Chapter Text
When Leo comes back to his room, all Mikey can do is groan.
Leo seems to ignore his discontent, putting a bowl of half-melted ice cream down on Mikey’s bedside table before pawing at him, a pathetic cough leaving his lips as he tries to get him to make space in his hammock. Mikey can’t help but bat his hands away, the scent of sweet from the ice cream making his stomach both grumble and flip. He’s not in the mood for whatever Leo’s going through. He’s not in the mood to play therapist. Right now, he wants nothing more than just the world to stop spinning every time he sits upright.
“No, Leo,” Mikey complains, curling up tighter around his Squishpal that Raph had gotten him for his birthday this year, an orange dinosaur named Hal. He’s the only anchor Mikey’s got to this world right now, fighting in the ring with his own body as he struggles through the flu.
“Yes, Leo,” his brother contends, still pawing at him with a whine in his throat, “I’m sleepy and I’m in need a snuggle. Plus, your dearest big brother is feeling very sick right now, my little Mike n’ Ike, and I'm thinking you have the last trashcan in the house. Donnie stole the big one from the kitchen and gave it to Raph. I don’t wanna sleep in the bathtub again just to be next to the toilet, and your bed is so much closer than mine is!”
“It’s my trashcan,” Mikey whines back, “I don’t wanna share it with you. You’re the reason I’m like this! You ruined my weekend!”
“I said I’m sorry,” Leo repeats, unperturbed by Mikey’s accusations as he continues his assault, hands prodding at Mikey’s sides in an effort to poke him into submission, “What more will it take? Please, just let your big brother die in your bed. I’ll even let you finish my ice cream.”
“I don’t want the ice cream. I want my manga signed,” he argues, pushing weakly at Leo’s hands, tightening the blanket around himself and Hal.
The fantasy of handing his copy to the mangaka still ran through his mind; still imagining the bright smile he would’ve been given as he writes a lengthy, personal epitaph of Mikey. Is he aware that the man barely spoke enough English to be passable, and would probably just scrawl his name across the length of the first page? Yes, yes he is. Does this stop the fantasy? No, no it does not.
“I promised I’ll get Draxum to sign it, Mikey,” Leo whines, “I already texted him.”
“We wouldn’t have needed Barry if you had played fair. I could’ve gotten it myself.”
“I’m sorry! I was trying to help!”
“Some help,” Mikey grouses.
Mikey feels bad about saying it the moment it leaves his lips—he’s angry, but he’s not a monster. If Leo’s hurt by it, though, he doesn’t seem to let it show, still pawing gently at Mikey until the younger brother groans, shuffling over in his hammock and doing his best to ignore Leo’s little cheer as he climbs in with him. The movement causes the hammock to rock precariously, and Mikey immediately feels the intense need to vomit at the motion, which Leo looks appropriately apologetic for, hand going immediately to his shell to rub in support while Mikey breathes it out. It’s a little awkward, as the brothers are facing each other, but it still gets the job done.
“So…” Leo drawls once Mikey gives him the all clear, turning carefully to lay on his back, eyes turned upwards to the graffiti mural Mikey’s been working on turning the ceiling of his train car into, “Do you hate me, too?”
“I can’t do this with you right now, Leo,” he immediately answers, turning over completely to face the wall. Flu notwithstanding, he really is not in the mood to be Leo’s therapist right now. He’s crossed way too many lines today, and right now, Mikey just wants some silence. He wants to steep in his fury with him.
Leo immediately responds, however, as if he can’t tell how much Mikey’s not in the mood to talk, “I just really thought—”
“Thought you could trick us?” Mikey grumbles, “Well, congrats, you did that.”
It still stings, even hours later, even in light of everything Leo had told Donnie and Mikey. It’s more than just the stupid manga or the flu; it’s the principle. They’re brothers, and brothers don’t go out of their way to make everyone miserable to ‘help,’ especially when their brothers are more than capable and could’ve helped too, if they had been given the chance to do so.
Leo swallows dryly. He knows Leo well enough to know that he still thinks he has a shot of talking himself out of this.
