I Am Always With You, Tiny Sun
"If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person." — Fred Rogers
"Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy." — Thich Nhat Hanh
"Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light." — Madeleine L'Engle
"Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." — Leonard Cohen
He finally realized that they couldn't actually understand it when they forced him up for patrol, because he had been "moping and brooding" and it was "too weird to watch." He didn't even know the meaning of mope and brood. That was never his department.
Then, he remembered something Casey said about his sister, and something April said about herself, and something the internet said about a very famous beloved comedic actor who was dead. And he thought, and thought.
Across the rooftops, as they leaped and swung and stepped, he kept looking for him, and whenever he managed to make those bright green eyes lock onto his, he hoped he was communicating something strong enough to go beyond the link he had set up between them.
And it must have been more than enough, because those green eyes got very, very wide, and that gruff voice called out that the two of them were pairing up to take a different section of the city, and the other two shrugged and made them promise to keep their phone trackers on.
And then his arm had been grabbed by a strong solid hand, attached to a strong solid body whose muscles had muscles, and that gruff voice said "Make us glide. Thataway."
And so he pulled up telekinetic power like lightning on a calm summer day, and they raced to the end of the rooftop, and then he said "Ready, set, jump!" and they were falling toward an alley twenty floors down, and then they were hovering, and electricity purred around them, and they were slowly set on their feet in a corner full of shadows.
The only movement was a large dog with a trash can, and it backed off with half a roast chicken in its mouth, and then they were alone, and he slid down the wall, in the shadow, feeling fatigue in his head and his limbs and his gut, a weight that shouldn't be there, and he was wondering if he could actually psychically fake brightening his eyes, because they had looked a little grayish in the mirror.
His brother loomed over him for a few seconds. He continued to stare at the concrete, because it was fascinating.
His brother sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as gently as he could.
"If you don't wanna talk, do you at least wanna listen?"
And he tilted his head without looking at his brother, mulling it over. He wanted to talk. He needed to talk. But the first sounds out of his mouth were probably not going to be good sounds, nice sounds, happy sounds. He kept his mouth shut. He considered a mild block, just a little wall, but when he had first turned on that link between the two of them, he had been aware of the weird two way street. So he just let the sub-dark roll in lazily, coating everything, a layer of half silence and half murmur.
His brother sighed with that familiar particular growl when things weren't quite going his way. "Yeah, okay, I don't care anymore. You reached out. To me. That's a start. That's big."
He finally slid his gaze sideways, not believing it, because the sub-dark reaching out beyond his subconscious toward his amygdala, seeking to coat his limbic system, was not going to allow him.
"It's big because sometimes you don't realize that you have to reach out. If I've learned anything, anything at all, from my whole life, it's that it's never weakness to ask for help. I have to repeat it to myself every single day because I'll forget. It's why I became so strong. Because I made it my job to be strong enough for all of us, so as a team there would always be one without weakness. But you know what, little bro?"
He shook his head.
"There is a strength in weakness. And that's you. And I…I'm je…I'm envious."
Blinking, he stared, and spoke hoarsely. "No way, dude. Not in a million years."
That gruff laughter bounced off the brick walls. "I knew you would say that. That's how I know what's happening with you. Know what April told me, after you had that sparring session with Master Splinter that got scary at the end?"
He winced. "What did April tell you?"
"She said…I mean, I can't remember the whole bit, so lemme paraphrase here, she said that people who shine the brightest hide the most darkness. People who laugh the longest are the saddest. Stuff like that. Like…like that guy. The actor. And that other actor guy, what's his name. The…the ones where they said it was. Um. Suicide."
That last word was a strained whisper, and his mind finally caught up and he felt his lower lip tremble. "But…that's not…I mean, dude, I'm not gonna…ever…"
A rough, calloused, knife-scarred hand grabbed his and squeezed. "I know. You say it. I say it. Everyone says it. But 'member when Leo and I saw you sitting on that pipe over that crack in the ground, it was like you had no idea what the hell was going on, you just…went with it."
"I…kind of remember?"
A huff. "Yeah. Cuz Don says you probably passed out and had a seizure and your mind was out of itself. It was an accident. Lots of things are an accident."
He felt himself start to shake. "Raph, stop talking like that."
"Why?" And suddenly bright green eyes pinned him. "Why, Mikey? Because it's the truth? Because Leo and Don and Splinter have been looking at you funny but I haven't because I know? Imagine what it would be like if you wasn't on that drug April got for you. It took me a long long long time to wrap my brain around it, I was in denial, I didn't wanna see it, I didn't wanna look into my baby brother's big eyes and see that kind of…hurting. But I've been seeing it. And it's like someone's twisting a knife in my heart. You're hurting, Mikey. It's hurting me. Not because of this…this convenient telepathy thing we have. It's because I recognize it. I have a lot of ways of coping and acting out and…and…purging my anger and my worry and my fear, and maybe there is some fucked-up chemical inflammation or whatever, yeah, but I know how to turn it into my battle partner, see? And if I need an outlet, I pick fights. And if I need smiling…well, that's what you're for." And he grinned, white teeth flashing in the moonlight before midnight.
"I…" he looked away, rubbed the scars on his sides, on his plastron, on his leg. "I can't…I don't know if I can feel it that way…"
An arm around his shoulders pulled him close, close enough to push the edges of their plastrons together, their legs together, close enough to where their cheeks almost touched.
