TMNT including Chibi turtles are owned by Mirage. Santa Claus is a personal friend of mine, and he says that Christmas is okay by him.

Chapter Four: I'm Telling You Why

Splinter knelt down by Raphael, and turned to Donatello.

"Get the first aid kit, please," he said, pulling a rag from his robe's pocket and beginning to mop up some of the blood pouring from his son. "This lip is split, and it will sting mightily when I put the medication on it. I cannot bandage it. Fortunately we do not need to stitch it. Leonardo, we will need some ice in a cloth."

Both sons were back in no time. Nothing seemed to have changed. Mikey stood exactly where Splinter had told him to, and Raph was seated on the floor, being tended to by the irate father.

"Un, Sensei," Leo hesitated, and when Splinter looked up, he motioned to Mikey. "I think his knuckles are bleeding."

Sure enough, blood was dripping from Mikey's right hand, landing in little soft "paft"s on the floor and making a small but noticeable puddle.

"Here," Splinter said, handing some of the supplies to Donatello. "Take care of your brother's hand." Then he turned his attention back to Raphael.

Donnie went over to Mikey, but his little brother looked scary. He was still sobbing, though hardly making any noise, and he still would not unclench his fists.

"Come on, Mikey," Donnie urged him, trying to take his hand. "Let me fix-"

Mikey snatched his hand away from Donnie roughly, but Splinter, though his back was to his son, heard the slight gasp that Donnie gave.

"Comply!" he snapped, and Mikey without hesitation presented his hand for his brother's inspection. The knuckles were bleeding, but Don was able with Leo's help to clean and bandage them. Both brothers were sure that once Don put the peroxide on them, that Mikey would finally make some noise- but aside from the continued sobs, nothing escaped his mouth. And all the time he stared at Raph, stared anger and hatred and sorrow and-

"Now," Splinter said, sitting back from his efforts. "What started this?"

Raph gulped. He knew he was in for it for sure.

"Mikey was writin' somethin', and I accused him of writin' to Santa, and I snatched it from him and teased him about it," he said, simply, his rapidly swelling split lip hindering some of his words. He didn't defend himself. He knew there was no defense. He prepared himself for the brunt of the punishment.

Splinter turned to Michelangelo, who, once the bandages were in place, had gone back to clenching his fists, still sobbing angrily, though not loudly- still looking daggers at his brother.

"Is this the truth?" he asked. It took all of Mikey's power to shake his head yes. This, he knew, would get him into more trouble. Splinter demanded verbal answers. This time was no exception.

"Michelangelo!"

"Hai, sensei," he snapped out, still breathing hard, still so incredibly angry.

"Go to the dojo, stand in the corner, and wait for me."

Mikey, without question, without pleading, without puppy dog eyes, turned smartly and went off to do as he was told.

Splinter turned to Raphael, who looked startled to say the least. Usually it was he who was sent to the dojo. Usually he was required to stand in the corner to wait for Splinter. What the heck...

"You were wrong to tease your brother in this manner. You know how he feels regarding this business of Santa Claus. But he was wrong to react so violently," Splinter said firmly, then sighed. "You are to go to bed at once. You are grounded to this room until I return tonight. You may only leave to use the bathroom, and even then the number of times you request this from Leonardo will be noted."

This warning about abusing the privilege was not needed. Raphael was so amazed that he'd not been the one sent to the dojo for a possible spanking, he sure as heck wasn't going to risk one later.

Now he turned to the other two.

"Michelangelo was to come with me tonight. Normally I would give his turn to you, Leonardo, but under the circumstances I will need you to stay home."

"May I come?" Donatello suddenly piped up. "Please? I know it's not my turn, but- please, may I come?"

This took Splinter by surprise. Donatello enjoyed going, but whenever an extra chance presented itself, he preferred to stay home. He had never vied for the chance to go in someone else's place- except if that place was to the junk yard.

Splinter nodded, thinking no more of it. He had other fish to fry.

"Very well. Raphael, get into bed. We will discuss any further punishment tomorrow."

"Hai, sensei," he responded, and got ready for bed without fuss or question.

"Leonardo, get him some more ice so that he may keep it on his lip," Splinter said, leaving the three in the room.

