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Chapter Text

The silent anticipation of invisible presences?

The suspiciously dark room?

The smell of something inviting coming from inside?

Mikey was too familiar with this to not know what this was. He’d lived this stereotypical scene a million times, over and over and over.

Knowing what was coming next as he entered in, he braced himself for the-

Bang! Bang!

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIKEY!!”

A chorused cheer rang as a waterfall of scattered confetti drizzled down in various merry colors. Mikey was pleased to see his family wearing cute plastic party hats and standing behind a towering, flamboyant cake lined with his favorite choice of color, plus a multitude of amusing little chocolate decor, and finally topped with glowing wax candles.

Though he was expecting it, Mikey still squealed in excitement, “AWWWW, for me??? You guys shouldn’t have!” He intertwined his fingers and pressed them passionately against his cheek, his eyes filled with stars and airy, overjoyed tears.

April O’Neil had her phone trained excitedly on Mikey as she spiritedly exclaimed with a wild, exaggerated pointed finger, “Alright party peoples, are y’all ready!?? An’a one, an’a two-”

“Happy birthday to youuuuuuu~” the crew began the traditional song in high-spirits. As much as Mikey loved supporting his fam, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing at how horrible they sounded together.

Leo was going all over the top with an obnoxious high tune, deranged riffs and all.

Raph was attempting to sing in a smooth, low voice to notes that he couldn’t get his throat to reach, and as a result his resonance was hilariously choppy.

Donnie was chanting in his flat, trademark voice, a purple party blower lazily hanging out from the side of his mouth.

Splinter had his raspy, exaggerated choice of singing, trilling carelessly while hopping up and down octaves.

It was safe to say that his eldest sister was the one who carried the tune with her breathtaking chords that boomed out resoundingly, fitting perfectly with her bold character.

Yet her ear-pleasing sonority mixed with the sea of jumbled, chaotic melodies only added to nothing but a piercing song that Mikey wouldn’t have been able to recognize if he didn’t know the lyrics. Seriously, it was like they were competing with each to see who was the most un-charming.

“Happy birthday dear Mikeyyyyy, happy birthday to youuuu!!”

“And many mooooore~!” Leo added playfully, earning him a series displeased- but lighthearted- groans.

Mikey blew out the swaying flames and the room erupted in dynamic chatter.

Raph was the first one by Mikey’s side. “Happy 16th, lil’ buddy!” he cheered, patting his head affectionately, “How ya’ feeling?”

“Hmmm…” the box turtle hummed, putting a finger to his chin in pretend contemplation, “Like exactly the same. BUT ALSO LIKE I’M A FINALLY REAL TEENAGER, BABY!” he whooped, pumping a triumphant fist in the air. “I can legally drive now!!”

“Sure, sure, that’d be believable if I’d actually trust you enough to drive my precious Turtle Tank, dear Angelo.” Donnie leaned his shell on the back of Mikey’s in a gesture of his “bad boy” persona, the party blower still sticking out his mouth like a cigarette. “Unfortunately, you are still approximately…” he struck out a hand to show the height difference between himself and the younger, “this many inches too short to be allowed out of the baby seat.”

Mikey rolled his eyes in exasperation before pettily brisking away, leaving his purple brother to comedically fall to the floor. “By the way, who got this amazingly gorgeous cake?? It looks way too edible to be made by any of you guys.”

Leo propped up a prideful foot on the counter, flashing a flamboyant pose, “That would be the fault of this wonderful big bro of yours! I stopped by that bakery you said you liked and picked up the most annoyingly colorful cake I saw.” He then slid down to wrap his little brother’s neck with one arm, rubbing his head harshly, but fondly with the other. “Soo, whaddya’ think? Like it, right? Love it even?”

“I-”

Before he could respond, Leo had pushed a dramatic finger to Mikey’s lips, “I know, I know, it’s perfect, no need for the praise. However, can we safely assume that I have now confidently claimed the spot as your favorite brother ever?”

That got everyone’s immediate attention.

“Um, scoff! As if you could ever compete against moi. You have insulted by partying expertise.” Donnie sassed, forcing the red-eared slider off his younger brother by pushing his hand into his twin’s cheek. “I, on the other- and more superior- hand, has perfectly prepared Michelangelo with the most applicable present, so much so that your gift will likely look miserably inferior in comparison, and you will be forced to admit that it is actually I who- MMPH??”

He was interrupted when a handful of cake was flung into his face. Everyone turned to see that Leo had grabbed some of the birthday cake with his bare hands and stuffed it in his twin's mouth, likely to avoid another one of his exasperating lectures.

Stunned, Donnie stumbled backwards, frantically wiping the gloopy frosting and moist bread off with his hands. When he was cleaned up enough that his face was visible, he was physically burning red with animosity.

“NARDOO!!”

By now, Leo was bawling on the ground with laughter while the others were holding their sides, trying their absolute hardest to suppress their rising giggles, resulting in an echo of strained snickerings.

Through his laughs, Leo struggled to coherently say anything in response, but he was eventually able to squeeze out some choked words.

“Oooo’, you just got your- wait for it, wait for it- bundt kicked!” With that, he was back to his fits of uncontrollable cackling as if amused by his own self-proclaimed geniusness while Dee, on the other hand, looked about ready to strangle him, his curled fingers twitching.

A vein popped out of Donnie’s forehead as a menacing smile spread across his face, so darkly that Mikey had to doubt if he were actually a hero and not some mad scientist villain dude. The soft-shell grabbed a mass of cake with his hand and hurled it at godspeed towards the unsuspecting Leo, who was startled when it made contact. And Mikey could’ve sworn that the impact was so ragingly powerful that it sent Leo back a couple of inches.

“Triumphant laugh! Who’s bundt- I mean butt is getting kicked now, brother?”

The sloop of vibrant sugar coating slowly dragged down his face, revealing Leo’s fuming and disbelieving grin.

“Oh you did not just do that!” Now letting his competitiveness dominate him, he reloaded on more cakey ammunition and returned a hit, “It is so on! Brace yourself and that juice box lookin’ forehead of your’s, ‘cause you’re about to get destroyed!!”

Mere seconds later, it was a birthday battlefield between the two twins (quite unsurprisingly, seeing as how petty they both could be). The walls were now caked in batter and the blood splatters of electrifying frosting. Don and Leon were both just relentlessly mad-firing at each other from opposite ends of the counter, as if the first one who let up would be the first one to lose.

Splinter was making no move to intervene, rather he was absolutely eating it up (pun intended) in unconcealed amusement while catching the stray, flying desserts and stuffing them eagerly in his mouth. April was chanting “Fight, fight, fight!” as excitedly and as carelessly as she was all the years they’d known her.

In any case, they were just adding fuels to the flame because neither warring brother showed any intention of letting up anytime soon.

Influenced by the adrenaline in the lively atmosphere, Mikey cheered right alongside the human girl, enjoying the chaotic normalcy of each person’s behavior. It was nice to see everyone acting relatively normal after the… “K-” incident. He figured it was just in attempts to keep him happy for his special day, but regardless of being aware he still took pleasure in those small moments.

Raph, feeling the need to be the mature, older brother that he was, had finally stepped in, picking up Donnie by the edge of his battleshell and just letting him dangle at his eye’s length. “Alright guys, that’s enough! Might Raph remind you that Mikey’s birthday cake is meant for eating, and not for one of your guys’ petty banters.”

“Uh, Raph?”

Donnie pointed behind him and Raph turned to find a sloop of frosting flying straight at his face. And before he had processed enough to react, his head was completely engulfed by the sloppy deliciousness.

“Oooooh…” April and Splinter hummed simultaneously, looking at each other with a knowing and mischievous expression that Mikey couldn’t translate, as if both of them were talking to each other in some telepathic human dialect he never knew about.

“Ghyeesh… uh… bullseye?” Leo laughed, nervously.

Of course, no one laughed with him. Raph remained unmoving, the cake plastered on his face masking expression.

“Ooh, y’alls in trouble now..”

Donnie shot April a glare, then reached over to hesitantly pat his big brother’s shoulder. “Hey, big buddy, ya’ doing alright? No, like unknown allergic reaction or something, right, because you are being awfully quiet right now and it is kind of makin’ me pretty neerv-oous.”

Finally, for what seemed like eternity, Raph very slowly reached up to wipe his face with his large fingers. He observed it carefully, as if his brain were slowly loading, then turned his head to look at the still dangling Donnie in his hand, then back at the cake. It was like he was an old, rebooting computer.

The anticipation was painstakingly high. No one broke the buzzing silence. All of them just waited to see what emotion Raph would present; Hurt? Anger? Confusion? Rage??

Gradually coming to a decision that no one caught, his indifferent expression twisted into pure intimidation. Perhaps time had slowed in those past few moments because when Raph absolutely slammed that cake into Donnie’s face, it was so fast that no one even sensed it at first.

And then everything sunk in.

“...ya’ mess with Raph, ya’ deal with Raph.” the snapper seethed, a smile so terrifying in all its sharpness and jaggedness that it would’ve made Mikey’s spine shiver if he didn’t know his eldest brother’s personality.

