Chapter Seventeen: Mikey, the Quiet One
"All right, bro, I think that's enough travelin' fer now. How about I head home? Do I just think really hard about what it looks like?" He makes it sound so easy, and it seems super easy for him, but not for me.
Taevon's silhouette turned to Casey; his leather jacket crinkled as he moved. "But, you live in the city. This is your first time seeing the Milky Way without any other lights at all. Isn't it gorgeous?"
"Yeah, a' course it is. It's just, I'm gettin' tired of traveling to all dese places an' times. I jus' wanna go help Raph wi' dose goons, and then help Don find de others. Tired in two ways, I guess—tired a' traveling, an' just plain tired."
Taevon let out a long sigh. "You're forgetting, my friend," he said, his wistful voice currently slightly British, "that we have no time limit. Besides, isn't it fun traveling with me, your new friend?"
He sounded so forlorn that Casey backtracked. "Yeah, yeah, no, I'm not saying I don't like you. The trip has been fun. Mostly," he added under his breath. "But don't you think you've shown me enough stuff?"
"But then I'd be alone," Taevon sighed, his accent now vaguely German.
"Sorry, man, but can't you just grab one of your friends who can travel too?" Casey flopped down on the cool grass and stared up at the sky. It really does kinda look like spilled milk. And so many stars. I wonder how many there are.
Taevon sat down. "This may be hard to believe, but… among my people, I'm a little odd. Most Jior travel to many different worlds. Very few stick with one, and even fewer time travel. They kinda stopped talking to me, so I stopped going back to the Jior homeworld, except once in a while to get berries or new clothes or whatever."
"So… yer alone all the time?"
"Yeah."
Casey thought for a moment, but didn't know what to say. I wanna go help Raph and get home, but I do feel bad for him. He yawned.
"I heard that." There was a smile in Taevon's voice. "There's no danger here; there's just animals, and they won't bother us. You can sleep for a bit."
"Thanks," Casey murmured. "Maybe we could do jus' a few more places—but they can't be lame ones. No more speeches." Then he fell asleep, stiff clothes and all.
Thursday, late at night
A yawn and creaking made Don look up and then jump up from his computer. "Mikey," he said, rushing over. "You're finally awake."
Mikey blinked owlishly at him from his seat on the couch.
"You've been asleep all day," Don said, keeping his voice soft. "We got back to the Lair very early this morning, and now it's heading for midnight. I don't think you've ever slept through a whole day, except for the flu, but I guess you needed the sleep after that crazy obstacle course. And whatever the Gamer did to you before that." He eyed his brother.
Mikey shrugged. "He just stuck me in—a penthouse apartment." His voice was craggy.
"Hang on, let me get you some water." Don hurried to bring back a cup, and Mikey downed it.
"Thanks, bro."
Don set the cup on the coffee table. "How are you feeling? How's your ankle?"
"I'm fine." Mikey shifted forward, pulling the blanket off his legs, and stretched his arms out slowly. Then, eyes down and face blank, he shifted his legs. He flexed his good ankle, but not the injured, splinted one.
"At least let me look at it better, now that you're awake." Don put a pillow on the coffee table and gently picked up Mikey's leg by the calf to set it down. After removing the splint as carefully as possible, Don tried to examine it and ask Mikey questions, but his usually verbose brother gave evasive, monosyllabic answers and refused to make eye contact. Finally, a bit exasperated, Don carefully re-splinted it and put more ice on, then gave Mikey tylenol and more water.
"We should get some food in your stomach. What are you hungry for?"
Mikey shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
"Okay. I'll go take a look." Once his body is cared for, I'll find out what the Gamer did to his mind. Don mused over what possible causes for his brother's strange behavior as he searched for leftovers and found none since no one had cooked real food in three days. Annoyed at himself for not having made anything earlier, even though the thought wouldn't have occurred to him, Don set up a frying pan and cracked a couple eggs into it. He popped bread into the toaster, checked on Mikey from the kitchen doorway—he hadn't moved—and flipped the eggs.
After adding strawberry jam on one piece of toast, a layer of peanut butter on the other, and ketchup on the eggs, Don hurried back to Mikey. "Here we go. I think I overdid the eggs compared to how you like them. I'm not as good as you or Leo. But you haven't had a chance to blow up the toaster recently, so the toast should be fine."
Mikey glanced up at his brother for one second, but didn't acknowledge the gentle teasing. "Thank you."
It felt awkward to watch Mikey eat in silence, and the food smelled good, so Don went and fixed himself a grilled pb&j while everything was still out. Besides, supper was a while ago. Did I eat supper? I don't remember. I think Master Splinter made himself soup, and I think he set something on my desk as he went back to his room.
After they both finished and the plates were set aside, Don, perching to the left of Mikey's ankle on the coffee table, leaned forward.
