TMNT Fic
Taking a break from angsting, giant robots to write a little turtle-y humor. (These breaks seem to have become more and more frequent as I draw near the end. o_O)
Title He's a Little Turtle
Characters Michelangelo, Raphael, Splinter
Warnings Mikey's a bit of a jerk, Raphael uses dirty words
Summary Michelangelo was clearly suicidal. Full of brotherly loooove. :P
Michelangelo was clearly suicidal.
There Raphael sat on the worn couch, enjoying the comfort of blowing things sky high on Halo. He wasn’t disturbing a soul, hadn’t said a single sour word to any one of his family all day. He'd behaved all through practice, and frickin meditation, just so he could have first shot at the tv and game consoles today.
Then his little brother had to go and start singing this dumb little ditty; “He’s a little turtle, short and stout! Here’s his bandana, here is his belt! When he gets all steamed up here him shout…”
Not once, not twice, not even three times! So far, Raphael had heard that dumb song no less than twelve times in the last half hour. And yes,it made it worse, because the annoying little shell-for-brains, never finished the damned song. Now it floated around Raphael's brain, like bacteria on Don's petri dish (disgusting things!).
Raphael had taken to snarling whenever Michelangelo came near him, punctuating the incomplete song with a 'Shut up, Mikey.'
Michelangelo's sense of preservation surely must have been lacking, as he only laughed and danced out of whacking range. Not even extra emphasis, and throat burning growls seemed to deter him.
Raphael's fingers twitched on the controller as he picked up the near indistinct slap of feet on concrete. His shoulders tensed at his brother's presence behind the couch. Just a little closer...
A three-fingered, green hand popped up beside Raphael's shoulder, fingers pressed together to form a puppet mouth. Then it began to sing; “He's a little turtle, short and stout!”
Not yet. Closer,Mikey.
The hand puppet danced merrily, next to Raphael's cheek. “Here's his bandana!”Tug! “Here is his belt!” More of the arm appeared as fingers wrapped around Raphael's belt and gave a not-so-gentle tug. The orange mask slid into view.“When he gets all steamed up hear him shout-”
“Goddammit, Mikey! You sing that fucking song one more time, and I'm gonna beat your head so far into your shell you'll shit it out your ass!” Raphael grabbed at Mikey’s arm, intent on rippingit out, perhaps even going so far as to beat him over the head with it, just as he promised.
Zip! Michelangelo laughed at Raphael from halfway across the room. “Oh, come on Raphie! That doesn’t even rhyme, I know you can do better than that. Now think of a word that rhymes with belt.”
The controller bounced once as it struck the floor, and Raphael leapt over the couchwith an enraged roar.
True to form, Michelangelo screamed like a little girl and ducked and dodged his older brother’s grasping hands. The few times that Raphael actually managed to snag his flailing brother, the chucklehead slipped out easier than a bar of soap.
It only made Raphael madder. He lunged, tossing out snarls and obscenities that could make water curl. Michalenagelo continued to evade him, taunting him the whole time; “Dude, that still doesn’t rhyme? …Aw,c’mon! Donnie’s more poetic than that! …Bro, seriously, do weneed to go over what rhyming is?”
Panting from the exertion, and still not having even left a mark on his younger brother, Raphael could only glare as he caught his breath.
Michelangelo's grin widened for a moment, and he started rocking on his heels to some tune in his head.
Then he started singing again. “He's a little turtle, short and stout!”
Bands of hot anger clenched around Raphael's chest.
“Here's his bandana, here is his snout!”
Raphael gathered his legs under him and charged his little brother with a furious roar.
“When he gets all steamed up here him shout-AHHHH!!”
Raphael bowled the other turtle over; “I'm not gonna be listening to that goddamned song day in and day out, Mikey!”
Michelangelo yelped again and pried at Raphael's fingers on his neck. “Gh'ck-Y'rhym'd!”
“RAAAARGH!!”
Fortunately forMichelangelo, Master Splinter stepped in before Raphael could really lay the beat down on him. Their venerable sensei set the both of them to a a set of 100 backflips. However since Raphael had been the one that had turned violent first, he'd been assigned extra cleaning duty, effective immediately.
“You should not let your brother's words burrow so deeply into your emotions.”
Michelangelo stood behind their master, nodding sagely, showing no sign of having just performed a series of consecutive backflips.
The old rat turned to look at the other turtle. “Perhaps, Michelangelo, you would do well to heed the words of the great sage, Miyamoto Shin,and let sleeping brothers lie.”
The younger brother's grin turned into a grimace. “Yes, Master Splinter.” His blue eyes cut a quick glance toward Rapahel, and his grin took its proper place on his face again.
Raphael trudged his way over to the kitchen where dishes waited to be washed.
Michelangelo let out a pointed chuckle and made a mad dash for the living area.
Raphael paused at the door, and watched as his younger brother proceeded to take over the television set with one of his own games. Fuming quietly he smacked his fist into the doorjamb. That goddamned, selfish, snotnosed little puke! Mikey set him up so he could play!
~*~*~*~
Leonardo and Donatello sat in the living room, one flipping through a well-worn book, and the other with a laptop balanced on his legs. Splinter watched the television, engrossed in his stories. The two turtles had long since learned to tune out the drone of thetelevision when they sat with their Master.
Tuning out the absence of their younger two brothers was another matter entirely.
Leonardo thought they should be concerned as he cast worried glances to the empty spaces on the cushions.
Donatello shrugged off his older brother's worry, and didn't bother to raise his eyes from the screen of his computer.
It had become something of a family tradition to sit with their Sensei during the later parts of the evening, before he turned in for his early bedtime. They tried not to miss it, unless they were caught up in battle, or still recovering from a fight or other injury.
To miss it otherwise, normally resulted in a discussion with Leonardo,who preferred to 'talk' in the dojo, on the mats and sometimes even with weapons in hands.
Afterall, Splinter wasn't getting any younger, and they should spend as much time with him as possible.
Donatello, however, wondered if it might be better that they weren't present. Michelangelo never knew when to let a joke go, and Raphael could carry a grudge like few men (or turtles for that matter). He was of the opinion that they should enjoy this peace while it lasted, because the explosion was only as close as the next horizon...
STOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMP
...and apparently not even that far away.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Astampede of green and orange streaked past the living room sounding suspiciously like a Mikey-in-distress.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” A roaring train of red and green followed shortly after, its passing rattling the tea cups sitting on the table they set up for their Master. There might have been words, but they were drowned out by the sheer pitch of the very Mikey, girly scream.
It faded into the dojo but didn't disappear completely before turning full circle and flying by again.
A trio of sighs filled the short gap of silence before Leonardo saved his cup of tea from rattling itself off the coffee table.
Donatello gripped his laptop to save it from being jostled too harshly by the repeated stampede; “Looks like they're at it again.”
Master Splinter serenely took a sip from his cup, as Leonardo hummed; “So it would seem.”
Donatello scrolled down on the page he was reading, still not having looked up at either his brother or his father. “You think we should stop them?”
Ears flattened to his head for only a brief moment before their Master composed himself. “I believe we should let them get this out of theirsystem. It has clearly been building all day.”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
Leonardo took a sip of his tea, never losing his poise as he kept his eyes on the book in his other hand. “If you would like, Master Splinter, I could speak to them.”
A brief tilt of his head accepted this. “That would be most appreciated, my son.”
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
“I'll make sure they don't disturb your sleep, then, Master.”
“I've got hammers in my workshop.”
“I shall leave it in your capable hands, my sons.”