Though it was a chilly December day outside, the sewers of New York City were nice and warm. Quite silently, Master Splinter sat in the middle of the dojo with his beady, rat eyes shut tight as he waited for his students, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to attack. This exercise was to hone their covertness skills, for stealth is the key factor in becoming a successful ninja. So far so good: the wise rodent felt nary a trace of his pupils. More than he knew, however, they were practically under his tail.

Without so much as a whisper, the turtles had compromised a sure-fire plan to keep their sensei completely oblivious as they approached him. As Leonardo, the strong, fearless leader, directed his team of brothers, Raphael, also known as Mr. Hothead, and Donatello, commonly referred to as Mr. Fixit, nodded earnestly in comprehension. However, just as the plan was about to be executed, the youngest and inanest brother, Michelangelo, felt a tickle in his nose.

'N-no way, dude,' Mikey thought to himself, 'This is important! You can't screw this up… like everything else. Just fight it: just, just…'

All of a sudden, Michelangelo felt his will-power slip away as he let out an unplanned, explosive, "H-huh, Ha'Aaiiishhooo!"

With his senses perking up, the old rat leapt into action and began to attack his sons most unmercifully. Watching their master go into 'ninja mode', the three older brothers glared angrily at the orange clad turtle as he giggled, "Hehe… 'scuse me."

Before Don, Raph, and Leo had the chance to retaliate, Master Splinter had already begun to bash his students to defeat.

'Geez, Mikey, why'dja have to sneeze,' Mikey thought to himself as his sensei pummeled him to a pulp, 'Now you got everybody mad at you! As if you didn't already feel crumby enough, you had to go an' ruin Leo's whole plan… Is it hot in here? Aw, crud: don't tell me I've got a fever! This day just keeps getting worse!'

Before training today, Mikey felt a bit under the weather: his throat hurt, his nose was stuffed, and he just felt completely sick. Of course, the young turtle understood how crucial this exercise would be today, so he figured he could tough it out as if he was right as rain. Boy, was he wrong…

After their unpleasant 'lesson' was completed, the turtles were called to come to attention and kneel before their master.

"I must admit," Splinter stated, "You boys were doing quite well…"

Suddenly, the elder rodent turned to his youngest son as he continued, "That is, until a certain distraction exposed your cover."

As his brothers shot him a displeased look, Michelangelo sighed sheepishly as his freckled cheeks blazed scarlet. And as if that wasn't enough of an embarrassment for the orange-clad turtle, Master Splinter went and handed his son a handkerchief.

"Stealth is the key element of Ninjitsu, Michelangelo. Remember this," Sensei remarked.

"H-hai, Sen- h,ha,heh-H'haeeschooo!" Michelangelo sneezed as his brothers tried to muffle their laughter.

Finding this immaturity most displeasing, the wise rodent stroked his beard and announced a proper punishment.

"Perhaps an assignment of, say, twenty-five extra sets of Kimusadi kicks shall do the trick," the old rodent remarked.

"What?!" Donnie exclaimed.

"But Sensei-" Leo began before being interrupted by his master.

"Practice makes perfect, my pupils," Splinter insisted, "And you boys are far from it."

"But Master Splinter-"

"I will hear no more about this, Raphael," Splinter exclaimed, "Your exercise begins now."

Groaning quietly, the turtles took to their training positions. As Michelangelo took to his place, Raphael shouldered him harshly as he grumbled, "Way to go, Sneezy."

After hours and hours of extra practice, their time in the dojo had been completed. Exiting the exercise room, the worn-out reptiles moaned as they plopped on the couch with exhaustion.

"Oy," Donatello exhaled, "My arms… I-I can't move them."

"Anybody else feel their legs are on fire," Leo asked tiredly.

Raising their shaky, exhausted arms, each turtle echoed a weary 'me' in response to their eldest brother's question.

"Yeah," Raphael began as he sneered at his youngest brother, "And, once again, we have good ol' Michelangelo to thank for our punishment."

"Look, dudes," Mikey responded hoarsely with a sniffle, "I-I'm sorry: it's all my… Hey- whaddya mean by 'again'?"

"C'mon, Mikey," Raph ranted, "This ain't exactly the first time we've had to pay for your dumb mistakes."

