More Than Just One

Chapter 1

Oh, yes, Mikey could stay here forever. Raph's big, strong arms wrapped around him, weighed down by blankets. He heard Leon's obnoxious snoring on his left and Don's sleepy mumbles on his right. Everything was so warm and soft. Contrary to popular belief, Raph's plastron was probably the most comfortable thing on the planet.

Mikey had won this movie marathon by slipping into Raph's arms while Leon and Don argued. Raph happily accepted him, holding the turtle close as they waited for the twins to realise their efforts were in vain.

Now, they were all draped on top of each other. This is what Mikey liked best about brotherhood. They watched movies every Friday after patrol, snuggled in a knot. Even despite Don's hesitation to touch, he happily joined (though, when it was an overwhelming day, or his autism got to him, he would just sit beside them).

Mikey sighed contently, opening his eyes slowly. It was early in the morning, so he just snuggled back into Raph's protection and fell back asleep.

When he awoke again, he was not nestled in warmth. He was, in fact, face-down on cold, dirty cement. His legs were tangled in blankets and there was a small puddle of drool beneath his face.

This wasn't right. Raph always stayed with them until they woke up, even if it meant gently nudging the turtle awake. When Leon had fallen asleep on Raph and April had come over, Raph shushed her and made her stay in Donnie's lab until he woke up.

This was odd.

Mikey pushed himself up, yawning. His neck hurt from sleeping in... this position. His legs were in a blanket cocoon, hanging from his bed. His sheets were messy and... pizza-stained? No, Don always made sure they changed their sheets at least once a week.

He untangled himself and stood up, looking around the unfamiliar room. Pizza boxes were stacked dangerously high, soda cans littered around the floor, and there was a concerning lack of graffiti.

Mikey gave a quick hum before spinning around to grab a garbage bag (or seven). He pushed his door open and stared. There wasn't any skateboarding ramp or amazingly high ceiling. And there still wasn't any of Mike's graffiti. There was only a couch with a television and a few games scattered around.

The kitchen was small and grey compared to what Mikey remembered. The food there was stale or mouldy. Bugs crawled on the floor, the sink was stained with... Mikey didn't want to know what that was. Everything had a dusty smell to it.

It was safe to say the turtle was unsettled. He grabbed the bags and headed to his room, ignoring all the differences. Maybe it was a weird dream? A new gadget Donnie was testing?
Mikey just busied himself with cleaning his room. Pizzas and their boxes were stuffed into bags along with Orange Crush cans and candy wrappers. Crumpled pieces of paper littered the ground with broken pencil crayons (both of which Mikey mourned as he threw them away).

Once the room was cleaned, Mikey threw out the garbage bags. He found some usable crayons and paper and started to sketch.

"Mikey!"

The turtle's head lifted, pulling out his earbuds. A sad version of Leon stood at his door, his eyes angry. His arms were crossed impatiently.

"Yes?" Mikey asked, confused on who this turtle was.

"We're back from the mission," he said. "Oh, you cleaned your room. I didn't know you knew how to do that." Then, the turtle left.

Mikey blinked a few times. What? Of course he knew how to clean his room—he wasn't a child. His brothers knew he didn't like getting called a child—even if it was implied. And from Leon (even if he did have a weird costume on)? It was quite out of the blue.

The box turtle got up, turning off his music. He left his room in search of Raph or Don to tell him what was up with Leon.

To say Mikey was shocked was an understatement—a vast one at that. Three turtles knelt at a tall rat-man's feet. They were all the same size, except one who was lanky and tall. The room that Mikey expected to be Splinter's was replaced by a Japanese-style dojo—complete with a large tree, murals, and mats.

"Ah, Michelangelo."

Mikey looked up at the rat-man. Splinter? He looked back at the turtles who were now looking at him. Red, purple, blue.

"Sit."

He cautiously did as he was told. He knelt beside the tall one with the same mask as Don.

"Why were you late, Michelangelo?"

Mikey swallowed thickly, "I was cleaning my room."

Splinter cocked an eyebrow, "Oh, really? That is a first."

Mikey scowled slightly.

"Anyway, you will be sparring again today," Splinter said, pacing in front of the four. "Raphael versus Michelangelo, Donatello versus Leonardo. "はじめ (Begin)."

The four sprung to action. The two pairs drew their weapons, starting the sparring session.

Michelangelo held his own against the red turtle. The two others stopped their fight to watch from a mat. Honestly, it wasn't that impressive—his moves were all predictable. There was only so much he could do with twin sai. Unfortunately, Mikey had misplaced his magic flail, so he was stuck with nunchucks. Mikey blocked every attack, even getting his own in sometimes.

After a while, he kicked the turtle's legs from under him, sending the red turtle to the ground. Mikey spun a nunchuck over his head, ready in case he decided he wanted to get up.

"ヤメ (Stop)," Splinter called.

The four turtles knelt once again.

"I am impressed, Michelangelo," Splinter said with a nod. "When did you learn such moves? I certainly did not teach you them."

Mikey bit his lip, "I've, uh, been training with, uh, April?"

Splinter simply hummed.

God, Mikey was screwed.