Mistletoe
Sometimes, Mikey thought he was like mistletoe.
People didn't get what it really was. It wasn't a match making service, or a piece of Christmas cheer. It was much more than that.
When he really thought about it, being mistletoe sucked. Mistletoe was picked from the rest of the plant, and taken away. It would be hung up somewhere nobody would think to look, but eventually, everyone would find.
Too often was Michelangelo snatched from his family, in battle or otherwise, dangled as a kind of bait to lure them in, in the hopes of taking them down once and for all.
Michelangelo was a part of that plan, the mistletoe hung up for unsuspecting victims to be caught in. He watched with a clenched heart, wishing, yearning, for just one time where it didn't have to be this way.
Just once.
Mistletoe watched on while those beneath it kissed, and Mikey watched on as his brothers were forced into battle. Sometimes, it felt all too much like the cold lips of death leaning in for a kiss, the chapped skin brushing his brothers far too close.
And Mikey decided he didn't want to be the mistletoe anymore.