Warning! This story contains some cursing and adult situations which may be inappropriate for some readers. This story is voluntarily rated PG for parental guidance. This story also contains religious discussion which may be offensive to some readers.
Leonardo paced beneath the sewer grate nervously. Nearby, Michaelangelo lounged against the wall next to his bags, cradling his cat Klunk. Splinter appeared at the tunnel’s entrance, whiskers twitching nervously. “Is there any sign of Raphael yet?” Splinter asked with concern.
Leo sighed. “No, Master,” he said. “And April will be here any minute!” He scowled. Once again, Raphael was holding them up. But why? Raph hadn’t been around the past few days, but he knew perfectly well what time had been set for April and Casey to pick them up, and he wasn’t here. Leo checked his watch. 5:55. Five minutes he had, maybe less. Where was he? Surely he wasn’t still mad about being voted down seven to one about spending the holiday at the farmhouse in Northampton? Leo sighed again. With Raph, you never knew.
The grate lifted and a pair of booted feet coated with sidewalk slush appeared on the ladder. The man descended; it was Casey, in his heaviest winter clothes. “Ready?” he asked to the group in general.
“Yup,” said Mike, pulling his hat lower over his head. “Lead on.” He gave a small bow of mock subservience before each of them lifted a bag to carry up the ladder. Leo sighed and glanced once down the tunnel, then picked up his own luggage and climbed up. Parked in the deserted side street was April’s van, with a luggage rack and carrier that had been hastily bolted to the roof. Casey stepped onto the door ledge to lift the Turtles’ bags into the carrier, which April had opened. She grinned at them, nearly lost in a blue scarf. Leo helped Master Splinter to get his bags into the van, then returned below. Splinter sighed and shook his head. He had hoped his angriest son would accompany them, but he had learned often enough that Raphael could not be predicted or controlled. He climbed into the back of the van and smiled at Shadow, who was leaning against her “parents” seats.
Mike went to join Leo as he stood scanning the tunnel. He frowned. Leo was doing his best to look angry, but he was obviously disappointed that Raphael had opted out of the family get-together. Poor Leo, he takes everything so seriously, Mike thought as he, too, looked up and down the tunnel and even shouted Raph’s name. He placed a heavily gloved hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Face it, man,” he said. “He’s not coming.” Leo slumped in defeat.
“I was just-- I thought he’d still want to come,” Leo said softly. Raphael was the only one who voted to stay in the city; most of them wanted the change of pace and the quiet, and Shadow wanted to be pulled out of school two days early. What kid wouldn’t? wondered Mike. He caught himself grinning and extinguished his playful expression. He didn’t want Leo thinking he didn’t care about Raph not coming, because he did. Just no point in worrying; Raph was Raph, after all. Mike gently towed Leo to the ladder and pushed him up it. April was already in the van, Casey leaning against it.
“Raph here?” he asked. Leo silently shook his head and grabbed the van door to pull himself in. Mike followed. Suddenly there was a splatting sound, as of snowballs striking something. Leo heard muffled cursing and went to wrench the door open, but someone did it before him. Raph grinned and tossed his bag into the back of the van. Casey stomped up and down the sidewalk, trying to swipe the snow from his face.
“Hey guys,” Raph said as he vaulted into the van. Leo glared at him, but he was plainly relieved.
“‘Bout time you got here.”
“I love you too, bro,” Raph said. “Hiya, Shadow.”
“Uncle Raph!” she said as she crawled over to hug him. Casey, now fairly snow-free, climbed into the driver’s seat.
He looked in the rearview mirror at Raph. “I’ll get ya, punk, just wait. Everybody stay in one place, now. I’d love trying to explain you guys to the coroner.”
“Yeah, and we all know how YOU drive,” joked Mike.
“Yeah, well, you were warned.” Casey started up the car, and they were off on what was easily the most boring trip in the universe: the drive to Casey’s family farm in Northampton.
