Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the family first heard of the new mutants wreaking havoc, they had laughed. In their defense, pigeon mutants were objectively hilarious. The mental image of giant human birds hopping around aggressively pecking entire bagels away from unsuspecting citizens was too strong to ignore.

Raph was the first to try to reign everyone in, as per usual. He sternly reminded his brothers to take the issue seriously, acting as if he didn’t have tears of mirth in his eyes. Donnie replied with something pithy before pulling out their gadgets to triangulate the enemy.

How and why the pigeon mutants decided to make a giant nest on the outskirts of an abandoned building that had fallen into a sinkhole, Mikey would never know. All he knew was that it was a terrible place for a battle. Which was what their attempted scouting inevitably turned into.

Sure enough, there was a whole flock of pigeon mutants at the location, sitting rather awkwardly in their giant nest of salvaged materials. Old, jagged floorboards were held together by superglue and a dream. Opposite to them was the pit, dark and wide. Mikey was once again perplexed as to how and why such a thing was there.

The mutants themselves were mostly humanoid save for their heads, wings, and feet. Given the fact that they were pigeons, it just made them look like the world's stupidest harpies.

Leo had tried to sweet-talk his way out of the situation after Donnie shoved him a bit too hard and he ended up in plain sight. The pigeon mutants seemed to not care what the turtles did one way or another, but weren’t agreeing to stop stealing peoples breakfast. They seemed to have no direction at all.

That, of course, was when everything went wrong. A hawk mutant stood from the nest and the pigeon’s attention snapped to her. It appeared that she was the leader. The turtles got no warning before she and her small army of domesticated birds quite literally flew at them.

The pigeons were numerous enough to split the brothers apart just by herding them, a fact that Mikey could distantly hear Leo complain about. Mikey stumbled backwards as one enemy took a swipe at his chest. He wasn’t surprised by the escalation, but he was annoyed at the prospect of wasting an afternoon fighting a bunch of birds.

And so, Mikey finds himself in yet another situation that was clearly avoidable and entirely too ridiculous. Another pigeon rushes him from the left. Mikey once again dodges easily, swinging out with his weapon to knock his opponent out. At least they go down easy, Mikey thinks before a pigeon grabs the end of his kusari-fundo. 

“Gonna have to do better than that!” He crows as he yanks it back easily. 

The pigeons unfortunately follow his advice. As Mikey pulls his arm back to reel his weapon in, he shifts his footing to maintain balance. Either the pigeons are lucky or smarter than they look, because three of them choose this moment to rush Mikey full force.

Mikey barely has time to pull up his other arm to block the worst of it. He stumbles backwards once more. Briefly, Mikey realizes how close he is from the pit before one final pigeon kicks him in the chest, sending him straight off the edge.

Mikey wheezes, breath whipped away by the kick. His next breath is fast as he wastes no time swinging his weapon back upwards even as he falls. 

It mercifully hooks on something above ground. Mikey has fallen too far to see what it was, but that didn’t matter. He grins as he repositions himself, aiming his fall towards a ledge where he could jump back up from.

Mikey drops, the wire grows tight and catches, and something in Mikey’s shoulder shifts at the sudden movement. Mikey’s vision goes white for a split second before he finds himself desperately clutching at a jagged stone wall with one hand. The ledge he is standing on is just a little smaller than his feet.

Mikey’s left hand hangs limp by his side. His eyes jump instinctively to it, and his heart drops into his stomach at the sight. He had let go of the fundo.

The sound of metal against air comes from above. Mikey looks up to see a flash of blue and a pigeon falling into the pit.

“Mikey! Hang on!” Leo shouts before jumping down to where Mikey is stranded. The ledge cracks a bit beneath his feet. Mikey tightens his grip on the crack in the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth without permission.

Leo inches over to his younger brother, the ledge barely supporting his journey. “Mikey!” He scoots closer. “Buddy, work with me here.”

Donnie laughs maniacally somewhere off in the battle zone. Mikey opens his eyes, refusing to look down. He casts his gaze to the right where Leo is.

Leo grins, a comfortingly self assured thing. “Hey little man, how’s it hangin’?”

Mikey manages a half smile at the joke. Leo presses onwards. “Okay yeah, that wasn’t my best work. Sorry that one didn’t… crack you up.” A pause. “‘Cause of the cracks. On this ledge. That we're standing on.”

Mikey lets out a frenzied laugh. “That was terrible .”

A large crash comes from where Raph is. Leo winces. “Alright, we have to get off this thing. Here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re both gonna jump off this ledge towards each other-“ Leo pauses at the strangled noise Mikey makes. “I’m going somewhere with this! We jump off, I grab you with one hand and make a portal with the other back to the top. Then we get back to the fight!”

“Are you sure about this?” Mikey asks hesitantly.

“Super sure,” Leo replies easily. “I got you. I teleport myself out of falls all the time!”

Mikey gives Leo a smile that he can feel wavering on his face. “Okay.”

Leo looks down into the chasm. A flash of something between terror and remembrance darts briefly across his face before he looks back up. “On three?”

Mikey nods.

“One…” A hawk cry sounds out from above.

“Two…” Mikey shifts, positioning himself towards his brother.

“Three!” The two jump off the ledge in sync. Mikey falls for only a second before they collide and Leo grabs him, crushing Mikey’s left arm to his chest. Mikey holds on for dear life, black spots in his vision from the pain. Leo spins them both around to face the pit, bringing his sword up to strike downwards.

Another hawk cry rings out, far louder than the first. Far closer , Mikey realizes belatedly as a giant form rushes towards them.

