Act VII

Michelangelo couldn't believe he was doing this. Oh, he could. On lots of levels he could. But then there was that level that was still occasionally a terrified little kid who didn't know what he'd be punished for next and only wanted something to eat. He shook his head. Whoa, dude. Burry that image, please. You're not a little kid. You're a ninja. Legit. You got this. He gave himself that same pep talk about ninety-seven times as he went further and further south and the streets became vaguely familiar and some things he remembered and some things he only remembered there was something he should remember.

The old two-story apartment building was torn up and run down and looked deserted. It had always looked that way. Mikey scaled up to the roof of the building across the street and looked down at it. Yellow light from the lone streetlamp cast long shadows and made the building look like something old and sick. The goose bumps that rose on his arms had nothing to do with the night air and everything to do with the nightmare that stood waiting for him just across the road. He found his breath had quickened and his stomach wouldn't stay still. And try as he might, he couldn't remember the pep talk he was supposed to be giving himself. It didn't matter what he told himself. If he went into that place he'd never come back out again. It would be pain and hate and fear and evil and worthlessness and always, always alone. Mikey shook his head and backed away from the edge. I can't do this. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He didn't want to be feared and hated and hurt. He didn't want to be…

You. Are my son. You are Hamato Michelangelo. Splinter's words rang in his ears quiet but screaming truth and conviction and love and confidence. "I'm Hamato Michelangelo," he whispered. It didn't matter what they called him; didn't matter who or what they thought he was. He was Splinter's fourth son. And he was going to find his mother. He was strong enough to find her. "I can do this. I can."

So then he did. He jumped down from window ledge to window ledge, landing with hardly a sound on the sidewalk below. He crossed the street. The building seemed to get bigger as he got closer. He went around to the utility entrance. With a deep breath, he took off his mask. The air felt cold on his face, and he felt exposed, naked, and in that moment, he almost made a run for it. He looked at the mask in his hand. The one his father gave him. "Hamato Michelangelo," he whispered. And he shoved his mask in his pocket.

Knocked hard four times and waited. Nothing happened. He waited more, starting to doubt. Maybe it had been too long. Maybe they'd moved on or been forced to move. Maybe that should be what he wanted. Then without warning, the door scraped open two inches.

"Who's there?"

"Need to talk to Shift. He still alive?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am. Clearly."

Guy was immediately on edge. "And who are you?"

"Obviously I am a cop. My name is whatever Johnny Depp's character's name from 21 Jump Street was."

"You try again before I drop you right here."

Mikey held up his hands. "Dude, it was before my time, okay?" He heard the guy's weight shifting behind the door, and he spoke seriously and clearly. "Listen. You get Shift. And tell him…tell him Petey's here to see him."

The door immediately swung open all the way, and the barrel of a gun was just beyond the tip of Mike's nose. The man holding it was tense; he twitched his head, motioning Mikey forward. "Get inside."

It was like stepping back in time.

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The startled gasp cut through the haze of sleep around Donny's brain, and when he raised his head, his friend's bed was already empty. "Little human?" he whispered. He got up and followed where the human must have gone. He could hear harsh, trembling breaths and frantic movements, and he stood on the edge of the family room, stunned into silent stillness.

The little human had dragged coffee table and beanbag chairs in front of the door to their home and as Donny watched, the boy threw the cushions off the couch and got behind it and pushed as hard as he could, sliding it across the floor with the other things, barring the door, keeping everything out. Then he went and picked up the cushions and threw them on top. His movements were all but panicked, his eyes frightened and determined. He moved for a bookshelf he had no hope of moving.

"Little human," Donny said, and there was a gasp as the human whirled to face him, fists clenched, absolutely ready for a fight. "Hey," Donny held up his hands in surrender. "It's me."

"Donny?" The little boy looked lost and confused for a moment. Then, "You gotta stay quiet, Donny. They come, you gotta stay down. No matter what. No matter what you hear, you stay down, do you understand?"

Donny didn't. "Who?" he asked helplessly.