"Oh yeah," Mikey sneered with a cough, "Name one time when you've had to-"

"Well," Donnie interrupted, "There was that one evening when you set off the alarm in the bank on thirty-second street."

"Oo," Leo chimed in, "A-and that night where you fell through one of the ventilation shafts in that old factory building on third-and-main exposing us to those drug lords from-"

"And-" Raphael began, until he was brutally interrupted.

"Alright already," Mikey shouted with frustration, "Geez, I said 'one' time! I, h-huh, heh… h'Haaas'chiiooo!"

After sneezing again, Michelangelo bashfully used the handkerchief his sensei had given him and blew his snout as his brothers sniggered.

"He strikes again," Raph exclaimed.

"Oh boy," Donnie groaned as he placed the back of his hand atop his youngest brother's forehead, "You feel a bit feverish there, pal. You might be comin' down with somethin'."

"I wouldn't get too close, Don," Raph directed, "I here Idiotosis might be catching."

"Is that all I am to you," Mikey asked angrily as he confronted his red-clad brother, "Just one big joke?!"

"Alright, alright," Leo intervened as he stood between his two brothers, "Break it up, you two. Mikey- go cool off in the kitchen or something."

"Me," Mikey quarreled, "B-but Raph-"

"I'll deal with him," Leo intruded as he shot his red-clad brother a look, "Just go."

"Whatever," Mikey grumbled as he stormed out of the room.

Storming into the kitchen, the orange-clad turtle broke into a fit of coughing. After rapidly pouring a glass of water into a glass and chugging it down, Mikey sighed contentedly. However, this serenity only lasted about two seconds as he became startled at the reflection he saw in the toaster.

He looked awful. His nose was tinted pink, his blue eyes were glassy and swollen, and he looked like he hadn't slept all night (partly because he didn't). Why was he trying to kid himself? He was sick: no doubt about it.

"W-woah," Mikey said out loud to his reflection, "Y-you don't look so good."

"Well you're no fresh rose either, pal," the reflection retaliated.

Shocked by this, Michelangelo shook his head and stared wide eyed at the Michelangelo-toaster reflection as it spoke.

"Boy, dude, you look like you've been hit by a truck," the reflection continued, "Don't worry, though- with a good lookin' friend like me, you'll be feelin' better in no time!"

Placing the toaster back on the counter, Mikey rubbed his puffy eyes madly and then stared back again at his now silent reflection.

"M-maybe Donnie's right," the orange-clad turtle mumbled with a sniffle, "Maybe I do have a fever. Maybe-"

"Whaddya mean 'apologize'?!"

As he heard the voice of Raphael exclaim from the other room, Michelangelo made his way over to the dividing wall to eavesdrop.

"Why should I have to apologize for Mikey's mistake," Raph stated, his arms crossed with anger.

"Look," Leo replied firmly, "Your comments back there were a little harsh: even you know that. And, based on Donnie's evaluation, he's not feeling his best, so-"

"C'mon, Leo," Raph began, "You and I both know that Mikey can be a nuisance."

"S-sometimes," Leo replied hesitantly.

"Alright, fine," Raph replied, "Maybe you wanna beat around the bush, but that doesn't mean I will. Donnie, you with me?"

"Oh, no," Don replied, "Keep me out of it… But I will say this: I know, for certain, that my shell wouldn't be so sore if I didn't have to do twenty-five extra Kimusadi kicks today."

"And Don," Raph continued sardonically, "Why, pray tell, did we have to do twenty-five extra Kimusadi kicks?"

Donnie went silent.

"My point exactly," Raphael nodded.

Mikey couldn't believe it: his brothers… hated him. Still listening earnestly, Michelangelo overheard the rest of the conversation as Leonardo began to speak.

"Alright, Mr. Sarcastic," Leo asserted as he came snout-to-snout with Raph, "That's enough. I get it: you're angry at Mikey. That's fine: we're all a little angry at Mikey. And I can understand why: he made us do extra work, he messed up our plan-"

"'Our plan'," Raph repeated, "Who's the leader here?"

"Fine," Leo stated with a pause, "…Mikey…messed up my plan, but-"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you, Leo," Raph intruded, "MIKEY-IS-A-MENACE. W-what if this was a real mission and not just a training session with Sensei? Would the Kraang hand Mikey a handkerchief and let us go? How about the Shredder?"

