Disclaimer: I do not own the ninja turtles, I do not make any money from this, I mean no harm, and I'm not feeling particularly disclaimer creative today so this is going to have to do. Please don't sue! ...please?
A/N: I know that I've told people that I wasn't going to post again until after my final tomorrow, but this little bunny grabbed me by the neck and demanded to be written. Those of you waiting for my multichapters to be updated... soon! I promise!
Summary: Three years after Leo's death, Mikey has taken up a dangerous hobby. Can anything return his will to live?
More Than a Broken Vow
Today was the day. He had separated from his brothers two years ago. Three had passed since they had lost a brother. Today was one more thing too, Michelangelo would be making his debut. His remaining brothers had objected to his hobby, most people who did this had been raised in the lifestyle and had years of experience, and even then it was dangerous. Michelangelo had not been; his early training was in a very different discipline. One he could scarcely accept anymore. If he was lucky, tomorrow would kill him. Three years had passed and still that goal was prominent in his mind. Suicide was not an option. He had been raised to believe that with all his soul, but that did not mean that there were not other things that he could find to kill him, and this was the one he chose.
Michelangelo woke up on his small, dingy shelf in an abandoned barn. He knew that a short distance outside, people and animals bustled everywhere, making ready for the day, but inside this condemned barn all was quiet and calm. This was the big day.
For the past two years, Michelangelo had been making use of Casey's grandma's farmhouse essentially full time, and he had taken a small step toward returning it to its original use. A couple of cows and a single horse gazed in the field. If he was lucky, April would be delivering a letter to Don, with whom he was still on speaking terms, tomorrow asking him to take care of them.
He took his time pulling on all the clothes that would hide him from prying eyes. There was nothing pressing for Michelangelo to do until mid-afternoon and it was morning yet. In the meantime he would try to enjoy the sun and think about his brothers; the one who was truly gone in particular.
"You promised," The once orange-masked turtle lamented. He knew that his older brother had never meant to leave them, and that he had died trying to fulfill the promise he had made, but Michelangelo had never been able to forgive Leonardo for leaving them. Three years had passed since he had lost a brother to fate, why could he not yet let him go? Leo had been their protector, the buffer against a cold, cruel world and a night light to scare away the monsters under the bed. As most children age, they find that the monsters go away, but for Michelangelo and his brothers the monsters had only gotten bigger and meaner.
Michelangelo buttoned his shirt, it was a blue plaid, but he still found it fitting. Two small strips of fabric that he had been questioned about repeatedly the previous day were once again tied to a belt loop; one orange, one blue, both reminders of a past he had left behind. Pulling a slip of paper from the pocket of his jeans, Michelangelo read the name again: Aftermath. The name that even the guys who had been on the pro circuit feared graced the sheet. Eight seconds, just him and that animal. Those who rode Aftermath either won or died, and Michelangelo was hoping for the latter.
Carefully, the turtle slipped out of the barn, using the training from a life he had abandoned to assist him. A flash of movement caught his attention, but when he looked there was nothing there. In another life he would have investigated it more thoroughly, but that was then. He made his way to the arena.
Throughout the day, Michelangelo could not shake the feeling that someone was watching him, but every time he turned to see who it was there was no one there. He pushed the feeling aside once again and watched the next rider. His turn was fast approaching. Again, the feeling of being watched flashed across senses dulled by time and disuse. Again he whipped his head around to find the observer. The only sight that greeted him was nothingness; just an imagined flash of blue. Michelangelo sighed and turned back to the event in front of him as the rider was bucked off and trampled. Two more riders then it would be his turn. Michelangelo headed over to where he needed to be.
Aftermath fought violently in the small pen, and Michelangelo watched him with a disinterested look on his face. He had lost interest in everything, that had died with Leonardo. Carefully lowering himself onto Aftermath's back, Michelangelo felt someone watching and in turning saw only that imagined blue flash again. He shook his head and faced forward just as the gate opened. Aftermath charged forward and did everything in his power to dislodge Michelangelo from his back.
Once again Michelangelo spotted that blue flash, and this time, turned toward it more fully, glancing toward the stands. It was only a quick glimpse, but where the blue flash had been he now spotted two familiar strips of fabric tied to cowboy hats and dancing in the wind: one red, one purple. In that moment, Michelangelo knew who had been observing him all day. Suddenly, everything that had led to this moment seemed so foolish. It was wrong. This was not what he wanted, not what he needed. Michelangelo could not help but wonder what he had been thinking. Aftermath continued bucking as the turtle on his back came to a realization. Everything about where he was and what he was doing was wrong.
Two seconds... Michelangelo knew that he would not be able to hold on much longer.
Three seconds... One more good buck would throw him...
I never left you, Mikey.
Aftermath stopped.
Michelangelo looked down in awe and could almost see Leo standing there, gently stroking and cooing to the animal below him. He could almost see Leo glance up and smile that sorely missed, reassuring smile of his that no one else could even begin to imitate.
A collective gasp emitted from the stands and Michelangelo glanced up at the amazed eyes surrounding him. When he looked back to where Leo had stood, there was nothing there. Nothing more than the blue strip of fabric Michelangelo had tied to his belt slipped carefully though Aftermath's harness in a way that could not possibly be an accident.
Michelangelo searched the stands for the red and purple he had spotted earlier, but the two strips of fabric were either long gone or well hidden. He climbed off of Aftermath and simply walked out of the arena. As he closed the gate behind him, he knew what he had to do...
It was time to go home.