Here I am with a second chapter. This might be a bit longer than I thought. Don't expect anything too great, guys, I'm just writing inbetween fics to keep myself going. Anyway, here ya go, par'dner.

The next morning I'm an absolute basket case. Even Leo would be telling me to relax, and that's saying something.

A part of me can't wait to show them what I've done, to show them how far I've come on my own, and another part of me isn't ready for this confrontation because I know I'm not ready to 'face my demons' yet.

Leo just doesn't get that. I guess I can't blame him. Even though we're brothers, we aren't the same people. I'm not his little clone, I'm not like him. I'm never going to be like him. Things change.

People change, too.

I wonder when and if he'll ever realize that.

Since the kitchen is... presentable, I wander into the living room and start to calculate the damage. So far, not so bad, I think to myself. I generally stay out of the living room, but I have the astounding ability to completely total a room just by walking into it. So the mess is understandable.

I pretty much left the living room alone at Casey's request, so everything is still there; the gaudy gamboge colored lamp near the purple curtains, the massive fireplace, that really classy sofa with the wood finish and the cherry red cushions. Even that weird looking shelf that sticks out like a sore thumb. I did swap the drab wooden flooring for a more modern, frozen-pizza-box carpeting, though. Something tells me Casey's grandparents wouldn't approve, but I haven't had any ghostly visitors so far.

After clearing the floor of an entire months worth of garbage I notice an odd sound coming from off to the right. Kind of like a wheezy snoring. I spot my feline sidekick- long retired, quietly snoozing on a tangerine colored recliner and I smirk, quietly wandering over.

Before I left I insisted that I take Klunk, because I am his daddy, after all. I found him. I played with him. I fed him. It was only fair that I get him. Nobody wanted me to leave, but everyone seemed pretty happy to get rid of Klunk. Everyone but Raph. He hid it well, but I always knew he had a soft spot for the little fur ball.

I gently place my foot on the recliner seat with Klunk, and then press down, hard, causing Klunk to bolt up from his nap and glare at me. I think he learned that glare from Raph, because I'm surprised to find it makes me feel prickly all over.

"Hi, Klunk," I smile and bend down to scoop him up. I rub under his chin and bounce him around in my arms a little, slinging him over my shoulder. "We're having company today, dude, so you better behave. Stay off the kitchen floor, got it? I just mopped it."

Klunk hops from my arms and lazily stretches himself out before waddling off to no doubt go walk across the kitchen floor I clearly remember telling him to stay off of. I groan and shrug the inconvenience off, walking over to the fireplace, inspecting it with a blackened poker. Just as I suspected. It's basically ash, which means I need to get outside and start chopping some wood or we'll all be turtle-cicles by the end of the night.

Plus, I'm kind of anxious and want to be outside in case they pull up sometime soon.

"Klunk," I cup my hand around my mouth and call, "I'm going to get some fire wood. If anyone calls, take a message. Okay?"

Now I know Klunk can't take a message. He's illiterate. Plus, nobody ever calls. I unplugged the phone.

The only response I get is a tiny squeak and what I assume is the mop Klunk knocked over.

For this expedition I will require more than a vest, so I bundle up in a snow beanie Donnie got off eBay one year for Christmas and a silvery gray jacket. Raph always said I looked moronic in the beanie, but I absolutely love it. It's checkered with rusty red and army green and it has this puff ball at the top and two long stringy ties.

Before I leave I grab a warped old wooden sled to help bring the firewood back home, the really old kind with metal runners. The fact that if glides effortlessly across the grass and leaves makes my life ten times easier, and since the grass is still slick from the morning dew, it's even easier than normal.

The trek out to the chopping block is the best part. The woods are silent, but not eerie, peaceful, if anything. Every time the wind blows I can hear the leaves overhead rustle and threaten to crackle. There aren't a whole lot of them on the ground yet but the ones that have fallen are crunchy and ripe.