"Alright," Leonardo growled through clenched teeth, "You made your point."

"Then how about you make your point," Raph demanded, "Splinter even said it, 'stealth is crucial in being a ninja'. How can you even call yourself a ninja if you're not stealthy one-hundred percent of the time?"

"Are you trying to say Mikey isn't-"

"I'm just saying Mikey has a long way to go… And you know that don'tchu?"

"Shut up, Raph."

"You know that Mikey's a bad ninja…"


"You know it-"

"YES," Leonardo exploded angrily.

Michelangelo couldn't believe his ears… that is, of course, if he had ears. And, what was worse, Leonardo wasn't even finished.

"You happy now, Raph," Leo continued, "YES: I know that Mikey's not… the best ninja in the world; and I-I know that he's always goofing off and getting us into mischief, b-but he's trying, okay?! He doesn't mean to act as the menace of our missions or blow our cover… or just plain mess up a lot, but he's important to the team because…"

Leo stopped. He was lost for words. He couldn't think of a single reason: not one. With his blue eyes tearing as the silence cut through his giant heart, Mikey prayed that Leo had at least one good reason… just one.

"He's… I dunno… he's good for a laugh, isn't he?" Leo finally responded.

With his heart sinking, Michelangelo fell gently as he plopped onto the kitchen floor.

'It's true,' Mikey thought sadly to himself, 'To them—I'm just a big, fast joke. And, heck, who am I kidding? I am a menace. Well, y'know what? I'm not gonna stick around where I'm not wanted. I'll show 'em stealth...'

And with that, Michelangelo snuck out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out of the sewer without so much as a 'goodbye'. Completely none the wiser, the other three boys in green still chatted about the present situation.

Hours passed later on into the evening, and still unaware of Michelangelo's escape, Donatello came into the living room from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn.

"Hey Don," Raphael shrugged as he glanced over at the kitchen, "Is the little sneeze-machine still in there? Around this time, I figure he'd be cooking up a pizza by now."

"That's odd: I was just in the kitchen," Donatello murmured as he rose from the couch, "Hmm… maybe I oughta check his room: he's probably there."

"Look, fellas," Leo stated as Donatello climbed the stairs, "Maybe he went up there to cool down. Let's just let him be. After all, Raph, you really set him off back there."

"Aw, c'mon," Raphael jeered, "I bet he doesn't remember half the stuff we-"

"Well, regardless," Donnie itemized, "I'm goin' up there. He may be a menace, but he's a sick menace; and as the family medic-"

"Yeah, yeah," Raph waved off, "Do whatcha gotta do, Doctor Dork: nobody's stoppin' ya."

"Losersayswhat," Donnie stated at incomprehensible speed.

"What," Raph inquired before exclaiming with realization, "HEY!"

Flipping through the channels as he chuckled, Leonardo searched the vast universe of television for reruns of Space Heroes to be playing.

"You're not gonna find it," Raph remarked as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl that rested on the coffee table next to Spike, "That's why they-"

"Don't say it, Raph," Leo intruded placidly as his eyes remained glued to the television.

"Really? You still don't believe that they-"

"Don't. Say. It."

"But a lot of shows get-"


"Why ya getting' mad at me! It's not like I cancelled it!"


"Honestly… I think you're totally nuts!" Raphael retorted angrily, "And, y'know what else I think… I think it's stupid to associate your entire life philosophy based on a stupid, made-up television show, and the fans of this stupid, made-up television show are — let's see, how can I put this nicely? Oh, yeah: STUPID!"

"Take that back," Leonardo commanded in a low tone as he drew his katana from his belt.

"Make me," Raph replied seriously as he whipped out his sais.

Just as the two brothers began to battle, a frantic Donatello rushed down the stairs.

"F-Fellas," Donnie muttered, though he was out of breath, "Fellas, we-"

However, over the bickering, Donatello could not be heard.

"You just don't appreciate quality programming"


"Oh, that's show's quality alright… quality garbage!"


Unable to grab their attention, Donatello groaned, grabbed his Bo staff, and knocked the two off their feet as he exclaimed, "GUYS!"

"WHAT?!" the red and blue clad turtle shouted.

"Mikey's… gone," Don shrugged.

"'Gone'," Leo repeated nervously.

"You sure, Donnie," Raph questioned skeptically.