"Deserters and traitors get cut." His voice squeaked on the last word, and there was a cold, desperate fear. "I won't let it…won't let it happen. It's wrong. It's wrong."

He's not awake. He's still sleeping. A deep down ache filled Donny's chest. "No one will…will cut you, little human. I promise."

He shook his head, and he was sweating. "Everything comes out. Nothing inside is attached, and it just…just comes out. And they're awake. They're awake for so long." There was a harsh, shuddering sob that was almost a gag. "I shouldn't've…I shoulda stayed. They're coming, Donny. They said. They said I couldn't get out. They said."

Donny went up to him, took him by the shoulders and pulled him in tight. "They were wrong."

The kid shook his head against Donny's chest. "I can't fight 'em. There's too many."

"You don't have to. I'm here. And Splinter and my brothers. We won't let anyone touch you."

The little boy was still breathing hard. "No. No, no. I can't let 'em hurt you. I gotta…"

"Shh. They won't. I promise. They can't."

He calmed a little and pulled back, but not so far. His eyes were haunted and misty and full of trouble and pain. The fingers of a shaking hand ghosted over the hard exterior of Don's plastron, just over where his stomach was. Felt the rough armor and nodded. His breathing slowed. "Good." And then he said, very quietly, very slowly and like he didn't know he was speaking out loud, "I wish I was like you."

Donny took a deep breath. He hated it. At ten years old he hated that anyone would have to wish they were like him. But this kid was so small and so scared, and the bruises fading all over soft, unprotected skin, and Donny thought there were images playing behind the haunted blue eyes that no eight year old should ever know. And Donny thought differently about the word cut than he ever had before. "I wish you were, too," he whispered back. He looked up at the flimsy blockade the little boy had thrown up half asleep. He wished there was something he could build to make the little human not so scared.

The boy's head nodded forward as whatever adrenaline had coursed through him drained away. "Come on," Donny said softly. "Let's go back to bed. It's safe now."

The little boy said something Donny didn't quite catch as he led him back to his room.

"What?" Donny asked.

"'s okay. Mr. Splinter's gonna watch for awhile."

And Donny looked over, and his father stood just outside his bedroom door, hand over his mouth. There was horror in the rat's warm eyes. And just that was enough to tell Donny that this was every bit as heartbreaking as he thought it was.

It took Donny a long time to fall asleep. The next morning Splinter was already at the table, and all the furniture was back where it belonged. The little human didn't seem to remember any of it. At first, Donny wondered if maybe he'd been the one dreaming. But then he saw the way the little boy flinched when Raph picked up a butter knife.

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The walls were cracked and holey, and there was more duct tape than drywall tape. The floors were dirty, and everything had a general sooty oiliness about it. The lights were yellow and dim, and the place was loud with guys and a few girls moving about, shouting every once in awhile to or at each other. Seemed a lot smaller than he remembered. Suppose that's how it goes with those childhood memories…

The memories were overpowering. As he walked, guy behind him still holding a gun on him, people stopped what they were doing and stared, and he half expected somebody to come up and cuff him in the side of the head, and he had to work to keep from ducking his head down and raising his shoulders. Just recon. Just quick recon. They can't keep me here. I'm not that little kid anymore. I'm not.

They climbed a flight of stairs, and some of the graffiti was even still the same.

Through a door, and the upper level was mostly one big room. The only walls left standing were the load-bearing ones.

"Petey. Little Petey. That you?" There was that voice. Eight years. It had been eight years. And still, every nerve fired, telling him to duck away, to hide, to make himself small, to be invisible before he got hurt. He only just managed to keep from flinching.

He swallowed. Then he smiled wide. "Hey, Shifty. Wow. I thought you'd be dead. You look…well, at least you're not dead." The man would've been around twenty eight now. In street years that made him about seventy. And he was everything that was a nightmare.

The years hadn't been kind. Shift was bigger than he'd been at twenty. Harder. Wore a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and the red band tied to his right arm. Had a few more tattoos. None of them pretty. His hair was still black, but shorter. His face looked more chiseled than it had before, and there was a scar on his left eyebrow Mikey didn't remember. Still, his face could morph into that same cold, hollow smirk that covered every emotion and made him utterly unpredictable.

