Proving the Light
BY Willowfly
Hi there! It's me again, back with a sequel to my fic, War of the Shadows. If you haven't read it, I suggest you go back and take a peek or you will be utterly lost. At first, I wasn't planning on writing another part to the 37 chapters of sheer madness I now have dubbed "the Beast." I was so relived when it was finally finished, but alas! The monster plot bunny has an evil twin that's haunting my dreams as we speak, calling itself Proving the Light. Ugh. Well here we go again…
This chapter is meant to sharply contrast the final chapters of WOTS. It has notes of shadow played against bright moments of light. This fic will get darker as it progresses, so I warn you in advance.
And I also want to remind you that I've only just discovered that fan fiction even existed three months ago, so reviews are much appreciated, especially if they contain constructive criticism.
Well, enough from me… on with the show!
Chapter 1: Pieces
Of three things Michelangelo knew for certain: One. Don always was the sensible one. Everything he did, he did for a reason, and that reason was usually explained to him one thousand and one times throughout his lifetime in the tongue of a well-practiced scientist, the meaning of every other word escaping him as if his brother might as well be speaking Portuguese and not some twisted form of his native tongue. He was cool and calculated, and wore his heart on his sleeve. Two. Raph was absolutely insane. He jumped into battles without thinking, back talked to Master Splinter, and gave absolutely no reason for anything he did. Three. None of that seemed to pertain anymore.
Whatever had happened to his family over the past year had seemed to hatch two new forms of his brothers he couldn't even recognize. This new Raph was the most obvious imposter, a sorry excuse for his real brother, who would never sit around like a slob all day, watching bad tv and drinking so much Keystone until he couldn't even speak without slurring. Right now he was watching football at two in the afternoon, all form of practice forgotten to the Colts and the Raiders. He was still sober, for now, but the way he was yelling ferociously at the tv proved that he wouldn't be that way for long.
Mike was really starting to hate Casey for giving him the money for the pack of thirty Raph bought every week at the corner store. Listening to his brother howl something incoherent to the television, he shook his head. Thirty beers a week was far too much, but there was little he could do to stop him.
What was much more subtle than Raph's bold new improvements (or disprovements, if there was such a thing) was Don. He seemed to be getting harder and harder to figure out by the day, but Mikey knew there was definitely something strange going on.
He had to keep reminding himself that this imposter, this strange person wearing Don's skin like a costume, was indeed his brother Donatello, the sensible one. Everything he did for he did for a reason, but whatever that reason was, it totally escaped him.
Why he slept until three in the morning, why he kept his bedroom door locked at odd hours of the day, why he seemed to keep himself locked behind imaginary walls the rest of the time was far beyond him. For so long, he had seemed to do so well. Even when he and Raph were battling their own demons, Donny never failed to stay the same. In the early days, it was what he had clinged to- Don, the reliable, never changing brother who was always there to listen and never there to judge. Don, the strongest person he had ever known. Don, the survivor.
In the beginning, he had been a miracle, somehow unchanged by the atrocities The War had left behind. But now, he was different. Now, he was changed. There had to be a reason, and Mike was almost too scared to find out what.
He traipsed over to the living room from his perch by the murky front porch window and plopped onto the couch next to Raph. Just as he expected, three empty beer cans sat in a neat little row on the armrest by his brother's elbow, a fourth clutched in his hand. He didn't even seem to notice- or chose not to notice- Mikey sitting there, staring at him with critical eyes. His expression already looked glazed today. Usually four beers was barely enough to give him a buzz.
"Raph?"
"Hm?" he grunted, eyes still locked onto the tv. "Damn it you sonofabitch! Somebody get that guy! GET HIM! Kill him before he… FUCK! Do any of you meatheads know how to play this fucking game!" he screamed, making threatening gestures at images on the tv. Someone had just scored, and it was obviously not the team Raph had been rooting for.
"Have you seen Don yet today?"
"Huh?"
"I said have you seen Don yet today."
"No."
"Oh." Mikey slouched back into the couch cushions a little deeper, pretending he was watching the game when really he couldn't get his eyes to focus. He still couldn't take his mind off Don.
He turned his eyes to Raph again as he knocked the neat little row of cans to the floor with a hollow clatter and reached for a fresh one.
"You think he's awake?"
"How the fuck should I know" Raphael glared, opening the can with a hiss and crack of metal. Mike was really beginning to hate that sound.
"Raph?"
"What?" he asked sharply, his eyes turned to his little brother now as the commercials started rolling across the screen.
"I think something's wrong with Don."
That seemed to have caught his attention because Raph set his new beer untouched onto the coffee table and turned to face his brother. "Mike" he sighed "Don's goin' through some tough shit right now. I think we should just leave 'im alone, you know, until he wants us to help. It ain't like him ta shut himself away for too long. He'll only stay in there as long as he needs."
"I know" Mikey said, eyes suddenly turned down to the floor "but it's been six months, Raph… you know… since Sensei…"
Raph shot him a glare before Mikey could remind him. He didn't need any more reminders of the vast hollowness Master Splinter's absence left within their now dwindling family. Living life by itself was enough of a reminder without Mikey constantly saying something about it. But never fail, Mike always managed to slip something in every day just to grate on his nerves (or so it sometimes seemed.)
In truth, Raph knew he just did it because he missed him. It was just Mikey's way.
"I know what your sayin' without you reminding me every second of the day, Mike. Don's just as miserable as we are, he's just dealin' with it his own way."
