Chapter Text
“You do remember what happened the last time you decided that ‘exploring’ the woods was a good idea, right? Or is that just me?”
Mikey stands in front of a very supportive older brother, pausing halfway in his action of pulling a coat over his shoulders.
“And I thought you would be on my side, Don.” The youngest turtle makes sure his coat sleeve slaps Donatello over the face as he slings it over the bulk of his shell. “What happened to the ‘youngest sibling’ support group we set up?”
Donnie responds in his signature smile – gentle, almost shy-looking as it curves at the edges of his beak. If Mikey were to pick which of his brothers’ smile he liked the most Donnie would definitely win, that’s for sure. Where Mikey smiles loud and boisterous, his purple-clad brother is the opposite but treasured nether the less.
Raph would get last. That rage machine manages to make smiles look like a threat, or really bad toothache.
“You know we had to end it when Leo and Raph teamed up against us. They had t-shirts. All we had were badges.” Donnie snaps his focus back to the task at hand – persuading his brother that exploring the woods was very fun, and not at all dangerous.
“We didn’t stand a chance.” Mikey agrees before remembering that he’s supposed to be pouting at his brother. Curse Donatello for being so right with everything.
Well, everything but stopping him from having fun in the woods at midnight.
“I’m reconnecting to my turtle roots.” Michelangelo tries. It’s not like Donnie can stop him – Donnie knows that too – but it would be nice to have at least one brother to fool around with in the wilderness.
“Uh huh. And what did Leo say when you told him that?”
“He told me to go to a pet store.”
Donnie’s smile doesn’t grow, but his eyes shine with amusement when he swivels his chair to face Mikey.
“And Raph?”
“I told him to leave me out of it, and to whine to you instead.” Mikey jumps when Raph stomps (dramatic, as always) past the doorway to the small box room Donnie has settled in for the week at the farmhouse.
A vacation, they had all agreed. Time for fun. But apparently no one else but Michelangelo thought that exploring the woods around the farmhouse at night was fun – Leo had outright called it “probably suicide” and Splinter just gave him a look that had stopped his explanation short when talking to his father about it.
That’s fine. A Michelangelo can enjoy a midnight adventure by himself, even if it’s freezing outside. In all honestly, he was looking forward to seeing the icicles on the trees before they melted with the morning sun.
“You’re just a coward.” Mikey sticks out his tongue at Raph. Raph pauses in his step, and the youngest turtle thinks that he’s tricked him into joining him for a second, but then his older brother takes a deep breath.
“I’m not falling for that again, I’m not.” Mikey can hear him mumble. He points an angry finger at his plastron and growls. “I see what you’re trying to do, and it ain’t working.”
Michelangelo blows a raspberry at him, taking extra care to splat spit in his face.
Which turns out to be a very poor life decision. Raph has him in a headlock before he can scream out for Leo’s protection.
“Not in my room, if you don’t mind.” Donnie says calmly, turning back to the computer.
“Our room.” Raph corrects. He gestures to the mattress opposite Donnie’s, covered in blankets and magazines. “If you get to nerd out here, I get to murder Mikey.”
“Well I don’t want to murder Mikey.” Mikey points out. He wriggles in Raph’s hold but remains stuck. They’ve been taught to escape from many holds in their training, but he must’ve skipped the lesson on “how to escape your angry older brother’s headlock” because he’s yet to figure out how.
“Murder him on your side.” Donnie points to the line that he and Raph always draw when sharing a room. Mikey had noticed that Donatello had been inching it forward slowly for the past week to give himself more space. Sneaky shit.
“I’ll tell Leo.” Mikey pulls out the big guns, though it disgusts him to do so. But desperate times call for desperate measures - he’s losing night hours the longer he lingers here. Exploring the woods at one in the morning rather than midnight just sounds sad.
“You play dirty, you little shit.” Raph grumbles but releases him finally. Mikey is already in motion, buttoning up his thick coat (it was actually Leo’s, who had stuffed it into his hands once it was clear he couldn’t persuade Mikey that his plan was very stupid) and shoving his phone into its pocket. He tugs Raph’s bandana tails and darts out of the room, moving down the hall.
