Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Brain slow and sticky as molasses, awareness came back to him one glub-glub at a time. Or maybe that was water? For a moment it sounded like it, but now that Mikey was really listening for it, he could no longer make it out. He could feel his body—so tired —being rocked back and forth, however, and wondered if he was on a boat. 

You’re not. If you opened your eyes, you’d see that.

Mikey hummed, ignoring mysterious voices to hit the mental snooze button; his eyelids felt too heavy for that. Besides, they didn’t get out to the bay often, but he’d always wanted to ride in a boat; one where you could really feel the waves like this (the Staten Island ferry did not count). Now that he was experiencing it for real, though, it was relaxing. Like the hammock he used to sleep in, at the old lair. Wow. Why hadn’t he tried this sooner?

The rocking motion turned from gentle to choppy, and Michelangelo held on tightly to the edge of the—boat? It felt too soft for a boat, but he gripped on for dear life, and suddenly sailing didn’t seem as fun anymore. Unlike his brothers, he’d never been a strong swimmer; what was he supposed to do if his boat turned over in the storm and he got washed out to sea? Sure, he could scavenge for food, but fish and coconuts would get old quick, and he didn’t get weird when left alone like Raph, but he didn’t pack a volleyball to talk to and—

“—Wilson!” he shouted, shooting upright, eyes wide, only to come face-to-face with a goat man.

“What?” Draxum asked, bewildered.

“What,” croaked Mikey, no longer sure what was even going on.

To his left someone snorted, and the turtle turned his head to find April covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle laughter, before seeing his face and giving up the ghost completely. She wiped away a tear of mirth as Draxum released his shoulders. 

“That’s some dream you were havin’,” she chirped, then leaned in to press her forehead to his own with obvious affection. “Boy, I’m not even gonna ask. I’m just happy to see your face.”

Mikey blinked owlishly at them both, comprehension lagging a step behind still. He was situated on a bed, he could see now, but the room was wholly unfamiliar. April’s smile and easy-going laughter was like a balm, though, and he could feel his drumming heart settle bit by bit. “Thanks,” he whispered back, mouth dry like cotton. “Um. Where are we?”

April leaned back, and Michelangelo’s view of the room expanded slightly. The furniture looked like a fancy bedroom setup, but the ceiling was so impossibly high—and was that a tree ? Staring, he didn’t realize his jaw was hanging open until Draxum held a cup up to his mouth.

“My abode in the Hidden City. It’s not ideal, but it was the best option given the circumstances,” the yokai answered. “Now drink. Do not lift your arms.”

The warning came at just the right time. On instinct, Mikey had been about to reach up to take the cup from him, only to abort the movement abruptly. Even then it was enough, the short twitch setting his arms on fire and making him cringe harshly. April rubbed his shell sympathetically as he sipped dutifully on the water, trying not to cry. And slowly… 

Slowly it all came back: the attack at the lair, being kidnapped by the Krang; why his arms hurt so much in the first place, and why he’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Leo,” he sniffed, as Draxum pulled the cup back. “Everyone. Are they all okay? How long…?”

“Look behind you,” April said, pointing over his shoulder. Following her finger, Mikey twisted in place, and—sure enough, there was his big brother. Leo was propped up at an angle with what had to be four or five big pillows, blanket drawn up to his chest and breathing slowly. Mikey was surprised he hadn’t noticed him sooner, the way it whistled. “You guys have been bunk buddies, and pretty much dead to the world ever since we got here. That was like, what. A day ago?”

“A day and a half,” Draxum corrected. “Which is why we woke you. You can return to your rest soon, but so long as you’re up to it, we should get some food and water into you. A change of bandages is in order as well.”

…Was he up to it? Frankly, Mikey wasn’t sure. Now that reality was asserting itself and he was assured things were fine, all he could feel was sleepy relief and a blistering ache along each forearm. His stomach growled at the mention of food, though, and if it had really been that long then Barry was right. Like trying to separate two magnets, he tugged his gaze away from Leo to look back at the others, nodding slowly. Taking that as permission, April hopped out of the bed and helped him scoot back against the pillows so that he was sitting at about the same angle that Leo was. 

“...They’re all really okay?” he questioned again, not sure he got an answer the first time. 

 “Yes.” Draxum sounded sure of himself, and Mikey felt himself sag deeper into the very comfy pillows. Only time would tell if this was a mistake. “Last I overheard them they were in the kitchen, cleaning the fridge. Why they felt that was necessary now, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Those were some freaky science experiments you had in there, Barry.”

“And they were all clearly labeled, so I don’t see why you’re complaining,” Draxum replied tightly, placing a roll of bandages and a bowl containing something that smelled faintly minty and medicinal on the bed. The yokai tugged gently at one of Mikey’s wrists, grumbling under his breath as he began to unwind the gauze away from it and his forearm in a circular motion. “A week’s work, down the drain. Literally.”

“Oh, get over it already,” April sassed, hand on her hip. “No one wants to deal with Sloppy Joseph 2.0 right after handling Alien Invasion 2.0!” 

“I don’t have to take this in my own home,” Draxum muttered back, and damn. Mikey wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the yokai pout before. “Just feed the child already, O’Neil. Preferably before he perishes from malnourishment.”

Up until that line, the banter had been weirdly heartening. Mikey laughed nervously. “That’s a joke, right?”

April turned a fond smile on him, along with a wink. “And we’re gonna keep it that way. How’s soup sound? Aaaand,” she added with a flourish, “if you can finish it off without falling asleep, there’s pudding for dessert.”

“Wellll…” Mikey made a show of considering it. “You know I can’t resist the siren song of chocolate fudge.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

Pulling up a chair next to Draxum, April sat down then leaned over to raise what looked like a wooden TV tray from off the floor, the bowl of soup at its center still wafting steam. The moment the smell hit him Mikey nearly teared up, heart full and recognizing it for what it was straight away: miso soup with rice. Dad’s recipe. His mouth was open before April even had the spoon ready. 

While he ate and had his arms treated, April caught him up to speed on everything that had happened since he’d dozed off in the tank. Less had gone down than he would have thought; apparently after portalling into Draxum’s place, everyone —not just him and Leo—had crashed for a day or more, exhausted, injured, or both. Most of the bustle had come before all of that, between Dee’s manic search for tracking devices and finding a good place to hide the tank. Also something about a raid for medical supplies? 

Mikey might have dozed off between bites on that one, finding it harder to blink back sleep now that his arms were comfortably numb. First aid lessons from Leo drifted through his memory, though; a vague recollection that you weren’t supposed to apply ointment to burns, lest it trap the heat in. Maybe mystic burns were different? He thinks he might have asked Draxum about that, but if he was given an explanation it went through one non-existent ear and out the other. 

Spoonfuls of soup turned into spoonfuls of pudding. Barry’s adorable gargoyle shoulder pads had shown up on his doorstep, and were currently doing manual labor. Cleaning, shopping; that sort of thing. Their arrival had signaled to Draxum that the lab’s wards were in need of some TLC, however, and the alchemist had balanced repairing those and staying on hand for doctoring.

Raph hadn’t had a headache in days. He’d just missed Donnie, too, who had wobbled off to join him and Dad in the kitchen. Even Mayhem was doing better, from the sound of it, given the plans April had in store for him today.

“It’s a whole thing,” April sighed. “I won’t be gone long, though, promise. With Mayhem taking me, I’ll be in and out. Just need to show my parents proof of life, and get a doctor’s note for this whole situation.” She waved a hand over her face. The bruises there looked like they’d recently hit that colorful stage of healing.  

“What do you need a doctor’s note for?” Mikey asked drowsily, swallowing the last of the pudding.

“School’s back in session.” She slid the now empty tray down the sheets, then propped her elbows up beside him on the mattress. “Missing classes isn’t as big a deal in college as it was in high school, but the flip side is they’ll drop you if you have too many absences. I don’t wanna deal with that, so doctor’s office it is.”

Mikey felt more than saw Draxum pause his ministrations, the loose, new change of bandages stopping halfway up his right elbow. “They’ve resumed classes already?”

“At the college, anyways. I dunno about the high school.” 

An odd silence filled the space as Draxum’s gaze turned distant. Contemplative. April must’ve found it strange, too, as they exchanged glances. And man, not being able to move his arms sucked. Mikey settled for poking him with his toes instead. “Everything okay, Barry?”

The alchemist stirred back to life with a hum, gaze flicking to Leonardo before returning to the task at hand. “It’s nothing,” he hummed, hands making quick work of the bandages. “With all that’s happened, I must have lost track of the time. I hadn’t realized the weekend had passed.”

“Oh yeah, you’re way off.” April winced in sympathy. “It’s Tuesday now.”

“I suppose I’d best look into that, then, if I wish to keep my job,” Draxum grumbled. But for some reason to Mikey it felt… off. Like that hadn’t been what was on his mind at all. 

A ringtone went off a moment later, funky and 8-Bit, and increasing slightly in volume as April retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. With a flick of her thumb, the song died abruptly. “That’s my cue. Anything you need before I go?”

Mikey thought about it, eyes roving slowly over the room. He was warm; he was fed. The faint pins and needles sensation running up and down his arms wasn’t pleasant, but it was leagues more comfortable than it had been when he woke up. Draxum secured the end of the bandages into place with a final clip, assuring all was taken care of for now on that front, too. Honestly, the only thing Mikey could think to ask for was to get the rest of the family in here, for hugs and assurances that the danger was over for good this time, with an extra side of two reallys to-go. The yawn that shook out of him didn’t inspire confidence that he’d last long enough for it, though, so he thought better of it.

But Leo was still here; just an arm’s length away. Mikey watched the slow rise and fall of his brother’s chest, and noted the wrinkle between his eye ridges. Hurting, even in sleep. 

Unbidden, Mikey made a small noise in the back of his throat, and didn’t take his eyes off him. “Could I get a shove?”

He heard April laugh softly, understanding without asking. She was the best like that. “You got it, chief.”

The tower of bedding behind him faltered somewhat, moments before a pillow was tossed between him and Leo. April gave Mikey’s shoulder a light shove next, and then he let gravity do the rest of the work to slide him sideways, until his head hit the pillow. From there—careful, careful—he scooched over to his brother’s side as close as he could get, ducking his head under Leo’s elbow to snuggle up next to him. 

“Nngh…” Unsure if he’d inadvertently hurt him, Mikey froze as Leo moaned, head dipping until his cheek touched his shoulder. But a second passed, then two, before Leo simply sighed. And then his breathing evened out again. 

Michelangelo smiled, soft, and closed his eyes.

“Now get some more rest. You need it,” he heard April say behind him, and hummed his thanks back at her. 

A few seconds later there was a little whoosh—one of Mayhem’s portals, if he had to guess—then quiet. He waited for the sound of cloven footsteps, but there was only the wooden creak of a chair and the sound of bristles brushing lightly over ceramic. He followed it into the dark.

Time passed strangely, from then on. He caught it in snatches; in soft touches, and whispers, and the blurry light and shadows shifting past the barrier of his heavy eyelids.

“...much did he get down?”

“All of it. The pudding too.”

Long fingers scritched up and down the curve of his shell. It felt nice. 

He slept. 

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“Huginn?”

“Yeah, Muninn?”

“How are we supposed to fluff his pillow if he’s on it?”

Not his problem. He slept. 

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There was a blanket draped over him that wasn’t there before. The bed dipped. 

He opened his eyes into bare slits to find a purple blur next to his knees, sitting criss-cross applesauce. Hoodie on and hood up, Mikey couldn’t make out his brother’s expression. 

He didn’t mean to, but he slept.

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“...you okay, Pops?”

“...”

“…gonna dim the lights, that should help. Where’d we put the Tylenol?”

“I have it. Can someone…”

He slept.

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A heavy weight pressed into his shoulder, startling him awake. The Krang sister?  He wouldn’t open the portal for them. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t—

Just before panic could seize him entirely, he glanced up to see what he was working against, and—oh. The hazy sight that greeted his vision wasn’t pink. It wasn’t even a tentacle. No, the green, three-fingered hand led to none other than his older brother; Leo was facing away from him now, eyes closed in sleep, but it didn’t look like he’d moved at all aside from that. Mikey was still tucked under his arm in the exact same position he’d been in before drifting off.

Shame bloomed in his gut, and he curled into himself. How could he have mistaken Leo for… for that?  

He was too tired to cry. He slept. 

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“...how long will he have to have that in, you think?”

“Another week. Maybe two. Long enough for…”

The voices didn’t fade away yet, so much as devolved into medical jargon that was far enough beyond him it might as well have been white noise. This time when he squinted his eyes open, there were no figures immediately visible. Barely, he caught movement off Leo’s side of the bed instead: Casey, hanging a fresh bag of painkillers over an IV pole. 

Looks like Leo’s on the good stuff. 