Mike sighed deeply when the commercials ended and Raph peeled his gaze away, picked up his untouched beer and became engrossed with the game once again.
"I wish you wouldn't drink so much" he said beneath his breath, arms crossed tightly over his plastron, eyes staring blankly at the television screen, but fooling on one in his disinterest.
"If your gunna start this again, go somewhere else, 'cause I'm watchin' the game" he said gruffly, taking another long, spiteful gulp from the can. Mikey watched in disdain as his brother's throat worked the liquid down into his esophagus until he drained the can and tossed it with the others with that same hollow clatter onto the floor.
"But you told me you would cut back" he said softly, sounding more and more like a hurt child than a twenty year old. The sound made Raph hesitate before reaching for a new one. He cradled it in his hands for a minute before looking back at his baby brother.
"Mike…" he paused, turning over the can in his hands and shifting his gaze away "I know this is not helpin' nobody, but this is my way. Just let me do it my way."
For a moment, Mike just sat, stunned. He couldn't figure out exactly what Raph was trying to say, but he could understand the look in his brother's eyes. It was a look that told it all. This was his way of dealing with the pain, coping with the sense of earth-shattering loss that engulfed their lives every day.
"There's other ways…" he started, but Raph cut him off.
"Like what? Talkin' about it? Cryin' like a freakin' woman? Or maybe I should take Don's advice an' lock myself in my room for a couple of days."
"That's not what I…"
"That's exactly what you meant" he retorted with a growl "you want me ta deal with this some other way. Well this is my way, Mike. Let me deal with it my way."
Now Mikey looked hurt. Raph had no idea if he knew he could pout so well, or it was just a natural born talent, but either way it made his stomach do flips inside him, pained with guilt.
"Mikey… don't look at me that way" he groaned, trying to pretend he was still interested in the game. But really, it was a shitty game and Mike was way to effective with the guilt-trip thing.
"Please, Raph. Don't have any more today. That's all I'm asking. I thought maybe we could train together this afternoon, you know, like old times" he said, then cracked an innocent smile.
Raph slouched back in the couch for a moment, trying not to laugh at how big of a pushover he really was. With a loud sigh, he put the unopened can back onto the coffee table and threw another look at his brother. It was really hard not to smile when Mike's face lit up like that.
"Ok, Mike" he said with a sigh "no more for today. Maybe we can spar a little, for old time's sake."
This time, he really did crack a smile when Mikey flew onto his feet and started bouncing across the living room.
"Yeah! I was thinking… maybe we could hike… into the woods… and I found this spot… when I was running… we could spar… and ask Donny ifhewantstocometoo!"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down bro, you're gunna give yourself a hernia. I can't understand a word your sayin'" Raph chuckled, pulling himself to his feet, but Mikey didn't stop moving. He was practically ping-ponging of the walls.
"You know how long it's been since we did ANYTHING together?" he beamed. Raph could tell he was trying to stand still, but his feet just kept moving underneath him and his mouth was running a mile a minute.
"Yeah, it's been a while" Raph said gruffly, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Just calm down, bro, you're gunna wear yourself out before I get ta mop the floor with you."
"Can we ask Don?" he said quickly, his sentence running together like one long syllable.
"Uh, Don? Yeah you can ask him, but I don't think he'll want to come."
At that moment, Mikey looked like he'd been deflated.
"Why not?" he said with a frown. He already knew the answer, but it was better to pretend he didn't.
"I don't know, Mikey, Don's just not been himself lately."
A worried line was starting to crease down the middle of his little brother's forehead, and for a moment, it looked like he was making the best impression of Leo he'd ever seen.
"Why don't you ask him anyway" Raph said softly, resting a reassuring hand on his baby brother's shoulder. He'd recently stopped bouncing and looked as if his feet were rooted to the floor.
"Maybe you should" Mike said, his frown deepening.
Raph tried to throw him one of those smiles that could take all the pain away, but he knew he had never been too good at it. Mikey still looked as miserable as ever. "Really Mike" he said "I'm sure Don would love it if ya just asked. Even if he doesn't want to, it's better than just not askin' him. You wanted to know what he was up to anyway."
"Yeah" Mike said, nodding his head with returned confidence "you're right. Maybe he'll want to come, though. I mean, I found a really good spot."
The light was back in his eyes as he strode off to the farmhouse's old, rickety stairs. Raph could hear each step creak in protest under his little brother's footsteps.
"Don't go anywhere" he grinned, peeking at him over the banister.
"Wasn't plannin' on it" Raph grinned back, then turned to plop back down on the couch. For a moment, he eyed the unopened beer staring back at him from the coffee table.
"And Raph?" Mikey yelled from someplace upstairs, making him flinch.
"What!" he yelled back as loud as he could manage.
"Don't you dare touch that beer."
Raph could hear the grin in his little brother's voice. "Okay, okay" he grumped with feigned contempt.
While he waited, he snapped off the tv and absorbed the blanketing quiet of the ancient farmhouse. The sunlight was pouring in from the windows, sending little motes of dust sparkling in the air, and for the first time in his life, he enjoyed the quiet.
Sure, the lights and crime of the city still beckoned him at night. Sure, he missed the damp, winding maze of the sewers, the unbridled freedom of a sprint across the rooftops. But at this very moment, he was content, not because of the quiet, not because of the light, but because for the first time in a long time, it felt like their lives had slowly begun to piece together.
He could only hope that Donny felt it too.
