Who are You? Wait, Who am I?

I'm still alive! I got a new job at the Redstone Arsenal, which probably won't mean much to most of you, but it's a prestigious place. I don't mean to brag, but we don't have much in Alabama, besides football and cotton.

I'm trying to close up this story, but it's not working with me. I've got other stories I want to start, but I hate it when a story is good and the author rushes the ending to get it over with.

And, yes, I changed my username again. I really don't know why I chose that. I'm trying to find something that fits me, but maybe I'm over thinking it.


Time seemed to come at a standstill as Mikey simply gawked at his older brother's unmoving form. He was tempted to just run into his room and let his brothers take care of it. It's not like they would know he hadn't been there the entire time. He instantly felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving his brother to bleed to death. Sure, he was mad at Raphael, but that didn't mean he wanted him to die.

This was so not his day. Mikey sighed as he slowly approached Raphael, trying to recall what Don had taught them about first aid. First, Mikey needed to check his pulse. Or maybe it was breathing? He knelt down beside Raphael, placing the palm of his hand in front of his brother's mouth after gently turning him over. After making sure he was in fact breathing, Mikey turned to the jagged slash running from Raphael's shoulder to just above his elbow. A small pool of blood was already starting to gather around his arm.

Mikey jumped up, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a hand towel, and slid down next to Raphael in record time. Blood quickly soaked the white fabric as Mikey wrapped the towel tightly around Raphael's wound. Wrapping the older turtle's good arm around his neck, Mikey barely managed to haul Raphael to his feet, wondering if he had always been this heavy.

Raphael's head drooped limply against Mikey's shoulder as he half-carried and half-dragged him to the couch. In the flickering light of the television, Mikey noticed a purple, mottled bruise on the side of his head. Raphael let out a low moan as Mikey laid him on the couch, but showed no other signs of regaining consciousness. As Mikey just stared at Raphael for a moment, he couldn't help but think this was part of another hare-brained scheme his brother had concocted. It would be just like Raph to throw him in the middle of this mess, knowing that he would have to take care of him.

You could just get Master Splinter, Mikey reasoned to himself. Then again, it seemed unlikely that his sensei would just let him leave. And if Mikey was going to be forced to take care of Raphael, he'd rather do it alone, away from his father's unwavering gaze. He carefully peeled the towel away from Raphael's arm, wincing at the sight of fresh blood oozing out over the crusty red-brown stains covering his ashen skin. Mikey swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous flipping in his stomach. He always got nauseated at the sight of blood. Luckily, neither he nor his brothers weren't hurt severely that often, and in those rare cases they were, April or Splinter were usually there to assist Don.

Okay, Mikey, you can do this. Let's see…I need some bandages and rubbing alcohol and Don has plenty of those. Mikey ran to Don's lab and grabbed what he needed, pleasantly surprised by how well he was handling this. Just one step at a time. With shaky hands, he poured some of the alcohol on the large cut and rewrapped his brother's arm in a thick layer of gauze. He stepped back and looked at his handiwork, feeling satisfied for now. It would do until Don and Leo got home. Speaking of which, he could hear the steadily growing echo of voices coming from outside the lair. Right on cue, Leo and Don walked through the doorway. Mikey stepped forward before they could notice Raphael.

"Raph's here. He's hurt, but I took care of it. I'm going to bed." The words spilled out of his mouth in a confusing, tangled jumble; Mikey already in his room by the time his brothers' registered what he had said.

He collapsed on his bed, feeling as if he had aged several decades in a matter of minutes. Mikey vaguely wondered if this was how Leo felt all the time. A strong sense of loneliness seemed to envelop him, filling the void spaces inside him. He wondered if it was possible to feel so empty that eventually you just floated away. Curling into a ball, Mikey wrapped his arms around his knees, as if he could piece himself back together if he held on tight enough.

This wasn't him, but who was he? If only he could fill in all those missing memories. Until he did, Mikey knew he would never feel like the same turtle who was constantly joking and smiling. But he was different.

Come on, Mikey, just remember. Just one thing.

He wished he could just crawl in bed with one of his brothers, whose very presence would vanquish all the monsters that lurked in a child's imagination.

Wait, didn't I used to do that?

Yes, he had faint recollections of feeling safe and warm as he rested his head against his brother, whose loud snores soon lured him to sleep.

