Author's Note: Hello everyone. This is just a bittersweet little one-shot I wrote over the last few days. I decided to write it in the first person because it is a skill I don't practice often, but also because this story felt more introspective and the nature of first-person storytelling felt like it lent well to it. I would appreciate your reviews, but more so hope you enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT
The morning is quiet. The air is still, and the halls are dark. Because I haven't switched any lights on yet, I can still see clearly in the shadows, and I take advantage of this temporary skill to move through the lair as if I'm not even there. This is the usual routine at the 4:00 hour in our home. We may be adults now, but I'm still the only one who wakes up this early. The others won't rouse on their own much before 6:00. Which, admittedly, is earlier than when we were teens. Little things like that have changed.
The lair, however, will still be quiet once everyone is awake. It is part the bitterness of other changes we face.
Normally, I am awake this early to get a peaceful morning practice in. My practice is different now; less bent on perfection and more focused on the comfort I find in the flow of ninjutsu. I love soaking in the secret solitude of the morning silence, allowing my body to work automatically while my mind processes things. I have found that it helps my aching heart.
But this morning, I have other plans. This morning, I don't plan to practice. In fact, I don't plan to practice at all. It's Mutation day, and a big one at that. This year marks our thirtieth. I've decided that this particular day calls for special attention. It is, after all, a milestone in our lives.
This year also marks our first celebration without Michelangelo.
The thought of my littlest brother brings a sharp pain into my heart as if someone stuck a long pin right through its center. An image of his face flashes through my mind, his bright blue eyes, and his signature cheeky smile. The one I haven't seen in many months but feels like yesterday. The one I have to acknowledge I will never see again.
Mikey hadn't taken from us by battle. He didn't die a warrior's death like we all imagined we might. Our lives have been too quiet for that. Since the invasion of the alternative dimension Shredder, we have savored a lengthy time of peace. In our adolescence, my brothers and I found it intolerable, it just seemed so… boring. Maybe we just felt useless, but honestly, I think we were just overzealous in our youth. As we started to become older, we started to appreciate the benefits peace offered. We could still do good for the city helping control the gang activity, but we could also enjoy the little pleasures with more ease. Like enjoying our friendships, our hobbies, our family. Peace did not greet us with close brushes of death.
Instead, Mikey died in the comfort of his own home. The past winter was long, damp, and bitter cold. The lair itself remained warm and dry, but our winter patrols of the city were often harsh. One night, in particular, caught Mikey in a sleety rain as he got delayed by a handful of Purple Dragons robbing a jewelry store. He had been out on a pizza run when he came across the lot of them. They had been younger, probably initiates, which meant little to no experience. Especially against a ninjutsu master like Mikey. The fight was easily handled on his own. He came home his usual, excited self, colorfully weaving us the tale of his bravado, explaining in painstaking detail about how he kicked can and sent them running home to their mommas.
"Right back where they belong! Yeah boiiiiiiiii!"
That night, in addition to his tale, Michelangelo also came home with a cough. Nothing that seemed overly worrisome at first. But the cough quickly developed a deep, rattling sound. That rattling turned into wheezing, and the wheezing upon examination from Donnie turned out to be a case of pneumonia.
It took three days for the seemingly innocent cough to develop into something serious. By day four, Donnie had managed to get the appropriate fluids and medications and get him hooked up in the makeshift infirmary in his lab. By day five a fever broke out and we all started taking shifts by his bedside, helping hydrate our now weak little brother. By day six his lungs began to fill with fluid. None of us would leave his side. When day seven came, just a week after the tale of Mikey we were told, we were saying goodbye to our brother as his life slipped away.
That loss of Michelangelo happened at the end of January, and the last eight months have been challenging on all of us. In a way, I think it has been much harder than when we loss Master Splinter. First, I think the fact that it was statistically unlikely for Mikey's pneumonia to become fatal was a bitter pill to swallow. Donnie worked around the clock to improve his condition, and every single time the worst-case scenario would rear its ugly head. Second, Splinter didn't suffer, but we watched as our baby brother did. And we could do nothing to stop it.