“You have an hour before I drag your ass back here and hog-tie you over the fireplace!” Raph, ever-loving and caring, shouts. Mikey laughs in response, unbolting the back door.
“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Raphie!” He teases. He is rewarded with an empty soda can hitting him in the back of the head.
He’s surprised that it takes a full minute for Leo to text him once he steps out of the farmhouse. The youngest turtle is in the process of trying to shove a glove on his three fingers awkwardly (he’s trying to use his beak to pull down the material, not a good idea) when the phone vibrates. Mikey yelps in surprise, totally not like a girl who had seen a mouse – before realising that it was only the device in his coat pocket. It takes him three tries to pull it out. Damn gloves ruining his epic ninja skills.
You aren’t going out alone are you? Please tell me you aren’t, Leo’s text reads when the phone screen lights up blindingly in the darkness of the night. Mikey huffs with laughter as he weaves deeper into the woods, scanning the environment around him with curiosity.
Dude I can hear you pacing from here, Mikey types back with only a few spelling errors this time. He pauses, then adds. Please don’t faint again.
A few minutes later, Leo replies:
We said we wouldn’t talk about that again. You broke your word of honour, you fiend.
Mikey’s laughter rings into the night upon reading the text. For Leo, it’s a green light to keep exploring – that is, until he decides it’s time to ruin his fun and drag him back. Raoh has already given him an hour time limit, so it wouldn’t surprise him if they decide to tag team him. He hates it when they do that.
Michelangelo pockets his phone and decides to begin his goal of the night – exploration. He’s seen the woods only in the day, so he’s looking forward to seeing some of the nightly wildlife. Either that or discover another new animal species.
And for a while, this is what the turtle does. With whoops and shrieks, Mikey darts from tree to tree, dancing between their thick trunks and feet barely making a sound as he dashes further and further into the forest’s embrace. Laughs as he tumbles through a patch of snow and falls flat on his face. The cold is refreshing and he can’t help but (in an action that would make Leo actually scream for at least ten seconds straight about “germs” and “are you trying to kill yourself”) bites some of the ice with a hum of gratitude.
“Better than the tap water here.” Mikey muses out loud. He about to start making a mini snow-turtle when his phone vibrates again.
Leo really needs to learn how to relax and stop bothering his midnight escapades.
Sure enough, the text that greets him is from his eldest brother. It’s been half an hour since he left and already the elder turtle is asking where he is.
“And I thought Splinter was overbearing!” Mikey whines but smiles all the same. Rolling his eyes affectionately, he takes a picture of the dirty snow at his feet and sends it in reply to Leo with the simple caption of “Yum.”
Yeah, Leo might drag him back by his tail for that one.
“I probably have about ten minutes before Leo tracks me down…where did all my sweet time go?!” Mikey moans as he looks at the clock burning his eyes in the darkness. He stands quickly. “This is an emergency! Do I go and try to find some turtle relatives, or try and get adopted by a pack of wolves, or –“ Mikey snaps his fingers. “The lake!”
There is a small lake in the west section of the woods that Mikey and his brothers had used to swim in on hot days. It had been marked as out of bounds during winter by Donnie due to the cold, but Mikey had made a bet with Raph that he would jump in when it was freezing. Twenty dollars and a bag of gummy bears is in the line here, and Mikey is nothing if not a turtle of his word.
If it means he can eat the gummy bears in front of Raph’s ugly face, then it was worth dropping everything for.
Michelangelo begins to run in the direction of where he thinks the lake sits with a smug grin.
“Raph thinks I’m too chicken.” The youngest grins wide. “Too bad he’s gonna be twenty bucks short tomorrow morning!” He whoops again, cartwheeling over and exposed tree root.
It’s the last clear memory he has for the night.
As children, there was a game that their father would play with them during the long hours of darkness in the sewer. It went something like this:
At any point, any time, during the day Splinter would click his tongue sharply. Mikey’s goal, along with his brothers’, was to find a hiding place as quick as possible once this noise had been heard and remain unseen until the game was called off. The time window of the turtles hiding could extend to hours – however, if they were found by their father during this time, they wouldn’t get the prize (usually a small trinket found in the junkyard that day). Mikey had enjoyed this game very much and remembered it fondly until they snuck up to the surface for the first time.
