Author's note: It's been a while, hasn't it dear readers? Apologies, real life and writer's block converged and had me wading in and out of my other fanfics and trying to find my inspiration for this story again. Well, I did find it! So, I hope you all find it worth the wait and again thanking you all for your favs, follows and kudos, it really does mean a lot me
On with the story!
*WHD*
It took several trips to the van before the supplies were completely 'unloaded' according to Grandpa. He saw to his knee, giving it a support bandage, (just incase) and half an aspirin to deal with the pain.
Mikey was currently curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket as he watched an old cartoon on the TV. He listened as Grandpa Don put things away, glancing over the back of the sofa as he heard cupboards in the kitchen open and shut. Several times he offered to help and each time his grandparent answered with, "I'm fine," which Mikey wasn't totally convinced by.
Grandpa was currently trying to get the boiler to work so they could get hot water for the morning. Even with the fire burning in the greystone fireplace (which Mikey still marvelled over), it was still a little cold in the farmhouse. Well Grandpa had mentioned the place hadn't been lived in for years. Things were worn about the edges and needed attention but Mikey wasn't about to complain. This place was awesome. Snug in his blanket he was as warm as he needed to be. He was so comfortable in fact that he never realised what the time actually was. Grandpa Don had brought him a sandwich, a glass of milk and some cookies. With a cheery thank you Mikey ate them with relish. Shortly after and much to the boy's surprise Grandpa suddenly announced, "All right Mikey, it's bedtime."
"Dude really?" he never got to go back outside, although his knee still did hurt a little.
His grandparent sighed, "Dude really," he repeated Mikey's words pulling open a curtain behind the television. It was completely dark outside. "It's 7:30 now come on."
"7:30! Oh c'mon man! You know all the good shows come on after 8:00PM!"
"Look Mikey you're nine not nineteen, besides we're in middle of nowhere and that television is over thirty years old. You really think it picks up cable?"
Mikey grumbled folding his arms obstinately, leaning back on the sofa. "It's the holidays, I should be able to stay up until at least nine."
"In your dreams Mikey," Grandpa Don drawled, he tapped the boy on the back of the head. "C'mon, you haven't even seen the room you'll be sleeping in yet."
Michelangelo suddenly sat up straight. He'd forgotten all about upstairs.
The dull ache in his knee all but forgotten, Mikey leapt off the sofa trailing the blanket after him like a superhero cape. "C'mon Grandpa! Show me the room! Show me, show me, show me!!" he cried eagerly, chasing off toward the stairs.
Just as he reached the first step he felt a sudden tug which pulled him up short. "Hold on Turtle Titan," Grandpa held onto the hem of his blanket. "We don't want you tripping over your own cape, do we now?"
Mikey glanced back, seeing how much fabric trailed behind.
"You don't want to 'bang' your knee twice in one day do you?"
Michelangelo paused. "Er, no dude," that would seriously cut into his 'snow fun' that he had planned, so that was the last thing that he wanted to do. He let go of the blanket and passed it up to Grandpa Don. "Here you go Grandpa!" he chimed cheerily, racing up the remainder of the staircase, just hearing the tail end of an exasperated sigh from his guardian.
Mikey stood at the top of the stairs, bouncing on his heels as he watched the old turtle fold up the blanket neatly and follow steadily after him.
"Which door is it?" he asked excitedly.
"Third door on the right Mikey," Grandpa said patiently.
Mikey took off down the hallway, temporarily confusing his left with his right. "One, two, three!" he grabbed the door handle and tugged finding that it was locked tight.
"Mikey!" the sudden sharpness in his grand-parent's tone immediately made him release the knob. "Third on the LEFT, that's the right."
Mikey stared at it for a moment and then over his shoulder at the correct door. "Oh!" he smiled. "My bad Grandpa!"
As he pushed the right door open he briefly glanced back. "What's behind that door then Grandpa?"
There was a short uncomfortable silence not too dissimilar from that extended pause from when Mikey had asked about the booster seat. "Grandpa?" he prompted.
