Brotherly Bonds

They Pick You

"Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them, they pick you."

-John Irving

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Deep beneath the streets of New York city in an old, unused portion of the subway, an olive green teenager tossed and turned, tangling himself in his sheets. His forehead and neck were drenched by a thin sheet of cold sweat. He grimaced and whined, sucked back into a world that was damp and dark. Cold, alone, apocalyptic.

Everything was grey. He was alone. No, no, no! Where are they? His brothers, his friends, his father? All gone? Where were they?! Ah!

He was cornered by Footbots. They were everywhere, all around him. But these all looked different. They were bigger, more heavy-duty, dangerous. There was no way he'd be able to take them all.

Suddenly a dark figure swept in front of him and started taking them out. He watched in wonder as the figure twisted and turned, slashing them down and throwing them around with a pair of nunchucks. No, it couldn't be—

All the bots fell, and the figure jumped back into the shadows.

"I can't believe it. You actually came back."

Came back? What was that supposed to mean? And why did Mikey's voice sound so strange? It was older, deeper. He didn't sound like Mikey anymore.

Donnie flinched as 'Michelangelo' emerged from the shadows. Mikey—his arm—he was—but how? What?

He tossed and turned in his bed, a low whine leaving his lips. Sheets tightened around his neck, strangling him. He couldn't breathe. Brothers! His brothers! No!

He cried out in pain as he saw Leo struck down by a mind-controlled Karai. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks as Raph charged and fell beside their older sibling. No, no, please!

"MIKEY!"

The sheets tightened even more. He twisted and turned, desperately trying to free himself.

No! He had to get to his brothers! He had to save them, he had to—

He awoke with a start, shooting up in bed, tearing the sheets off of him and away from his neck. Panting wildly for breath, he couldn't stop shaking. A pathetic whimper left his lips and he curled up into a ball, pulling his knees in towards his plastron.

The creaking of the door opening made him jump. The figure outlined in the doorway was a familiar one, not the strange one from his dream, but the real one. Don jumped off the bed and tore across the room. He clung to his brother for dear life. "Mikey!"

Such an enthusiastic welcome stunned Michelangelo for a few moments, but he soon smiled and returned the hug with fervor. "Gee, Don, yur acting like you haven't seen me in days!" Then he noticed the tear trails on his brother's cheeks, his face softened and settled into a worried frown. "Donnie, you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Mikey stepped out of the hug and saw the way that Donnie's face fell. He put a hand on Donnie's shoulder. "Doesn't look that way to me."

"I said I'm fine, Michelangelo!" He snapped.

The youngest turtle straightened. "Fine, then you won't be needing me to bother you anymore!" He turned to leave, but Donnie called him back almost immediately and wrapped him in a desperate backwards hug.

"No, don't leave." Don begged, pulling his younger sibling tighter. "Please don't leave."

Mikey pouted. "I'm not stupid, Donnie." He murmured.