Making a mental note to pile them up later on and jump in them, I grab the handle of the axe and jerk and twist it free from the ancient stump jutting out from the ground. Positioning the sled near the stump I drop the rope and start to get to work.

Luckily I had enough sense in me to leave a few trunks wrapped up in a plastic blue tarp a while ago so I don't have that much work ahead of me. Bending down I pull the tarp up and inspect the tree trunks, most are skinny and probably won't burn too well, but there are a few decent sized logs I can use. Digging my feet into the ground I wrap my arms around one and lug it up onto the chopping block. Down the axe goes, the resistance causing a deep, freezing ache to start in my wrists and travel up into my elbows, all the way into the bones. It's a rewarding kind of pain, the kind that lets you know you're alive.

On my way back to the house I stop to watch a tiny bird shoot out of the safety of its nest and do summersaults in the air, meeting up with another bird mid-flight. I don't know if it's mating season or not, but the other bird doesn't seem to be interested and flutters off, leaving its pursuer chasing after it like mad.

In the city you don't see things like this. The sky is just as blue, I'm sure, but I can't remember. The night sky vastly differs from the one back home, though. Out here, you can climb up onto the roof and watch the stars all night long. I think Don would like that.

I imagine Leo at the wheel, white-knuckled and seething because of something Raph said or did, Don huddled in the back of the van with his nose buried in a book, trying his best to ignore the road rage that is Leonardo. He tries to hide it, but he's always been an insane driver. He isn't anywhere as near as bad as Raph, but he gets irritated over the smallest things. Donnie can't drive to save his life. Literally. I think I'm the only one in the family that has any road-sense. How scary is that?

There is no van pulled up next to the house when I return so when I come inside, trying my best not to drop a 20lb tree trunk through the wooden flooring, I glance at the clock. They should be here within the hour. I can almost see Leo hunched over the steering wheel, complaining that they're making terrible time because of the drunken old blind lady two cars ahead.

Successfully avoiding the rug right behind the door entrance that I've tripped over countless times and have yet to move, I wobble over to the fireplace where I'm joined by Klunk. In no time I've got a roaring fire going, and sit back on the fancy shmancy sofa, idly twirling my foot.

Klunk hops up onto the seat next to me and mews.

"Bad news, compadre. We're out of food."

He paws at my hand sadly, and tries to lick my forearm. I keep palming his face and pushing him away. "Psyche! You so fell for that." I poke him in the nose and gather him up in my arms, heading over to the kitchen. "You should have seen your face, you were all like," I make a face, but he ignores me and scrambles out of my arms and onto the kitchen counter, starting a kitty crescendo of meows.

Deciding I've messed with him enough I feed him and get started on something for dinner, assuming the first thing out of Raph's mouth will be, 'Hey. I'm starving'.

We're more alike than most people think.

I'm still incredibly lazy and used to snacking throughout the day, so I start a pot of boiling water and when its ready throw in a box of noodles, preheating the oven all the while. Once the noodles are cooked and strained, I toss them in a glass casserole dish and coat that bad boy with an entire packet of cheese, then pop it in the oven. The cheesier the better, I always say.

While the dinner is cooking I retire to my recliner and try to numb my mind with television. Yeah, the television looks kind of out of place in here, but it's a portable, so really there's no problem. I only get three channels, though. The news, cartoons, and whatever's on when The Price Is Right isn't.

Somewhere in between Bonkers and Ren and Stimpy I hear a van door slide shut and I nearly hop out of my shell.

I wait behind the door for a few minutes and try to compose myself, but then I realize they can probably see my shadow and roll my eyes, peeling the door open.

My teeth start to chatter instantly. Chillier than it had been a few hours earlier.

Leo is the first to notice me because Donnie is admiring the same trees I was just yesterday morning.

A big smile envelops my older brother's face as he slowly climbs up the two stairs leading onto the ranch-style porch. I smile back and we exchange hugs and pleasantries.