“I didn’t think—”
“You never think,” Mikey interrupts, unable to stop some of the venom from leaking into his words, “You do whatever you want all of the time, and you act like we’re all supposed to be okay with that.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes you do,” Mikey says, curling in on himself a little tighter, unable to stop thinking about the anger in Raph’s face as he charged him.
He would never admit it, not to any of them, but he kind of wishes Raph had been able to wipe the smug look off of Leo’s face. Mikey’s grown tired of him treating them all like this, like it’s their fault that Dad chose to make him leader. It’s been months of it and he’s not sure how much more of it he can really take, but it’s not showing any signs of stopping, and he’s sure that this incident is only going to make things worse. More arguments. More fights. More nights spent worrying if Leo’s finally going to say something he’ll never be able to take back, and now, thanks to Leo’s antics, those nights would also be spent worrying if Raph’s going to hit this breaking point ever again and lash out before Leo can think to dodge.
“I don’t mean to,” Leo says softly, putting a hand on Mikey’s back before Mikey stiffens. Mikey does love him some snuggle time, he does, but right now is just not the time. It’s all too raw. The betrayal is too fresh.
As if reading Mikey’s mind, Leo withdraws the hand, albeit hesitantly.
“I don’t,” he says again, and Mikey’s not sure if he’s talking to him or to himself, but he continues, “I just… I know I’m not made for this. I’m not supposed to be the leader. Raph is. And I thought if I could get him the job back… I dunno; I thought it would make everything easier.”
“And instead, we’re all sick and you’re still leader,” Mikey grouses, not bothering to turn his head, “We’re a team, y’know. We’re brothers. We do things together.”
“Like Raph would’ve let me,” Leo replies, and it’s the hint of anger in his tone that gets to Mikey more than anything.
“You didn’t give him the chance. You didn’t give anyone the chance,” Mikey replies, sitting up suddenly now, more than well versed in keeping his hammock steady that he does so without so much as swaying it, looking down at Leo, who still stares up at the ceiling, as if Mikey’s not talking at all, face controlled and icy. Mikey knows this look. He’d seen it every time Raph laid into Leo about a stupid risk he’d taken, or whenever Splinter was telling him to take things more seriously. He knows Leo’s trying to shut down, and if there’s one time he’s not going to let him, it’s now.
“Why don’t you trust us, Do-Do?” Mikey asks, and he knows he’s got Leo’s attentions now, his eyes immediately sliding from the ceiling to look Mikey in the eyes. Calling his brothers by the names he’d called them when he was a toddler is a sure-fire way to get any of their attentions, and Leo has always been especially susceptible.
“I do,” Leo responds after a few beats of silence, “I trust you guys with my life.”
“Then why are you acting like it’s our faults that Dad chose you to lead?” Mikey asks, smothering a cough as he tightens his arms around Hal, trying his best to pretend like the world isn’t spinning and like his stomach isn’t furious he’s not laying down anymore, “We trust you. Why can’t you trust us?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys,” Leo replies, sitting up as well now.
The hammock lurches dangerously at Leo’s sudden and untrained movements, much to the dismay of Mikey’s stomach. He can tell by the way Leo’s eyes soften that he sees the war Mikey’s fighting to avoid puking his guts out, but when he reaches out for Mikey, he stops just short. Instead, he pulls back in his hands to wrap around himself, as if trying to hold himself together.
“Then what is it?” Mikey asks, watching Leo carefully, cursing himself internally.
He’s in no state to be the empathic brother Leo had obviously sought out, but he also can’t ignore the clear dismay Leo’s exhibiting. However, he knows his brother well enough to know that Leo takes things a lot more seriously than he’d ever let on, and he knows that he would never let this show if it weren’t too strong for him to hide.
“It’s just… Mikey, I just…” Leo trails off, searching the room as if looking for the words before continuing, “I’m not Raph. I don’t know how to be Raph. And I thought if I made it to Must Say Yes, Dad would just agree and I could fix it, but he… didn’t. He’s, like, convinced I need to be leader, and nothing I say matters, and he won’t even tell me why. And I’m sure he’s probably convincing Raph that I need to be leader or something, and I don’t get why it… I don’t get why I need to. We were fine.”
“I’m sure Dad has a plan,” Mikey finds himself saying, and if Leo’s reaction is any indication that it’s the wrong thing to say, then the point is received. Leo’s eyes widen a touch before hardening dangerously, his lips tilt into an angry snarl, and his arms wrap even tighter around himself.