"Positive," Donatello replied, "I scoped out the entire room. Don't ask me what I found, but lemme tell you this: I found everything besides Michelangelo… And I do mean everything."

After shuddering at the memory of Mikey's closet, Donatello turned to his brothers. Don looked at Raph, Raph looked at Leo, and Leo just stared at the floor. Just then, a flood of worry swept across his brow.

"Y-you don't think," Leo mumbled to his team, "You don't think he heard us, do you?"

"When we were calling him a menace an' stuff," Raph asked.

"Hey," Donnie perked up, "Whaddya mean 'we'? It was a whole lot of 'you', Raphael."

"Well, yeah," Raph blushed, "B-but it was Leo, too! And, Donnie, you said-"

"Look," Leo intruded anxiously, "We can blame ourselves later: because we're all to blame. But right now, we've gotta go look for him. Who knows how long he's been gone? Or, more importantly, where he is!"

"Leo's right," Donnie added, "We've got to-"

"And be sure to bu-hu-hundle up tonight folks," the weather man on the Channel Seven news exclaimed, "Because the Doppler radar is pickin' up one heavy snow storm headed straight for us. As for next week-"

Turning off the television, Leonardo stared worriedly at his brothers.

"'Snow storm'?" Leo echoed, "And Mikey's right out in the thick of it."

"With no jacket or anything," Donnie added, "A-and, heck, he's already sick AND cold-blooded. If he's out in that kind of weather for too long, he might-"

"Why're we still standing here, then," Raphael jolted as he grabbed and old jacket and hat from the city dump off the nearby coatrack, "Let's get our brother back."

Following Raph's sentiments, the turtles bundled up and rushed to the surface in hopes of locating their little brother.

It was about ten o'clock, and the furious wind was whipping vast flurries of snow all over the city. With his nose running like faucet, Michelangelo shivered as his bare, sick body marched through the storm. Perhaps this would have been more enjoyable, Mikey thought, if his feet weren't numb. Snow boots seemed so underrated right now. Though he was delirious with fever and undeniably ill, Michelangelo pressed on.

He wasn't even sure where he was going: as long as he was away from the sewers, he was happy.

"A-all I am is a w-w-waste t-to them anyway," Mikey grumbled hoarsely as he shivered, "B-B-better off aloh-aloahh, ahh, ehaA'aschhioooo! *sniff* Alone."

Feeling worse by the second, Michelangelo felt his body begin to weaken. And strangely, off in the distance, he could have sworn he heard somebody out there calling his name.

"Michelangelo! Michelangelo!" he heard.

"I m-m-must be sicker than I thought," Mikey said with a cough, "M-maybe I'm deliriouhh-huh, hh'haAatchooo!"

As Michelangelo made his way around one side of town, Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo did the very same on the other side. Leaping from roof top to roof top, the boys in green were determined to find their brother.

"Michelangelo!" Donatello exclaimed.

"Mikey!" Raph screamed, "C'mon, you dork! Come home! I- er, we're sorry!"

"It's no use, boys," Leonardo sighed, nearly slipping on of the icy patches on the roof, "We've been at it for hours, and still no luck. The storm's picking up and there's no way he can hear us through this wind."

"Whaddyou suggest then, Fearless Leader," Raph confronted.

"We're just gonna have to search… on the ground."

"Th-the ground," Donnie repeated nervously, "Y-y'mean, like, the sidewalk?"

"No dark allies, or clotheslines or nothin'," Raph added apprehensively, "Just… out in plain sight?"

"Look," Leo quelled, "The streets are empty. Nobody in their right mind is out tonight, so there's no real danger-"

"Yeah, as far as you know," Donnie intruded, "What if we get caught?!"

"Don…What if we never find Mikey," Raph added.

Pondering on this for a moment, a shot of fear struck Donatello's brown eyes as he considered this statement to be a true possibility.

"That settles it, then," Leo finalized, "We're hitting the streets."

As the three turtles made their way down a fire escape, Michelangelo stood shivering; wishing he had an escape right about now. While the gang of thieves loomed over him, Mikey just stood there staring with wide, glazed eyes fixed on the bandits. Surely, if he were well enough, he'd be able to take all six of them to the cleaners and back. However, due to his present state, poor, sick Michelangelo could barely fight a coatrack!