“Oh, I been waitin’ for this.” April balled up a piece of batter and hurled it into Splinter’s snout, “FOOD FIGHT!!”

As if that were some kind of gunshot to a race, it seemed all hell broke loose.

Everyone was now rushing to the now decomposing cake and attacking others in reckless, thrilling battle cries.

Mikey, though his cake was coming to waste, adored it thoroughly. In the first place, he kind of expected this to happen. I mean, who could expect anything normal in such a dysfunctional family like this? That would be boring. It was much more entertaining this way, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

So the little turtle clad in orange, who just over half a year ago was wound up in a pit of endless exhaustion from using his mystic-dimension pizazz was now bursting with lively, pent-up energy, frantically frisking here and there, swiftly dodging the frosted bullets. Happily, merrily, carelessly like everything was ok, and everything was always going to be ok.

But secretly, in the back of his enveloped mind, he knew. No one had really gotten over that event just yet. No matter how desperately they acted. Even masked behind their ecstatic, blissful faces. He could tell. But honestly, he didn’t really blame them. It was freakin’ traumatizing! No one would ever get over it. They hit a hell of a lotta rough patches, or rather potholes here and there. And there would be scars that would never heal. That was to be expected.

But that was alright. It was completely alright.

Because right now, it was his birthday and he needed to show them that after everything that’s happened, there was still a chance where they could return to normal. They could live happily again, even with this pressing, invisible weight.

And so it as it turns out, Mikey had turned his own special day into everyone else’s normal day. Not that he really cared, anyways. If anything, he’d just use birthday boy privilege to wish everything would go back to the buoyant life and wild adventures and fun and carelessness.

All his family. Forever.

Speaking of all of the family, there was one, specific sheepman individual who seemed to have neglected to show.

Standing off to the side of the frenzied battles, Mikey pulled out his phone and swiped to his messages to Baron Draxum, or “peepaw draxy >;P” as labeled in his contacts.

Inside were a series of messages from Mikey (which had been so rudely unanswered), asking where he was and if he was alright. Drax had disappeared during the invasion and seemingly cut all contacts with the Hamato’s, though no one seemed to care all that much besides Mikey.

And to much of his dismay, everyone inattentively proclaimed the former warring alchemist either dead or M.I.A. and carried on with their daily lives. Without so much of a thought or concern!

The youngest did everything in his power to try and convince his uninterested family to at least try to search for him, pulling out the usual “he created us” argument, and the “he’s changed now” perspective, and even the “he’s my dad” proclamation. And still, after many maybe another day’s and he’ll turn up eventually’s, Draxum’s whereabouts were still unknown.

A few months or so later, Mikey was just about willing to give up as well. If Draxum cared, then he would’ve had the gall to answer at least one of his texts, right? And surely, if his phone had broken, he was smart enough to make another, right?? There’s no way he’d just straight up ignore Mikey and never show up to visit, or even check if he was alright. Right..?

So, maybe he was dead.

…

Bzz… bzz…

[1 new message from: peepaw draxy >;P]

Mikey’s heart punched at his chest a little harder than normal.

Maybe someone had taken Draxum’s old number?

He swiped down to his most recents.

Dear Michelangelo,

Mikey’s eyes were wide.

I am currently in your room. I require your presence. Come to me.

Do not bring anyone with you.

-Draxum

“... holy shit..”

“Mm? What’s up Miguel?”

“Ah-” Mikey spun around to face the slider and perhaps too forcefully put up a smile. “Nothing, nothing.” He swung his phone behind his shell.

Leo was now looking at him weird and Mikey silently cursed his brothers’ troublesome little brother senses. “Yah sure ‘bout that? Cus’ you’re sweating a lot right now-”

“YES!! I mean- Yes, I’m fine, Leo, I promise, promise, promise!”

“...uh-huh.” By now, his brother had dropped his usual laid-back expression and replaced it with a solemn, serious one. Mikey always got shifty when he did that. Despite needing to be the responsible leader at times, it never seemed to look right on his face. Twisted the wrong way or something along those lines.

Leo worriedly lifted his hand to rest it on his younger brother’s shoulder. Mikey hated when he did that too. It always meant he was about to do an I’m not joking anymore talk. “Mikes, please be honest with me, are you sure you’re alright? You look really pale, and I mean pale pale. Wanna talk about it?”

The younger quickly retracted from the touch, burrowing his head slightly into his shell. “Uhhh, on second thought, I think I’m not feeling well and I’m gonna go check it out, so if you’ll excuse me-”

He turned hastily to retreat. Unfortunately for him, Leo’s reflexes were faster. He reached out and firmly grabbed Mikey’s arm. “Mikey. Please, talk to me. I know there’s been some heavy stuff to talk about these past few months, but that’s why I need to know if something’s wrong.”

Oh my god, please, don’t mention that. That is the one thing I do not want to talk about. Please, stop, stop, stop-

Something in his arm flared.

Shit! Shit, not now, for the love of everything good, not now of all times.

He needed to get away. Right now.

He ripped his arm out of Leo’s hand, contracting it closer into his chest.

“Mikey??” Leo’s eyes broadened, a look mixed with both panic and dread plaguing his face. “Are yo-”

“It’s nothing, Leo. Just… leave me alone for now. Please.”

Before Leo could get another word in, Mikey had already turned and was rushing out the entrance.

A moment after his departure, Splinter had approached Leo’s side, hands stuffed with cake and his face similarly plastered with it, some frosting dangling off his whiskers. “Blue, what happened to Orange?”

“I dunno. He kinda just.. Seemed nervous. But when I asked about it he just avoided the question and ran off.” Leo responded, scratching his head.

“I betcha you told another horrible joke. I woulda’ run off too.”

“Not helping, Dee. I’m serious.”

Both April and Raph had drawn nearer to the cluster, both too staring after Mikey’s trail and exchanging concerned glances.

Leo had his head rested in his hand, scrunching up his face with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were squinting at something unfocused in the distance.

“Mikey wouldn't just leave a party without a reason. Something's up. He’s definitely hiding something.”

“So whaddya suppose we do?” Raph was staring at him with a nervous expression on his face.

Leo smiled in attempts to reassure the sullied mood, patting the snapper’s arm in resolved confidence. “What any good family member would do: follow him.”

***

Escaping Leo’s doting grasp, Mikey made sure he was some ways from the kitchen before beginning to slow his pace.

He began rubbing his arms in attempts to “comfort” them into ease. Despite his animated demeanor, his arms were still “mystic-shot,” as he liked to call it. He could never get them to stop shaking, his nerves not yet completely connected with his senses despite his frustration. His skin seemed to have healed around the scars instead of over them, as if the mysterious veins that tattooed his arms were no longer a part of his body. They were replaced by mystic blood. And it wasn’t his.

Luckily, this time wasn’t so bad. The swelling was already going down and the glinted scars had dimmed, its light beating faintly to the rhythm of his heart. The stinginess slowly subsided, allowing small, tingling sprinkles of sensation back into his arms. Wiggling his fingers for confirmation, he let out a heavy sigh.

Finally. Thank god.

Once the pounding in his head had calmed enough to coexist with his thoughts, he was almost immediately consumed by frustration.

They hadn’t hurt like this in awhile, so why now during the one event where he could not be seen like this.

It was the first happy family event since the apocalypse. They needed this. They’ve already had too much to worry about. They don’t need another burden. They don’t need another little brother to take care of.

Strong puffs of bitterness flushed his face, tingling at the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his forearms, frustration welling up and swelling in every part of his body.

He hated this feeling. It wasn’t painful or anything like that, it was just so persistent that he couldn’t find a way to get rid of it. If he let himself think too much, it was always the first emotion that rang in his head. And even when he wasn’t thinking all too much, it still seemed to always be lingering at the back of his mind, waiting for some moment to pry open his mouth and shove something vile down his throat.

It was annoying. He hated how it strangled his heart, he hated how it made his throat close up, he hated how it forced tears into his eyes, he hated the feeling of hating it but being unable to do anything about it.

He hated the way that he was supposed to be the one who knew all about how to deal with emotions, yet he was letting himself lose his own feelings. He hated the way that it was always so much easier to tell someone how to fight it but struggled to even stay on his feet while the burning in his chest caused him to sway.

He hated the feeling of feelings.

God, being alone with his thoughts was insufferable. And what made it worse was that the voice screaming in his head sounded annoyingly like himself. He didn’t want advice from himself. What did he know?

Obviously nothing since he was getting confused by the rushing blood knocking around in his head and the way he felt so alone in his own shell, and he was getting sick of the way that some inner person were puppetting at his clenched fists and he wanted to punch something so so badly, and the walls and the ground and the air felt so tightly wrapped around him, closing in on him, pressuring him to just let himself feel that devastating intensity but he couldn’t give up, no matter how painfully tempting it felt, he had to win, win, win.

And he was tired, so so tired and he wanted so badly to just forget everything and go back to the beginning and go back to being happy, but they kept flashing in his head no matter how many times he told his brain he didn’t want to, he saw their faces, he saw Raph mutated by the Kraang, he saw Donnie’s entire being be swallowed by its computer, he saw Leo floating in space, spluttered in blood and bruises and scars and he looked like he was dying but still he was smiling, how the fuck could he smile like that? How in hell could any of them possibly have the strength to smile so rawly like that??

