A little darker (and a lot different) than what I usually write, but after some encouragement from a certain baby sis (yes I'm looking at you Athese psst psst) I decided to post it after all.

Beta'ed by Athese: thank you baby sis, your advise was great and necessary.

Disclaimer: I don't own the turtle's and no money is being made from this writing.

Journey to the Center of Mikey's Mind

He has walked this path many times.

He walked it after Chris Bradford had betrayed him, after their first fight with Shredder, after they had taken down the Technodrome, after he was almost drowned by the Squirrelnoids.

He walked it when his brothers had been attacked by the giant wasp and when Slash had hurt them all.

He had walked it time and time again when he was alone in Dimension X, when Leatherhead returned scarred and when Splinter had been mind-controlled by the Ratking.

He walked it often after the invasion and even more frequently after his spiritual quest because he didn't want to lose contact with his special place, even if he was a ninja master now.

He went there after every single mission in which either he or his brothers weren't expected to make it through. Now he walked it as his father's spirit was prepared to leave his body for good.

He is in so much pain. He knows his brothers and all of his friends are too. And yet he can't believe that any of them feel the pain he feels. Because if it wasn't for his place, for his beautiful place he will walk the path towards time and time again, he would collapse and not get up again.

How his brothers do it, he doesn't know. He supposes they have their own comforts, their own refuges. He wishes they could all share one, together. But his brothers have closed themselves off mentally long ago, so he keeps steadily on walking, towards his first stop to his most beautiful place.

It was cloudy over the city. Not heavy, dark-grey clouds that spell rain (after all, the news said no rain was predicted for today), but no 'fluffy' white clouds either, that sometimes let sunshine through. It's a light grey quilt, so thick you wonder when it will come falling down on top of you. Yet it stays afloat, like it is held up by the tall skyscrapers he usually would be perched on top of. Not today though. Today he doesn't have to hide. Today he can walk the streets of New York City out in the open.

It's windy, but not cold. It's grey, but not dark. And it's daylight, but no people are roaming the streets. He is on his own in the empty city, standing in the middle of what is supposed to be a busy road, looking through the windows of closed stores. Though it may seem surprising that he can be here during the day (when is New York ever empty of people?), he has been here many times before. And always on his own. It's the first stop on his path.

He doesn't like it, though he supposes he should. It's always been a dream of his to walk topside, down in the streets, no fear of being judged or being attacked, and especially to enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine on his skin. But there is no sunshine now, and the air just seems stale to him. If it wasn't what he'd expected from it from the beginning, he probably would have felt disappointed. He isn't though, because even in his mindscape, he would never pretend he could actually be a part of the topside world.

He knows the city will never welcome him or his brothers, and he knows that his brothers will never want to be part of a world that doesn't want them in it. But he can't help it that he keeps coming back here in his mind. This place, closest to reality, this place that keeps reminding him he shouldn't be here. This place he'd give a lot, but not everything (never everything), for to be a part of.

Could he create people here? Could he make the sun come out? Probably, but he won't. It would hurt too much to make this place like his beautiful special place. This place is too close to the real New York. And when he returns from his journey and from his special place, he doesn't want to be reminded of all that he can't do.

So he walks here, alone. He won't make this place any more beautiful than it truly is. And the truth? He won't ever be accepted here. The only way to roam this city is either on rooftops, stealthily avoiding being seen, or like this, when the city is empty and cold. There are no other ways, no matter how hard he dreams. And he refuses to believe there ever will be.

The city is grey, the people are gone and the shops are closed. The sun is hidden by clouds and the windows of the buildings, rising tall and high above him, seem to have taken on the disapproving looks their owners and builders would've sent his way if they'd been there.

New York City: the place he'll always yearn for, but will forever be his greatest enemy.

It was dark, very dark. He couldn't see his hand in front of his eyes, or the damp concrete he feels underneath his feet. He knows where he is though. He knows the smell. Penetrant, acidic, but at the same time musky, and heavy of a decay past decay.

