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"...call right now and we'll send you a second thigh master, absolutely free--just pay separate shipping and handling!"
Donatello paused in his work, setting down his pencil. A quick glance at the clock said 1:34AM. Definitely later than he meant to be up.
But this late, he should have been hearing silence. His brothers and father had gone to bed hours ago but Donatello knew late night infomercials when he heard them.
Venturing out of his lab, he made his way toward the living room, nearly colliding with Raphael in the process.
"Raphael. What are you doing up?"
The sarcastic turtle cast his brother an incredulous look. "Kids, this is called irony. What are you doing up, Brainiac?"
A shrug of defeat. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late."
"You really need to get a clock with an alarm in there," a new voice entered the conversation though interwoven with a yawn.
Leonardo joined his other two brothers just as another announcer voice rang from the living room: "New from Timelife, the ultimate music collection..."
Raphael eyed his two brothers, "We are aware that since only one of us is missing, there's not a huge mystery here, right?"
"Not true, Raphael." Face contorted, Leonardo directed his view toward the living room. "I'm used to finding one of you awake--doing your experiments, working on your 'comedy' routines..."
"Hey, I heard the quotes on that!"
"But Michelangelo?" Leonardo finished without a comment to his sarcastic brother.
His two younger brothers gave resigned nods. Their resident party dude knew the value of good sleep.
"And infomercials?" Raphael shuddered dranatically. "When we have an incredible amount of trashy entertainment to choose from?"
The red banded boy took that as momentum and stomped into the living room where only the light of the television illuminated the familiar furniture. A pale white-blue light painted the lone figure slumped against cushions, staring at the imagery like it held no significance whatsoever.
Slipping behind him, Raphael slapped both hands on his brother's shoulders. "Hey, Michelangelo--"
A screech worthy of a horror movie, an elbow to the face and Raphael was up and over his sibling's shoulder and planted face down on the floor.
Michelangelo came out of his adrenaline rush quickly. "Aw, like, major-league sorry, compadre!"
Kneeling, he offered his brother a hand up, wincing at the swollen and rapidly darkening eye.
Donatello, on the other hand, gave a slow clap with a low whistle through his teeth. "Nice reflexes!"
Raphael gave a glare or as much of one as he could as he moved to the couch. Leonardo appeared (when had he slipped to the kitchen?) and passed his sibling an ice pack wrapped in a hand towel.
"Press hard." The eldest turtle advised. "Keep the swelling down." His immediate younger brother needed no convincing.
Michelangelo winced. "Like, so totally sorry Raphael." He wilted, like he would have gladly welcomed a transport module under his feet pulling him into the ground.
"Forget it," his older brother managed through clenched teeth. "Had it coming. Know better than to sneak up on a ninja."
Leonardo wrapped an arm around Michelangelo's shoulder. "What are doing up still? You'll be dead on your feet at morning training."
"I'm a teenager, Dude. Staying up late is kinda our thing."
"Not this late," Donatello corrrcted. "And not watching infomercials."
"Hey, some of these are cool! I saw a collection of recipes that would make killer pizzas."
"Michelangelo. If I have to sit here with a black eye, you hafta tell the truth. You wanna make up for this?" Raphael's tone was dangerous even as he pointed to his injured eye. "Then talk."
Huffing, the surfer turtle sank into the couch, sandwiched between Raphael and Leonardo. Donatello leaned over the back. "Couldn't sleep."
"Obviously." Donatello reached over and gently rubbed his brother's head. "Why?"
Quiet as Michelangelo genuinely collected his thoughts. "I...was thinking about the battle today. With Shed-Head and Kazuo."
Frowning, Leonardo asked, well, more like said, "It was a tough one today. We were lucky we had Kazuo's help." He squeezed his brother's shoulder tight.
"Fate has a twisted sense of humor." Raphael remarked, "Help from Shredder's brother?"
A shrug from Donatello. "Our lives have never been nor--"
With a half shout, half sob, Michelangelo slammed balled fists into his thighs. "That's just it though, compadres! Shredder was gonna kill him!"
Raphael cocked the brow over his good eye, trying to center in on his sibling's point. "Well...yeah. Not sure if you've missed the last few years, but Shredder is the bad guy, Michelangelo..."
"Not like that though, Dude! He's been a conquer the world, destroy random people kind of bad guy!"
Tsking a bit and popping the "ts" at the end of his sentence, Donatello leaned close to his sibling. "And that's better?"
Frustrated, Michelangelo stood and he paced. Frantically. As if getting his brothers to understand this was more important than anything else in the world.
"Well, yeah. I mean, not better but like...different!" Groaning, Michelangelo dug his fists into the side of his head with way more force than he intended, as if he could push reasoning out by will alone.
Leonardo, with the hypnotic calmness only he had, said with all the softness of a summer breeze, "Michelangelo. I know this is important to you. So, take a breath, fella. Then try again."
"And try making sense this time," Raphael offered as suggestion.
