Okay, so it hasn't been a full year since I last updated :D that's an improvement. I'm gunna start off by saying I've had this song in my head since writing the last chapter. Hallelujah by Kate Voegele, and Jeff Buckley. Studio version and all that good stuff. And that is only relevant because it's been in Mikey's head too. So if you're wondering how the vocals sound or anything like that for the song in this chapter you now know the version of it that Mikey does. Whichever one you prefer is fine, I believe it has the same effect.
Well, that's it. Hope you enjoy? :/
TMNT
When they'd gotten home from the rescue mission there was nothing to celebrate. They'd left with a healing sibling, a levelheaded doctor, and a pair of lovers. They returned with an injured brother, a scared oldest sibling, a wounded brunette, and a chaotic mess of a baby brother, who was left nothing more then an exposed pile of nerves.
Leo parked the van in the garage before running to the back to help Donnie carry Raph inside. They got to work on him immediately, taking out the bullet and patching him up. After that they fixed up Don's own injuries.
Mikey didn't leave the van for hours.
When he finally did come inside though, he refused to look at any of them. He brushed off their attempts at mending his injuries, and shot them down with silence as they tried to talk to him. He went directly to his room, and locked the door, opting to lick his own wounds in solitude.
He didn't come out for two days.
There wasn't even a sign for his older brothers to tell that he was still living up there. He didn't leave his room for anything. He didn't answer when either of his conscious brothers knocked, or begged him to come out. And he didn't touch any of the food that they'd left just outside his locked door.
This didn't change until the afternoon, of the third day, after the badly turned rescue mission.
Donnie, wanting to keep his mind occupied and away from the heavy atmosphere of loss, decided to go out and find a new TV for them. He returned a few hours later with an acceptable sized television. A little banged up, but usable all the same.
It had taken all morning to find, bring home, and hook up to their power system, and by that time it had just passed the afternoon. Once it was turned on, Leo and Don surfed the channels for something moderately entertaining. They had been looking for almost twenty minutes, and were about to give up, when they happened upon a news cast of a blown up building that had been used for containing hazardous liquid tanks, and were currently interviewing survivors of the accident. The main survivor being one lanky eighteen year old with brown hair and thick framed glasses.
"As the police previously stated, the ones to blame for this tragic incident, and the loss of many lives, have not yet been placed under custody. They are conducting an investigation to find them at this moment. Justice will be served to them rightly."
The two brothers growled as they listened to the snake hiss on about the fake story. There was no investigation. The guy knew where they lived. If anyone was looking for them they would have been apprehended sooner.
Even still, this was their home, and if there were people after their heads then they would fight til their last breaths to stay right where they were. They were ready for anything.
At least, that's what they thought.
...
Mikey sat in his room, tucked away into his favorite part of his bed. The upper right edge of the bottom bunk, placed in the corner of his room.
He sat and did nothing, said nothing, and thought almost everything.
His train of thought was an absolute wreck. One second it would be humoring the idea of getting out of his room and eating something, or at least going to the bathroom. Then, not a split fraction of a second later, the notion of actually taking care of himself imploded on itself, and he was left, again, as the flayed exposure of nerves he had been rendered to for the past few days.
Emotions fluctuated constantly, like the struggle of an injured bird's battered wings, fighting to keep itself airborne. His moods and expressions changed just as frequently. Mostly, they simply alternated between the occasional hysterical cry, and the more common reaction of just sitting curled up in his bed with no emotion or feeling being expressed at all on his face. He was monotone and still.
He hadn't moved from his spot on the bed. He would lay down, or shift positions, but never leave his favorite corner. He still wore the same clothes Donnie had picked out for him days earlier, and hadn't bothered to change any of the filthy bandages around his wounds since he'd first done them. No food, or water had been digested or devoured in that time, and the dwindling amount of sleep he got was scarce, and plagued with nightmares.
Whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was vibrant green eyes, charcoal black hair, and a loving smile that made his chest ache, and heart long for the other. Luther.
Luther.
Luther.
Luther.
That's all he could think!
