Chapter 23: Choices

Warning: foul language and character death in this chapter. If you're unsure about this, then don't read. The descriptions are vague but might still be triggering.

Faster, faster, faster. Casey is running up the stairs in front of me. I'd let him get in front of me so he could lead the way. He knows this place better than I do, he must have walked these stairs a million times over. I thought I'd be able to step in his footsteps, get upstairs just a few seconds faster, but even though Casey is fast, he's also clumsy. He's broad guy, a little tall even, and, thanks to his work-outs, very strong. But for all of that he isn't agile or sure-footed. Raph used to have the same trouble coordinating his body when he hit puberty, but with our training he learned more control. Casey obviously never had training like that, because when in the PD's, all they care about is with how many hits you can knock a guy out. There is no finesse in his movements at all and it is costing us precious seconds.

Finally we've reached the right floor. I can see the apartment, the only one which doesn't have a door anymore, and I push Casey aside, sprinting towards it as fast as I can. What I see, I can hardly believe.

Three people: a woman cowering in the doorframe that leads towards, what I suppose, is a bedroom. A middle-aged man, slightly overweight but still standing tall, in the middle of the living room at gunpoint. Mikey, looking smaller and younger than I've seen him in a long time, holding a gun in a shaking hand. His other is tightly clenching the jacket he is wearing. His eyes meet mine, the moment he notices that I'm behind him, and pain, fear and helplessness are gently flowing down his cheeks.

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Things were hard, so incredibly hard. When I was young and mom had left us, dad old me that he needed me. That we had to work together to keep the twins safe and happy. He said that I had to watch out for them. He asked me if I could do that. I had promised I could, if he promised that he would help me out. To seal the deal, he gave me the promise-ring he originally gave to mom for their marriage. Up till I was 10 I wore it around my neck on a chain. I stopped wearing it the moment I knew that mom wasn't ever coming back and that it wasn't someone who was keeping her away either. It was her choice. I still kept the ring though, it's under my pillow. Just to remind me of dad's promise.

We did fine without mom. Whenever we were out, I kept a watchful eye on Raph and Donnie, and in turn, dad watched out over me. When we were at home, all three of us helped dad with the chores, so he wouldn't have to do everything the moment he came home from work. And the elderly woman who lived next to us for 12 years, until she eventually passed away, never minded playing babysitter. We did fine, absolutely fine. But we couldn't keep it up the moment dad got worse. And that's when everything became so incredibly hard.

Raph and Donnie are with dad at the hospital right now. If everything goes well, he only has to stay for another week. Then he can come back home for a while and we'll hear when he gets his next radiation therapy. The doctors say they're positive about his prognosis. Apparently he's reacting well to all the treatments.

I have a hard time convincing myself of it though. I know intestinal cancer mostly affects the organs and bodily functions inside the body, but I've never seen my dad look like this before from the outside. I don't think I ever noticed the wrinkles on his forehead and along his eyes. I don't think I've ever noticed his thinning hair or how it's getting grey at the top. I don't think I've ever known how much it would hurt to see him sitting down half-way during a training, asking me to demonstrate the kicks because he has grown tired. I don't think I'd ever expected what it would feel like to see your father losing weight and muscle and basically wasting away in a hospital bed.

But I have to be strong for Donnie and Raph. I don't want them to have to worry about the money the treatment is costing us, or how I'm sometimes skipping school to make sure the house gets cleaned and groceries are bought. And then there's Mikey.

He has stopped smuggling alcohol into the house, and I think he quit all together taking illegal drugs. He has been chewing a lot of gum lately, but according to Don it helps him with the addiction, so I let him for now. Especially since he doesn't blow any bubbles anymore. There is a reason Raph is walking around with a buzz cut for a while now, even though he doesn't want to admit what happened to anyone. According to Donnie it was priceless.

What Mikey hasn't stopped with though is talking with his 'imaginary friend' and running off whenever he feels things get too much for him. He comes back before dark, he always does, and he apologizes most of the time. But none of that does anything against the worrying, especially on Don's side. I suppose Mikey needs a psychologist but after the hospital visit he had, we know we can't do things like that without thinking it through.

His mom had to pick him up, because we aren't even relatives of his. When she finally showed up, luckily she let Mikey come back with us as soon as we left the place, but it still scared Donnie. He doesn't want Mikey to be taken by child-protective-services and even though I think it'd be best for Mikey, I don't think it'd be best for Donnie. It might be selfish of us, but for now I choose Donnie's wellbeing over Mikey's. Especially after what happened the last time Don lost his childhood friend.