A sparking energy pinched at the tip of his finger.

Easy, Michelangelo, easy. You’ll start flaring again. Calm down. Just breathe. Breathe and forget.

Allowing deep breaths to dictate the beating of his heart, he looked up to find that he was already at the doorway to his room. Strangely, it felt like the longest walk ever, despite it only being across the main room. Still, he was grateful for something to distract him.

“Drax?” Mikey pushed the blinds away with the back of his hand and peeked into his room.

It was dimly lit from the gentle yellow glowing of his fairy lights above. With familiarity at his advantage, he slowly picked his way in further while thoughtlessly avoiding cans of paint and spray littered on the floor and ducking under hanging art projects.

“Draaaax… You in here? Wanna say something or…?”

Only quiet humming answered him.

Ok, now he was definitely getting nervous.

The buzzing silence of the room, plus the feeling of the many scattered shadows slowing closing in and preying on him was starting to make his spine itch.

It’d never occurred to him how creepy his paintings looked in the dark until now. Like a bunch of little eyes predicting his every little move. God, that felt disturbing.

Maybe Draxum’s text was just a wrong number? Maybe it was another Draxum talking to another Michelangelo. Or, or maybe he was getting a prank pulled on him? Yeah, a prank. His brothers would probably come out at any moment now. Definitely, totally, totally, totally.

Man, inner Mikey is not convincing at all, he thought in genuine spitefulness.

Still, he had checked every corner of the room and it was clear that no one else was there. Well, at least he’d been long enough to make him start getting twitchy, so he’d say that his search was pretty thorough.

So he shrugged it off, eager to turn away and return to his (probably anxious) family.

But before taking another step, there was something on his neck. Something that was slithery yet squirmish that forced a shiver up Mikey’s spine. It almost tickled him in a way, but the texture of it made it feel creepily unwelcoming. Mikey let out a little squeal of discomfort as it sinisterly wriggled its way up and around his neck, almost like a snake, and tapped at his cheek.

“Michelangelo.”

Mikey turned to see the tall, yokai warrior standing almost nobly with his posture as pointed as a pencil and his arms crossed arrogantly behind his back. His stance reflected characteristically with his face, cold and firm. He was so still that it seemed like he was just another stalking shadow on the wall.

Nothing short of the unexpected, but what Mikey found explicitly peculiar was that his face was covered by his mask, something he’d neglected wearing ever since he’d gotten somewhat assimilated into human culture.

And though Draxum’s strutted facial features already made him look as menacing as he was, the bold goldness of the jutted horns and the exaggerated geometricity of the helmet's shape itself made him seem all the more edged. It made him look broader, fiercer. He looked threatening in a way Mikey hadn’t seen in awhile. Like a heartless predator, almost. Or rather, a foreign alien.

Though the appearance disturbed him just a smidge, Mikey still sighed in relief. “Drax! You scared me for a second there! Where have you been? We thought you-”

Mikey gasped, his airways suddenly writhing.

The vines on his neck tightened, its thorns piercing the skin of his neck.

The anxiety that he’d felt just moments before had returned and peaked. The alarming lack of blood in his head made all his panicked thoughts seem even more deranged, or rather they were leaving his brain and oh my god he couldn’t think what’s happening, what do I do, what do I do I can’t breathe I need to breathe.

Mikey let out a cry as the vines stiffened somehow even more intensely than before.

“Apologies, young one.” Draxum’s expression was unmoving, even at the scene of choking someone to near death, “But this is the only way you’ll join me.”

Amidst the fleeing of his thoughts, he managed to cling on to one, chronic thought. And in his last breathing moments, he choked out all he could muster.

“I…birthday… you visit... why?”

“Oh, is it your birthday today? How fitting.” Draxum raised a fist, his royal purple vines clasping tightly around it to create a piercing weapon and pointed it at the spasming, vulnerable child. “A day celebrating another year of living. But now, it will only represent your rebirth as my powerful little warrior.”

Numbing static overwhelmed Mikey’s senses as he continued to wheeze for air. The pressing force on his chest made it so incredibly difficult to enjoy the elapsing memories of his life flashing before his eyes.

Gradually, the pain began to cease, his vision began to fade, and Mikey let go of his desperate grip on his father- scratch that, his killer. In the last fleeting moments of consciousness, he was faintly aware that he’d lost his will to fight. To live. His passions, his desires, his fears, his family, he just let go of everything that he once clung onto so dearly.

The last thing he heard before conceding into the temptation of sleep was that thundering, fathomless voice that he could almost drown in, penetrating the muffled buzz around him and echoing away in the darkness.

“Farewell, Michelangelo. Today, the failure of your being dies. Be grateful.”

And then nothing.

Chapter Text

A cry came from Mikey’s bedroom. But not the usual I just lost a game cry. Or the occasional this drawing sucks cry.

This was something new. Something they’d never heard before.

Something they’d never wish to hear ever again in their entire lives.

Firstly, it was a cracking cry, not a clear-cut one. One that whimpered in desolate pleas that its owner could not dare express with vocal words. Not to mention that it was strained enough for anyone to tell that it’d been forced out from the fibers of their vocal chords. It was a horrid cry that pierced through the Hamato’s bodies, cutting the strings that prevented their hearts from falling into their stomachs.

It was a cry of deathly pain.

But that wasn’t the horrifying part. The whimpers themself weren’t what made shivers crawl up their spines.

It was the voice. It carried a sort of high curve in its perky pipiness. Usually when they’d hear, they knew that something lively and vibrant was coming their way. They got excited.

Not this time.

Despite it being so painfully recognizable in all its charmingness, they wanted to doubt themselves. They wanted to be wrong.

The remaining Hamato family glanced alarmingly at each other, each hoping that the wail they’d just heard wasn’t what they thought it was, begging that it was just a sound that they made up in their heads.

But looking at each others’ panicked expressions only confirmed their fears.

An understanding was made as they all locked eyes with each other and not even a moment had past when they started charging towards the youngest’s room with one thought on their minds:

Who the fuck hurt Mikey.

Leo, leading the pack of seemingly savage animals, ripped open the blinds. Only to be horrified at the scene that was revealed. Almost wishing he never saw it in the first place.

Their baby brother, suspended in the air by thick, intertwined vines, limply swinging side-to-side by the neck like a sack. His eyes were sickly devoid of any spark they once contained, his mouth hanging open as if his jaw had lost its own will to perform. Or rather, it simply could not.

That terrified the living hell out of Leo. You’d think having constant nightmares of your dead brothers would do you any good. But it just felt so… unreal in this moment. He looked so submissive, so drowsy, so unbelievably flaccid. So uncharacteristically spiritless.

And god, he looked so small. Was he ever that small before? Had Leo ever noticed that? Hadn’t Leo spent enough time in his life to notice something so obvious like that?

He searched desperately for any sign of life, any chance that his younger brother was alive, any movement or blinking or twitching or coughing or breathing or-

That’s it.

Mikey’s chest wasn’t moving.

Donnie was breathing harder next to him. He’d already noticed it. He’d already confirmed it.

.
.
.

No.

No, no, nononono, no.

Leo’s head was reeling, feelings of despair, rage, regret, panic, nausea, heartbreak all combining into the vomit rising up in his throat. Something was screaming and gripping at his ribcage, shaking the bones in his body, filling his insides with something ghastly that pressed and pounded against every part of his being. And at the same time, it all compressed back into his chest, as if shoving back every disgusting sensation that was being squeezed out of him again, and again, and again. His brain swelled against his head as if trying to rid of the doubts that plagued his thoughts.

Stop. What the hell are you thinking, stop goddammit. Stop, don’t think that, Mikey is alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s-

“He’s dead.”

Draxum’s voice shot through the white noise, rumbling deep within the back of his throat yet resonated so clearly within the room.

Something in each of the individuals’ hearts stirred, as if catalyzed by the calmness which lined that wretched voice. Something deep within that was only now aroused by the silence of Mikey’s heart and the ghastliness of his expression.

Whether it was rage or denial or disgust or anguish or even a mix of some or all, no one could really tell. Surely it was categorized in some namely emotion that could’ve accurately labeled the searing in their chests and the pounding in their heads and the strange limpness in their arms as they reached for their weapons, gripping them with such intensity that their knuckles went as white as the paleness of their hot, twisted faces. The specifics were more or less lost in the catastrophic shadow that slowly crept over their sense of sanity, with it their ability to fully internalize every rational thought that they might’ve run through had they not been consumed by hysteria.

Nevertheless, the evidence lying in front of them was more than enough for even their currently mangled minds to confidently piece together a solid conclusion, which was that Baron Draxum had just murdered their baby brother.

That was enough of a reason.

A reason that justified the crazed screaming radiating their heads telling their every fiber to kill him. Make him pay. Make him suffer.

Know what he did. Know how it felt. Suffer in the same way Mikey did. Die an even more horrifying death.

Though at this moment, none had even considered the immorality of the thought, whether it was condoned or not. It kept them grounded, at least. It gave them some strange comfort that they’d be able to avenge the youngest, even if they were to resort to literal murder.

