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Becca T
Author of 38 Stories |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle; they belong to Eastman and Laird, Mirage, and related companies. I'm not profiting from their use in this story.
Notes: Boo! Firstly, apologies for my absence: On top of being once again swamped with Uni work, I've had a few personal things to deal with at home, so finding time to write has been tough. But it's the holidays now, so here's a festive little piece.
Yeah, I know, it's been done time and again, but it's been over a year since I wrote anything where Mikey actually speaks in it (can you believe it?) so, I thought I'd try a different style and give Mike his voice back. Please give me feedback on the jumping from first to third person perspective – I'm not sure if I like it or not. Most of all, I hope you enjoy it, and Merry Christmas everyone!
However, being a mutant turtle living in deep in the sewers with my extraordinary family, our Christmas isn't what you'd call average. We decorate as best we can, and make our home look as festive as an underground sewer lair can look. We put a sad little Christmas tree in the corner near the TV-monolith, and a few badly-wrapped presents sit under it. (Heck, turtles with three big fingers and a rat with sharp claws don't exactly make for the world's best present-wrapping team!)
I guess that most people like Christmas Day, but for me, there's something pretty cool about Christmas Eve. It's the day you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because you know that the next day is like the best day of the year. It's probably all that anticipation and expectation and a few other long words that Donny can effortlessly stick into a sentence that make Christmas Eve so cool.
When we were tinier turtles, Christmas Eve was that enchanting day when we kids would willingly go to bed early, because we knew that Santa was going to stop by and make a few deliveries. We'd leave out some cookies and juice, plus a carrot for the reindeer – well, we weren't the best behaved turtles for the rest of the year, so we made sure we earned a few more good points, to get into Santa's good books. Master Splinter always told us that bad children and turtles, if they weren't good throughout the year, well, they'd get nothing more than a lump of coal for Christmas, and we didn't want that, especially since we didn't have a fireplace.
Of course, we turtles grew up, and figured a few things out about the guy who delivers our presents each year. Donny had probably worked it out first, but he kept quiet about it. Same goes for Leo. Raph, on the other hand... well, 'being quiet' isn't really Raph's style.
It was a cold evening, a couple of days before Christmas Day. Four young turtles sat quietly in their lair beneath the streets of New York, patiently amusing themselves whilst awaiting the return of their Sensei, an aging rat who had adopted the four turtles as his own. The youngest was seated on the floor in the living room when his big brother found him. "What you doing?" Raph asked.
"Writing to Santa," Mikey squeaked in his seven-year-old pitch. He turned back to the task at hand.
"Uh-huh?" Raph folded his arms and raised his brow sceptically. "You do know Santa ain't real, right?"
Mikey's red crayon snapped on the page, leaving a nasty line scratched over his work. "Wh-what did you say?" He stammered.
"Santa. Isn't. Real." Raphael knew in the back of his mind that he was being cruel, but still, he knew he was going to briefly enjoy this.
"What are you talking about? Of course Santa's real! He brings us presents for Christmas!"
"Uh, newsflash," Raph began sarcastically. "Splinter does that. Splinter gets the presents, and Splinter wraps them up, and pretends they're from Santa. He even fakes the handwriting on the cards and everything," he added knowingly.
Mikey's lip began to tremble, but after a moment he closed his mouth in defiance. "You won't get no presents now, Raph, coz you don't believe!"
"Ha, you think so? Just watch! Splinter asked me for my Christmas list, and if we're lucky, I'll get it, Santa or no Santa. I'll bet Splinter's asked you to give him that letter tonight, saying he'll post it. Guess what? Splinter's gonna read the letter, see what you want, and get it for you, and then tell ya it's from Santa!"
"Shut up, Raph! Shut up!" Mikey cried, leaping up from his place on the floor. "He's real, no matter what you say! I know he is!"
The commotion had aroused the curiosity of Leo and Donny, who walked through from the kitchen. "What's going on?" Leo questioned, his hands on his hips. He hated disturbances when Splinter was out and he was in charge, and more often than not, he knew he could count on Raphael for causing the disturbance.
"Raph says Santa isn't real," Mikey pouted, pointing at the offending turtle.