"Fuh the las' time, punk," the leader, named Scuzz, questioned impatiently, "Whaddya doin' on our turf? An' how about that costume? It's a little late fuh Halloween, don'tcha think?"

"U-uh, well," Mikey muttered lamely, "I jus', um, h-heh, H'huh'schoo!"

If only he were well enough: he could think of a snappy comeback like that! Right now, however, his brain was on fire from the vicious fever that was plaguing his body, and much too distracted by his chills to think on his frozen feet.

"Oh, I get eet, boss," incented Pablo, the second-banana, "Thees eez heez deesguise when he goes on a raid."

"Very observant, my little compadre," Scuzz remarked as he turned angrily at the orange clad turtle, "See that antique shop? Is that where you was headin'? We hit up that spot all the time? You wasn't hittin' up our spot, was ya?"

"N-no, I-"

"He's lyin, boss."

"I think so, too, mi amigo," Scuzz replied as he snapped, "Let's get him, boys."

While the rumble went down by the antique shop, a bit of a rumble was going down in Donatello's stomach.

"Geez," Donnie groaned, "All this searching sure does give me an appetite."

"Funny," Raph commented quietly, "Mikey probably would've said the same thing."

Staring at his red clad brother, Leonardo noticed just how upset Raphael was. Though trying not to bring attention to himself, a silver tear trickled down his cheek and froze into ice upon his face. Leo knew that he couldn't say anything to Raph without starting up a quarrel, so he simply put his hand on his brother's shoulder and smiled.

Just then, an odd sort of cry echoed through the air.

"Don… was that your stomach," Raphael inquired.

"It came from that direction," Donnie shouted as he pointed the way.

Without missing a beat, the boys in green sprinted two blocks to find, deep in the alleyway between twenty-second and twenty-third street, a gang of marauders beating up a poor, helpless creature. This creature, as boys got closer, appeared to be none other than-


"Hey," Scuzz pondered turning to a seemingly unconscious, "There's a whole gang of yuhz?"

"That's right, cupcake" Raphael replied as he punched Scuzz square in the nose.

"Six against three," Leo commented as he whipped out his katana blades, "How do you like those odds, Don?"

"Oh, I'd say about half-and-half," Donnie replied, striking three of the goons off their feet with his Bo staff.

Simply drawing his blades before the faces of the other two bandits, Leonardo commanded in a hushed tone, "Leave… now."

Obeying admirably, the gang of thieves were off like rockets; leaving the turtles to find their nearly frozen brother buried deep within the snow. Digging him out of his near-grave, Leonardo stared at his youngest brother: who now looked more bluish with little, gray bruises than green, and mumbling utterances incoherently. The sight of how pitiful he looked was almost too much for Leo to bare.

"We've got get him home," Leo ordered, slinging his brother over his shoulder and heading for the nearest pot hole.

Thankfully, they were relatively close to home. Now, the only problem was getting there.

"This darn snow," Donnie grumbled as he tried to dig through it, "It's practically turned to ice by now. I can't-"

And without so much as a word, Raphael began frantically picking at the pot hole until the snow was cleared. Prying the manhole cover open with one of his Sais, Raph picked it up and allowed Donnie to enter first. This way, Leonardo could lower Michelangelo down to him securely.

"Easy now," Don hushed as he caught his little brother, "Gotcha. Alright, fellas- c'mon down!"

Making their way rapidly through the sewer tunnels, the turtles took every short cut they knew to reach their home. Almost unknowingly, the ill-stricken, orange clad turtle squinted his eyes to find Raphael close behind him. Noticing his brother's brief sense of coherence, Raph took the opportunity and made the most of it.

"Mikey," Raph shouted, "Listen to me: you're really, REALLY sick, okay? B-but you're gonna pull through for us. Y-you've gotta pull through, alright? We need you, pal. You… you HAFTA hang on, do you understand me?! Hang on, Mikey! Hang on…"

This was the last thing Michelangelo heard before he blacked out.

After eventually reaching the sewers around one in the morning, the turtles tucked their sickly little brother into a makeshift bed on the couch. Following the wise instructions of Master Splinter, the boys layered Michelangelo with four blankets, brought a luke-warm washcloth and bowl of hot water to his bedside, and took his temperature.