Before he can so much as shout out a warning, the hawk mutant swoops down sharply. Leo cries out as she grazes them, claws narrowly avoiding anything important. Except she hadn’t been aiming for them.

Mikey’s stomach drops as he glances towards Leo’s sword arm. Leo’s sword arm, which is currently devoid of a sword and has a bleeding gash at the shoulder. Leo’s sword arm, which comes down quickly to hold Mikey with both arms as they plummet without a portal or a plan.

Leo shouts something that gets lost in the wind. Mikey doesn’t even try to listen as he looks up at the quickly shrinking ledge. He can just barely make out the surface where his brothers are fighting.

Raph is up there. Donnie is up there. Mikey reaches his good arm out, unsure of what he expects from such a useless action. Did they even notice that he and Leo had fallen?

Leo shouts the same thing again, hitting Mikey’s carapace for emphasis. Ohhhh . He probably wants Mikey to go into his shell. Mikey obliges, wincing at the twinge his shoulder gives as he maneuvers it inside. He can feel Leo hold his shell a little tighter.

Wait. Leo isn’t letting go. Leo isn’t going into his own shell. Leo is still holding him. 

The realization came too late. A deafening crash and intense jostling meet Mikey as he comes to his revelation. A sharp twist in direction with an accompanying jolt hits one, two times before the pair land on something solid. A sickening snap greets them as they hit the floor.

The intense shaking leaves Mikey dazed. He lays there for a second, remembering how to breathe. The little air he has in his contained space is dusty.

The urge to curl up into a ball and never move again hits Mikey hard. He doesn’t remember hitting his head but his mind is fuzzy anyways, stuffed full of cotton balls with no room for anything else. He wants to stay in his shell. He wants to go home.

But Leo is down here too. And Leo hasn’t said anything yet, which Mikey distantly recognizes as a bad sign. Just because Mikey wants to sink into the floor doesn’t mean he will. His brother is here too, and he won’t, can’t leave him.

Tentatively, Mikey pokes his head out of his shell. Scanning the area, which is mostly obscured by dust and debris, he doesn’t see any enemies currently rushing at him. The ground is hard and unyielding beneath his shell. The air smells like metal. Leo is still holding him, but his grip has gone slack. His eyes are closed.

Gasping, Mikey quickly comes completely out of his shell. He once again ignores the sharp pain in his shoulder as he turns his head and faces his brother.

His brother who isn’t moving. 

“Oh fuck,” Mikey whispers.

Chapter Text

The thing about being the youngest is that you grow up a little faster than your siblings. It’s in the little things; learning to swear a bit younger, observing their mistakes and not making them yourself, and dealing with big kid problems before you’ve lost all your baby teeth. But right now, staring at the limp form of his brother, Mikey desperately wishes he was older.

He isn’t equipped for this- literally as well as figuratively. Leo is the medic, the one who kept everyone together and always had funny bandaids on hand. Mikey is most assuredly not the medic. He’s the acrobat, the creator, the baby, but never the medic. 

But he has to become one now. The real medic is laying half on top of him, completely dead to the world.

…He isn’t actually dead, is he? Mikey frantically paws at Leo’s neck until he finds a pulse point. Mikey sighs loudly in relief. Leo’s heart is still beating, which is a win in Mikey’s book, even if he doesn’t know exactly how fast or slow is healthy.

The minutia can wait for later. Right now Mikey needs to take stock of the injuries. Gently holding his older brother’s head in place (Leo had mentioned something about spine injuries once), Mikey worms out from under him. Ow , okay, his shoulder was still hurt too. That was fine. 

Mikey sits up shakily, clutching his left shoulder. Is it dislocated? Maybe. Should he try to fix it? Definitely not. Mikey doesn’t trust himself not to make the situation worse. He breathes in deeply, and immediately regrets it when the dusty air makes him cough.

His hands feel wet. He looks down and faintly recognizes the sensation as blood that must’ve come from Leo’s head when Mikey was adjusting him. Turning Leo’s head, he finds a steadily bleeding gash on his temple.

Mikey ignores the strangled noise that emerges from his throat. Check for spine injuries first. He briefly runs his one good hand over Leo’s shell. When nothing gives way or makes any alarming noises, Mikey deems it safe to push him onto his side. 

“Leo?” He says, voice cracking. Leo doesn’t move at his voice or ministrations. His head lolls to the side in a manner that reminds Mikey of a doll. He swallows and refocuses his attention towards assessing the damage.

The light filtering down through the various holes in the ceiling doesn’t give Mikey the best look at his brother’s still form. It’s not like I can tell what bruised ribs looks like on plastron anyways, Mikey thinks distantly as he once again runs his hands over Leo. Nothing on his torso seems to be of concern. As for his limbs… Mikey leans closer and almost gags.

Oh wow, so that’s what the snapping noise had been. Mikey’s completely positive that arms aren’t supposed to look like that. Leo’s right arm is folded funny below his elbow, twisted in a way it shouldn’t be. Dark green spots of bruising are already forming. It looks like it hurts .

Tears form in his eyes and bile rises in his throat before Mikey forcibly steels himself. That’s not productive, he thinks, blinking furiously. That’s not going to help. What’s the thing I can fix right now?

He absolutely can’t tackle the arm problem first. Just looking at it makes him want to throw up. He needs to start on something smaller, but still time sensitive. Mikey’s eyes drift back down to his hands. The blood there is beginning to dry.

The head wound can go first, then. Mikey fishes out Leo’s medical supplies from his pouch. Gauze, some bandaids, butterfly stitches… Mikey hums triumphantly as he pulls out what looks to be disinfectant. 

