Chapter Text
He couldn’t sleep. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking from his nightmare that night. In what felt like a second, it brought Mikey back to the day the Kraang first appeared, when he first saw those slimy monsters slowly crawl out of a purple portal that would lead to hours of countless death and destruction.
He was brought back to the memories of hopelessness as he watched the result of his brothers’ sacrifices one by one.
Watched as his giant teddy bear of a brother screamed in pain as he got turned into a Kraang zombie forced to fight his brothers.
Watched as his brother allowed his soft shell to be exposed as he took a hit for him and watched as he disregarded his sensory issues and allowed himself to get swallowed by the slimy control board all to drive the Technodrome back.
Watched helplessly as his brother gave the order to trap himself in the prison dimension so he could prevent the main Kraang’s escape. Watched as an explosion echoed in the sky, signifying that Casey had done what was asked of him.
Mikey held his hands closer to his chest, choking back a sob and holding in a shaky breath. He remembers how his hands started to disintegrate in front of him while trying to open a portal, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting Leo back, it was all he could think about through the tears because, according to Casey, he was the greatest mystic warrior and how could he be if he couldn’t even get his brother back-
His breath hitched, he slapped his hand over his mouth, not trusting a sob wouldn't come out without it. Mikey felt the silent tears wet his cheeks as a single train of thought flooded his mind:
What would have happened if he failed? What would have happened to his brother? His brother could have died alone, and it would be his fault for not being strong enough and-
No. He refuses to go down this rabbit hole of intrusive thoughts and self-blaming. Mikey knows how dangerous those things can be, he's Dr. Feelings for a reason. He needs to do something to distract him, he needs an outlet for everything.
He needs to paint.
With a shaky breath and even shakier steps, Mikey got off of his bed and began his search. Trying to make as little sound, since everyone else was most definitely asleep, he rummaged through his art supplies before his eyes settled on something.
“Bingo,” he whispered to himself, pulling out a light brown satchel with a smile. Not only was the satchel new, but the paint as well. After New York got rebuilt, his pops and brothers all pitched in to get him new supplies, but he hasn’t been able to use them yet. Now seemed like the perfect time to add some more works to his large canvas.
Obviously, he wouldn't paint anything that revealed how much of a frazzled mess his feelings and mind had become. That would make the vibrant atmosphere he worked hard making turn gloomy, and who would want that?
Walking through the darkened halls of the subway, Mikey was keenly aware of the sound of metal gently clicking against metal. Maybe the way the noise seemed to echo in the halls should have worried him, but all he could feel was a sort of calm as he walked.
Surrounding him on all the walls were a collage of colors and designs, a testament to his messy mind and artistic talent. Pops always said that Mikey's art was what helped make the sewers into a home, and he worked, is working, hard to keep that up with new pieces whenever he can.
However, the more he wandered, the more confused he became. Every turn he took, on every wall he saw, there was a spray on mural full of vibrant colors. "That's not right," Mikey mumbled to himself, "I was sure there were more empty walls somewhere."
And yet, the more he looks, the more he realizes…there isn't anymore. Every space that would have been available to paint has already been painted on. By him.
It took all his willpower not to drop the satchel full of metal cans on the ground in defeat.
How could he run out of space? He never ran out of space, the old lair seemed endless.
Ah. The old lair. That's why.
Back in the sewers, there were enough twists and turns to get lost in, more than enough walls to paint on that the space felt like it could go on forever.
That all came crashing down though, literally and metaphorically. While the abandoned subway is really big, it isn't as big as he thought it was.
Guess he filled up the walls faster than he thought.
With a dejected sigh, Mikey fixed the satchel into a more comfortable position and began the tiring trek back to his room.
"That's fine," he said to himself, "I don't have to paint. I'll just…find something else to do tomorrow!"
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of his room once again. He took a shaky breath–guess his nerves came back–as he looked into the darkened room. "Yeah…Tomorrow."
He had a restless sleep that night.
______________
Nothing. He's tried so many things and nothing's worked.
He’s tried coloring, he’s tried sketching, he’s tried origami! Nothing seems to get rid of that antsy feeling in his gut that painting so effectively did.
His brothers let him paint their shells again, and while it did work for a few days, he couldn’t keep using them as his own personal canvas whenever it got too much. Donnie still had inventions he was itching to make, Raph was still insistent on doing at least some type of patrol, and Leo?