The first couple of breaths always make him want to gag as they burn down his throat and unsettle his stomach. Soon though, he gets used to the nasty odour that, besides smelling like the defilement humans leave behind, also reminds him of home and family, which'll be his third stop.

A place to take of his mask, put down his weapons and discard his fears. Home is the only place he truly feels safe enough to embark down to his deepest secrets. A world so wonderful, he doesn't believe it actually exists, except for when he is there. The path towards that world, must be walked first though. And this is his second stop, kind of like the yard of the front door of his house.

The air is warm, steamy, against his skin, but not pleasantly so. Even his turtle instincts, that tell him he should enjoy the heat and humidity of it, know he should avoid this dank and oppressive air that is attacking his immune system with unseen bacteria.

It is contaminated and impure, yet it is a shield that keeps most dangers away from the special home it protects. It's these walls that keep unwanted visitors out. It's this smell and the unclean air that keep the special special family of five safe from the humans who live above.

His footing is sure, despite his blindness, but his ears are on alert for every sound. The rushing of water behind the slippery walls he can't see, but knows are there. The distant rumbling behind yet another wall, that passes every seven minutes in rush-hour. The calm drip, drip, drip, of water drops falling into water that is for sure not just water. He doesn't want to think about that.

He ignores the sounds, for they are regular background noises of this place. His ears are peeled for sounds that don't belong to that background, for all of this certainly reminds him of home, but he knows, in fact, that he is not there yet.

Along these walls that keep his home safe, danger still lurks. The walls are strong, but not sturdy. Not all humans are put off by the smell or the air, and they come down here despite both. No one can see him or his family when they do, so he will be ever vigilant.

It makes him feel terrible whenever the humans come down here though, even if he is aware of their presence and takes the proper cation. How would the humans feel when their walls are breached without their permission? Wouldn't they feel unsafe? Violated? Like they are under attack?

He supposes so, which is after all the reason why he and his family stay down here in the first place. Humans will fear them, will feel like their precious world is being invaded by a species that isn't human, a species that might be stronger than they are.

So the family stays here, fortifying their walls, still in danger, but at least on home turf. They have lived here his entire childhood, first his world not more than the walls of the lair. Then his vision not reaching further than the sewer walls and down the subway tunnels. Only at fifteen did their father allow them to expand their worlds further yet again, to that of an entire city above ground.

They will always return there though, to keep their true home safe. To keep their family safe and together. If the humans breach their walls, they need to protect what is dear to them, strengthen their defenses and pray the humans won't return.

This place is the sewers: a labyrinth between him and the world; to protect him, but also to keep him in his place. The safety it brings will keep him down here, never to navigate his world topside the way he wishes he could, for he always has to return after his nights out.

Family. That's where he is now, at Family. There is light here, because Donatello brought that to them. Sometimes there are blackouts, but never for long, because Don makes sure the light will return to their family as quickly as he can. And even during those blackouts, there is light being held up by them. Candles are everywhere, cell phone torchlights blind their eyes on occasion, and when in the right spot, the tree will allow light from up above to shine down on them.

Though this is the only place in their home with natural light, he favours this place the least. The rugs underneath his feet feel ragged and worn, but soft all the same. The training mats they've managed to scavenge have been well-preserved by the layers and layers of rugs they laid over them. They provide a firm, safe surface to fall on when training.

His family is not here, but he can imagine Splinter standing in the middle of their makeshift dojo, looking around the small but spacious room to watch over his sons.

Leonardo, serious and focused, swinging his katana around with grace, certainty, and above all else, deadly precision. The kata he practises is advanced, modified by Splinter to help Leonardo counter the unexpected. According to the ninja master his oldest son relies to much on his practised, memorised forms.

Raphael, fire and energy through each and every strike against the dummy in front of him, has nothing of the grace or focus Leonardo showcases. But his swings nevertheless show accuracy and certainty. Raphael knows where to place his blows, how to hit, and how to remain standing strong. He is ready for the next attack, even when the momentum of the dummy causes the energy he puts into every strike, to turn around against him.