The room is too dim to check the label, so Mikey just silently prays he has the right thing before spraying it directly onto Leo’s head, who doesn’t even twitch. Mikey calls his name again; Leo unsurprisingly doesn’t respond. Mikey ignores the twinge that sets off in his chest and leans closer to examine the wound.

It’s less of a cut and more of a lump that has most of the skin rubbed clean off. Bits of stone are mixed into the tattered skin, too small to remove without tweezers. Mikey isn’t sure if Leo has any in his pouch but he is sure that he wouldn’t do a good job of finding every piece. He decides to skip that step. 

Mikey pulls out a square of gauze and puts it on the area. The clean, white fabric becomes crimson within seconds. Mikey adds another. And another. And another until the fabric and pressure he attempted to apply stopped the bleeding. With shaky hands he wraps a longer piece of gauze around Leo’s head, securing the fabric. 

As he works, Mikey occasionally has to stop when he extends his left shoulder too far and his body locks up at the ensuing bolt of fire down his arm. He pauses, inhales sharply through his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, and relishes in the false calm that follows. The liquid nothing that overtakes his body as soon as the pain does, the cotton balls that sit behind his eyes and make everything far away. Mikey is distantly aware that this isn’t necessarily a good thing to be feeling, but it does keep him on track. It keeps him from falling too far, from shutting down when his brother needs him.

And he needs that. Mikey needs that faux serenity like he needs air. He needs to be able to watch his hands work without feeling it, he needs to keep moving when all he wants is for someone else to take over. Otherwise he’d pause, he’d stop, he’d choke under the pressure of it all. Mikey can’t afford to do that. Not when Leo is lying there, so still and quiet that Mikey wants to scream. 

Once Leo’s head is wrapped he moves onto the gash on his shoulder. The cut is much cleaner than the one on his head, and Mikey is able to use butterfly stitches this time around. He wraps the wound up and takes a few minutes to add bandaids to the various scrapes that litter his brother's body. 

The dim lighting illuminates the patterns on them and Mikey is yet again hit with the urge to burst into tears. They’re turtle themed. Of all the inane, useless details to care about, Leo had stocked his medical supplies with turtle themed bandaids. No doubt he had put them in there with the intention of making a joke, of cooling down post-battle tensions, or maybe just to annoy Donnie, who no doubt would have complained. Mikey might’ve been the artist of the family, but Leo had an eye for detail. Leo knew exactly what to say and do to soothe each one of them, exactly how to handle them when they were injured or upset. He was the medic of the group, and he was a good one. And now he is lying on his side, covered in blood and dust and not making jokes or complaining or speaking at all . 

Mikey sits back on his heels, exhausted. His shoulder aches in a way that makes him long for a heat lamp. His hands are covered in dirt, blood, and disinfectant. Hopefully those cancel out somehow. The fog is receding from his mind, something he is both grateful for and furious about. He’ll need his head about him to tackle the arm problem, but Mikey does not want to be present in his body when he gets to it.

One last attempt to get someone more competent on the job, then. Mikey puts his good hand on Leo’s bandaged shoulder.

“Leo?” No response. “Come on, wake up.”

Leo remains still. So still and so quiet that Mikey is suddenly struck with an aching remorse for every time he told his brother to shut up, to quit joking around, to stop bothering him. What a selfish thing to ask when this was the result.

But if he isn’t awake, I won’t hurt him with this next part, Mikey reasons, ever the optimist. He reaches for his brother’s arm with shaking, blood crusted fingers.

It is then that his surroundings decide to become decidedly less safe than previously thought. Mikey jolts, nearly jumping back into his shell as several boards of wood crash to the ground from the ceiling. He quickly shields Leo’s head as best he can as the room rumbles.

Several moments of precarious shiftings pass before a tense silence falls. Mikey looks up, blinking the dust out of his eyes to look at the damage. The hole in the ceiling has widened, bits of rubble still occasionally crashing down. A crack has appeared in one of the visible support pillars. A crack that is slowly widening, sending shivers through the already unstable air.

Alright, so much for setting Leo’s arm, then, Mikey sighs. He was going to have to find a more stable place before handling that. 

God dammit. Wasn’t it enough for Mikey to be an unwilling medic? Did he really have to be an excavation team too? If he ended up having to be a firefighter as well, he was going to lose it. 

Unfortunately for him, his surroundings seemed to be hellbent on causing him problems. Another rumble tears through the room. Mikey pulls at Leo, trying to move him towards what looks to be an exit, but falters immediately at the white-hot agony that rushes up his shoulder at the movement.

Gasping, he falls back down, doing his best to cover his brother from any debris. A few stones rain down, glancing off Mikey’s shell and sending jolts of fire through his arm. The rumbling dies down after a moment, leaving Mikey behind to shake in its place.

If it were just Mikey, it wouldn’t be a problem. Even with Leo there, getting to a safe place wouldn’t be a problem. But Mikey is down an arm, and Leo is down in general. He can’t move his brother with one hand, and his brother can’t move himself as he is. Getting out of the way of the falling sky is top priority, and he can’t do it as it is now.

Mikey is going to have to wake Leo up for this.

Chapter Text

Mikey forgoes any sort of bedside manner at the realization. He grabs Leo by the shoulder and shakes him full force.

“Leo!” He yells, voice echoing. “Leo, wake up!”

His voice is shrill, shrill enough that Leo actually moves a bit, even if it is to turn his head away and close his eyes tighter. 

Mikey can only take it as a sign that he’s doing something right. He shakes his brother again. “Leo, get the fuck up!”

The ceiling above creaks concerningly at his volume. Several wooden boards fall through one of the holes. Mikey yelps as they hit the ground and disturb the dusty floor.