Closing his eyes, Michelangelo took in a breath, focusing on the very first exercise he remembered learning. Box breathing. In the nose, hold, out the mouth. Feel it in the belly, not the chest.
After a few minites, clarity soothed his chaotic emotions, allowing only one to dominate.
Sadness. A deep, suffocating sadness.
"He was going to kill his brother. His own brother." Opening his eyes, Michelangelo fought the tears a moment and didn't protest when Leonardo and Raphael pulled him back down to smoosh in between them. "How could anyone be that evil?"
Saying it out loud should have helped. Instead, Michelangelo writhed as the pit in his stomach turned even more sour. “How could he want to kill his own bro?”
Donatello frowned, compassion bleeding from his eyes. "Is that what's been keeping you up?" He stood, circled around the couch, kneeling in front of his brother. “Michelangelo?”
"I know it's stupid," the youngest turtle admitted. "I mean Tin Grin had always been a righteously twisted Dude--"
"There's an oxymoron for the ages..."
"But...I mean, I thought even he had his limits. Lines he wouldn't cross. Couldn't cross. But he meant it, compadres. He was out for blood and all Kazuo wanted was to help him."
The orange banded turtle shook.
“…and it was like Kazuo meant nothing to him!”
Leonardo pulled his sibling close. "Shredder wouldn't understand honor and love if his life depended on it.”
“…I just…no matter how mad I’ve gotten at you guys I could never…” Michelangelo trailed off and hid a sniffle in Leonardo’s shoulder.
“Of course not.” The eldest turtle gave a light ‘shh’ even as he rubbed his brother’s shell in soft circles.
“You aren't like Shredder, Michelangelo.” Donatello soothed. “None of us are. Neither is Kazuo.”
“…I just can’t understand, amigos.”
“Good,” Raphael commented, but lacking the sarcastic edge. “I’d be worried if you could. If you’re worried about it, we’re never gonna wind up in that position alright? No matter how you all drive me crazy.”
“Right.” Donatello clasped hold of his youngest sibling’s hand, as if his iron grip could solve everything. “And nothing is gonna change that.”
“It’s sad that Kazuo can’t say the same,” Leonardo admitted even as he laid a chaste kiss on his youngest brother’s head. “And I know you wish you could help him…”
“He still trusted Shredder, Dudes!” An odd panic. “He didn't think he would...he thought he'd stop.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Michelangelo whispered, “Kazuo’s face. I felt that.”
Raphael sighed. Comfort wasn't his strongest point. And when his brother started taking on others’ emotions, it became even harder.
Still, he would try.
“He’s hurt. But at least he knows now. Still a bit naive for my taste but he won’t make that mistake again.”
“It’s not right. It's not.”
Taking a hefty breath, the kind he always did when he had to explain what seemed like common sense, Raphael countered. “Maybe it’s not how you want it, Michelangelo but that’s how it is. And wishing our enemy wasn't a ruthless--”
Leonardo shot him a warning look.
“Eh, you know what doesn't make him not one. So, be sad for Kazuo if you want but truth is truth.”
Head down, Michelangelo nodded. “I guess. It’s just…so wrong to me.”
“Because you have morals,” Donatello smiled. “And a huge heart. Don’t try to put those on Shredder. Him and his brother don't have any influence on us.”
Leonardo pulled his brother so close that he nearly planted him on his lap.
“And we aren't going anywhere. And the only time I would ever draw my blade on you is to get the attacker behind you.”
A faint smile crossed Michelangelo’s face, “Or to cut us out of a trap like a crazy samurai hero!”
“…or that.” Leonardo returned the smile.
Raphael squeezed Michelangelo’s shoulder, firmer than he usually did, “We’re stuck together. But I guess I could have done worse than you guys.”
Donatello tightened his grip on Michelangelo’s hand. “That’s for sure. We’re real lucky.”
When neither of them made any move to leave and were just content to wrap their youngest in their presence, Leonardo said, “You feel better?”
“…a little? Stay?” Uncertainty and some embarrassment colored the surfer turtle’s words but he said them just the same.
In answer, Leonardo tightened his hold. “Of course—”
Raphael nudged the youngest lightly to the side. “Then scooch over. Why do we have a three seater couch when there are five of us in this family?”
Donatello claimed the remote, plopping on the armrest next to Leonardo, “But no infomercials! How about a monster movie rerun. One of the stations has to have one!”
When Splinter came upon their group in the morning, a warm chuckle escaped from his chest. The kind you give when the best of feelings cannot be contained.
Raphael was lying against Michelangelo’s shell. The youngest turtle was curled tight into Leonardo’s plastron, as the oldest slept scrunched into the corner of the couch. Sprawled across the back (even though Splinter was certain he had mentioned many times that the old couch was not meant for that) Donatello slumbered lightly.
Training for today could wait, the old master decided. A home-cooked family meal, a bit of a heart-to-heart, and the kind of comfort only love could provide…
That was a most wonderful morning, indeed.