Michelangelo had experienced many new experiences that day on the surface. But he doesn’t forget the click that echoed down an empty alleyway, and how he and his brothers had automatically hidden in their surroundings. Only the clicking noise hasn’t been the sound of their father beginning a fun game. It had been the click of a gun’s safety trigger, sounding identical to the noise Splinter would always make.
The bitter memory resurfaces once more and Mikey realises he’s moved before his mind catches up with the quiet click that breathes into the night breeze. He doesn’t count on the bulk of his coat making his reflexes slower to execute, or the cold to numb his senses just enough for the bullet to strike at his exposed neck.
When he doesn’t feel the blinding pain of bullet hitting flesh the youngest turtle sprints into the shroud of trees without taking the time to look back towards his attacker. Clumsy fingers fly at the wound in his neck, pulling out the dart that is lodged in the scales.
“Shit.” Mikey hisses at the sight of the tranquilliser. The world begins to tilt, his steps becoming less organised as he runs further into the woods. “Shit!”
Questions are swirling in his head into a jumble of heightened emotions. One thought rips through them all, repeated over and over.
Get away. Hide. Get away. Danger.
The darkened woods around him suddenly burst open in dizzying white lights. Michelangelo is exposed to their glare, chasing away the shadows he has been taught to rely on so much.
“There! I see it!”
Several more clicks. Mikey’s mind is sluggish, and he cannot dodge as two more tranquillisers bury themselves into his coat and skin. A strangled chirp emits from his throat, unable to articulate with the drugs quickly running through his system.
Donnie had once told him about this, when they had been having a sleepover in his lab. Something about how their mutation makes tranquillisers far less effective than that of an average animal. He supposes he has mutagen to thank, therefore, for the fact that he’s still standing and able to move.
With a cry, Michelangelo tries to pull back into the safety of the night’s shadows. It proves to be an impossible task when humans are beginning to circle around him with their flashlights and guns all pointing towards him.
Get away. Hide.
For a moment, there is a stalemate. Mikey stands in the merciless gaze of the hunters – which he is now realising with a sense of dread, is what they must be – as they stare at his inhuman silhouette. Everything is growing dizzy and wrong, limbs numbing as the drugs take hold of him.
Childishly, he wishes for his brothers. For Raph’s solid frame to hide behind. For Donnie’s reassuring voice of reason grounding him. For Leo’s confidence to lean on like a pillar in the sea, stopping him from getting swept away by the waves that threaten to drown him.
Terror sweeps over him, because he is alone. The humans are closing in on him but their voices sound like they are underwater. Mikey stumbles as his world rocks, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He swallows thickly.
“I knew the rumours were true!” A particularly loud voice cries out. They step closer, closing their circle. “I told you green creatures were spotted here a few years back!”
They are experienced hunters, judging by their attire. They have multiple weapons against their belts and, Mikey notes with fear, dogs snapping their jaws on chains. The young turtle hisses, low and threatening. It halts the humans in their advancement, if only for a moment.
One laughs. The noise is startlingly loud and Mikey hisses again. Instincts flare where his mind fails him.
Get away. Danger.
Humans, though intimidating in numbers, are still flimsy compared to Mikey’s strength. It’s why he is able to force them out of the way with a sluggish leap and a kick. It’s definitely not his best work, but it is effective. A cluster of the hunters fall and Michelangelo has enough time to race away. Angry yells and snarls echo behind him but he pays them no mind, his usual stream of taunts and one-liners crumbling before they were fully formed.
Everything is quickly becoming confusing. He swears the trees are tilting towards him, the roots pulling at his legs and slowing him down. Irrational, sharp fear roars in his chest as each second passes and the situation becomes dreadfully clear.
He’s being hunted. As if he was just some creature.
Two more darts fly past him. The hunters are managing to outpace him despite his physical superiority. In an irrational attempt to increase his speed, he pulls off the heavy coat that hung heavy on his frame.
“Over there!”
“- losing it –“
“ – keep track –“
Out of corners of his vision he sees flashes of torchlight, the human’s faces illuminating in the pale glow for brief seconds with flashing eyes and twisted faces. Snow kicks from under his feet as he runs blindly, unable to recognise the area around him anymore. And for a moment, he thinks he’s going to escape them.
