Chapter Text
Michelangelo watched on as Uno continued to take the small, tentative and awkward steps to explore the nursery. These steps were the first of many in the little guy’s life, and Michelangelo couldn’t help but smile that he was there to witness them. After everything, the deaths, the destruction, the hurt—it was nice to be a part of something new.
Sure, Uno’s motor skills had progressed faster than anticipated, outright scaring Michelangelo at the sudden agility the tot began to display. In the back of his mind, Michelangelo was already aging rapidly at the thought that soon this little troublemaker would be able to run around the lair by himself. Was this how his father felt all those years ago?
His mind was suddenly alerted to the present, and Michelangelo was able to catch Uno in time after the guy had tripped over his own legs. With a chirp, Uno wrestled away from Mike’s hold, a small pout of annoyance at having to be saved. He looked up at Michelangelo with a boastful expression and a shine in his eyes before walking off again. Uno’s beak soon scrunched up in concentration, and with every few steps he would look back at Mike to make sure that his grunkle was watching.
When Uno was sure he had Mike’s full attention, the tot returned to the task at hand to show off that he was a walking prodigy. The kiddo was oddly confident, Mike thought, for a toddler who had only just learned the act of walking itself barely a half hour prior. Uno kept attempting to take bolder, longer strides, but found himself having to be caught by Michelangelo’s hand every time he went off balance—which was quite often.
Mike absentmindedly took a glance at the clock before doing a double take, balking at the time as his brow ridges raised at the numbers that read 9:42. He really needed to put Uno back to bed. The tyke was supposed to be already sleeping alongside his siblings, but Uno decided that tonight was the night he was going to give Michelangelo a heart attack by slipping out of the nursery bed and walking on his hind legs for the first time without aid.
As if on cue, Uno let out a little yawn, audibly sounding like a little squeak. The old turtle let out an amused sigh, walking the three paces it took to close their gap and picked up the drowsy child. Uno let out sounds of protest from being interrupted, but was quickly placated when he felt soothing circles on his shell. A familiar lullaby was being hummed, and Uno was about to surrender to sleep for the night when he heard rustling from the entranceway of the lair.
Uno’s head immediately perked up, recognizing the noise of Casey-Marie returning home from patrol. As if he had forgotten about being sleep-laden in the first place, Uno squirmed around to look at the open arch of the nursery. The moment Casey’s head popped in, Uno reached out with his hands in a grabbing motion to garner her attention. Casey’s eyes widened in an obvious surprise, but nonetheless reached out in kind, and Uno transferred himself to her hold. The tyke snuggled up against the crook of Casey’s neck, taking in the scent of the urban topside.
“Welcome back. You smell like petrichor, was it raining?” Michelangelo asked in a whisper. Casey sniffed the back of her wrist, wondering how on Earth he could have even smelled that. It wasn’t like she was rolling around in the dirt, or anything.
“Hey Sensei, it literally started to pour on my way back,” Casey answered in the same hushed tone. “What’s Uno still doing up?”
“He decided to show off some new moves he just acquired,” Michelangelo said. After taking in Casey’s confused expression for a second or two, he continued, “Uno started walking today.”
With a gasp and a beaming smile, Casey’s eyes brightened instantly as she looked down at the toddler in her arms. Her eyes flitted up as she met Mike’s gaze once more. “Really?”
“Really,” Michelangelo replied with a nod.
Casey’s smile widened and she gave Uno a small squeeze. “My little champion,” she cooed, rubbing the back of Uno’s head. It didn’t take long before the toddler’s breathing soon evened out as he began to doze off. If Michelangelo was jealous at how quickly Casey could get the kids to sleep, he wouldn’t be caught ever admitting it. April had the same talent, and Michelangelo had long told himself it had something to do with body warmth.
“Did the kids get mutated by some form of advanced mutagen or something?” Michelangelo jokingly chuckled. “They’re growing way too fast.”
Mike then could have sworn he heard a strange hum from Casey, but the sound was too quiet for him to be completely sure.
“When do you think the others will walk?”
“Who can say?” Michelangelo said with a shrug.
“What katas can the little ones do?” Casey asked. The question pierced the air in a way Mike did not expect. The question seemed innocent enough, and his answer should have been simple—but the underlying implication elicited a chill that ran up his spine. She couldn’t be suggesting... they were way too young.
Michelangelo frowned. “What are you saying?”
