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When they returned home after dropping April off, Michelangelo had been planning on catching up on some video games. Being human and turtle back and forth for the past few hours had drained more energy than he thought. He just wanted to chill out and relax.
But they hadn’t even cleared the living room before Donatello had clamped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Meet me in my lab.”
“Aw, Dude, we just got home. I wanted to—“
“ Now .”
Raphael gave a low whistle through his teeth, “Ooo, you’re in trouble now.”
Donatello unsheathed his bo and smacked his older brother over the head.
“Ow! Geez, touché, Donatello.”
Michelangelo was getting the same vibes though. One bad thing about having three brothers. If you were the youngest, like he was, your older siblings definitely held more authority and they learned a long time ago how to wield it.
Leonardo’s was expected.
Raphael’s was rare but when it happened, you paid attention.
Donatello’s was…frightening.
But it wasn’t like he exactly had anywhere to go or hide. So, Michelangelo trudged into his brother’s lab, settling on one of the clear spaces by his workbench as his brother closed the door behind him.
His older brother’s muscles were tense. Pinched. He was angry. Michelangelo had known that from the second they got in the van. All the same, the youngest turtle still winced and scooted back when Donatello marched over, stood right in front of him and put his hands on his hips.
“Uh…yeah, compadre?”
When Donatello spoke, it was in Japanese. Their first language. “Hamato Michelangelo, I don’t know if I want to hug you, scream at you or give your behind a few swats.”
Wincing, the younger said, “Uh, I’d be okay with the first—“
“What were you thinking?! Do you think I run all these tests and do all this research because I’m bored? I do it to keep all of you alive! I told you those cookies were dangerous!”
“You tell me a lot of things are dangerous, amigo.”
“And I’m right almost every single time, aren’t I?” He folded his arms. When Michelangelo didn’t answer, he added, “ Aren’t I, Michelangelo?”
“…you do got a pretty good track record.”
“So, why?” He clasped his sibling’s cheeks in his hands and forced him to look up. “You aren’t stupid, Michelangelo. Impulsive, yes but not stupid.”
“Uh…” the surfer turtle stammered, “Can I have my face back, Dude?”
“No. I know you’re listening to me this way. Now answer.”
How could he answer? A lot of things had gone through Michelangelo’s head when he opted to take the risk. None which he thought would please his older brother.
“Like you said, Donatello. I’m impulsive. Wouldn’t you call that impulsive?”
“No.” He did release his sibling’s face and Michelangelo immediately rubbed at his chin. “No. Impulsive would have been tossing one in your mouth immediately. What you did—preparing clothes, leaving a note, waiting until we were otherwise occupied. You were anything but impulsive.”
Well, he kinda had him there. Michelangelo dug his toe into the lab floor and was suddenly very interested in looking at his hands.
“Michelangelo, you scared me. You scared all of us. If we hadn’t found you in time, that antimutagen would have killed you. Do you understand that?”
“Well, we didn’t know that when I decided to…”
“Which is why I said to wait and let analyze it!” Donatello paced a bit, shaking his head. “But you just couldn’t help it, could you?”
Biting his lower lip, Michelangelo offered. “You know how much I love the human world, Dude.”
“Yeah, I do. But even you usually wouldn’t take such a risk. You’d complain about waiting but you’d wait. So why?”
Why indeed. Why had he? They’d had a pretty disastrous battle against BeBop and Rocksteady and just the night before he’d failed—despite his best efforts—to perfect the latest fighting move. All his brothers took to it like water. But for some reason, the flip-kick-stance eluded him.
He hadn’t spoken to Kala in months. Comic Con was in full swing but even in that atmosphere, it was too risky to go. Not with all the mutant issues lately. They were checking masks now.
And every battle…it seemed all he did was get in the way. No victories because of him. More like in spite of him…
“I guess…I was hoping I’d make a better human than a turtle.” Michelangelo finally settled on, eyes still diverted down.
