We are, we are the chosen,
We are, we are the few,
The end will never come,
(Will never come),
We are the chosen ones
We're the thunder shaking your sky
Burning sun waking up the night
On top of the mountain
Bullet plume shooting through the clouds
Flying up never coming down, living electric
We are, we are the chosen,
We are, we are the truth
The end will never come
We are the chosen ones
We are, we are the chosen,
We are, we are the few
The end will never come
We are the chosen ones
In a flash you'll be in the dark
Ice cold looking for a spark
It's too late to fight fate
We won't run from our destiny
We'll fight through, leave a legacy
Nothing can stop us
We are, we are the chosen
We are, we are the truth
The end will never come
We are the chosen ones
We are, we are the chosen
We are, we are the few
The end will never come,
We are the chosen ones
-Mountains vs Machines
They say we are what we are
But we don't have to be
I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way
I'll be the watcher
Of the eternal flame
I'll be the guard dog
Of all your fevered dreams
Oooooooh
I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass
Oooooooh
I try to picture me without you but I can't
'Cause we could be immortals
Immortals
Just not for long for long
And live with me forever now
Pull the blackout curtains down
Just not for long for long
We could be immor-immortals
Immor-immortals
mor-immortals
Immor-immortals
Immortals
Sometimes the only pay-off
For having any faith
Is when it's tested again and again
Every day
I'm still comparing your past
To my future
It might be your wound but
They're my sutures
Oooooooh
I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass
Oooooooh
I try to picture me without you but I can't
'Cause we could be immortals
Immortals
Just not for long for long
And live with me forever now
Pull the blackout curtains down
Just not for long for long
We could be immor-immortals
Immor-immortals
Immortals
Live with me forever now
Pull the blackout curtains down
We could be immortals
Immortals
Just not for long for long
We could be immor-immortals
Immor-immortals
mor-immortals
Immor-immortals
Immortals
-Fall Out Boy, "Immortals"
Chapter Thirteen
There was light coming from somewhere. It was too bright. He turned away from it, and it reached for him, prodding, shaking, poking. He heard Neural Mike's voice telling him to get up. He was tired, it was time to rest.
"You've rested well enough. It's time to get the hell up and show you're a fighter."
"Can you not?" he grunted. "I've had a hard day."
"You mean a hard three days. You've had worse. C'mon, I called Apollo. Look, light!"
Mikey sighed and glanced up from his prone spot in the white place. "Oh. You. Hey."
The golden man crouched above him and grinned. "Hey! Time to finish this, sleepyhead."
"You're not my real dad, you can't make me." And he turned onto his side, wincing. It wasn't supposed to hurt here, why was he hurting
"Because trauma is leaking through," Apollo said solemnly.
"Oh. Can we make it go away?"
"No."
"Oh."
He curled up into a ball, frowning. The golden light poked him again.
"I can only work with so much, remember?" Apollo said. "But I'll do what I can. Come on, smile."
"Don't feel like smiling."
"I told you he's stubborn."
"Shut up, Neural."
Apollo sighed. Mikey felt himself lifted up into strong, huge arms, like a child, cradled against the god's chest. "It will be hard," the golden man said, "and it will be painful. But you'll work through this. You have a lot of support."
Mikey shrugged, feeling deep soreness in his shoulders. The newly scarred skin tightened and stung.
The light spread and covered him entirely, a cocoon of energy that soaked into his skin and flooded his insides. He felt himself begin to relax and loosen, and the pain lessened considerably. He managed a tiny, relieved smile.
"There we go, that's my boy." Apollo set him on his feet, hands on his shoulders. "Are you ready?"
Mikey looked up at him. The cobalt blue eyes were sparkling with life that he himself didn't feel. He took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could to feel something like happy.
"It'll come," Apollo reassured.
Mikey nodded. "Okay, then."
The white place faded away.
There was still a light, and it was still bright, but it was white now, and harsh. He moaned, feeling something thick in his throat. But it was nowhere near as bad as the fiery prickling under his skin, the aching in his muscles, everywhere. He was in a world of nagging, twisting, throbbing pain, and he whimpered. The thing in his throat itched and tugged.