“Leo, get up! We have to go! You can sleep later, I’ll- I’ll let you have the beanbag! You can have the first slice of pizza! Just wake the hell up!” Leo’s face scrunches up, his hand weakly coming up to nudge Mikey’s plastron. “Leo?” 

“Mi-Mikey. Miguel. Brother dearest.” Leo lifts his head to give Mikey a bleary look. “Loud.”

Mikey has never been so happy to hear Leo complain. “Leo!” He yells before slapping a hand over his mouth at Leo’s groan. 

“What-“

“We have to go,” Mikey interrupts, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as another piece of the ceiling crashes to the ground. “ Now .”

He stands abruptly, pulling Leo by his underarm full force, who yelps at the movement. Half dragging his brother, Mikey makes his way towards the dilapidated doorway in the corner. The two of them make it through just in time.

A moment later, from the safety of the narrow hallway they enter, the two brothers watch as the holes in the ceiling widen, join, and fold into themselves like origami before collapsing completely. A deafening crash and dust cloud rise at the full cave in.

Mikey has the delirious urge to cheer, but the moment quickly passes when Leo grimaces at the sound and raises his sword arm to cover his ear. His sword arm which is still horrendously mangled. There’s a beat of silence as Leo stares at his forearm uncomprehendingly. Then he shoves away from Mikey, throws himself on the ground, and vomits.

“Oh dude, gross,” Mikey says on instinct, then promptly wants to smack himself for berating his brother in such a state. Luckily, Leo doesn’t seem to hear him, too busy trembling on the ground.

Leo coughs wetly and retches a few times more. Mikey kneels down next to him and awkwardly pats his shell. What the hell are you supposed to do when someone’s throwing up? Even during the worst of the flu season, Mikey had never been the one to deal with his brothers’ sickness. They either took care of themselves, of Mikey, or ignored that they were sick at all. The youngest didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing. All he can do is rub his brother’s carapace in a way he hopes is comforting while staunchly ignoring the acrid scent of bile.

Leo eventually stops and sits back on his heels, propping himself up against a damp wall. His eyes are glassy and his red stripes stand out on his pale, sweaty face. 

“So-sorry,” Leo finally manages, resolutely not looking at his arm or his younger brother.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mikey says. Except maybe the smell.

The slider seems to read his mind anyway and chuckles ruefully. Mikey sits against the wall with him, wincing slightly at the pull of his bad shoulder.

Leo frowns. “You hurt?”

“Am I- look at yourself!” Mikey cries, throwing his good arm up for emphasis.

“Ew, no thanks. I’m not looking at my arm more than I have to.” Leo replies, faux confidence even less convincing than usual. “But seriously, is your arm okay?”

Mikey gives a one armed shrug. “I jacked it up when I fell onto that ledge before.”

“How bad?”

“Well I’m not throwing up over it,” Mikey snarks, relieved when Leo barks a surprise laugh at that.

“Okay, fair enough. Can I see it though?”

The boxshell obliges. Leo leans in, humming thoughtfully. His eyes are still a little glassy and far away, but he visibly focuses on his task. He pokes and prods here and there, testing his brother’s mobility and patience.

“Doesn’t look…blatantly dislocated. There’s- there’s too much bruising to be just muscle strain, though.”

“Blatantly dislocated? As opposed to subtly?”

Leo’s eyes light up, the glassiness dissipating briefly. “Actually, yeah, that’s basically what a subluxation is. It’s like a minor dislocation.” He explains.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, the treatment is basically the same, though,” Leo continues. “Immobilize it, pop it back into place if you know how, and most importantly, ice that bad boy. It’s like…” he trails off, eyes glazing over again.

Mikey hums noncommittally. Normally, he would be thrilled to be learning something and to hear one of his brothers ramble excitedly, but the remnants of cotton between his ears makes him sluggish.

Leo luckily takes the silence as a cue to move on. He blinks hard and presses a hand to his head. “Anywhizzle, I don’t think there’s much we can do about it right now. We should just try to keep you from jostling it too bad.”

“You first,” Mikey says, pushing the throb in his shoulder to the back of his mind. “You look way worse than me.”

Something plays out on Leo’s face, then. He looks like he’s swallowed a lemon as he weighs the options of taking care of Mikey or himself first. He finally seems to rule in favor of efficiency and nods. Mikey grabs the last of the gauze and a stray wooden board that looks to be about the size of Leo’s forearm.

His older brother sits up straighter, taking a deep breath before issuing instructions. “Am I moving my fingers?” He is. “Is there… is there a pulse where the break is?” There is. “Great. Okay. Help me move my arm.”

Mikey gently maneuvers Leo’s arm towards his plastron, placing his thumb upwards when instructed. He grabs the last few gauze pads and puts them on the board before setting Leo’s arm down on it. 

“Oh hell yeah, no splinters,” Leo mutters before cracking a grin. “Heh- don’t tell Dad I said that.”

Mikey groans. “Boo! That was weak, four out of ten at max.”

“Bullying a patient? This is why I’m usually the doctor, Michael.” A slight pause. The barb hangs in the air for longer than it should, sinking under Mikey’s skin. Leo clears his throat.

“An-anyway, secure that to my arm.” Mikey does, wrapping it as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Leo manages to stay remarkably still during the process, though he does squeeze his eyes shut. The last of the gauze is spent securing the splint together. Leo blinks his eyes open when it’s over.

“I don’t have my ōdachi, do I?”

“No?”

“Great.” Leo sits up a bit straighter, grimacing. “Use my shoulder strap as a sling, then. I don’t need it.”

Mikey obliges, finding a pair of medical scissors and cutting the blue fabric off his brother before hooking it around the makeshift splint and back up around Leo’s neck. He then does the same to himself, maneuvering into a sling of his own.