Quiet. The kind of awkward quiet that meant someone didn’t know what to say. The kind that meant judgement. That meant…
Michelangelo jiggled his leg.
A hand found his chin, tilted it up but it was gentle. And the brown eyes of his brother were no longer filled with anger but with a desire to understand.
“What do you mean you hoped you’d be a better human than a turtle?”
“I…you…I’m not as good as the rest of you guys, Donatello!”
Shock colored the genius’ face. “Not as good?”
“Yeah! I’m not. I don’t have Raphael’s strength or his attitude—“
“Thank goodness for small favors—“
“I can’t lead like Leonardo and I’m not a master ninja like him. No matter how hard I try. My stupid brain doesn’t work that way and if it doesn’t, my body won’t.” He paused. Looked right into his brother’s eyes. As if they were all that existed in the world. “And I’m never gonna be smart like you. I thought…I might have a better chance as a human.”
“Michelangelo…how long have you had thoughts like this?”
A shrug. “They come and go, compadre. In a pretty bad rut right now.”
“How long have you had them at all?”
Michelangelo stopped, genuinely thought. “Age ten, maybe? Maybe a little before. I mean, I’ve grown up with you guys. How awesome you guys are is always right in my face.”
“Little Brother,” the use of the familiar term was not missed by the younger turtle. Donatello usually spoke pretty formally, no matter what language so when he dropped the “o” from ototo, making it more intimate, he noticed. “You have your own strengths. Just because they aren’t like ours, doesn’t mean they aren’t important.”
“Yeah…they aren’t any good at all.”
“Now you hold it right there. I won’t be hearing any of that, am I clear?”
Michelangelo yelped a bit at the tone.
“You’re the one that notices the little details we overlook. You’re the one who can read people like a book. You’re the one who has a connection to your spiritual side that I doubt I will ever fully understand. You have skills on ninjitsu that Sensei couldn’t teach you because they’re natural. They come to you like breathing. But most importantly, you know how important it is for people to know they’re loved. That they’re valued. You give light back to us when we’re at our lowest.”
Donatello paused, knelt and pushed his forehead against his brother’s. If that wasn’t surprise enough, a low churr came from Donatello’s throat and chest.
How long had it been since he did that with any of his brothers?
“And we obviously failed in that area because the fact you don’t know you’re valued and treasured and loved…that is a huge flaw on us as brothers.”
Michelangelo sat there, trying to process, trying to get a handle on the lump threatening his throat. No, no, don’t…
Wait, why didn’t he want to cry? This was his brother
Do any of them become a blabbering mess? That dark voice was back. The one that loved to replay all his mistakes on a repeating loop.
“I guess,” Donatello was still speaking. “We figure that it’s so obvious to us how important you are that we forget you need to hear it. We need to get better at remembering that.”
Donatello’s hands clasped his cheeks, gently and lifted his face. Their foreheads still touching, Donatello said, “Hamato Michelangelo. You are valued. You are loved. You are irreplaceable.”
That dark voice went silent.
In a flurry of tears and sobs, Michelangelo broke. He wept, tears staining his mask and face. He wept out all the uncertainties he was always careful to keep pressed down.
He cried like a baby.
Donatello pulled him tight into his chest and Michelangelo tucked his head under his brother’s neck. The inventor’s arms held him tight and a moment after, he planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be alright. We love you, little brother. You’re Michelangelo and that’s something no other family in the world is blessed with. You’re valued and you’re loved.”
Michelangelo tightened his grip on his brother and his tears ran down Donatello’s plastron.
The purple banded turtle frowned, rubbed his sibling’s head, kissed him again. How had they missed this? Missed so much self doubt?
Because their brother was always the one lifting them up.
Well, it was time they did some lifting for once.
Donatello kissed his brother a third time and said, “You are valued and loved, Michelangelo. And we’ll keep saying that until you believe it.”