This tentative hope is severed when a snap echoes throughout the woods and metal teeth snag his ankle. Michelangelo’s shriek of pain is inhuman when the bone shatters from the force of the bear trap snapping shut on his leg, sending him sprawling to the ground in agony.
Mikey’s stomach coils as he feels blood pool underneath the trapped limb. His desperate attempts to free himself only bring more pain as the metal teeth hold tight and drag gaping wounds down his leg. The turtle screams again, digging his fingers into the snow and writhing his body. The lessons that his father had taught him feel unreachable in his mind under a layer of haze and tiredness.
A dull thunk, and vibrating pressure on his plastron. The hunters are shooting darts at him again through the trees as they close in on his location.
Mikey chirps in a subconscious act to call for his brothers. A noise that is usually rare and reserved for private moments between his family is emitted from his throat in his flashes of terror. Black spots splatter his vision, from the blood loss or tranquillisers he can’t be sure of anymore. Pinned to the ground with a fractured bone, Mikey’s movements begin to stutter to a slow stop. Perhaps it would be easier to rest, just for a while –
No. A voice rings in his head, sounding like Leonardo. The voices are closer now and Mikey’s heart races. The wound on his leg pulses with pain on every beat and the turtle’s thoughts grow more muddled. He’s forgetting the events that had lead up to this. All he wants now is to go home.
Like a catalyst, the desperate thought results in Michelangelo renewing his struggled efforts to free himself. Organised movement flips into something more animalistic and feral. His claws extend from his fingertips and pry back the teeth of the dreaded trap centimetre by centimetre. Simultaneously, Mikey pulls his leg back towards him over and over, uncaring of the flesh that is stripped away by the sharp metal. He can’t feel much, only partially noticing the blood that rushes from the ugly wounds should be a cause for concern.
“Holy – get the camera! Quick!” Mikey hisses at the human that appears from the trees suddenly. The hunter wears several layers of thick black clothing strapped with various items, though Mikey’s attention is drawn more towards what the human holds in his right hand. A rusted chain snakes around his palm, holding what must be at least three large growling dogs to his side. Michelangelo snarls, exposing the gums of his teeth just as the trap finally snaps open.
With his foot finally free, Mikey scrambles to his feet and starts to run as far away from the hunters as he can. The winter cold biting his skin takes him by surprise. He thought he had been wearing a coat – what had happened? He couldn’t remember –
He’s falling. Everything is too loud and fast, spinning around him. Mikey thinks he digs his fingers into the snow – when had the snow started – and tries to get up, because he needed to get away, hide –
Snarling. Hot breath on his heel as he pulls himself to his feet in a reflex that he can’t keep up with. Barks and growls that give chase as the sprints through the woods.
Dogs.
They had sent dogs after him.
A high cry tears from his throat and his eyes widen to their limit. He can spot glinting teeth and flashing eyes in his peripheral vision coming closer, until –
Michelangelo shrieks in terror-filled alarm as one of the dog’s jaws rip at the flesh on his already injured leg. As soon as he collapses to the ground the canines swarm him like vultures. They rip his skin like paper, dragging him backwards and shaking his limp limbs in their jaws. Mikey’s distressed shrieks cut off abruptly as one dog latches it’s teeth around his exposed throat with a guttural snarl. The turtle’s mouth parts in a silent scream.
“Trapped it! Come on!”
“Down there, by the old farmhouse!”
Colours swirl into murky splotches. Pain spikes, then fades entirely. Mikey’s throat still releases small, weak chirps that call for his brothers, but they too are fractured.
“You dare –“ there are different voices now but Mikey can’t hear them over the static buzz in his ears. His beak is still opening and closing mutely, copper taste building in the back of his throat.
“No!” Something roars. He thinks it is close but his eyes are slipping shut too rapidly. He’s tired. Maybe he can rest, just for a minute.
A final chirp sounds in his throat, almost unheard. A familiar scent washes over him in those final few seconds, of musky smoke and damp earth. A rough, scaled hand ghosts against his cheek. A flash of red like a beacon in his vision.
He thinks his chirp is answered with another. But then the world dissolves and Mikey rests, feeling the terror finally wash away and leaving him at peace.