Chapter Text
If you were to ask Michelangelo what the meaning of peace was, he would say,
“Peace is hope.”
He would smile as he said it, like he was sharing a private joke. Occasionally, to those with especially troubled spirits his gaze would sometimes shift, softening to shoot sad and sympathetic looks—A look resembling one a grandmother might give when telling her about a bad day. Around the shelter, he was well-known for his smiles: small but enough to encourage. If he couldn’t do much, he’d do something small.
It’s what he lived doing—well, what he had lived doing. Until Dee had passed, that was. It had been their daily affirmation between them, finding each other at random times just for a quick conversation about things: “Brotherly bonding!” as he would have called it back then. Even if the conversation was just about how long food would last or how many members they had lost within the month. But now, he could see it for what it had been: no longer clouded by the delusion of optimism. They’d sought out comfort the same way they all had done when they were still growing tots, never realizing they had never grown out of it.
It was almost funny to think about now, looking back at it. He was desperate. Who’d have thought that even in the final moments of Don’s life he tried to cling to him? “Not I,” said the turtle.
He bleakly remembered pleading with Donnie not to leave, standing in front of him and crying at his feet only to be pulled away by an heartbroken Leo. He had tried to keep him there forcefully with his mystics, wrapping his chains around Don’s body and loudly refusing to let go. In the end though, his efforts had been in vain. The next thing he knew he was being put to sleep by a tranq he hadn’t felt prick his skin, fading out of consciousness with Leo whispering quiet muddled apologies in his tympanum.
Donnie’s solo mission had been successful—of course it had. He had used himself as a distraction, buying barely enough time for the Eastbound shelter to retreat through the underpasses before their base had been invaded by Krang. Leo had apologized profusely, over and over, but Mikey didn’t want to hear it. He probably never would.
A year after Donatello's death, he began noticing some subtle changes in his own behavior. He found himself getting angry over small mistakes. One time it had been as small as a misplaced pin. A single. Pin. Yet it felt like the world to him, causing him to spasm for six minutes straight (he’d counted), and by the time he’d cooled off his dresser had been flipped and his ninpo was spiraling. That had been the first major sign he’d noticed about himself.
His glances became less and less soft, replaced by a harder, determined look recognized as one Leo wore. No one could tell what he thought anymore. His smile had molted into a constant frown, turning moods sour at a single glance. He noticeably spoke less.
He’d found himself moping about in the quiet and commonly deserted area of their base, only really speaking to Casey, Leo, Todd, and a few other resistance members who’d noticed his change in demeanor. He’d stopped tending to the little bit of foliage he’d collected in his bedroom, only still alive by a healing spell he performed on them constantly. He remembered sitting on his bed, watching as his Higanbanas and once golden colored Chrysanthemums slowly withered away in their soiled cup.
So much had changed.
If you were to ask Michelangelo what the meaning of peace was, he would say,
“Peace is only something in your mind. You create it for yourself, around yourself.”
He’d begun to speak in a stone-faced, monotone voice, but still made sure to keep an quiet tenderness in his tone. He didn’t know why he wasn’t acting the same anymore. He felt like a dove with clipped wings; still beautiful, but lacking the grace it once carried.
Despite his flaws, he’d tried to be reassuring, spread some of the remnants of his decaying hope to the people who needed it. He knew his close friends and family may take his new personality the wrong way, the once optimistic ray of sunshine now nothing but a quiet shell of what he used to be; hollowed out by the horrors he’d witnessed and the lives lost under his watch.
Lives he’d failed to save.
“Peace is achievable, you just have to believe.”
“Think positive, trick yourself into feeling satisfied.”
“Lie to yourself.”
He said what they wanted to hear him say. He’d even begun to feel better afterwards, knowing his light hearted lies could heal a hurting soul. Someone suffering who’d came for guidance. His guidance. It made his heart swell with affection. He shoved down his hurt, forming all of the want to be tears into the sweet sound of reassurance from a raspy voice gone raw years of screaming. Irreversible damage had been done, that was true. But he’d have to live with it. He’d keep going. He kept going. For the people's sake. For his family. What about him?
His will to die never went away, but he never ever showed it. It remained hidden, buried with the rest of the pent up anguish and suppressed emotions he'd gathered over the years. After all, what would the resistance think if their pillar of hope was found next to a suicide note and a gun? He couldn’t bear thinking about the reactions, or having to burden Leo with the already overwhelming amount of stress he went through. He couldn’t picture a 14 year old Casey having to learn that one of his few remaining uncles gave up on him when he needed him the most.
He couldn’t.
So he didn’t.