I have to talk about all of this to dad at some point though, because I'm not sure how long we can do this anymore. This is going way over our heads and at the moment all attention should be going to dad. If it wasn't for Mikey, I'd be at the hospital with Donnie and Raph right now.

I look over to Mikey, who is in the kitchen cooking up some pasta. He likes cooking, especially Italian dishes. I can't say any of us mind his new-found hobby, he's really good at it. He glances towards me over his shoulder. I think he felt my eyes on him. He's still a bit jumpy at times, a little nervous. He's better about us not being in his line of sight all the time, but he doesn't like being touched unexpectedly or to be watched behind his back.

"Leo?" he asks.

"Hmhm."

"Can I go to the hospital with you tonight?"

The questions surprises me. We haven't taken him yet. I didn't know he wanted to. We never figured he would want to. Ever since we've taken him in he's been very quiet and very polite. He doesn't really socialize with any of us unless it's just one of us, and we usually have to instigate. He never comes to us. He does spent a lot of time in Donnie's room, even if my little brother isn't there. Mikey still sleeps there, on a mattress on the ground. Sure, he's around, he makes his presence known, but besides that he lives like a spider on the wall.

And we were absolutely fine with that. With everything that's going on with dad getting sick, we've come to see Mikey as nothing more than a housemate, I guess. He isn't part of the family, and therefore he isn't part of the family drama that we are going through right now.

On the other hand, the first weeks he's been here, Mikey has been closest to our father. He's talked a lot to sensei, even meditated a little with him occasionally. Actually, Don had noticed that the meditating helped improve his mental state a bit, at least before father was hospitalized. Ever since then he's been more spaced out. He says he's meeting a friend, but besides that we don't know much. He can move, but mentally he isn't there. He hardly reacts to us. It's like someone else is behind the wheel, while Mikey checks out for a minute.

"Of course you can, Mikey. Master Splinter would like to see you too, I bet."

Mikey nods, turns around back to his sauce, but there's a tension in his shoulders.

"Did Master Splinter say that?"

I thought the conversation would be over with that. Mikey doesn't talk much and especially not when he's cooking. It's his own personal time.

"What do you mean?" I ask a little distractedly.

"Did Master Splinter say he wanted to see me?"

I sigh. I know the implication behind that question. I know the respect Mikey has for my father.

"Not in so many words. But he's been asking about you. He wants to know how you've been."

He doesn't turn around, but he stops stirring his sauce, his arms finding their way down until they are hanging limply by his side. His head follows the same way down.

"What did you tell him?" He asks, like he already knows the answer.

The truth, of course. I don't lie to my father, and neither do Raph and Donnie. At least, Raph doesn't do it anymore. Not since he's quit the Purple Dragons. Lying, even little white lies, only tear families apart.

"I've told him you're doing worse since he's been undergoing treatments."

Mikey takes a sharp inhale; it shudders at the end. He's getting upset. We know the signs. Mikey doesn't openly show his upset. He's hardly cried ever since we've taken him in, and only God knows what the boy's been through these last couple of years. His body does react in little ways though, when he's on the verge of breaking down.

"Mikey, can you turn off the stove for a second?"

He does, but other than that he remains where he is.

"Come on Mikey, move over here, sit down with me. What's gotten into you all of the sudden? Why do you want to go to the hospital?"

He almost drags himself over to the table. When I knew him when he was young, he'd been a very expressive child, and in a way he still is. Maybe not vocally, or emotionally, but definitely in his body language.

When he sits down, he doesn't answer for a long time. He stares at the top of the table for a little, once or twice he lets his gaze drift over back towards the stove. I don't push him. He'll talk when he's figured himself out. He just needs to find out what to say.

"Did I make Master Splinter sick?"

What?

"You-you can't give a person cancer Mikey, it isn't contagious. And you aren't sick so.."

But Mikey shakes his head. Not what he means then.

"I mean, did I stress him out, so that he became sick. That's a thing right? When people have a lot to take care off, they get stressed out, and they get sick. It can be that I did that, right? I didn't mean it but it could. And now you guys are even more stressed so maybe I shou-."

"You are not leaving," I tell him sternly. "You are staying here with us so we can keep an eye on you."

Mike never believed we want to take care of him. He still doesn't want to believe it I think. So we just turn it into something that he can believe. That we don't trust him out there on his own, which, secretly, I don't, given the state we found him in.

Mikey sighs, and looks at the stove from where he's seated at the dinner table.

"Look, Master Splinter would love to have you come visit him, okay? He cares about you and maybe seeing him will get you back on the right track. Unless, of course, you are okay trying some therapy too?"