Maybe he was, too. He felt kind of hollow and scooped out, in that way painkillers tended to affect them sometimes. With their metabolism, only the heavy stuff would work. Playing back his memory, though, he could only recall that topical ointment Barry had applied to his arms.  

Huh. Weird.

He slept.

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The sun was setting against the New York skyline; a splash of color bleeding out into monochrome. For every inch it sank beneath the horizon, dread seeped cold into his bones. 

This is wrong, he thought. Times Square flickered and went dark, and the city was dead silent, completely devoid of NYC’s hustle and bustle. Not even the wind whipping through the streets made a sound. Something’s wrong.

He made a break for it. Dived underground, searching for any signs of life. It felt like he’d been running forever before he heard it: a crack-crack-crackle. Mikey could barely see his feet anymore, but followed the sound until—at last—he spied something up ahead. A blue flame, flickering in the dark.

It was a small thing. Michelangelo could cup his hands around it if he wanted to, and he did so, unafraid of being burned even as it popped and sputtered. This flame would never hurt him, he knew—he’d never been surer of anything—but it was dwindling. They… they needed to find something to feed it. Something to keep it from—

Mikey?

“Mikey?” Something tugged on his foot. “C’mon, buddy. Wake up.”

At the second tug he jolted, eyes wide open and looking frantically all around him. Raph was standing at the foot of the bed, hands up in apology and looking achingly concerned. Mikey’s gaze was pulled gently away from him by furry hands cupping his cheeks, guiding him to look at his father instead.

“Easy! Easy, Orange,” Dad crooned, his whiskers twitching. “It was just a dream.”

“Huh? But it…” He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his bleary vision. “The fire’s going out.”

“Uh…”  Splinter and Raph exchanged a look, then Raph turned his head this way and that as if scanning the room, looking more confused by the second. “But there isn’t a fireplace? There’s one in the study, but not here.”

“No! It was… It…” Mikey squeezed his eyes shut, moving to push himself up on instinct. Dad pushed him back down before he could get far, though not before his arms twinged sharply. 

That woke him up. He hissed through clenched teeth, biting against the pain. 

The more he tried to recall what made him so anxious, however, the harder it was to grasp; the memory slipped through his fingers like so much mist. He rolled his head from side to side, taking in the room and noticing no threats. Just a fancy bedroom and a giant tree. His family, looking worriedly at him. Raph and Splinter weren’t the only ones here, he realized belatedly; Casey was watching him curiously from around Leo’s other side, and Donnie was climbing to his feet from a spot on the floor, the guts of an old television spread out in his wake.

“Guess it really was just a dream…” All at once the adrenaline rushed out of him, and Mikey sagged, completely spent. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, little man.”

“‘...I’m not little.”

“Big man!” Again, Raph’s hands came up placatingly. 

“Uh-huh. As much as I’ve missed this classic song and dance,” Donnie groused, “Let’s put a pin in it for later. Do you feel up to eating, Angelo?”

Mikey blinked. “Again? April just gave me breakfast.”

“That was lunch,” Raph started, “and it was hours ago. If you don’t wanna eat, you don’t have to, but—”

“—you should probably drink something,” Casey finished for him. He was sitting backwards in a chair, arms folded over the top of it. “If you think you can.”

That made sense. Mikey nodded, and smiled. “Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, baby. What’s…” A yawn interrupted him. He smacked his lips, then continued. “What’s on the menu?”

Raph straightened up and pulled an honest-to-goodness cloche from the ether, one fist braced in front of his chest like he was a fancy butler. “For you? Nothing but Castle Draxum’s finest.”

With a flourish, his brother raised the cloche’s domed lid to reveal—uh. “PB&J sandwiches?”

“PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off,” Splinter corrected, looking very proud of himself. He waggled his eyebrows. “That was my idea.”

Raph set the silver tray down on the bed, and everyone drew from the pile of sandwiches, with Dad taking both one for himself and for Michelangelo, and jeez, Barry was going to yell at them so much when he saw the crumbs they were about to get all over. Donnie elbowed Raph and handed him a Ziplock baggie with two more sandwiches inside it (jelly with cream cheese instead of peanut butter, he assumed, what with their brother’s allergy), then joined them on the bed. Raph sat on the floor, tall enough to do while still being able to see them over the mattress. 

Mikey tried to keep his mad jealousy in the height department on the down-low, but damn if Raph didn’t make it hard some days. 

“We may or may not be down to the last of the staples our dear Raphela packed along, from when we left a few days ago,” Donatello explained, taking a bite of his food with one hand and tapping away at his phone with the other. Mikey hoped he was working on a grocery list. “April’s picking up more food now, but no one wanted to cook.”

If left to their own devices, Mikey knew it’d be a lot of instant stuff. He sighed, fondly exasperated. “Should’ve just ordered a pizza.”

“What’s a pizza?”

Three heads snapped in Casey’s direction; Mikey was still pinned under Splinter. He tugged on the front of his father’s robe urgently, until Splinter caught his meaning and hauled him upright.

Four heads snapped in Casey’s direction, and Mikey took a deep breath. Then—on behalf of everyone, really—shouted at the top of his lungs. “What do you mean, what’s a pizza?! Were you raised in a barn?!”

Casey jumped in his seat, apparently unprepared for that level of volume. Flashing them a bewildered look, he scrambled for the bed to place his hands over Leo’s tympana, as if he wasn’t a second too late for that. “I-I was raised in a military bunker?? What’s with the third degree?” 

“Fellas, calm down.” Raph clapped his hands together and forced a smile. “We probably just misheard him!”

“No, I’m with the cerebral Dr. Delicate Touch out of office on this one, this might be an important datapoint.” Donnie raised a finger in the air. He looked so cool; Mikey knew whatever he was about to say would be really smart. “How have you neeever heard of pizza?”

Raph laughed nervously. “Donnie, he’s got to have heard of pizza. If he didn’t, that would mean the future didn’t have pizza.”

“He diiiiid say they ate leaves and rats,” Splinter pondered out loud, releasing Mikey to stroke his beard. “We rats are delicious, but not delicious-enough-to-replace-pizza delicious.”

“I think the future didn’t have pizza, Raph.”

Raph gasped dramatically, and Mikey felt his heart shatter. “Casey,” he cried. “Say it isn’t so!”

The bedroom door slammed open. “Stop yelling!” April yelled.

“Please just tell me what a pizza is,” Casey choked, at the end of his rope. 

Beneath his hands, Leo groaned, and everyone in the room froze to stare at him. He stirred, and whined quietly. Stilled. As one, they waited several seconds longer… but ultimately Leo didn’t wake. 

Everyone heavily sighed; some relieved, some disappointed. A beat passed, and then Draxum’s voice echoed from far down the hall. “I hate you all.”

As it turned out, when Casey said rats and leaves, he really did mean rats and leaves. He could remember better eating in the early days of their youth—scrounged-up canned goods, dehydrated meats; for a time, they even grew their own grains and produce. The soil had dried up soon after, however, and anything worth hunting had either died out or been Krangified years before he was born. 

Heavy losses in manpower only strained their bid for survival further (pointedly, Casey did not look at a single one of them as he said this; Mikey wondered if he realized it only served to highlight his grief). In the last years of the war, the Resistance lived off what they could still grow in their hydroponics bay and the vermin they could catch—in the last months, they were down to just vermin.

…Needless to say, it was a hard story to follow. And awkward. 

Bummer futures aside, though, pizza was great and Casey was still interested, so they gave it their best. Even had a few laughs about how surprisingly tricky it was to explain what cheese was to someone with no concept of dairy. Casey could wrap his head around the dough and most of the other ingredients, but not that one. The shape and the way pizza was served tripped him up too, because everyone simply took it for granted he’d understand the fixings went on top of the pizza and not inside it, like a pie. They had to start all over from the beginning to correct that mistake, but once they had, Casey finally seemed to get onboard. 

“It sounds great,” he said, then smiled apologetically at them. While the rest of them had already finished their sandwiches, he was still nibbling on plain toast. “But I dunno. I think it might be too rich for my system?”

Yeah, that tracked. The wide-eyed, frozen in thought paralysis expression Mikey had caught Casey with when he stood in front of their pantry after the first day after the invasion made a lot more sense now, too. “Obviously, we’ll have to work you up to it,” Mikey agreed easily. “But c’mon! You won’t be a real New Yorker until you’ve grabbed a slice.”

Mikey had thought he was channeling all the good vibes of Dr. Positive there, just encouraging the kid along. The way Casey’s focus snapped to him, though, expression more haunted than a ghost story, would make anyone doubt. 

“What did you say?” Casey whispered. 

“...Grab a slice?” It was Donnie who answered for him, arching one thick, drawn-on eyebrow. “Standard colloquial. Your average street vendor sells pizza by the slice, so it became a popular term.”

Casey simply gawked at him, processing. Mikey caught Raph’s eyes and shrugged questioningly, but his big brother’s face was just as confused as his was. No one seemed to have a clue, really, but they didn’t press him; April only moved to stand by the boy’s side to lay a hand on his shoulder, and then they all waited.

The touch seemed to bring Casey back to life, though. He shuddered, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed tight. “Sorry. It’s just— It—” he started and stopped, then trained his eyes on the floor. Took a breath, and tried again. “That was the last thing Sensei said to me, before I went back in time. Grab a slice. I’ve been wondering what he meant this… this whole time.”

Oh.

…It was easy to forget sometimes, how much Casey had lost, and so quickly. Not because he was sorta talking about them —and they were all still kicking, making it confusing—but because of how much kept happening; no room to think, or breathe. Not even Casey seemed to have fully taken it in, from the way he’d been switching back and forth between tenses when sharing with them the culinary glory days of the Resistance. 

This, though? Every person in the room who was still conscious enough for it shared a look, some softer and wetter than others, but equally determined, and Mikey knew they were agreed. April hugged Casey tightly, but it was Raph who approached next, crouching down to the kid’s level and tussling his hair. 

“Well now you gotta do it. Right?”

Casey stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching for some answer Mikey couldn’t name. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he eventually gave Raph a wobbly but resolute grin. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“We’ll all go, together,” Splinter affirmed, gaze shifting fondly to the last of them still not up. “Once Blue has recovered.”

“It wouldn’t feel right without him,” April said breezily.

“It’d feel a little right,” Donnie cut in, though Mikey knew he didn’t mean it. He’d slipped his hand into Leo’s back when they were still on marinara sauce, and hadn’t let go since. “We wouldn’t have to get anything with pineapple.”

Raph slugged him in the arm without looking.

“Ow! I was joking.”

“Still.” Raph wagged a finger. “None of that talk.”

Casey laughed, a quiet sound. It was clear he was still rocked from everything they’d said, but his posture was a little lighter now. “No, April’s right, I want him there. It should be all of us.”

That could take a long time. Casey’s poor digestive system would probably need just as long to get used to treats tastier than rats and bugs, however, so it’d work out in the end. Plus, Leo would have a great goal to work towards (and would hopefully cooperate with them more as a patient, to boot). Once they told him about all this, and what it meant to Casey, Mikey knew he’d throw all of his support behind it. 

“Hear that, Leo? Talk about the kind of heartwarming, life-changing experiences to end all life-changing experiences,” he said, dropping down to lay back beside his sleeping brother once again. “You gotta heal up soon, so we don’t miss it.” 

Leo slept on, oblivious to his words. Mikey chose to believe he’d heard them, all the same. 

Things wound down for the night, not long after that. April and Casey retired to their separate room. Draxum came in to see what was going on at some point, yelled at them for the breadcrumbs—he called it—then sent in Huginn and Muninn with a hand vacuum about as big as they were. 

By the time they came in, Mikey had been up for about an hour straight between dinner and Casey’s story, and had a full-time case of the drowsies. He had the fuzzy impression of Raph picking him up to give the gargoyles better access with their vacuum, but everything after that was a blank. 

The next time he woke, the room was dark and he was tucked in close to Leo again, pleasantly warm. He counted the snores in the room, then drifted off again…

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…and dreamt…

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…and woke with his heartbeat in his throat, hands clutching his own throat and gasping for air.

I’m dead, Mikey thought, unable to shake the sensation of a tentacle tightly squeezing his throat. A fire inside him, shrinking in the face of a heavy wind. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

Seconds passed like hours, but eventually the room came back into focus. It was the same view exactly as he left it: everyone piled around the bed. The picture of safety. His fingers twitched and tingled. Limbs trembling, he breathed through the panic. Waited for his thoughts to slow, and to get a grip on himself again.

Even then, the dread did not fade. 

…Neither did the sound of wheezy breathing, come to think of it. Confused, he raised his head upwards and looked at his brother.

Fabric rustled quietly in the dark, in time with Leo’s head as it rolled loosely from side to side against the pillows. He whimpered weakly, and gasped for air. Eyes widening and no longer caring for his own injuries, Mikey ignored the blistering pain that bloomed under his palm and up his elbow as he pushed himself upright. Still tangled up under Leo’s arm, he made to pull that off him, then froze.