"Hi," he says shyly.

"Hi," I say back.

It's nice to just look at him. He's studying my face curiously, and it only then strikes me that I'm not wearing my mask. My hand wanders up to my face and I gently feel my cheek, smiling a shy smile.

Leo says, "You don't wear your mask anymore."

I think he meant for it to be a question but know it isn't. I can't tell if that's surprise or sadness in his voice, but I nod anyway.

"You stopped answering my calls."

I open my mouth to reply, but before I get a chance to, Don swan dives out of nowhere and slams into me. Before I have time to realize what just happened we're hugging and both laughing.

I'm actually glad Don barged into me, because Leo smiles a little and seems to let the interrogation rest. He knows I haven't been answering, I know I haven't been answering, everyone knows. I don't see why he has to ask.

Something about this meeting seems awkward, not as awkward as I had predicted, but still off.

"It's freezing," I remind myself, and usher them inside where the fire is warm and crackling.

And then I remember. "Where's Raph?"

Leo looks over at me and says, "He'll be up in two days."

"He had some things to take care of," Don finishes for him.

I wonder what 'things' is code for.

The last thing of Raph I can remember before packing it up and heading out is him standing in my doorway in the middle of the night. I was half asleep so I didn't call out to him, but a part of me always regrets that.

We all have really tight bonds, but I think when I left I hurt Raph a lot. Leo leaving was hard enough. I always went after him when he got mad, or tried to comfort him. Not like Leo or Don would, though. I'd just make some stupid face, crack some lame joke, and he'd shake his head and laugh a little. I can only assume what kind of trouble he's been into.

"Oh," I say, and close the door.

This alerts Klunk that our guests have arrived, and he comes tearing out of the kitchen, back legs moving faster than front legs as he rounds the corner, leaving him in mid air for a minute. All three of us laugh as Klunk zips over to us, careful to avoid the fire, and then rears back on his hind legs, pawing at Don's knee pads. He grabs Klunk up and hugs him, scratching behind his ears. "Hiya, Klunk. Did you miss me? My lab has been awfully quiet without you, you know."

Leo, still smiling, glances over at me quickly at the mention of how quiet things have been at home. I figured they'd be quiet.

Donnie suddenly pulls a face and glares at me in that 'I'm going to eat you alive' manner which I've missed all this time. "He weighs a ton, Mikey. What have you been feeding him?"

"He's gotten big," Leo agrees.

I shrug and poke at the fire with the poker a little. "Pizza rolls, meatloaf,-"

Don's eyes go wide, "You can't be serious. You can't feed a cat that kind of food!"

"He likes it!" I argue back. "Besides, I still feed him cat food."

Food.

Food.

Something clicks.

"Oh, shell!" I hurriedly yank the fire poker from the fire and lean it up against the mantle and dart off to the kitchen, leaving Donnie with a blank look, still scratching Klunk's chin.

"Nice one, Michelangelo," I mutter to myself as I slip on two oven mitts and pry the oven open, reaching inside for the macaroni dish. It's a little smoky, and a little crispy, but still edible. I hope. Groaning, I shut the oven off and start prodding at the monstrosity curiously with a fork. It crunches. Fantastic.

I hear Leo call from the living room, "Do you need any help, Mikey?"

"N-" I try to say no, but he's already in the doorway, looking just as confused as Don.

He cranes his neck up, instantly realizing the walls are a different color than they were the last time he was here. The counter tops aren't littered with root beer boxes anymore, but my nun chucks are still up there somewhere. I know he sees them, because he inhales quickly. That's a telltale sign someone is about to say something, and then decides against it.

The post its aren't cleared up, either. If it wasn't for them, I'd never remember anything.

When you live alone, time becomes a pointless thing. A clock can tell you what time of day it is, and a calendar can tell you what day it is, but it's all useless information to me now. I sleep when I'm tired and eat when I'm hungry. The post its are to remind me that I need to eat to stay alive, or of chores that need to be done to keep the house livable.