After a seconds more silence Grandpa finally responded with, "broom closet, it's a broom closet."
"Oh, okay!" Mikey smiled back, deciding not to question it any further.
He shoved the door fully open and though he didn't know what he actually expected, he was rather surprised with what he saw. "Wow dude," he murmured.
Considering that Grandpa had told him no one had lived in the farmhouse for years, the bedroom was spotless. Not a single cobweb hung from the ceiling and not a speck of dust rested on the surface of the furniture. The bed in the corner was neatly made with fresh bed linen brought from home because he recognised his favourite quilt spread across the familiar duvet. Atop that was a set of festive green plaid pajamas. There was a polished bedside table complete with a warmly glowing lamp and his favourite tumblr filled with water. To top the lot his treasured teddy bear lay against the pillow of the bed.
He glanced across at the old turtle behind him questioningly. "Did, did you do this Grandpa?"
"No, Santa and his elves did."
"Really?!!"
"No not really!" Grandpa gasped sarcastically. "Of course it was me!"
"I love it Grandpa!" Mikey rushed the old mutant, snatching him about the waist as he collided with him.
Obviously taken by surprise Grandpa Don backstepped from the force of the impact from the exuberant nine year old. "You're- you're welcome Mikey," he said hesitantly, patting the boy on the back of the head. "I just thought that maybe you might like it."
"It's awesome Grandpa!" Mikey reiterated. "You're the absolute bestest grandpa ever!"
Grandpa Don coughed awkwardly. "Yeah, let's not go that far Mikey," he uttered. "I'm just glad that you appreciate it."
"Yeah, I so do Grandpa!" Michelangelo beamed, finally letting go and turning back to the room. "Oh cool! You brought my bag up too!"
"Well, yeah. I dropped it at the foot of the stairs and tripped over the darn thing whilst I bringing everything else in."
"Heheh! Oops!" Mikey giggled.
"Oops indeed," Grandpa Don grumbled.
Mikey dug through the contents and yanked out what he'd been dying to share with his Grandpa since he'd found it on their last scavenging trip. He whipped about holding aloft the book, excitement and hope glittering in his blues eyes. "Lookit Grandpa! I found this on the last trip to the junkyard! Can you read it to me? Pleeeaasse!"
There was a moment of confusion until Grandpa registered the title of the book and if it was possible the colour faded from his features. Mikey looked back at the title and smiled hopefully. "It's 'The Night Before Christmas', see?"
Grandpa Don seemed to hesitate. "Uh, well, with a title like that Mikey, surely the best time to read that book would be Christmas Eve?"
Mikey frowned looking down at the book, canting his head slightly. "Huh, I guess you're right."
"Of course I am," Grandpa Don said more like his normal self.
"Can you read me another book then Grandpa?" Michelangelo tried again with a grin.
"No," Grandpa said a little too bluntly.
"Aw why?"
"One it's late-"
"Dude it's seven thirty." Mikey deadpanned.
"Seven forty six," the old turtle corrected him, with a fleeting narrowed eyed stare. "And two, I can't read in this light."
"You have glasses!" Mikey protested.
"I left them in the van and it's far too cold out for me to go and get them."
Mikey's shoulders slumped. "You used to read to me all the time Grandpa," he murmured.
At this his grandparent went silent, glancing almost guiltily to the side. "Go brush your teeth Mikey," he said quietly.
The youngster hung his head. "Okay."
"And take your pajamas too, I-I'm not sure if they will fit," Grandpa added hesitantly.
"Sure Grandpa Don," Mikey duly picked up the nightwear.
"Bathroom is third door on the right."
"Sure thing Grandpa," Mikey uttered, leaving to find the bathroom.