“Awesome,” Leo says, looking two seconds away from passing out. Mikey giggles deliriously. The slider cracks another grin at that. He definitely has a concussion, Mikey thinks distantly.

The terrapins sit in silence for a moment, adjusting to their new accessories. Leo puts his good hand to his head, feeling the bandages there before dropping it back down.

“We should probably get going,” he says. “If that room crumbled, everything nearby could too. Plus… moving…. Is probably good.” He nods to himself. “Yeah. Keeps us awake.”

Mikey helps his brother upright, mindful of both their arms. Leo doesn’t complain, but his jaw visibly tightens. The two make their way slowly down the dark hallway. 

Despite the time elapsed, Mikey’s eyes have barely adjusted enough to make out their surroundings. The walls are brick, faded with age and spotted with rot. They curve inwards, maybe from pressure or time, or maybe from Mikey’s overactive imagination. Either way, they seem to press closer to the pair the farther they walk, constricting on them like the throat of a snake.

Mikey comments on them and Leo says it’s an old subway station. That would explain the mangled remains of a railroad track indented into the ground, but it does little to ease the tense atmosphere. It’s hard to imagine anyone living being down there, much less for long enough to build a train system.

More than the visuals, however, Mikey is aware of the cold. The chill sinks under his skin and grows on his bones like a mold, weighing him down and slowing his pace to a crawl. Leo’s near full weight doesn’t help either, as he stumbles along with one freezing arm around the younger of the two. 

It’s almost nostalgic in the worst of ways. When they were younger, Splinter had bundled them up extensively during the winter, turning them into color coded toddler sized marshmallows. Raph’s overbearing nature grew exponentially during those months, and none of them had wanted to pick a fight with him when he had several layers of cloth armor on.

They might not have picked direct fights, but they had their ways of soft rebellion. Donnie had installed a heater in one of his exoshells, getting away with wearing less clothing as a result. Mikey had taken to drinking excessive amounts of hot chocolate, using the cold as an excuse whenever Splinter tried to limit his sugar intake.

Leo, however, chose a very direct way of rebelling. Whenever Raph wasn’t around, he shed whatever he had been forced into. It all came to a head when he and Donnie went off alone together.

They hadn’t been gone for more than three hours when the lair was suddenly filled with Donnie’s cries for help. The rest of the family raced to the source to find Donnie dragging Leo in. 

“He-he wanted to swim!” Donnie cried, wringing his hands frantically. “Said it would be fine ‘cause of my heating shell, but it wasn’t!”

Splinter took the limp slider from his brother, swiftly ordering Raph to calm him and Mikey down. He raced off to the makeshift medbay and left three panicking children behind.

Later, Splinter had laid Leo down in the beanbag and covered him with blankets. This, he warned them, was why he always made them bundle up.

“Brumation,” Donnie had said in that tone he got sometimes where he sounded like a little professor. “It happens when turtles can’t deal with the cold. It’s like hibernation, but you’re awake.”

Mikey had instantly burst into tears again at that. His elder brothers panicked, now having to deal with a sobbing child in addition to a near unconscious one. He couldn’t explain himself through the tears, couldn’t articulate that the idea of being awake in such a state was so distressing. The mere thought of his older brother, awake but paralyzed and so cold had sent him into hysterics. 

The tunnel they are walking in now is frighteningly reminiscent. The cold air, the looming fear of fainting with your eyes open. Mikey is struck with the thought that it could happen again. His brother could pass out on him, body akin to clay, malleable but frigid. What would they do then? Mikey can’t carry him with his shoulder in the condition it’s in.

Leo says something to him then. Mikey turns his head to ask what he said and is hit with the realization that maybe he was worried for the wrong person.

The walls curve inwards, arching over the turtles like the fear he had felt. Vertigo hits like a truck and Mikey sways on his feet.

Leo repeats himself. Mikey blinks, and turns to look his brother in his face. The slider’s features shift dangerously before smudging, twisting away from their intended positions.

And suddenly the whole world follows suit. It’s as if Mikey has accidentally hit a painting before it’s done, blending the colors and dragging pieces around without regard for any artistic vision, realistic or otherwise. 

He’s dizzy. He must be dizzy, otherwise he wouldn’t be on the ground. When did I get on the ground? The ground is cold. It’s stone and brick and ancient and it’s cold.

He’s cold.

How didn’t he notice? Leo is shouting now, a hand shaking him, but his hand is ice and Mikey tries to lean away. Why is he so cold? How can the world be melting if it’s sub-zero? How can its lines be sweating so hard as to distort its shapes if it’s freezing?

Donnie would know. He’s smart like that. If anyone could tell you what the melting point of the world is, it would be Mikey’s favorite brother with a soft shell.

Leo yells something again, something that sounds like “what the fuck are you talking about” and “dear god he’s lost it” . Mikey wants to frown at that, wants to tell off his companion for such a comment but can’t seem to move his face. It’s frozen.

That’s probably not good. Mikey is a little too slow to be too concerned with it though, mostly just focused on keeping his eyes open. A feat that he remarkably manages, though his only scenery is muddied colors like a used paint palette. The smear of blue in front of him wavers before darting off.

And Mikey is alone.

Chapter Text

The space between wakefulness and unconsciousness isn’t one that he’s visited often. He knows someone who is familiar, an expert in sleeping and lack thereof. They walk the streets of twilight and come back with bags under their eyes stained the same color. 

He doesn’t want that for them, he thinks. They don’t either. But it’s a fact, set in stone, or perhaps the stone is eroded from years of late nights, early mornings, and lectures that tell them everything they already know. And if they can deal with these streets, he wants them there to guide him through it.