"Survey says," Donnie mocked quietly as he read off the thermometer's reading, "A hundred and one: point nine. I'm not gonna lie, it… looks pretty bad. Some kind of flu-slash-hypothermia-slash-the heck knows what else."

Watching his ailing son breathe heavily, Master Splinter's eyes began to well up with tears. Never had he seen him so helpless and unwell. Letting out a weak, little, "h-huuiiishhooo!", Michelangelo began to shiver even more ferociously. Tucking his son in tighter, Splinter only wished he could have done more to help him. With his eyes fixed on his youngest pupil, the elderly rat began to speak.

"How could this have happened," Sensei asked despairingly as he slumped to the kitchen.

Looking back and forth at one another, Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo began to think about all that they had said to their little brother earlier on that day. Each of them relived the shame of that moment where they knew, but hardly cared at the time, that they had hurt Mikey's feelings. Leo had no doubt anymore: he was certain that Mikey had heard them talking about him from the other room. Donnie, somehow, didn't seem to mind the pain from training: that was behind him. Raph, of course, felt the guiltiest of all. Who started that whole, stupid conversation anyway?

Staring at the orange-clad turtle, Donatello and Leonardo shot each other a look of sadness as they kneeled before the bedside. Noticing Michelangelo's freckled cheeks blaze a bright crimson with beads of sweat beginning to form upon them, Donatello took the washcloth and dabbed his brother's brow.

"I-I know this fever is a toughy," Donnie mumbled, "But you can beat it! …Please."

As he listened to the orange-clad turtle's quiet moans of discomfort, Leonardo began to speak, quite uneasily, to his half-conscious brother.

"We know you wanna talk, Mikey," Leonardo fake-smiled, "You always do! So, please… just… just do it. Let us know you're alright."

Watching this was almost too much for Raph. With his eyes watering, the red-clad turtle grabbed Spike off the coffee table and approached the bed side of his ill little brother. Raphael kneeled before him and said with a trembling in his voice;

"Hey there. Not sure if you can hear me, but Spike, here, just wants you to know that… he misses you. He, um, h-he's kinda worried, too, and… well, he just really wants you to, y'know… be okay. He, er… he needs you, Mikey. As a matter of fact, we all do. Look, you know I'm a straight-shooter, so I'm just gonna say it: we know we said some pretty awful things aboutcha today, b-but we're sorry. I… I'm sorry. So what if you're a ball of trouble: heck, that's why we keep you around! …Seriously, though, we need you, bud. We need Michelangelo back.

"A-and another thing," Raphael sniffled as he angrily wiped a tear from his cheek, "The… th-the only one here with Idiotosis is me," before he began fighting of a fit of sobbing.

Burying his head in his arms, Raphael bawled uncontrollably. Stirring slightly before letting out thunderous, "h-Huh, A'aeE'hHooOOO!", Michelangelo sniffled as he opened up his swollen, blue eyes and smiled.




As the entire room exalted and cheered, Michelangelo giggled with a slight cough.

"Didju guys miss me," Mikey laughed huskily.

"Aw, geez, pal," Donnie fussed, "You sound terrible."

"Some green tea should help that," Master Splinter added happily as he brought a steaming hot mug to Michelangelo, "Here you are, my son."

"Tha-hanks, Sensei," Mikey acknowledged, "B-but wait: how'd I get here? The last thing I remember is being buried in the snow."

"It's a long story," Leo chuckled as he sat down by the couch, "Mikey… we just wanted to apologize. We said some pretty nasty things, and-"

"Aw, it's alright, dude," Mikey consoled as he sipped his tea, "Besides- I heard the whole thing from Raph just now anyways, and-"

"You heard me," Raph questioned angrily, "Why you- I oughta, just- ooh! Y'know what, Mikey?! If you ever go out and risk your life like that again, I'll kill ya!"

"Oh yeah," Mikey jeered with a sniffle, "I-I'd like to see you trah-h,haaH'RRRaaaaAAAASCchhhHHOooOOO!"

With the sewer in an uproar of laughter, the turtles figured that all was well. Though he was feeling much better, Michelangelo was still afflicted with a pretty nasty fever; and just to make sure their little brother would sleep well through the night, Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael decided to sleep in the living room to keep a constant vigil over the orange-clad turtle: now finding a new appreciation for Michelangelo.