Chapter Text
Michelangelo always admired scars. The way they strech across skin, the way they tell a story. He found it.. beautiful.
His brothers had them, so did he. Collected from years of fighting and training. Large scars and small ones. Each telling a story of battles; both won and lost, of foes and friends and the messy in-betweens.
Some of his battle scars give him flashbacks and an exhilarated heartbeat.
But, he has started to crave for scars that come from his very own hand.
Ones that show that he is in control.
He remembers the first time he took a blade to his wrists and thighs.
That feeling, the addictive rush that hit him. The hypnotising way the scarlet blood trickled down his mutant skin. Forever marking it, forever cementing his feelings in place. In line after line after bloody red line.
He felt like a king, like a queen; like he was a ruler, like he was in control. For the first time in his short mutant life he could be the one in control. To finally have some say in an otherwise life bare of control.
But after the rush died down he craved- yearned for more.
He needed to see and feel more.
He wanted more scars, he wanted more pain.. he wanted to control.
So.. that is what he did.
For 9 straight months he marked his thighs, he marked his wrists and did so all while his brothers sat in blissful unawareness.
He was aware that it wasnt healthy, that it was so very dangerous, but he didn't care. Because he finally had something of his own to truly control.
He didn't care that it slowly took over his mind, always thinking about cutting. Always chasing the rush of blood and control.
His habit, his hobby was keeping him in check. Keeping him in line. Practically keeping him Alive at that point. Keeping him in control.
Soon, he ran out of room on one thigh and on one arm. No more space; skin scarred one to many times. Lines upon lines upon lines.
So he switched arms. Left leg and arm to right leg and arm.
He was so excited to have more scars. To fill in the space in the same style way he did on his (now fully covered) right arm and leg.
And before long. The year end reared its head.
And with that came the yearly bodily check ups; all equipment comes off, all bandages come off. All while Doctor Don works and the rest of the brothers suddenly feel bare without their normal masks and wraps.
And mikey.. all he wanted to do was create some sort of control for himself. All he wanted was control over this part of his life.
And now, sitting in his room. Realising that the examination is coming up soon. He can only ponder the question; "was it worth it?"
'Yes' is what his mind screams, 'No' is what the self aware part of him says.
But he doesn't care. Doesn't care until he is told that he will be the first one getting a check-up.
Until he truly process that there isn't a way to bypass this as a prank gone to far. No, because what he has done is far to obvious.
"I fucked up..."
'I want control'