Hello, folks. I'm doing swell, told you I wasn't going to abandon this. Ming, not abandoning something?! Amazing! Um, yeah. This took far longer than it seriously should have, and for that I must apologize. Sometimes, I just don't want to write. So, I don't. I'm not gunna mess with it anymore, lols.
Oh, and yeah, this ending blows and such, but I HAD to post things 'cause people keep emailing me asking when I'm going to update.
Rolling onto my plastron I yawn, wedging my arm out from underneath me. It's asleep, so I let it dangle over the side of the bed and wiggle my fingers, hoping to bring some life back into them. Eyes still tightly closed, I frown into my pillow, trying my hardest to navigate back into oblivion. I can't help but feel like I've drifted away from something important.
I suddenly feel a light pressure on my shell and sigh deeply. I assume it's just Klunk, and decide to ignore it. But then something strikes me as particularly odd. Forcing my brows into an arch I lift my head off the pillow a bit, assessing the puzzlement. It's then that I realize I'm sleeping on my stomach. I haven't slept on my stomach since I was a kid, I think to myself. Back then, my brothers and I all slept together on the floor, and often times when we could not sleep, our father would sit beside us and gently rub the back of our shells in soothing circles, humming bits of lullaby's I can no longer place names to.
Opening my eyes, I turn my face to the wall, just biding my time until I have to actually get up. It's kind of funny how at home I'm usually up right before or after Leo, but here, I tend to want to sleep more and more.
Klunk decides no matter how much I shrug my shoulders around he doesn't want to leave my shell, so I simply roll onto my side and spill him onto the mattress. He mewls softly and curls up in the blankets coiled around my ankles. I wonder why he wasn't sleeping with Mikey.
Rolling to the side and shielding my eyes from the blinding white-gray sky, I frown, realizing it must be far later than I had initially thought. The fact that I can hear someone in the shower also confirms my theory.
Shaking myself awake with a lowly groan I quickly locate a small wooden table near my bed, where my laptop is set up. It's not the latest or most up to date, but it keeps my sanity intact when I can't access my own personal computer at home. I set it up the night we got here. I know it seems silly, but I feel better knowing Raph has two ways to reach me incase of an emergency.
I don't bother to make my bed on the way out (though it kills me), but leave my door open just a crack so Klunk can get out.
When I finally do make it downstairs, I'm somewhat surprised to see there is no breakfast laid out. I scowl lightly, feeling embarrassed because I automatically assumed Mike would become Mikey again, overnight. I guess I miss seeing him turned to an oven, twirling a spatula in his hand and animatedly chatting the morning away. I suppose it was foolish of me to think that just because we're under the same roof again, that things would go back to the way they were.
While wandering about the kitchen, I notice his nunchaku on the counter and stop near them, wondering why he doesn't put them away. I blame the fact that I hadn't noticed the mound of Post Its on the wall due to my drowsiness, and lean over to read them. Some are posted on top of others, in reds and blues and yellows, and in places where no Post Its are, pieces of paper are tacked up. Upon closer inspection I notice they don't really say anything of significance. Some of them say things like 'Pick up cat food', but the rest are just random words.
I almost want to laugh in realization that his handwriting was better when we were kids.
Feeling something brush against my ankle I jump back and glance around as if I had been caught doing something wrong, though logically I knew I hadn't been.
Sighing in relief I bend down to pick Klunk up, but as my fingers tough his fur, he squeaks and waddles out of my grasp. I try again to pick him up, but this time he bolts out of the kitchen and tries to make a speedy get away. I know he ran into something, though, so I go to make sure he's okay before rummaging something up for breakfast. I have a sad, sneaking suspicion that when I open the fridge I'll just find more Post Its, though.
Walking out of the kitchen I turn the corner and find Klunk sitting outside a door on the other side of the staircase. I assume it's a closet, but a soft snoring sound I hadn't heard before makes me think otherwise.
Mikey must have renovated it or something. I blink and take in the staircase, concluding it can't be too big of a room. I don't understand why he doesn't just sleep upstairs. Still, I knock at the door lightly and hear someone inside sit up, pause for a minute, and then fumble with covers. I guess he didn't realize how late it was, either. Or maybe he always gets up this late.
"Mikey?" I say quietly, to let him know it's me. I wish he'd answer quickly, because I feel like such an intruder.
A few seconds later the door creaks open and I blink in surprise at a beam of light pouring in through- a window? In here? It's catching me in the eye so I hold my hand up to block it away, then Mike shuffles in front of the beam and smiles shyly.
"Sorry," he says softly, clearing his throat.
Beyond my brother's morning face I spot a makeshift bed with muddy brown covers and a pillow aslant on the bed, the case half falling off. The bed has no actual frame, though there is a headboard.
"What time is it?" he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. He leans into the door a bit and tries to cross his arms over his chest, shivering a little.
I shake my head, noticing the vest he was wearing yesterday hanging off the side of his bed. "I don't know, aren't there any clocks here?"