Or it at least distracted Leo from the fact that the last unforeseen conversation he’d ever get with his little brother was an argument. A last fleeting interaction that left Mikey uncommonly upset enough to flee.

Distracted Leo from the fact that he left the world feeling upset. That he was not at peace.

How merciless could Death be?

How terrible could Leo be?

Even so, Splinter seemed to have retained enough sense in his rage to hold back the group before they went absolutely haywire, raising a simple hand to command their delay. Despite the temptation of cracking Drax’s head on the metal wall, Splinter, in all his wisdom, knew that they wouldn’t be satisfied with just that. They needed answers.

They needed to know why in god's name would someone ever have the gall to attempt something as irrevocable as this to someone as goodhearted and kind and optimistic as Mikey.

Not to mention as young.

With that thought, Splinter struggled to not glance once again at his youngest’s empty face. Tired and devoid of the vibrance that had once reflected his animated personality. That kind of immobile exhaustion was never meant to look so familiar on a young face.

It was a foolish, intrusive notion that flashed too fast for Splinter to fully identify in the moment (also considering the overwhelming-ness of every other huge thing running rampant in his head), but he thought of burying his youngest. Clad in black, heavy tears following the scarring trails of past streams down his tired face. And the sight of Mikey sleeping in a casket, looking almost peaceful before they closed his door and lowered him into the ground where he’d remain for whatever time before his soulless body would inevitably rot. He wondered how long he’d have to sit at his son’s grave, recounting each memory that they’d never make before his superstitious presence faded away into the whispering winds. How much time would he have to grieve until the silent emptiness of the lair would force him to accept that this time, his youngest truly was not coming back?

If Splinter had allowed the scene to roll out entirely, he would’ve cringed. Usually a father wouldn’t expect having to deal with the grief of losing a beloved son in his lifetime, nonetheless bury him. Perhaps being old came with those kinds of petty privileges.

In a way, it was a cruel, selfish thought. But at the moment, he didn’t have the luxury to scold himself like any other time when he found his attention favoring more towards his egotistical self. When he guiltily found himself blaming his own sons for actions they couldn’t control.

Right now, he was way too afraid of losing another kid.

“Baron Draxum,” Splinter hissed, straining every word to sharpen his already hostile tone, “what the hell did you do to my son?”

“Do to him? I don’t know what you want me to say- I strangled-”

“Shut it, you know what I meant. I mean, what in god’s name did you do.”

The way he allowed the baning malice to bite off the tip of each word simply spoke paragraphs more than what he said.

While the vaguity of his words would remain out of context in an almost patronizing way, its intent was thrusted through every syllable, along with the sizzling bloodlust that growled impatiently in the spark of his eyes.

Splinter pointed furiously at the dangling box turtle, “Why in fuck’s name is my son choked in what is obviously your vines. Why is he like that, Draxum? Tell me why. Why is he dead, Draxum? Why did you kill Michelangelo?”

Draxum stood silently for a moment, whether in awe of the rat’s raw intensity or in contemplation of whatever scheme he devised that included the very bright idea of murder, none could tell. He was indecipherable through the stone cold indifference of his mask.

When he spoke again, his voice tolled in level confidence. “Worry not, rat. This way, the process will be much less painful for him. I am doing him a favor.”

“What kind of favors include STRANGLING MIKEY TO DEATH?!” Raph was now burning in animosity, veins popping out of his forehead and clenched fists which curled tightly into his tonfas, ready to rampage. His eyes seemed all the more wider in accompaniment to his small, black pupils shaking wildly with fury. “Have you honestly lost your goddamn mind!?”

“And also, what process are you talking about??” Donnie added, voice uncharacteristically burning just as violently as Raph’s, yet also shaking slightly from masked distress.

“Nothing worth explaining to the likes of you.” Draxum responded simply, “All you must know is that Michelangelo will be the foundation to my incoming success. I truly must thank you for awakening his powers.”

With that, Draxum raised his hand clad in sharply shaped vines and pointed in daringly close to Mikey’s chest.

And as if it were a gunshot to a race, everyone’s ebbing patience had set itself loose.

“Why you-!” Raph’s oath of obedience had now been completely broken as he charged towards the warrior yokai, a spark coursing through his body as his arms lit up and projected his clamped fists in a fittingly rageful red.

Donnie, close behind, allowed purple mystic energy to pour through his arms, conducting into his glowing bo as he manifested every weapon that he could imagine and pointed it straight at the common adversary.

April gave out a determined yell, voice cracking from pure force as her bat flared with a bright, smoldering flame of green and followed the large snapper into the vengeful battle.

Splinter, too, seemed to be struggling to stay steady, his tail flicking restlessly back and forth and claws curling and flexing.

And just as Leo was about to follow his family, he noticed something that made his boiling blood abruptly run cold.

The rest seemed to notice it a moment later, because they all froze in alarmed terror.

Draxum inserted just the tip of his weapon into the middle of Mikey’s plastron, almost delicately in a way. Like giving a child a shot.

And to their horror, a sticky, fleshy substance creeped out, crawling its way up his neck and under his mask. They bulged as they spread across his head like veins.

It was so sickly familiar, though to a memory they never wished to relive.

Raph physically shivered as he remembered that same feeling of being invaded, the fibers digging into his head and connecting with his conscience. Donnie, too, audibly gasped, a hand coming to his mouth as quick flashbacks of voluntarily free falling into a mass of viscid tentacles sent unwelcoming prickles beneath his battleshell.

That ivy-like appearance. Its flushed, glistered color. The sludging, prowling movement. The awful squelching sound.

They didn’t even need to sense the details to know exactly what this variant was.

The Kraang.

“How- How did you-?” Leo’s heart was racing too loudly in his head for him to even coherently organize his thoughts. Not to mention that his locked jaw and shaking body were in no way helpful in this situation.

“The Kraang are quite interesting specimens. Their abnormal properties allow them to seemingly tap into an individual’s conscience and control them at their own wills. Mutate them, if you will. Quite similar to my own mosquitoes in a way. Except their command is a little more.. direct.” Draxum watched intently as the tentacles squirmed its way to Mikey’s empty eyes, sliding over them with ease. “I found it useful to me. So, I took some samples after the invasion and ran some experiments, made some modifications. And when I saw Michelangelo open that portal, I just had the brightest idea.”

“Portal? So you were-” April started, though was startled after being interrupted by Mikey’s exhausted groan.

…

Mikey’s groan?

Everyone stared as Mikey’s body somehow, miraculously twitched and shivered, his eyes fluttering to focus on something far yet unseen.

And they swear they could’ve felt the beginnings of relief seep into their bones. The adrenaline was sinking and though their brains hadn’t completely broken out of panic mode, they could make out a mumbled sense of oh thank goodness.

Until his head snapped up with an unnatural stiffness, a scorching, golden gleam radiating out of his desolate eyes. He opened his now functioning mouth, and out came a lethally haunting scream that pierced your soul more than it hurt your ears.

Mikey’s mystic scars brightened significantly as the raw force of his power sent a compelling energy that propelled everything away from him as if he were the eye of a hurricane. Raph, April, and Donnie, currently still unmoving in panic, were thrusted back towards the door of the train room while Leo and Splinter struggled to stay on their feet.

Splinter almost regretted hating Mikey’s empty expression that he retained just a few moments before. Because that pained, hurting, suffering, strained, twisted face that shone so clearly even with the absence of the terror in his eyes was so much worse.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” Leo screamed, using his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding glinted light glaring at them from Mikey’s arms, plus now entire being (?!?!) and to shield his heart from the monstrosities that he was forced to lay witness to. “STOP THAT! PLEASE! GIVE HIM BACK TO US!!”

“Relax, child. In this next reality, you won’t even know he’s gone.”

A bright flash erupted from Mikey’s chest, filling the room with nothing but warm white light and expanding around them.

And then as soon as it came, there was nothing but black.

***

A young turtle sat in a dark empty room, its cold metal floors where he sat piercing needles into his legs and the dry, icy air making every breath he took somehow withered and tortuous.

In front of him stood a small, stale, wheaten muffin, or some kind of pastry as it had deteriorated too much for it to be disturbingly indescribable. A wax candle pierced its top, burning with a calm dancing flame, swaying to the wind of his sighs.

The aureate kindle was the only light that could be seen, softly shaping the turtle’s round features and kindly highlighting the splatterings of golden fleck circles that decorated his small being. Shadows under his eyes showed that he had either not slept in days or he had been crying in a recent time. Regardless, his expression showed not even a hint of emotion as it fell in feathery weariness.

He idly hummed an empty tune, as if the song itself had lost all meaning to which its lyrics had once embodied. His notes moved sluggishly in the heavy atmosphere, not exactly ringing in wide echoes yet not exactly muffled either. They were kind of just. There. As if they were just said to be said. They didn’t move anyones’ hearts. They didn’t have a purpose. They just existed, hanging there like a reminder of something left unsaid.

His song was spectrally familiar, though. And never thought to be sung in such a quiet, gloomy place. Never thought to be sung alone. But it was. You’d be surprised.

“Happy Birthday, to me. Happy Birthday, to you.”

