TMNT: Brainwashed

Chapter 18

"Mikey, get rid of that cat." Even though Issac had to look up to glare at Mikey, he was immune to Mikey's pleading puppy dog eyes.

"But he won't be too bad once we give him a warm bath." Mikey smiled, trying to charm his way into getting the cat.

"No cat, Mikey." Issac crossed his flour covered arms, he paused his work on breakfast pastries he was to bring to work the next day to scold the turtle to had a knack to collect orange items, the ginger cat being one.

"Remember when you gave me Fanta instead of Crush? Because I remember-"

"I would to anything to make it up." Issac rolled his eyes, finishing his own quote. "I didn't mean you could kidnap a cat off of the street."

"I guess you could say I catnapped it?" Mikey grinned, happy of his pun. His smile faltered when Issac raised a brow.

"Your cat better not mess anything up in the apartment." Issac wavered a flour covered finger in front of Mikey's lit up face.

"You won't regret it, Issac!" Mikey ran to his bathroom to clean the small cat.

Issac returned to his work, a small smile on his face breaking through.

"Michelangelo why is there a cat in my sink!?" Donatello shouted from down the hall, followed by Mikey's giggle.

"To be fair, Issac said I could keep it." Issac could hear the soft murmur from Mikey. Issacs phone buzzing drew him away from eavesdropping on their soft bickering.

"Issac Anderson-" Issac stopped to listen to a voice he dreaded.

"Issac, son-"

"Don't call me son." Issac peered down the hall to make sure the brothers didn't hear him. "And I don't remember giving you my number."

"It certainly wasn't easy to get it." His deep, hoarse chuckle sent a bullet through Issacs stomach.

"What do you want?" Issac gulped, his eyes glancing around to make sure no one was listening in.

"A chance to explain, please, son."

"I would nev-" it was almost a wave a clarity,

"Issac, son." His rough hands wiped away the young boy's tears, "I promise I'll explain one day." He was jerked back by figures behind red and blue lights. "It's not want you think, it's not!"

"Thirty minutes, that's all you get. It's all you deserve." He hung up quickly, afraid that he'll apologize if he didn't hang up.

"Issac?" The voice was a whisper from a distant land. Issac's eyes were shut, peacefully, as if someone was applying eyeshadow on his eyelid.

His thoughts raced to the few memories he couldn't forget of his father. He remembered when his father took him to the large toy store on Fifth Avenue, buying only a single present for his soon-to-be-born first little sibling. He remembered when his father would return drunk, the next morning his mother would apply makeup to cover bruises. He remembered when his father returned with blood on his hands, his face, his clothes, he would growl like a savage beast and shout 'Go to your room or it'll be your blood, boy!'. He remembered the stench of death that lingered in his house, the silence that was a poisonous cloud every time his father walked into a room.

"Issac!" A hand landed on Issac's shoulder, his eyes flicked open. Without thinking, without true clarity, he grabbed the green arm and slammed the body against the fridge. He wasn't in the kitchen with Michelangelo pinned against the fridge, he was a little boy who stood up to his father after he hit his little brother.