Opening the door he found that this room too had been cleaned from top to bottom. Seemed Grandpa had been busy whilst he was laid up on the sofa. The tiles shone as he switched on the light. The taps gleamed with a highly polished sheen but as his eyes settled upon the bathtub he froze. A shiver coursed through him. For some reason this room felt eerily familiar and he had no idea why. It was as if he had been there before, although he knew that was impossible. For a reason he couldn't explain he drifted toward it, fingers gently skidding the surface of the enamel. There was something significant about this tub. An image, fleeting and faint flashed through his mind but before he could fully grasp what he saw it was gone. He shook his head. Wow. That was pretty weird.
Mikey shrugged and finally turned away picking up his toothbrush that had been placed at the side of the sink. Ten minutes later, with teeth brushed and new pajamas donned (and fitting perfectly), he returned to his bedroom. In the doorway he paused and sighted Grandpa Don sitting on the edge of the bed, glasses perched on the bridge of his snout as he flipped through one of Mikey's books obviously retrieved from his bag.
"Grandpa?" The old turtle glanced up at him. "I thought you said you left your glasses in the van?"
"I found them in my pocket," he said quietly.
For a moment Mikey hesitated on the threshold, uncertain as to what to do next.
Grandpa glanced back up and gently patted the space next to him. "Come on Mikey," he said softly. "I owe you a story Little Bro."
A smile crept across his face at the words, feeling a warm glow bloom in his breast at the use of Grandpa Don's old favourite term of endearment for him, his nickname.
He scampered in, curling up next to his beloved grandparent as Grandpa Don began to read 'The Places You'll Go' by Dr. Seuss.
Mikey went to bed happy and content, throwing a meaningful hug about Grandpa before crawling under his bed covers. He watched as the old mutant gently rubbed his head and headed for the door turning off the main light, leaving a small bedside night light glowing. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, Mikey lifted himself up slightly.
"Love you Grandpa."
Hand poised upon the door's edge, Grandpa Don hesitated looking both sad and guilty? At the same time. There was a short pause before, "love you too Mikey."
Michelangelo smiled as he laid back down and closed his eyes as the door shut. Maybe this trip really was going to be a good one.
~WHD~
Don leant against the door, closing it as he raised a shivering hand to his breast. He took several deep breaths trying to steady his trembling nerves. That had been harder than he'd first anticipated. It was this house. It was this house that was challenging his emotions. And that book! Where did Mikey find that book?! Coming here was such freakingly bad idea. Past memories that Don had buried because they were too painful to face were being dredged up and as the minutes ticked by it got harder and harder.
And he didn't deserve the 'bestest grandpa ever' or the 'love you' either. Definitely not. Once upon a time, a long time ago, in another life, maybe. Maybe he might have deserved it but not here. Not now. He felt like quite a lousy individual in general if he was being honest with himself.
Drinking AND driving? With a minor in the car?? That Mikey so eloquently pointed out? That was so, irresponsible. No, worse than that. It was child endangerment. If he'd been human, child services would have taken Mikey away from him a long time ago. In his current state he was not fit to take care of a child, he could barely take care of himself!
But after all that had happened, Mikey could still turn around and say that he loved him. He was such a difficult person to get along with now, after… after all that had happened to him. Maybe it was all down to Mikey's loving personality, the ability to forgive, so quickly. He'd always been that way but he was also innocent and so, so naive. Don knew that would never change.
His eyes began to sting and he blinked back the wetness that lingered behind his eyes. He desperately needed to take his mind off, everything. Don quickly turned and headed for the stairs, wondering if there was anything on the old TV to watch.
~WHD~
Three hours later with an uneaten sandwich still sitting on the table in front of him, Don lay slumped on the sofa, remote in hand as he flicked through the channels searching for another meaningless programme to watch. He never realised how boring watching TV could actually be. There were limited channels and that never helped. He guessed if he had the inclination he could boost the signal and try to get the old television some more choice channel wise but he couldn't be bothered right now. He sighed deep and long and jabbed the off button on the remote throwing it on the table which subsequently missed and tumbled onto the floor.
"Oh c'mon!" he grumbled, his arthritic joints aching as he pulled forward to grab the offending object off the ground. As he did so however his eye caught sight of something on the secondary shelf of the chunky coffee table.