"That's fine. You don't have to feel any way. That's the point. Okay. Look." Raph took a long, deep breath. "Okay. Imagine…you're in a jungle. You got a sword or a machete, and it's dark, and there are things all around waiting to eat you. And you know that there is someone nearby, and you know that all you have to do, if you're in danger, is call out. It doesn't gotta be a full-on helicopter rescue with guns and shit. Maybe…maybe it's, I dunno, a stick. A bo staff. Or half a bo, just a stick, that's all. And you step in mud that's real deep, and you call out, and all you need is that broken stick to pull you out and then you can start pushing on again. Just something to pull you out."
Michelangelo nodded, his head on Raphael's shoulder.
"Or…you're in a pool, you're in the deep end, right? You get trapped under, you're tryin' to swim up to the surface but something keeps dragging you down. You call out that you need a hand, a lifepreserver, a floaty thing what the fuck ever, you just need some small thing to help yourself get to the surface so you don't drown. And the people around you just stare and insist that you're not sinking, you're not even close to drowning, why would you need help, you're fine. Right?"
He nodded, nudging and nestling under Raph's chin.
"Nobody around you sees you drowning. Nobody around you sees you sinking into that mud. Nobody gives you a stick, or a life preserver, because they don't see what you feel."
Mikey began to shake more, and Raph's calloused hand rubbed up and down his arm.
"But then, someone sees it. They sense it. They feel you drowning, sinking, falling. And they have a stick. It's just long enough to reach you. And that's all you want. Just a stick to pull yourself out of the jungle mud or the deep water."
He paused to wrap his other arm around Mikey, like a circuit completing, and Mikey heard Raph's heartbeat, slow and steady and calm. He listened to his own heart, fast and stuttering and in his throat. He wished he could break down and cry. He didn't think the hollow emptiness would allow it.
Raphael just held him tighter. "I'm your stick," he said. "And you're mine. Whether we know it or not. Life preservers are what you cling to when there's nothing else, and there's a reason they're called that. It doesn't matter if we can't break through the emptiness, it doesn't matter if you can't find the strength to laugh. You will. I believe that. It takes time, and it takes therapy, whether that be meditation or katas or punching bad guys or taking medicine or talking it out. Donnie and Leo aren't always as smart or wise as they think they are. And Splinter, well, he's set it certain ways You an' me, though, we're connected emotionally. Maybe it looks like we're on opposite ends, but we need each other. Because of this," and he waved his hand in an encompassing gesture. "I know there was a main reason you linked to me specifically so I'm kinda in your head more than the others, even if you didn't realize at the time. With Leo, it was so he could access your psychic self and guide you. With Don, it was so he could know what was wrong so he could treat it. But you and me, little brother, we got something special."
Mikey found himself smiling, sighing, and suddenly his throat was tight and his face was hot and he didn't think he could talk. But he whispered, "Raph…" And that was enough to open him, and he was sobbing, keening, the tears like fire on his skin, and he buried his face in his brother's chest and Raph rocked up, not making a sound, rocking back and forth and side to side, nothing but holding him.
"It…hurts…" he gasped.
"I know, Mikey," Raph whispered, and there were tears in his voice. "I know. That's why you gotta let it out."
"I…I don't…wanna…hurt you…" As the surge of telepathic energy crackled along his skin, jumped to his brother's skin.
"You ain't hurting me. You're my brother. You'll never hurt me. I love you. Gimme that pain. I know what to do with it. Just push it into me. I'll take it. I'll work with it. I'll do what you can't for you."
And the way he said it, with such ferocious love, determination, raw instinct, it was as if they were unstoppable. And Mikey felt the energy build and build, and he cried and cried, sobbing and heaving, and reluctantly he began to funnel outward all the darkness, the hollowness, the sharp stabbing loneliness in the nothing; and he sensed Raph's own signature energy, strong as fire, bright as fire, fierce as fire, matching his own exuberant cheerful dancing bonfires in a silent forest dancing like a newborn sun. And Raph reached out with confidence and pulled Mikey's emptiness to him, and wrapped it in flames and filled it with force and meaning, and tossed it up into the sky above the silent forest, and it became a tiny star guiding them to each other.
And when a bright, brilliant laugh filled the alleyway, Mikey took a second to realize it was himself. He nuzzled his way to Raph's cheek, kissed it, then pulled away and laughed. He pushed forward on his knees and he stood, and he threw back his head and laughed again, and this laugh was full of promise. This laugh was full of light.
He felt his older brother stand and move in front of him and hold his hands, and when he opened his eyes, Raph had a huge smile on his face.
"What?" Mikey said within the laugh.
"Your eyes," Raph told him. "They're bright blue again."
Mikey grinned widely. "Yay."
Both of their T-Phones rang out, and there were text messages from both Leonardo and Donatello. They were only a few buildings away, waiting impatiently.
Raph looked back at Mikey and took him by the shoulders. "Remember, this isn't a permanent solution. It can't be. Nothing is a solution. But it's a therapy thing. It's a way to…to handle it. To work with it. And when that dull pain in your mind hits you again, that emptiness that goes beyond sadness, and you can't feel like you're worth a damn, you come to me. You come to me and I will have that stick ready, and I'll light your way."
Sniffling, Michelangelo nodded. "Same for you."
Raphael pulled him into the tightest hug possible. "Don't tell Leo," he muttered, "but love ya more than anyone."
"I know Raph," and Mikey closed his eyes and smiled. "I know."
(Author's Note: Based on actual conversations with friends and my own experiences with major unipolar depression. It's hard. It's painful. Stay with us. Keep fighting. Someone will find you. Maybe that someone will be me.
Raph's speech about sticks is inspired by Boggle The Owl on Tumblr.)