Disclaimer: Nope, don't own the Ninja Turtles.
A/N: Well, I started typing this one-shot a couple days ago, but in between being drunk, hung over/sick, I couldn't find the time to finish it... until now. Sure, I'm still sick, but being rid of yesterday's hangover I can't really complain, can I? The combination of fever, headache and sitting with your face down the toilet puking up your insides can turn anyone into a whimpering puddle of self-pity. That said, I'd like to dedicate this to any kid that's been left as the last person at the dinner table. I truly do feel for you. Please remember to review before you head out. Thank you.
MICHELANGELO VS. DINNER
by
Mickis
Genre: General/Humor
Language: English
Rating: K
Summary: Can chibi Mikey do the impossible and conquer his dinner before bedtime strikes and his precious candy bar is off-limits? One shot.
Furrowing his eye ridges in disgust, Michelangelo awkwardly poked at the tiny piece of pork chop with his fork. Was it just him or had the piece of meat on his plate actually gotten bigger since the last time he poked it?
"Eat up, my sons," Splinter instructed as he moved in to fetch the milk carton from the table and put in the refrigerator. "Eat it before it gets cold."
"I don't wanna eat it," Raphael muttered where he sat with his arms crossed over his seven-year-old plastron.
"Yeah," Mikey agreed with his brother, "it tastes funny. I want my candy."
"You both know I don't like to hear that," Splinter said, carefully eyeing the two turtles that were left at the table from the sink where he prepared to clean the dishes. "And you can have your candy once you finish your dinner," he continued as he turned back to fill up the water. "Just like your brothers."
Lifting his head from the heavy atmosphere that seemed to barricade the kitchen, Mikey noticed how Leonardo and Donatello both cheerfully enjoyed their candy bars in front of the TV out in the living room. It was the image of pure happiness, a feeling that was just one meal away, one sickening meal of dry rice, unchewable pork chop and one of the many vegetables that shamed Mikey to admit that he was green: broccoli.
"Do we really have to, sensei?" Mike asked in the most pitiful voice he could muster. "I had a lot for lunch, you know, so maybe it won't matter if I skip this?"
But the rat only shook his head where he stood, busy with cleaning the dishes. "You need that food, Michelangelo," he answered wisely. "And we cannot afford to throw anything away; you know that."
"I know," Mikey replied with a gigantic sigh, slumping his shoulders in seven-year-old depression. Glancing across the table, he found his red-masked brother staring at his plate in fury, as though he'd entered a staring contest with his cold dinner. Suddenly, Mikey was struck with a brilliant idea, one that lit up his entire face like a tacky Christmas tree.
Grabbing a firm hold of his fork, Mike spooned up a pinch of rice and took careful aim before catapulting the food across the table, hitting his temperamental sibling square in his unsuspecting face.
Raphael turned into the living, breathing embodiment of revenge as he dug into his nearly untouched pile of rice with his fork and declared war. He gleefully fired his shot and hit Mikey right above his plastron; Mike could feel the tiny corns of rice trickle down inside his plastron, landing on all kinds of unpleasant places.
As if sensing trouble in the temperature of the room, Splinter's whiskers twitched in alert, which Mike took good notice of – having years of experience in ticking off the poor rat – and instantly plastered an innocent look in his face and sat upright on his chair.
The rat slowly turned around, his suspecting eyes taking in the scene before him: bits of rice scattered across the dining table, as well as the formerly clean floor. "Did I not just tell you we cannot afford to waste food?" he said, the even control in his voice scaring Mikey more than any monster under any bed ever could.
"Yes, sensei," the two children answered in unision, their eyes lowered to the food covered surface of the table in shame.
Fifteen minutes later, the two turtles were left to their own in the kitchen. Having finished cleaning up the rice from the floor as instructed, they said nothing to each other were they sat on their opposite chairs, their cold plates of food standing in front of them, just waiting to be eaten.
Michelangelo stared at his plate in despair. All those tiny bits of cut up pork chop seemed to mock him, as if knowing he didn't have what it took to devour them. And there were just so many of them, as if they'd learned the ability to reproduce and had begun a slow but steady process of re-populating the plate.
"You guys still not done yet?" Leonardo asked incredulously as he stepped inside the kitchen, his half eaten candy bar protectively gripped in his hand.
"Mind yer own business," Raph sneered, glaring at his blue-masked sibling from the chair that was bound to give him bruises on his tiny, green butt cheeks.