"Do you need the bathroom or anything?"
Mikey paused. "No, I'm good for now."
"Okay, then." Don hesitated. He's avoided all direct questions. How am I going to figure this out if he can't tell me? "Mikey, what did the Gamer do to you? Is it something physical, or something mental?"
Mikey stared at his lap, fidgeting ever so slightly with the fringe of one of the afghans.
"I know it involves you not being able to talk about it, but you've gotta give me some clues. Is it audio? Is there a bug on you?"
Mikey looked up and met Don's eyes. He looked so lost, and so full of pain. He doesn't know how to tell me.
Don thought hard. "Is it something that punishes you when the Gamer thinks you deserve it?"
Although his face and body remained motionless and expressionless, Mikey's eyes looked less lost. In fact, they practically screamed yes.
"Okay… that's way more likely to be something physical, then. Is it still on you?"
Mikey would be nodding vigorously if he could. And begging, probably.
Good thing I know my brothers so well.
"Hm. If this is some sort of chip implanted in you, that would be complicated. I'm guessing it's inside you." I don't wanna think about trying to figure out where to do minor surgery to dig out a chip when he can't even gesture to tell me where it is. Another thought struck Don. Oh! I hope there isn't a camera somewhere recording everything in the Lair! He shook himself. I have to find it before I can destroy it. "Is it inside you?"
From the horrified look in Mikey's eyes, the answer was no.
Don breathed out some relief. Then his brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait… if it's not inside you, where is it? I checked you over once I got you on the couch…"
Shifting slightly, Mikey drew Don's wandering attention back to his eyes. His eyes held great pleading again.
What are you trying to say, Mikey? Man, I wish I could read your mind. Don had actually pondered such a device or program before, but even with more time and money than he could spare, such an idea would take years of development, and even then, there was no guarantee.
He wants me to do something. Find the device, obviously. But where could it be? Pretty much the only spot I didn't check is his shell, which isn't vulnerable.
Interrupting Don's fast-paced thoughts, Mikey leaned forward slightly, and for the first time, Don clearly witnessed a punishment: his body jolted, and a microexpression of pain crossed Mikey's face before he schooled it blank again.
"Oh, Mikey…" Don whispered, his hand covering his mouth.
Wait. He did that purposely. He was trying to communicate something. What could leaning forward say? He wants me to find the place where the thing is… Sudden realization snapped into his mind. His shell! He was giving me better access to his shell!
Don was already kneeling on the couch beside Mikey, leaning over his shell, poring over every bump—more technically scute—and divot. That's normal, that's normal…
Beneath him, Mikey hardly breathed.
A bump right in the middle of Mikey's shell made Don pause. Is that normal? If I'm questioning it, maybe not. Don leaned nearer, then leapt off the couch and dashed over to his lab. One way to find out. Normal scutes can't be pried off. Oh, and a flashlight.
Don rushed back with his leveraging tool and came to the back of the couch. He flipped on the flashlight and peered closely. Yep, I think that's it. Cleverly disguised to match, but that's not supposed to be there. He ran his fingers around the edge of the device; something at the top edge made him pause. I think that's… He followed it upward. It's a flattened wire. It follows around his natural scutes up to… his neck. Don's eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. You will pay, Gamer, for what you've done to my little brother.
Don breathed out to calm himself, then hurried back to the lab and through it to the med bay, where he grabbed a few tools. Well, I can see why he couldn't get it out himself. That's in there pretty good for an electric-zapping-hurting-cruel—Don stopped and forced himself to breathe deeply a few times. This done, he quick-walked back to Mikey and around to the back of the couch.
"Hold still, Mikey," he said, although it was hardly necessary. It would be much better to do this on a table, preferably with him sedated, but I think we both want this out of him as quickly as possible. And he's certainly a model patient at the moment.
Setting aside other thoughts, Don deliberately slipped into medic mode and carefully did what was necessary to remove the tiny needle deeply embedded into the red, slightly swollen skin at the back of his brother's neck. This done, he squeezed antibiotic onto a small bandage and patted it over the small, oozing hole. A chill ran down Don's spine. That was dangerously near his spinal cord.
Then Don grabbed his miniature makeshift prybar, and with two tries, pried the torture device off Mikey's shell like a barnacle.
You're a sick man, Gamer, Don thought as he picked the thing up off the floor and looked at it. He set it aside to study and most likely destroy later, but for now, he stuffed it into a special bag that would block any sensors, signals, or cameras. He gathered the white cloth holding his medical tools from the back of the couch and came around it to set the bundle down on the coffee table.
"Is it gone?" Came Mikey's voice, small and high-pitched.
"It's gone."