Leo was like him. He could never sit still for too long, especially since the shells take at least a full day of undisturbed drying.
Where did that leave him? In his room on the ground, surrounded by basically every type of art supplies he had. It was honestly a mess.
A low whistle brought Mikey’s attention back to earth, and towards the doorway, where Leo leaned nonchalantly as he took in the state of his little brother’s room. “Geez Mikey, it looks like we fought a mutant in here,” Leo said in amused surprise as he tiptoed over the supplies and into the room. “You good baby bro?”
All Leo got was a groan in response as Mikey threw his head back on the ground.
“I’m gonna take that as a no,” he chuckled.
“Good idea.”
The rustling of papers and the creak of a bed made it clear that his brother decided to sit in on this madness. After meeting eyes with each other, Mikey sat up in a crisscross motion, watching as Leo also shuffled around to get more comfortable as well. “Well, Hermano, wanna tell me why you chose to turn your room into…” he gestured weakly, “this whole situation?”
Mikey put his head in his hands with a heavy sigh before looking back up, “It’s just that…I realized there’s no more space for me to paint in the lair and…let’s just say that I’ve been quite antsy,” he smiled awkwardly.
Leo snapped his finger, like something clicked, “Oh,” he drawled, “that’s why you were asking to paint on our shells!”
The box turtle nodded sheepishly, forgetting how quickly Leo caught on to these things. “Yeah,” he squirmed in his spot on the floor, “but I can’t keep asking you guys to let me paint your shells, so I’m trying to find a replacement but…”
“But nothing’s working?”
He nodded again.
With a light chuckle, Leo patted the space beside him in invitation, an invitation that Mikey happily accepted. Once they were settled next to each other, he was pulled into a side hug which was a surprise at first, but he wasn’t complaining.
He needed this.
“Hey, I’m sure you’ll find somewhere,” Leo said before chuckling, “and if you can’t, just go to the surface.” Mikey’s eyes widened as his brother kept talking, “but for real, you’re resourceful and smart, you’ll find something to do.” Standing up, he dusted fake dust off his shorts, “While I would love to stay, chat, and throw a few more jokes around, Raph asked me to help him train and I’m not about to leave the big guy hanging.”
With that, Leo walked out with a peace sign, leaving Mikey alone in his room with a shocked expression and a dangerous idea.
What if he did go to the surface?
He knows Leo was just joking when he brought up the suggestion, knows it was a way to try to get a smile and a laugh out of him, but it clearly missed his mark and managed to hit another mark dead on. With New York recently finishing reconstruction from the Kraang attack, there were so many empty buildings.
Empty canvas’.
And all for him to use.
A wild grin spread across Mikey’s face. Scrambling off of his bed, he ran to his closet where he stored his satchel from the previous night of wandering and flipped it open. Inside were his spray cans, all of them with clean tops, untouched by the stains of dry paint and each of them a vibrant hue that can be used to tell a story. It still wasn’t enough though, if he was truly gonna go topside, he needed enough paint so that he wouldn’t need to make two trips.
Paint isn’t the only thing he’ll need, he’ll need gear. New gear and new…well, everything!
He silently thanked his brother, cause while Leo didn’t intend to, he gave Mikey something to put his energy into and that was never a good sign for anyone other than himself.
This…this was gonna be fun.
_______________
For the next week or so, he put his plan into action. Whenever he was around Donnie, Mikey would drop hints that he needed a new gas mask for painting and about a day later, there was a brand new black and orange gas mask sitting innocently on his bed.
Wherever he was around Raph, he spoke about how he needed new painting clothes since his got destroyed with the old lair (that fact is very much true). Raph, not so subtly, asked what they were again, and Mikey told him. A day or two later, his brother nervously approached him with a new black, sleeveless zip-up and shorts to match.
All Leo really did was go to him directly and ask if Mikey wanted to go with him to hang out with April who, coincidentally, got a job at a paint shop recently. Needless to say, that was the easiest thing to get on his little checklist.
Now all he had to do was wait for the sun to go down and for everyone to fall asleep and he could finally begin.
_______________
It took…a lot longer for everyone to fall asleep than he would have liked. It took till at least one am for him to be able to leave for his room without his family getting suspicious and by the time he was prepped and ready to head out, it was halfway till three am.