Frowning curiously he snagged the edge of what he had seen and dragged it out. One thing actually turned out to be two things. An extremely old TV Guide which he scoffed lightly at and tossed on to the table with a wry smile. That smile instantly vanished when he saw the second item though. A comic. A very old comic which had been old when the former owner had first found it.
Don caught his breath, pressing a fist to his mouth as he stared at the cover 'The Adventures of Wingnut and Screwloose'. Oh man. He'd seriously forgotten how many of these comics his baby brother had. He'd left them everywhere. He dared to lift the cover and cautiously peered across the first page. The old turtle flicked through several more pages before the nostalgia got too much for him. A painful lump jammed in his throat and he whimpered before throwing the comic onto the table and jolting to his feet. He threw both hands over his face, endeavoring to push back the light sobs that wanted to be released.
He needed a drink. He needed one so bad. He frantically patted his person down until he realised he'd left his hip flask locked in the van. His promise. His promise to little Mikey flared painfully in his mind and he scrunched up his features. He'd said that he would try not to drink on this trip. He couldn't break it on the very first night.
Don released a low moan of frustration and anguish. "For the love of Darwin! I need a drink!" he cried, his voice plaintive and desperate. A secondary memory popped into his head at his own words and it just became too much. He crumpled to his knees, arms wrapped about his midriff as he attempted to hold himself together. Alcohol numbed all this roiling upset and it wasn't uncommon for him to drink himself into a stupor to just forget the past back at home.
Maybe he could just… NO! No! Little Mikey deserves better and you know that you low life! He internally berated himself. Mikey… He needed to see Mikey.
He lurched to his feet, scrubbing away the tears that streaked his face and stumbled to the stairs deaf to the patter footsteps haring back up the steps they had been paused on.
~WHD~
Mikey had been lingering on the staircase, (wondering if he could sneak into the kitchen for a late night snack without getting caught), when he heard it. The nine year old crouched down trying to peek through the railings but could only get a partial view that showed him absolutely nothing. He frowned, should he try and get a better look? A pained moan met his ears and that decided it. He lightly capered down and peered around the doorframe. He saw Grandpa Don stood by the sofa, clearly distressed, his old frame shuddering from an internal upset.
Mikey's face fell. Sadly this wasn't anything new. Every so often, (for as long as Mikey could remember) his grandpa would break down and it seemed the most mundane things could set it off. A book on something called physics, old cartoons on the TV, the pinball machine or one of the old arcade machines, heck he even burst into tears staring at the fridge freezer once. That had been downright weird. His stoic demeanor would just disintegrate and he would grope for that metal flask bottle thingy, taking great gulping swigs from it.
It was still a mystery to Mikey what caused all this. No matter how many times Mikey asked him what was wrong Grandpa would either shout him off or quickly pull himself together and say that it was nothing and he was just very tired.
"For the love of Darwin! I need a drink!"
Mikey's young chest clenched at those words which then only seemed to make things worse. The old mutant sank to his knees, arms wrapped about himself as he struggled to keep his upset at bay. The tears still trailed from his eyes.
For half a moment Mikey almost darted out, ready to throw his arms about the distraught turtle, when he stopped himself. He wasn't meant to see this. Guilt pooled in his breast as he fought every instinct to comfort his beloved grandparent. He absolutely hated seeing Grandpa Don cry. Someone so strong, so calm and steadfast, (not to mention grumpy and sarcastic), it felt wrong to see him so sad.
Mikey wanted to see him happy, so desperately at times that it hurt. And that was what the youngster had planned for this 'holiday'. "Mission Make Grandpa Smile." It really wasn't off to the best start though. If Mikey got a genuine smile by Christmas day that would be the best present of all! (Although a skateboard from Santa Claus would be pretty awesome too!)