They were all thinking happy thoughts: looking forward to Christmas, a chance to be together for a change, and seeing Donatello again. Raph pondered the events of the past year: they had grown apart somewhat more than he liked. Leo and Splinter were the same as ever, hanging out in the sewers and doing ninja stuff, Leo doing stuff for Casey or April when he needed cash. Leo didn’t seem to mind depending on the humans for support and livelihood. But Raph and Mike and Don did mind. Don, with the help of some of his human friends, had started to pull together Don Harlem Enterprises, a business in which he was the sole acting board member and pretty much the only solid employee. Mostly he programmed video games and had them manufactured and sold--he’d had to borrow heavily to finance his ventures, but he had come back quickly, and was now turning quite a nice profit, certainly enough to support him and his numerous “projects”; including the genetics research on mutants, which he had sworn never to go public with. “Too dangerous,” he had said over and over, when his human friends urged him to reveal his findings.
Then there was Mike, still living out of April’s apartment, but now paying steady rent and buying his own food, thanks to some sales of his poetry, and more recently, his artwork. And himself--I haven’t come outta this year too shabby myself, he thought with no little satisfaction. The year hadn’t started out too great: he’d felt so lost. All the others had their professions, their interests at least, but what could he do with his life? Then he found out. He’d been hanging out with Leo, principally, but one day he’d been in Mike’s apartment, cat-sitting Klunk, and baby-sitting Shadow, when he’d seen Mike’s typewriter sitting prepped for use, and a stream of wild ideas had suddenly popped into his head. For once, he was unsure of himself as he sat before the machine, then he hesitantly began to tap out what he was thinking. He ended up spending the rest of the evening writing down those crazy thoughts. But he didn’t think much of it, because when it was time to leave Mike’s place, he just chucked the whole thing, went off to Japan for a brief vacation, and forgot about it.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Raph heard from Mikey again. He was in the den when Mike called him and asked him to come over. His little brother’s face was registering surprise; his typewriter was set up, and Raph remembered the event which happened before his departure. He had been assuming that Mike was about to bawl him out for wasting nearly a sheaf of costly typewriter paper, plus the ribbon, so his jaw really dropped when Mike handed him a copy of SF and Fantasy magazine, opened to page 23, and jabbed his finger at the header. The story was “Dreaming of Dragons.” The byline read, “Raph Splintersson.” As Raph incredulously scanned the page, he realized that the story was his own, the one he had written those few weeks ago.
“Congrats, bro,” Mike said softly. “Hope ya don’t mind--I saw it in the trash can and thought it was too good to waste. Apparently I’m not the only one who thought so.” And Raph found his purpose. He smiled, remembering those first few exciting weeks as he settled into a sort of rhythm. He had stayed with Leo a while longer, then finally moved in with Mark, Don’s friend from GR. April had helped him set up a bank account under the name Mike had chosen to publish him under, which Raph sort of liked, though he wouldn’t admit it. (Mike and Don already had such accounts, Leo didn’t want or need one.) He had settled into a groove, finding that his brain only really started working around 10 or 11 PM, then adjusting his schedule to fit. Writing from around 8 or 9 to maybe 3 or 4 am, then sleeping extremely late, rising in early afternoon. When he felt too pent, he’d declare an evening off, grab Casey or some of his GR pals, and go skull-busting.
It felt good to Raph, and he soon found himself adequately supported, though not rich, not by a long shot. He paid expenses, and kept working on his short stories, some of which sold, some of which didn’t. He was also secretly at work on his latest project, a novel, which was moving along very fast, thanks to a recent burst of cash that had allowed him to finally splurge on a PC. It was great to no longer rely on fickle typewriters. At first he’d worried that Mike was jealous of his new skill; after all, he’d been considered the group writer for years. But if anything, Mike was proud of Raph, and was in fact more interested in art than writing. Doin’ his namesake proud, Raph thought idly. He hummed a snatch of song to himself. All of them so split apart by varying interests. Christmas time it might be--The sappiest time of the year.--but it brought them all together, and Raph was willing to endure all the Christmas crap for that reason.