It's taken a little getting used to seeing Mikey without his mask. I think he looks a lot older. I used to think he and I looked a lot alike, and Leo and Raph looked more alike, but without his mask, I can see a very strong resemblance of Raphael. Mostly in his eyes, the way they're squinted a little, not exactly narrowed. They're still that chilling, sparkly steel blue, but they look aged now…
He shakes his head no when I ask him about the clocks. "I think I had one, but it broke."
"Doesn't that bug you?" I ask, still looking around the room.
"Not really."
I can see a rickety wooden shelf up against a wall. It takes me a minute, but when I figure it out, I ask anyway. "Did you build that?
Glancing over his shoulder he blinks and nods his head, shrugging a shoulder.
I'm surprised to find it's actually not that bad. It leans a little too much, so if you were to put a decent amount of pressure on it it might collapse, but it looks pretty sturdy. What surprises me the most though is the fact that I actually spot hardback book covers. In between a few of the books I can see the plastic lining of a select few comics, but the majority are actual books.
I've never seen Mike take interest in actual books, and the curiosity is killing me. What kind of books does he like? Mystery, fantasy, nonfiction, biographies, horror, history?
"Mikey, did you make that, too?" I point to the headboard and he looks over his shoulder again.
"That? Oh, yeah." He didn't really invite me in but I can't pass up this opportunity, so I gently push past him and go to admire it.
I hear him go, "uhhh," from somewhere behind me. He sounds embarrassed, but not in a humble kind of way, more of a 'hiding something' kind of way. I don't notice, though, and instantly start feeling the wood. One of the edges has a chip in it and it's a little crooked, but I can tell he spent a lot of time sanding it down. "How long did this take?"
He shrugs and wanders over, kicking something out of sight with his foot. "I started it after I first moved up here, then just kinda worked on it whenever. It got too cold to finish so I just drug it inside."
I notice a small plastic baggy rolled up in the corner of one of the cupboards. I hadn't noticed it before because it was shadowed over. I also the white top of what I assume to be a pill bottle. Mikey must realize I notice this too, because he suddenly says, "I did the window, too," to try to divert my attention.
I want to frown but don't, and turn away from the cupboard to focus my attention on the window. I shrug inwardly; he's an adult and can do whatever he wants. I've always tried to give him his own independence, I mean, none of us are perfect, we all have our vices. Raph drinks and smokes- although he said he's stopped, Leo drinks on occasion, too, and me? Well, I'm addicted to the Internet, but that's no real secret. I guess my next biggest addiction would be caffeine.
"Yeah?" I say, walking over to it. I immediately notice it's covered with a blanket and blink, fingering the material lightly. I turn to him for an explanation.
"Cold," he informs me. I nod, suddenly becoming aware of how chilly this particular room is compared to the rest of the house. I guess I hadn't noticed before.
"Why don't you sleep upstairs?"
"I don't like to sleep upstairs," he says, not bothering to go into further explanation. Growing up with Mikey for a younger brother, you eventually learn not to question some of the things he does, because upon further inspection, you'll find he doesn't know why he does certain things, either. He just does. "If it gets too cold I just sleep in the living room by a fire."
"Mikey this is…" I peel back the blanket and he cringes a bit. I don't, because I'm too enticed by the excellent framework to react to the blinding light. "This is really good."
"Nah," He smiles shyly; glad I turned my attention to the window and didn't mention anything about the baggy. "I kind of wish I hadn't of put it in, though. I didn't think about when it got colder. I probably should have saved the window for when I was better at this kinda stuff, I just needed something to keep me busy."
"No actually you matched it up pretty well, I can't even really see any holes or anywhere where it doesn't align." I keep tracing the window with my finger.
Shrugging, he moves over to me and begins fixing the blanket back over the window, smiling shyly.
A voice from the doorway catches us off guard. It's Leo. He sounds dumbfounded. "Why is there a window in here?" He asks carefully, unsure of himself.
Mikey's eyes drop to the floor and then move back up to Leo and he steps forward. I guess he really isn't comfortable having Leo in here. That makes me sad in a way.
"Mikey put it in," I say, making my way over to Leo.
"He put a window in?" Leo still sounds as if I just told him Mike is indeed not a turtle, but some form of dog. It kind of makes me irritated. I mean, I'm surprised, too, but Leo acts as if we're all still twelve. Even back then Mike could do things for himself; he just enjoyed torturing us, and whining until we did it for him.
"He was just talking about something in the barn he wanted to show me," I say, knowing if Leo goes to inspect Mike's handiwork he'll no doubt bring to attention what I have chosen to ignore.
I look at Mikey and he looks back at me.
I can tell Leo's spotted Mike's mask on the dresser because his mouth becomes a thin line suddenly and his voices lowers a little. He tries to sound enthusiastic, though. "What do you have in the barn?" He glances at me long and hard.
I turn to Mike expectantly to shake the weird feeling off Leo's giving me, hoping he actually has something in the barn. If not, my goose is cooked.
I want to sigh in relief when he says, "Just wait and see," grabs his vest and sticks an arm through it, then starts edging out of his room, indicating with his elbow for us to follow him.
But now I'm really wondering what he has in there.