How he could have saved him. How things could have been changed. How it should have been himself instead. How he would gladly give away his life to bring the other back. How he wished he could see him, just one last time.
How much he longed for that last chance to at least just say goodbye.
Then he heard it. That terrible metal on chalkboard voice that pierced his ears and made him want to tare the boy's very flesh away and poke at his bare meat with a fire iron.
Kreg. His voice was slightly muted being filtered through the walls, but easy to pick up with his naturally keen hearing. A television was on downstairs, its volume barely carrying the voice through, to the emotionally crippled teen, in his bedroom.
Mikey slowly sat up, pushing himself up from his mattress with exhausted limbs. Head downcast and teeth grit, he listened to the speech. The backwards use of direction by Justice's angry wrath, placed on the heads of mere teenagers who were only trying to save their brother, and in turn lost an unimaginably precious friend.
Justice wasn't angry at them. It was angry that the antagonizing side had involved innocent police officers into the fray, who had lost their lives, and taken another, in a horrible explosion caused by their own frightened gunfire.
Karma would have it's way with them. It always did, and it always will. And Karma and Justice always went well hand in hand.
'Justice will be served. And it'll be done rightfully so. But it won't be done on me and my brothers.' Mikey thought, eyes stinging as he lifted his head up from his burning glare at his blankets, his fingers digging into them to keep himself from screaming. His blue eyes flooded with the familiar burn of tears, before breaking free and trailing down harshly chapped freckled cheeks. "It'll be on you."
.:(tmnt):.
Mikey left his room that day.
He went to the bathroom, took a shower, changed his clothes, redid his bandages, and even ate a good sized bowl of Frosted Flacks. He didn't speak to his brothers though, despite their obvious yet contained excitement that he had come out of his room and appeared to be doing better. They told him about the news, and what all was publicly known about the situation, but he only replied with a board expression, and a small hum of acknowledgment. This worried them exceedingly, but, knowing how miserable their baby brother must be feeling, they decided not to press him too soon.
After going back upstairs he laid on his bed, looking up blankly at the black bars running along the bottom of the top bunk mattress, keeping it suspended above him. He had originally planned on taking a nap to pass the hours faster, but whenever his eyes would fall closed, all he saw was fire, and shrapnel, and he would open his eyes back up again.
He decided to just pass the time by staring at the wall.
...
Eventually, as the hours creeped along, the colorful noon turned to setting evening. Soon he would be leaving. He had everything planned out perfectly, and nothing was going to be able to keep him from going through with it.
Once the remaining rays of light were vanquished, Mikey threw on a black jacket, and fastened his weapons of choice in his belt around his waist. Three kunai, his nunchaku, and a few smoke pellets, just for the fun of it.
One more thing, and he would be fully prepared for his solo mission.
He walked over to his dresser, picking up the masquerade mask up off the flat wooden surface to hold gently, yet almost too shakily, in his hands. He turned it over and inspected every side of it, sliding his thumb over the cheek of the one side lovingly. Looking at the gift from his late best friend struck a dull cord of sorrow in his chest, but it also made him quirk a small smile as he remembered all the fun they'd had not so long ago.
With a deep intake of rickety breath, and a short huff of decision, he flipped the mask back over and slid it on his face, tying the orange ribbon tails behind his head to hold it in place. Then he flipped up his hood, and left his room.
Descending the stairs and crossing the living room was simple enough, keeping a small smile in place as he told his two concerned older siblings that he was going out for about an hour to stay at Luther's house. Though it was a complete lie, they believed him, and understood why he would want to be alone for the trip.
He thanked them for being so accepting of his wishes and left the house through the garage. Leo and Donnie listened as their little brother started up Luther's bike, which now rightfully belonged to him, they supposed, and rode away with the roar of the engine after the creaky opening and closing of the garage door.
Neither of them had said so at the moment, but both of them felt a small weight in their stomachs as they listened to the youngest of their family ride away into the night. However, they pegged the bad feeling off to worry, pity, and sympathy, and left it at that. By the time they'd realized their mistake in that, they were already too late.