"Wow," Shift chuckled. "Look at you. Grew a backbone and everything. I gotta say, kid. This is…surreal."

You have no idea. "Well. You know. I was in the neighborhood. Figured, eh. What the hey. Would've called first, but your number's unlisted. At least, it wasn't listed under 'Low-life street scum with god complexes and unsuitably poor penmanship.' I did find you a willing date for next weekend, though. Wear your best." There came a ripple of shock and amusement from the members littered around the room.

The smirk. Shift could've been amused. He could've been enraged. No real way to tell. "Want to know how your chances of walking away from this are doing?"

Mikey affected an innocent shrug. "Probably still better than yours of getting into college?"

There was a chorus of "Ohhhhh," and other easily readable sounds of amusement and rage and the excitement of impending bloodshed from the members. Shift chuckled again, and that didn't mean anything. He took a step forward. "You come here to say a piece? You get that brave, little Petey?"

"I gotta be honest, I could've done without seeing your face again ever. I got a favor to ask you."

He tilted his head to the side, and there was actual inquisitiveness. Wow. Shift must be very very surprised at him. Not that Mike could blame him. "Why would you come to me for a favor?"

"Why do you think?"

"I think you wouldn't. Unless…unless I was the only one on the planet who could do it. And it would have to be really important."

"I suppose."

"Like life and death."

"You're sounding god-complexy again."

Shift nodded. "I'm listening, Petey. I'm listening. Make this good."

Mikey stared at him. And nothing was funny. Nothing was funny in this whole situation. His heart was hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears, and he wanted to be away from here; he wanted to be far, far away with the promise of never ever ever going back. He took a short breath. "I need you to tell me what happened the night you took me."

Shift's eyes were relentless. The empty gaze was the sort that took hold and demanded attention, refused to let go, looked straight through anyone it caught. Then Shift laughed. Shift out and out laughed. The room was utterly silent. It wasn't that Shift didn't laugh often. It was that no one knew what it meant when he did. "Why—why, oh, why—would you think you could come in here, and I would tell you anything about anything? Did you expect I should have tea and crumpets here, and we could sit down and have an amicable chat?"

"I'll take a crumpet. Tea makes me hyper."

Shift narrowed his gaze. "Answer me." Pure venom. It made Mikey's spine feel numb.

"Because if you don't tell me," Mikey said slowly, "then I will kill you."

The room went still. No one. No one had ever…Mikey was sure. Shift didn't get threats. He was a gang leader that didn't get threatened like that. Not by his guys. Not by other gangs. Not even by police.

Shift's eyes widened; his eyebrows rose. No one. The silence seemed to last for years. And then, calculating, "Where have you been, Petey?" he finally asked.

Mikey smiled. "I got adopted."

And the next thing he knew, Shift was there, all speed and power, and he still over-rotated his shoulder, and that was the only weakness Mikey had ever seen in him. Mikey dodged the fist, stepping in and through, and ultimately it was Shift's own speed and power that ended up crashing him into the door and halfway down the stairs. Mikey dropped his hands to his sides casually, going up on his toes to see if he could see the fallen gang boss. He looked around at the slack-jawed faces of the gang members. Yeah. As he'd suspected: no one. "You know, it's probably really inappropriate that you're all here. This is sort of a private thing. And I can imagine how Shifty might find this embarrassing."

Shift came up the stairs then, one at a time, and once again, his face was a mask of a smirk. Even under the cut on his head that was bleeding all over his eye. "Got quick, didn't you."

Mikey shook his head. "I think you're slowing down, old man." He gestured at the other gang members. "While you were gone, they all swore they'd still respect you after seeing you get your butt kicked. None of them, however, are willing to follow you if you're dead." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Shift tilted his head. "Who do you think you are?"

"Who do you think I am?" Mikey asked dangerously. He called upon all his skills to sell it. He didn't know why they'd always been afraid of him. But if there was ever a time he needed to use it to his advantage it was now. "You know, Shift. Come on. You know who I am."