Donatello, gentler than Raphael, less determined than Leonardo, has his own advantages working for him. Despite his gangly appearance, he is fast and fluid. As he throws the shuriken, he doesn't hesitate, and doesn't lose energy by putting more kinetic energy into his throws than strictly necessary. He knows shuriken are light but sharp and with the right precision they are as deadly as can be. There is no reason to throw with power. Where Leonardo has the determination and form, Raphael has the power and energy, Donatello has stealth and precision.

But what about Michelangelo? When he sees Splinter looking towards him, the smile on his face seems to diminish slightly. There is love in the rat's eyes, and an eternal fondness. But none of the trust, respect and pride his brothers are given is ever directed towards him. He cannot please his father in this single room, he cannot compare to his older brothers.

This is the Dojo, this is Family: where his father makes his brothers stronger and faster, a place where he can measure up his worth. Eventually though, his worth will not measure up enough, and he'll be left behind. This will be the place that drives their family apart when his brothers decide he is nothing but a liability.

The next stop is nearby, and infinitely better. Some of his happiest and earliest memories are of this place. This is the place where he used to take his brothers with him, all the way down the path, to his magic world. They would just sit down on the concrete floor, close their eyes, and let their youngest brother guide them to a world of true wonders.

They loved his special place as much as he still does, even though they could not see, feel, smell, experience, the way he experiences it. But he could tell them all about it, and when they were little, that was enough. Those were the days in which he didn't even have to walk a path necessarily. He could just jump straight in, no stops required, and pull his brothers along as far as they could go.

Now they never come with him anymore, and it saddens him. But he understands. Little boys have to grow up, and leave Imagination behind. If it wasn't for him being able to still go there, to experience his most sacred, beautiful place, he wouldn't have believed it existed anymore either, he thinks.

But that isn't the case. He can still go there and he still wants to. Even when he has to walk down a path that is becoming longer and longer. Even though he has to make stops he doesn't actually want to make. His special world is worth all of it.

For now, he is here though, in a place that means Brotherhood to him. His brothers have not left him behind yet, the way he fears they will when he is in the Dojo. They still meet him at this place for relaxation and entertainment. For sharing what little they have, and giving with all their hearts.

He is seated on a concrete floor, but it doesn't feel uncomfortably cold underneath him. His back is rested against green, muscled legs, supporting him. There is plenty of room on the benches, but he likes the position he is now, and is too contented to move.

His brothers are here, even though he cannot see them. He knows they are behind him. He is not alone anymore. That is what he likes about Brotherhood. In all the other stops he is alone, the places are empty, and they leave him feeling empty. But not here, not so close to the best place of all. This place is still protected and sacred.

He remembered when he was young and sleeping spaces were scarce. He and his brothers had outgrown their sleeping boxes but they hadn't outgrown their tendencies to explore beyond their boundaries. That's why Splinter still kept them in the pit, so he would know where his sons were at all times and more importantly, to keep them safe.

If they tried, they probably could've climbed out, but they never really did. Their father's stern warning, combined with the visible obstacle that were the benches, kept the turtles in their makeshift playpen up until around age four or five.

He doesn't really remember when Splinter returned with the mattress, but he does remember his first time sleeping on it. Splinter had wrapped them up in blankets, and formed a fort around his sons with pillows of all sizes and colours to keep them from falling off.

Even after all these years, he can't help but compare supportive mattresses, fluffy blankets and soft pillows to the clouds he traced with a puggy finger in their children's books. It was his very first experience with true, human comfort.

He wasn't the only one with whom the memory had stuck. On very special occasions, on occasions of illness, of nightmares, of fear, they would have a sleepover in the pit again. First they would share two mattresses together, then four as they grew even bigger. But that didn't stop them from building their nests, and lining them up with pillows and blankets they could grab and position in any way they liked.

The moment the brothers started going topside, sleep-overs became even more frequent instead of less, though not as frequent as his trips down the path.

He admits that sometimes it is a hassle, dragging over mattresses, looking through closets for blankets that might be older than they are, and enough pillows to create a nest soft enough to satisfy them. But the benefits outweigh the effort they put in. They always sleep through the night, they always feel calm, collected and reassured afterwards, and after a night sharing a nest, they reinforce the bonds of their Brotherhood.