Maybe calling it “streets” is inaccurate. The world is colors and vague shapes. Smells and tastes are completely gone. He is just barely aware of the ground beneath him. It’s cold. It’s not like any streets he’s been in: those tend to be more solid.

He supposes it’s more like an ocean. Vast and incomprehensible. There’s no one else around to help him through it. Distantly, he thinks he should feel afraid, but there simply just isn’t much there at all. So little in his head and so much around him. This does make him sad, he wants to see the world, he wants to be a part of it! 

He has things to do , things to contribute to this world. He… he does art, doesn’t he? Yes, he does. He remembers that much. He’s been working on a piece lately, one that smells of sharp chemicals and bricks. It’s sprawling, covering more wall than planned, but it wasn’t done yet. He had to finish it.

More than that, he knows he has people. Their faces swim in front of his half-lidded eyes before vanishing. He wants to reach out for them, but his limbs are frozen solid against the ground. He wants to scream, to cry, to do anything but just lay there . He has people somewhere.

Time passes sluggishly. It’s impossible for him to tell how long it’s been when the world is mush and his body is stiff like a corpse. Eventually, a form streaked with blue fumbles its way into his view. A flicker of orange. A muffled curse. Another flicker. 

And suddenly the orange is there to stay, accompanied with yellow and red. It’s small, but growing. The hues dance together like children playing, happy and bright and warm. 

The heat is back, coming from the new source of light. He is shifted closer to it before being set onto something significantly softer than the floor. There’s another person. The one who cursed?

Oh, that’s Leo. And he’s… he’s Mikey. 

Oh. Mikey blinks hard, Leo’s face coming into his vision sharply, illuminated by the fire they’re sitting in front of. Mikey’s head is in the slider’s lap as he leans against a wall, mouth set in a thin line and eyes shut tight. He doesn’t have his signature mask on.

Mikey turns his head, finding a fire made of the wooden planks that had fallen through in their crash. The remnants of Leo’s mask curl up as they burn away completely, leaving only the wood behind, still alight.

So his older brother had used his clothing as kindling to start a fire. Mikey swivels his head back so fast it cracks, only to sigh in relief at the sight of the splint still firmly affixed to Leo’s arm. Good, he still has some sense of self preservation, Mikey thinks. 

With his face maskless, Leo’s eye bags were on full display, eyelids firmly shut. Wait. People with concussions shouldn’t be sleeping, right? Mikey raises his hand and slaps Leo across the face with all the might he has at the moment. Leo jolts, his good hand pulling Mikey closer to his chest.

“‘M ‘wake!” He shouts before wincing at his own volume.

“Sweet,” Mikey croaks. Leo looks down, almost surprised to see his younger brother in his lap.

“Oh! You’re ‘wake too!” He is slurring his words slightly, but sends Mikey an overjoyed smile anyways.

Mikey manages a smile back. “Yup. Nice fire. How’d you get it going?” 

“Boards from the fall, spark rock in my other pouch.” Leo says proudly.

“You… carry a spark rock in your fanny pack?”

“‘course, ’m not an animal.”

Mikey decides to leave that alone. “‘Kay. Well, thanks.”

Leo just stares at him with unfocused eyes. Mikey sighs and forces himself to sit up, hissing as his shoulder brutally reminds him it’s still injured at the movement.

“Alright,” Mikey says decisively. “We need to keep going.” His body is still half-frozen, but they can’t afford to stop. At this rate they’ll just keep passing out on each other until eventually it happens at the same time. And then neither of them can fix things.

Leo just looks at him. Pizza supreme in the sky, why was he looking to Mikey for instructions? The boxshell groans dramatically before rolling off Leo’s lap, pleasantly surprised to feel no dizziness at the action.

Mikey looks to the fire, then impulsively grabs one of the boards. It is thin enough to wield like a torch, though he has no idea how long it will burn. He takes a deep breath, switches the board to his bad hand, picks up another board with his good one, and forces himself to his feet.

Now that makes the room spin. He waits for a second before launching into his half-baked plan.

“This way, we can see where we’re going and search teams can see us,” Leo brightens. “Although… that means any potential enemies can see us too.” Leo deflates.

“No problem, baby! We’ll kick their ass!” The youngest crows, attempting to rally some sort of optimism.

“You know it,” Leo says, grinning weakly. He hauls himself to his feet without preamble, holding the torch in his splinted hand and holding onto Mikey with the other. The slider sways briefly, and for a moment Mikey is terrified he’s going to hurl again. The moment passes vomit-free, luckily, and the two start back down the tunnel.

Their walk is slower than before. Leo’s balance is shot, and he keeps swaying alarmingly before righting himself. Mikey’s own steps are steady, but hindered. 

The cold is still making Mikey sluggish, and though his torch is providing heat to his frozen bones, the light reflecting off the damp walls dances in a way that is slowly making his eyelids heavy. He leans a little more onto his older brother.

“Stay awake, buddy,” Leo reminds him. 

Mikey opens his mouth to retort, then snaps it shut as a sound echoes down the subway tunnel. The unmistakable squeak of an old, rusty door comes from the direction the two turtles are walking towards.

They both freeze immediately. The light of their torches doesn’t illuminate more than a few feet around them, but it must be visible from a distance. Heavy but delicate footsteps come slowly towards them. Someone large but precise is heading their way.

Leo immediately pushes Mikey back behind him, stepping unsteadily in front. He brandishes his torch like a sword, staying silent as a figure emerges from the shadows.

The mutant that emerges is larger than Raph by at least a foot, and twice as intimidating. Their (his?) skin is leathery and heavily scarred. He seems to be a crocodile. Or maybe an alligator. In any case, the mutant is enormous, very buff, and very pissed.