"Those are fairy tales." Shift sounded off.

"Sure?"

"They're fairy tales."

"Never kept you up at night? Once? You never wondered? Never wondered if I'd be back one day? Like this?" Mikey took a step forward.

Shift held up a finger, "You stay away from me you little demon," he spat before he remembered himself. Mikey blinked. Shift was all about control. Shift was unraveling.

"I just want the information, dude. And I will walk away. And you will never have to deal with me again. Ever. Or you could tell me no right now. And you will never have to deal with anyone again. Ever." He pursed his lips. "Yeah, there's really no third option."

Shift rubbed his jaw. Dabbed uselessly at the cut on his head with the back of his hand. "Do you remember why they call me Shift?"

"Because of the violent mood swings," Mikey answered promptly and sweetly.

"No. Because…"

"Because you already had brothers named Alt and Delete?"

"I…"

"Gotta say, Spacebar got the best out of all of you."

"No." He took a deep breath. "They call me Shift because I always have a way of turning the tables. You're not on the solid ground you think you are."

Mikey glanced down. "Did you install a trapdoor?" He sensed the movement before he ever saw it, and he knew it was coming before that. Some things didn't change. Before Mikey even looked up, he'd already thrown the shuriken and was airborne. The two knives passed under him as he laid out, flipping his feet over and landing in front of where he'd been standing just as Shift frantically threw a third. Mikey jumped over it, closing the distance between them, and catching Shift's hand before he could throw the fourth. He twisted until the knife hit the floor, and then kicked out the back of Shift's knee, dropping the man to a kneeling position before making quick work of removing the blades from both boots, waistband, and small of the back. Seven knives. It had always been seven.

Mikey took one of them, held it to Shift's throat. "Clear the room," he ordered.

And in that moment, Mikey was sure that Shift's pride would be more valuable to him than his life. His men, some of them Mikey's age, were on their feet, weapons in hand, uncertain. Wavering.

"I told you," Mikey said. "All I want is a conversation. You owe me that."

Shift took a deep breath. On the inhale, his throat touched the knife, and he didn't flinch. "Go," he said. "All of you. Leave now."

In shock, and with fear on their faces, they left, looking at Mikey like he was a beast. "Oh, hey. Dude. You wanna shut the door behind you? Thanks, man." And they were alone. He was alone in a room with Shift. And there had been a time when the very idea of that would have left him absolutely terrified. And this was still that time. Very carefully, Mikey lowered the knife. He didn't like knives very much.

He glanced at where the knives Shift threw had embedded themselves into the wall across the room. Noted the positioning. "You weren't trying to kill me."

"No, I thought I'd wing you," Shift said, and he was again as unruffled as ever. And it made Mikey wonder who was playing who. "See if you still bleed." The man stood and looked at his arm where his armband had been. Noted where Mikey's shuriken had nailed it to the wall. He went to the wall and pulled it free, leaving the shuriken in place. The armband was frayed, the coat of arms unrecognizable. "I suppose you don't think you owe me anything."

"If we're keeping score, actually I owe you plenty."

"I raised you, you know."

"I know. I almost didn't survive it." And it scared him to think of what would have happened if Splinter hadn't gotten ahold of him when he did. "Tell me what happened, Shift. I'll call us even."

Shift looked at him. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Would I be here?"

The man let out a cool breath. "I wasn't there. No one was."

"What happened?"

"Your mother tried to leave town. It was stupid of her." Mikey only just stopped himself from hitting the guy. "We were watching. The Foot were watching, too. But she decided to flee. On a bus. It was pure, foolish desperation."

"Just tell me what happened," Mikey said tightly.

"I sent a crew. We were going to pick you both up. The Foot sent their hoard, too."

Mikey tried to remember. Late night and tired and people bustling; Mommy bought the tickets, and she was afraid, so afraid, and he couldn't help her; he thought if he could just be very strong and brave he could help her, and he held her hand, and she held his so tight, and smiled, and even her smile was tight.