He blew out the candle. The darkness absorbed him. And in it, his mind screamed a wish as if the quietude that enveloped him was noiseless enough that his thoughts could ring out. As if the metal walls were company enough that at least something would be able to hear his desire. As if in the hidden night sky, a shooting star would be kind enough to come down and listen. As if his broken mind had enough hope to still believe it could come true.

As if the universe were merciful enough to have even an ounce of care in them to grant him any amount of freedom in his life. As if he were strong enough to even ask for that.

As if he could even escape.

The shadows grew even more complacent in its silence, whispering cheekishly in a buzzing white static.

And the small turtle retreated into his hugged knees, rocking back and forth soothingly to console himself until the morning returned for him to be forgotten once more.

***

“Ghyeesh… Ow, ow.” Leo’s eyes fluttered open, images of the room’s ceiling splitting and merging as it spun rounds around his head.

God… what a strange dream.

What else is strange is the fact that he was lying unconscious on the floor, and even more strange, why did his head hurt like there was no tomorrow? Did he faint? Was his blood pressure low? Was this how Raph felt when he didn’t get enough iron??

Once the room had stabilized enough to tell which way was top from bottom, he pushed himself up with a hand rubbing the back of his head to find the rest of his family groaning and similarly beginning to sit up with confusion lining their expressions. The surrounding piles of dusty boxes told him they were in the spare storage room where they’d put all their unused junk, proven when he looked around to confirm the scatterings of random various doohickeys.

“Is everyone alright?” his eldest brother asked, standing to help the closest person which happened to be April while shaking off the light-headedness, “Nobody hurt or anything?”

Everyone mumbled their reassurances while Leo tried to recall what had happened for them to get in this mess.

Fighting a villain? Fighting each other?? Fighting a villain that happened to look like each other??? No matter what scenario Leo explored, he couldn’t seem to firmly strike any kind of déjà vu. It was just gone. He had absolutely no recollection of anything that had happened in the past hour. Or however many hours before he’d passed out. Or any of the past 24 hours at all in fact.

Shit, maybe I have a concussion.

“Hey, so quick question. Does anyone else remember what the hell happened here?” April scratched her head, her ecstatic pig tails messy and loose from bedhead. Everyone thought for a moment, then shrugged or shook their heads in defeat.

Oh thank god.

Regardless, if they had been attacked by a villain, it’d be good to do a headcount. Ya never know what could happen while a villain has you unconscious. Spoiler alert, it could be kidnapping, and Leo wanted none of that. Plus, it’d still be good to test that concussion theory and see if he remembered everyone’s names.

Okaay, let’s see… there’s me, Raphael, Donatello, April, and Dad.

Me, Raph, Donnie, April, Dad.

Pops, Apes, Dontron, Raphie, and your’s truly.

Great! That’s all 6 of us!

..6?

Leo counted on his fingers then looked up to count each head.

Uhh, that can’t be right. Recount--

Neon Leon, Raph-a-doodle, Dontron, Aprickles, Papa.

Baby blue, big Raph-o, Dee-dee, Aprilings, good ol’ Daddy-o.

…Huh.

I guess we’ve always had 5. Though I could have sworn…

That they’d had 6.

All of a sudden, something struck him as absent that he simply could not put his finger on.

Was someone gone? Did he forget someone? Impossible, he’d never forget anyone. He was very good at remembering the only 5 plus closest allies that he’d ever known.

He recalled his strange dream, the turtle in it not exactly honoring any sort of familiarity in the air around him, but the fact that he was a mutant turtle sparked the possibility that he may have some leads.

“Donnie, is there anything on the calendar today? A birthday, perhaps?”

Donnie met his gaze with hinted confusion in his eyes, but perhaps he had the same sense that something was missing, because a second later they darkened with understanding. He held up his right arm to project a holographic calendar and scrolled through the events.

“Nope, nothing. Just laundry day.” he confirmed, still scrolling through even after he’d answered.

“..Huh.” Leo huffed, putting a finger to his chin.

Then, out of nowhere, a strong shock crawled up the tip of his spine. Leo’s palms began to sweat as the realization slammed into him like a truck and a sense of eeriness made him feel like something was gonna come up behind and stab him.

That turtle with the golden flecks. He swore he’d never seen him before.

He was sure he’d remember seeing another mutant turtle before, considering there were literally no other turtles he’d seen besides him and his brothers. But he hadn’t.

But obviously he did because his brain had known enough to project that little interpretation in his head. He knew enough to know that he was small. And he had a round, soft face. And that his shell was plastered with the outline of two large circles, the sides pointed out like a diamond. And that his blue eyes almost quivered with the way that tears lined his eyelids, not heavy enough yet to spill out and roll down his cheeks but visible enough to see that they glazed over his vision. And that whenever he felt sad, he felt the need to make himself even smaller as if he were the only comfort in his whole world.

But no matter where Leo searched, every memory he could grab all the way back to the days of his tot-hood, he couldn’t find even a picture of who that turtle used to be. Or who they are. Or if they even existed.

But he appeared to him in a dream. Was that some sort of sign?

And if he truly were to somehow be apart of Leo’s life, the real question begged to be answered:

Who was he?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, someone screamed its name. But it wasn’t loud enough for Leo to hear. It was muted by the barricade of forgotten-ness, its voice meaningless to the bolded denial that orbited Leo’s head. And so Leo simply shook off the superstition, and went on to help the rest of his family to their feet.

Leaving the small turtle to curl up once more, waiting for another false sense of hope to cry out his name into the darkness that no one heard.

Chapter Text

“Leo, Leo! Look, look, look!”

“Yes, lil’ brother?”

“Loook at this!”

“...oh wow. Did you draw that?”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm! Like it?”

“Are ya’ kiddin’? I love it! I love anything you make. You’re one artistic little man!”

“Here! Take!”

“Ah- are you sure? This is one rad drawing-”

“Take!”

“Ok, ok! Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“Really?”

“Yup!”

“Promise?”

“I pinky swear it, dude! I’d never throw it away. It reminds me of you.”

“...Leo.”

“Yeah?”

“Wake up.”

There’s a scribble of static black on the page. If Leo could feel anything in this moment, it was overwhelmed by the sudden depths of a midnight sea, unbreathable and tightly pressed around his being.

No bubbles flew up around him as he struggled for air. In fact, there was no sign of movement at all. The water that suffocated him didn’t feel hot or cold. No muffled sounds of his flailing echoed in the thick substance. His movements just felt heavy. Slow and constrained. And very tiring. Like, very, very tiring. And all of a sudden, Leo’s limbs began to ache. His muscles spasmed and eventually fighting off the atmosphere around him seemed to drink off his strength. He lost feeling in his arms, then began to feel his legs go numb.

But he needed to breathe, he needed the surface, he needed the cold, piercing airs from above to greet his body as his head broke the ocean and he gasped for air to heave through his chest. So he forced his limbs to drag through the waters, his conscience clawing at something he couldn't quite grasp but kept grabbing at in a desperate attempt for a desire that he couldn't label.

Though not that he could tell which way was up from down anyways. He was too much in a panic that he was basically just kicking around randomly. Wherever he ended up had to be on the surface, right? That was how life usually worked. Usually.

In the end, it just seemed like he wasn’t moving anywhere at all. His limbs, now immobile from fatigue, simply dangled by his side as he sank deeper into the depths, the smoky cobalt sea beginning to fade into a deep, inky black.

It was futile. Was there even a reason to keep fighting? What did it matter that he couldn’t breathe? He was still living without it. Plus, the dark blanket that enveloped him was starting to feel unusually snug.

He ignored the sensations of his body screaming at him that there was something big and dangerous coming up behind him. It was inevitable. At this point, he’d just have to accept it.

“Wake up, Leo.”

Even in the muted solitude, the voice rang as clear as a bell. Unphased by Leo’s struggling.

A bright, gold light shone directly behind him, warming his shell with its mellow, tender aura. Leo shifted his weight, turning his body to face its blinding circular gleam to welcome how its heat seeped into his bones through the icy stiffness.

He reached.

He knew it. Everyone knew it. You’d think it’s just a myth, but apparently you really did see “the light” at the end of your life. Funny how people who were living were able to predict that.

The blind whiteness gave way as Leo helplessly approached, fading into the darkness of three silhouettes. At first, he thought it was some distant deceased family waiting for him at the end of the line to walk him up to whatever afterlife awaited him. But the tall lankiness of one figure and the bulking sharpness of the other almost shocked the life out of him:

Raph and Donnie.

Their widened eyes shining with hopeful disbelief, breaking through a frenzy of tired tears.

And they looked so terribly shocked that it almost made Leo laugh. Their faces were absolutely priceless. Both their worried wrinkles were showing on their foreheads. He already made fun of Raph’s chasms just for the heck of it, but he never told Donnie he had any for the sake of ensuring his life in the morning. But man, that forehead of his could crease and crease like there was no tomorrow.

He shouldn’t be laughing in this situation though. Some deserved guilt filled his stomach when he came in touch with that. Perhaps his relief at seeing his brothers again had turned to hysteria after the few minutes of peaking anxiety had plummeted, leaving the soreness and exhaustion to tingle back into his body. He was honestly too tired to think otherwise. Plus the massive pains in his chest told him that his ribs may collapse if he should even give a small chuckle.