Mikey slowly lowered his injured ankle off the table. Then he leapt upright on his good foot to throw his arms around Don. "Thank you! Thank you! You finally got it! It was in there forever, and I couldn't get it out!" He continued babbling thankyous and other things Don couldn't understand because he was suddenly crying.
Don overcame his momentary surprise to wrap his arms around his brother. "Shh. It's okay, Mikey. I got it. You can talk to me now." I feel like crying too.
This babbling, crying, and comforting continued for a while. After a minute, Mikey's good leg was wobbling under him, so Don eased them both down on the couch. It feels like I'm comforting Mikey after a nightmare, except this time, it was real. A chill ran down Don's spine. I don't want to know what he did to Leo, who can, frankly, handle this sort of thing better.
After a while, Mikey calmed down to a tear-stained face and the occasional sniffle. Don hopped up to grab the same box of hankies that Saja had used.
"Thanks, Don."
"Of course. Take your time."
A while later, Mikey spoke again. "At first," he said, his voice still shaky, "he just zapped me manually when I annoyed him. That was in the van, after he let me talk to you. Then he must have set it to autopilot or whatever when they put me in the apartment—that was my prison, a penthouse apartment; would you believe it?—'cause then it started zapping me whenever I complained about anything. Then whenever my face was complaining. There were cameras all over the place." He paused. "They zapped me a lot when the guards brought food in, to keep me from attacking them. But worst was in the obstacle course—the zaps kept getting worse and worse, until you brought me home, and I was too scared of it to even move-" His voice broke, and he hid his face in Don's plastron.
"Oh, Mikey," Don sighed, moving one hand to rub the back of his brother's head. "For how smart he thinks he is, the Gamer is one stupid man to mess with our family."
Mikey raised his head with a sniffle. "Yeah," he said weakly. "I woke up a couple times when you checked on me today, but I pretended to be asleep because I couldn't deal with it yet. I had no idea how to tell you."
"Aw, Mikey," Don said. "I didn't even realize you were awake. But, you told me what I needed to know from just your eyes. Even though it was like the hardest game of charades ever."
"I like regular charades way better." The youngest turtle sat still in Don's hold, then his fingers started to fidget with the corner of a pillow poking through from between them.
"You can say it," Don said.
Mikey hesitated another moment or two, then spoke, eyes down again. "I thought the bad doohickey was just for my prison. I was surprised when the Gamer didn't take it off when they brought me out. When you found me and cut me loose, I thought you would find it and-" He halted again, a sob stuck in his throat.
"I'm so sorry, Mikey!" Don hugged him tighter. "I knew you were acting weird, but I was focused on the mission, and you kept brushing me off… I'm so sorry. If I had known, I would've looked you over and found it then. Timer or no timer."
After a few minutes, Mikey pulled back a bit. "I don't think you would've. It took you this long to find it—and you didn't have your doctor stuff to get the shocky bit outta me."
"That's true..." Don shook his head. "Well, it's out now." Don hugged Mikey again. "I'm so sorry he put you through that. I'll make him pay once I find Leo, Raph, and Casey. But I bet Leo and Raph will send me to the back of the line to deal with him."
Mikey managed a bit of a smile at this. "Did you find Master Splinter?"
Don nodded. "Yeah. And you're not gonna believe this, but a girl showed up just before you guys got kidnapped, and long story short, she went to go get Raph yesterday. And she says Casey might even figure his way back on his own." He told a few more details and the condensed version of the subway rescue.
Mikey absorbed all this. "Wow."
"Yeah." After a pause, Don extracted his right arm out from behind Mikey, and, with a raised eyebrow, let it flop onto his lap. "I think it's not only asleep, it's gone into a coma."
Mikey grinned a bit. "Sorry, bro." His voice sounded more normal.
Good.
Don nodded at Mikey's ankle, which at some point, he had put back on the pillow on the coffee table. "How's your ankle really?"
Mikey shrugged. "It hurts from running on it before it was ready, but it'll be okay. I'll rest, and be ready to help you fight the Gamer as soon as I can."
I don't think it'll be fully healed before a week is up. And I really hope the Gamer doesn't make me wait that long to rescue my brothers and punch his face. Unrelated: Arm is starting to wake up… Do not move arm. Do not twitch fingers. Do not even breathe on it.
"Donnie?" Mikey sounded oddly wistful.
Stop thinking about your silly arm and focus on your just-rescued brother. "What, Mikey?"
"Do you have to go work on stuff to rescue Leo and Raph and Casey?"
Don shook his head. "No, the Gamer hasn't given me any more clues lately. I've been adding stuff about the obstacle course all day, but it doesn't really help me find Leo."
"That was a cool obstacle course—well, if it wasn't deadly and made me hurt my ankle worse."
"What's your question, Mikey?"
Mikey looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. "I'm not sleepy yet. Could you watch tv with me for a while?"
Don smiled at his favorite little brother. "Of course I can."