Leonardo and Donatello threw each other uneasy glances. "Raph, x-nay on the anta-say isn't-ay eal-ray," Donny whispered loudly.
The three other turtles looked at each other. "Come again?" Raph asked, scratching his head.
"Forget it, you guys," Mikey said defiantly. "I'm going to make sure this letter gets to Santa myself."
There was a brief pause, before, "uh, I think I speak for everyone when I ask, HOW?" Raph enquired.
"I'm going to take it to him," Mikey stated proudly.
"No, Mikey," Leo said, stepping in front of him. He sighed. "Look, I know you want to mail this to Santa, but Master Splinter says we can't leave the lair unless it's a great, big, huge emergency, and whilst he isn't here, I have to be in charge."
"But this is an emergency," Mikey insisted.
"Not the kind Master Splinter is thinking of," Donny put in.
Mikey was about to protest further, before he slowly closed his mouth. "Fine. I'm hungry." With that, he marched into the kitchen and closed the door.
The three remaining turtles looked at each other. "Anyone else here think he gave in too easy?" Donny asked his brothers.
The other two nodded, before Raph broke the silence and suddenly snapped his fingers. "He knows!"
"He knows what?"
"There's a way out of the lair, in the kitchen," Raph explained hurriedly.
"What?" Donny cried in astonishment.
"And how do you know about this way out?" Leo asked suspiciously.
"I, uh, I found it, a couple of years back," Raph faltered. "I'm not big enough to fit through it anymore, but I'll bet Squirt is," he added.
"C'mon," Leo commanded, rushing into the kitchen, his brothers hot on his heels.
Anyway, when I put my mind to something, I can get quite stubborn about it. Almost as stubborn as Raph, and that's saying a lot. When we played hide-and-seek, I'd be so determined to win, I'd crawl into those scary places that no one could find. The only thing that let me down was my inability to keep quiet.
I knew the tunnel that led out of the kitchen quite well by that point. I used it sometimes when we played hide-and-seek, and sometimes I'd go in it when my bros teased me too much, just to get some space. I'd never crawled the whole way through before – I guess my imagination got the better of me that time. But that day, all I wanted to do was to get my letter to Santa, and nothing, not even my loud voice or my wild imagination, was gonna stop me.
Still holding my grubby letter to Santa, I crawled out of the last part of the tunnel and looked around, trying to figure out where I was. I knew Santa lived at the North Pole – at least that's what I remembered from all the things I'd been told about him. I figured out which one was the North Tunnel, and I set off down it. I remember passing under a drain-cover, and I shivered as I heard the wind whistling through the thin gaps in it. It sure was cold that day.
"I'm going after him, I know where the tunnel ends up," Raph declared, turning to the front door.
"No," Leo stated firmly, stopping Raphael in his tracks. "No-one is leaving the lair."
"Well, that ship just sailed," Raph retorted angrily. "Mikey's out there looking for Santa's mailbox!"
"And whose fault is that?" Leo shot back.
"Well, ex-cur-use me for telling the truth!" Raph yelled.
"Uh, guys?" Donny said quietly. "Not helping."
"Donny's right," Leo agreed, lowering his tone.
"Okay, so what are we gonna do, fearless leader?" Raphael enquired heatedly.
"Wait for Master Splinter to come back," Leo said decisively. He anticipated that his brother was about to protest, and so he spoke first. "No buts, Raph. Master Splinter knows the sewers better than us, and he can find Mikey quicker than us. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," Raph grumbled, folding his arms and plonking himself down on the floor to wait.
Even though I hadn't given up yet, at the time I had this feeling deep in my gut that I was chasing a lost cause. I didn't believe Raph for a minute, but Santa sure lived a long way away. I knew that the North Pole was a long way away, and that you had to cross some water to get to it. Guess I was thinking of a river, not an entire ocean.
Still, you know me: when I put my mind to something, nothing stops me. Especially when it's to prove Raph wrong. So, I got up, gritted my teeth, and kept walking.
He was about fifteen minutes away from the lair when familiar feelings of unease began to course through his veins, and he was on a subconscious alert. Unintentionally, he quickened his pace back to the lair, wondering whether he was being paranoid. But no, he knew in the back of his mind that his sixth sense was, unfortunately, never wrong.