"I got it, I got it!" I say over and over, fanning the bubbling pot of macaroni. "Just a little, um…" I sigh and poke at it with a fork. "Crunchy."

Leo materializes next to me and in my haste and panic I almost jab him with said fork. Ninja or not, that's just rude. "I don't think Macaroni is supposed to be crunchy," he says.

I know I look irritated, because I am, but I ignore his comment and start trying to salvage what I can of our dinner. I sigh in relief. Only the top layer is burnt.

I hand him a plate, and when he doesn't take it, I look up, wondering what's taking so long. I've got a dinner to get going here, doesn't he realize that?

"So how are you?" He says quietly, finally taking the plate.

I see Don poke his head in, notice what's going on, and then slip into the background.

I shrug, trying to look busy. "Good, I guess."

I'm able to avoid his bombardment of questions for about five minutes while setting up the kitchen table, with his help. Once all the silverware is in place he says, "So, are you really good, or are you just saying you're good?"

He probably thinks asking the questions not all at once helps me, but it really doesn't. Not asking the questions at all is what would help me the most.

Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut, my back to him, wanting him to vaporize.

And this is why I've been avoiding his calls.

Leo thinks he can save everyone. It's kind of ironic, really. He's always telling Raph he can't save the world, no matter how hard he tries, and he always tells us we can't save people who don't want to be saved, i.e Raph. Kinda funny in a roundabout way, huh?

So I'll admit I'm a little immature for my age, I mean, none of us really had a typical childhood. Typical for humans, I mean. We only started learning about holidays and sledding, BBQs, picnics, sports, through the television when we were teenagers. And the didn't even get to participate in many of those even after learning about them. The ones we did get to try were usually at night when no one could see us.

Back to the point.

I'm immature, there's no denying that. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm twenty years years old. Why can't he just accept that?

When I turn around Leo's lingering by the kitchen table, idly gripping the edge of a chair. He just keeps staring at me like he expects me to burst into tears and instantly come running to him with open arms. Maybe a couple of years ago, I think to myself, but not now. I haven't cried since Master Splinter died. He knows that.

Giving civility another shot before I explode, I grit my teeth and smile. "I'm good, Leo. Really."

"Mikey…"

And here it comes.

I sigh and shake my head, pointing at a chair with my finger. I start calling Donnie and Klunk for dinner, but Leo keeps talking.

"You haven't cried at all, Mike. That isn't healthy. You need to grieve. You can't keep pretending nothing ever happened."

"Leo, now really isn't a great time," I snap, carelessly dropping a glass plate onto the table. It clangs and swivels a little before becoming still.

"You can't keep hiding yourself away; it isn't going to change anything-"

"Leo-"

"Come home with us, we have to deal with this as a family, Mikey."

"Leo!" I grimace and squint my eyes at him.

Doesn't he see what I've managed on my own? If we were home right now this argument never would have happened, because at home, I'm Michelangelo. The peace keeper. But here, now, Leo's on my turf and he has absolutely no right to start attacking me. Not after what I've accomplished on my own. Nobody has the right to take that away from me.

Nobody. Not even him.

"I'm fine!" I hiss. "Now sit down and eat!"

He doesn't appear to be surprised, or defeated, but takes a seat on my command, his eyes never leaving mine.

Donnie slinks in after a few awkward minutes, followed by Klunk. Once he's seated he blinks and starts looking around, noticing the renovations I've made. He's impressed, just as I thought. He doesn't say anything because everyone knows the compliment would be ignored because of the awkward silence, but his eyes roam around the room, calculating how long everything took, possibly even wondering how I managed it with how bad my math skills are.

We eat in silence, aside from Klunk's purring. He missed Don a lot more than I thought.

I figure I'm the only one who can start a conversation at this point without waging war across the dinner table, so I say, "…So how's Casey?"