“Why does everyone just trust Dad so much all of the sudden?” Leo seethes through clenched teeth, and Mikey can’t help but wish he hadn’t engaged at all, “Did everyone forget what he put us through—what, because he’s kinda trying to be a dad now erases the fact that Raph basically raised us?”
“Nobody is saying that,” Mikey whispers, looking down at Hal’s fluffy head.
He would never say that. He would never even think to say that. He would never erase all the work Raph did in making sure they all even made it through the worst of Splinter’s depression. A lot of Mikey’s earliest memories of their dad involve him spending days, if not weeks, in bed, catatonic and empty, leaving Raph to get them fed and washed and in bed most of the time. Sure, Dad had made sure they learned most of their alphabet and some of their numbers and did his best to teach them all how to read and speak whenever he wasn’t stuck in his bed, but without Raph, Mikey couldn’t even say for certain they would’ve survived childhood. If it weren’t for Raph, Mikey isn’t even sure he would’ve become the turtle he is today.
“Dad spent years doing whatever he wanted and pretending like we would just figure ourselves out. Raph made sure we actually did,” Leo continues, shaking his head, “And now I’m supposed to just listen to the rat and just act like Raph doesn’t deserve to be leader?”
He’s sure Leo would say more, if not for the sudden cough attack he suffers, mucus-laden coughs racking his body as he tries his best to cough into his elbow and not all over Mikey and his things. For a moment, he feels bad for him—colds and fevers always hit Leo like a truck.
“Nobody wants you to be Raph,” Mikey says as his brother hacks, reaching above his head to pull out the trashcan he always keeps hidden away just in the cases of the flu, as they would always become a bit of a commodity during flu season. He holds it out to his brother so he can spit up what he needs to, looking away to give him the vestige of privacy. Leo immediately sticks his head in, his coughs echoing against the walls of the plastic trashcan.
“Then how is this gonna work if I’m not Raph?” Leo asks him, voice miserable.
“I dunno,” Mikey answers honestly with a sigh, allowing himself to fall back into the hammock, no longer able to stomach how the world spins.
He wishes Leo had listened to him when he said he didn’t want to do this with him; he’s in no state of mind to make Leo feel better about any of this. Not to mention that, at the end of the day, there’s nothing he actually can say to make Leo feel better; it’s up to Leo to figure this out for himself, not Mikey. There is virtually nothing Mikey can say that will help Leo realize that he’s actually more than prepared to be leader if Leo isn’t ready to hear it.
And it’s true—Leo is ready. He doesn’t seem to realize it, but Mikey’s experienced enough of Leo’s leadership to know that he’s more than capable. However, the last one to have confidence in Leo is always Leo, and Mikey knows this well. It’s been this way since they were little kids; he would always do things to show to everyone else that he could, but not because he believed he could. It’s an insecurity that Leo’s never been able to shake. It’s an insecurity that makes working with him so hard, and makes the constant arguing all the more painful. They all know Leo’s capable. Even Raph can acknowledge, has acknowledged, that Leo’s capable. But trying to say any of it to Leo himself practically always ends with arguments, wounded egos and hot heads.
“Great help,” Leo grouses miserably, muffled slightly by the trashcan, “Where’s Dr. Feelings?”
Mikey groans. He can barely be Mikey right now, much less Dr. Feelings.
“You’re not Raph, but you know how to lead,” Mikey grumbles, leaning slightly into Dr. Delicate Touch as he pulls the blanket over his head to hopefully smother the growing headache pulsing against his poor skull, “You’ve done it before. You just got to stop making it everyone else’s problem and just do it.”
“But I don’t know how!” he snaps, and it makes Mikey’s developing headache all the worse. He can’t help but wince in reaction to the pang of pain it lances through him, and before he can think about it, a hand wraps around his ankle, Leo whispering a soft apology.
“I can’t do it right,” Leo whispers to him now, hand tightening slightly around Mikey’s ankle, “I don’t know what to do.”
“‘Cause Raph always did? He messed up sometimes, too,” Mikey replies, taking deep breaths under the blanket before sitting up again, squinting as he fights to focus on Leo’s face.
