Disclaimer: I lay absolutely no claim to any character in this story. They are the brilliant creations of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird. They now belong to Mirage Studios and a whole host of people who are not me. I make no money from this and I mean no harm. Please don't sue. I also do not own any of the songs these chapters take their inspiration from.
Imprisoned
Michelangelo was alone for now. Like every day for the past... he didn't know how long it had been anymore. All he knew was that every day they came and took his brother away from him, leaving him alone to rot in the too bright cell. White, florescent light exuded from every surface of the room. Everything was plastic and lit from the inside, or outside, depending on your point of view. The walls gave off a glaring light, as did the plastic beds, the commode and the small sink. They had taken his belt, weapons and pads, but for some reason, the scientists had allowed him to keep his mask. His only guess for this was so they could tell the difference between him and his brother.
He hated the place, hated it with a passion. Raised as a creature of shadow he found that it was in the dark that he was most at home. Shadows hid him from prying eyes, from those who might do him harm. Well, usually they did. He had made a mistake, and it had cost him and his brother dearly.
Mikey had been warned. Donnie had objected to the idea. Objected rather strenuously for him. But Mikey had persisted and eventually his brother had given in. Donnie had been right, again. They had been hopping rooftops to their final stop for the evening when they were accosted by Bishop and several of his operatives. Mikey sighed at the memory and searched in vain for a darker spot in the room. The blinding light was omnipresent. He couldn't get away.
"Hello."
Mikey jumped at the sound of the voice. It was familiar somehow, but he could not place it. He quickly schooled his features into something less revealing. Early on, before the end of their first evening in the chamber, and before they had taken Donnie away for the first time, the purple masked turtle had quietly suggested that they were probably being watched. Michelangelo had to agree with the assessment, and he had been careful to hide his emotions since their arrival and the subsequent tortures.
"Hello"
"Who's there?" Mikey asked quietly into his arm so his words could not be seen. He didn't know if there was audio surveillance, but if there wasn't he didn't want anyone reading his lips.
"You... me."
This confused the orange masked turtle, and he thought for the first time that maybe he was truly losing it. Michelangelo fought to retain his sanity. He had to. Someone had to, and he was really the only one left who could. Mike had witnessed his brother's descent, physically and mentally. He knew that if they didn't get out of here soon that he would lose Donnie forever, if it wasn't already too late. He sighed and made a decision.
"I don't understand." Mike told the voice quietly.
"What do you want more than anything in the world right now?"
"I want out of here." Mikey replied quickly and without thought.
"Really, you want out of here right now? You want to leave this very moment?"
Mikey thought for a moment before he answered. "No. No I don't."
"Why?"
"Because I can't leave without Donnie." Michelangelo responded.
"What if Donatello is already lost?"
"He's not. Buried maybe, but he's not lost yet. I can't believe that... I won't."
Some part of Mikey saw the owner of the voice nod in understanding, but there was no one to see. He tried to place the voice again with no success. What was happening was beyond his comprehension and Michelangelo decided that he would rather let it happen than fight it. Maybe it was drugs that Bishop had put in the food, in the air, in the water, or maybe it was madness finally getting the better of him. His mind slowly slipping away as Donnie's had what seemed like forever ago. Mikey's thoughts were interrupted again.
"What do you want more than anything in the world right now?"
This time Mike gave his answer more thought before he spoke. He considered all the possibilities. Being home with his family kept coming to the fore, but that seemed like too much to ask. No, that wasn't the answer the voice was looking for. He searched for the strongest desire he had at the moment; he searched himself, searched his very soul. The voice was patient and Mikey could 'see' the owner of the voice waiting quietly for an answer. Michelangelo still could not picture the owner of the voice, but he got the impression of what the being was doing. The voice's patience struck him as he continued to ponder the question. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he responded.
"I want someone to talk to." Mike replied simply. The voice nodded and smiled. He recognized the gesture, the smile and the nod, but they seemed out of place, almost as though they belonged to someone other than the voice did. Again, he tried to place the voice.
"Me too."