Mike smirked across at him, as though sensing his thoughts. “So, Raph, actually comin’ out of your shell this year? Not gonna hide in the shadows and sulk again?” Leo gave him a warning look. He’s in a good mood. Don’t antagonize him, Mike. But Raph was remarkably controlled. He located his walkman in his bag and slipped on the earphones, calmly ignoring Mike, who was grinning as he stroked the soft cat in his lap. He tried to let the Green Day music drown out Mike’s good-natured banter with Shadow and April. Leo was dozing lightly. He hated getting up before dawn. Splinter sat and calmly took it all in, glad that this year would be free of distraction, a time of joy instead of a time of pain. No, he warned himself. Leave thoughts of past Christmases behind. This will be different. He didn’t know why, but he had an overwhelming sense of....peace? That was certainly a change. Usually his strong premonitions heralded danger, not happiness. But why rock the proverbial boat? Let it be a happy holiday this year, he willed.
* * *
At long last, the van pulled up in front of the house and they began to climb out. Casey reflected that the house was looking better than it ever had; even in those old photos before his grandfather died and the place broke down. The whole thing had a new coat of paint, the shutters, roof, and porch had been repaired, and the lawn now sported two windmills. Perhaps letting Don live here was a smart move after all.
Don came running from the barn in heavy clothes. Obviously he’d been doing something; he still held a hammer in one hand. He jammed it into his tool belt and gasped, “Sorry, lost track of the time.” Then he was embracing April, Splinter and Shadow (She was growing up smart and pretty, and though she wasn’t related to April, Don thought Shadow was very like her.) and exchanging affectionate punches with his brothers and Casey. (Was it his imagination, or had Casey winced when Don socked him? ‘Course, he was probably entitled; the C-man was, after all, pushing 36. But it was weird to think of Casey as middle-aged.) For a moment, the exhaustion induced by the long trip was forgotten as Mike grinned, shoved Don over, and began an impromptu wrestling match in the snow. But then it flooded back. Don pulled Mike to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go into the house.”
Don made hot chocolate; he appeared to have stocked up on it in a big way. One cabinet was entirely filled with boxes and cartons of the stuff. Casey unloaded the groceries he had picked up at the last minute in a Northampton corner grocery. Mostly cookie ingredients that Mike had insisted on. Casey grunted as he deposited the last bag on the table. “Dang, Mike, ja get enough stuff?” asked Don, peering into the bags.
“Can never have to many cookies,” proclaimed Mike, and began to rummage in the fridge. Don sniggered.
“Don’t spoil your appetite, I’m making you dinner.”
“Oh no!” cried Mike. “Not again!” They remembered Don’s last cooking attempt with little fondness. After they had finished mopping up the gravy and bits of lumpy mashed potato and stuffing from the floors and walls, they had vowed never to speak of it again. Mike staggered about, clutching his throat. “Hellllpppp....we might as well call the paramedics now.”
Don chuckled at Mike’s antics. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve been practicing. I’m really not as bad as I once was. Actually, I made my own dinner last night and it was pretty good.”
“Define ‘good’,” said Casey.
Leo snorted. “Well who else is gonna make it for you?”
“Ahh,” said Don. “Chef Boyardee and his friend--Dominoes.” They all laughed at Don.
“Really,” said Mike, grinning. “What are you making?”
“Ummm...spaghetti. Didn’t say I was a gourmet chef yet. But I’m gettin’ there.” Don grinned. “And I bought bread, so we’re going to eat that before you make any.”
“No fair!” exclaimed Mike.
Don cackled. “Keep you out of my kitchen for one more night. Besides, you should rest. It’s a long drive up here.” Mike stuck his tongue out at Don.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all,” said Splinter with a smile.
“Speak for yourself--I remember what this guy did to my apartment!” April joked. They didn’t comment, but they all noticed that Raph had been uncharacteristically silent during this exchange. Usually he would be there, offering his own jibes at Don’s cooking. But they all knew why he wasn’t talking, and it was not a pleasant memory.