Standing in the middle of his two brothers was a small, kinetic figure, arms outstretched and decorated with spiraling mystical cracks, forever a trophy of the feat of literally forcing open the very fabrics of existence which he’d just miraculously pulled off.

And honestly, his appalled face alarmed Leo more than it amused him. His expression was… different from the other two. Like, he knew something. But left it hanging as if it’d hurt others more than it was already hurting himself. That kind of repression was exactly what made his face appear more twisted than the others. It was slight, but he could tell. His secret was already tearing him up from the inside. Leo didn’t like that.

He had to ask him what was wrong. Despite the soreness of his ribs and the cuts on his legs and the decaying of his bones, he had no time to worry about himself. That small turtle was in distress! And he had to worry, it was his job to worry, because that little guy was--

Was…

Leo reeled back his extended hand.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it happened. He’s never thought these things. He’s never seen these things.

Who.. Who are-?

“Wake up and figure it out, Leonardo.”

***

Leo made his way out to the kitchen, the picture of that very curious dream still swimming around behind his eyes.

There were small hints of familiarity masked behind the total chaos which had played out before he awoke in sweaty sheets and hard breaths. It just left a sense of eeriness dragging off his shell. Otherwise, that fever-like dream neither frightened nor charmed him. Which was strange because his dreams were usually a lot more vivid before then. Sparked more heedful emotions.

Or, at least they were decipherable to Leo in a sense that he’d have to relive an exaggerated interpretation of all the memories picturing a dark, spacey void with the prickling sensation that he was alone with that thing, that horrible, huge, gaping monstrosity and somehow his brain was cursedly sharp enough to remember each smashing and tortuous feeling that was sent up to his head, screaming at him that he was notably in tremendous pain.

And every gash, bruise, scratch, and break had been carved into his mind, each scar becoming another added mark with his distinctive red and yellow stripes that decorated his body at birth. And every hit, kick, slash, and tear he’d taken was a scene that would play in his head, night after night after night.

Either way, its daily normalcy allowed for rapid interpretation as due to the swirling strings of emotions that Leo, even in a frazzled morning confusion, could pretty vaguely label.

The setting of the Prison Dimension (and everything that came with it) had become so hauntingly recognizable that it was practically his home at night.

Scratch that, home was definitely not right. Maybe cage, or domain, or something; whatever the word, it lacked the affectionate solace of an actual home. It was too cold. And too infinite. And not to mention too quiet. Leo didn’t like quiet at night. He preferred when it was filled with something. Like voices. Or snoring. Or some kind of skittering or shuffling. Or the occasional dripping of sewer water. Felt too empty otherwise. Made the place feel bigger than it was.

Or rather, made him feel smaller. Insignificant, if you will.

It allowed plenty of room for his thoughts to ring circles around his head, making words and notions and voices all the more crowded. They said nothing he wanted to hear. Nothing he wanted to remember. Nothing he wanted to suck up and face like the damn leader he was.

But Leo’d rather not explore the inferiority complexities that his mind had so wonderfully developed first thing after he’d woken up. He didn’t have the energy to mope around all day. Er- he had enough energy to not mope around all day. The strength of the feeling tended to vary on a daily basis. At some point, he’d just learned how to hide it better. How to lie to himself.

So steering clear of that reactive topic, he found himself wandering back to that “lil’ brother” that he’d addressed before all the chaoticness of the rest of his nightly vision.

Despite the spirited quality that Leo could quickly recall from the dream’s more recent parts, strangely he could not seem to solidify any interpretation of that boy who embodied such a young, inarticulate sounding voice that almost had a sing-song bounce in its tone.

In some way, it sorta held a similar quality to that other mutant turtle which he’d indirectly met the day they’d all found themselves knocked out by some unknown presence which they’d still yet to discover. However this time, the voice seemed undoubtedly higher and chirp-ier than his first debut; Leo guessed he’d more recently met the younger version of the guy.

He could roll with that idea. Like the fact that they both were present in a dream probably proved as some sort of connection. And that in either, he could not remember a single characteristic about their mysterious significance. Leo was starting to get suspicious about their consecutive appearances, but in any case at least he was granted the opportunity of piecing together some information about them through their interactions.

Like how he was a good artist! Or as good enough an artist that Leo could at least lie about if it were a good drawing or not.

Did that suggest something about Leo’s connection to him? Did Leo care enough about the kid to lie about his feelings? Did that make him protective?

And that “lil’ bro” part also struck him as strange. Donnie was technically his younger twin, but he’d only address him as so when mocking or chastising him like when rubbing some fault in his face. Not ever in a casual way.

Yet the way his dream puppeted his mouth made the tone come out as sort of affectionate. Genuine. Warm and familiar. It almost slid off his tongue, leaving a gentle, easy taste fluttering off its tip.

But he didn’t have a little brother. He’s never had one.

Or at least he didn’t think he did. He’d know if he did. He should know if he did.

But that’s the thing about dreams, right? They trick you. Make you believe things that’d never happened. An illusion. A fake.

Figure it out, Leonardo.

It’s just superstition. You’re getting paranoid. Stop scaring yourself.

This whole thing was probably all over his head. Perhaps he was indulging in the mystery too much for distraction. It was all just a dream.

Do you feel that? That’s your gut feeding off your suspicion. Your doubts. Feels uncomfortable, right?

Just a dream.

Don’t lie to yourself. Dig deeper. You know you want to. Explore the darkness. Explore the unknown. Explore the truth.

Shut up. It was just a dream.

Wake up, big brother.

His fingers dug into some dry, fragile thing. The thing, what was it again? Dig deeper, dig, dig, dig, what was it--

Paper.

Paper?

From where?

The drawing.

The drawing! Where is the drawing?

He promised him. He’d keep it, he’d cherish it, he said he would. He insisted. So where was the drawing??

It’s gone.

Gone?

Well where is it?

I don’t know.

You lied. You said you wouldn’t lose it. You liar.

He’ll be sad now. He’ll cry. He’s gonna curl up in his shell and cry. You made him sad.

You betrayed him.

Who?

I don’t know.

That can’t be good. I shouldn’t keep promises to people I don’t know.

What was even drawn on that thing anyways?

Color… green’s not quite right. Neither purple, nor blue. Red was getting there, but that wasn’t it. The color, the color, the color…

Orange.

…Yeah. Orange is right.

Bottom left. Look. What’s there?

Signature.

A name. Sketchy, curved, kinda illegible. But if you focus, squint, focus enough, you could make out a light letter M and--

“You’re up earlier than usual.”

Leo flinched out of dark contemplation, a dull sense of guilt slowly retreating into a small, skittering feeling in his chest. The puzzle which Leo was beginning to piece together fell and scattered as he lost his concentration.

Looking up, he finds Donnie sitting at the kitchen’s table with a coffee in his hand and his phone in the other. He didn’t even look up from his scrolling as he took a small sip out of his mug.

“It’s only 1 in the afternoon! Have you got plans?” Donnie said, voice flat yet somehow itching loudly with obnoxious sarcasm.

..That’s right. Donnie’s here. He sounds undoubtedly real. No question about that.

The coffee’s strong, grinding fumes accompanied the afternoon grogginess. And the strange mold and stains still remained splattered the walls, unmoving yet somehow comfortingly nostalgic. The buzzing yellow light vaguely illuminated the kitchen’s table, leaving dusty shadows swaying on the floors.

This was real. No doubt.

Leo straightened himself, allowing a nonchalant smirk to sink on his face.

It was all just a dream after all.

“Har har, very funny, ‘Tello. You know a handsome turtle such as myself needs his beauty rest.” he lightly chided, heading to the counter to fix a coffee for himself. “I gots men looking at this glorious, shining skin that I need to impress.”

“That is literally the gayest and most unconvincing excuse I’ve ever heard. Even for you. And still, there is literally no one to see your 'glorious skin' considering that one, we are meant to stay hidden and two, half of New York is definitely asleep by now.”

The coffee machine grinded to a stop, allowing Leo a piping hot refreshment to pour into his signature blue #1 Grandma mug that he’d gotten from April as a charming little birthday present.

Sitting across from Donnie at the table, he blew gently at the coffee’s surface and watched the rising steam dance away in streams of wispy white ribbons before taking a sip.

Leo’s dismissal to respond to his twin’s snarky comment had allowed Donnie to draw his full attention back to his phone, scrolling endlessly on a media app he silently declined in telling.

And unfortunately Leo wasn't charismatic enough to bother the anti-social nerd with another forced conversation.

The silence rang in the awkward absence of speech, hanging over their heads as if to pester them about their unspoken distance that had grown since the events of the invasion.

Leo figured that his twin had either grown too tired from consecutive all-nighters (enough so that the black bags under his eyes were so heavy that they horrifically dragged off his skull) to engage in such interactions, or he wished to avoid any heart-to-heart discussions about mental health and other healthy therapeutic activities that excluded locking himself in his lab for days doing whatever the hell he does; oddly enough there were some days where the lab remained strangely quiet, devoid of the usual mechanic pounding and tinkering.