The spinning hadn’t been so bad just moments before, but now it feels like if Mikey doesn’t lay down right now, he’s going to collapse, and so he curls back into his original spot next to Leo, who lays right back down as well, facing him. The hand that had been holding his foot now wraps around Mikey’s wrist as his brother, in a rare act of vulnerability, curls in against Mikey, his cheek pushing into Hal. Despite being mad at him, Mikey just settles into it, watching Leo’s face as he pulls the blanket over both of them, giving the elder turtle the protection he needs for the vulnerability he shows to him. He allows him to hide this terror with him.
“I just… I want to do good, for everybody,” Leo tells him, curling a bit tighter under the blanket, meeting Mikey’s gaze, “I’m scared, and I don’t know where to start, and I feel like all I’m going to do is let you all down.”
It’s a confessional that Mikey knows he’ll take to his grave without Leo even having to ask. This is their relationship. This is how they work. Even if Mikey’s miserable and stuffy and gross right now and it’s all Leo’s fault, he knows at the end of the day, Leo did have good intentions. Sure, communication was not his thing, but his intent was never to bring harm.
(However, a small part of Mikey can’t help but wish he grows out of this inability to communicate—it’s going to be the death of him.)
“Maybe you can start by not getting us sick on purpose,” Mikey deadpans, and Leo chuckles despite looking all parts anguished.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Mikey sighs, but curls in against Leo, sandwiching Hal between them as he gently pushes his forehead against his. It’s hard to stay mad at his own brother.
“I know,” he replies.
April’s more or less awake when Donnie comes back, pizza tray filled with food for her, the smell of chicken noodle soup filling the air. Himself not a fan of wet chicken and noodles, he’s understanding when she gags in reaction, pulling the blanket up and over her head. Donnie can’t help but smirk, putting the tray down atop a half-empty box he’s set up near April’s head and taking his place in the little nest he’s made himself on the floor. April had shoved him out of his bed nearly an hour ago after Leo got her some cough medicine from a local pharmacy, and he’s had no complaints about it. She’s a bit of a blanket hog, anyways.
“Eat what you can, but don’t force it,” he tells her, returning to unpacking.
With the cold forcing him to quarantine in his room, he’s been using his drones to help him bring the things for the lab in, having finally tackled the boxes after weeks of procrastination. He’s finally accepted that this new place is his home, albeit begrudgingly, and is doing his best to make it so. Each box contains parts he’s collected over different trips back to the old lair, pulling out the crumbles of his former creations from the rubble alongside Leo. It still stings, looking at these pieces that had made him, but he still chooses to look towards a more hopeful side. They’ll live new lives in new creations, and he’s finally at the point where the idea doesn’t fill him with dread.
April groans groggily, and Donnie watches her hand sneak out from under the blanket and grabbing the half-sandwich, pulling her captured treasure into her nest.
“Salami?” she grouses from within the cocoon.
Donnie shrugs, despite knowing she can’t see it.
“It’s all we have,” he explains absentmindedly, “Mikey likes it.”
She’s silent for a beat, so he thinks she accepts it, until her hand reaches over his shoulder and drops it into his lap unceremoniously. He has to withhold the shiver of disgust at the idea of her spit on the sandwich, and all he can do is grab it and shove it right back in her hand before his brain takes over.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, eat it,” he orders.
The only time he would ever dare to order April O’Neil around is when she’s sick. She gets pathetic and miserable and seemingly entirely forgets how to properly take care of herself. It’s as adorable as it is annoying, though Donnie can’t bring himself to actually mind it. She releases a low whine from under the blanket, but otherwise does not argue. He can hear the dry swallows as she struggles to eat it, and he shoves the lukewarm bottle of water he’d brought with him under the bed wordlessly.
“Thank you,” she grumbles, the sounds of the cap snapping as she turns it punctuating her words, and he hums in response.
Leo had tried to take her to the med bay, but Donnie had been adamant in letting her stay with him for just a little bit while he gets over his own cold. He pretends that it’s because she complains that they don’t come to visit her enough when she has to be in the med bay and not because April’s biological makeup turns her into a bit of a snuggle monster as she tries to cling to anything to keep herself warm.