Last night—or whenever he fell asleep? Who knew how long ago that was. Not important. Whenever that was, Leo had been warm, but he hadn’t thought anything of it. They’d been snuggled up most of the day. But now? Leo was a furnace, his skin hot to the touch. 

Mikey did the only thing he could think of, and yelled for help. 

Chapter Text

“Boss!”

The shout echoing from down the hallway startled Draxum awake, the cookbook he’d been perusing (50 Invigorating Gruel Recipes) still open on his chest. It felt like he’d only kicked his hooves up minutes ago, but at some point he must have drifted off by the warmth of the fireplace.

“Boss!” The voice called again, drawing rapidly closer. He’d just set the book aside and kicked the study’s ottoman away when the gargoyle flew into the room, wings flapping rapidly to keep his round body afloat. “Boss, you have to come quick!”

“What is it?” Draxum stood, still in his bunny slippers.

“There’s…! And…!” Muninn panted, then sank to perch in his typical spot on Draxum’s shoulders. “Just… need to catch my breath. Hoo boy. Be honest, boss, do you think I’ve gained weight?”

“Considerably.” Before they showed up again on his doorstep, some time had passed since he’d last seen his minions, but the weight on his shoulder now was a stone heavier than he remembered it being last.

“Ah, fiddlesticks.” The gargoyle pouted. “I should’ve listened to Huginn. He warned me about those churros.”

“Muninn. Is this or is this not urgent?”

“Oh, right!” Muninn chirped. “Our guests sent me to get you. There’s something wrong with one of the turtles.”

Still clad in his robe and bunny slippers, Draxum stepped out into the hall with purpose. “Which one?”

“Uhh… Well, all of them looked pretty upset, but I think the guy in bed?”

The annoying one, then. Draxum paused shortly, considering the excuses he could draw to get out of this, but then thought better of it. If it’s him…

He carried on. If there was something wrong with Leonardo it was most likely serious, given his current condition. This wasn’t the time for leaning into petty grievances. Seeing the humans race out of the second bedroom ahead of him with Huginn following after only affirmed his decision, and he picked up the pace to catch up.

The master bedroom was dark but buzzing with noise when he arrived, between the frantic beeping of machines, the rat crooning some melody in Japanese, and Raphael talking over it all. The larger turtle had his brother pinned with nothing but a light touch that kept the child in place, holding off his weak struggles.

For all the Hamato family’s influence had (ugh) softened him, a small part of Draxum found it irritating to see one of his greatest creations reduced to the strength of a mewling kitten.

The other part—with a voice that was surprisingly louder, these days—noted that despite this, Leonardo had managed to dangle one foot off the bed, the blankets tangled around him. It painted a picture that made it clear that regardless of the boy’s fragile state, he could still be a threat to himself.

“What the hell happened, Dee?” April whispered, sliding into place next to the purple one at the foot of the bed. Everyone but Lou and Raphael seemed to have congregated there for now, presumably to give them more space.

“Fever dream, if I had to make an educated guess,” Donatello said in a rush, staring at a glowing purple thermometer in his hand—one of his ninpo constructs.

“Let me see.” The future child poked his head between April and the turtle, then sucked in a breath through his teeth in the face of what he saw.

At his stature, Draxum had no need to join them; he could see the thermometer’s results clearly from here. 102.9°F.

“Shit,” April cursed. “Who was the last one to do a temp check on him?”

“Me,” Casey said, hushed. “Just before we turned in. But it wasn’t anywhere close to that.”

“Fevers rarely climb this high without cause,” Draxum observed, finally joining their speculation. Couldn’t leave all the work to the kids. He pressed his lips together in consideration, paying no mind as Huginn swooped in and settled on his other shoulder. Given the state of that warehouse in their final battle? Infection made a likely culprit. “We should check his wounds.”

“Right, because we definitely didn’t think of that already!” Donatello flapped a hand in the air, huffing. “Raph and Papá are working on it.”

Draxum thought privately that if they were so worried, they could stand to do it faster. He rolled his eyes but held his tongue, then glanced up to see how the attempts to calm the turtle had progressed.

“...yeah, just like that. You’re doing great, bud,” Raphael was saying. Beneath him, Leonardo sagged limp into the pillows, unmoving save for the involuntary shivers that shook his body. “Just keep listening to Dad. See? It was just a bad dream. You’re awake now, you’re okay.”

“Thaaat is an oooverstatemennnnt~” Lou sang softly, trying poorly to match the melody of the lullaby. Draxum privately agreed with him. Staring into the middle distance listlessly, it was hard to say whether Leonardo really understood what was happening at all or if he’d simply exhausted himself at last. As Lou pulled back his hand to gesture something to Raphael, though, the boy keened softly in distress, and did not settle until the rat returned to brushing his forehead, so. Perhaps they were making a difference after all.

“There you go. You go back to sleep now; don’t mind Raph checking you over…” Raphael continued, chewing anxiously at his lower lip before tentatively releasing his charge. When Leonardo didn’t renew his struggles, there was a flurry of movement—the others moving in to help, and Raphael pulling the blanket back. “Ah, Leapin’ Leprechauns,” he spoke under his breath like a curse, then raised his voice. “Guys? I think the tube thingy came out.”

Donatello, having hurried ahead, got as far as the side of the bed before his eyes landed on what Raphael was looking at and he turned away. “Eugh. Vomitello out,” he gagged, then staggered back for the end of the bed. Draxum knew he was squeamish, but it seemed to have only gotten worse since… well. The incident. “Tagging you in, Jones.”

“On it,” Casey said, jumping into action. Raphael stepped back, giving him room to work. “I need gauze, and we’ll have to replace this chest tube. Can you get it for me, Commander? There should be a sterile one with the supplies the paramedics gave us.”

“You got it!” April chucked a box of gauze pads at his head; it bounced off, but Raphael caught it on the rebound, and handed it over to him.

Rather than join the swarm, Draxum circled around across from them; currently only the rat was there, standing on a stool. The sight of Michelangelo sitting at the foot of the bed gave him pause, however. The boy had been unusually quiet ever since his arrival and, now that he had a proper look at him, Draxum could see he was wringing his hands together with no regard for his injuries.

“Stop that,” he ordered, staring severely until Michelangelo met his eyes, and oh. He was quite pale, wasn’t he? Not you too, Draxum thought, concern tight in his gut.

It was short-lived. Much to his relief, Michelangelo blinked at him with clear comprehension, then forcibly dropped his hands to his side. Draxum still didn’t like his color, though, and the silence was worrying, but—hrm. Priorities.

Even so, he hesitated. Had Donatello not drawn up then, he was unsure how long he would have remained undecided, but the turtle took one look at Michelangelo, then nodded at Draxum, and it was decided. Donatello sat at the foot of the bed next to his brother, speaking in low tones, while the alchemist turned to join Lou at the head of the bed.

“How long has he been like this?” Draxum asked, waving a hand in front of Leonardo’s face.

“We’re not sure,” the rat reported wearily. They watched as Leonardo sluggishly tracked the movement and followed it back to Draxum. “It happened while we were sleeping. Orange was the one to notice and sound the alarm.”

Ah. Perhaps that’s why he’d been so quiet?

Back to the matter at hand, though. Face pinched, Leonardo’s eyes settled on Draxum before sliding away again, showing neither interest nor recognition in his delirium. Disconcerting, given the usual back-and-forth of their relationship. On the other hand, it made assessing his condition less of a struggle...

“If only you were always this compliant,” he muttered without heat, and settled two fingers over the pulsepoint at his neck. The beeping machines could tell him it was beating fast, but it was easier to judge the quality of it by hand. Under the pads of his fingers, Leonardo’s pulse was a rapid, feeble thing, and he wouldn’t stop shivering. Fever rigors, and a sign of a swift change in temperature.

Again, he suspected the cause lay in one of Leonardo’s many wounds; perhaps some kind of infection. Draxum directed his attention across the bed, to where Casey was securing the gauze pad he’d applied to the chest tube’s exit wound with tape; a temporary fix, until they could put the new one in. As if sensing the eyes on him, he reported his findings before anyone could ask for them. “The wound’s clean. If something’s infected, it’s not here—”

“Mm. Hm.” Leonardo wheezed, gaze alighting foggily on his brothers at the end of the bed with the faintest sliver of comprehension. When he spoke, his words slurred. “Ev’ryone’s up… huh… Izzit… ‘cause of me?”

A pregnant pause filled the air. Ultimately, it was Donatello who answered. “It’s okay, Nardo. We were here anyway. Just go back to sleep already.”

Leonardo looked halfway there before Donatello had even finished his sentence. Either that or he was losing consciousness. “Suuure,” he exhaled. “‘Kay.”

And then his head rolled, and he was out.

Michelangelo finally made a sound, small and choked in the back of his throat. Donatello wrapped an arm around his shoulder, expression blank, then picked up where they left off. “It could be his shell. Lean him forward to check—gently.”

They made it a team effort; Raphael on one side and Draxum the other. “On the count of three,” Raphael said. “One—”

“Wait,” Draxum called, voice sharp. To move Leonardo he’d gone for the boy’s shoulder; now that his hand was on it, the yokai noted the bare skin there was hot to the touch. There was another bandage not far from it. Mouth thinning to a line, he lowered his hand to hover over it and confirmed his suspicions; whatever wound lay under the dressing was hotter still.

Not bothering with an explanation, Draxum pulled back the bandage.

Beside him, the rat gasped at the wound revealed. “Oh, Blue…”

It was a bite, red and inflamed. The lacerations didn’t appear deep, but there were a dozen of them dotting an oval-shaped pattern against Leonardo’s shoulder. Some were crusted over with dried blood; newly freed from the confines of the dressing, others wept pus like tears with a smell like bad grapes.

This time, Donatello was sick. Draxum watched him push Michelangelo away only to nearly trip over himself in his rush for a wastebasket. Raphael looked back and forth between his brother and the infected injury on display, then went after him as the others exploded into chatter.

“This isn’t from the warehouse,” Lou said, fretting; still atop Draxum’s shoulder, Huginn pulled a box of tissues from the ether as an offering. The rat readily accepted and dabbed away at Leonardo’s wound.

“It’s not from the invasion, either,” April supplied, returning with the requested chest tube. “The attack on the lair? I mean…” Her voice cracked with regret. “There were a whole lotta Krang zombies there. Mikey and I tried to keep them outta the medbay, but maybe one got—”

“Ohmigosh,” Michelangelo whimpered, lower lip trembling.

All eyes turned to him, unsure of what he meant, but awaiting an explanation.

“I-I forgot,” he started eventually. “It was the attack on the lair, but before all that, April. I pulled a zombie off of him, but there wasn’t time for—” He hiccuped. “A-And then everything else happened so fast, and the Krang— This is all my fault!”

The waterworks started in full force, then, as Michelangelo wept miserably. April was immediately by his side, wrapping him up in her arms. “Hey, hey, that’s not true, baby. It’s on all of us. After that fiasco, we should’ve checked him over more carefully, instead of assumin’ the paramedics covered it.”

“Even if we caught it early,” Casey spoke up hesitantly, “This was probably still going to happen. Human bites are infectious enough on their own, but—”

“Whoa!” April shouted, surprised by the sudden dead weight in her arms as Michelangelo sagged boneless against her, nearly toppling off the bed. “Little help here!”

Draxum joined her quickly—everyone jumped to it, really, but the yokai was the closest—and with their efforts combined, they managed to get the smaller turtle turned over and laid back out on the bed.

“Why is it always one thing after the other with you lot,” Draxum complained to hide his worry, placing a hand over Michelangelo’s plastron.

The others had the good sense (for once) to be quiet and let him work. Draxum exhaled slowly and focused his senses past the surface level, searching for the ebb and flow of mystic energy—and followed the golden orange river back to its source.

Not for the first time, Michelangelo’s potential astonished him. The boy had recovered somewhat from his forced rest over the past few days, but he still had a way to go before he'd be back to one hundred percent. At even twenty percent of his strength, however, Michelangelo had more power in his little pinky than many of the mystic warriors Draxum had trained with in the past, making their reserves look like pathetic tide pools in the face of his wellspring.

It was as incredible as it was humbling. Daunting at times, even. Searching for disruptions in his energy flow, Draxum welcomed the distraction.

At first glance nothing seemed to have changed, and therein lay the problem. Michelangelo’s energy circulated lazily, but that was to be expected. There was a cluster of activity at the center of his mind, however, that the alchemist thought would have dissipated by now. He imagined popping it like a soap bubble.

No such luck.

A proper healer would be able to do better, but Draxum—to his chagrin—had never had a talent for manipulating the mystic energy of others. He excelled when it came to plants, but his fellow yokai? Despite numerous attempts he met wall after wall, not possessed of the sensitivity required to secure that connection, even to help them. Draxum understood the theory of it all, of course, but until Michelangelo regained consciousness, his hands were tied. Fortunately, he didn’t think this was serious. If his hunch was correct, in fact…

Yes. That could work. Draxum withdrew his touch, and opened his eyes.