The look in his eyes, when they divert from the kitchen utensils and meet mine, desperate and fearful, gives all the answers I need. Oh well, I've tried. Donnie and I really do think he'd benefit from some therapy though, since his problem sounds pretty much like a mental illness of some sorts. If only we could get him to at least try seeing a professional about it.

"Okay, it's okay, we won't make you go. I promise. But can't you talk to us about it instead? We are worried about you Mikey, and it hurts seeing you crawl back into your shell again, especially after the progress you've already made. Just… talk to us instead of staring at the kitchen appliances like they're the holy grail."

Like a whip, Mikey's head snaps back, meeting my gaze with a faint blush.

"Look, I got a deal for you," I say. I don't want to bribe him into talking to me, but everything else we've tried so far hasn't worked. Dad told me I had to be patient, to let him open up in his own time, but I've been patient for months now and he's only getting worse.

"If you talk to me now, I'll bring you to the hospital tonight. I promise that I won't tell anyone about what you say here. And you don't have to tell me everything immediately. Start with something you feel comfortable with but just… start. Okay?"

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't advert his eyes either. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and starts chewing. I know his hands are twisting into his shirt beneath the table. He always does that.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," I repeat again.

"Not even Master Splinter?"

"No."

"Or Donnie or Raph?"

"No and no. I don't break promises, you know that."

"Will it make Master Splinter proud?'

"Yes."

A little more lip-chewing, a little more shirt-twisting before…

"Alright."

That day he told me everything that was going on inside his head. It was the first time I heard about Richi and the, in my opinion, unhealthy relationship Mikey shared with him. Apparently this thing was a lot more than just an imaginary friend. It also was the day I realised that maybe our family was in over our heads taking this broken boy in. I couldn't fathom how a kid as young as Mikey could live a life so horrific he would actually make up a 'twin' to protect him from it all.

That evening, after I had send Mikey out to buy a chamomile tea from the Starbucks downstairs, I asked my father for help. Dad has always had a hard time falling asleep without chamomile tea, so it was the perfect excuse to have some time alone with him.

"Father, I need to talk to you about something quick," I start, leaning forward in the uncomfortable bedside chair to ease my back pain some. "Mikey told me something… disturbing today. I can't go into any details, I promised him I wouldn't, but I'm really worried. I mean, I know his body has gone through a lot with the drugs and the alcohol but… I think he's even worse off mentally. And I think it's getting worse."

I can see dad is tired. He calmly, a little too slowly, reaches for the remote by his bed and allows the back of his bed to push him into a more upright position. He is breathing deeply and I wonder if he is hurting. There are lines along his face and I know he worries constantly. Not about the cancer, not about his own health or even his own life, but about us. He worries about me not being able to handle being the head of the family and taking care of the twins. He worries about Donnie closing himself off and about Raph walking down the wrong path again. He even worries about Mikey, and all this worrying is taking a toll on him.

I sigh long and deeply, and can't help but press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the pressure there and soothing the headache building behind my eyes.

"What can I do, father? Mike needs a doctor, we can't help him with this. He doesn't even trust us."

That's when my dad smiles this gentle smile he always smiles when he looks at us, his sons. I've caught him smiling like that at his students once or twice as well, but I know he has a soft spot for the children in his classes.

"Leonardo, he does trust you. Do you remember the boy you and Raphael took home with you? He wouldn't speak. He would feel fear if one of us came too close to him. He has worked through that ever since. He speaks to us, he even dares to ask us questions. He cooks for us, not only because he enjoys it, but because he is grateful for us. He has given up his addictions for us and now he has opened up to you. This boy does trust you, Leonardo, and you mustn't break that trust. I fear it will break more inside that boy than just his heart."

As always father is right, but this time his faith in my capabilities doesn't ease my worries.

"But what can I do for him? I'm not a psychologist, we can't even give him a stable environment to live in, now that you are unwell. And if the police find out we're keeping him in our home… what if you are charged for kidnapping? What if something happens to you or Donnie or Raph? We can't do this dad, not right now! We have too much going on already. Why did he have to choose us?"

I know I shouldn't stress my father out. I know I shouldn't let my emotions go like this, not at this moment. I need to be strong for him, not shout at him. But of course, dad understands, and knows what to say to me.

"You can do this, Leonardo."

Because of course he sees right through me, and knows that whenever I say 'we', I actually mean 'me'.