“Were you the ones who caused all that ruckus?” His voice is deep and gravelly, a perfect match for his hulking figure.

“No,” Leo says.

“Yes,” Mikey says on impulse. Leo elbows him.

The mutant observes them both, the torchlight revealing his pupils narrowing dangerously. A low growl begins in his chest, reverberating through the dark corridor.

Leo looks ready to fistfight the reptile behemoth with his remaining hand. His own pupils similarly contract as he twitches his fingers in anticipation.

Mikey steps out from behind his brother’s protective arm. “We-we fell down,” he says, his voice wavering.

“ What’re you doing?” Leo hisses, his hands shaking more rapidly in agitation.

Honestly, Mikey has no idea. Leo is the face man, the one who takes over any negotiations they might have to make. He’s quick on his feet and rolls with the punches in conversation where Mikey might just concede ground. He’s objectively the better option to talk to a strange, possibly hostile mutant.

But there’s something in the other’s eyes that gives Mikey pause. They are narrowed, glaring at the two of them, but something about his expression tells Mikey that he isn’t looking for a fight. There’s something sad in them, and Mikey doesn’t want to add to whatever hurt the mutant so bad that his eyes held sorrow. That, and the turtles would no doubt lose should it come down fisticuffs.

The mutant’s growling quieted as he looked the two of them over. They must be a sight for sore eyes; both of their right arms in slings, one with an extra splint, head bandage, and unsteady gait. The alligator pauses.

“You interrupted my work,” he says after a second.

“We’re sorry,” Mikey says before Leo can stop him. “We didn’t mean to. We had a lot of things planned for today, but falling down here definitely wasn’t one of them, I promise.

The mutant’s posture becomes less tense. “How old are you two?”

“I’m thirteen, Leo’s fourteen,” Mikey says, even as Leo pinches him for sharing private information. Never tell the enemy anything, the slider had often told him. Keep all your cards up your sleeves.

Any aggression in the alligator’s stance evaporates in a second. His growling completely vanishes and his eyes widen as he takes a step back.

“You’re kids?” He says incredulously.

“Kids who are very b-busy, so we’ll be on our way,” Leo says, shoving Mikey aside again. Mikey kicks him.

“Busy,” the alligator echoes.

“ Yes, busy,” Leo repeats, edging slowly to the side and dragging Mikey with him. “So incredibly busy. We got- we got-“ he blinks forcefully “we’re busy.”

“You’re bleeding through your bandages,” the alligator says. Mikey whips his head to find that, yes indeed, Leo’s head wound had bled through the gauze.

“No ’m not,” Leo says. He drags Mikey a few more inches to the left.

The younger turtle decides to try his luck. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

“I do.” The mutant pauses, a spark of concern flashing across his face. “Would you like me to escort you?”

Leo’s eyes narrow dangerously. “ No, we’re good. We can make it on our-“

His balance finally gives out with his next step. He stumbles and drops his torch. Mikey drops his own as he lunges to catch his brother. The sudden weight tears at his shoulder, and he lets out a strangled yelp before both of them are caught by arms as thick as their torso.

The boxshell shrieks in surprise as the alligator mutant picks them both up effortlessly. Leo swats at his arms even as his whole frame tenses in pain. The mutant shifts them into more comfortable positions before walking down the subway tunnel.

“Wha’ the fuck,” Leo slurs, managing to look angry even as he is held like a doll.

“Language,” the alligator says, though there is no bite to his words. “You are both injured. I will carry you out.”

Frankly, Mikey is too tired to care if he’s kidnapping them. That sounds like a problem for Future Mikey. He settles into the alligator’s arms, relishing in the sensation of being carried and the warmth it provides.

The alligator seems comfortable with silence, but his passengers are not. Leo occasionally throws insults or petty threats that his ride luckily doesn’t pay attention to. Mikey, on the other hand, is ecstatic to talk to another mutant.

Mikey rambles on about whatever comes to mind, making sure to ask his guide for his opinions. The other mutant is thoughtful in his replies, if a little behind the times. The boxshell is all too happy to explain what cartoons are currently airing.

The alligator mutant turns out to be great company. Mikey is sure that once Leo gets over his paranoia they’ll get along well. He’s smart like Donnie, thoughtful like Raph, and assertive like Leo. Mikey has never been more happy to have fallen down a giant pit.

With the alligator’s long strides, it isn’t long before the group reaches a literal light at the end of the tunnel. A rickety old staircase ascends from the walkway, the daylight streaming in implying it leads outside. Mikey stops in his explanation of the differences in 2D and 3D animation and their merits to listen closely.

At first, it seems as silent as the rest of the tunnel. After a second, however, faint yelling can be heard from beyond the staircase. Mikey brightens as he recognizes the panicked shouts of his eldest brother, occasionally interrupted by the resident softshell’s reassurances.

“That’s them!” Mikey cries, leaping down from the mutant's arms. The alligator gently sets Leo down, who immediately grabs Mikey and hauls him towards the staircase. Mikey protests, but Leo seems determined to get him away from the alligator as soon as possible. The mutant doesn’t seem to take it personally.

“Thanks, Mister… Leatherhead!” Mikey yells behind his shoulder as the two terrapins ascend the stairs. He thinks he hears a startled chuckle in response.

“Mister huh?” Leo says.

Mikey shrugs. “I forgot to ask for his name.”

Leo is too concentrated on making sure he doesn’t fall down the stairs to respond to that. The two reach the top of the staircase in record time for being as injured as they are.