“He’ll be fine.” In the minutes that had passed, Casey had vanished. Raphael was in his place, crouched next to them and watching with naked concern whilst April assisted the rat. As he stood, all of them paused their activity to listen to his report. “There’s a small complication I’d like to check more closely, but ten minutes won’t hurt him. If the rest of you can tend to Leonardo’s infection, I’ll reconnect his chest tube.”

“Deal.” Casey returned, an assortment of bottles in one hand and a syringe in the other. “I’m better used to treating bite wounds, anyways. Honestly, I think I could treat them in my sleep.”

“How cheery,” Lou replied, swiping a vial from him to squint at its label. “Then it’s time to strut your stuff, Future Boy.”

“What I’m really worried about is tetanus,” Casey said as he worked, filling a syringe with saline. “As weak as he is now, that could get really bad.”

By the time Draxum had connected the new chest tube and cleaned away the blood around it, the others had just finished soaking Leonardo’s shoulder bite and were moving on to the next step. The yokai wasn’t intending to stick around for that, though, and approached the three turtles huddled against the wall.

“Nardo’s current on his vaccines,” Donatello spoke in a monotone, tapping away at a tablet. To his side sat Raphael, currently cradling the youngest of their number in his lap.

“That’s a relief,” Casey sighed, focusing on his work.

Crouching to take Michelangelo from him, Draxum caught sight of what Donatello was looking at—the screen displayed four medical records, one for each turtle. The alchemist watched as he made to close it, paused, then flagged his own file for a new round of immunizations. Then he set the tablet down, meeting Draxum’s expression with dull provocation.

This was a test, wasn’t it.

Teenagers.

Draxum looked pointedly at the tablet to flaunt that he’d seen it, then scooped Michelangelo out of his brother’s arms. Perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he saw Donatello’s shoulders lose some of their tension when he did. That was something, at least.

Raphael smiled up at him, apologetic, but clearly having chosen his side. “Thanks, Barry,” he whispered first, then spoke up louder. “You taking Mikey out of here?”

“Yes. The study will be far less distracting,” Draxum replied, adjusting the bundle in his grasp. “I’ll be leaving Muninn here, however. If something changes, send him for me.”

“Aww. But this room is such a bummer,” the frog-faced gargoyle whined sadly.

“Job security, Muninn!” Huginn whispered loudly at his partner from behind Draxum’s head, then faced forward again. “You can count on us, boss.”

Raphael flashed him a shaky thumbs up, and Donatello drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms without another word. The humans spared him little more than a glance on his way out, too busy with their work, but Lou nodded at him with his perturbed approval.

“You take care of him, Draxum.”

“Yes, yes…” Draxum said dismissively, the mood in the air suddenly uncomfortable. Too many touchy feelings. “Don’t get any more gray hairs while I’m gone, Rat. He’ll be back before you know it.”

From there, Muninn flew up into the high branches of the tree and Draxum exited the bedroom for the study. It was the farthest room away that was still close enough for him to return quickly, in the event of an emergency.

As they walked, Draxum resumed monitoring Michelangelo’s mystic energy once again. Sure enough—the more distance he put between them and the bedroom, the more that little cluster of energy at the center of his mind loosened up and unraveled. They hadn’t even arrived at their destination when Michelangelo began to stir in his arms.

“Huh? Who…” He glanced about long enough to register they were moving, then squinted up at the face of the one carrying him. “Oh. Hi, Barry.”

“Hello.”

“Where we going?”

“Not far. I’m conducting a short experiment.”

“Mmm. Don’t like the sound of that.”

“Relax,” Draxum told him, crossing the study’s threshold. “I’ve nearly finished.”

“Woooow. I didn’t even have to lift a finger,” Michelangelo chirped. A front, given his watery tone of voice. “...How’s Leo doing?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would tell me,” Draxum stated mildly, then deposited the turtle in his armchair. “Are you still receiving emotional feedback from him?”

“Uh.” Michelangelo blinked, then raised a brow ridge. “Am I what now?”

Draxum chuckled once, then tapped the boy's forehead twice for emphasis. “Imagine your brain is a radio.”

“A radio? Seriously? Everyone’s moved on to Spotify by now, my young boomer. Wow, we’ve failed your education so much,” he said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

What on earth is a Spotify? Not important. “Normally,” he continued stubbornly, “it’s set to a single station—your unique frequency. Now what happens if you try to change stations?”

“Oh, we don’t do that. Donnie gets scary mad when you mess with his tunes.”

“...That’s fair. But for the sake of the metaphor, play along.”

From his shoulder, Huginn snickered. Draxum craned his neck to pin him with one of his patented Bad Guy™ glares until the gargoyle was sweating bullets.

“I’ll, uh. Just be over here,” Huginn said sweetly, then hopped to his dog bed.

“Right.” Draxum sighed. “Where was I?”

“Brain radios!” In his seat, Michelangelo crossed his legs and grinned. Then he poked his tongue out the side of his mouth; an expression Draxum had since learned meant he was giving the subject considerable thought. “But okay. If I want to find a new station, I guess I turn the knob manually and get a blast of annoying static until I pick up something different. Or get that weird thing where the stations overlap—oh.”

He looked to Draxum, who merely arched an eyebrow in return. Took this opportunity to sit across from him on the ottoman, and gestured for him to go on.

“So… the mind meld did this? And now our feelings are overlapping, just like those radio stations.” Draxum nodded, and Michelangelo went on. “Is that… normal? Or— Ohmigosh, did we mess it up?”

Chuckling softly, Draxum shook his head. “No, you did quite well. I wouldn’t say it’s normal to receive so much feedback, but it’s certainly not uncommon either. Especially not among those who were already close to begin with, as you and your brothers are.”

For the same reason, he suspected Raphael and Donatello’s circumstances were similar. The two had been quite close ever since what happened in the lab and, though he rarely heard them conversing, they were never far apart these days.

“Oh,” Michelangelo said. Then he yawned and sank further back in his seat. “That’s kinda sweet, actually…”

“Is it?” Draxum asked. To him it sounded like a nightmare. To each their own, but Michelangelo’s situation especially seemed like a fresh hell. “It’s not good feelings you’re picking up from your brother. The only thing Leonardo is capable of feeling at the moment is confusion and distress.”

“...I think it might be his nightmares, too, now that you’ve pointed it out,” Michelangelo admitted reluctantly, looking away from him like a child being scolded. In a way, he was. “I had this crazy dream right before I woke up and saw Leo, and… I don’t wanna talk about it, but I don’t think it was mine.”

“I rest my case.” Draxum waved a hand. “Based on my assessment, the issue will resolve itself in a matter of days, but there’s no need to wait that long. Working together, I can guide you into dispelling it—”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll pass.”

Draxum’s mouth clicked shut, momentarily taken aback. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Not twenty minutes ago, you were so overwhelmed that you fainted. And you want to continue experiencing this?”

“No!” Michelangelo shouted, sitting back upright. “But it’s not like Leo’s doing this on purpose! He’s just scared, and hurt, and sick, and…” There were the tears again; Michelangelo sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes. “I just thought that if I can feel him, maybe he can feel me too... And if that’s true, then I can push my positive feelings at him. Like how much I love him and want him to get better!”  

“That is foolish sentimentality.”

Michelangelo scowled at him. Before he even opened his mouth, Draxum could practically see him digging his heels into the sand. “I won’t lie, it was scary before. But I know what’s going on now! So I can manage it and be there for him, too.”

Draxum pinched the bridge of his nose; spoke with the air of the long-suffering. “And there’s no way I can talk you out of this.”

“It’s not going to make my arms worse, right? I don’t think I’m using my powers anymore…”

If it would make him have second thoughts, Draxum would genuinely consider lying and telling him that yes, it would. The child would be better off for it. But if he found out the truth, he’d always be wary of seeking out his advice again. With his recovery on the line, that was unacceptable.

“No, it will not.” Saying as much felt like pulling teeth, but he was committed now. “At this point, it’s all residual. You’re caught up in the wave’s wake, and not the wave itself.”

“Mm. ‘fraid not, then.”

The alchemist didn’t like this one bit. Unfortunately, without Michelangelo’s willing cooperation, there was little he could actually do about it. Lacing his fingers together, he stared the boy down. Michelangelo met his gaze evenly; pleasantly.

“Very well. I don’t approve, but… you’ve clearly made your decision.”

“Thanks for understanding, Barry.”

“I’m not finished.” Draxum leaned forward. “Despite your optimism, this will have consequences. You should be resting, but this could frequently disrupt that. If it ever gets too overwhelming to ‘manage’, as you say, I want you to come either here or the room of your human friends to get proper rest. Understand?”

“...Wow. I really made you mad, didn’t I? Sorry.” Michelangelo shrunk back in his seat just slightly, but offered a wobbly smile. “That sounds like a fair compromise, though. I promise I will.”

“Good,” he huffed.

Several seconds passed, then, without a word. It was awkward, and Draxum didn’t know how to breach it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Tilting his head to catch his eyes, Michelangelo leaned forward in his seat.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“About?”

“I was just wondering if mind melds had other side effects? Besides the feelings radio, I mean, like. Okay. Remember when you were helping me with my arms last week?” Draxum nodded, and Michelangelo went on. “When we did that—and then again with Leo when we combined our Ninpo—I could sense you guys. Like I could see you, and feel you, and…”

Michelangelo stopped, fingers twitching at the air as if it would help him grasp the words. Draxum took pity on him. “You’re describing auras, yes. Now stop using your hands so much.”

“There’s a word for it? Sweet! Let me start over.” The boy dutifully lowered his hands to his lap, then, and his expression turned more serious. “These aura things. I thought they were just our mad mystic powers at first, but now I’m not sure. So… what are they, exactly?”

Draxum folded his hands over his knee. “That answer can get complicated, depending on who you speak with. But for simplicity? The energy you’re sensing is a combination of your mystic energy—your Ninpo, in this case—and life force. The two are intrinsically tied together.”

He was met with no response—not a verbal one, at least. Michelangelo’s eyes flashed with horror, then he wrapped his arms around himself in a self-hug and looked away.

Well that wouldn’t do. Draxum prodded him further. “Why do you ask?”

“...Leo’s aura. It’s so small.” His voice cracked. “I-I keep getting this bad feeling that it’s going to disappear. Even right now, it just keeps flickering—”

Now? That didn’t make sense. Draxum held up a hand to interrupt him. “You’re currently sensing this? From this room.”

Michelangelo nodded. When Draxum didn’t clarify himself fast enough, he faced him properly again. “Why? Is that weird?”

“It’s not ordinary,” Draxum corrected, already moving on to the next point of his curiosity. He scooted the ottoman he was sitting on backwards by an inch, just to make sure he and Michelangelo weren’t touching in any way. “Can you also sense my aura?”

Michelangelo tilted his head. Squinted. Poked his tongue out for the second time, with a screwed-up expression.

But a moment later, he nodded again. And that was fascinating.

Sensing auras was a basic ability among mystic practitioners; it was one of the first skills any beginner learned, in fact, with their own energy. Typically, however, one would need skin-to-skin contact to monitor another’s spirit. He’d heard of—and even worked with—yokai who could sense auras passively and from a distance, of course. They were rare finds, but that was all the more reason why they made such exceptional warriors. In the days when the Hidden City still had a standing army, he saw it most frequently amongst strategists and generals, who used the ability to direct their soldiers. From what he understood, it was also a hallmark of particularly skilled mystic healers, who were customarily more in tune with the pain and emotions of others to begin with.

In hindsight, he should have anticipated this possibility. As much as Draxum disliked the idea of Michelangelo walking down the path of a healer, his disposition was well suited to it. With his budding potential, it made sense he could develop a skill like this; Draxum had just never imagined he would do so this quickly.

“Barry?”

“Yes. Forgive me.” He’d been quiet too long, the scientist in him too excited to uncover this development in one of his creations. Draxum cleared his throat. “You asked if that was a side effect of the mind meld? It isn’t. I would surmise that it was caused by pushing yourself to the brink of your ability so many times, using a great deal of energy all at once in the process. Consider it a skill you always had the potential for, that you unlocked early. Same as opening interdimensional portals.”

“I got the mystic cheat codes,” Michelangelo hummed. It was a joke Draxum sensed, even though he didn’t quite get it. But it felt hollow. “What does this have to do with Leo?”

“Oh, right. We were talking about him, weren’t we.”

Michelangelo looked wholly unimpressed. Draxum coughed into his hand, and tried to look… Oh, what expression would work here. Worry? He went with worried.

…And once he’d successfully forced it, found the concern wasn’t so hard to maintain. If Leonardo’s aura really was depleting, as Michelangelo said it was, it was a poor sign for his recovery.