The memories always bring tears to my eyes. Not just the little ones either, but the big, fat crocodile type. They run rampant down my face, dampening the fabric of my mask. My mask is always wet in the morning now. I don't think a day has passed in the last eight months where I haven't wept.
But my brother is worth the tears, so I let them come.
Rubbing my forearm over my eyes and face, I inhale sharply to calm myself, then flip on the kitchen light. I let my breath out slowly, feeling nervous about actually attempting my intentions.
I shuffle over to the stove and set water for tea for myself, then I shuffle over to the coffee pot to get it set for Donnie and Raph, so whichever one wakes up first can just flip it on. This is the morning ritual I have been accustomed for doing many years now. Just a way to care for my brothers. I didn't think about it much when I started, but now it means the world to me. It means that they are still here with me, breathing and living. I didn't think about it until I had to adjust the water and coffee grounds for one less drinker. I cried particularly hard that morning.
Once the beverage ritual is set, I open one of the cupboards to find a bag that I had hastily shoved in the night before. I didn't want Raph or Don to see it, so it had gotten mercilessly chucked in when I had gotten home last night. Both of my brothers are creatures of the night, so I have to be on my toes in the evening if I want to be secretive.
Gingerly pulling the bag out, I grab the contents and gently put them on the counter. A box of chocolate cake mix and two cans of chocolate frosting. All four of us love it. But it was Mikey's favorite.
It is no secret that I am not a very capable chef. I have mastered scrambled eggs, but that is about the extent of my culinary skills. Raphael, it turns out, is quite skilled at cooking. In light of Mikey's passing, he took over as house chef. It surprised me how willing he was to assume the role, he didn't even need to be asked. In fact, he threw himself right into the kitchen the day after Mikey died. He made some kind of soup for us, a large pot of it. A simple meal that was enough to last us for several days. My memory is foggy of those early days, but I do remember how delicious it was. When I had asked him where he had found the recipe, he just looked at me with a tight-lipped frown.
"Just a little something I picked up from… Mikey."
The sudden interest in cooking wasn't the only change found in my immediate younger brother. The evidence of his hotheadedness was nowhere to be seen. He didn't beat the life out of the punching back, he didn't go out for nightly runs on topside, he didn't chase down pointless thugs just to pick a fight. Instead, he chose to cook for us. It didn't take me long to figure out why. Cooking brings our brother's memory alive for Raph.
I look nervously at the box of cake, rereading its instructions. April has probably walked me through the steps of baking a box mix a hundred times in the last few weeks. I began driving her crazy about how to go about it almost as soon as I got the idea in my head.
I suddenly feel very silly for being afraid of a box. This is important to me, so I am going to muscle through my doubts.
Clearing my mind, I begin to go through the motions; open, pour, crack, water, mix. Simple really. Suddenly I find myself in the same relaxed state I usually find myself during morning practice. My body relaxes and begins to move on its own, allowing my mind to sort through my grief. Somedays are better, some days are harder. Today it is better. Today is meant to be bittersweet.
Today I want to begin something new.
Within an hour and a half, I have a cake that is only mildly cracked and sloppily frosted but otherwise unscathed. Apparently, I muse, I can cake to my list of culinary feats. I gently put it in a box, taking care to not scrape it against the sides. I then carry it out to the garage and put it in the Party Wagon, making sure it is secured but out of sight.
Once back in the kitchen, I begin cleaning, keeping a rapid pace. I at most have 15 minutes before either Don or Raph wake up, and I'm not willing to spoil the surprise. By 6:00 am, the kitchen is clean and I'm back at the stove working on scrambled eggs, hoping to mask the smell of my previous task.
As I go to sit with the eggs and another cup of tea, my trained ears pick up sounds of movement. I look up and wait expectantly for one of my brothers to walk through the door, knowing the need for that first cup of coffee will draw them right here. Without skipping a beat, Donnie appears and wordlessly heads for the pot. The click of the switch fills the room, and with the deed done I watch as my brother's tall frame sag against the fridge. Donatello looks like the weight of the universe just sits on his shoulders. I look at my, now, youngest brother and see the pain just oozes off of Donnie, and it is easy to know why. He's felt lost in the wake of Mikey leaving us. His closest brother not only died, but Donnie feels like he failed him. Donnie couldn't save Mikey, and regardless of how much Raph and I try to tell him he did everything he possibly could and beyond, he still feels the weight. And by looking at Donnie, I know that today the weight is particularly heavy, if not suffocating.
