Rating: K
Words: 566
Author's Note: I wanted to make this a happy prompt… I really did… But I've been in such a dark writing mood that I wouldn't pull it off. Oh well, hope you all enjoy!
Raph stood in the doorway to the bedroom holding a large cardboard box in his arms. The room looked just the same as it always had. Maybe even more ordinary than usual. The only thing that interrupted its normalcy was that its occupant had been gone for almost six months. And what was worse… he was never coming back.
No one had had the heart to pack up any of Mikey's things in that time. They had all just been going through the motions, living in numb shock at the loss of their youngest brother. Finally, Raph couldn't live with the guilt anymore, and hoped that doing this would put his conscience at rest. It was a stretch, but he was desperate for any kind of respite.
Swallowing hard, he stepped through the door and looked at the clutter that filled the room. He was sure that he was going to need another box. Or ten. He'd forgotten just how much crap Mikey really had.
The painful memories from that night were still fresh in his mind: Raph and Mikey going out to ride their skateboards on the rooftops and being ambushed by the Foot. Mikey shouting a warning, then pushing him out of the way and taking the blade that had been meant for him. All the blood that he couldn't staunch and Donnie's medical expertise being too far away to do anything. How Raph had held his his little brother's hand as he died.
It wasn't fair. He should have been the one to die that night, not Mikey. Mikey had been the one that was more full of life than any of them. He should be here, cracking jokes, pulling pranks and just being a general nuisance. Instead, he…
Tears welled in his eyes as he began to place Mikey's belongings into the box: the horror comics, parts of the Turflytle costume, the soiled tighty-whities. So many memories were attached to each of these seemingly random items, and each one brought a fresh wave of mental anguish. It felt like he was shutting up what remained of Mikey into that that box, and he felt like a traitor in doing so.
Finally, the box was completely full and Raph closed the flaps with a finality that sent chills down his shell. It was like boxing up Mikey's stuff was really admitting to himself that he was really gone. And up until now, it hadn't been quite real. Just a cruel nightmare.
There was still a lot of junk left to be packed up, but he didn't feel like he could do any more. He sat down on the edge of the bed and spotted something brown and silver out of the corner of his eye. He reached out and picked up the tattered bear that was propped up against the pillow, holding it reverently in his large hands. Mikey had loved this moth-eaten old thing. He slept with it every night when they were kids, and had kept it long after it had stopped being a bedtime companion.
The presence of the mangled bear broke the dam in his soul and he gave in to his grief. His shoulders shook with sobs as hot tears dripped from his cheeks onto the bear's fur. Curling up on his side in a fetal position, he squeezed the bear tightly in his muscular arms and wept.