“I understand you may be feeling… distressed. I won’t lie; your brother’s condition is serious, and this news is not encouraging.” Well, that only made him look more upset. Draxum quickly course corrected. “But! Now that you’ve brought this to my attention, we can use it as a means to monitor him. Predict his needs before they would become more visually apparent.”

That seemed to perk Michelangelo up, finally. Draxum got the impression he wanted to be helpful. “What about giving him more energy? I’m kinda tapped, but I have more than Leo does—”

The yokai clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish that line of thought. “Absolutely not, you’d kill yourself and him in the process. What you’re describing falls into the realm of mystic healing, and you’re untrained.”

“But I already did that back at the warehouse and it was fiiiiiine. You literally saw me!”

“If you were listening to me properly, you’d recall that mystic energy and life force are not the same thing. Though the two are linked, there is a difference.”

“...And I’m guessing that falls into healer territory, which you said takes a long time to learn,” Michelangelo said, once his mouth was released. His voice was laden with disappointment, but he nodded all the same. “See? I do listen.”

“Good.” Draxum sighed, then continued. “Leonardo’s energy will replenish itself, once he’s healthy enough for it to do so. The best we can do for him right now is make him comfortable, and encourage his body to heal naturally.”

“Okay. If you say so,” Michelangelo agreed quietly. Draxum watched him try to mask his heavy heart until a moment later, when he was practically beaming again. “Leo never lets anything keep him down for long, so I’m sure he’ll recover from this too. Even when we get rat flu at the same time, he always bounces back first!”

“I’m sorry, when you get what now?”

“It’s really bad now, but I know he can get through this as long as he has us to look after him,” Michelangelo said, completely ignoring his question. “Thanks for the pep talk! I feel a little better now. Can we go back to the others?”

That was supposed to be a pep talk? Well, whatever. So long as he wasn’t weepy.

“Painkillers would do you better than anything I have to say,” Draxum pointed out. “But since those are also currently in the bedroom, yes. We can go back now.”

“Carry me again?”

“Your arms are damaged, not your legs. You can walk just fine on your own.”

They’d been here long enough, though. Michelangelo had required the assistance, but with the state Leonardo was in, it was going to be all hands on deck until something improved. As Draxum carried Michelangelo back to the others (and wondered if the boy also had a mystic talent for wheedling, because what was this even), he resigned himself to facing another long, long day after an already long week. But there was no room to complain.

It was time to get to work.

Chapter Text

Casey had finished cleaning Leo’s bite wound by the time he and Draxum came back, and it looked dramatically different from the first time he saw it. Whatever Casey had done had made the skin bubble up to the size of a golf ball, giving it a weirdly tender and squishy appearance. Guilt made Mikey’s stomach do backflips, because there was no way that wasn’t painful.

It hadn’t been bandaged yet. The wound needed time to air dry first, Casey had explained, hunched over Donnie’s tablet and negotiating what antibiotics they’d require to treat Leo further. From the way he and Donnie went back and forth, Mikey got the impression the medications had either been called by different names in the future or that some had been more available than others, because they were doing a lot of research about it.

Meanwhile, the others were on Leo duty. They all had soft hugs for Mikey upon his return, though, and were more than willing to chat between work as Draxum spread more of that numbing ointment over his arms. April hung a bag of saline on the IV stand while Splinter lay a cool cloth over Leo’s forehead, and Raph moved back and forth between rooms with his arms full of bedding. Working together, he and April then outfitted the bed with the new blankets, in the hopes that these thinner ones would help keep Leo from overheating.

Around the time Draxum was wrapping bandages around his fingers, Mikey then nearly nodded off mid-conversation and everyone ganged up on him until he agreed to get more rest. While he didn’t like being babied, he… kinda got the sense it wasn’t just him the family was fretting over; he was merely the only one awake enough to be pampered. Splinter, in particular, only tended to fuss like this when he was very, very worried. So he put up with it, pretending to be too sleepy to care just this once. Right now, they needed this more than Mikey needed to assert his independence.

Ignorant of his noble sacrifice, Raph and Dad then got into an argument over who would tuck him in, and whether a bedtime story (Raph) would be more helpful versus milk and cake (Splinter).

In the end, April rolled her eyes and did it herself, and Mikey drifted off to the background noise of them still going at it.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the sound of his family moving—living—all around him was better than any white noise machine.

:

:

:

Who let so many birds into the lair, and why were they all twenty feet tall? And who said it was their turn with the remote? He (me?) had lived here longer, he (no) should get dibs. Ugh, and they were getting feathers all over Dad’s chair, too! He (Leo?) wasn’t going to be the one to clean that up.

Fast forward past a lit fireplace that burned with no heat, then past the train cars of the new lair to the atrium of the old lair. These birds were just everywhere! They hogged the skate ramp and blocked the way to the kitchen. They’d even taken over the bathroom, which was the final straw. It was time to end this—for good.

He kicked down the door to interrupt a pigeon watching a YouTube video on contouring and drew his swords. “You’ve piggy-backed off our Wi-Fi for the last time, Pizza Pigeon!”

Pizza Pigeon—with arms instead of wings, for some reason—had an unexpectedly strong right hook.

:

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Mikey jerked awake, blinking dumbly at the view above him and wondering where the ceiling went. It took him a second to recall the big tree that stood at the center of Draxum’s bedroom, and just what he was doing under it. He was still so tired.

“You’re awake?” A green and purple blur that sounded like Donnie asked. “You should rest more, it hasn’t been long. Since you’re up, though—”

“Mmph,” Mikey articulated eloquently as Donnie rambled on, then tried to sit up. He didn’t get far; April had tucked him in too well. Change of plans. Wiggling his hips, he shimmied like a worm, scooting under the blankets inch by inch until he was close enough to Leo to bump foreheads.

That crazy dream—that had to be another one of Leo’s, right? The bits that Mikey could remember were so silly he wanted to laugh, but Leo’s low groan put a pin in that.

Draxum had said they could use the aftereffects of the mind meld to monitor him. He’d probably meant something more like gauging how much pain Leo was in, or if he was close to waking up and freaking out again, but Mikey didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t help with dreams, too.

Careful not to touch the injury on his shoulder (it had been bandaged finally, from the looks of it), Mikey squished his cheek against his brother’s and focused as hard as he could while still half-asleep. Leo? Can you hear me?

There was no response.

...Well, that was okay. Draxum had implied only stuff like feelings were getting passed through their bond now. If they could still do the full mind-meld shtick, Mikey would be dipping into using more mystic energy than he should be messing with currently. And if he couldn’t communicate words, he probably couldn’t dream up a giant cat to throw at Leo’s dreams, either.

So just feelings. No sweat! That was his specialty.

Ignoring Donnie poking his snout, Mikey pictured that fuzzy connection between them, and the space where golden orange met rich, electric blue. The aura was turning dark around the edges, radiating stress and disorientation. Mikey studied it for a minute there, in his mind’s eye, then tried to push a sense of calm and relaxation strong enough to overpower it.

And slowly but surely—it did.Mikey watched and felt as the agitated parts of Leo’s aura settled, then faded to a pretty azure. Outside his body, too, Leo’s breaths sounded more easy and even than they had been prior.

Poke, poke, poke. The badgering of his face continued. “I know you’re awake, Michael, I can see you twitching.”

There was one way to remedy that. Mikey yawned as obnoxiously loud as he could, and let exhaustion pull him back down again.

Leo mostly remained insensible after that, but Mikey still occasionally picked up feedback from him; distorted images that flashed too quickly to make sense of, or some strong emotion breaking through—more scattered sensations than true dreams, overall. Now that he was tuned in and looking for signs of distress, though, they woke him every time.

Bit by bit, though, he learned how to gauge when Leo was going to calm down on his own, or if the feelings he was picking up on were going to spin out into a full-blown nightmare. He did what he could for the ones he was capable of helping with, gently nudging the connection between them with all the love and positivity he could muster.

For the others… he just tried to get back to sleep before his overactive imagination could fill in the gaps.

“How’s he holding up?” he drowsily asked Dad on one such occasion.

Splinter wrung out one wet cloth and exchanged it for another, avoiding Mikey’s eyes. “No change.”

The next time he woke up, it wasn’t because of a nightmare. At first he thought he was picking up on some kind of anxiety from Leo, and waited to see if it would fade.

It didn’t. If anything, the feeling grew more intense the longer he focused on it, until he realized that it wasn’t butterflies, but pain; a dull, bone-deep ache right next to his ribs.

“Painkillers...” he mumbled into his pillow, and heard the rattle of a pill bottle a few moments later. “Mm. Not for me.”

The rattling stopped, and Mikey opened his eyes to see Raph blinking at him in confusion. “Uh…”

“Leo needs it. Hurtin’.” Mikey lifted a hand to tap against his plastron, then thought better of it at the last second and just let it hover there. “Here.”

“Not according to my regimented, very precise timetable, he isn’t.” There was a squeak of wheels turning, then Donnie appeared at his side in a rolly chair arching one big, drawn-on eyebrow. “We’ve been following it consistently, so he shouldn’t be due for a while yet. Are you sure you didn’t mean yourself?”

“Sheesh. Give him a sec to wake up first, Don,” Raph chided.

Donnie did not wait, wiggling his fingers at Mikey’s bandages like a kid trying to decide where to start on a puzzle. Mikey couldn’t do much to defend himself, so he just turned his head to look for someone who would listen. Behind Raph he spied Draxum, who checked the bag of painkillers on the IV stand with a frown, then reached for Leo’s wrist. It was a move Mikey had seen enough times in the past week to safely guess that the yokai was studying his energy.

“That timetable will have to be adjusted,” Draxum said after a moment, already stepping away towards their supplies. “He’s right; they’re wearing off.”

As if on cue, Leo groaned, tossing weakly about in a way that must have tugged at something else from the small, choked sound he made. Raph leaned forward in his seat, hands up and ready to hold their brother down if he tried to get up. Donnie stayed motionless while they waited to see what happened.

Leo’s expression remained strained, but he settled. They all sagged in relief.

It didn’t last long.

“Don’t get comfy,” Donnie told Mikey, pulling out his tablet. His tone was a lot flatter than it had been seconds ago. “I still need to interview you.”

“Okay?” Mikey didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t think he could fall asleep again even if he wanted to just yet, either. Sitting up, he looked around the room, but didn’t spot anyone else. “Is it just the five of us?”

“April and Casey are robbing a truck,” Donnie said blandly, tapping away at his screen. “I think Papá went to make lunch.”

“Whoa, for real?”

“Do you have to say it like that? It’s not robbing, it’s—” Raph stopped mid-sentence, brain catching up to his mouth as Mikey got a whiff of his conflicted-stink. “Well, I guess, very technically, it is robbing. But it’s not like they’re going in guns blazing, taking off with the truck in a high speed chase! They’re grabbing one box from one shipment, and leaving a friendly IOU.”

“Yeahhh, about that. I hate to be the one to break it to you, dear brother—it was a stellar idea! But I went with the—insert air quotes here—‘hack the manifest and delete a few lines of inventory’ option.”

“What? Donnie—”

“It was the cleanest way to get those antibiotics, Raph,” Donnie replied. But where Mikey expected them to argue longer, Raph just… heaved a big sigh and backed off. He didn’t have time to wonder about it, though, because Donnie spoke up again, addressing him now. “I wanted to conduct an exam to see if we needed anything for you while we were at it, but someone very rudely ignored my concerned prodding and went back to sleep.”

“Haha… So that’s what that was all about,” Mikey said sheepishly.

“The ointments I made will suffice, as I believe I’ve told you already,” Draxum droned, returning with a new bag of painkillers. “It may not be as fast as you would like, but his limbs are healing steadily. The cracks on his neck and plastron have also nearly closed.”

“So you say, and I cast no doubt. However, I think we’ve learned enough lessons the hard way about thoroughly tallying our injuries for one afternoon.”

Mikey took it back. This was what that had been all about; he could recognize the faintly manic energy coming off his brother now, written in the way his foot bounced up and down as he poured over his spreadsheets. If the number of tabs he had open was anything to go by, Donnie had collected plenty of data to self-soothe with.

Raph cleared his throat then, only speaking up when Mikey turned to look at him. “Draxum spilled the beans about what’s going on with you to me and Pops, but he didn’t say anything about sharing pain. You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Leo was the one who was really hurting, not Mikey, and it would go away as soon as the drugs kicked in besides. “If I stop focusing on it, it doesn’t even feel real.”

“Wait, what are we talking about?” Donnie asked, looking up from his tablet finally. “You guys know I hate being left out.”

“Donald,” Michelangelo said flatly, “You’re always ditching us to hang out in your lab by yourself.”

“Yes, but when I do it, I’m leaving the rest of you out of my fun, which loops back to making it okay. Now, you were saying?”