Silently, I stand up and walk over to D. Without saying a word, I pull him over to me and hug him. Donnie doesn't resist, he doesn't embrace, but sags against me and allows me to help him hold up the weight. Even though my brother is a grown turtle, I rub his carapace. I am not trying to condescend him, and I find myself hoping that he understands this. I just want to wordless convey that I'm here for him, that I love him.
We stay this way for several long moments, listening to the gurgling of the coffee pot, allow the aroma to fill our nostrils. Before the pot finishes filling, I can feel Donnie's tears falling on my shoulder. He sucks in a breath and lets it back out. It sounds shaky, and I know immediately he's trying to hold back a sob.
"Happy mutation day." I say quietly, trying to apply a happier tone to my voice than what my heart is feeling. I feel Donnie tense up for a split second before relaxing back down. He pauses for a few beats.
"I didn't think anyone remembered." He says just as quietly, and I can feel more tears on my shoulder.
"Who can forget little brother? It's Mikey's favorite day."
That does it. Donnie brings his hands to his face and bares the heartbreak he is feeling. Sobs wrack through his body, and they are explosive. Donnie hasn't cried this hard since the first day. Since then, Don hasn't allowed himself to feel much of anything and just been letting it build and build. With my few words, the dam just couldn't hold back the flood anymore.
Through the sobbing, I can still hear the sound of movement outside the kitchen. Raph walks through the door and comes over to where we are and wraps his arms around both of us. I lift an arm and drape it over him and hold both of my brothers fiercely. I'm pretty sure that we look like a Hallmark Movie Moment at this point, but I don't care. I'm not sure how long we stood together like this, but we stayed for as long as Donnie needed. Eventually, he calms down, and the sobbing is replaced with an occasional hiccup.
"Guys," I start slowly, formulating my thoughts. I am not sure how they're going to take my suggestion. My voice cracks slightly as I begin again. "It's not every year you turn 30. I'd like to go up to the farmhouse today. I, I… I want all of us to be together for today."
At that, both my brothers peel out of the embrace and look at me. Their eyes are both filled with tears, but I can already tell they're on board with the idea. Raph clasps his hand on my shoulder and nods his affirmation. Don, for the first time in months, cracks a genuine grin, the kind that actually shows the gap in his teeth.
"Mikey would love that." is all he says. Then suddenly we're all in motion. My brother's grab their coffees and whatever breakfast they can find. I grab a bag I had packed the morning prior. All that is in it is a blanket, plates, forks, and one special thing tucked into the bottom.
The drive up is quiet. There is a little talking, but for the most part, we are lost in our own thoughts. It's been this way for months. We talk about practical needs, or things that need to happen, or whatever, but we haven't actually talked to each other in months. I have no idea what is going on in either of my brothers' heads. And I feel ashamed that as their leader and brother that I've let it go on this way for so long.
When we get to the farm, it is barely midmorning and the sun is brilliant. Wordlessly, we all know exactly what we are going to do first. I grab the box and bag out of the back of the wagon, and the three of us head over to the oak tree where the rest of our family is.
Once we reach the backyard, I can see the two markers clearly. There are small piles of leaves that have accumulated around them, and it is almost picturesque to see. The markers are made out of simple pine wood and aren't very ornate. They were simply carved with the initials "H.Y" and "H.M" with the years they lived beneath them. We chose to keep it simple in order to not draw any interest to them. The likelihood of anyone ever bothering them was slim, but we felt better taking the precautions.
I pull the blanket out and lay it out by the graves. We all sit down and are silent for a while, paying our respects to our missing family. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes again, but this time they are a mix of grief and joy. I miss my brother, but I am so thankful that we are all here.
"Raph, Donnie… I want to live."
