To The Good Times

"Michelangelo."

I breathe slowly, and close my eyes.

That name, spoken by him…I had promised myself that I'd never give up hope that I would hear it again. I had known, then, that the sound would be accompanied by joy. But as the last syllable leaves his lips, all I can do is stand motionless with that voice echoing unfamiliar in my mind. I stand on the edge, looking down on the city I call home, seeing nothing. I can't think, I can't speak. Only when the breath of the city brushes past me do I realize that I have lost my own, and slowly my lips part to accept the air into my lungs with small gasps. As the night air fills me so do the words; thick and heavy and horrible as I struggled to make them cooperate, to spill them from my tongue… but their weight is too great to be carried by the air. I fill my lungs once more. The smog and cold bite my throat.

Everything becomes one word.

My heart counts down the seconds.

Three.

Two.

"One."

The sound was soft, but the single syllable stretched across the void that separated them, filling it with everything. Leonardo pulled the word through his mind, dissecting it, viewing every aspect of what lie behind it… but it was useless. The figure before him turned its head, anticipating a response... but there was none to give. What could he say? He could not comprehend-

"One year."

Leonardo's expression remained passive, but beneath the mask the adrenaline urged every muscle into preparedness. There was something... off with Mikey's voice. It was too steady, too collected, too unfamiliar to the voice he had heard one year ago. Unease seeped through Leonardo as Michelangelo turned slowly to face his older brother. He shifted his weight slightly to one leg, swinging Donatello's staff onto the back of his neck and resting his hands against the weapon, as if he couldn't care less about that year. His head fell back against the staff and his gaze slid upward towards the starless sky... and he laughed.

"Ahhh," he sighed as his laughter died. "That's one hell of a long time."

A moment passed before Leo found his voice. "Yes."

"That's all you have to say? Yes?" Michelangelo scoffed and turned away, sauntering towards the edge of the roof before walking precariously along it, unfazed by the plummet next to him. He swung the staff back around and placed its tip on the roof, his silhouette soft against the glow of the city. Leonardo watched his every move, unnerved by his brother's behavior. The entire confident display was reminiscent of Raphael, yet it was more controlled, deliberate… uncanny. Michelangelo surveyed the city below him as he traced aimlessly on the rooftop with Donnie's staff. Leonardo narrowed his eyes as he looked at the staff, but still he didn't move. He waited. He owed his brother that much.

Michelangelo turned abruptly and dropped Donnie's prized possession, the sound of the clattering weapon shocking Leonardo's nerves. He saw Mikey's hands become fists as his fingers folded slowly towards his palms, his thumbs rubbing his knuckles.

Leo blinked and Michelangelo was walking towards him, his face dark in shadow, metal glinting at his hands. Leonardo's muscles flinched as the adrenaline hit, yet he did not move, his own weapons untouched. The second split before Mikey shoved him against the stairway wall, his forearm pressed hard against Leo's chest and a sharp cold against his throat. Leonardo eased his chin upward to provide leeway for the knife as his hands rose slightly in front of him.

"Okay," Leonardo breathed, "I understand you're -"

"No you don't, Leo."

"Mikey, I -"

Leo gasped as the blade slid up under his chin, the edge of it stinging his skin. He pressed his palms on the wall behind him and pushed himself upward to escape the knife, but it followed his every move. Years of training had honed Leo's self-control, perfected it, and ensured that he would always be calm and ready when faced with danger. But this… this he had not trained for. This was his brother, little Mikey, the one who had always lightened his spirits with a joke, a smile... Leo's eyes flashed to Mikey's and he searched desperately to find one hint of the brother he knew… and saw nothing.

"Mikey, you wouldn't do this. This isn't you," Leo gasped as Michelangelo pressed him harder against the wall, aware that his panic had shown through his voice.

"Oh, we both know you don't believe that," Mikey cooed. Leo glanced again towards his brother again, his eyes wide, and his whole world seemed to stop. Mikey's eyes were steady, dark, and unreadable as they held Leonardo's, but Leo didn't need to read them. He could feel a profusion of emotions emanating from his brother, beating down his conscience into oblivion. As Leonardo watched Michelangelo's glare grow darker, he knew there were no words for what he had done. There was no reason, he knew, that he should be alive after this night. Any resolve he had when he came onto the roof had all but evaporated, and he slumped heavily against the wall, feeling the knife cut into him further. He didn't try to resist. He knew what he deserved.

Michelangelo's eyes never left Leonardo. His grip tightened on the blade as he felt a warmth slip from the metal down onto his hand. His arms shook, his expression hardened... and the night shifted. A car horn sounded below them and the breeze found Michelangelo. His eyes cleared, his grip loosened. Another second passed before he released Leonardo. Weakness enveloped him as Leonardo met the ground, falling to one knee. Slowly, he lifted his hand to his throat and flinched at the sting. The hand came away blood stained. Leo closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before standing.

Michelangelo was once again on the edge of the high-rise, with his back to the city. "You have always been the most controlled, big brother," Mikey mused after a few moments silence. The turtle sunk into a sitting position, leaning nonchalantly on one hand as if he had never left. His head tilted slightly.

Leonardo paused to allow his heart to slow. When he felt his legs were steady enough, he took a step back and rested his shell against the wall that had trapped him only moments ago. "It had...frustrated you before."

Mikey shrugged. "It does. Always has." Three heartbeats. "Especially when you trained."

A reluctant smile twitched on Leo's lips. He recalled Mikey's incessant attempts to break his concentration as Leo performed his daily meditation. His least favorite of Mikey's tactics was the double-garlic pepperoni pizza breath. He remembered his burning muscles, his steady stance and the sweat dripping down his face as his youngest sibling had breathed the cloud of toxic fumes into his eyes, the deadly combination of garlic and pepperoni causing them to water. Oh, how it had tested him. It took all he had to remain as still as he did, but Leo's placid expression had only strengthened the younger turtle's resolved. Mikey had performed every ridiculous facial expression known to man, had created an orchestra of annoying noises using his armpits and hands and had even took to mocking Leonardo's favorite TV show. Finally, with all other methods run dry, Michelangelo had timidly poked Leo between the eyes with his nunchucks. The next thing he knew Mikey was on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back as he cried for mercy, Leonardo laughing wholeheartedly above him.

The memory vanished quicker than it had come. The cheerful image of his younger brother was replaced with the dark, chiseled figure in front of him. Leonardo sighed quietly.

"You were quite annoying," he said softly.

"Good. I tried hard enough."

"I know you did. I nearly lost it at the garlic breath."

Michelangelo's laugh was lighter than before. "I was so sure that would work."

"It nearly did."

The silence found them again. Leonardo shifted his feet and watched his brother warily, the skin still burning at his neck. What were they doing? So much had happened in the past year, so much that could not be brushed away with shallow tones and small talk. He hesitated in the pause between them, and then pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step forward. Michelangelo stopped him by raising his arm. The knife in his brother's hand had been replaced by a small flask. Leo watched with mixed emotions as his brother motioned it towards him.

"To the good times," he said quietly. With a swift drink, the turtle pocketed the beverage and gently picked up Donatello's staff, tossing it to his older brother. Leonardo caught it easily as his brother turned to face their home city, the lights painting him black.

"Michelangelo." The name came again, more desperate this time.

The silhouette turned its head slightly. "My name..." he said softly. His hands once again curled into fists. "Is Midnight."

And then he was gone.