The light provided by the outside is instantly blinding. Both brothers blink, too overwhelmed by the sudden shift to notice their other siblings barreling towards them.

Raph scoops them both up in a hug that could shatter bones. Leo’s cut off gasp and Mikey’s shriek alert him as such. He sets them down immediately, apologizing profusely and fretting over their injuries. Donnie initiates a full body scan as soon as they are out of the eldest’s grasp.

Mikey turns to thank the mysterious mutant again, only to find an empty staircase behind him. Huh. Behind him, Raph shouts a command for him to join the others, blatant overprotectiveness bleeding through his words. Mikey turns back around, trotting over to where Donnie is shining a flashlight in Leo’s face.

He’ll tell them about the strange mutant later. For now, there’s a shower and an ice pack with his name on it. 

A second later, he hears Leo officially call dibs on the first shower. Mikey is almost too happy to see him be coherent to be mad about it. Almost.

Chapter Text

The room is bright. Mikey closes his eyes as soon as he regains enough brain power to recognize that they’re open and the source of his distress. Sensation floods back all at once and he lets out a groan at the twinge in his shoulder.

“Excellent, I was going to have to resort to drastic measures.”

Mikey cracks one eye open to see a blurry Donatello holding a clipboard. They stand beside Mikey’s bed- no, not his bed, the bed in the infirmary. 

A brief flash of panic crosses Mikey’s mind before he remembers why he’s there. Glancing down, he sees a brand new (and more structurally sound) sling on his arm. The pain in his shoulder is muffled and far away. 

Mikey looks back up at Donnie, who is now writing something on their clipboard. “Wha-“ The youngest cuts off, breaking into a coughing fit. Donnie puts the clipboard down and runs to go get water, muttering under their breath about “ knew I forgot something”.

Mikey has enough time to calm down his breathing before Donnie shoves a glass of water in his hands so hard it spills. He takes a sip at his sibling’s prompting glare.

“What happened?” He says.

“You and Leo fell in a hole,” Donnie says, sitting down on Mikey’s bed. “Sustained injuries from said hole, and then miraculously crawled out of it while we were looking for you.”

“Oh,” Mikey says. He takes another sip of water, glancing absentmindedly at the clipboard now on his bed. It doesn’t have any paper on it. “Where’s Leo?”

Donnie doesn’t answer, swiping up their clipboard and pretending to write on it again as they relocate to a chair across the room, opening up the divider as they do. Mikey’s unobstructed view focuses on his brother instantly.

Leo sits on the makeshift hospital bed with a book in one hand and a cast on the other. The plaster has already been marked by their other siblings, as well as what appears to be a paw print from Mayhem. He has a clean bandage affixed to his head and seems relatively content despite his bed bound state. He’s safe.

Mikey jumps out of bed, noting the immediate wave of dizziness and pushing through it. He races over to his brother’s bed.

Leo looks up. “Oh hey! I was wondering when you’d be up. It’s been so boring-“

And Mikey promptly bursts into tears, starling Leo out of whatever he was going to say. And then Mikey feels worse because he’s made it about him, he’s always so self-centered and takes over people’s conversations and distracts from their feelings-

Donnie none too gently shoves him forward towards Leo’s bed, who immediately grabs his younger brother with his good arm and shoves his bawling face into his shoulder.

“I’m-I’m so sorry , I wasn’t- didn’t- I’m sorry!” Mikey cries, leaning into the hug even as he kicks himself for being comforted, for being supported instead of the support he’s meant to be. The warmth of his brother’s embrace is too strong to resist, and Mikey has always been weak.

“Hey, no no no, stop that.” Leo smacks Mikey gently with his cast. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not the floor that gave out, or the villain that got us there in the first place.”

“But I should’ve helped more!” Mikey wails, tears painting Leo’s blanket. “I didn’t- I didn’t set your arm, or-or keep you awake, or-“

“But you got me out! And I’m fine.” Leo puts his good hand on Mikey’s head. “Nobody expects you to react like an EMT. You’re not a doctor. You did great.”

“Yes, he would’ve died without you,” Donnie says helpfully.

“Not helpful, Donnie!” Leo hisses.

Mikey laughs wetly. Leo pats his head. “Besides, it’s not like I was the most helpful,” the slider says matter-of-factly. “I passed out on you, like, five times.”

“It was only two!” Mikey cries in outrage, wiping his face quickly before pointing at his brother in accusation.

“Point being,” Leo continues, “you did well. We got out. We’re both okay and we made it back home.”

“I guess,” Mikey sniffs. Leo smiles at him like he’s just won a Hugo. Mikey settles a bit more, sitting back on Leo’s bed.

“How-how are you doing?” Mikey asks hesitantly.

“I’m doing great!” Leo says with all his usual pep. “I’ve been reading through my new comics, you can read them after. You’ll like them.”

“Correction,” Donnie says from their chair, suddenly wielding a cup of coffee. “You have an oblique displaced radius, a concussion, several bruised ribs, and too many bruises to count.”

Leo waves his good hand dismissively. “Tomato, tomato,” he says, pronouncing it the same way both times. Donnie’s eye twitches. Mikey snorts.

“I’m going to make you stay in bed until you stop being insufferable.” Donnie says lovingly. Leo throws a pillow at them. They dodge expertly, holding their coffee remarkably still.

“Quit being mean to the patients,” Leo says. “We’re healing. From our daring and bold escape that succeeded against all odds. We had the power of love on our side.” He says the last bit with the intonation as cheesy as he can make it.

“And that giant alligator,” Mikey adds, grabbing a marker to doodle on Leo’s cast.

Next to them, Donnie does a spit take that looks so painful Mikey isn’t sure if it’s fake or not. “The fucking what?”