This was strange. He didn't understand. Everything that the voice said reminded him of someone, but he couldn't figure out who it was. After a moment he realized that it wasn't one person that the voice reminded him of. That explained the out-of-placeness he had noticed earlier. But recognizing the multiple personalities in the voice did nothing to help him determine who's voice it was, or who those other personalities were. This realization was startling. Multiple personalities. That wasn't a good thing, that wasn't a sane thing.
"I am here."
Mike started at the voice. "Who are you?" He asked. He felt like a broken record and had a feeling that he already knew how the voice would respond.
"You already know who I am."
"I don't understand." Michelangelo told the voice.
"You don't have to."
The orange-masked turtle got the distinct impression that he was being talked in circles, but he accepted it. "Why are you here?"
"Because you need me."
"Does that mean that you will leave when I don't need you anymore?"
"Yes."
"So when we get free you will go away?"
"Not necessarily."
"But if we're free then I won't need you anymore." Mike insisted.
"If that is true then yes, I will leave. If that is not true then I will remain. It is really up to you, Mikey."
Only one person said his name like that, but, just like earlier, he couldn't place who it was, and the inflections felt out of place with the voice he heard. Michelangelo eventually gave up and accepted the voice without any other questions. He realized that who it was was not important. It didn't matter who he was talking to so long as he was talking to someone.
The voice allowed Mikey to enter another place. Michelangelo was out of his little cell, away from the cold, harsh lights and hidden in shadow where he belonged. Part of him knew it was a lie, knew that the shadow was all in his mind. It didn't matter where the shadow was. It didn't matter if the shadow was real or not. What mattered was that it was there. There for him to hide in, even if it wasn't tangible. With the voice there, Mikey found himself in a much better place. Somewhere he could hide in the shadows he needed so badly. He pushed aside his horrible surroundings and allowed himself to hide in the lie.
Footsteps down the hall snapped him back to the harsh reality of his present situation. Two guards opened the door and Mikey stepped to the far wall, having learned long ago that if he didn't then they would shock him into unconsciousness, and that simply wouldn't do. Two more guards threw his brother into the cell. Donatello didn't offer any resistance, and probably couldn't resist even if he had the presence of mind to want to, which was something Mikey had his doubts about. Mike watched as he purple-masked brother dropped to the floor in the center of the room like a brick. Donnie's plastron hit the floor hard with a loud crack that made Mikey sick. From his spot against the wall, Michelangelo watched the guards as they silently exited the room, leaving the two turtles in peace. As soon as the guards were gone, Mikey raced to his brother's side.
"Donnie?" Mikey asked. When he got no response he tried again, a little more insistently. "Donnie!"
Donatello, for his part, managed to open and shift his eyes so he was looking directly at Michelangelo.
"Oh Donnie, shell! I'm sorry I got you into this, bro. It's all my fault. Can you forgive me?" Mike had done this every night for as long as they had been here. Early on, Donnie had responded, insisting that it wasn't Mikey's fault, it was Bishop's and no one else's. He'd made jokes that Mikey was acting like Leo and that had calmed the orange-masked turtle somewhat. Those jokes were long gone now, along with any sign that Donnie was still present. His body was alive, but it had been so long since Mikey had managed to get a response of any kind from his brother.
Mikey took note of Donnie's new cuts and bruises. The fresh, tell-tale slice of a scalpel in the soft flesh between Don's carapace and plastron made Michelangelo's blood boil. He hated this place, hated everything about it. He wanted out, and he wanted his brother back. Mike did what little he could for Donnie's new injuries and spoke quietly to his brother, expecting no response.
"Hey Donnie. I think I'm beginning to lose it too. I know you didn't mean to leave me, but I really need you right now. I need something, Donnie. Prove to me that you're still in there."
A long silence followed in which nothing was said. Mikey picked up his brother and moved him to the lower bunk in the room.
"Mi... key." Don forced out as Mike tucked the single sheet around him.
Michelangelo was too shocked to say anything in response. As it turned out, he didn't have to, because his brother wasn't finished with what he had to say.
"Thank you."
Now the orange-masked turtle was more than confused. "Thank you for what?"
"Talking." Without another word, Donatello drifted off to sleep.