No one spoke- no one dared to speak. Don, looking lost for a moment, shook himself and went to the closet to get the clothing he would need to wear topside.

On the ground, crumpled, but miraculously with no blood stains- the letter than Raph had snatched from Mikey. Without a word he picked it up, folded it, and carried the clothes into the living room. No one questioned his movements, and that was just as well.

As soon as he was dressed, he read the finished note, slightly marred by a stray pen mark from where Mikey had been startled by Raph.

I am Hamato Michelangelo. I liked your pies at Thanksgiving. They were delicious! I need a favor. I want to buy- I mean, my brother and I want to buy an elektrick shaver for our father for Christmas. He is gonna let Santa know where we live so we can have him visit this year, but I know that Santa doesn't bring presents to grownups. I saw this commercial and the Santa was riding on the elektrick shaver, and that is the one I- I mean we want to buy. Here is all our money! It is a lot! I am sure it is enough to buy the present with. Please don't let Father know, just wrap it up and when he comes here next time fix it so he will know to bring it home but don't tell him what it is 'cause it is a SURPRISE! I hope you can do this. Thank-you again for the pies at Thanksgiving they were delicious! You don't have to wrap the present fancy I can do that but just wrap it so he don't know what it is. Thank-you again! Your friend Michelangelo P.S. The pies were delicious!"

Donnie went back into the room. Raph was in bed, holding the ice pack to his lip. Curiously he watched as Donnie climbed up to Mikey's bed and retrieved the envelope with the money in it, but he didn't ask his brother what he was doing, and Don offered no explanation.

In the kitchen, he found a pen and added a note of his own to the letter.

I am Hamato Donatello. I know that you do not sell electric shavers, but I cannot convince my brother of this fact. But could you please take this money and get us something that we could give our father for Christmas? Mikey won't mind what it is. He was supposed to deliver this note in person, but he got into a fight and will be grounded for a long time. I am sorry to ask you to do this. I am sure you are busy. But my brother has so been looking forward to this visit by Santa, and he so wanted to get a present for Father, and now he is in so much trouble... I know there is no Santa, but Mikey doesn't, and now that he has gotten into all this trouble, at least I want to make sure that he can give Father a present for Christmas. Does that make sense? Anyway, thank-you even if you cannot help us. Sincerely, Donatello."

He carefully put the note into the envelope with the money and just as carefully addressed it to Mrs. Sakai. Then he put it inside his jacket and waited for Splinter.

In the dojo, Mikey stood as he'd been bidden, in the corner. The sobs had subsided to one or two hiccupy breaths every now and then, and the fists had finally unclenched of their own accord, too tired and too defeated to maintain the defiant mood any longer. He stared at the floor, seeing in his mind's eye Santa flying farther and farther and farther away, until Christmas was gone from his thoughts.

He kept replaying the entire incident in his mind- how could he have been so angry?

Because he deserved it! Raph deserved it and more! YOU know this! He's always picking on you and he needed his shell kicked by you just once!

No, he didn't deserve it. Sure he had teased Mikey like this time and again, and yes, they had had fights before. But Mikey had never drawn blood on a brother- and Raph, though he hit hard, had never drawn blood on him. 'Sides, it was just a dumb letter. Why get angry over a dumb letter?

"Now Santa can't visit," he sniffled in a whisper. He knew the stories. He knew the Santa rules: "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake- he knows if you've been bad or good..."

Well, he certainly had been bad! All his life Splinter had told them all that they must never hurt each other deliberately, and he had deliberately hurt Raph. It didn't matter that Raph had started it. He shouldn't have hurt his brother like that.

And as he stood there, waving a depressed yet understanding good-bye to Santa, it suddenly occurred to him: he can't go tonight! He can't go tonight and leave the note and get the present for Splinter!

He sank down in a crouch and gave himself up to his misery! Not only had he ruined his own Christmas, he had ruined a special present for his father!

Tears of such heartbreaking sorrow coursed down his already tearstained face, and he rocked himself back and forth on his little feet, hugging his knees and wishing that he could just disappear.

The door opened, and he immediately stood up, gulping desperately, forcing himself to stop crying. His punishment had arrived.