Yes, lots of good things happen when his brothers are around. And he has many treasured memories of spending time with them all over the lair, all through the sewers, and even topside. But no place ever made him feel as safe and loved as the pit did. Nothing ever made him feel as much a part of something as sleeping in the pit did.

This is Brotherhood, and here he still has a place. He is accepted here for all his flaws and all his shortcomings. But the Dojo is only one closed door away, and he fears for when the disappointment of the Dojo, the disappointment of his father, will leak into his Brotherhood, and make his family abandon him.

Eventually he can stand up. He does so gingerly, slowly, and when he looks over his shoulder, he notices how his brother have left. This is where he'll be alone again, ever since his brothers decided they were too old to share his place with him.

He walks over to the bedrooms, and picks his own door. Instead of the tiny room, filled with action figures, comic books, empty pizza boxes and his souvenirs from topside, he stands on a floor made of checkered white and black tiles. There are no walls here and there is no ceiling. There are only red curtains, and one, small, crooked door.

Leonardo had told him that this was the place they had met his personalities. To him, this place is empty though. He has never met the figures his oldest brother had told him about, but he would have loved to meet them. They sounded like awesome dudes. Maybe the next time he comes here he'll see them. Maybe.

He walks over to the crooked door. "Pizza," he whispers.

He created the password when his brothers told him to stop being so childish, to stop coming to this place that has soothed him since toddlerhood. He became angry, decided that his brothers didn't deserve this world anymore, and created a password to keep them out. He once asked himself why he didn't pick a password more secure, one his brothers would never guess. He decided he didn't like the answer.

The door falls open to welcome him. He allows the white light to embrace him, take him into its arms and carry him into a world where he can let go of everything that holds him down.

There are no humans who want to hunt him down, no evil that wants him and his family dead. There is no filth here, to make him sick or wrinkle his nose in disgust. There is no father here to look down on him in disappointment, no brothers to yell at him or make him feel bad, even when they don't mean it. There is no one he needs to pretend for. He can let go.

"You see the world in a way no one else does."

"In this place, you're the king!"

"You don't have to be afraid of them anymore, Mikey."

This is the place where he can fly, feel truly weightless and let something, or someone, else carry him for a while. It's the place of colours and joy and nature. The place where rules don't exist and laws aren't to be abided by. It's the place of childlike innocence, of magic crackling through the air, of dreams coming true and of a single thought or hope to be enough to change reality for the better.

Here he can be focussed like Leonardo, strong like Raphael and intelligent like Donatello. Here his father is proud of him, and his friends never bully him. Here his enemies are his allies, here everyone lives in great harmony. There is acceptance, love and happiness.

It's the place Hamato Michelangelo loves the most of all.

His Imagination: where he can hide when reality becomes too much. Where he can make the world to his own image and where he, for a little while, can be the best he always wished to be.

He embraces his father. There are no tears in his eyes, just a wide smile on his face. There is no reason for tears in this world. When he looks into his father's eyes, he knows his sensei will wait for him, for when he returns to this place.

He wonders if he should add his brothers to this world, just to be sure. He doesn't want to miss them, may they ever leave him too. Then he decides against it. Imagination is a place for the people he cannot have in his life. His brothers are still out there, they still love him and they still want to be with him. He'll add them the moment any of that changes.

"Mikey."

There they are.

"Mikey?"

Time to leave.

"Michelangelo."

No time to track back along the path. He has to go now.

Baby blue eyes open against the white light that floods past the crack of his bedroom door. Blankets are pooled around his legs, his shell leans uncomfortably against the concrete wall. Leonardo, eyes red from crying, face weary from worry and his body slumped from grief, stands in his doorway.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice tight.

Michelangelo nods. "I am now."

"Don't get lost in your head too much Mikey, you know how we feel about that. Your family needs you here, okay? I need you here."

"Yes Leo," he answers dutifully. No, Leo, is what he means.