Casey tilted her head. “I mean, it’s obvious they can’t do any of the advanced stuff, but like, surely there’s some child friendly katas they can do.”
“Child friendly—what, are you saying... you want to train them? Now?” There was an edge to his voice, something that Casey picked up on as she cleared her throat nervously. Michelangelo kept a steady gaze on Casey as he processed her words. He just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Uno just learned how to walk, and Casey was already thinking about training?
“Yeah? I mean, not right now, but when the others can walk! The sooner they learn, the more experience they can—” Casey was immediately cut off as Michelangelo strode over faster than she expected, hands already in position to lift Uno from her hold. Finding the action odd, but not wanting to go against her sensei, Casey only gave Michelangelo an arched eyebrow as she allowed Uno to be taken from her.
The transition was fast and smooth, and surprisingly, the tot was still sleeping soundly. Michelangelo brought Uno over to the nursery bed and tucked the tyke in, making sure not to disturb the other children. He gave Uno one final brushing pat on the tot’s head before turning his attention back to Casey. Then, in almost a blur, Michelangelo grabbed Casey by the shoulder, leading her out towards the kitchen.
“Sensei?”
Michelangelo didn’t bother to answer, his silence causing the tension in the air to grow heavy. Once in the kitchen, Michelangelo finally let her shoulder go, signaling for her to either take a seat at the table or stay where she stood. He made his way towards the center of the room, pacing back and forth to gather his thoughts. Casey only stood and stared, rubbing at her shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but Casey could still feel the phantom grip as if it was still there.
“Why do you want to train them?” Michelangelo finally asked. His voice was low but clear.
“I mean,” Casey said as she straightened her posture. “They’re going to have to learn how to fight eventually, right?”
Michelangelo let out a sigh. “Learn to defend themselves? Sure, but why do you want to start them so early?”
Casey blinked. “Because kids absorb things quicker, yeah?”
“No, but isn’t this pushing it? Babies don’t need to train.”
“They can handle it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Don’t worry, Sensei. I made sure that they’re strong enough—” Casey stopped herself the second she saw the look on her sensei’s face.
Michelangelo’s eyes were dark, a quiet expression etched into his features. An emotion that Casey had never seen on her master before.
“Casey. What do you mean by you made sure?”
Somehow, Casey knew that if she answered, nothing would ever be the same again. “Nevermind, Sensei, just speaking nonsense and messing up my words. What can you do, you know? Oh would you look at the time, I should head off to bed.”
She turned around in an attempt to make her escape, but was stopped by Michelangelo’s voice. “Casey-Marie Jones. Tell me this instant on what you meant.”
Casey faced Michelangelo again but kept her mouth shut. All of her instincts told her that it was imperative that her sensei didn’t know, that he didn’t find out. But Casey herself didn’t know why.
“Casey. Did you mutate the kids yourself?”
She nodded.
And the other shoe finally dropped.
Michelangelo let out a strangled breath, his brow ridges furrowed as he put a hand on his forehead. “Oh, Casey…” he said with a shaky voice. Deep down, he always had an inkling that this was the case. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
The fact that Michelangelo never bothered asking before today was self confirmation that he always knew. He just didn’t want to accept the truth. How could he? Instead, he made excuses for himself and by extension, made excuses for Casey. He chose to hold onto theories like she had rescued them from a lab, or found them near a pet store covered in mutagen. But realistically, what were the chances she would just come by four mutated baby turtles by coincidence?
He should have known. No, he did know. But he had just refused to see the truth for what it was. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think that Casey would do something like that. To his family. To him.
It was no secret that a life as a mutant was more trouble than it was worth. Nothing good came from their lives as warriors. They had to deal with all the losses that came at their doorstep because they dared to simply exist in a world not meant for them. After everything that had happened to his family, the back and forth of revenge was finally at a standstill. He put an end to it. And yet, here Casey was, fanning the flames to start a cycle anew.
“How could you?” Michelangelo’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“I don’t understand,” Casey said. “How could I what?”
“Why would you mutate them? Bring them purposefully into this world?”
“Because we need them.”
“Need?” Michelangelo asked. What did she mean? A small hope fluttered in his chest. Perhaps needing them for what they were? Children to care for? Did he misjudge her? “Need them for what?”
“We need their help.” The remaining hope was dashed. There he went again, making excuses for Casey-Marie. “Help in making things right again.”