There were voices.
"Okay, hang on, I'm getting it out. It's okay, Mikey, hold on, you're okay."
The thing in his throat began moving, dragging upward. He felt it down in his chest. He realized it was a plastic tube; he remembered the ventilator. As the plastic was pulled from his mouth, he felt himself drag in lungfuls of air, raspy and burning and grateful.
"Good, Mikey, good! Can you open your eyes now? Hey, can someone dim those lights please? They're probably hurting him."
It was the older Donatello. Mikey felt his calloused hands on his temples, turning his head this way and that. His eyelids felt too heavy. He tried, squeezing his eye muscles.
"Come on, little bro, come on. You can do it." Raph. Raph was holding his left hand. Someone was squeezing his right hand; it felt like Donnie.
Okay. Time to wake up. Get through this. Get up. Show them you're fighting.
A weak grunt left his throat. He managed to open his eyes halfway; Big Don and Donnie filled his sight, plus the rim of a cup. Water!
Mikey opened his eyes all the way and blinked, and a pathetic noise made him realize he was asking for the water. Big Don slid a hand to the back of his neck and lifted his head, then tilted the cup to his lips. Recalling all the other times, Mikey drank slowly, but desperately. He was allowed to finish, and he was grateful.
Big Don handed off the empty cup but kept holding his head, peering closely. Mikey could make out tiny scars on his chin and cheeks, could see the deep hazel of his eyes and how there were spots of gold in them. He didn't mind the penlight, the finger test.
Then he realized that the pain wasn't really as bad as he'd thought.
Frowning, he coughed, "…pain?"
"Painkillers," Big Don smiled. "The best kind. In your IV. Bet that makes you happy."
"Oh, thank you," Mikey rasped. "You're the effing best, Big Donnie." He coughed again, hating the burning. But it was part of healing.
"Yeah, I am," Big Don winked. "There's some nerve damage, too, but my scanners are showing that your psionics are already working on that." He smiled. "It's really amazing. I've recorded tons of data on what the telekinetics are actually doing."
Mikey felt something dark and sharp leap up in his mind; felt his eyes widen for an instant.
"Oh…" Big Don glanced up somewhere, and then back at him. "I shouldn't have said it like that. He probably said the same thing." Frowning, he stood up. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I should've known that would trigger an anxiety spike on the monitors. Your heart rate sped up."
Donnie and Raph came into view, and then Leo, and he was engulfed by a crash of brothers. Mikey closed his eyes, sighing, leaning his head against Donnie's.
"And your heart rate's down again," Big Don's voice said happily. "I love when hugs are medicine!"
Mike was the last one to actually visit Mikey one on one, and after the hard, long look Little Raph had given him, he remembered why. He sighed and clamped down all his internal shields, every single one, even though that would be the most suspicious, and entered the infirmary, going straight for the chair and collapsing into it. He stared at his lap until a finger poked his forehead.
"So?" Little Mikey said hoarsely. He still sounded weak, and from behind his walls Mike roughly played a memory of them laughing together yesterday.
He lifted his head, unsure what to do with his hands. He leaned forward and gripped his knees. His wrists itched underneath the guards.
Little Mikey was staring at him, kind and guileless. He forced a smile. "How long did Don say he was keeping you, anyway?"
Shrugging, the smaller turtle scratched at the gauze on his hands. "I think if he had his way, a few days. He was all growly when everyone kept getting really close after a while."
"He gets overprotective when looking after one of us," Mike nodded. "I think he forgot how cuddly you guys can get."
Little Mikey laughed. "I'm the cuddler in the family. My bros do it for me. They know it helps keep us sane."
"Still. Don's been the medic for so long…"
"Yeah, I know, your teen years scarred with the fights you picked with Raph."
"I was a fucking little annoying shit, yeah. But it helped Raphie cool off. It's done now, pretty much."