Raph explained the situation in his place. “They’re dealing with some leftover mind meld business, but it’s different from—” He cut himself off suddenly with wide eyes, clearing his throat for the second time. “Uh. From what Raph thought it would be.”

“Are you sick?” Mikey asked suspiciously.

“I don’t think so? But I’ll get checked out by someone later, if it makes you feel better.” Raph grinned nervously. “Anyways, I asked because you were moving around in your sleep a whole bunch. Trouble snoozing?”

“No, I’m just helping Leo in my own way.” Mikey glanced back to Leo, noting with some relief that his expression was starting to smooth out again. “I might be too out of it to help you guys with the hard stuff, but I still want to be there for him. I had this theory that if I could feel his feelings, Leo could feel mine, so... I’ve been sending him good vibes.”

“Ah, pseudo-science. Remind me to have Dr. Feelings forfeit his doctorate next time I see him,” Donnie drawled.

“Well, Raph thinks it’s nice! Please don’t pick a fight in here,” their big brother said quickly, patting Mikey’s head like a yippy chihuahua. Mikey held still for it only because he was glaring at Donnie, fishing for the ‘shoot-laser-beams-from-your-eyes’ mystic superpower. “It’s good to hear something’s getting through to Leo, though. He’s been so out of it.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agreed quietly.

He hoped he was helping; he wanted to believe his feelings were getting through to Leo, and was pretty sure it had worked the first time at least. When he thought of how little Leo was surfacing, though, it made him nervous. He was doing his best, but it didn’t feel like it was going to be enough.

I don’t think I can do this alone… He blinked. Wait, that’s it! I don’t have to!

“Hey,” Michelangelo began earnestly, “what if we tried a group mind meld? If we can make him see the whole family’s supporting him, it might be just the boost he needs to recover!”

For a second, Raph seemed on board. He opened his mouth to say something, then looked at Donnie—and his face fell. Behind him, Draxum had finishing changing out the painkillers and was glancing over his shoulder at them with an unreadable expression. Puzzled, Mikey turned his head too, then, and felt a stone drop into his stomach.

Donnie had gone stock-still, shoulders tense and drawn up in alarm. He looked petrified.

“Dee?” Mikey asked gingerly. Donnie’s gaze snapped to his, wild-eyed, then flinched away at the eye contact, and now Mikey really was worried. His first thought was that it had something to do with whatever Donnie had been looking at on his tablet, but the screen had turned dark, so… “Was… was it something I said?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mikey,” Raph promised, but his gaze was on Donatello. “Donnie—”

Donnie’s hands came up, signing with twitchy fingers. Can’t.

“That’s fine. You—”

But that only seemed to make it worse. Donnie shook his head heatedly, standing up from his seat in a rush. Mikey tried to say something, but Dee just dumped his tablet on the bed and made a stiff beeline for the door before he could get the words out.

“Donnie,” Raph called out to him, also standing, but their brother didn’t even turn to look at him. He walked straight out of the room before they could say anything else, leaving Mikey concerned and hurt, but more than anything: confused.

Mikey reached out to snag Raph’s wrist before he could go after Donnie, ignoring the way it made his fingers sting. “What was that? What happened?”

What the heck did I do?

Raph looked back and forth between him and the door, expression tight and conflicted. Then he leaned over Leo to put his hands on Mikey’s shoulders.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Dee’s just—he’s got a lot on his plate, and it’s stressing him.”

“We’re all stressed out,” Mikey argued back. “That doesn’t explain what made him freak out like that!”

“I know, I know.” Raph winced, but squeezed his shoulders gently. “But while you’re looking after Leo, Raph’ll take care of Donnie. Okay?”

It really wasn’t. But he was more worried about Donnie right now.

Mikey felt his chin tremble, but tried to rein his worries back as he pulled Raph in for a hug. His brother returned it, rubbing tight circles over his shell.

They lingered like that for only a moment. Then Raph pulled away, gave him a strained smile, and dashed for the door.

“Boys!” Splinter called at the same time, hobbling in on his bad ankle. “I have— Whoa! Be careful, Red. You nearly bowled me over!”

“Sorry, Pops!” Raph said, turning sideways to scoot past him through the door. “Did you see which way Donnie went?”

“That way, I think? You two should really eat something, you know!” Splinter replied, turning in a circle to watch Raph take off. “Aaaaand he’s gone. What on earth happened? I was gone for twenty minutes!”

“Don’t ask me,” Draxum responded, sounding more bristly than usual. “They’re your progeny.”

“Sheesh,” Splinter muttered. Then he looked at Mikey, and his little rat eyes opened wide with concern. “Are you all right, Orange?”

All Mikey could so was sniff and shake his head; he didn’t know what to say. Splinter didn’t ask. Instead, the old rat dropped the tray of food off next to Donnie’s discarded tablet and sat with Mikey while he cried, even long past the point where he tired himself out.

The rest of the day passed pretty dismally. He slept; comforted Leo where he could. It felt like it was getting harder and harder to reach him each time. The flow of Leo’s aura was stagnating, a flame without heat, and Mikey didn’t like it. After the dumpster fire that last conversation with his brothers turned into, though, he didn’t dare suggest the mind meld plan again.

It felt like he was doing everything wrong. Regardless of what really set him off, Donnie had been fine until Mikey opened his big mouth, and Leo was only sick because of his screw-up in the first place. He didn’t want to get caught up in self-pity, but it was hard to shake the misery.

“Nuh-uh,” April said after she and Casey had returned, one shipment of antibiotics and a box of Chinese takeout in tow. Mikey was only up because he’d missed breakfast just to have no appetite for lunch, and Dad refused to let him miss dinner too. “Boy, you better quit that right now.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he protested weakly.

“You didn’t have to; your big sis can see the way those wheels are turning.” Her voice softened a moment later. “Don’t kick yourself over this, Mikey. Isn’t it bad enough the Krang did that for you?”

Mikey looked away to mull that over.

April was having none of it, though, and shoved a pair of chopsticks in his face. “Now eat your egg roll.”

He did, hoping Leo wasn’t hungry. He’d been dining intravenously for a while.

Dinner made him full, and drowsy again. Mikey wasn’t actually asleep, though, when his brothers returned. It wasn’t like them to be gone so long with Leo this sick, but he supposed they might have been come back after he crashed earlier. Luckily his back was turned to the door when he heard them come in, so he just lay on his side and pretended to be asleep already.

It was interesting because, once he stopped looking with his eyes, he could still follow them by their aura.

There was candy apple red and the sense of a bold, sturdy outline that suited his brother just right. He heard Raph speak in low tones. “He feels warmer.”

“...He is,” a composed teal responded. “The fever’s moving again, but not in the direction we want.”

Mikey curled in on himself, and focused on projecting hope to Leo. He was at it for long enough that he almost didn’t notice the figure approaching him. Where Raph’s aura was strong, Donnie’s was flashy—a living, breathing purple signboard glowing neon.

After that meltdown, Mikey honestly thought Donnie would try to avoid him longer. He considered giving up the ghost and revealing he was awake... but maybe Donnie only had the courage because he thought he wasn’t? Keeping the act up, he waited to see what his brother would do.

For a long moment—long enough to study him—Donnie just lingered there. Beneath its bright color, his aura was as wispy as freshly spun strands of cotton candy, and Mikey wondered if he’d always been so fragile. Despite the scares Donnie’s soft shell gave them every now and again, he’d never thought of him like that. Now, though, it looked like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze; like he’d come apart if Mikey pulled too hard.

The moment passed. He heard something faintly slosh, and then Donnie stepped away from him to rejoin Raph.

Several beats passed. When he felt safe enough to risk opening his eyes, Mikey found two gifts waiting for him: a bottle of water, and a thumb-drive. The latter had a label on it that read KON. KITCH. in bold font.

And how was that fair? Donnie was just determined to make him cry twice in one day, apparently. At least this time it was the good kind.

Feeling heavy and worn out at the seams, Mikey hid his tears under the blankets and didn’t remember falling under.

“If you want to be a hero,” Gram-Gram said, floating over the East River, “then drink this river dry.”

So he knelt at the shore and cupped his hands, lapping up water from them like it was going out of style.

It was cool and refreshing. It was warm; sickening and metallic. He drank forever, and when he finished, his hands were stained with blood that stretched further past his elbows.

The crumbled ruins of Metro Tower were scattered across the riverbed, surrounded by too many bodies to count, all of them staring with too-large yellow eyes. Pink tumors and spindly, purple limbs did nothing to hide that every one of them had once been a person, and

the air

was

hot.

Too hot to think; too hot to breathe. He took a single step backwards and plummeted from the roof of a skyscraper, and felt something grab—

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:

—felt something lift, and Mikey instinctively retreated into his shell, heart jackhammering between his ribs like a bomb set to detonate.

“Sorry, sorry,” April said in a hurry. “But we gotta move.”

We’re being attacked again. Mikey’s thoughts wandered to the worst possible scenario, still reeling and half-asleep. If that were the case, though, April would need to run a lot farther than they realistically ended up going. In the dark safety of his shell he wasn’t really sure what was going on around them, but he could tell from the bounce of April’s footsteps that she only moved a few paces.

Sound filtered in; familiar voices shouting. He tried to make out more details of what was going on, but the panic was overwhelming. He felt shaky and nervous and sick, but—

It’s not mine, he realized, brain finally catching up to the rest of him. This was Leo, which meant something was happening to Leo. Mikey breathed in through his nose and out of his mouth until he could separate their mixed-up emotions from one another. He felt terrible doing it, but Leo’s were just too intense to handle right now.

When he felt confident he’d regained control of himself, Mikey poked his head out of his shell. He was still more jittery than he’d like to be, but he had to see what was going on.

He, Raph, and April had taken up vigil at the foot of the bed, keeping out of everyone’s way. Donnie stood next to the screaming machines Leo was hooked up to, attention split between the rapidly changing numbers and the situation at the sickbed. His eyes were large with worry, but the fact he was hanging back at all betrayed how out of his element he must be feeling. Donnie didn’t do the whole ‘sit on your hands’ thing.

“Gotta… go…” Leo was chanting, breathless and rolled half sideways off the bed. Mikey was shocked he’d even gotten that far. “Got-Gotta go… go back…”

“No, Leonardo,” Dad soothed, dropping the rare full name as he carefully guided Leo’s left leg back on the mattress. “You need to stay here and rest. Just try to relax, my son.”

“I don’t think he’s hearing us,” Casey commented, holding down the turtle’s upper torso. He was using hardly any strength, but Leo was so weak that it was more than enough. Bringing Raph in would be overkill at this point. “But keep trying. We have to keep him calm.”

“Oh, you think?” Splinter started, tone deceptively bright before snapping, “Because I’d take a stab in the dark and guess that restraining him isn’t helping with that!”

“Can’t, c-can’t,” Leo rasped, ramblings increasing in fervor as he continued his futile struggles. Pupils blown wide and frantic, his gaze was a thousand miles away. “Can’t le— Have… have to go… t’go...”

“The alternative puts his safety at risk, rat,” Draxum spoke over Leo’s babbling, on the opposite side of the bed from them. “But if you want to see him injure himself further, be my guest.”

That really set Splinter off, but Mikey recognized Draxum’s heavy frown for what it was; saw the way the alchemist had looped his fingers around Leo’s wrist and was keeping hold of it no matter how many times his brother tried to jerk away, and knew Draxum was seeing something the others weren’t. Mikey chased after it, opening his mind’s eye.

Leo’s aura was a flame so low, it wouldn’t bring a pot of tea to boil.

It had been trending that way for a little while now, but that didn’t make taking in what he was seeing any easier. How had he diminished so quickly, and without Mikey even noticing? Had he been that wiped? Mikey couldn’t tear his eyes away, and April mistook it for him still trying to get a read on the situation.

“His fever’s crazy high,” April explained quietly, adjusting her grip on his shell. “It just skyrocketed way up again.”

“There’s gotta be something we can give him.” Raph paced, talking with his hands and pulling at straws. “If the antibiotics aren’t working, we—we’ll go out and get him new ones!”

“It’s too soon to call that!” Casey protested. “And overburdening Sensei with even more meds isn’t going to help. His shell is busted up, his bones aren’t much better, and he’s dealing with a compromised lung on top of it all! And that was before infection set in. His immunity was already shot to hell, but throw a fever into that mix?” Casey exhaled shakily. “He’s barely keeping up now as it is.”

“N-No… no, please, please, please...” Leo’s voice cracked, turning hushed and hoarse. Beneath Casey’s hands, the fight was rapidly draining out of him; he trembled uncontrollably, but had no strength left to struggle. “Out, back, b-back, got… please ha-have… hafta t’go back…”

“So... what?” Raph shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “All we can do is wait for him to tire himself out?”

“...If he can’t respond to us, then yeah? Basically.” Casey bit his lip. “I know it sounds bad, and that this is scary. But Sensei’s at his limit here, and… frankly, we’re also way past mine. What we need is a doctor—a real one.”