An hour passed, which soon turned into three, both of them thinking he was just so caught up in his loss that he'd lost track of time.
He didn't answer his phone, and soon enough those three hours turned into five, then six, then seven.
Around the end of the eighth hour it was 4:30 in the morning. The two older brothers seemed to be held together by thin stitches and thread. Their panic and fear that something had happened to their little brother was eating away at them with every couple of minutes that passed. They sat on the couch, Don busy keeping his hands tinkering with some gizmo to keep himself from flipping a table, while Leo sat chewing on his bottom lip mercilessly, twiddling his fingers in hardly contained anxiety.
Then the sound of a motor came running up the driveway, stopping at the garage door to wait for it to open. Then it rolled in easily, the door shutting behind it. The two emotionally fried brothers, haggard from waiting in concern, almost tripped over each other as they jumped up to reach the garage door first. Donnie ended up getting to the door first, both of them frantically fighting to twist the knob and swing open the door as quickly as physically possible.
Once it was open though, they almost wished it had stayed closed. Mikey climbed off the bike, kicking the stand out to support it in an upright position as he turned to the door. There were blood stains on his clothes. All over his jeans, his jacket, his bare arms with his sleeves rolled up. Covered in it from head to toe. He also now carried a backpack on him that he hadn't left with. Stuck between the strap and his back was a long wooden staff, the same red liquid covering it like it did the teen that carried it.
Mikey took off the full face black helmet that had once belonged to Luther, and set it in its place on a handlebar. He smiled at his brothers who had come out to meet him. The twist of lips more of a reassuring thing then his usual mood lifting grin he'd naturally sported since diapers. It was more like the kind of smile a parent would have when calming their child from the fear brought on by a bad nightmare, or a terrible storm.
The blond stepped closer to them, the two of them staring with wide unbelieving eyes at the scene before them. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. Not to their baby brother. Not him.
He was too innocent. Too sweet. There was no way he could have possibly done this. He couldn't.
But he still walked forward, noting their looks of wide sad eyes, and hung open mouths. Mikey reached behind him and grabbed hold of the staff, pulling it from between himself and the backpack to hold out towards his siblings.
"Here, D, I got this back for you. That piece of shit bitch took it with him when he dragged his sorry, worthless ass from the building." He explained, pushing the staff into his brother's hand as he passed. Donnie shivered at the cold, thick wetness that painted the wood of his weapon. Some of the blood on it was his brother's, turned brown from being left to dry for days. The rest was fresh. Not shed too long ago. The feeling was sickening, and the brunette could feel bile rising in the back of his throat as he felt the need to be sick.
"Mikey... what did you do?" Leo asked tentatively, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.
"He wanted justice. I gave it to him." Mikey said, looking at each of them, back and forth in the eyes. "An eye for an eye. A life for a life. What's more just then that?"
Mikey squeezed through the doorway around the two, who stepped away from him carefully, letting him pass first through the narrow hallway. Leo watching him go, still shocked by the day's newest events, while Donnie stared at his staff in horror, and disgust.
"I'm gunna go take a shower. I stink like guts." Mikey muttered more to himself then his siblings behind him. He unzipped his jacket and let it fall to the stairs after taking it off. He continued mumbling on about how gross he felt while peeling away his clothes and dropping them on the floor as he made his way down the hall and to the upstairs bathroom.
After he was gone, Leo slouched against the wall and steadily slid down it, shakily letting his head fall into his hands as he sat helpless on the floor. Donnie dropped his staff a few feet away from himself, almost throwing it, before he hunched over and ran for the garage trashcan, collapsing against it and vomiting his stomach into the bag.
Their little brother had killed someone.
Everything was broken.
.:(tmnt):.
Raphael faintly remembered being pulled into the back of the van, carried by careful, yet hurried arms. He could hear Leo's voice. He was yelling, loud and commanding, and frantic all at once. Then, at the corner of his vision, his only older sibling jumper out of the van only to return moments later with a struggling Mikey in his grip. Don took hold of him after that, to keep him from jumping back out, while Leo went around the van and out of sight.