(They were watching TV in the den when Raph suddenly stormed in. He switched off the TV and stood in front of it, only glaring in answer to Mike’s protests. Splinter looked up, concerned by this sudden appearance of Raphael. It did not bode well. Leo also looked idly up from the book he was reading, sensing the impending doom that seemed to cloud the whole sewer den. Raph was livid. “Don,” he growled in a low voice. “I have put up with this crap for weeks now, but I have HAD it!” They all stared up at him in puzzled shock. Raph suddenly slammed the focus of his displeasure to the coffee table’s surface. Leo drew in his breath sharply as he suddenly understood Raph’s fury.
“Oh, geez, not with the pamphlets again,” Leo muttered to himself.
“Don,” Raph said coldly. “I have made it clear from the first, we ALL have, that I, we, are not interested. But ever since that friggin’ church accepted you last month, you’ve been in all our faces, with the evangelism, and the Bible quotes, and the bullshit about the Son of God and the rest of it. I am SICK AND TIRED of you trying to force-feed me this garbage! It’s CRAP, okay? Every day, we go out and fight and try not to get killed, every day we hafta stop sick people from doin’ sick things to each other, while your GOD, your SAVIOR, stands by and watches. And then I’m supposed to believe all this phony bullshit that church feeds you, about the love of God, and saving mankind.
“Well I’m NOT mankind, okay? And neither are you! You should be able to see through these guys, recognize what they really are! They’re PHONIES, Donatello, and I can’t stand the idea of becoming one of them, like YOU ARE TRYING TO DO, AND YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE ME DO!” Raph screamed the last part. “If you were willing to leave well enough alone when I told you to, I would have too! But Don--you come in my room, MY ROOM, leave this trash lying there, and I am NOT going to keep quiet about it any LONGER!” His voice dropped to a hiss. “Listen to me, Jesus freak, and listen good. There’s no room in this family for people who can’t stay out of other peoples’ lives. Either YOU get out, or I’M getting out.”
His brothers stared at him in shocked amazement through Raph’s outburst. Don just sat there. Sat there and took it. Raph waited, tight-lipped, for Don to say something, anything, but there was total silence. Raph turned on his heel and stalked back to his room. Leo was pale and trembling. Why didn’t Splinter say something? It wasn’t Raph’s right to break up the clan! But Splinter said nothing. He seemed as amazed and concerned as Leo. Don slowly stood, turned and went to his room. Minutes later, he reappeared, with his bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m spending the night at April’s,” he said quietly, and then he was gone. It was certainly no coincidence that Donatello left for the farm shortly afterwards. First Casey and April, then Mike and Leo, then finally Splinter tried to talk him out of leaving, but he wouldn’t listen. Don only returned to the lair once, to pick up the rest of his stuff. Raph wasn’t around. They two would not speak, would not even attempt to meet and talk it out, as Splinter urged them to.
Leo wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole incident. He had always accepted Buddhism as his primary source of faith. Mike was pretty uncaring, and Raph was a definite atheist. Splinter’s religious principles were unclear, but he supported each of his sons in whatever course of spiritual development they took. None of them minded Don’s sudden conversion to Christianity back in ‘95, but his recent “rebirth” as he called it, had been troublesome. He’d suddenly turned evangelist, and seemed unable to leave them alone on his campaign to turn them all into believers. His brothers and Splinter (yes, he’d even tried to convert Splinter) had tried to tune it out, but Don didn’t know when to stop...and he’d pushed Raph too far. As the family drifted apart, their movement set in motion by Raph and Don’s fight--if you could call it that--Leo wondered what would happen if they managed to get Raph and Don together again.)
Now, as Leo looked at the two, he realized with sadness that they were ignoring each other again. They just didn’t want to see or speak to each other, even though Leo knew Raph had missed Don and looked forward to seeing him again. Apparently, some sins were unforgivable in Raph’s eyes. Leo sighed. Well, they had a whole week to convince Raph and Don to “kiss and make up.” Let’s hope we’re successful.