"I don't get it," Leo said, shaking his head at his brothers. "What's the big deal? It's just food."
"Just food?" Raph exclaimed dramatically. "It's broccoli!" he said, his face twisting at the vocal mention of the green grossness.
"So?" Leo questioned, shrugging nonchalantly.
"Leo," Donnie said as he came in behind his brother. "Splinter said we're not supposed to be in here while they're eating." Mike was quick to notice that he too had a candy bar in his hand, barely even touched. The slightly chewed piece of chocolate bar that peeked up from the yellow plastic rap seemed to call out to him like an edible siren. He could almost taste the sweet, sugary milkiness on his tongue.
Mmm… Chocolate.
"Mikey, are you drooling?"
Woken up by the surprised tone in Leonardo's voice, Mike dizzily shook his head and returned to his candy-starved body. "Am not," he quickly replied.
"Am too," Raphael sniggered evilly.
"Am not!"
"Am too!"
"Am not!"
"Am too-am too-am too!"
"Am not-am not-am no--"
"Leonardo and Donatello!" came an angry voice from the living room. "Are you disturbing your brothers in the kitchen?"
One second later, Raph and Mikey was once again left to their own as their brothers had abandoned them like the scardy reptilians they were – and they were both back on square one, the very same square they'd been sitting on ever since Splinter first placed their plates in front of them, one eternal hour ago.
"Am not," Michelangelo stubbornly mumbled after a few quiet seconds.
Raphael stuck out his tongue at his little brother and reached over for his fork. Mike watched in astonishment how his red-banded brother bravely penetrated a small piece of pork chop with the silverware and closed his mouth over it. There was a lot of chewing, and a distinct look of disgust twisted the young boy's features, nevertheless, he did swallow... eventually.
Another fifteen minutes later, Mikey was left by himself in the kitchen, his dead eyes never leaving sight of the untouched dinner plate. Raph had conquered his fears and finished his dinner, and after politely putting his plate in the sink, the turtle had happily skipped away to fetch his candy bar from the resident ninja master, gleefully singing: "You don't get none! You don't get none!"
...And Michelangelo hadn't seen him since.
He figured it must have been the candy that drove him to it. It wasn't like his brother to do anything against his will. In fact, Raph was usually the last turtle to leave the table, and Mikey was always the first one. But there was just something about tonight's meal that made his stomach churn in protest; something about the way the meat seemed to grow once in his mouth, as if it was bent on taking over the world... starting with his appetite.
Collecting strength from corners of his soul he rarely visited, Michelangelo bravely reached for his fork and began another session of poking around in his food, only to be cut short by an unexpected interruption.
"Hey, Mikey," a cheerful Raphael said as he came inside the kitchen. "What'cha doin'?"
Michelangelo tiredly looked up from his plate, only to find what had been on his mind ever since this past Saturday – a candy bar!
Raphael innocently pulled out a chair for himself across from Mikey and took a seat, holding his chocolate bar in a firm, tight and yet very obvious grip. Then, as though he was moving in slow motion, he lifted the bar to his mouth and hungrily bit into it with his white teeth, chewing dramatically, the sweet, milky chocolate blending as one with his watering saliva.
"You know," he said as he chewed, his sudden words almost pulling Mike out of his trance. "There's just somethin' about chocolate, ain't it?"
Michelangelo nodded helplessly.
"I dunno," Raph said, casually waving with the candy bar in the air as he spoke, well aware of how his little brother's eyes faithfully followed its every move. "I can't really put my finger on it. There's just somethin' about the way it kinda melts on yer tongue... y'know?"
"Uh-huh..." Mikey slowly nodded, a thick string of drool running down the right corner of his slightly gaping mouth.
"I'd offer you a piece," Raphael said coolly, causing Mike to perk up like a squirrel on a sugar rush, "but since ye still haven't finished yer dinner..." he then trailed off, pulling out the dreamy chocolate rug right from underneath Michelangelo.
"Raphael!" came a threatening voice from somewhere in the foggy distance. Mike managed to tare his eyes away from the chocolate munching long enough to detect his sensei standing in the kitchen doorway. "Leave your brother alone when he's eating," the rat said, his strict eyes locked on the red-clad turtle.
"Okay sensei!" Raph cheerfully answered before he turned back to Mike, an evil smirk dressing his features. "Enjoy yer dinner," he said and hopped off his chair, smacking loudly as he left the kitchen. Mike could follow the sweet, crushing sound of chocolate all the way to his brother's room, until Raph finally closed the door with a bang, bursting his dreamy chocolate bubble once and for all.