He heard Donnie saying reassuring things with a panicked tone, and Mikey shouting and crying out pleadingly.
Mikey struggled, trying to get free, but Don's hold was too firm, leaning over Raphael to hold their baby brother's wrist in a vice grip.
There was a flash of light then, and all he could hear was a shrill whistle chiming a long trill in his ears. He opened his eyes to see his little brothers wide eyed and scared, before there was movement and they were headed away from the trashed building behind them. It was the building he had just been in, encased in fire and fallen rubble from the blast. It faded quickly into the distance beyond swinging rear van doors.
He recalled Don yelling at Mikey to close them, but ending up doing it himself. After the doors were sealed shut, Raph's tired, foggy gaze turned to Mikey, and stung slightly at seeing tears slipping down the visible side of his face.
'What's wrong, little brother?.' He thought to himself, letting his vision go black again to take him away from the terrible scene.
...
When he next came to he was laying in bed, his chest bandaged up and cleaned. He was in the basement in Donnie's bed. Glancing to the side he found the genius at his desk, looking crestfallen and exhausted.
Raphael sat up carefully, having been through these kinds of things enough before to know his limits. He ran a hand through his greasy red hair, and rubbed at his aching eye socket to calm his oncoming headache.
"Hey there, Doc." He grumbled, cracking his other eye open to look at his brother who was now giving all his attention to his newly risen sibling. "How long'ave I been out?"
"Almost four days. Sure took your time waking up." Donnie answered, his voice just as miserable as his expression.
"What'd I miss?" Raph asked, letting his hands fall to his lap and looking his little brother directly in the eyes. Don only looked away. "What's goin' on? Where are the others?"
"Upstairs."
"Is everyone okay?"
"Not really. Luther's gone." The brunette said, turning his attention back to his machinery he'd been working on, his hair hiding his face.
"Gone? Well where the hell'd he go?"
"He's dead, Raph." Donnie said, voice steady yet wavering slightly in the undertones. "Died the night we went to get you."
Raphael sat still for a moment, thinking over what his younger brother had just told him. "What happened?"
"Guy named Kreg had been stalking us for a while. Apparently he'd fallowed you the other night, when you left, to corner you, and offer you up on a silver plate to the government. He'd been hoping to get them to agree into taking all of us. Guess his plan didn't work out so well in the end."
"Is he dead too?" Raph asked. The way Donnie was talking about him made it seem like the guy wasn't exactly kicking anymore. And for some reason, he sounded almost sad about it.
"Very very dead." The younger replied, pausing for a moment before going back to screwing something in place on his project. "Luther was killed when the building blew up. He was trying to buy us time."
The fuzzy memory of the explosion and Mikey crying came back like a punch in the stomach. He was quiet again, letting the ache settle before speaking.
"Is Mikey okay?"
Donatello, again, halted in his work. His grip on the screwdriver in his hand tightened, and he bit his lip. After taking a breath his shoulders slumped back and he resumed his work.
"Nope."
"What?" Raphael asked. He'd expected the blond to be upset about Luther's death, of course, but he didn't know if that's what Donnie meant by 'okay'. Was he physically alright? Was he injured? "You said everyone was fine." He needed some clarification.
"And I meant it. We're all physically okay, aside from some stabs and bullet holes here and there. But, mentally, right now Mikey's probably the farthest away from fine."
"What's that supposed to mean? I can respect that he's down 'cause Headrick's gone, but are you telling me he's gone off the deep end? Or is he just not as hyper as usual?"
Realizing he probably wasn't going to be able to work during this conversation Don abandoned his project for the time being, and turned his attention fully to his inquisitive brother.
"Leo wanted to be the one to tell you. A lot has changed these past few days." He said, looking down as he picked at some grease under his fingernail. "Our little brother killed someone."