Raph snorts at the words, not his usual annoyed one but the kind of snort that signals confusion. Donnie just looks at me with wide eyes. I suddenly understand my poor choice of words.
"Oh goodness, no! I don't mean that!" I slap my forehead and growl at myself. What an idiot. "What I mean is that… I want to enjoy our lives again. I miss Mikey, a lot. I haven't stopped hurting since he left. It's like this big gaping hole has been torn right in the fabric of our lives. And that will not be true. But, I think he would be peeved with us he if understood how we've been living all this time."
I look at my brothers. Donnie is sitting crisscrossed, one hand draped into his lap, the other with elbow resting on his knee and propping his head up. His eyes have this faraway look, but I can tell he is mulling over what I just said. Raph returns my gaze and grunts, acknowledging what I said and understanding that I have more to say. Because he knows I always have more to say.
"It sucks that fate took him away so early, he would be the first the whine about it." I smile at that, the idea of Mikey whining about being dead. It's a little macabre maybe, but it is also so my little brother. "But I also know that he would want us to not continue to live in a haze of grief and misery. I've been thinking hard lately about how much he loved Mutation Day. Why he insisted on calling it that instead of just our birthday."
Michelangelo loved Mutation Day. I always thought it was a nice marker of a significant event in our lives, but I didn't think much about it beyond that. But to Mikey, it was a big deal. As each year would pass, he'd get more grandiose in the way we celebrated. The cakes he made got fancier. He made up a song, similar to the "happy birthday" tune, that he would sing to all of us at the top of his lungs. Last year, he somehow conned April and Casey to help him fill the lair with balloons. Four different colors; blue, red, purple, and orange. We found him in the middle of the living space, wearing a pair of aviators standing with his chest puffed out. He explained to us that we each had our "territory" as marked by the balloon colors and it was the last man standing rules. Whoever had the last color of balloons remaining was the victor. We spent the whole day playing, four grown adults acting like 10-year-old kids. But it was a blast, and in the end, Mikey ended up being the victor. Which we three sore losers decided was cheese since he was the one who knew where all the balloons were. But I still remember the huge grin that plastered his face, how alive he looked that whole day.
"I didn't get it before, but I think I may understand now." Donnie looks up when I say this, and I can see that I have the full attention of both my brothers.
"Mikey loved it so much because it meant that we were living life. Mikey had the wildest, craziest imagination, and it gave him such a huge appreciation for everything. From stray cats, too bad cartoons, to trusting Leatherhead in his psychotic early days. But what Mikey loved more than anything else was his family. And Mutation day was a day for all of us. It wasn't just our birthday. It was the day that Sensei found us. It was the day he mutated with us. It was the day we became a family, and Mikey appreciated that. So, I think it is about time we started to honor that for our brother's sake. Not just today, but every day, just like he did."
As soon as I finish what I'm saying, I take a deep breath and look upwards, taking a moment to let my words soak in. Not just for my brothers, but for me as well. As much as I believe what I said, it is hard to do. Sometimes I'm afraid that if I actually allow myself to feel joy, I am betraying my brother. I am betraying him by moving on with my life when he didn't get to live his.
Then Mikey's bright face pops back into my mind. The image is so strong it is like I'm seeing it as if he were right in front of me. His smile shows his brilliantly white teeth, and I swear I hear his laughter. I haven't heard real, honest to goodness laughter for a long time.
And I miss it. And I know I'm really am betraying my brother by not doing it when I have the chance to.
I look back at Donnie and Raph. Tears are in both their eyes and I can see the fabric around their masks are darken due to becoming wet. My heart hurts for a split second as I look at my hurting brothers, but then I remember my box. I smile at them, and I'm surprised to find that I feel joy, real joy. I clear my throat to garner their attention.
"So, for starters, I propose we honor our day by celebrating Mutation Day." I place the box in front of them, and carefully open it. Looking inside, I can see it didn't shift or get mangled in the long drive up, and I feel a rush of relief. The cake isn't very pretty, so the fact that it didn't become any worse for wear on the ride up is a huge bonus. I lift it up and present it to my younger brothers. "Tada!" The words fall out of my mouth and they sound cheesy, but I don't really care. I am proud I actually accomplished getting this cake to this point.
