The Words That Hurt Me

Eight Fingers

Mikey opened his eyes to a beautiful meadow, full of tall grass and wild flowers. The breeze blew gently across his face, warm and welcoming.

He was small, like a child, dozing off in the grass. His head lay on his father's lap, his kind face gazing down at him. Oh, how he missed him.

'Michelangelo,' he spoke, 'There is much I wish I had done differently, to be a better person, a better brother, a better father,'

He caressed Mikey's face, just like he'd do when he was a child, when he was sick or tired.

'I caused...much pain to you and your brothers, raising you to fight my battles,' he frowned, looking away, 'I am so sorry, Michelangelo.'

.

Mikey blinked his eyes open, finding himself in the warm, green hold of Leatherhead. Was that just a dream?

The mass around him shifted, pulling him in closer. The turtle squirmed, turning round to face the mutant's chest. Once there, he was immediately pulled back into a position of closeness.

Huffing, the turtle rested his head on the chest in front of him. Resistance was futile, especially when it was Leatherhead.

The turtle flushed. He was in love with Leatherhead. How could he possibly forget? He was in love  with his best friend, Leatherhead. He wanted to hold him, and dance with him, and eat with him, and spend all his time together with him.

Mikey shook his head. He already did that with the croc!

What he wasn't aware of before, was how much he wanted to kiss him. To dance to slow songs, to have a romantic candle lit dinner with him, to never part from him.

And a final thing he's too embarrassed to say.

Too confused and embarrassed, he shifted his thoughts back to the dream.

It was a pleasant place, similar to the description Leo gave when he talked to their dad. He could spend an entire life time in that place, in the perpetual warmth and breeze.

His father was also there. Just as kind and graceful as he had remembered, if in a bit better health. His face had always been the paragon of a sturn, yet loving father.

However, something about it felt so weird. Was it actually his father? Why was he trying to contact Mikey? Why was Mikey a child? Why was he apologizing?

Mikey certainly didn't blame him for anything. He was suddenly mutated, stuck with four turtle toddlers, and forced into the sewers. There was almost nothing that happened that he could control.

Obviously, it was far from perfect, but despite everything, he kept them protected, fed, and when necessary, clothed, and even found a home for them. He did all he could.

As soon as Mikey could understand all that he had done for them, he worked hard to master his weapons and his katas. Of course, he only fully understood after he was dead.

The turtle was dozing when a rumbling fully woke him up. The giant wrapped around him began moving, stretching his stiff limbs. He yawned widely, wiping his eyes.

Mikey snorted.

Upon hearing his cuddle buddy, Leatherhead's attention shifted to him. He sat up, pulling the turtle with him.

"Good morning, Michelangelo," He said, voice gravelly and low.

" 'Mornin, Leatherhead!" The turtle responded, pointedly ignoring the feeling that arose at the gator's voice. (Seriously, how did he not know sooner? He spent so many mornings with him!)