But who was it? Remember…remember…

Mikey didn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he was aware of was the soft, but steady knocking on his door. Mikey groaned and pressed his face deeper into the covers, trying to ignore the slightly damp pool of drool under his cheek. He kept his eyes close even as he heard the door open and someone shaking his shoulder.

"I know you're awake, Mikey" Don's voice came from directly above him, "Come on, it's already after ten."

Much to his relief, Don left the room without mentioning Raphael. I guess that means he didn't croak, Mikey thought. He really didn't feel like going to a funeral. Knowing Leo would be on his tail soon, he reluctantly got up, muscles tight from staying curled up for so long. After giving himself a minute to wake up, Mikey walked into the hallway. He followed the sound of Splinter's kettle whistling and the low murmur of voices to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Michelangelo. Did you sleep well?" Master Splinter asked, looking as alert as always while pouring his tea, unlike Mikey who probably resembled the walking dead.

"Yes, Sensei," Mikey replied, his voice still croaky from sleep. He intentionally avoided eye contact with Leo and Don as he edged behind them. Incredibly, the next few minutes were quiet as Mikey toasted some bread; the only sounds were the high-pitched clinging of Master Splinter stirring his tea and the crunching of cereal being chewed. Mikey sat down beside Don, buttering his toast as though everything was normal. He had barely finished swallowing his first bite when Leo cleared his throat. Mikey didn't have to look up to know his eldest brother was wearing a mask of disappointment.

"Are you even going to ask about Raphael?" He asked, his voice practically dripping with disapproval.

"I presumed he was okay, since Don's not building a coffin," Mikey answered, staring intently at the list of ingredients on the box of cereal in front of him. Mikey and Don started as Leo slammed his hand on the table, causing the glasses and dishes to rattle.

"How can you be so cold?" Leo said harshly, a distinct edge in his voice, his eyes smoldering like glowing ember. "Your brother could have died, and you don't even care."

"I took care of him, didn't I?" Mikey snapped, pushing back his chair and standing up. What little appetite he had vanished as quickly as it had come. "Give me a little credit."

"And we all appreciate it," Leo said evenly, standing up to meet Mikey's gaze, "but these childish little tantrums have got to stop."

Mikey snorted derisively. "That's rich coming from you," He muttered, turning his back on Leo and leaving the kitchen.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mikey pretended like he didn't hear Leo calling out, intent on making it back to his room where he could sort through his thoughts in peace. Once again, luck wasn't on his side as he felt himself roughly spun around and face-to-face with an irate Leo.

"Michelangelo, I said what's that supposed to mean?" Mikey felt like he had been transported to a different universe, as he and Leo never got into confrontations. Even though Leo had always been strict with Raphael, he usually cut a little more slack with his youngest brother. Normally, if Leo glared at him like that, Mikey would be pulling the sad puppy eyes.

"What do I mean?" Mikey snapped, aware of Don and Splinter hovering by the doorway, "You're one to talk about having tantrums! You always act like you're in control, but you're worse than Raphael! At least he lets it out, instead of holding it inside. You know what, never mind. I'll just keep it inside and let it build until I attack Master Splinter and have to be sent away. Wait a minute, you already did that!"

A moment of silence filled the room, so heavy that Mikey could almost hear his heart beating. Leo stumbled back, as if Mikey had actually hit him, the anger in his eyes being replaced with hurt. Behind him, Don and Splinter looked stunned, but Mikey didn't give them time to say anything as he was already making his way out of the lair.

As he passed Don's make-shift infirmary, Mikey finally noticed Raphael sitting up in one of the old hospital beds, the look on his face suggesting that he had heard everything. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met and something seemed to pass between them; then Mikey was gone.


The sound of the door slamming behind Mikey echoed through the room long after he was gone. Leo was still standing exactly in the same position, though Don couldn't see his expression. Don cleared his throat awkwardly. Leo jumped as if he had just realized there was an audience.

"Oh, um…." Leo stammered, backing away slowly, looking like a deer caught in headlights, "I'm going to check on…." He gestured wildly at nowhere in particular as he moved towards the dojo. The paper screen door closing behind him made it clear that Leo didn't want to be bothered, so Don decided to check on Raphael, mostly just to try to escape the palpable tension.

While his hot-headed brother had quite a nasty bruise on his head, Don was sure that it wasn't anything serious, though Raphael would have a headache for a while. Luckily the cut on his arm wasn't too deep, but Don wanted to keep an eye on it for any sign of an infection. The hardest part would be to get Raphael to stay in bed while he recuperated from blood loss. Don already felt slightly better as he focused solely on his other brother's needs.