Though Leo was improving on his empathetic skills, i.e. reading his brothers' emotional signals, it was still a challenge for him to pick up on smaller ques. Which was a problem with Donatello I don’t like wearing emotions on my sleeve Hamato. Not to mention Raph had gotten strangely better at hiding his sad or panicked stinks.

His self-absorbed tendencies from his stupid, younger, post-trauma self was probably to blame there. Though it had been about still grimacing over him, following him around like the curse of a shadow. In that way, he wished he were mature enough back then to train himself in the selflessness of a leader rather than indulge in childish emotions.

He wished he had coped with the leader’s burden differently, perhaps actually treating its weight more seriously as opposed to throwing it off as some jest that could be dealt with later. To respect its urgency rather than fret over all the oh-so-terrible efforts that he’d have to deal with while taking on the responsibilities.

That pissed him off to no end, but he had no time to busy himself with that kind of petty inner turmoil. If he did, could he confidently say that anything about him had truly changed?

Even after saving the world from flipping upside down and all the praise and loyalty he gained in response from his family, there were still times where he wished the leadership had never shifted onto his shoulders. That his big brother was still the big man hefted on a pedestal. Yearning lingered at times when Leo felt overwhelmed by the guilt of a brothers’ injury or the brain-blank during a battlefield decision. When he doubted his own qualifications.

The longing of being swaddled like a baby and coaxed back into his ignorant childhood where he could take every step without a single care of what happened. To be taken by the hand and guided around every pothole or crack or anything that may damage his stupid fragile self, to be so privileged with protection that his ego had inflated large enough to confidently rush into battle without expecting any consequences.

Because Leo would always expect his big brother to be guarding him, to be that shield that protected him. As if he were a part of him. Another shell on his back.

Shame would always pass through at the notion crossing his head, but now the only thing keeping Leo from cowering away from the duty was the fact that every word he spoke would reflect exactly how his brothers would act. Every loss weighed on the reliability of each order he spoke, so much so in Leo’s heart that it seemed every syllable stressed some importance.

Trusting someone to tell you what to do was a million times easier than trusting yourself in telling others what to do. Especially when it risked their lives.

That was something Leo learned years too late into his leadership. One of the many things. With every lesson drilled into his head came the horrors of his heart falling from ten-story buildings and his guts being sucked out by black holes as he realized how terrified he was of losing the every existence of his family as a fault of his own word, flaw, or unaccountability.

You’d think seeing your invulnerable big brother literally break down sobbing over the same pressure would’ve given you some amount of warning.

Apparently, one could be arrogant enough to ignore it.

.
.
.

..Ah.

Geez. And I promised I wouldn’t be mopping today.

Head up, Hamato. What happened to the fun-loving Leon?

Leo took another sip of his coffee, the thick, bitter taste sweeping into his taste buds and into his breath. As if to refresh his mind, he allowed the invigorating scent rise up from his mouth.

Wide, heavy footsteps approached from the main room. Perhaps it's a family thing to recognize the distinctive sounds of each person’s steps, because when Leo turned to the doorway, Raph was expectedly there with a white towel hanging around his neck.

The stench of sweat, rubber, and metal wafting from his body suggested that he’d just finished training. He grunted as he reached up in a tall stretch before making his way to the fridge.

“Coffee?” Donnie offered up his mug.

”Milk.”

Raph grabbed the carton of milk and, without even the slightest of hesitation, chugged it in one, somehow intimidatingly impressive, fell gulp.

“Ugh- dude aren’t you lactose intolerant??” Donnie looked up from his phone with an disgusted expression on his face.

"There is nothing Raph can't tolerate. He'll tolerate that lactose," He struck out a confident finger, "Like a boss."

“Cheers to that, big bro!” Leo laughed, raising his mug as a sign of his support.

“How predictably vulgar… If you start to have dietary issues later, do not come to me for any aid.”

“I’m in your walls, Don.” The snapper replied, squinting his eyes with feigned menace, to which the younger sticks his tongue out as a retort.

Leo chuckled a bit. The mood was high, spirits were comfortable, and the equilibrium seemed to be balanced.

A moment passed between them in silence, the warmth of laughter and jokes still aromantic in the air.

Raph set the carton down on the counter, leaning back on its edge with his hands.

“So, Lee.” He started, his eyes suddenly glued to his face. “I saw your swords were taken off from their stands.”

Leo felt his heartbeat pick up. That was fast. Too fast.

“...maybe Dad took ‘em off to clean.”

”Leo.”

The equilibrium tipped.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been training again.”

Caught.

Man, he thought he’d have more time to put them back.

“Alright, alright, ya’ got me, detective.” Leo threw his hands in the air. “Guilty. But in my defense, it was only for, like, two hours last night.”

That, and because training kept him away from the possibility of falling asleep, and having those dreams, though not that’d he’d ever say.

“You shouldn’t be training for two hours, let alone any hours. How many times have we been over this?” Raph sighed, his mouth curling with distraught. “You need to rest.”

Donnie’s gaze returned to his screen, his expression shifting into something along displeasure or exasperation. His finger began to tap at the table’s surface.

“Raph, relax, I’ve been fully healed and recovered since, I don’t know, 3 months ago.”

“Ya’ sprained your ankle the last time we had a serious spar.” Raph defended, pushing himself off the counter to cross his arms. “Leo, I don’t think--”

“I am perfectly capable of looking out for my own health.” Leo stood as if to somehow challenge Raph’s towering height.

Donnie sighed to himself as he watched the battle heat from the sidelines. “Typical.” he muttered under his breath, beginning to push himself up from his seat to return to his lab when his screen buzzed on his wrist.

“You on the other hand are clearly not, seeing as you’re training with an entirely damaged eye.” The argument continued as Donnie pulled up the notification.

“I- what? I can see totally clearly with this eye!” Raph’s lying stink introduced itself to the air, but regardless he still pointed an accusing finger at Leo’s chest, “Still, you can’t just rush into battle knowing that you’re gonna get hurt! That’s totally irresponsible, reckless, dangerous--”

“Hypocrite! You wanna talk about dangerous, then let’s talk about--” Leo’s gesture to point at the cracks on Raph’s plastron was left unfinished as Donnie cleared his throat.

“As much as I hate to interrupt you twos’ completely civil conversation,” Leo and Raph turned their heads as the soft shell stood, “We’ve got a situation on our hands.”

The grave expression pressed on his face prompted the two eldest to quickly make their way to Donnie’s side, their banter now forgotten.

“What happened?” Raph immediately asked, as he and Leo glanced over the purple’s shoulders.

“So that’s what it takes for you two hotheads to cooperate,” Donnie muttered under his breath as he pulled up a holographic picture of a few yokais clad in black from some topside security camera. In the scene, it seemed they were smuggling a load of something into the trunk of a gray, decently sized mini-van.

“The cameras snagged this in some alleyway just off of 8th Street. Seems they're more of Big Mama’s minions.”

“Big Mama, again?? Jeez, when’s that lady gonna retire?” Leo leaned a bit closer to the screen, “What’re they smugglin’?”

“Oozesquitos.” The screen dwindled into colors of grays and glowing neon greens from inside the truck. The contents confirmed three large jars full of swarming mutant mosquitoes. “Probably for her Battle Nexus again. The van’s pretty well guarded. I count at least 8 of ‘em- it’ll be dangerous.” Donnie glanced over his shoulder. “They’re already headed to the Grand Nexus Hotel. We’d better hurry.”

The red and blue looked at each other, their hues colliding in all their raging heat and numbing frost.

“If you’re going, I’m going.” Raph said, eyes sharp yet lightly forbearing.

Leo stared at him for just half a second, a mutual feeling not quite describable yet completely transparent passing through their moment of eye contact.

Leadership slips over him like the deep blue mask on his face. He nods.

“Get the Turtle Tank ready. Let’s go kick some yokai butt.”

Yup. Just your average, normal, mutant ninja turtle day, Leo mused while ignoring the subconscient superstition itching at his back, pressing at him like the ripping of paper.

***

The tank jerks left, causing Leo to hitch sideways and lose his balance. He desperately jabs his swords into the Turtle Tank’s surface to keep from falling off the edge and onto the rushing streets.

“LEO! How many times have I told you to NOT SCRATCH MY BABY??!” Donnie cursed as his mechanic arms grabbed a few handles sticking out the surface of the roof to similarly stay grounded.

“I wouldn’t have to if RAPH WAS A BETTER DRIVER.”

“Would you bozos shut up and focus, I am TRYING to keep us from NOT CRASHING!!”

A few shortcuts on the minor streets of New York quickly lead the brothers right to the minivan’s tail and an intense car chase. The opposing yokais immediately counter, some manning a variety of weaponry from the van to shoot at the tank while about 6 or 7 others tried sabotaging the vehicle by climbing onto its roof.

So with the rambunctious thrusting and jerking of the tank’s dodging and the twins fastened to virtually nothing while being outnumbered and fighting on top of a moving vehicle at 70 miles an hour, you could cut them some slack for getting their asses kicked.

As Leo was finally able to hoist himself back to solid ground, a wolf yokai lunged out with claws extended and a bloodthirsty aura trailing from his eyes. Leo blocks the attack with his swords, shifting his weight and throwing his opponent off. As the wolf approached again, Leo slashed his swords through the air, having the furry mutant charge straight into the portal. He whips his sword again, this time behind him and listened as he heard the wolf howl in terror as the running streets took him away.