That didn’t stop others, though. He tried so hard to make their suffering worthwhile, even if it wasn’t much. But, despite his efforts, suicide rates had kept rising. No matter how many people came to him, it was never enough. How many times had he sought someone out, only to find they’d hung themselves in the underpasses? Or shot themselves in the midst of battle, clutching a dying or dead loved one, deciding there was nothing left to fight for?
…
He didn’t want to think about it.
That type of behavior was as normal as it could be to someone like him. (he didn’t want to think about it.)
If you were to ask Michelangelo what the meaning of peace was, he would say,
“There is no such thing."
August 17, 2044
Smoke filled the air, clogging his lungs with the stench of blood and grime. His arms trembled, but he barely noticed it compared to the pure surge of adrenaline that shot through his veins. He gasped, whirling around just in time to see an infected charging at him and screeching uncontrollably. He floated up out of reach, sending a flaming chain at the zombie-like entity and setting it aflame. It screamed, muffled out by the sounds of nearby explosions. He brought it to his knees, still simmering the pulsing pink flesh encasing it and leaving blood creeping from the muscle deep burn wound.
A familiar chime rang through the air, briefly drawing his attention to the flashing blue comm on his forearm. His lungs burned even more; not just from the smoke, but also from the hours of unrelenting fighting. Every movement felt heavier, his muscles had begun burning as he forced them to keep going. He tore his eyes away from the blinking tech, catching the sight of a massive Krang drone crashing down a few miles away. An explosion rang right after, directing his attention to the sound and to two distant but painfully familiar figures running up a mound of gravel and ash.
“Fuck!” He swore to himself, whirling around as the snarl of a Krang hound rang out below him.
He manifested a small explosive spell, shooting it out at the growing mass of dogs below and watching as their bodies exploded and flew through the air. Their flesh twisted and writhed, reverting back to their original form; a pink and slithering mass that embedded itself into the ground and out of sight.
If this had been an average mission, he would have scoured the ground for at least a miles radius and singed every piece of tainted flesh near the surface. However, this was not an average mission. The way things were going the odds were this would be their final battle, and his brother needed him. A grumble from the ground behind him snapped him back into reality, seeing the looming shadow casted above him. He gasped as a bright beam of crimson light hit him, looking up and directly facing a Krang-bot who stared down at him with an open mouth. It whirred, growling metallically and charging up for the finishing blast. He quickly misty stepped, just barely disappearing quick enough to keep his life intact. He reappeared with an orange flash, just a few feet away from Leo and Casey. He’d moved just fast enough that only his cape was caught in the blast, singeing the edges and his shell burned from the slight scorch that died out.
The short-lived invisibility afterwards proved to be very effective, allowing him to catch up to his retreating brother without being spotted. He caught up quickly, watching from behind as Leo collapsed on his knees with Casey supporting him. This only made themselves unguarded as the Krang hounds leaped, open mouthed and ready to kill-
“ Bad doggies!” He roared, flinging a fiery chain at them. He knocked them away easily, hearing the weary but amused voice of Leo behind him.
“Impeccable timing, little brother. Very dramatic.”
He summoned more chains, creating a swirling sphere-like design around himself as his invisibility wore out and revealed his floating form. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his mystics fully ignite. He shot out chains, piercing the hearts of all of the approaching Krang hounds and exploding them from the inside out. A blast of blinding orange light swirled around them, a brief pillar shooting into the sky and illuminating the approaching Krang-droids.
With the closest threat eliminated, he turned his attention to Leo and Casey, hovering in front of them. Casey looked at him, a pleading desperation showing on his face.
“Help him, Michelangelo. He’s hurt, bad.”
Leo groaned in pain, moving his hand away from his side to inspect the blood on it. He stared for a second or so before looking up at his environment. Creeping forward were masses of Krang operated droids, their pace slow but steady. The largest one powered up, blasting a beam and disintegrating a line of resistance members; both dead and alive. Explosions rang off in the distance, signifying more destruction to the already irreversible damage done to the world.
A flicker of emotions passed through Leo’s eyes, something he knew all too well first hand: Fear, sadness, anger, hatred. The most he could see in those sea blue depths, though, was helplessness. He dreaded the words that would come out of his mouth next, but he also knew deep down that what he’d say would most likely be true. No matter how much he wanted to deny it.
“That’s it. The resistance failed. The Krang won. But- but there’s still a ninja's greatest weapon.” Leo smiled, despite it all
“Hope.”
”That,” He turned to Mikey, giving him a tight encouraging smile "and a badass mystic warrior.” His smile faltered, falling away and replaced with a stern expression. He stared hard, narrowing his eyes in pain.
“Mikey, we need a time gateway.”
His heart and stomach sank simultaneously, widening his eyes. He sighed, steeling the fresh anxiety that sprouted in his chest.
“It’ll take everything I have.” He said solemnly, looking down at him.