"How are you feeling?" Don asked professionally, taking Raphael's pulse, "Do you feel any light-headiness or nausea? Is your headache any better?"

"I'm fine," Raphael snapped, sounding more like the old him than he had in a week as he pushed Don's hand away. However, he didn't put up a fight as Don changed his dressings. "So 'bout that…" Raphael hesitated, looking uncertain, "Are ya gonna go after him?"

"No, I just think he needs some space," Don replied.

"It's weird, ya know, him acting like me," Raphael said quietly, "This is so screwed up. For a minute, I thought him helping me would fix everything."

Don stared down at his hands as he distractedly smoothed out the bed sheets. "Did you get hurt on purpose?" He finally asked having the same thought as Mikey had the previous night.

"I'm not that stupid!" Raphael said heatedly, "Geez, you think I let those punks get the jump on me? Yeah, that's what I wanted."

Don held his hands up submissively, "I was just asking. You have to admit doing something reckless and impulsive is right up your alley." He smiled slightly to show Raphael he was mostly kidding.

"So when can I get up? I feel fine." Raphael grumbled.

"Your arm doesn't hurt at all?" Don asked, raising his brow skeptically.

"No," Raphael stretched his arms above him casually; however Don's keen eyes noticed he was barely holding back a wince. "Fine, maybe a little," He muttered, giving Don what Mikey often referred to as the 'stink eye.'

"Just humor me for another hour," Don said, "I don't need to worry about you too."

"You know me," Raphael said, lying back down, "I don't like to cause trouble."

"Only when you're awake," Don joked.

"Do ya think he'll ever forgive me?" Raphael asked quietly, his relaxed demeanor turning solemn.

"I've been doing some research on amnesia," Don picked up a stack of papers easily an inch thick and placed them on Raphael's lap.

"Can ya just give me the short version?" Raphael asked, as he thumbed through the numerous articles and research papers.

"Mikey appears to have retrograde amnesia, which means he can create new memories even though he's lost access to those that occurred before the incident. Retrograde amnesia is usually temporally graded, meaning he'll more likely recover older memories over time while he'll probably never remember what happened right before he was injured."

"So, he will get better?" Raphael asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Don sighed. "Well, here's where it gets tricky. He also seems to have a psychogenic form of amnesia, which is typically associated with autobiographical memory loss. To put it simply, he basically forgot who he was."

"Yeah, but he-" Raphael started to say; only to get cut off as Don continued his scientific ramble.

"Memory gaps are common with psychogenic amnesia, which means it originates psychologically. The brain doesn't have the ability to recall certain information, usually concerning something traumatic. There is a chance that Mikey will spontaneously regain his memories, but most likely, he'll slowly start gradually remembering things about you maybe as far back as childhood-"

"But I was horrible to 'em as a kid," Raphael finally managed to blurt out, while Don hesitated to take a breath.

"True," he said, "But not always, like the time you carried him home after he hurt his ankle. Anyway, I know he cares about you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have helped you last night."

Raphael swiftly shot back up, temporarily disregarding the pain shooting down his arm, his amber eyes widening in shock. "Whoa, wait a sec, bro," he said in disbelief, "You kinda left that part out."

"Oh, right," Don said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, "I did forget to mention that, didn't I? What do you remember about last night?"

"I remember comin' home and seein' Mikey, but I thought I was just imagining it. Ya know I was kinda woozy from all the blood loss." Raphael shrugged with his good shoulder.

"He ran off to his room after Leo and I came home," Don said, "but your wound was disinfected and bandaged. He actually did a pretty good job."

"Huh," Raphael said seeming lost in thought as he pondered this bit of information. Don gave him a moment before asking him if he wanted something to eat.

"I'll just take some cereal, I guess."

"Okay, Fruity Peebles, it is," Don said, not quite managing to keep the mirth out of his voice as he stood up. Raphael's favorite cereal had always been a great source of amusement for his brothers, especially Mikey. Just a few weeks ago, Raphael had dumped a bowl of cereal on his youngest brother's head after he wouldn't stop doing his 'fruity tootie' dance on the table.

"Watch it, bro. I don't need attitude from you. Just get me some cereal," Raphael said gruffly, but as Don left the room, he could have sworn he saw a small smile cross his face.