The moment he entered through the front door, and noted that only three turtles stood ready to greet him, Splinter saw that his sixth sense was right once again.
"My sons," he began calmly, placing the bag of his hoard upon the table. "Where is Michelangelo?"
Master Splinter knew even before his three sons turned to each other to confer about a possible answer, the family would not be eating dinner on time that night. "Leonardo?" He prompted, knowing that he would hear the most honest and most clear answer from his eldest son. Unfortunately, with this, he would almost certainly hear that one particular turtle was to blame for whatever situation had arisen.
"Well, Master Splinter, Mikey was writing his letter to Santa when Raphael started telling him that Santa wasn't real," Leonardo explained. "Mikey got a bit upset and went into the kitchen, and when we went into the kitchen, he was gone."
Splinter raised an eyebrow. "Gone?"
"Yeah, because Raph told us that there's a tunnel in the kitchen that leads into the sewers," Leo added.
Splinter knew about the tunnel in the kitchen, of course, but he was unaware that the turtles knew of it, too. He regretted not telling them about it, and ruling that it was not to be used. He himself was too large to fit through it, and though he knew where the tunnel led to, he did not know what one might come across on the way. But, he had to focus on the dilemma at present, rather than on a past error.
"Um, Master Splinter, we think Mikey went to mail his letter to Santa, because he took it with him," Donatello said helpfully. "Despite Raphael's convincing argument, Mikey is still adamant that Santa exists."
"Maybe he went north then, cuz Santa lives at the North Pole," Raphael suggested.
"I thought you said Santa doesn't exist," Leonardo reminded his brother pointedly.
"I meant, that's what they say in the story, which Mikey still thinks is true," Raphael said hurriedly.
"Enough," Splinter said, holding up a gnarled paw. "You will all remain here whilst I search for Michelangelo."
"Yes, Master," the three turtles chorused, as Splinter left the lair.
The later it grew, the colder it felt. I tried to stay warm by curling up in a tight ball and wrapping my arms around myself, but it wasn't helping as much as I'd hoped. I was struggling to keep my mouth clamped shut, to stop my teeth from chattering. All of a sudden, I felt so exhausted, like I'd just done five hours straight of training with Master Splinter. I decided I'd sleep a little before I started looking again, but I don't think I got to the end of that thought before my eyes slid shut and I drifted off to the warm land of slumber.
The direction began heading northwards, as his sons had predicted, but before long, it started to meander in a less focused path.
"Oh, my son," Splinter murmured with a sigh. "Where have you gone?"
Splinter had been searching for almost an hour since he picked up Mikey's scent. The more time Splinter spent looking for his son, the more worried he became. His sons had never wandered so far from home before, and they were unaccustomed to the ways of the sewers even near the lair, let alone this far from it. The further he travelled from the lair, the larger the area became for Michelangelo to get lost in.
Splinter stopped in his tracks and snapped himself out of his thoughts when he sensed something ahead. His guard was up and he was ready for anything...
I was still dozing when I heard light footsteps approaching. By the time I got to my teens, I could sleep through anything, probably due to Raph's incessant snoring, and Donny's fondness for embarking on scientific discoveries in the middle of the night. But back then, I was a real light sleeper.
Thing is, at that time, my snooze wasn't a normal sleep. I was cold, so cold that I felt numb. When I woke up, I was confused, like I didn't know what was going on. In my dazed surprise at being awoken and finding myself curled up in the middle of the sewer, and the feeling that I was in danger, I reacted too suddenly. All I can remember was the fierce cold that shot into my body as I plunged into the freezing sewer water.
"Michelangelo!"
The young turtle bobbed along the water, too stupefied to swim to the side. He held his arms up and tried in vain to keep his head above the surface.
With all his strength, Splinter reached over into the water, and grabbed one of the flailing arms of his young son. With one clawed hand pressed against the sewer floor, so as he balance him, Splinter steadied himself before pulling his son to the side. With one final burst of energy, Splinter lifted the shivering turtle from the water.
"M-m-master?" Mikey stammered, squinting up at his Sensei.
"Oh, my son," Splinter said anxiously, before breaking into a fast-paced walk back towards the lair.