“Don, if you have another secret weapon that you so lovingly kept from us, now would be a GREAT time to tell us!” Leo yelled as he turned to parry a lizard yokai's flailing tail.

“Now since when have I ever kept any of my inventions secret from my dear brothers--”

“DONNIE!!”

“IT’S STILL IN BETA--”

“DONATELLO!!!”

“OKOK, FINEE GET OFF MY SHELL!” Donnie wacked away some reptilian yokai he was currently engaging with his bo and scrambled down a hatch and back into the interior of the T-tank. “Keep ‘em busy just for a sec!” he said before disappearing into the hole.

“What do you think I’ve been doing??” Leo groaned, as if Donnie were still there to humor him.

As he threw off the lizard, 3 more opponents approached with deadly intent indented in their smiles and shown in their stances.

Leo stepped back, his instincts telling him that he'd run out of surface to walk on. Looking down, he caught the rushing movements of the racing asphalts from below.

Some panic lit in his chest, but he pushed it down with a cunning smile. The surging winds played at his mask tails as Leo bent his knees and crossed the blades of his two odachis. “Let’s dance, hermanos!” he challenged, teeth bared with malace.

He still felt that arrogant confidence as he imagined how amazingly cool he looked in the moment even as he prepared to take the attacks of the three lunging yokais.

Right before he felt the collision of steel and the force of strength, a large machine gun that glowed with a long, striped purple rose from a sudden opening of the tank's top.

All four watched the tech rise in confusion before Donnie’s voice boomed out from a little glass compartment behind the gun where the he snidely sat.

Hands gripping the control handles, the soft shell aimed his weapon. “EAT SCIENCE, JACKASSES!!”

Leo’s eyes widened as realization hit him faster than the running winds, and he quickly ducked down before purple lasers began firing next to him.

Between the panicked screaming and whimpering of the poor yokais next to him, he could hear Donnie’s maniac Evil Laugh (™) as he madly shot in every direction he saw his fleeing opponents.

Only after the sounds of chaos subsided Leo allowed himself to look up.

“Dude, couldn’t you just’ve done that with your mystic powers?”

“Yeah, but science is more amusing to me.”

Leo was about to scold him for his unneeded excessiveness when the tank suddenly screeched to the right, tipping slightly to the side from the sudden turn.

Shit, right. Battling, still. Leo cursed as he desperately clung onto whatever was in his reach, in this case Donnie’s machine gun.

“RAPH!”

“I KNOW, HANG ON.”

Leo peeked over the edge to see one of the unconscious yokai’s bodies sprawled out on top of the windshield, effectively blocking the snapper’s vision. Raph desperately maneuvered the tank around the incoming obstacles that were still being fired from the minivan, all while straining to see around the yokai’s body and figure out which button started the windshield wipers.

Leo groaned. “Donnie, you idiot.” he said as he shot his twin a glare, to which he irritably shrugged at.

It looked like he was about to say something back, but it was unfinished as something in the distance caught Donnie’s eye, his skin turning a paler shade of green. “RAPH, LOOK OUT!”

He pointed out in front of him, but as Leo turned to see, he was too late.

A bright flash of something too fast for Leo to decipher hit the tank’s right tire, causing the momentum of the vehicle to trip. It skidded and screeched, the sudden unevenness of movement forcing the car to turn perpendicular to the street rather than parallel; similarly, the turn caused it to tip forward dangerously.

Donnie popped open the glass hood, staring out towards the street in front of them, as if imagining the inevitable fall. He looked nearly paralyzed until Leo turned back to him with a stricken expression. Though the screeching of the tires could explode in their ears, Leo’s voice rang crystal clear with unbelievable calmness.

“Jump.”

Donnie’s stared at him wildly, as if to say what in the fuck did he just ask me to do?

Leo grabbed his shoulders, his grip firm as was his gaze.

“JUMP!”

He pushed them both off the edge just as the tank fully fell onto its side, sparks flying like fireworks as the metal skidded on the street.

Leo enveloped his twin in a tight hug as he felt his shell collide with the rough asphalt, the scratching of its surface sending claws up his spine. He felt the world spin as momentum forced them into roll, the dashing ground taking off some parts of his skin until they finally came to a halt.

Leo didn’t even realize his eyes were squeezed shut until his body calmed down enough to process anything. He slowly opened his eyes to find Donnie lying next to him, eyes closed and with some light scratches marking his skin here and there.

The tumble had ripped some small fabrics off his purple mask, and one of the lenses on his goggles had a splintered crack slit down its middle. Leo quickly scrambled up to check for any broken bones, but to his relief it seemed he was fine other than a twisted wrist.

He shook his brother’s shoulders. “Donnie. Dontron. Dork-a-tello, hey, get up.”

The turtle cautiously opened his eyes, groaning as the pain seemed to break through his dwindling consciousness.

“Hey bud, how you feeling?”

Donnie pushed off his hands, staring at him with a kind of terror in his eyes. “Raph.”

Everything in Leo dropped, his heart, his stomach, his color as his brain eventually crashed into his skull. He jumped to his feet, frantically searching for where the tank landed like a feral animal.

He caught a flash of deep green and turned to find the T-tank on its side, all gouged up and indented; Leo guessed that before it halted, it took a few rolls just as he and Donnie had. Next to it lay a roughened minivan, a few mutants crawling weakly out of its broken trunk and doors. Its state suggested that the tank had probably collided with it in its crash.

The twins rushed over just in time for Raph to punch open a door and drag himself out, coughing as he sprawled out with his back to the street. He smiled crookedly as they approached, “I stopped ‘em.” he declared softly, gesturing to the immobile van beside them.

“Nevermind that, ya’ goof.” Donnie spat, quickly dropping to his knees and scanning his body.

Leo stood behind him, arms crossed as he stared at his drained brother. “You can’t call me reckless and dangerous when you do this.” he mumbled, worry pinching at his features and tensing his shoulders despite his every being wishing to keep it obscure.

The large snapper offered a chuckle as Donnie sat back and heavily sighed. “He’s fine. Miraculously, he doesn’t have any broken bones. He just has a little case of stupid idiot-ness.” The seriousness of his expression softened, “But what else is new?”

Unable to think of anything else to say, the trio enjoyed a comfortable moment of silence, perhaps to allow the adrenaline to fade into relief. Panic gave way to soreness and expectedly, they all fell into inevitable fatigue. None moved a muscle for what felt like hours and it seemed the world respected their peacefulness in its quiet setting sun.

In the distance, they heard the approaching sirens of police cars. They took that as the world’s signal to get the hell out of there.

Leo was the first to regain his composure.

“Alright guys, let’s grab those oozesquitos, call it quits, and skedaddle.” he announced, clapping his hands together and rubbing them enthusiastically, “Maybe we can stop by for a pizza on the way.”

The two nodded and together, the team began to approach the van.

Just as Leo had become within arms reach of the trunk, a cold, orange chain broke through the static air and grappled around his wrist.

“GAH-- What the-?” Leo yelped, using his free hand to try and tug himself free.

The glowing chains jerked his arm upwards, lifting Leo slightly before slamming him like a meteor onto the ground. Leo felt his airways compress as the air in his chest was slammed out of him.

“Leo!” Raph cried as the younger gasped. The chains on his wrist had loosened its grip and slithered away, but Leo was still too much in shock to notice. His lungs writhed and he forced his chest to move, oxygen somehow blocking itself from entering his body.

Raph and Donnie were immediately by his side, weapons already at the ready. Once Leo had regained enough breath to stop the cramping in his stomach, he struggled up into a crouch, hand still pressed hard on his plastron.

A round figure stood on top of the fallen van, the jars in his arms illuminated from the oozesquitos’ green hazy glow. He hid his body with a black cloak but from the opening of his hood, there stuck out a sharp, bronze cat mask with sharp fanged teeth that covered his face. The mask’s shape was marked in a dim cyan that highlighted the cat's cheekbones, the top of its eyeholes, the insides of its ears, and the bridge of its nose. Some splatters of a distinctive, flaming gold decorated its surface in a random, artistic pattern, glowing with the condescending flare from the mysterious person’s eyes.

He stared at them silently, his small shape barely visible against a now barren night sky.

"Who… Who are--?" Leo struggled through wheezing words, his consciousness now fading in and out of black.

A golden eminence radiated from the figure’s hand as the orange chains once again manifested at his disposal. He lassoed the chains to wrap around some tall, nearby building and, as fast as he had appeared, swung away and disappeared into the city like a shadow in the night.

“Leo! Leo, are you alright?”

As Leo’s hearing deafened away from the cries of his brothers, his eyes were able to focus on one last thing before his mind dazed into sleep- as the figure’s cape flapped in the winds, he caught sight of a large letter M plastered on the back of his clothing with a bold, neon orange.

“Wake up, Leo!”

Just as his sight hiccuped out of senselessness one last time, he vaguely grasped a vision of that one fleeting name sketched onto the scribbled piece of paper.

Michelangelo. His name was Michelangelo.