"I got there," Shift went on. "I got there before the Foot could send another wave. And there I found you. At the bus depot. I believe the media covered it as a 'gas leak.' No one really knew what happened. Anyone who wasn't fighting had fled when the fighting began. And anyone who was fighting, was dead."

Mikey shook his head. Remember. Remember. It seemed so close, but there was nothing.

"I got there and all my people were dead. All the Foot were dead. Your mother was dead. Everyone was dead. Except you."

"Dead how?"

"Heart attacks. Twenty-five young, healthy guys, and they all just dropped where they were because their hearts stopped working. And you…you really don't remember."

"I remember after," Mikey said quietly. He'd been five. His mom was gone. He was trapped in a place with people, all of them huge, and they'd hated him. And they were afraid of him. And he had never understood.

"The legend was born. Son of the Shredder. Half my guys already thought he had some sort of Eastern magic or something. And then there was you. Five years old. And somehow you'd taken out twenty-five men without leaving a trace."

"Oh. Right." And he felt a little dizzy. "Guess that would explain the lightning-shaped scar on my forehead."

Shift chuckled. "Fairy tales."

Mikey shook his head. "So you all thought I'd gone crazy and killed my mom in the process?"

"Oh, no," he said, offhand. "No, the thought was that you'd gone crazy after. See, her heart was fine. No, somebody stabbed her."

Pain in his chest. Pain and red. Red, red, red, everywhere, and her eyes… Mikey choked on his breath. "Why were you all after us?"

"There was word that Shredder was working on some sort of weapon. Something unbeatable. And it went missing. It went missing with his wife. After all that happened, people started talking. People started wondering if maybe you were it."

A weapon? Twenty five dead. They thought he was some sort of...what? Bomb? And Shift...Shift was crazy enough to keep him nearby. And proud enough or brave enough to prove he wasn't scared of this five-year-old kid. "So you took me."

"And raised you," he reminded. "And you were going to be one of us; you were always going to be one of us. Eventually. So yes. I took you. And I made you stronger."

"You tortured me for almost three years!" Mikey shook his head, disgusted. "You tortured me because you thought…you thought I was a weapon?"

"I thought it was fairy tales," Shift reminded. "I did what I did because I hated you," he said simply. "And I hate your father. And I wanted to hurt him. And I wanted to someday see you kill him because I'd asked you to. I thought it would be poetic. Guess I was a bit of a romantic in those days."

"I was five. My mom had got me away from him. I wasn't a part of any of it." It was all so pointless. It was all so wrong. "You could've…you could've just let me go. You could've let it be over."

"Your mother was an idiot. He wasn't going to let her go. He certainly wasn't going to let you go. In fact, if you want to blame someone…she's the one who dropped you in my lap. If I hadn't gotten to you, it would've been the Shredder. Or is that where you've been the last, what's it been? Eight years? You a Foot clan member now?"

"No." He would never. He would never…

"Then you're welcome."

Mikey stood, breathing. Just breathing. It was too much. It was all too much. He couldn't do this. He shouldn't have come; he couldn't handle it; it wasn't true. None of it could be true, and even if any part of any of it was true, he didn't know how to handle it.

"So I take it you're not actually a mystical creature who calls down death?"

Mikey didn't answer. He knew too many creatures who called down death. He was standing in a room with one.

"Too bad. I was sort of pulling for you." And something about Shift…shifted. "Guess it's okay, though. I have to tell you the truth, I thought you were annoying as a kid. Figured you'd grow out of it. You've gotten worse, actually. The new you is a little more fun to play with, though. Old you was so…breakable. Fragile. No matter what I did to toughen you up, you'd just huddle up and take it. I tried teaching you things, I tried punishing you. Nothing to it. You were just generally a disappointment." Each of his words was a blow. Each of his words was a lesson. Each of his words was a moment of pain and brokenness and believing he somehow deserved it. "Can't imagine who would have 'adopted' you. More power to them, really. They managed to teach you some quickness at least. A little showmanship. But you take a house with a weak foundation, and it doesn't matter what sort of pretty things you slap on the outside," Mikey didn't even see the blow coming, and it landed neatly across his face, snapping his head to the side, "it's still weak." Mikey blinked quickly, clearing the haze from his eyes. And there was Shift. Looking down at him. Close. Too close. Mikey took a step back, toward the wall.