"Master Splinter," Leonardo said fretfully. "What happened? Is he okay?"
Splinter placed Michelangelo in the empty bathtub and set about filling it with hot water. "Leonardo, retrieve all the spare blankets in the lair. Donatello, fetch some hot water bottles and fill them. Raphael, prepare a cup of sweet tea. Take everything to the living room," he commanded quickly.
The three knew that tone, and acted immediately. They gathered their respective possessions in the living room, and apprehensively waited for their Master.
Splinter bathed me in the warm water, in order to raise my body temperature. After that, he wrapped me up in all the blankets Leo got, and surrounded me in the hot water bottles that Don filled up. When I started to stir, he sat me up and tried to get me to drink the sugary tea Raphael had made. I don't remember a whole lot about it, I was delirious or something. As I'm sure Leo would remind me, I'm never 'with it' all that much at the best of times. But I was confused, and the few words I spoke when I was awake were nothing more than feverish ramblings.
Master Splinter decided it was best for me to remain on the couch until it would be safe to move me. He stayed with me that night, and sent the others to bed. They protested, but not for long – they were too tired to put up much of an argument.
However, not all my brothers went to sleep immediately.
"Dear Santa," he began.
"I'm sorry for what I did to Mikey. I guess I stopped believing in you, but he didn't. I'm doing this for Mikey. Please make Mikey better, and please make him get everything he asked for, for Christmas. He lost his list when he fell into the river, and no one knows what he wanted. If he gets what he wants, then he'll prove the rest of us wrong. And if Mikey being right and happy means I'm wrong, I don't care."
Raphael signed his name, folded the piece of paper and placed it in an envelope. Once he'd placed the envelope safely in his drawer, he switched off his torch and waited to fall into a dreamless sleep.
Even thought I was able to talk, I spent most of the time listening to how I fell in the water, and what happened once Splinter had brought me home again. I was quiet, drinking in the story, mostly told by Master Splinter, with Leo and Don chipping in occasionally. Like me, Raphael was quiet, but for different reasons from myself. I was only awake for about half an hour, enough time for me to hear the story of my rescue, and for Splinter to get me to eat a little soup. He also decided I was well enough to be moved to my bed, where I would be more comfortable.
The next time I opened my eyes, it was Christmas morning, and it was a first for me: I wasn't the first one awake! To be more accurate, I was the last one awake that morning, and my brothers had strict instructions to make sure I was not disturbed. I was a bit more lively that morning, but a little reluctant to open my presents. I reminded Master Splinter that Santa didn't get my list, so I wouldn't have gotten any of the things I asked for.
Smiling, Splinter replied, "My son, Santa Claus does not need a list to know what you want."
"Plus, I disobeyed you, I went out of the lair, so I was naughty, and I bet Santa knows that cuz I bet he keeps special watch for when it's near Christmas," I pointed out.
"Well, despite this, I believe Mr. Claus knows you have learnt your lesson, because I have a feeling he paid a visit last night, whilst you were asleep," Splinter said with a wink.
My eyes were as wide as saucers, and I could barely contain my excitement as Splinter helped me out of my bed. I walked slowly into the living room, with a blanket still wrapped tightly around my shoulders, and was greeted with the expectant faces of my brothers.
We began opening our presents, chattering animatedly as we did so. Splinter made sure I sat on the couch, and he gave the presents to me from beneath the tree. I opened a couple from my family first, before Sensei gave me one addressed from Santa. I ripped the paper off wildly, and stared in amazement at the gift before me. A box full of new paints.
"He knew," I murmured, my eyes shining.
So, I got my paint-box, even though I'd told no one what I'd wanted, and even though Santa had not received my letter. Sure, we're older now, and we've long reached the age of cynicism, but despite that, Master Splinter has never owned up to being behind Santa's presents. He tells that we all need to believe in things we don't see. I don't know why, but maybe so that we have something to hold onto, not with our hands, but with our heart. Or maybe I've been drinking too much eggnog or something.
I sit, every Christmas Eve, thinking that even if all I get for Christmas is a lump of coal, heck, at least I got the things that don't get wrapped up and put under the Christmas tree. And even though I'm too old for Santa to stop off at our pad in the sewers now, who says I'm too old to quit believing?