Splinter, entering the dojo with a chair from the kitchen, had caught a momentary glimpse of his son's misery. But he had no sympathy at the moment. His son had acted with hatred and such anger that rivaled anything Raphael had ever exhibited in his worst temper tantrums.

Splinter set the chair down in the center of the dojo, sat down, and addressed Michelangelo.

"Come here," he said simply, and Mikey, reluctant but compliant, crossed to the center and stood before his father, taking the respectful stance that was expected of him. Splinter eyed him for a moment. "What have you to say in your defense?"

"Nothing," he replied softly. Then he cleared the crying from his throat, and forced his voice to be stronger. "I was wrong. I was mad and I let myself be mad, and I shouldn't have attacked Raph like that. I meant to hurt him and I know that is wrong. I am sorry. I don't hate him. I don't hate anyone. I- I do not defend my actions."

Splinter eyed him a little while longer. He could tell that this was sincere, and not an attempt to escape his punishment. Inwardly he sighed; he hated what he must do, but they all knew the rule, and he, being the one to make this rule, had to enforce it.

"Very well. You know what to do."

Mikey stepped up and lay across Splinter's lap. Splinter administered ten swats to his son; hard, stinging swats.

In the back of Mikey's mind, he wondered what was it with Master Splinter and the number ten- ten minutes in a corner, ten flips, ten swats- it must be some mystical thing.

"Now, you will stay in the dojo until I return," Splinter said, as Michelangelo stood up. "You may sit in this chair, but you are not confined to it or the corner. You may ask Leonardo for water or trips to the bathroom, but the number of such requests will be noted. You are grounded to the Lair for the next two weeks- and you will not go topside for the next two months."

"Hai, Sensei," Michelangelo bowed, and was secretly pleased that he'd managed to not cry throughout this entire ordeal.

Splinter arose and without another word left the dojo to prepare for his trip.

Mikey just stood there, the most miserable turtle in the whole wide world.

Donnie slipped inside, dressed for top side. Fearful of being caught, he quickly crossed to his brother and put an arm around him.

"Don't worry! I'm gonna deliver the letter!"

"Donatello! Let us leave!"

Before Mikey could say anything, his older brother had already bolted from the room.

A small glimmer of hope formed in Mikey's imagination. From a vast distance, he could see Santa give him a wink.

Maybe this was going to be his present from Santa- a chance to get Splinter his present after all.

Suddenly it didn't seem so hopeless. Mikey had lost his own visit from Santa, but Splinter would have a present!

All thanks to Donnie.

"Aww, Don," he said to the empty room. "Thanks! Thanks a lot!"

Leo entered the bedroom with more ice for Raph. His lip had stopped bleeding long ago, but the swelling was still pronounced.

"You want anything to eat?" Leo asked, sitting on the bed.

Raph sat up and sighed.

"Nope. Man, Leo, Mikey was crazy! I never seen him like that before." He tenderly felt his lip, and a half smile appeared on his face. "I think that he is gonna be a great fighter. My chest hurts where he kicked me." Sure enough, Leo could see a faint darkening on the plastron.

"You're lucky he didn't really hurt you," Leo said, the memory of their little brother screaming out such things like "I hate you! I hate you all!" still fresh in his mind. "What was in that letter, do you think?"

"Dunno. I thought he was writin' a note to Santa Claus," Raph shrugged, holding the ice once again to his throbbing lip. "I guess it kinda made me mad. I know Father said we are not to worry, but Leo- I'm worried!"

"Well, I don't think we've got to worry any more," Leo said. "I just went in to see if Mikey was okay, and he says that we don't have to worry any more, that Santa won't be coming."

Raph sat up straighter.

"How does he know?"

Leo sighed, and looked sad as he told Raph about what Mikey had said.

And he goes back to rocking himself, staring at the floor, and Leo, unable to comfort his baby brother, reluctantly leaves him alone.

Raph looked exactly the way Leo felt.

"Man, I really feel..."

Leo nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Well, at least we don't have to worry..."

But they each sat there, thinking furiously about a very unhappy little brother who had only wanted what a lot of kids wanted: a visit from Santa.