His eyes glowered. You mean you need them to fight. “No, we don’t.”
Casey’s head jerked in reaction to his words. “What do you mean, Sensei?” she asked as she raised her hands to the lair’s exit, before gesticulating to the world above their heads. “Have you seen what’s going on?”
“The war is over.”
“And yet here we are, reeling from the aftermath. The world is still in bad shape, Sensei. But the kids can help. They can make the world better.”
“Why can’t they just be kids, Case?”
“And they will be! They just will also know how to help others. To do that, they need to be prepared, which means we need to train them!”
“So you want to turn them into weapons? Child soldiers?”
His words took her aback. It was now Casey’s turn to frown. “What? That’s excessive, wouldn’t you say?”
“But that’s what your goal is, isn’t it?” Michelangelo said with what could only be described as a snarl. “You want to turn them into little fighting machines that follow your every word. Have them at your beck and call?”
“Sensei, where is all of this coming from?” she sputtered, her eyes widened at the accusation.
“Where is this coming from?” Michelangelo let out a sharp laugh. “I lived this life, Case. And you’re turning them into a copy of my family.”
The room became silent once more.
“But isn’t that a good thing?” Casey finally asked.
Michelangelo’s blood ran cold. “What?” he asked her through gritted teeth.
Casey let out a breath. “Come on, Sensei. Both you and I know the world would have been worse off without your family. Your family were heroes. You are a hero. They can be heroes.”
Michelangelo barked out another laugh. There was nothing amusing about this conversation, but how else was he supposed to react to such ludicrous notions? “Heroes? Raphael rushed a Foot camp by himself and died for his troubles.”
He took a step closer to Casey, a lump now forming in his throat as he felt his voice growing louder.
“Your father and Leonardo played hero and died in an explosion, not to mention your mother lost an arm and a leg for her efforts.”
The scowl on Casey’s face deepened. Was that a cut too deep? At this point, Michelangelo could hardly care. He took another step towards her. Casey didn’t move from her position, her expressions were now probably mirroring his, no doubt.
Casey started to speak, “You can’t just say that about—”
But Michelangelo raised his voice over hers, “Donatello spent his last dying breath protecting a man that let a blood feud cloud his judgment.” The sound of contempt was practically dripping from his words. “And I—”
He was now right in front of Casey, looking down at her dead in the eyes. He pointed a thumb at himself, his voice quiet and low once more. “I’m no fucking hero.”
Michelangelo then walked past her to exit the kitchen. “Neither are you. And neither will the kids. Not ever. Not if I have anything to do about it.”
It took Casey a few seconds before she was able to fully register what his words meant. She turned around immediately to follow him.
“Sensei, what are you saying?”
“I’m taking the kids,” he told her. “And if you know what’s good for you Casey-Marie, don’t mutate any more children.”
“You can’t just leave—”
“But I can.”
Casey grabbed his wrist, stopping Michelangelo in his tracks. “What if I don’t want you to go?”
Him, or the children?
“I don’t want to make a scene, so your best option is to let me go. I don’t want to fight you either, Case.”
“You said that we’re a...” her words trailed off. Michelangelo just wanted her to say the word. Family. He had previously said they were a family. When she had shown him the children for the first time, that was what he had said. Why was she having such difficulty saying the word? Was it because she didn’t know how he would react, or that it conflicted with her own views?
When Michelangelo realized Casey wasn’t going to move or let him go, he tore himself from her grip. She continued to stand there, contemplating her words and options. And then she rushed him.
If he was anybody else, Michelangelo would have gotten successfully ambushed. So good thing he was Michelangelo. He turned around to deflect her strike just in time, deploying an attack of his own on a pressure point. Her body fell and Mike was able to catch her, slowly laying her down on the floor.
“At least now I know you’re willing to fight to keep us together,” Michelangelo said. He chose to think of it as a good thing. Already making an excuse to forgive her? He pushed the thought down. No, of course not, he told himself.
“Please don’t go,” Casey forced herself to whisper through the paralysis. Her sensei said nothing as he got up to walk away.
Michelangelo was a fast packer, taking only the essentials. With practiced ease, he took the four sleeping baby turtles and carried them comfortably on his person in a sling.
He left just in time to hear April’s voice from the hallway, “Case? Mikey? I heard some noises? Are you two alright?” A pause. “Casey!”
And he was gone.