"I don't know who it was told you that you might be worth something. I don't know what it was gave you the stupid, suicidal idea that you could walk in here like you're somebody, and tell me what to do, talking big like I ever had to take that from you. But I will tell you this. You have nothing to thank them for." And he moved, and the punch would've landed in Mikey's teeth, but Mikey dodged back, and his back hit the wall beside the window, and it made his breath catch.

He looked down, felt the giant looming. "You over-rotate in the shoulder," he said quietly, and his back pressed against the wall, and he wouldn't escape, he would never escape. They'd keep him here forever, until he was dead. And if he tried to leave, they'd cut him.

Shift paused briefly. "Thank you, Petey."

And Mikey shook his head. No. That wasn't his name. That wasn't his name. That wasn't his name. And Shift came in, and the moment, he got close enough, Mikey snapped a front kick as hard as he could, and it was a simple kick with no flare, and one he'd done thousands and thousands of times, and it caught the man under the jaw.

Shift fell back, hands at his jaw, and he screamed through his teeth, pure hateful rage. Mikey's eyes widened, and he watched as the man's hand disappeared into his shirt, and there was a necklace, and there was a three inch blade.

An eighth knife. Something had to change in eight years.

Before Mikey could move, there was the tinkle of glass, and the next thing he knew, Shift screamed again, and there was a shuriken bitten into his hand. Mikey froze. What? How...?

The window beside him slid up, and a large hand grabbed Mikey's arm, pulling him out the window, and flinging him out away from the building. He landed atop a white van and rolled off the other side, landing on his feet in the street before he even knew what happened. A heavier weight hit the van and landed on the street beside him. The same hand grabbed his arm. "Run!"

Mikey ran. That hand was on him all the way, and it had three fingers, and it was green, and it was Donny, and Mikey could not for the life of him figure out how Donny could be there, and it took at least three minutes of running for Mikey to figure out he didn't care. Donny saved him. All the nightmares he could remember were the ones where Shift was going to kill him. Or Shift killing someone he loved. And it took until he was sixteen for him in all his creativity to imagine that his brother could show up and save him.

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Donatello kept a firm grip on Mikey's arm the whole way. There was no way he was letting go. The minute he let go, probably the little screwball would up and run away again. And they just got him back! Don was furious, fuming, and running hard on adrenaline. He'd shown up, watching his brother from across the street, watched as the kid took off his mask and went into this shady joint at gunpoint. And it was all Don could do not to bust in right then. He'd adjusted his vantage point until he could see his little brother through a second story window, and he didn't have any idea what was going on, but Mikey had played it like he had everything under control, but even from a distance, Don knew when his kid brother was trying to con somebody. And this big goon had knives and who were these people and what the heck was going on?

Once they were miles away from that nasty building and that twisted guy, he stopped on a rooftop and finally swung Mikey around to face him. "What the heck were you thinking? You pick the night after we get you back to go on some crazy solo trip without telling anybody? What just happened? And why in the world wouldn't you tell me? Are you just trying to get yourself killed? Because I can think of a few individuals who would be pretty unhappy with that particular outcome, and the reason I happen to know this for a fact is because we just spent an entire night scared to death that that might be the case! So enlighten me, then! Why would you pick right now to be an undiluted, reckless, indescribable, irrationally foolish, senseless moron?"

And Mikey stood there, looking like he hadn't really heard him. Breathing quick and quiet. Just looking at him. Not looking worried or guilty or nervous or indifferent or goofy or anything else. Just seeing Donny. Just looking at him. The way he did when he was eight and he'd just woken up from a nightmare, and Donny was there. And the anger was put on hold to allow for the concern. "Mikey?"

And his little brother threw himself forward into Donny's arms and hugged him like he didn't ever plan on letting go.