Splinter sniffed sadly, releasing Leo’s legs after a tentative pause, and sagging when his brother didn’t try to slide off the bed again. “At least this is almost over.”

“...h-hold on… coming…” Leo choked, eyes slipping half-closed. “...coming ba-back… for…”

And then—suddenly, and without warning—Leo’s aura sputtered out, like a flame starved of oxygen. Mikey watched terrified as it died, leaving nothing but embers that were washing out to gray.

Popping his arms out of shell, he nearly threw April off balance as he reached blindly for the bed. “Draxum—”

“I see it,” the yokai said tightly, releasing Leo’s wrist to scan him from head to toe. “He’s—”

A tablet shattered to the ground, as Donnie drew in a sharp breath. “No...”

It was the first thing Mikey had heard him say since lunch... which put him on edge more than it should have. In the next instant, Donnie was shoving Dad and Casey aside to get to their brother.

“Nonononono, no, don’t you dare! Are you listening to me, Nardo?” Donnie snapped his fingers in front of Leo’s beak, then grabbed his face between his hands desperately when that seemed to have no effect. “For the love of Lord Kelvin—stop right now, before you kill yourself!”

The tension that had nearly bled out of the room more than doubled all at once, then, as they all tried to figure out what was going on. The room was a mess of noise, everyone talking over each other until April, with Mikey still in tow, had enough of it and rounded the bed to see what Donnie had been looking at.

“Donnie, what are you—” She cut off as she saw it; as they all finally saw it. “Oh shit.”

The chest tube in Leo’s side, along with the drain it was attached to, was lighting up in familiar, light blue runes. They surged and withered, stuttering like an engine deciding whether or not it was going to turn over.

(“Hey, how many things do you think I can make a sword out of?” Leo asked one day, when they were bored.

Mikey grinned impishly, tossing him one of the wrenches from the garage. “Only one way to find out, baby.”)

“The time for waiting is over,” Draxum warned urgently, slamming his palms face down on the mattress. Mystic runes flashed to life there, etched into the blankets. “I don’t know what stunt he’s trying to pull, but if he achieves it, Leonardo will be met with twenty-eight inches of steel through his chest cavity. If not, he’ll use everything he has left trying. We must stop him now, by any means necessary.”

“Why don’t we just rip the tube out?” Raph asked, close to panicking.

“It’s gotta beat skewering himself,” April agreed, but also held up a hand warning Raph off from it. “Or would that mess things up more? Case?”

Casey didn’t respond, and Mikey could practically hear the gears turning frantically in his head. Then the kid’s eyes lit up, and he nearly tripped over himself in his mad dash to get away from them.

“Jones?!” Donnie shouted over his shoulder after him, lightly patting Leo’s cheeks.

“A minute!” Casey called back insistently. “Just buy me one minute!”

They didn’t need to be told twice; there was no time. While Donnie continued trying to grab Leo’s attention by force, Splinter gently shook him. Draxum carried on with whatever he was doing, and Mikey—

Mikey could only think of one thing he could do. It was going to suck, but he had to try.

“April, let me go!” he cried, pushing his legs out of his shell too. He felt his feet kiss the floor, and then April released him and he jumped for the bed.

“This is hardly helping,” Draxum admonished as Mikey skidded across the bedsheets, and thusly through the yokai’s magic circle. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

“I’m not,” Mikey said in a rush, laying his hand over Leo’s heart. This was easier with skin contact, he’d learned between his own experiments and observing Draxum. “I just need to get through to him!”

And with that, Mikey braced himself and opened his mind to Leo’s once again. Instantly, stark terror washed over him. He gritted his teeth and bore with it, pushing feelings of calm back through the connection tethering them, but it was like beating a brick wall. He didn’t waste further time with it.

I won’t get through to Leo without understanding what’s going through his head, he thought. Another mind meld’s out, but if I could just see what he’s seeing, like with the dreams…

He held on tight to that tether, and dived deeper.

:

:

:

—a coffin with straps; no matter how much he struggled it wouldn’t release him, so he banged over and over on the door, but no one was coming, they didn’t even know what had happened, and it was his fault so he had to go back—

Panic surged; the air was hot and there wasn’t enough of it, but that wasn’t what had gone wrong, it was just a response. Mikey tried not to get swept up in it, and focused on what he could see through Leo’s eyes.

The coffin had a window, and through it Mikey could see they were hurtling through… space? There were no stars, but the sky was as dark as night, and Mikey could pick out impossibly large shadows just floating in the distance like so much debris. He couldn’t make out distinctive features through Leo’s tunneling vision, but they looked like giants with their limbs hanging askew… could they be Krang mech suits?

Something heavy slammed against the coffin from the outside, and if Mikey were really here he would’ve jumped. Leo... surprisingly didn’t. He just continued to bang on the door with one hand while trying to summon a sword in the other.

The object he was trying to transform was gray and cylindrical, with strange but familiar patterns carved all over it—the Key to the Krang’s Prison Dimension. After fighting so hard to keep it out of their grasp, Mikey would never forget what it looked like. And if that was the Key…

...Wait, the straps. This wasn’t a coffin; it was a pod! He had it! He—

:

:

:

—snapped back to himself, surer of this than he’d been of anything in a while. “Raph! We need Raph!”

His biggest brother didn’t hesitate, pushing through to the head of the bed. The others made room for him; Donnie more reluctantly. Mikey watched him join Casey, who had returned and was now tinkering with Leo’s bag of saline. He had a large needle gauge hooked up to it, slowly depressing its plunger.

Then Raph was in front of him. There was clear confusion on his face, but he didn’t ask; instead he took one look at Mikey and offered up all his trust. “Tell me what you need, big man.”

“It’s you, Raph, he’s trying to portal to you. He’s dreaming about when you got left behind and—” Choking on the lump in his throat, he coughed and lunged for Raph’s arm, yanking on it desperately. “It has to be you! You gotta let him know you’re okay!”

Raph hadn’t seen what Leo had been like when he came out of the pod. Almost everyone else in the room had, though, and Mikey saw as it all clicked for them. Casey had the most prominent reaction of them all, flinching at the reminder. Raph looked so shocked Mikey feared they were going to lose more time just giving him context, but he went right to Leo instead, taking his hand in that giant mitt of his.

“Leo, hey. You’re just having another bad dream, buddy. Raph’s here, it’s okay. You bozos got me back, remember?”

“Nnhh…” Leo groaned. He was wheezing, too out of breath to do anything else now, but his mouth still moved without sound. Take me back, I gotta go back.

Draxum cursed, and the magic circle under Mikey’s feet retreated into nothingness. The yokai whirled the bed, taking up position next to April. “In case this doesn’t work,” he muttered to her, wrapping his hand around the too rigid chest tube, but doing nothing else just yet. He seemed to be waiting to see how this would play out.

“I’m right here, bud. I’m here, and I ain’t going anywhere,” Raph swore, his visible eye suspiciously wet. Splaying his fingers, he guided Leo’s hand to the space between his finger and thumb. “Feel that? That’s the cut you patched up for me, back when we were kids. It was your first time trying to do stitches and you really sucked at them, heh. I think it scarred worse because of it. But who else do you know with a scar like this, huh? Nobody, that’s who!”

“...hh?” Leo’s breathless chanting went on—but not without lag. Mikey held his breath as Leo dragged the tip of his finger over the scar, shaky, but with a deliberate kind of desperation.

“It should kick in any moment now,” Casey whispered from behind them. Mikey looked up to see him still working over the bag of saline. “Keep going.”

Bolstered, Raph leaned in. “That’s it, Leo. See? The fight’s over, so you don’t have to go back to that place ever again. Raph’s safe. You did good, little brother.”

Leo had finally stopped mumbling. Mikey tilted his head to catch his eyes, but they looked wrong; glazed, and rapidly drifting from side to side like he couldn’t focus. Still, their delirious brother traced the clumsy, zig-zagged lines of Raph’s scar like following a path on a map—a path that lead right back to them.

“Hn… Raffff…?” he exhaled with wonder, face going slack and sounding remarkably calm for how distraught he’d been up until a few seconds ago. “Raph…”

Then his hand fell, slipping limply out of Raph’s like a stone only for the snapper to snag it back and hold it tightly. There were tears streaming down his face, which he scrubbed at as Splinter patted his knee.

“That looks out to me,” April said, looking from Leo to Draxum. They all followed her gaze. “Does that mean we’re in the clear?”

Draxum let go of the chest tube, making it easier to discern. The mystic runes that had been climbing it like ivy moments ago had completely rescinded, leaving it whole and unchanged. Half the room heaved a collective sigh.

“I think that took three years off my life,” Splinter proclaimed, collapsing to the ground on his butt and dabbing at the sweat beading his forehead with a handkerchief.

“We’re not out of the storied woods yet,” Donnie said, his voice back to that overly precise monotone he used when he was upset. “His temperature isn’t coming down; we might as well be funneling water into a leaky barrel, for all the good we’ve done. Urgent care isn’t working anymore. We have to plug the leaks.”

“Okay, and how do we do that?” April asked, not impatiently.

The conversation seemed to stutter there, the suggestions coming few and far between as they switched gears to examining Leo for new injuries.

Mikey didn’t hear any of it, too focused on the rise and fall of his brother’s chest; on the tiny white embers of Leo’s soul, and how—when he searched the connection he’d gotten so used to having between them—he could no longer sense anything at all.

Chapter Text

The anesthetic Leonardo had been dosed with would not last long, according to the future child, so they used the window of opportunity it gave them to check if the turtle had aggravated any of his prior injuries. His shell passed scrutiny; the cracks in it looked no better than the last time, but they hadn’t grown more pronounced either. Leonardo’s thrashing must have been too weak. The sutures holding his chest tube in place had to be redone, but Draxum was confident from his examination that there was no other bleeding. As for the equipment itself, it appeared to have been left undamaged.

“That’s lucky,” Casey remarked, gaze flicking over Leonardo’s pulse oximeter. “If we lost it, we’d have no replacement. These are the last spares the paramedics gave us.”

“Perhaps you should have procured extra, then, during your little shopping trip.”

“Maybe.” Casey laid a hand lightly over Leonardo’s chest, measuring the depth of its shaky rise and fall. He frowned, then moved to the head of the bed. “But I’m okay with what I ended up grabbing instead.”

“Human antibiotics are hardly that impressive.”

“Not that. I meant what I used to put him under.”

That surprised Draxum, because he hadn’t recalled a discussion about taking anything but the antibiotics. Donatello had impressed to Raphael just hours ago, in fact, that their friends were only stealing a single box from the shipment. Draxum kept silent as Casey held his ear over Leonardo’s mouth to listen to his breathing, but curiosity got the better of him in the end.

“What did you take?” he asked after another moment, tying off the final suture.

“Huh?” Casey was still bent halfway over Leonardo’s head. He blinked, then straightened. “Oh, uh. It’s called ketamine.”

Interesting. It wasn’t a medicine he’d heard of before, but that wasn’t so strange; the humans had their methods, while he had his. For that reason Draxum might not recognize the name, but if he knew what chemicals went in to it, he’d almost certainly be able to determine the drug’s effects.

“You’re experienced with it?”

“Only veteran medics like Master Leonardo carried it around, so… not really.” Casey somehow managed to look sheepish. “But Sensei let me shadow him enough times that I knew I could put it to good use. Just didn’t realize it’d be this soon.”

“Hm. For someone so confident, you seem very anxious.” At the confused look Casey gave him in return, Draxum indicated the equipment Leonardo was hooked up to: the hospital monitor, and the oximeter on his finger. “His vital signs are right there, for all to see. Yet you’re checking them by hand.”

Casey was quiet for a short time, glancing to the side of the room where Michelangelo was sitting with his father and biting into a lemon. Whether it had been Leonardo’s panic or his own affecting him, Draxum was unsure, but the boy had been near inconsolable after everything was said and done. His family had taken him aside to calm down, but now it was just the five of them present. Where the other children had gone was unclear.

“I had to double check. These readings…” Presumably not wanting to be overheard, Casey lowered his voice. “You’re sure everything checked out with the tube? No air leaks or anything like that?”

“At your insistence, I checked twice,” Draxum reminded him flatly.

“Right, right. It’s just...” Casey sighed, carding a hand through his hair. “At the single dose I gave him, Leo shouldn’t be experiencing any respiratory distress. I don’t know why his oxygen saturation is so low.”

...Draxum had a guess. But he wasn’t keen on sharing it this soon.

“It’s as you said before: our desire to treat him no longer matches our ability to do so. We can discuss our options for going forward when we regroup.”

“...Yeah.” Casey nodded, dropping his gaze back to Leonardo’s slack face. “Okay.”