He tried to smile again, looked down, and watched Little Mikey sit up more, grab his hand. "Hey. I know what you're doing. What're ya hiding, Big Me?"
"I don't want to talk about that," said quickly. "I'm not here to talk about that."
Little Mikey crossed his arms. "Then what are you here to talk about?"
Mike fidgeted, rubbed his wrists. "I…um, power, I guess. Releasing it. Knowing when, and, and how?"
Little Mikey's eyes narrowed. "Take those off."
"Take what off?" He knew playing ignorant wouldn't work.
"My Raph already told me what you did at Bishop's compound. After we all got out. I know about that."
"I figured," Mike said lightly.
"He's kind of freaking out a little."
"Why? I saved our lives."
"Could you at least lower a couple shields? I don't wanna force it." Little Mikey's glare dropped. "And take those off."
"I'd rather not, dude."
"Don't. Don't. I just got sliced up all over by the most fucked-up psychotic creep I've ever met and you don't fucking get to hide, Michelangelo."
He winced. Little Mikey hadn't raised his voice, hadn't sounded angry, and the sting still cut loudly and strongly.
He sighed and slipped off the leather wrist guards, keeping his palms facing his chest.
"Nope," his counterpart said.
"Why?" he asked, teeth clenched.
"Because there are lots of ways to get it out, and I'm just really tired still, and I'd rather nobody asked questions about it."
Mike almost felt relief. He extended his arms, laying his hands upright in the other Mikey's lap.
Little Mikey merely exhaled between his teeth and gently took each wrist, pressing a finger against the fresh new cuts until the skin was completely sealed.
"There, you can put your wrist guards back on."
Mike didn't look at him as he did. "Did you want a thank you?"
"No, but I do want something different."
"I can do something different…"
"You've never blown up a building before."
"No." He let the silence stretch. "It was a lot. I just wanna figure out how-"
"The white place," Little Mikey said quickly, with a tiny smile. "You know. With the tree? It literally helps take everything off ya."
"Really?" For the first time in three days, Mike felt hopeful. "Just…like, everything? I can let go?"
"Yeah, bro, that's what the white place does. It look me a long time to figure out why I kept coming there over and over, and how whenever I left, I felt, like…lighter."
"So," Mike mused. "You had that outlet. So you never would have to-"
"Exactly. I mean, I think that's where everyone goes. Gaia does. It stretches on and on. Gaia told me that the tree isn't everywhere, but, like…all telepaths find the white place eventually and it holds their… you know. Their…extra dark. Their pain."
"Trauma."
"Yeah."
They stared at each other.
Little Mikey's eyes shifted. "You can come in, Master Splinter."
Mike immediately straightened his spine, eyes automatically widening, and only when he felt Little Mikey's hand on his arm that he realized he was holding his breath.
His sensei entered silently, smiling very gently. Mike smiled back, genuinely, and felt pure warmth bloom in his chest. The talk they'd had in his room had done some good – and that was before he'd done the thing again, and he flexed his wrists on instinct – because Splinter's eyes no longer glittered with sadness.
"How are you, my son? And our patient, of course?"
"Tired," they said at the same time. Splinter chuckled, resting a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Of course. And young Michelangelo, thank you for not fussing and healing my child's newest self-harm cuts."
Mike jerked reflexively. "What?"
Sensei merely smiled at him. "I am teaching myself to expand certain senses in new ways. The scent of fresh blood, healed skin, even covered." And he tapped the side of his nose and twitched its end. Mike made a small sound in the back of his throat.
Little Mikey was looking actually surprised. "Cool. I love when our dad just smells stuff. I think it's why he lets me get away with some of my pranks."
"I believe he might find them entertaining in a way," Splinter nodded. "You all use your creative outlets differently after all."
Mike let himself calm down, and offered his seat. Splinter shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, a paw on Little Mikey's knee. "I did sense that younger Michelangelo wanted to speak with me, and perhaps us together. Was I correct."
Mike winced even as Little Mikey grinned. "Yep. I figured ya both had some stuff to work out, but I wanted to try it all together."