* * *
It was after dinner when Leo, wiping dishes with Casey and Splinter, suddenly heard the yelling from the family room. “Uh-oh,” he said. They had made the deadly mistake of leaving the two in a room alone together. Leo was first into the room, first to see the two of them standing facing each other, fists clenched at their sides. Raph’s eyes were narrowed, and he was doing most of the shouting. Leo shoved them apart.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said. “What’s going on here?” He glared at them.
Raph pointed a quivering finger at Don. “Him! Can you believe,” Raph roared. “That he was starting on me AGAIN!?” Leo looked very hard at the normally placid Donatello. But he was looking pretty POed this time around.
“Your problem, Raph, is that you are way too sensitive!” Don yelled back. “It had nothing to do with you!”
“Oh yeah? You know I HATE those damn songs!”
“It’s not my fault! I hate that immoral Prodigy trash you listen to! But I don’t harp on it constantly!”
“Oh, it’s IMMORAL now, is it? Well excuse ME, o righteous one, cuz all us SINNERS aren’t as PERFECT as you are!”
“I never said I was perfect!”
“Yeah, well ya sure act like it! With your BIBLE, and your HOLY MESSAGE FROM GOD, ya friggin’ JESUS FREAK!!!!”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”
Leo had heard enough. “STOP IT!” he screamed, as Splinter and Casey entered the room behind him. “That’s QUITE enough out of both of you.”
“I’m gettin’ outta here,” snarled Raph. Leo grabbed his arm, but Raph jerked away and stomped out the front door, slamming it behind him, and barely pausing to grab his jacket. Leo looked at Don.
“A song,” he said. “I was humming it, and he freaked out. That IDIOT.” Don stormed into the kitchen.
“Donatello!” Splinter said sharply.
“Just leave me ALONE!” cried Don, and headed out the back door.
“Dang,” said Casey. “Sure glad I missed the first fight.” Leo gave him a dirty look and sank into the couch, head in his hands. Great. Just when it was looking like a good Christmas was cropping up, those two had to spoil everyone’s day.
* * *
Donatello growled to himself as he entered the barn and stamped the snow off his boots. He had first renovated this old place as a sanctuary that first summer they spent here. A place where he could go to be alone, to work. Where he could think whatever he wanted, SING whatever he wanted, with no one there to tease him about his voice. Thought these days, it was more the content of his songs than his voice that was apt to get him in trouble.
He was ashamed of losing his temper, and silently prayed for forgiveness. But it didn’t make him feel much better. Living with such a definitely non-Christian bunch of people was a real strain, and he discussed it often with Greg, the pastor at the Lutheran church he had joined in New York. He was a good guy, and when he’d heard about Don’s moving out to Northampton, had given Don his number and instructed him to call any time. Don had discussed his worries with Greg before his and Raph’s big fight, and expressed his concerns for his family. Greg had warned him to lay off, but he hadn’t listened until after the fight, and then it was too late. He had totally turned Raph off to Christianity, possibly forever. Greg said that a person disillusioned about Christianity was the hardest kind to guide to the church. And Raph was too wary now to even realize that Don had eased off.
He really hadn’t meant to hum the Christian pop song, but he often sang when he was alone around the farmhouse, and it was a habit. He hadn’t even realized that he was doing it until Raph yelled at him. He sighed. So much for forgive and forget. He decided he needed to talk to Greg. Too late now, maybe tomorrow. He found the small bookcase he had been working on for Leo, and picked up his knife to finish the carving he had started on one side of it. Almost unconsciously, he began to sing softly to soothe his jangled nerves: “Breathe on me, breathe o breath of God. Breathe on me, till my heart is new. Breathe on me, breathe o breath of life. Breathe on me, till I love like you do.”
The song "Breathe" is copyright Newsboys.