"He has not chosen you, you have chosen him. It was Raphael who protected him when they were children and it was Donatello who went after him to learn his name. It was his family who send him away, and it was you boys who offered him a bed twice when he was attacked by his brother. I understand the trials you are facing with this boy, Leonardo, but you wouldn't have done what you did if you weren't willing to face them. Don't let your doubts cloud your mind. You and your brothers are what is best for this boy. He knows that, and I hope you feel that as well."

I didn't feel it, but that changed when minutes later Mikey and I stood in the parking lot.

"Leo?"

Always our names first. Always. Never would he just ask a question out of the blue. He calls our names, then, after we give him the green light, he asks his questions. Sometimes it's one, sometimes it's dozens and we talk for hours. He does that with Donnie mostly. But still, it always starts with our names, like a question of it being okay to speak up. I don't like it.

"Yes, Mikey?

"Did you talk to Master Splinter about me?

There is no use in lying to him, but I don't want him to think that I broke my promise.

"I did. I didn't tell him about what you told me, but I told him I'm worried about you. What is going on in your head isn't your fault, Mikey, but I do think we need to address it. There are doctors who can help you with this."

Mikey doesn't react, but he does walk around the car over to where I stand. He stops a few feet in front of me.

"Do you want me?"

Steady voice, straight posture, shoulders squared. He isn't tall, but he is trying to look like he is.

"Do you want me in your house? I can leave."

"No," I tell him, before I can even think about it. "No."

And before I know it I have my arms around him, pulling him into our very first hug. It's a bad one, with layers upon layers of uncertainty and pain between us. But at that moment, I know what my father means. I did choose this kid. We all did. And damn it if I'd ever let him go.

"No. Don't leave."

I would repeat that sentence a hundred times over, every time he felt afraid or stressed and would run away, trying to find Richi and peace. And I or Donnie or Raph would hug him and tell him to not leave. And with each hug, the layers between us would slowly peel away, one by one.

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To see him like this again, makes me want to hug him again, to tell him 'no' and to 'not leave'. There is no murderous bone inside that boy's body, I know that. But I also know people can pull a trigger when they don't mean to, when they're stressed, afraid or under pressure. And as far as I can see, Mikey is all three.

Judging by how casual the man, Mikey's father I suppose, is standing there, the safety switch is still on. That's good. That means I can still talk Mikey out of this.

"Mikey."

It isn't me who calls out his name. Casey steps up from besides me, casually strolling over towards his brother who doesn't really seem to appreciate his presence at all. I'm not sure if the frown on his face is meant for me, that he blames me for bringing Casey here, or if he's just conflicted about his brother anyway and doesn't want to lose the eye-contact we have.

As for Casey, it actually scares me how much he and this man in front of us look alike right now. Not only in their way of handling this situation, with seemingly carelessness and disinterest, almost reckless, but also in their body postures. Strong and self-assured in a way no one should feel right now. I've seen the calculating look in the man's eyes, and I know how crafty Casey can be in getting the upper hand in the blink of an eye. They know situations like this, they've been in here before. And that gives them the advantage.

"You're shitting me right now, are ya?" Casey smirks.

This isn't what Raph had planned. Well, as far as there was a plan anyway. I was supposed to talk Mikey out of it. Casey was going along to play the muscle and focus on Mikey's father and maybe their mother. I was supposed to help Mikey. But I'm not. I'm just standing here.

Another step, and Casey is next to his younger brother. Mikey's eyes are trained on Casey, but the gun is still directed towards his father. His white-knuckled grip tells me he isn't planning on letting the weapon go without a fight.

"C'mon little bro, give me that and get out of here. You aren't fit for this life, you never were."

Mikey takes a deep breath. His breathing shudders slightly but… his shoulders relax.

"You ain't got the guts to go spilling his, and orange definitely ain't your colour. In the past you didn't follow after me to jail either, now did ya? You went with them."

Casey cocks his head towards me, Mikey glancing in my direction as well for just a moment. I offer him a smile and though I'm not sure he sees it, his lips do curve upwards a little. And even though I wanted to step in initially, when I finally got myself to move in the first place, I'm not. Because this isn't something Mikey specifically needs, but it's definitely something Casey needs to tell him.

"Went to school and shit, even though I worked so hard to get you out. Now I'll be damned but you're not taking off after me, even if stopping you is the last thing I do. You ain't a killer, brother."

I'm unsure what surprises me more. This almost heartfelt confession from Casey, which I believe carries more than just a note of sincerity along, or Mikey's reaction to it.

"Well that's where you're wrong, Case," he says, and the smirk that plays along his lips looks strange with the tear tracks still framing his features.