On our way out the door Mike appears to perk up a bit, dashing over to the once-red-now-muddy doors of the barn. Before Leo and I even get there he's busy undoing the wooden latch keeping the door closed, and tugging the decrepit doors open. I'm amazed they aren't dry rotted yet, though, upon further inspection I realize they kind of are. At first, Leo and I glance warily at each other, not really sure how stable the establishment is, but Mike seems insistent that it's pretty safe.
The smell of hay and leather hits us instantly, and although there haven't been animals here in a number of years, you can smell them, too.
Smiling a little Leo motions for me to go in before him.
It never really occurred to me how old the barn actually was until I saw the inside again. I guess it's been a while. The entire base of the barn is cleared of all hay (which is stored in a hayloft above head), exposing the cold hard earth.
All around us are aged stalls and wobbly wooden crates that have long been out of use. Hoes, plows, and bridles as well as other horse tack hang from hooks on the side of the stalls, the leather hard and cracked from misuse and exposure to the weather.
"Leo, would you look at that-"
He seems to be looking at something else, though, and curious as to what it is I crane my neck up like him. That's when I spot millions of root beer bottles lined up along the rafters. Our eyes ping pong from one rafter to the next, and it's then that we realize any flat, available surface is littered with a type of can or bottle.
"What is all this junk?" Leo asks me.
I blink and shrug, in a how-would-I-know manner. I swear, sometimes, it's like he expects me to just know things by looking.
Finally we locate Mikey. He's standing with his shell to us, fiddling with something I can't see.
"This is what you wanted to show us, Mikey?" Leo sounds a little disappointed, or irritated, I really don't know which.
Suddenly Mike turns around, aggressively exhibiting what appears to be a firearm. Before either of us can react he aims it off to the right and pulls the trigger.
I cover my ears and duck out of instinct, but I'm pretty sure glass just shattered, and it takes me an entire minute to figure out what just happened.
"Cool, huh?" Mike smirks lightly, lowering the assumed weapon.
"Where did you get a gun?" Leo asks sternly, but I quickly interject, informing him that it's just a bebe gun.
"Crosman C11," Mike proudly reports. Firearm still in hand, he gestures to the bottles lining the rafters and any other available surface. "Once they're all gone, I just sweep them up and start putting them up again." Both Leo's eye ridges are stuck in the air, his expression blank. Mike shrugs, "Before I got a TV, this was all there was to do."
'You could have been practicing.'
Of course Leo doesn't say it, but I know he wants to. Instead, he holds his hand out expectantly. After a few seconds Mike hands it over, probably wondering if Leo's going to demand he gets rid of it. Instead, he studies it with his hands and eyes and then hands it back.
"So," Leo says casually. "You must think you're a pretty good aim, huh?"
Mike looks at me and I look back. Once again, how am I supposed to know what he's getting at?
"I guess?"
"Five dollars says you can't knock down that entire row," he says, motioning to a rafter directly above our heads.
"How did you even get those up there?" I ask in disbelief, stepping back with them so I can see it better.
"Five bucks?" Mike repeats, staring at the bottles thoughtfully. He strokes at his chin as I've seen our father do many times, squinting his eyes. Suddenly, he turns to me. "Donnie, you gunna throw down?"
Smirking, I cross my hands over my plastron and tilt my head. "Why not?" I say. "Five dollars."
Nodding, Mike takes a few more steps back, and begins to position himself. This takes nearly ten minutes, though I can't tell if he's doing it to be silly or if he really needs to adjust himself this much. It's kind of gotten hard to tell when and if he's joking around these days. Leo and I both cringe and cover our ears as a session of shots ring out, one after the other. Quite a few more shots than necessary, in my opinion, but when I look up, I'm surprised to find not a single bottle still standing.
Lo and behold, a few minutes later Leo and I are both gawking at the shattered, brown remnants of what once were root beet bottles.
"My aim isn't even that good," I protest as he walks over to us, smug as ever. Before he reaches us, he places the bebe gun on a rickety wooden shelf. "How is that even possible?"
He holds his hand out flat and points his index finger into his palm a few times. "Pay up."
Leo and I both share in an irritable sigh. He begins to pat himself down and shakes his head. "I must have left my wallet in my other shell."
Amazingly, Mike cracks the smallest of smiles.
"Leo, please," he says, gently nudging in between us. "Please, leave the joking to the turtles who actually have a sense of humor."
"I have a sense of humor!" He replies a bit too quickly. "Don't I, Donnie?"
He does, but this opportunity is just too good to pass up. Instead of defending Leo, I try to stifle a laugh and mirror Mikey's no-you-don't expression.
Leo rolls his eyes and pushes past us, hell bent on getting into the house before us. That's perfectly fine with us, though. Once Leo's gone Mike looks at me and smiles bashfully.
"I can't believe I went two years without that," I say softly.
"Without what?" he asks, cocking a brow curiously.
"That goofy smile." I didn't mean for it to come out so lovesick, but I guess there really wasn't any other way to say it.
"Come on, let's go before he locks us out," he mumbles softly.
I nod and eagerly begin to make my way out of the barn, help him close it up, and then we both start walking towards the house.