Sniffing terribly, Grandpa Don suddenly lurched to his feet. Mikey took that as his cue and bolted for the stairs as light footed as a baby deer. Seconds later he dived under the covers, shutting his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He wholey expected Grandpa to glance through the door and shuffle off to bed like he normally did back home but this time was different.
Mikey listened to the creak of the wooden stairs and footsteps approaching his room. He sensed the gaze that peered into the room. He fully expected his grandfather to leave but the door opened further and he felt Grandpa Don sit on the edge of his bed.
He resisted the urge to glance up, feeling rough but gentle fingers glide across the top of his head several times.
"I love you so much Mikey. I-I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered unexpectedly. "I- I'm sorry you have to put up with my- problems. You're the best thing to have happened to me since my world fell apart," here the old turtle's voice cracked. He planted a light kiss atop his head and quickly retreated as the muffled snuffling started again.
Mikey lay there, his young mind reeling after hearing something that he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he pulled his teddy bear closer, the old fabric rubbing under his nose as a comfort. How come Grandpa Don never said those words in the daytime when he was awake?
For what seemed like ages he lay there, the thoughts bouncing relentlessly in his head until he couldn't take it anymore. Michelangelo slipped out of bed, teddy close as he crept out to find Grandpa's room. He didn't have to go far. Right next door in fact. The door was ajar and he rested a hand on the frame as he dared to peer inside.
His grandparent's sleeping form was upon the bed, clothed shell towards him as sleepy muttering issued forth. For a few moments Mikey watched, brow creased in consternation as the few utterances became more and more upset. Mikey nipped his bottom lip.
"Grandpa?" He whispered.
Suddenly the figure in the bed shifted and Mikey caught his breath thinking he'd woken the old turtle up but as Grandpa flipped over it was clear he still slumbered but far from soundly. He lifted the nightlight that he also carried (he'd never liked the dark) and felt his chest clench again.
'Poor Grandpa,' was the only thing that he thought as his guardian mumbled nonsensically in his sleep, tear tracks staining his scarred cheeks. An internal, breathy half sob fluttered from his breast, a name escaping his mouth that Mikey didn't quite catch.
This time Mikey didn't hesitate. He padded up to his grandparent's bed, pausing for several seconds before making the final decision. He lifted the edge of the blankets and crawled into the bed next to him.
The boy rested a hand upon the old mutant's cheek and whispered, "please don't cry Grandpa Don. I'm here."
Mikey snuggled in closer, pulling the blankets over himself finally able to relax. No matter what his disposition was, Mikey never left his Grandpa alone when he was upset or 'unwell'. It just wasn't in his nature.
"Relax Grandpa, I'm here," he murmured one last time before sleep finally claimed him.
WHD*
It was the sensation of something sliding across the side of his face that stirred him from his fitful slumber. Heavy lids lifted, taking a moment to focus in the dim light. He guessed it was still in the early hours of the morning because the room was near to pitch black. As the initial muzziness cleared Don was suddenly aware of another presence in the bed. His brow creased and he reached out, calloused fingertips catching the soft edge of the small figure.
"Mikey?" He whispered. The kid hadn't sought the comfort of his bed since he was five years old.
Mikey shifted in his sleep muttering, "don't cry Grandpa," before falling quiet again.
Don took a breath in, pressing the back of a gloved hand to his mouth. 'For the love of-,' he must have heard him through the walls or something. Great. Talk about keeping his feelings in check when Mikey was nearby.
"Oh Mikey," a swelling rose in the back of his throat. "Y-you didn't have to do this."
The child curled his arm about his teddy, head rolling forward to rest against the jumper covering Don's plastron. He laid back down, nipping his bottom lip and slipped his hand round the the back of boy's pajama clad shell, drawing him in closer.
The purity of this child was absolute. He loved him no matter what and Don truly felt that he did not deserve it. Fresh, unwanted tears cradled his eyes as he closed them bringing his head down so that his chin rested atop the youngster's head.
What a comfort it was to actually have someone there. In that moment Don never wanted to let Little Michelangelo go.
WHD*