Michelangelo

At first Mikey thinks they've come for him again.

He's come to expect a familiar chain of events but his captors have been known to mix it up. They did it just enough to make Mikey jumpy and unsure of every sound, never really knowing what was going to happen next. The stress of it gnawed at his empty stomach as much as the hunger did.

They never bothered to feed him (couldn't eat it anyway), only offered him a few sloppy mouthfuls of water that he choked and sputtered over every other day or so - just enough to keep him alive. Even when he wasn't sure if he wanted to be alive anymore.

Mikey always crushed the thought. Giving up wasn't his style, even in the depths of misery.

But the touch-response? That's Pavlovian, as involuntary as a heartbeat.

Today though… Something's different about today. His arms are free. Today, he can defend himself. For the first time, Mikey fights back, though his efforts are weakened.

When no pain comes to him, Mikey becomes aware of other differences..

The smell is the first thing he notices. Gone is sharp antiseptic lab odor, replaced by the musty, slightly sweet scent of mildew and mold. He can hear the distant rumble of subway cars, the steady drip of leaking water, the hum of the big auxillary fan, the more subtle hiss of liquids traveling through copper pipes. Familiar scents, familiar sounds.

He hears a voice.

Leo.

He opens his eyes. There are no fluorescent bulbs beaming down on him. The ceiling is far overhead, intersected by steel supports, familiar brickwork, the second floor balcony that leads to his bedroom.

A face, barely more than a green blur, swims into view.

He begins to cry with relief, unable to stop himself. Every awful thing he endured comes spilling out while he gropes for Leo's hand, tries to think of a way to articulate to his brother what's been lost. He can't think.

Everything hurts too much. All of it, too much.

He finds he doesn't like being touched.

He tries to be calm, let Leo look at him. He reminds himself that he's safe now. But he doesn't feel safe.

Hands feel like hands feel like hands. Hands bring pain, hands bring weapons, hands bring 's Leo he thinks, and works to control his breathing, even as it becomes painful, hitching in his chest.

What isn't painful these days?

He endures.

At least until Leo's hands reach his upper arms, then Mikey begins to panic. The closer Leo gets to Mikey's face, the less he wants his brother to touch him. Besides, he's starting to notice something about Leo feels off somehow, wrong.

Leo's fingers brush against him and Mikey sees a picture in his mind of Leo covered from head to toe in something dark and thick and heavy. Something poisonous. The reality isn't that far off. Leo is barely recognizable beneath layers of filth. His brothers hands are red with blood. He wonders if it's his own, or someone else's.

Mikey shudders, his body involuntarily jerking away from his touch.

And with that Leo stops touching him. That is infinitely worse somehow. Leo's presence beside him grows cold, violent - makes Mikey think of bad things, things he doesn't want to think about.

But it's too late, he's back in that place with the blinding lights, and the suffocating white walls, and the cold metal table and the straps that keep him helpless on his back, always on his back… It's a place where all he can do is wait for the next horror to reveal itself. All he wants to do is escape.

Leo's presence feels like something he needs to escape from.

Mikey pulls himself back from that place and scolds himself for the very thought. Leo is his brother. He'd never do anything to hurt him. Mikey's sure of that.

But Leo's covered in poison and Mikey still burns where Leo touched him.

Overwelmed, he retreats inward, tries to go back to the quiet place that has helped him survive this. Michelangelo pushes away the physical sensations of his body, the perceived sensations of his untrustworthy mind, protects his injured face from prying hands.

If Leo's touch is poison, then Splinter's touch is the antidote.

His voice soothes over him like a balm. Calm, steady warmth spreads down through his chest and he can't get enough, squirms his way closer, tucking himself against Splinter they way he would when he was a small child.

He's drooling, he realizes. His face is mostly numb, so he can't feel the dampness of saliva running down his chin; but he can see there's a growing damp spot on Splinter's robe where his head rests. He finds he has the wherewithal to to feel embarrassed, tries unsuccessfully to close his mouth.

Mistake.

Numbness bursts into technicolor agony so bright it makes his lungs stutter. He tenses, pain washing over him in a wave. He rides it out, tries focus on Splinter's gentle fingers rubbing his scalp - perhaps the one part of him that doesn't hurt.

Eventually the fiery ache in his jaw burns down to hot embers. Mikey becomes aware of things other than his face. He settles back into Splinter's lap, blinking quietly up at his father.

Abruptly, his stomach growls and he sees his father's ears twitch at the sound. For the first time in days, he remembers that he is hungry. He's so, so hungry, he feels sick with it.