He pretends it’s not an excuse to hold her while she sleeps. He pretends he doesn’t think about waking up next to her every morning since his meltdown weeks back. He pretends that he doesn’t reach out in the dark for her, the memory of her warmth seared into the cells of his palms. Donnie is very good at pretending when he wants to be, or at least he tries to tell himself that, because it’s easier than recognizing that he is head over heels for his best friend.
In the months since the party incident, Donnie’s done quite a bit of introspection when it comes to his desires for April. He’s been finding, more and more, that he doesn’t care so much about the unknown that would be the two of them together in such a romantic sense—their world was too filled with weirdness, he’d come to realize, that the idea of them just didn’t seem to cause so much anxiousness for him the more he thought on it. However, without knowing April’s feelings back, Donnie’s content with never engaging in it. It’s not his place to, he decides. Sure, he feels decidedly strong, romantic feelings for her, but at the end of the day, she’s also his best friend. As much as he desires more from their relationship, he desires her presence in his life more than anything else. If she’s the sun, he wants to stay under her shine if that’s all he can do. He’s content with what they have, even if his wayward heart earns for more, and he has no wish to ask for more.
His phone pings, dragging him from his own thoughts. April groans, curling up tighter, and he hums an apology as he goes to check it. He’d texted Raph to let him know that Leo had been disqualified and therefore the prize has gone to him, and essentially to let him know that he’ll start on his skate hawks as soon as his stomach is strong enough to keep food down. He’s not exactly sure what a skate hawk is, if he’s honest, but if it’s what his brother wants, it’s what his brother will get. He is nothing if not a turtle of his word.
To his surprise, though, Raph’s not excited about the skate hawks.
if mky ddnt cheat u cudve won
Donnie can’t help but be confused, not just by the nearly nonsensical texts. Raph’s always been a bit bad at texting, and it’s always a struggle for Donnie to retranslate it back into English. It’s not inaccurate assessment, he finds when he’s finished translating it, but it is out of place. He’d been on his way to the breaker when he’d found April sprinting in the dark. If he’d stayed on target, he possibly could’ve returned sans fever, that much is true. But it’s not like it matters, at least, not to him. He’d already lost, and he could accept defeat. It has nothing to do with the prize Raph had won.
Yeah, our brothers stink, he texts back. Raph immediately leaves a bubble of laughter on the text, but is already typing.
cn i chnge my 🏆🏆
Donnie’s confusion grows larger. Raph’s been asking for these stupid things for years.
Yeah—whatever you want.
Raph’s response is back before he even hits send, and it makes his blood run cold.
i thnk im crayz, it says, but i 👀 u w aprl do u like her ??
Maybe he’s misreading it. They all like her, so surely, Raph can mean it that way. After all, he’s too good at pretending for Raph to know.
no, Raph responds, dismissing Donnie’s assertion that they all like her, and thus proving that he might not be as good as pretending as he would like, u like her dffnt + thts👌🏽 u shuld tell her cn u 4 my 🏆?
He said he’d do whatever they ask. He said he’d do it with no questions asked. He had said it, but he'd also rather shit in his hands and clap than tell April about how he feels.
There’s nothing to tell, he lies, both to himself and to Raph.
Raph doesn’t respond immediately, so Donnie thinks the discussion is over, moving to put his phone away before it pings again, and April groans once more, her feet kicking petulantly under the covers. He’s happy she’s covered up with the blanket. If she’d seen what Raph had said, he’s sure she would have been disgusted, and he’s not sure he can live with that.
ok bt can i get smthn else?
Donnie has to grit his teeth, sucking down the annoyance, wishing that Raph just wanted the stupid skate hawks.
Anything you want, o brother mine.
Donnie’s not sure what he expects, but once again, Raph has surprised him.
if i try 2 hurt loe can u stop me nxt ⏱? shldnt hav done tht i dont want 2 hurt u all pls dont let me
Donnie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. Stop him? He’s not quite sure how Raph expects Donnie to stop him. Not only does Raph have the height advantage, but he’s got the weight and the muscle to boot. On a good day, Donnie can barely lift a table. Meanwhile, Raph could probably bench a car if he put his mind to it enough.
However, he did say no questions.
Yeah, I can do that.