"Michelangelo," Splinter sighed, shaking his head at his son. "You must eat your dinner." His voice held a heavy tone of hopelessness.
"I know, sensei," Mikey answered, his shoulders slumped in despair.
Splinter knew how truly disgusting his son must have found this particular meal, since he rarely had to be told twice to eat. Nonetheless, he needed the proteins and vitamins and whatnot that he could only get by eating his dinner. But the image of the miserable little boy that sat with his head lowered in despondent was too much too handle, it tugged powerfully at his mushy, fatherly heart, until he could do nothing but sigh in surrender.
"How about this," Splinter calmly suggested, causing Mikey to raise his head in immediate interest. The rat slowly made his way to Mike's seat and took the fork from his tiny hand, dividing the food on the plate into two piles: one small pile, and one not so small one. "If you eat this," Splinter said, pointing to the larger of the two piles, "you won't have to eat the rest."
"Well..." Michelangelo awkwardly twisted in his seat. "How about I eat that pile instead?" he suggested, pointing to the smaller one.
"Absolutely not," Splinter forbid, shaking his head in firm objection. "You will eat the pile I pointed out for you, or there will be no candy afterwards."
"Okay..." Mikey sighed in defeat, accepting the fork once it was given back to him.
Splinter supportively patted the child on the shoulder. "Let me know when you are done," he said, strolling out of the kitchen to go and check on the rest of his kids.
With his father was gone, Michelangelo was once again left to stare at the impossibility that was his dinner. His master had neatly cut up his pork chop into tiny, little pieces, and most of them had this tasteless, disgusting piece of greasy fat grown attached to them. Despite this, Michelangelo adjusted his hold on the fork and moved in to run it through one of the pieces. As he forced the fork through the pork chop, fat in the form of liquid oozed up from inside of it, making this gurgling sound that caused the nonexistent hairs on the back of his neck to rise in fright.
Pushing this fear aside, Mikey lifted the fork to his face and spent a moment or two staring at the piece, until he finally forced himself to do the impossible and bit into it. Cold and leathery, the pork chop seemed to squeak in protest every time he crushed it with his teeth, and as Mike accidentally bit into a dripping piece of fat, his body shivered in disgust. Even so, he chewed and chewed, having finally decided to beat his dinner and earn his beloved candy bar, so he chewed some more... and then some more. But it seemed no matter how many times he chewed, the dry piece of meat never seemed to grow any smaller. In fact, it felt bigger with each bite he took, as if it was physically swelling inside his mouth.
Sick of chewing, Mike decided to risk it and made an attempt to swallow, a mistake he quickly regretted; the dry piece of meat seemed to clog up his throat, making him cough in search for air. Once the dangerous little piece of evil was back in his mouth, Mike did the only thing he could and resorted to chewing.
Chewing and chewing and chewing... and chewing some more... and then some more.
Once thirty minutes had passed and Splinter still hadn't heard anything from his youngest son, he decided to go and check on him for himself. After telling the rest of his children to brush their teeth and get ready for bed, Splinter walked down the tunnel corridor that led to the kitchen, and once turning the corner to the entrance he was met with a shock.
The chair was empty.
The plate of food was still there, still plenty food on it, but Michelangelo was nowhere to be seen. The little prankster must have run off when he wasn't watching. He'd been so foolish for thinking he could leave him by himself, when he clearly didn't want to finish his dinner.
Splinter sighed tiredly to himself and slowly made his way over to the table to fetch the abandoned porcelain plate, but when reaching up to the table, he quickly realized his mistake, and a warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Lying on the chair, curled up into a little ball with his left cheek pressed up against the wooden seat of the furniture, Michelangelo slept peacefully, the orange tails of his mask swept over his serene features. The rat decided he could take care of the plate later and bent down to pick up his son. Careful, not to wake him, he slipped his left arm underneath the child's heavy limbs and lifted him, placing the tiny, warm body against his chest. Michelangelo whimpered slightly and adjusted his head on Splinter's right shoulder, before he once again turned limp in his arms and went back to deep sleep.
As Splinter carefully carried him out of the kitchen and down the dark corridor that led to the lit bedroom he shared with Donatello, he was suddenly alerted by a squeaking noise. Stopping to have a closer look at his son, he quickly realized Michelangelo was still chewing on a piece of his dinner.
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The End