Chapter Text
Mikey awakens slowly, feeling like he’s swimming through syrup. Mmm, syrup… he should make pancakes for breakfast.
He opens his eyes to find himself on the couch, where he’d chosen to stay after movie night. At the time, staying snuggled and cozy under a warm blanket on the lightly mangled cushions had sounded like a great idea. Now, as he groans and stretches out his stiff muscles, he’s not so sure.
A headache haunts Mikey’s movements, appearing in ghostly traces until he finally stands up; as if angry about being disturbed, it rages around the front of his skull before settling into a dull pulse at his temples.
Mikey reaches a hand up to rub at his forehead with a wince. Ow. Man, he’s too young to be complaining about his aching bones. That’s Splinter’s territory.
It’s nothing a warm breakfast can’t fix!
…He coughs, and swallows around a dry throat. He must’ve fallen asleep with his mouth open.
Okay, nothing a warm breakfast with a side of warm tea can’t fix!
Sleepiness clings stubbornly to his eyelids as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s gotta be early. Hard to tell without the sun. Yawning, he begins rifling through the cupboards in search of the necessary ingredients for pancakes.
Butter, milk, flour, check. Eggs? Uhhhh. Pigeon eggs work like chicken eggs, right? Yeah, probably.
Vanilla extract, obviously, salt, sugar… Yep, he has everything. He’s not as energized by the thought of cooking as he normally is. Oh well. Pancakes are low effort anyway.
Soon enough, a growing stack of pancakes is steaming away on a plate near the stove. Mikey half-hums, half-sings a song April likes as he flips a pancake. It rotates twice in the air before landing in the pan. For style points.
“Do I smell pancakes?” Leo appears in the kitchen, sniffing at the air like a bloodhound.
Mikey waves with the spatula. “Morning, Leon! Help yourself!”
“Ohoho,” Leo nabs a plate and forks several pancakes onto it, slathering his stack in syrup. Once they’re good and soaked, he shoves the one on top in his mouth. “Have I ever told you you’re my favorite brother?”
“Oh, stop,” Mikey says, batting his eyelashes.
“Seriously, this is delicious, ‘Angelo,” Leo says around another mouthful of pancake. He swallows it with a loud gulp, then picks up an empty plate to load it with pancakes. “I’m gonna take some up to Donnie. He’s gone Zombietello mode.”
Mikey tilts his head. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s fine. Checked his temp and everything. He’s just in the misery stage.” Leo stuffs another pancake from his stack in his mouth as he stands to leave. “Mm! Holy hotdogs that’s good. M’kay, I’ll be back in a bit. Thanks for breakfast, Miguel.”
“Good luck! Don’t let him eat your brain!” Mikey calls after him.
He flaps a hand at Mikey over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Donnie’s not interested in my brains, zombie or no.”
Mikey turns back to his cooking, rubbing at his throat with his free hand. Right, the tea.
Honey would be nice. Honey… where is it? Didn’t Donnie use it yesterday? Where’d he put it?
The kettle’s whistling drags him out of his thoughts. He turns to move it off the heat and yelps. A pallid pancake sits, smoking, in the middle of the pan.
“Shoot!” he grabs the spatula and pries the round of mostly-uncooked dough from the pan. The bottom is blackened. Unsalvageable. Sighing, Mikey tosses the ruined pancake in the garbage. He must be more tired than he thought if he’d forgotten something on the stove.
There isn’t enough batter left for another pancake, so he kills the heat and pours himself a cup of tea. He sips at it, yawns, and picks up his phone to shoot Raph a text.
Magic mike: pancakes get ur pancakes
Magic mike: get em while their hot
Code red: thx
Magic mike: take as many as u want ;) leo n don already had some
Code red: and you?
Magic mike: gonna bring some to my room n take a nap
Code red: Its morning you okay?
Magic mike: yea just sleepy!
Code red: kk
Magic mike: ily (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡
Mikey takes a sip of tea as he watches Raph’s typing indicator. Then almost spits it out again when Raph finally sends what he’d been looking for— a fugly blinking gif plastered in cartoon hearts. He wishes he could know for sure if Raph meant it ironically. Knowing him, probably not.
He drains the rest of the tea and takes a couple pancakes. Usually he’s the one to clean up after breakfast, but he doesn’t really have the energy… well, either he’ll take care of it when he wakes up, or one of his brothers will.
A mid-morning nap will make everything better. Food and tea already helped. All he needs now is to complete the trifecta, and then he’ll have his energy back.
He’s not getting sick. No way. He’s got a killer immune system.
—————
Hours later, he wakes up again, feeling like he’s been pounded flat by a meat tenderizer.
