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There is something that nobody warns you about being a ghost, being unable to interact with the world around you. Being forced to watch as people grieve and wail. Breakdown and cry because you, or well the you that had a physical form, was gone. Dead, taken by the cruel hands of death.
And nobody warns you how painful it is to watch those you love join you on the spiritual plan. The in-between death and life you could say.
And the 3 older brothers (were they even older anymore though... it has been so long) had watched it all. As the littlest and youngest of them all, as the one with the most hope, light and joy faded away, leaving a shell of what once was behind.
Michelangelo Hamato. Mikey, their otōto. He has changed, so so much and all in the worst way possible.
The joy and liveliness that once radiated off their baby brother was long gone. And they all had watched it happen, unable to help.
Being ghosts, unheard by their littlest as they cry and scream at him to stop dragging the blade across his thighs, across his arms. But Mikey can't hear the dead. Mikey can't see or hear the fact that his decease older brothers that he loves so much are watching him mutilate himself.
Leonardo can't think of a fate worse then this, of having to first be forced under the unbearable grief of his hot headed brothers death. To then dying himself alongside his longtime ally, Casey Jones. To then watching as his immediate younger brother in purple and his father/ sensei die to. To then having to watch as his baby, his baby brother torture himself over the guilt of their deaths. He ponders if he had done something incredibly evil in his past life, for why is this his fate. His familys fate? What did they do to deserve this, what did mikey do to deserve this?
' the ronin isn't quite sure when the hallucinations started, when his mind started losing sanity and normal functionality (though when has his mind ever been normal?). When he would hear the faint whispers of voices he craves to hear again, just once more. Of people who he yearns for, the people who he has lost. '
Raphael isn't sure what he would prefer; going to hell or watching as his baby brother hyperventilates on the ground, by himself. He cant tear his ghostly eyes away from this horrific view, watching as his littlest brother racks his claws down his arms, drawing blood. He wishes nothing more then to flip off the laws of life and death, of reality itself. And swoop mikey up in the tightest hug imaginable. But every time his hands come to hug his still alive brother, everytime he goes in for a hug, or anything affectionate (because damn it! His bad boy reputation can go fuck itself, his baby brother needs him!) his hand just phases through. Raphael is sure that he is already in hell. Because nothing can be worse then being forced to not be able to comfort his baby brother.
' ronin shakes on the cold ground, the sharp chill of the concrete seeps into his skin; splattered in blood, bruised and cut up and scarred, like a cruel artwork. His panic attack had come full force, snatching the very breath from his lungs yet leaving his heart still beating wildely in his chest. And in the deepest parts of the ronins soul, does he wail and cry for his older brothers. For the aura that radiates pure safety and protection to scoop him up and into their arms. But they can't, mik- the ronin will never get get to be in the comfort and safety that his brothers hold always provided. Because his brothers are dead, and so is mikey and from the ashes of who he once was, was the rebirth of Michelangelo Hamato, like a phoenix, like a ronin. And he knows that never will he get to hug them again. And with that thought his mind jumps right back into the hold of a panic attack '
Donatello had hoped for a different fate after death. It was supposed to be anything but this- being stuck in the spiritual plain with his older brothers, as they walk beside their youngest who is unable to see tthem. The young and bubbley brother that he once knew was gone, and now all that is left is the ronin. And if that isn't what breaks his heart, it is probably the way that ronin Mikey- that mikeys eyes are so so n-numb! Numb and yet, the pain is still present in those dull blue eyes. Those orbs that once retained the family's source of laughter and joy now stare down at bloodsoaked pathways. And donnie talks to mikey, in the hope that he might hear him. Yet he never does. But donnie hopes that somehow, mikey will hear what he knows his true- what all the late Hamato clan members think.
-' Mikey, we love you brother ',' mikey, please move on' ,' Mikey, please d-dont- don't ever say you deserve to- to die '--
' the Ronins body shakes with pure exhaustion from battle. His legs collapse from beneath him and his body crumples to the fall. And where he falls is where he stays. Curling up into a fetal position. He allows the gentle hands of sleep claim his mind.
And when he feels the blanket of a dream settle of him, he only hopes to hear the clear voice of his brothers. Yet he only ever gets a faint whisper. Words that he can never seem to understand. And that always leaves him more panicked when he wakes then when he goes to sleep.'
The brothers of 3, and the lone ronin. And the brothers can only watch as mikey loses himself to grief even more.
They watch as his face grows scarred from burns. They watch as he fights and fights and fights.
They watch as he leans down and let's out a wail of pure grief. As his longtime friend/ sister of spirit and his niece bleed away into the wartorn lands. Dying along with the last of their brothers hope.
And they watch; and scream and wail and yell. As they cry over and over as a tried and wounded Michelangelo takes Leonardos jagged and broken sword.
And with a cry of absolute agony, as they stare on in grief and terror as Michelangelo Hamato ends his life. By means of suicide.
And when his body; tried, broken, beaten and bloody slumps to the ground. When he feels his life drain from him, as he leaves with the knowledge of finally resting. He feels hands on him.
Phantom hands the grab at his dying soul. And he immediately knows who's hands they belong to.
" Oii-chan..?" The ghost turtle whispers, tears springing forth and making its mark down his face.
The turtle adorned in an orange mask stares in wonder and hope at his brothers. Who stand a mere 4 feet away.
"Otōto.."
" baby brother.."
" Yōkō..."
And before Michelangelo could even think of a word to answer to his nicknames. He was sweeped into the arms of his brothers.
And like that, the dam breaks.
Tears are shed and cries are muffled as Michelangelo smashes his face into his oldest brothers body.
" im sorry- i-im u-uhhn..nnn i-im sorryimsorry uunnhh sorrysorrysorry-" the muffled broken voice of Michelangelo sputters out.
And in response are gentle words and warm body's. They cradle him close and refuse his apologies because-
" sweet little Yōkō, our perfect otōto. You have nothing to apologise for. You can rest now, baby brother. We are reunited once again "