I can see my brothers' eyes taking a moment to perceive what they are looking at and continue to watch as they get wide with recognition.
"Leo!" Donnie is the first to break the silence, "You didn't make that cake, did you?"
Raph snorts, and this time it is backed with that traditional condescending. "He must of Brainiac. Have you ever seen a cake look so disheveled?"
The next thing I know, we are all laughing. I place the cake down and start cutting into it. Raph looks at me horrified.
"You aren't going to actually make us eat it, are you?" His voice sounds cutting, but I can see through the act and know that he's ribbing me. I see no reason not to play along.
"Well, I only dropped in half an eggshell, so it's mostly edible," I tell him in a deadpan voice as I pass the plate to him. Raph accepts it, but not before he gives a glaring look at it. I crack a small smirk, knowing that my choice of tone didn't make it clear if I was joking or not. Finding eggshell was absolutely possible with my cooking skills.
"Well, it would certainly add texture that could be interesting. Besides, it is a curiosity to see if your skills have improved. Maybe you could start getting into the cooking rotation, Leo." Donnie inserts his crack as he accepts his plate from me. Raph raises an eye ridge at the statement, and we can hear a "Fat chance" uttered under his breath.
As we eat, we talk, and we laugh. Playful punching happens. We poke fun at each other. We talk about the girls we love. We laugh over the bogus shows we love. We swap childhood memories. I can't remember the last time we enjoyed each other's company so immensely. The three of us have been grieving for so long, that I was beginning to wonder if we would ever be the same again. Of course, we'll always be our missing baby brother. But goodness, it feels good to actually enjoy life.
It's exactly what I was hoping to accomplish.
When we finish, I turn my attention to the bag, knowing I have one last thing to propose to my brothers. I reach in and pull out a small package that is wrapped in a piece of fabric. I put it in my lap, holding it gingerly. As I speak, I begin to unwrap it.
"I have something else I wanted to ask you guys. We still haven't picked out a picture to put on the dojo mantle to honor Mikey's memory. What do you guys think of this one?" I hold up the frame and encased in the glass is a picture of the four of us. It was taken two summers ago as a candid shot from April. It shows the four of us in a pile in the recessed floor of the den, fighting over the remote. What started as an actual struggle quickly became a wrestle free for all, and in the picture, we are all a sweaty, hot mess. But we are also all laughing. Mikey is front and center in the pile, holding the remote up above us all, with that same cheeky smile we all miss. It is my favorite of the four of us.
"Aww, I remember this. That smug jerk thought he had complete control over the situation." Raph gently takes the picture from me to get a better look. Don leans over as well, chuckling as he touches a corner of the frame.
"Yeah, too bad he had three older brothers who knew all of his most ticklish spots," Donnie adds slyly. Without missing a beat, we all shout in unison;
"His neck!" We burst out laughing. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes again, that same mixture of joy and grief. I begin to understand that this is probably how I will continue to cry for a while, but it is an improvement that I am thankful for. It is a step towards healing.
Donnie continues "I think this is perfect Leo. It speaks volumes of who Mikey was."
"Good choice bro." Raph punches my knee lightly. I smile brightly at the both of them.
Donnie suddenly stands up straight and clears his throat. Raph and I look at him curiously. This posture indicates that he is holding onto an idea he either doesn't exactly know what to do with or is uncomfortable with. Usually, this proceeds him acting impulsively, which can always be amusing.
"I need you both to stand up here with me," Donnie says flatly. I raise an eye ridge. Raph is the first to ask the obvious question.
"Why?"
"Because," Donnie gulps "It's Mutation Day, which wouldn't be complete without the Mutation Day Song. We need to sing to Mikey. And I can't carry a tune by myself. So, unless you want to hear my caterwauling, I'd appreciate your accompaniment."
Raph and I merely blink at Donnie, letting his proposal sink in. We smile before we stand. We come alongside Donnie, and the three of us sling our arms over one another as we face Mikey's marker.
And together with big smiles and tears in our eyes, we sing at the top of our lungs to our baby brother.