Trying to take a breath reveals that his nose has set up a barricade while he slept. …Oh no. He’s definitely coming down with Donnie’s cold.
He makes an attempt to sniffle and coughs instead. Scratch that. He’s already come down with it.
Mikey takes stock and concludes that he feels thoroughly crummy. He has no idea how Donnie managed to go a whole day like this without saying anything, because all of his instincts are screaming at him to go find Raph. Or Dad. Preferably Raph. He gives longer hugs.
He whines as he drags himself out of bed, taking his orange blanket with him. The lair floors are frigid under his feet as he makes the trek to his brother’s room.
“Raph?” He calls, his voice wavering. His oldest brother is at the entrance in an instant.
“What’s up? You okay?”
“No,” Mikey admits, wrinkling up his face. “Can I come in?”
Raph’s tense expression melts into affectionate concern. “Sure you can, Mike. C’mon, you can take my bed.”
Mikey nods, makes another attempt to sniffle, and lets Raph lead him into the room. He crawls onto the bed as soon as it’s within reach, burying his head in the mountain of stuffed animals.
He feels the bed dip beside him as Raph sits down. A three fingered hand comes to rest on his shell, scratching gently.
“Guess it was only a matter of time, huh?”
“Hmmmrrggh,” comes Mikey’s response.
Raph heaves a sigh. “You said it.”
They sit there in silence for a bit while Mikey sinks deeper into the soft fur of a beat up teddy bear. Eventually, though, he has to come up for air. He pushes himself upright. He’s sure he looks every bit as miserable as he feels.
He must, because Raph scoots closer to him, opening his arms in a silent offer.
Mikey dives into the hug. Raph takes the opportunity to gently bring a hand to the side of Mikey’s neck to check his temperature. His big brother’s hand is cold in comparison to the hot, dry ache pulsing in Mikey’s head. He shivers, but doesn’t pull away.
“Ah… It got ya bad, huh, big guy?”
“Not worse than Donnie. He’s jus’ more stubborn.”
“Yeah,” Raph sighs again. “He is.”
Mikey pulls away a little to look at Raph’s face. “You still feel okay, right?”
Raph cracks a small smile, showing off his snaggletooth. “Yeah, Mikey. Thanks for checkin in.”
Mikey snuggles into Raph’s plastron again. “Mhm.”
Raph leans into the plushie hoard, holding Mikey in place. He shifts to be more comfortable, tired despite having just woken up, and soon enough, he’s half asleep, lulled by the quiet taps of Raph playing some game on his phone.
All too soon, his moment of peace is interrupted by his traitorous lungs. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs, curling up on himself to avoid Raph’s face. His older brother startles, then sits them up, patting Mikey’s shell.
“Woah, easy. I’ve got ya.”
It’s a short fit, but it leaves him feeling worse than before. “I’m dyinngggggg,” he whines.
Raph chuffs. “You’ll be fine. Raph’ll make sure of it.”
—————
Raph eventually convinces Mikey to come downstairs with him to get food. Not long after, Donnie wanders into the kitchen, a purple blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his bandana crooked. He spots Mikey slumped over at the table and stops in place to stare.
“He’s not feeling so hot,” Raph fills in. Mikey gives him a limp thumbs up. “He caught whatever bug you got.”
Donnie’s eyes flick away, uncomfortable. “Ahh… Sorry, Angelo.”
“‘S’not your fault,” Mikey mumbles. “Hehe… snot.”
Donnie shuffles over to give his little brother a stiff head pat. Mikey chirps in gratitude.
“Uh. Feel better soon.”
“Mhmmm… you too, Dee.”
Raph points a fork at Donnie. “Sit down. Raph’s making lunch today.”
He leans away. “Yeesh, okay, no need to threaten me. I’m sitting”
“What? I’m not threatening, I’m– oh.” He lowers the fork. “I see what you mean.”
Donnie gives him a look and then promptly joins Mikey in slumping over the table. Mikey snakes his hand out for a solidarity fist bump. Donnie pounds it with a battle shell arm.
They hear Raph open a cupboard. “So what are you guys feeling? Pasta? Soup? Uhhhhh… rice?”
No response.
Raph sighs. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. “Alright, I’m choosing. Scrambled eggs and rice.”
No response. No protests, however, so Raph gets to it.
The sound of clanging pans and Raph muttering to himself is soon interrupted. “Yoohoo! Everyone! Your favorite bro’s back with the goods!” Leo calls from the atrium.
“In the kitchen, Leo!” Raph yells back. Mikey peels his head off the table.