Sighing, Mike made himself smile, and lowered most of his shields.
"Your perceptions and insight never fail to astound me, little one."
And Mike flinched at his father's words. It used to be him. Long ago. Over a decade ago. Sure, Sensei didn't mean it like that, sensei had apologized. But it still…stung.
Mikey threw back his head and laughed. "Sensei, if you knew me a year ago, you wouldn't say that. I was all over the place."
"That may be true," Splinter smiled, "but you brought heart and laughter to your team." He reached out and took the hands of both Michelangelos. "Shall we meditate? I quite liked the white space with the tree."
Little Mikey nodded. "That's where we're going. I was tellin' big Mike here that it helps ease your pain away and it keeps you from going nuts on yourself." He gave Mike's hand a squeeze.
Mike shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he was in the white place, staring at the eternal bonsai tree. He dropped his companions' hands, and when they glanced at him, he spread his arms and wrapped them around their shoulders, hugging his little counterpart and his sensei as tightly as he could.
This was going to be one hell of a telepathic discussion.
Donnie calmly and casually stood by the couch and watched his older counterpart pace in front of the closed lab doors, muttering. Big Donnie had been very twitchy whenever Mikey was disturbed, but Donnie couldn't blame him. The fact that it was Master Splinter in there was probably the only thing keeping anyone out.
Mikey watched back and forth, as Big Mike and Splinter talked, apparently continuing a conversation. The tears already in Big Mike's eyes told him enough.
"Are you sure that's the only reason you want them to stay, Dad? Are you sure it isn't because he's better than me? That you might love him more?"
And Splinter looked physically wounded. "Michelangelo, please! I have already told you that your thinking is wrong. I love you. You are my child. I could never love a different version of you more than I love you. How can I convince you that I speak the ultimate truth?"
"He's right, you know," Mikey spoke up, softly, earning a harsh glance from Big Mike. "Master Splinter is. This is really hurting him."
Big Mike drew in a shaky breath. He stood, taking his nunchaku out and spinning them. "I've always been great," he whispered.
Splinter stood and nodded, silent. Mikey got to his feet, eyes wide, and very quickly pulled them into his beach world. Big Mike's eyes widened as the sand pushed against his feet, but didn't lose his balance or concentration. He shot Mikey a look that Mikey couldn't quite interpret – possible hurt, confusion – and without a word, with barely a breath, launched himself at Splinter.
Mikey gasped, yelled, and stumbled back, falling to the sand.
The rat did nothing except block the attack, moving his legs into stance. His staff shot up, again and again blocking and defending, as a quietly crying Michelangelo poured his confused grief into his blows, hand strikes, kicks. They were faster than anything Mikey had ever seen, perfectly executed, perfectly efficient, focused and powerful.
As Mike's fist pulled back and Mikey whimpered, Splinter quickly sprang forward and wrapped his arms around Mike's shoulders. As though in slow motion, Big Mike jerked to a halt, his arm spasming. His eyes grew wide, his mouth opened. And he sagged in his father's embrace, resting his head on the rat's shoulder.
Mikey exhaled in relief.
"Everything will be all right, my son," Splinter whispered. "Even if you cannot believe it yet."
Big Mike was trembling. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I want…I want to be okay, Dad."
"And you shall be," Splinter said, his hands shaking as they gripped Big Mike's carapace. "Let me help you. Let me guide you. Do not shut me out anymore, my sun child. You do not have to wound yourself to release your fear anymore. I will help ease the pain."
"Does this mean I gotta tell Leo I was always better than him?"
A pause.
"If you choose," Splinter said softly. "Although he may already know, in his own way."
They separated. Big Mike shuffled the sand around with his feet. "Can…can I show you my psychic playground? The one Lil Me helped me build?"
Mikey grinned widely and got to his feet.
Splinter smiled, his eyes bright. "I would love to see that, my son."
Mikey rubbed his hands together when the two looked over at him. At least they didn't hurt as much anymore.