"Would you like some food?" Splinter asks him gently. Mikey nods slowly, carefully. Splinter begins to shift out from under him. Terror floods Mikey then. He doesn't want Splinter to leave, would rather starve than be alone right now. His hands shoot out, arms winding around Splinter's middle and refusing to let him go. Splinter sighs and goes still, settling back down.

"Leonardo, would you mind—" Mikey feels Splinter's body turn slightly, but that's okay, as long as he's not leaving. Splinter stops talking abruptly and Mikey peers up to see that Leo is gone.

Mikey wonders where his brother went.

He hopes he'll come back soon.

"Michelangelo," Splinter says delicately, and Mikey knows what's coming, dreads it with every fibre of his being. "I must leave you for a moment."

Mikey begins to shake his head, but thinks better of it. He stays very, very still. He holds on tighter.

"I will only be a moment."

His stomach is doing somersaults when Splinter pries away his hands with ease, extricating himself from Mikey's grasp. He quickly grows cold, curling in on himself once more.

How a moment can feel like an eternity he doesn't know, but he's been experiencing that a lot lately.

Still, even after days of torture and pains he could never before have imagined, he finds it more unbearable to give up a comfort so desperately needed as Splinter's presence - his soothing touch, his warm, steadfast aura. Mikey misses it immediately, and fiercely. He begins to shiver, though he does not take notice, too lost in grisly thoughts.

Then - at last, it feels like it's been hours - Splinter is back and Mikey finds his head being carefully lifted into his father's lap, a bottle of water hovering near his lips. Splinter tilts it carefully, dribbling the cool liquid into his mouth. Mikey lets it drip to the back of his throat, swallows as best he can.

It hurts, but he's so thirsty, he can't stop. He becomes greedy, taking more into his mouth until he chokes on it. He has to turn his head, water dribbles out the sides of his mouth. Splinter hums in concern, sets the bottle aside. When Mikey is recovered, he says, "I have some soup for you." He strokes the top of his head lightly, asks, "can you sit up?"

Mike's not sure he can, but the promise of food has him pushing to do so. With Splinter's assistance, he manages, leans back against the wall panting until a wave of dizziness passes.

How long has it been since he last sat up? A week? Maybe more. Long enough for the feeling to be completely alien to him. He sags against Splinter sitting perpendicular to him, feels the way his jaw dangles crooked at the bottom of his face.

How was he supposed to…?

Apparently Splinter shares his disquiet. He is frowning, puzzled, a spoon caught between the fingers of one hand, a white porcelain bowl in the other. When he sees the way Mikey's mouth hangs open, gets a good look at the spectacular bruising that adorns his face, his ears drop flat against his head, his whiskers droop sadly.

"What has happened, my son?" he asks, in a tight voice.

Mikey shrugs helplessly, blinking at him. How can he possibly explain? Especially when…

He can smell the soup and that is a new type of torture.

His stomach roils, gurgling loudly, aching hollowly like it hasn't in days. He points to the bowl in Splinter's hands, looks pleadingly at his father.

Splinter looks torn, looks absolutely clueless in a way Mikey has never seen before. Splinter lifts a spoonful towards him, hesitates, but Mikey does not. He carefully takes the spoon into his mouth, lifts his face until his tongue is resting against the metal. He points upwards, slowly tilting his head back, relieved when Splinter's arm follows the motion, allowing the soup to dribble to the back of his throat just like the water.

It's just broth, but it is easily the best thing Mikey's ever tasted. He begins to cry again as the warm liquid trickles across his tongue - half pain, half joy - but he doesn't let that stop him, gesturing impatiently at the bowl when Splinter pauses in his ministrations. In this way, Mikey manages to eat almost half the meal with Splinter feeding him spoonful after patient spoonful.

After a while, he turns his head away, unable to stomach another bite. He can't force his aching jaw to swallow anymore. Besides, he is beginning to feel tired. He starts to list sideways against Splinter, who sets the soup aside, shifts, allowing Mikey to lay back down in his lap.

A few moments pass in near-comfortable silence while Mikey enjoys the feeling of being warm and full and safe.

He should have known better, he thinks when a commotion startles him out of a light doze. This was too good to be true.

He hears a pained howl. It's a horrible noise, and it is badbadbad. He begins to tremble again, but suddenly there is no one there to make it better, because Splinter is leaving again, gone before Mikey can stop him.

The cold floor holds him, makes him think of metal tables. Panic chews on his insides. Somewhere, once again, Raphael is screaming. Mikey lies alone, afraid for his brother.

He feels like he should be screaming too.


Author's Notes: Mikey's been through the mill, his behavior will make sense eventually, I promise. Everything will make sense eventually. Next chapter is going to be really intense, so I thought I'd leave this as a standalone.