He bends his arm, the one holding the gun, so he can look at the weapon in his hand. The man behind me still doesn't move, still doesn't look even remotely interested or relieved. But the calculated look in his eyes fades now that the weapon is taken off of him. I hope he is right in letting his guard down and that Mikey won't do something he regrets.

"Orange is totally my colour. I mean, you should see my room sometime. I love orange."

Another smile plays on his lips, this time one that doesn't look estranged with the tears on his cheeks and the broken look in his eyes. He pushes the gun in Casey's hand and takes a small step backwards, closer to the door. Closer towards me.

It happens within seconds. Bang. Bang. Bang. I reach out and grasp Mikey's shirt between my fingers, pulling him back and pressing him close to my chest as if that somehow would protect him from the bullets that aren't being shot in our direction. Mikey's mom screams, Casey roars and seconds later it's all quiet again. But it won't be for long. Neighbours will have heard.

"What did you do?!"

Mikey wrenches himself loose, ripping the gun out of his brother's hands as if it will make a difference. On the floor the man who never was a father to Mikey, yet provided him his life, is bleeding from two bullet holes to the chest and another to the head. He's dead.

Casey ignores his younger brother, turning to me instead.

"I stole the gun from your house. Mikey let me in because I wanted to talk to him. While I was there, I stole the gun from your dad's old room. Mikey figured out what I was on to and followed me after I left. He called you and you went with him. You were too late, capiche?"

I can hardly process it all, and strangely enough, the one question that keeps rotating through my mind is: how does Casey know that my dad's gun is kept in his old room? I try to ignore it, I try to figure out what Casey wants from me but there's a man dead on the floor in front of me, a terrified woman crying in a corner, a traumatized boy breaking down in front of me, and a murderer watching me, calm radiating from him, asking me to understand.

It's 25 minutes later, that I finally do. That's the moment the police comes running into the apartment. Though we've heard several neighbours moving about, none dared to come close to the kicked-down door.

I'm not sure what else has happened in the time it took for the cops to get here, but Mikey is in my arms again, and we're both kneeling on the floor. Casey is on the floor too, sitting against the wall farthest away from the front door, stoically watching the man he killed bleeding over the carpet. Mikey's mom had disappeared into the room which doorframe she'd been hiding against when everything happened. She came back with a bottle of pills she's now still holding loosely in her hands. I'm not sure about the others, but I don't feel the need to take the bottle from her. I don't know this lady well, but I do know that Mikey is more important to me. And really, he needs me the most right now.

Mike is honestly crying right now, in a way I haven't seen him cry in a very long time, if ever. He's been at it for quite some time now and he isn't even quieting down. I think I'm supposed to say something to him, but I'm not sure what. I'm not even sure why he is so upset. Because his father is dead? Because it wasn't him who killed the man? Because he regrets what he had to do, or what he had planned to do? Or just because everything is finally catching up to him, and he can't handle it all at once? But then again, all I can think about is when I broke down when we found the dojo burned down. How all I felt was falling and how good it felt to have Mikey and my brothers holding me up. So I return the favour.

An officer comes closer, holding a gun at us, which should have scared me more than it did, before spotting Casey and keeping him at gunpoint instead. In a matter of seconds he assesses the situation, working Casey down towards the ground while two other officers separate me from Mikey.

"It was me, I shot him," Casey tries to explain as he is cuffed and walked out of the house. Mikey inches closer to me, is pulled away again by an officer, and I remember the plan Casey practically spelled out for me.

"He shot him," I say. "He did it."

An officer walks over to Mikey and Casey's mom. He's gentler with her. The grip on my arm is painful. Her pill bottle is taken away from her and she is helped up. They walk her out before Mikey and I are pushed out and onto the walkway after her. I slow, so Mikey is walking in front of me. He stumbles several times, whimpers a couple of times more, and I can't help but worry more about him than the police car we're urged into.

They don't cuff us. They allow us to sit next to one another. Do they believe Casey's story? What is this going to mean for us? What will happen to Mikey? And worse, what will happen to Donnie and Raph? If I wasn't this drained, this tired, I'd probably freak out.

If you liked it, please follow, favourite and review :)

Hey Athese, baby sis, this one was for you! I kinda didn't have any inspiration until I read your review not so long ago. And guess what, I smashed this baby out in a jiffy. I hope you liked it, even though it wasn't what you had envisioned at all. I especially hope you don't mind Mikey not killing his father, my poor heart just couldn't handle that.

Next will be chapters focussed more on Donnie and Raph. This was Leo's.

See ya all soon!