Time stopped. Raphael could hardly breath. He felt like the world had stopped spinning, then started up again in reverse. A million different things flooded his head all at once and he couldn't do anything other then sit and stare at Don. His jaw hung open, and his eyes were wide and almost scared. He was suddenly aware of how dry his throat was, yet not aware of it at all. Things registered in his mind, but nothing mattered enough to stick. Nothing made sense to him anymore.
'Our little brother killed someone.'
"Wh...who was it?" Raph asked, hands clenching around the blankets covering his lap in anticipation.
"That Kreg guy. He'd already run off before the blast. When we found out, Mike was fine. He didn't seem to care about it. But I guess we really wouldn't know if he was fine or not. He wouldn't talk to us, and wouldn't come down from his room for hours." Don paused to think about how to tell the next part. It was still pretty shocking for himself, considering it happened just this morning. So his story wasn't going to be the most composed telling. "He left last night. We tried to keep him home but he insisted he had something he needed to do." He paused again.
"We didn't know, Raph." Don said shakily, like he were about to break down. "We didn't know what he was planning to do. It's just so against his nature. We knew he was hurting, but we didn't think he'd go this far." Raphael remained silent as Donnie took another couple of seconds to calm himself down. He still refused to look the older in the eyes.
"He came back dark this morning with blood on his clothes and the kid's glasses as a trophy or something." Donnie shivered and took another deep breath. "It was terrifying."
Raphael was up the stairs before he'd realized he'd even gotten out of bed. He ignored Leo in the kitchen when he'd called out to him, and continued on up the stairs to the top floor. He didn't bother knocking, just opened the door to Mikey's room and walked in. He closed it behind him and stood there silently, looking at his younger brother for about a minute. He'd been so fast on his way up he hadn't even thought of anything to say.
Mikey sat on his bed, in his favorite corner, before Raph barged in. He had previously been drawing, one of his many sketchbooks sitting precariously in his lap. Mikey didn't look up right away, favoring finishing up a few details in his picture over meeting the gaze of his intruder.
Raphael looked around and spotted a pair of thick glasses, with a bit of red spattered across them, sitting atop Mikey's dresser like a prize. He remembered the same pare being worn by that fucker who had shot him. He wanted to puke.
"Hey, Raph. Nice to see you're awake." Mikey smiled, finally looking up at the older and setting his sketchbook aside. He crawled closer toward the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him, indicating he wanted the other to take a seat. Raphael did so, obediently. Once he was settled down Mikey continued their conversation, which was good, because Raph had no words at the moment. "How's your injury?"
"It's fine. Could be worse."
"That's good." Mikey said, turning a bit to catch his fingers under the pencil on his bed to continue with the picture he had been working on. While he was busy, Raph was getting his attention back, and was now noticing things like how the younger's smile was weak, how his voice was hoarse, and the rims of his eyes were a strange horrible mix of red and black from tears and severe lack of sleep. Or how he was wearing one of Raph's black band shirts, and a pair of flannel red and black pajama pants that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks. What he'd noticed above all else though, were the ridiculous amount of bandages and gauze wrapped around his baby brother's smaller frame.
Donnie had mentioned something about stab wounds and bullet holes.
"What about you?" He asked, reaching out to slide his fingers over one of Mikey's heavily bandaged hands. "Are you okay?"
Mikey looked down at his hands and chuckled. "Yeah, apparently pressing your skin against hot metal for too long can give you second degree burns. Who knew, right?" He explained sarcastically. "Just a few too many holes lumped out of me. Nothing really life threatening to report." He said, rubbing his hands over the bandages around his bare arms.
"But are you okay?" Raph repeated. Mikey took a moment to let the question sink in.
"Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine, man." He finally settled with, poorly masking a small crack in his voice with a cough.
Mikey held his brother's concerned gaze, until tears began welling up at the brims, and he abruptly turned his head. He looked down at his knees, bangs guarding his face from seeking green eyes, but not the droplets of tears the fell to the floor passed his hair's hiding reach. It wasn't loud, but a hiccuped sob racked the younger's body, and he brought his hands up to muffle the sound.
For any older sibling, this was a sad thing to watch. For Raphael, it was painful.