Leo saunters in with a brown bag, which he sets down with a flourish. “A-tada. One bag of medicine for my dear, sickly brother.” He sticks a hand in the bag and produces a bottle of cold medicine, a bag of cough drops, and some vitamin C tablets.
Donnie picks the medicine up with a robotic arm, eyeing it dubiously. “In the wild, orange coloration usually indicates poison.”
“Aw, don’t be dramatic. Sure, it tastes like death, but it’ll fix you right up!”
Donnie shrugs and takes a dose like a shot. He sets it down, caps it, shakes himself out with a noise of disgust, and then plonks his head back onto the table.
Mikey laughs, which turns into a cough. Leo whirls to face him.
“And Mikey’s out too! Not to worry, I predicted this. Applausssssse now,” he proclaims, brandishing three more bottles of cold medicine.
“Uh, Leo? I don’t think he needs all that,” Raph says.
“Of course not! The rest is for us, Raph. Gotta be prepared”
“Right,” he mutters, failing to crack an egg. “Dominos.”
“Yep,” he says, popping the P. “And you’d better be ready, Raphie, ‘cause I predict you’re going down next.”
Raph frowns, though Mikey isn’t sure if it’s directed at Leo or the egg shell shards he’s trying to scoop out of the bowl. Leo peers over his shoulder at the mess of broken yolk and egg whites.
“Okay Raph, I love you, but this is gonna make them feel worse. Move over, I’ll handle the eggs.”
The annoyed edge Raph’s expression takes on is definitely aimed at Leo this time, but he complies anyway. “Not my fault eggs are so tiny and smooth and breakable,” he grumbles.
Leo pats his shoulder. “Sure, big guy. Just like your b—” Raph smacks him.
Mikey tunes out their bickering, humming tiredly. Donnie lifts his head at the noise. Without a word, he unwraps the blanket from the side closest to Mikey and holds it up. Mikey brightens and scoots his chair closer, chirring in gratitude when Donnie’s extra arms drape the blanket over him and smooth it in place. A metal hand pats him on the head before it retreats back into the battle shell.
Neither noticed the argument stopping, but the silence grabs their attention. Both Raph and Leo are watching them with wide eyes.
“Awwww!!” Raph croons, at the same time as Leo says, “Donnie, you do have a heart!”
“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Donnie says. “Only for Mikey.”
“Suck it,” Mikey chimes in, grinning.
“You wound me,” Leo gasps. Mikey can practically hear him strike a dramatic pose.
“What Miguel said.” Donnie sniffles. A metal arm extends to hand him a tissue.
It seems to serve as a reminder of what Raph and Leo are doing, because they both whirl on the cooking food. Nothing is burning. They both look visibly relieved.
“Phew,” Leo says. “I mean… lunch’ll be ready in just a minute, guys. Get ready to taste our culinary genius!”
—---------
Lunch is… palatable. That’s the best they can say about it. Raph promises they’ll order pizza for dinner.
Mikey doesn’t really care. There’s enough for all of them, at least, so they’re having family lunch for the first time in a long time. They even managed to rope Splinter into it, much to Donnie’s regret. Their father is currently scrabbling at the air while Donnie’s battle shell holds him off, demanding the arms let him go so he can fuss over Donnie. Mikey’s the only one who likes being the recipient of his gooey coddling.
“Papá, your food’s getting cold,” Donnie deadpans, not looking at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Splinter whines. “Come here, Purple, I will kiss it all better.”
Donnie shudders. “I’d rather die. But,” he sighs, “I’ll allow a hug.”
Splinter pounces on Donnie as soon as he’s released. Donnie only manages to keep his face straight for a second before melting.
Leo grins at him, and Donnie narrows his eyes. Not a word, he mouths, then makes a hand signal Mikey doesn’t recognize. Whatever it is, it’s an effective threat, because Leo shuts his mouth immediately.
“Okay, Dad, let go. I need to eat my peasant gruel.”
“Hey, peasants WISH they had our gruel.”
“Most peasants were starving, Leo, that’s a low bar to clear.”
“Okay, everyone, just eat your gruel- I mean, your lunch,” Raph interjects. “Mikey and Donnie need the energy.”
Donnie sticks his tongue out at Leo and begins prying their father off his side. Mikey smiles.
“I love you guys,” he says suddenly.
“Love you too, Mikey. Now eat so you can get better before Raph poisons us all,” Leo says.
“Hey!”
Mikey just smiles. He hopes he feels better soon— otherwise, it’ll be harder to cook for Raph and Leo when they get got.
Which, if the slight pallor to their faces is anything to go by, will be sooner than either of them like.