“I know. But this is our last chance.” He paused, regaining his breath “It’s our only chance.”
He nodded at him, giving a firm hum of agreement. He turned, floating to the open area and rolling up his imaginary sleeves. Behind him, he heard Casey pipe up with weary curiosity.
“Wait, what's going on? Where’s he going?”
“Casey, listen.” Leo said sternly, looking up at his son student
He planted his feet on the ground, readying and widening his stance. He imagined the spell he wanted to be cast, letting his body move from impulse. He twisted, drawing a sparking circle into the dirt and readying his hands. He rubbed them against the air and electricity quickly came to be, tickling the palms of his hands lightly. He held his hands in front of him, releasing all of the restraints he held on his mystics and letting it flow throughout his body.
One final sacrifice.
“The Krang first came to our planet through a mystic doorway.”
Leo reached in his pants pocket, pulling out an old worn photo from long ago. He placed it faced down, picking up a small stone.
“The key that opened the doorway looked like this.” He drew a quick rough sketch, nothing to be called proud of but it was something. He handed him the drawing, watching as Casey took it and inspected it.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Mikey’s about to send you back in time to the day that the key was stolen.”
...
A beat of confused silence passed before Casey registered what was said. Casey widened his eyes, sputtering in shock and confusion.
“Wait- he’s gonna what ?!”
He grunted, his muscles twitching from exhaustion and the overpowering mystics flowing through his veins. He watched as the markings on shoulders flickered to life, glowing brightly in alliance to his overwhelming mystics empowering him. He panted, weary with exhaustion but continuing to push, push, push until orange electricity crackled on and off in front of him. The once pleasant tickle began to burn, hotter and hotter until his fingers felt like they were on fire.
He bit his tongue not to scream, gritting his teeth and straining. Cracks splintered through his fingers, his veins, and through reality. A tear was made in front of him, a small circle of pure tangerine colored light leading into the future. He groaned, steadying his stance as the cracks split up to his wrists, and then to his forearms. The once small tear in reality became larger, now the size of a beach ball.
“The people who stole that key opened the doorway for the Krang. You have to find it before that happens. Find the key, stop the Krang.”
Casey’s face fell.
“But sensei-”
“Say it!”
Leo lurched forward, placing a firm hand on Casey’s shoulder. The look on his face remained firm, afraid, even.
Casey swallowed unsurely, looking down at the photo for a moment then back at Leo.
“Find the key, stop the Krang.”
Leo’s fierce demeanor melted, replaced with satisfaction. He patted Casey’s shoulder gently, nodding. Casey however, was not nearly as satisfied. He wasn’t satisfied at all, to be frank. What was happening? What was he talking about- what was going to happen to Michelangelo?
He shook his head frantically, as if trying to snap himself out of it. Tears filled his gaze, looking at Leo and grabbing onto his prosthetic.
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
Leo smiled and his gaze softened in sympathy. He didn’t want this kid who meant so much to him to see how much this hurt him.
“Casey.. It’s not about me-”
His speech was interrupted by a beam of red light shining down at the pair, looking up at the towering over all of them with an angry whirr of machinery.
“They found us!” Casey cried, flying to his feet and pulling his hockey stick from its place on his back. The chainsaw on the end buzzed to life loudly, nearly drowning out the explosions in the distance. Leo struggled to his feet, swearing under his breath as they were his with another laser from behind. Another droid crawled up, pulling itself over the rubble and shining its light down on them.
“Mikey..!”
Leo said urgently, looking over at Mikey. The cracks had spread up to his elbows now, working their way up his arms. For a moment he was a child again, bawling his eyes out as a thunderstorm rang overhead. He could barely remember it, having been so long ago. From what he did remember he wouldn’t stop crying, begging his papa to console him only to be ignored. That immeasurable fear he’d felt back then — felt too close to how he felt now.
He sighed shakily, deciding right then and there that this was it.
One last sacrifice.
He steeled himself, growling loudly while the cracks reached his shoulders and now the back of his head. Pieces of flesh and skin flaked away, crumbling out of existence in a small burst of orange light. He felt himself crumbling, his hands and body beginning to feel like an inferno. The cracks on the back of his head reached the corners of his eyes and his hands had nearly turned to light from how many cracks there were. He gripped the opening, steadying himself and pulling it open more with a scream.
“Master Michelangelo NO! Your gonna-”
He turned to face Casey, smiling reassuringly at the boy. He did one of the most memorable things to him- the last thing Raph had gave him.
He winked.
He turned back around, smiling with a new reserve as he tore open the portal to its full size. It basked him in light.
His body cracked.
C
R
A
C
K
E
D
And he shattered.
Then
Nothing
But…
If that happened, then..
Why was he standing in modern day NYC, living and breathing as a dead man?