick with rust. He looked around his room, looking bored. Which was weird, because Mikey never felt bored, hell he avoided it entirely. There was always something new to do, or another wacky food combination to try, or another skateboard trick to attempt and miserably fail, there was always something.
But now, as the turtle’s head whipped around carelessly, he really couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He wasn’t supposed to be all down like this, that just wasn’t the character he was playing! It was like Mikey forgot all his lines and was just doing shitty improv, but he just couldn’t get himself to move.
And when Mikey doesn’t do anything to distract himself, he thinks.
He thinks of all the times he’s screwed up, there were a lot of those.
He thinks of all those times his brothers called him useless, a poor excuse for a ninja, a coward… The more he recalls the more he can hear his brothers say it in their own voices.
‘MIKEY! I was so close to getting that, why’d you have to SCREW IT UP!?’ He winced as Donnie’s voice echoed in his head.
‘Mikey! I told you to wait for my call, you never listen!’ Leo’s jabs came less often, but when they did, they hurt.
‘MIKEY! Seriously, how many times do I have to repeat myself for it to get through your thick fucking skull?! What’s wrong with you??!’ As he heard his brother Raph, he whined. His words always cut the deepest.
Mikey, Mikey! MIKEY! He clamped his ears to the sides of his head, the words didn’t stop. His brothers’ voices mixed into one.
…He thinks of all the times he’d trusted the wrong person, and paid the price with his innocence.
He thinks of Bradford.
Mikey thought he was going to be sick. He was so stupid, so fucking stupid, for thinking someone like Chris would want to be friends with a freak like him and actually mean it. He was so naive.
He thinks of when he was tied up, when Bradford’s glint towards him went from sinister to predatory.
He thinks of when his hands wandered, and Mikey could do nothing.
Mikey didn’t want to think anymore, he didn’t he didn’t he didn’t he didn’t—
His breathing was labored, he reached towards his bedside table where he kept his prized nunchucks. Mikey felt a rush of coolness enveloping his body as he felt the familiar click and weight from his kusarigama blade dropping down from his weapon.
Undoing the wraps on his thighs, Mikey froze.
He’d been clean for weeks, he shouldn’t. He swore to himself he would stop, his brothers would’ve been disappointed in him if they knew their little brother was turning his blade upon himself.
But with all the thoughts he wanted gone gone gone swirling around in his head, Mikey couldn’t care less about the future, he pressed down hard and swiped.
Rich red bloomed on green, Mikey stared at the blood dotting his legs in sick satisfaction. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. As long as he didn’t have to think anymore he didn’t care about the consequences.
He didn’t know how much time passed, all he knew was that he slashed and slashed at any available skin the blade could reach.
Mikey blinked, looking down at his legs. His left thigh was almost completely covered in cuts, crying red. His right was significantly more intact, compared to his other one which was practically slashed to ribbons.
Staring down at his actions, Mikey felt a slight sense of dread wash over him as he thought to himself. What if his brothers did find out? What would they think of him?
Leo would be disappointed in him, that’s a given. He would probably force Mikey to meditate with him until he got rid of the sick thoughts in his head, his big brother thought meditation and training was the solution to everything, the dudes boring as fuck.
Raph would be angry, really angry. He’d get mad at Mikey for being so stupid as to hurt himself when it could interfere with their missions and patrols. Mikey couldn’t blame him really, it would majorly suck if Mikey’s stupid injuries were the reason they lost another canister of mutagen.
And Donnie… Donnie would look at him like he was a problem to be fixed. He would want to pick at Mikey’s brain to find the source, like he was an equation Donnie can just solve and Mikey can go back to normal again. Mikey didn’t want to be looked at that closely, it made him feel even more naked than he already was daily as a mutant turtle.
They thought of him as the stupid, funny brother, nothing more. If they discovered what he had been doing, they’d be mad at him for breaking character, for going off script. Mikey didn’t want them to think that, if they did, he'd have nothing else to be good for. His brothers won’t trust him with the script again, he wouldn’t know his lines.
The turtle wasn’t thinking when he reached for his Kusarigama again and slashed at his right thigh, but this time it wasn’t just strokes of pent up frustration, it was cleaner, more precise.
Mikey stared down at his creation, a small, crude star, steadily starting to weep crimson.
He smiled crookedly at the drawing he had carved, is this how it felt like to have created something? Oh the joys of fatherhood! Mikey laughed bitterly as he swiped his finger against the star, smudging the blood which had already started to flow.
He started drawing more of them, his strokes becoming more and more rushed as he felt the sting carrying him away into a daze. As the blood flowed, he smeared it using his hands, dirtying them with the sticky and quickly drying liquid.
Once Mikey came down from his high, all he could see from his thighs was red red red red— The only specks of his usual green skin being his near knees which he didn’t go far enough to slash.
Surveying his line work, Mikey smiled, a sick sense of pride settling in his gut. He created these lines, not an enemy, not Bradford, him. Mikey was still in control of this one part of him, that thought was what reassured him the most.
He was in control now, this is the only way he could be. Mikey didn’t want to lose it.
He couldn’t let his brothers know.
At the thought of his brothers, Mikey looked up at the clock again, seeing only ten minutes left until Raph barged into his room demanding why he was taking so long.
Mikey fell into a routine he hadn’t done in weeks, and as he did he realized just how deep these cuts were from his last. Mikey cleaned up the blood, reapplied fresh wraps on his thighs (they went a bit lower down his legs than his usual wraps did, surely his brothers wouldn’t mind), and stretched to get used to the sting that would follow him for the next four hours of patrol.
There was a sharp knock at the door, how it wasn’t knocked off of its hinges with all the abuse it’s endured was a question Mikey will never know.
“Mikey, get out here dingus, it’s patrol time!” The familiar voice of Raph grounded his mind from floating away again.
“Coming, Raphie!”
“Don’t call me that!”