A long, deep sigh from his blue-banded brother. He must've heard what Mikey meant. He comes over towards the bed and sits down defeatedly.

"I know it gives you comfort and I'd be the worst brother if I took that away from you at times like this, but…"

Always the 'but'. If he wasn't so down, he would have laughed at the word 'but'. But he won't now, because he knows the 'but'. But they don't want him to go there all the time because according to them, it isn't healthy.

They've been there when they had their adventure in space and they didn't like it. They worried about his inner self being just a little boy. They want him to change, they want him to be strong. And Michelangelo knows that they want him to lessen their pain.

They want him to be strong enough to survive this world alone, but at the same time they want him to be the clown that chases away dark clouds when they gather. They want him to be the spirit of the family, the light, and they want him to keep shining bright even when he doesn't have his family anymore to protect him.

And that all without his special little world. They don't understand.

"I know, Leo," he admits, biting his lip doubtfully.

"Leo?" He then asks, despite the doubt. "Do you still believe in Imagination?"

Years upon years of fear of the unknown, responsibility over his brothers while just a boy himself, and seeing things that would scar men older than him, have Leonardo shake his head.

"When I was younger. Now there are a lot of things I don't believe in anymore, including your little fantasy world."

Mikey knows his brother doesn't mean it. He's just working himself into a funk. Who wouldn't after… after everything? He gets why his brother is upset, but Mikey is upset too.

And doesn't that matter? It used to matter to his brothers. It mattered even more to his father. Why won't they cure his hurt the way they used to? Why must they add to it?

"But you've been there, Leo, you've seen it. Wasn't it cool? Like, don't you just love that throne, and the skate-whale with Mondo, and the magi-."

"Magic doesn't exist, Mikey. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone!"

Silence, Leonardo's heavy breathing. No wait, it is his own. He tries not to cry. He doesn't know why this makes him so upset. He knows magic is real, he knows that. He's seen it. And Leo doesn't mean this, he doesn't. And his papa isn't really dead...

This is just so stupid! This all isn't real. It's this whole situation that isn't REAL. Why did he have to leave Imagination? Everything was so good there.

"Sorry, Mikey, I didn't mean that."

Right, see? Leo didn't mean it. See? Het takes his words back, you were right all along.

And yet it changes nothing.

Leonardo tries to reach out, drops his hand instead.

As if by unspoken agreement, both brothers get up. Leonardo allows his little brother to leave the room first, and follows him back into the living room.

He moves back into Brotherhood, while all Michelangelo wants to be right now is not be a part of Brotherhood, but to be all Michelangelo.

Maybe he'll get to walk the path again the next time. The next time someone gets hurt, the next time they have to fight against the odds, the next time he's scared beyond words.

He wonders if the path will lengthen again. It's been getting longer and longer ever since his fifteenth mutation day. He refuses to think what will happen when the path gets too long for him to travel. He doesn't even allow the thought of what his world will look like without Imagination.

He walks out, back into Brotherhood, and uses the strength he has build up during his walk down the path. They'll get through this. He'll get through this. And when he returns, Imagination will still be out there. Everything will be fine, everything will be alright.

But in his mind, a city gets a little darker, a little emptier, and windows on buildings start to break.

Sewer tunnels start to narrow, multiply, and lengthen, the entire system becoming more complicated, like a maze. Manholes, the pathways towards topside, start to disappear.

The dojo loses the warm light and the leaves of the tree start to wither. There is no old rat watching over his beloved sons anymore.

The pit falls into darkness and the brothers leave. The television shows static, the door towards the kitchen disappears. The bedroom doors lock.

And deep down in his mind, in the safest place imaginable, a little seven-year-old, blue-eyed, freckled turtle, starts to age. A mask wraps around his face and obscures him from the world. Weapons materialize in his hands, and scars, visible and invisible, edge themselves into his green skin.

When Michelangelo leads his leader towards his other two brothers, he can't bring up a smile.

Please review and make the author feel loved. Also, tell me what you think because this is so totally new for me, I'm still a little doubtful about it.