Without any more awkward hesitation to engage the situation, Raph pulled his baby brother against him. Mikey couldn't handle the struggle of trying to stop anymore, and just let it out. His cries and tears burst out of control, his facade giving out to the enemy, like a game of intense tug of war where one side completely lets go of the rope all together just to watch the other side all fall on their asses.
He cried for a while after that, face tucked away in his brother's shoulder. The older only coddled the younger, not bothering to attempt being reassuring since there was really nothing good to come out of this situation. There were no ''It's okay's"or "You're alright's" when he had murdered a human being, and lost someone incredibly important to him. So he settled for few words, simply holding the younger close as he cried out his soul, the only acceptance of words being the occasional "I'm sorry." that fell from the older's lips.
.:(tmnt):.
Days had passed, and they lived on, but nothing seemed to improve.
Nightmares were just as common to Mikey as sleep was now, it seemed. As soon as any semblance of a restful slumber took over him his mind flashed with images of fire and blood; the sound of gunfire, screams, and clanging metal scorched into his mind.
Though, strangely, he'd much preferred the carnage and gore over the more settler of dreams he'd been having. They were ever changing, yet always the same - if that made any kind of sense. Always different times and memories, but always lifting with the same likeness.
Billowing, see through, white curtains framing an open window to stream in soft pale moonlight. The stars alight with twinkling sparks as he and the other lay curled together, warm arms wrapped tight with protection and love.
City lights dancing in the distance as the two of them run free in the backyard of golden wheat, shaded and swaying in the nightly breeze. They come together to mingle limbs and sway around, bodies moving languidly to the song of a cell phone - tuned to the radio - tucked neatly into the back pocket of a pair of old blue jeans. The two boys were lost in each other, the lights of the sky being their only aid to ward off the dark.
Serene melody remaining in the forefront of his dreams as other bits and pieces struggle for his attention. The song they had danced to that night constantly playing in his ears.
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Sincere, happy smiles, collide in chaste, pleasant kisses. Tickle fights ensued. Insult wars, and laughter. Declarations of undying affection shouted for the world to hear, but really only meant for the privacy of the two.
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Braiding leaves, twigs, and vines into silky black hair. Swaying hips, clad in boxers and worn jeans, teasing as they go. Gentle touches and caresses with the fond tugging of the other's hair. Vibrant green eyes, and the most perfect smile he'd ever seen.
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Bundled up under mounds of thick, sun bleached, ratty blankets. Cuddled together; preserving warmth, 'cause neither of them wanted to close the window the night before and miss the crispness of the chilled, outside air. Waking to the other's smiling face, and the pestering and musing at the other's wild bedhead. Faint fluttering sunlight filtering in to bath them in the blessing warmth it had to offer.
The two would stay in bed, neither having the drive, or moderate desire to leave their multi layered sanctuary. The content and pure bliss of the moment would drown him in its serenity, filling his heart with love, and making his soul new. And then-
Hallelujah
-and then he would wake up. That same faint, fluttering sunlight washing over him from his window, casting it's glow over him - but the happiness was gone - and he was left to come crashing down from memories not so long lost. His heart was heavy and his soul was broken.
He wouldn't leave his bed, not having the drive or desire to do so. And he would lay in his crumbled solitude, imagining those vibrant green eyes, that perfect smile, and out of control bedhead looking back at him from the empty space in his bed.
And that same sad song would remain in his head, replaying again and again, like it was all he had left.
...
It had been a week and a half since the night Raph woke up, and still nothing changed. The entire household seemed to be drowned in a despondent slump. Mikey had gone back to staying in his room at all times, minus the occasional bathroom break, or the few times one of the three older siblings would force him into a shower, or make him eat something. Sometimes they could hear a lulling tune coming from his room, all aware of the electronic keyboard that he'd dug out from under his bed and had decided to start playing again, for once in a few long years.
The tunes played were smooth, and lulling, and strongly familiar. The three had been listening to the melody for the last few days, and it never got any less heart wrenching to listen to. They could hear their little brother's voice through the door, singing quietly along to the tune of the keys as he played. The song was doleful, and their baby brother had been singing it, humming it, and playing it almost nonstop.