It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that he’s free to leave without getting caught and he’s not gonna waste any more hours of moonlight than he has to.
Adjusting the heavy satchel over his head and across his body, he quietly made his way towards the surface. It felt weird, going topside without his orange mask, but he knew that it was recognizable. He didn’t want to be recognized.
Once on the surface, he smiled underneath his gas mask as he looked on at the city full of lights. Even after everything, the city still refuses to sleep. With a deep breath, Mikey headed to the rooftops; he couldn't be spotted before he managed to at least put something on the walls of this bustling city!
Jumping from roof to roof, building to building, it felt…different for some reason. Mikey did this same thing every time he patrolled with his brothers, he saw the same sights and felt the same thing but there was definitely a difference.
Maybe it’s because he’s not wearing his mask, maybe it’s because this is one of the few times Mikey’s went out on his own since the invasion was prevented, or maybe it’s because he feels like this could become his thing, his way to process everything.
Whatever it was, it made the wind against his face feel softer. It made the sounds of cars and talking flow like music, and it made the lights of the city look like stars on earth.
Whatever it was, It made him feel euphoric. It made him feel alive.
Laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, a wide grin following suit underneath his gas mask. Mikey hollered in excitement, the noise of the city drowning nearly all of it out. He hasn't even touched his spray cans yet, but he can already tell this:
This was gonna be addicting.
___________
Mikey nearly flung himself off a roof when he finally found a spot.
It wasn't in excitement; he just saw the spot right as he was about to jump, and he severely lost his balance. Definitely not his proudest moment-
After recovering from the initial shock the near drop caused him, Mikey could barely contain his glee as he jumped down to the concrete floor. His worn-down black sneakers barely made a sound, which he was thankful for, but he doubts anyone would have heard even if they did make a noise.
New York is quite loud after all.
Setting the satchel down next to him, he relished the sound of the soft clinking of cans. Mikey started adjusting the wraps on his arms and hands, and once he was satisfied with how tight they were, he leaned into his bag and got to work.
He didn't know for certain what he wanted to paint; all he knew was that he wanted the wall to break. Just like the way his hands did when he almost lost Leo, so that's where he started.
Using oranges and yellows, the wall turned into an artificial portal that cracked with floating particles. With reds, blues, and purples, he depicted the sacrifices his brothers made. Each and every one he saw or heard about.
In the middle of it all, in black silhouette, he painted a cage held up by a rope of purple with a singular orange mask locked inside.
Mikey panted heavily, taking in the now colorful wall. He got aggressive around halfway through, using that pent up fear, sadness, and frustration that he refused to paint on his own walls.
The result reflected all of that, and he laughed breathlessly when he noticed a certain weight disappearing off of his shoulders.
He knew that his clothes, and coincidentally his satchel, were littered with splotches of paint. The paint will probably stain the fabric of the bag, but that’s fine. The leggings under his shorts and his knee pads were probably the cleanest things on him right now. Yet he didn't care.
He needed this, he didn't know he needed it, but he did.
With a hum, Mikey took a step back to take in everything, 'mmm…something's missing…" looking over, he remembered he brought a little bucket with orange paint, and it was sitting innocently against the wall.
With a smile, he realized what was missing: his signature.
Opening the can, he dipped his whole hand into the paint and slapped it against the wall. Now, in the corner of his mural, there was a singular orange handprint that started dripping with wet paint.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
And it was a start he could get behind.
With a smile, he left his painting to dry by its lonesome and headed back to the rooftops. The sun began coming up from the horizon as he sat on the building ledge and kicked his legs back and forth idly.
Everyone’s gonna start waking up soon, and he knows that Raph’s bound to freak if he sees that Mikey isn’t there. Maybe he can get groceries to cook breakfast and use that as an excuse? He did still have Donnie’s credit card…
Well, whatever he decides to do or say to his brothers wasn’t in the front of his mind at the moment.
He watched as the sunbathed the bustling and waking city in golden warmth, knowing that in a few hours his art will be dry and ready for the topside world to see and admire. Looking down at the finished drawing, he chuckled lightly when he noticed the handprint stopped dripping, “Yeah…” he spoke wistfully before turning his attention back to the city view in front of him.
“I knew it was gonna be addicting.”