Mikey still remembered the first song he'd ever learned on the piano through muscle memory, so when he'd first fished out his old keyboard it was really a stroke of odd coincidence that that same song happened to be the one haunting his ears for the past few days. He began playing Hallelujah slowly with dragging chimes of key strokes.
At first he was a bit rusty - hands clumsily hitting the wrong notes every so often - but after a few minutes playing it it began to feel right, like the song was the perfect outlet for how he was feeling. After the second time playing it he began to hum along to it. After the third he'd found his voice to sing the words. And he'd played it over and over for hours on the first day until his chest hurt a little less, and his crying had tired him out. He actually slept pretty well that night. A full eight hours to help replenish his energy.
The next day he played it again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Over and over and over again, but never once did he grow tired of it, nor did his voice lose any of the raw emotion it was sang with.
He hadn't even noticed, on the third day, when Donnie had come up to check on him only to stand in the doorway listening, and watching him play. Hadn't a clue he was there until the door was closed, and he paused faintly to hear slow, shallow footsteps retreat down the stairs. The portion of the sorrowful song he'd witnessed playing in the brunette's head as he left, weighing on him like every bit the heart-rending requiem it was meant to be.
"I heard there was a God above... But all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya-a-a-a...
And it's not a cry that you hear at night... it's not somebody who's seen the light...
It's a cold, and it's a broken halleluja-ah...
Hallelujah... hallelujah... hallelujah... hallelu-u-u-u... halleluja-ah..."
And it never stopped. The singing would cease for maybe a few hours, but it would always pick up again.
...
One would think after listening to the same song played every day would become annoying, but the three older brothers didn't think so. They didn't try ignoring it or drowning it out with the radio, or the volume of the TV. They listened, because the four of them were a team. They were a single functioning unit. They were a family, though the legitimate value of that may have been a bit broken and distorted.
The point is together they are a whole. Without one part they are all incomplete. When one part morns they all morn with him.
The three of them gave him space. They gave him his time. But it was still effecting them.
Leo lay on the long living room couch one morning, book in hand, feet crossed at the ankles in Donnie's lap. Raph sat on the smaller couch with a bowl of cereal and a comic book. They had all been reading when the singing started up again. And as he read, subconsciously, Leo began to sing with him.
"Well I heard there was a secret cord... that David played, and it pleased the lord... but you don't really care for music, do ya?"
It was only a mumble of lyrics, a quiet muttering that he hadn't really realized he was saying out loud, let alone singing it along with his little brother.
"Well it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth. The minor fall and the major lift... The baffled king composing Hallelujah."
Raph and Don watched him. Attention drawn completely from their respective books, weather comic or novel, to witness the empathy of the moment. It was like Leo had been, on some level, reaching out to support their baby brother. Maybe not by being with him physically at his side, but almost spiritually, in a way. Like joining him in his forlorn course would help Leo feel the same heart ache that Mikey did, and, by doing so, would make it to where he wasn't so alone anymore. Letting his little brother know that he has his back.
"Hallelujah... hallelujah...hallelujah... hallelu-u-u-u-jah..."
During the rest of the song Donnie and Raph hummed along too, singing a few words here and there, but mostly humming the tune. Like a pack of dogs all howling together, the four brothers sang as one until the song was over and the piano stopped playing.
So that's that. I didn't want to write the murder scene in detail because I felt it would be a little too ooc to go into Mikey's sadistic crazed mind at that particular part of this chapter -not that the rest of this story hasn't been super ooc since the beginning- :/
Speaking of the beginning. I'm going back to rewrite a few chapters because I was reading over them the other day, and I kid you not I almost wanted to choke something to death because my writing sucked so bad XD why didn't any of you tell me? The first few chapters were awful!
Now you know. I redid chapter one already. Renamed it and everything. Newly improved, I think. Makes Mikey sound more like the considerate baby brother he is, rather then a whiny little bitch :) Well. I'm done.
TTFN Lovers. Peace.