Pulling the latex gloves off of his fingers, Draxum threw them away in the nearby waste bin and looked the human over. He’d only gotten to know him a little over the past few days, but in that time Casey had struck him as competent. Dutiful, perhaps, would be more fitting. A soldier from the end of the world, sure enough, staring solemnly at a boy who bore the same name as his master. He would not need to be asked to stay.

“Keep an eye on him,” he said anyways.

Casey blinked. “Going somewhere?”

Draxum rose from his stool. “Many resources were lost when this laboratory was destroyed, but not all. I may yet find something of use to treat his infection.”

“Oh!” At once, a flash of hope came back to the boy’s eyes and he nodded agreeably. “Go ahead, please. I’ll hold down the fort.”

Nodding, Draxum made to step away then, only for his eyes to be drawn to Michelangelo once more. It had only been minutes, but the turtle had somehow fallen asleep sitting up against the wall, head on his chest. That was good. He needed the rest, and Draxum…

He left the bedroom. Whatever questions Michelangelo no doubt had for him were better left unanswered for now, if only to keep morale up.

Two figures were waiting for him in the hall, flapping in place just beyond the door. The gargoyles made space for him to pass through, then followed at his flank.

“He’s not looking too good, huh…” Huginn observed somberly. “Want us to prepare anything?”

“We picked out a few get-well cards already,” Muninn supplied, fanning himself with the card stock, “and I know a great flower guy.”

Coming to a junction, Draxum kept his ears pricked for any noise down the two halls, but all was quiet. The guest bedroom was empty, and no one else appeared to be nearby. Satisfied they were alone, Draxum turned for his study.

“No. I have another mission for you,” he said, ducking inside. “I’m sending you to Witch Town. The late hour works to our favor, for once; the citizens living there see their best work done at night, so many will be out and about.”

“That’s great!” Muninn said cheerfully, flying to the center of the room. “I love people watching.”

“Are we getting a shopping list?” Huginn asked, following Draxum to his desk.

“Of sorts,” the yokai replied, retrieving a key from his robe. Unlocking the desk’s top drawer, he rooted around until he found the parchment he was looking for and handed it off to Huginn. “Be thorough in your search, but do not let yourselves be spotted. Report back with your findings in an hour, regardless of how it turns out.”

“Ooh!” Huginn exclaimed, as he scanned the parchment’s contents. “Secret agent stuff! This should be fun, Muninn.”

The frog-faced gargoyle wiggled his butt, already on his way out of the room. “Do you think we could stop at the churro stand on the way? I do my best stakeouts with a snack.”

“Do not do that. And remember to return through the secret entrance!” he shouted after them as they left, as an afterthought. “If you get distracted by the wards and can’t find the lab again, I will be cross!”

It used to be that they’d flinch at that, but now they just giggled and disappeared around the corner. Draxum sighed heavily, turning his attention towards the bookshelf.

He found what he was looking for almost immediately—a journal with yellowed pages, and a cover well worn. A collection of mystic treatments and cure-alls that had always served him well. Draxum flipped through the journal’s pages, brushing up on rituals both familiar and strange to him and taking notes.

It was a vain pursuit. Why did he bother? Salves, tonics—they’d all be useless in the end.

Leonardo was dying.

There was no doubt about it. He could have several days or mere hours; Draxum was unsure. At most it could be a week, but with Leonardo’s waning health, he didn’t put much stock in that. Draxum had faith in the durability of his creations, and how quickly they could heal. Meant to be the Hidden City’s greatest line of defense, they were designed to survive long enough to fulfill that very purpose above all else.

But not even genetic enhancement could make a warrior immortal. In that sense the turtles remained quite vulnerable, as susceptible to sickness and injury as the rest of them when the deck was stacked. It was as Casey Jones had said: Leonardo’s numerous injuries ailments had spread him too thin. Even then, Draxum had seen a path to recovery for him—only for it to evaporate in an instant, along with the boy’s mystic energy.

That absolute fool, he thought bitterly to himself, recording a list of herbs to search for among the greenhouse.

Never before had Draxum witnessed such utter recklessness. How Leonardo had managed it through his delirium, he couldn’t say. But Draxum had been monitoring him at the time, and thus saw it when the slider used up the last of his mystic energy in his attempts to summon a single sword. By all reason, that should have been the end of it—and yet Leonardo had persisted, pushing past those limits by burning energy he didn’t have two times over.

(“At just the single dose I gave him, Leo shouldn’t be experiencing any respiratory distress. I don’t know why his oxygen saturation is so low.”)

Without mystic energy to expend, he’d drawn on his very life.

Herbal treatments would do nothing to save Leonardo, but they could stave off his fever. Buy them more time, perhaps, to find a solution.

So Draxum collected what materials he needed from the study, then left for what remained of the greenhouse. The willow tree that sat in the back corner had seen better days, bowed heavily to one side now where it used to stand tall, but it was resilient—breathtaking, even. A flowering tree surrounded by rubble and destruction, it was the very picture of nature reclaiming what was hers.

Pulling back the vines like parting a curtain, Draxum ducked under the canopy and approached the tree’s trunk. A young branch would suit his purposes; Draxum circled the base of the tree slowly, scanning its limbs for the perfect specimen and further basking in the tree’s beauty.

Then he nearly tripped over something with his next step, and the moment was ruined.

Pinwheeling, Draxum managed not to fall flat on his face, but it was a near thing. Quickly regaining his composure, he coughed into his hand, glared down at the lump in front of him, and finally recognized it to be a person.

“So this is where you’d gone,” Draxum addressed Donatello, folding his arms. “Not that I was worried or anything.”

There was no reply.

Odd.

Crouching to eye level, Draxum found the boy awake, blinking vacantly at his hands. This close, he could make out a rhythmic humming in the air, and belatedly realized Donatello was listening to music from his headphones, and seriously—what was it with teenagers and their devices? Put out, Draxum snapped his fingers in front of the soft shell’s face.

...Still no response. Hm. He actually was concerned now.

“Donatello,” he spoke loudly, hoping to be heard over the noise. When that endeavor failed, he reached out to tug the headphones loose.

“Who, what, what??” Donatello came back to life with a full-body flinch, flailing for the missing headphones like a live wire.

Privately relieved, Draxum exhaled through his nose and let him take them back. “What are you doing here?”

“Ha. Ahaha, sorry, officer,” Donatello prattled, sliding the headphones over his neck. “I thought I was speaking to the Hidden City’s Most Wanted; my mistake, really. But I didn’t see any signs against loitering.”

Draxum recognized the deflection for what it was and stared unimpressed. “If you’re trying to goad me, you’ll have to do better than that. Between the lunch room and your annoying brother, I have built up a resistance to your adolescent tactics.”

Again Donatello flinched, the light fading from his eyes to leave behind a hollowed out expression. Shrugging his shoulders stiffly, his movements were machine-like as he reached for the headphones once more, like they were a barrier he could erect between them. Without thinking, Draxum snagged his wrist before he could carry the motion through.

“I apologize,” he said quickly, keeping his grip light enough that Donatello could break it at any time. “That was… inconsiderate of me.”

Annoying brother, he had said. Even with his and Leonardo’s well-known grudge it was a tactless comment, considering the recent scare. Donatello met his gaze suspiciously and then glanced away quickly, as if that bare moment of eye contact alone had been too much. Notably, he did not put his headphones back on; instead, he tapped a button on his comm, and the music pounding loudly from the speakers finally cut out.

“...how is he?” Donatello asked him, with a voice so quiet it felt like it was coming from underwater.

“Stable, for now.” Draxum had no idea how long that would last, so he lied by omission. “He managed to tear a couple of sutures, but there were no further injuries aside from that. We got through to him in time to prevent the worst.”

Donatello scoffed at that, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“You disagree?”

“Raph and Mikey did the heavy lifting. Again.” Donatello lay his head over his knees, facing away from Draxum. “I couldn’t even get through to him. Maybe if I had listened to Mikey, I could have...”

The boy trailed off with a shaky inhale, but it was enough to go on. He was referring to that dramatic squabble from earlier. As much as it had frustrated Draxum to see Michelangelo left in the dark, he couldn’t say Donatello had made the wrong decision in refusing then; looking at him now, in fact, it had certainly been the right one. Attempting a mind meld in his state would have been disastrous.

“You did what was best for yourself.”

“Leo’s the one who’s hurt, I should be doing what’s best for him. Even if I—” he heaved, voice thick. “Even—”

The next sound Donatello made was strangled in the wake of his jaw clicking shut. It did nothing to disguise the way his shoulders trembled, though, posture so rigid it looked like it hurt. Draxum reached out to steady him, then reconsidered.

In the end he lowered his hand back to his lap and they sat in near silence, with the yokai watching Donatello from the corner of his eye. He didn’t volunteer anything else, but he didn’t bolt either, so Draxum surmised he wasn’t unwelcome yet. It wasn’t until Donatello relaxed enough to start picking at the grass, however, that he risked saying something.

“All right,” he began, standing back up. “Let’s get on with it.”

From the corner of his vision, he caught Donatello turning his head to watch him through narrowed eyes. “...get on with what now?”

“You can assist me,” Draxum explained magnanimously. “I came here intending to harvest the bark of this willow; it’s a process that will go faster with two working at it.”

Draxum stepped back and away from the trunk, seeking out the ideal branch once more. Donatello blinked owlishly, glancing from the tree to Draxum, and then back to the tree again.

“Records for the medicinal use of willow bark are well documented, dating back thousands of years amongst civilizations from across the globe.” Donatello spoke as if reading a textbook. “While questionably effective, it was used as a remedy for pain, fever, and inflammation.”

“Questionably?” Draxum snorted. “Maybe if one uses it incorrectly.”

“Is… is this for Leo?”

“Indeed. Now if you aren’t helping, I must ask that you move. The branch I require is directly above your head.”

Donatello climbed to his feet and backed out of his way, staggering once like an unsteady fawn. He watched as Draxum rapidly grew a thick vine from the ground, using it to carry him up to the branch.

“...What type of tree is this?” Donatello asked from below, slowly starting to sound more like himself. “It has the distinctive features of a weeping willow, but the color is all wrong. It smells amazing, too. I thought catkins weren’t supposed to be fragrant?”

“You know your botany.” A pleasant surprise. He knew Donatello was competent in many sciences, but technology seemed to be his favored area of expertise. “It started off as a white willow before I improved upon it, enhancing its many distinct characteristics.”

“So it’s a Mature Mutant Super Willow. Hope we’re not related.” When the alchemist snorted but did not return the barb, Donatello went on. “You didn’t bring anything to cut it.”

Draxum glanced down at him. Then, without looking away, he tapped into the tree’s energy and manipulated it to his purposes until the branch more or less snapped off in his hand. “You were saying?”

“Show-off. What exactly did you want my help with?”

“Do you know how to strip the bark?” Draxum held the branch out to him.

“Do I know how to strip the bark, he asks,” Donatello chuckled, taking the branch from him. “No, actually, but I’m a quick study.”

:

:

:

True to his word, Donatello picked up the basics in short order. He was also very good with his hands. Working together, their productivity tripled where Draxum had only thought it would double, and they soon fell into a comfortable rhythm. Donatello stripped the bark with a potato peeler construct generated by his Ninpo, then handed the strips off to Draxum, who used magic to rapidly dry them out. Soon they’d have enough bark to fill a mason jar.

Occasionally Donatello asked more about the willow tree, and Draxum would expand on it; how long it had been in his care, the nature of his experiments cultivating it, and so on. Aside from those brief instances where his curiosity seemed to get the better of him, Donatello kept to himself as they worked and Draxum didn’t press. So he was mildly surprised when the boy brought him the last of the bark strips personally instead of passing them over, stopping two inches from his face to do so.

“What next?”

“Next,” Draxum started, shoving the turtle out of his face, “I grind it and the other materials down to make—”

“Which materials?” Donatello’s mechanical spider limbs seemed to produce a pen and notepad from the ether. “Are they in this greenhouse? I can grab them for you.”

Draxum huffed, mildly. “Unnecessary. I gathered them first, before coming here. All that’s left now is to create the salve.”

“Oh… I see.” Falling back on his rear, the boy deflated like a ballon. “Just your good old-fashioned mortar and pestle, then. No... crazy mystic rituals you need backup with?”

Draxum raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you looked down upon the mystic arts.”

“They’re no replacement for science and technology.” Donatello waved a hand and glanced away in a motion that was too forced to be casual. “But. Someone once told me that science and magic are strongest together and, begrudgingly, I must admit they weren’t wrong. My mystic tech proves that beyond a shadow of a doubt, after all, so… Perhaps,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, “Perhaps it is time I learned to be less discriminatory in my studies, and truly embrace my—!”

“I can’t teach you what you wish to know, Donatello,” Draxum said, cutting to the chase. He knew where this was going. “I’m not a healer.”

“Wha—” The turtle stammered, taken aback. Draxum could see the excuses churning behind his eyes; the desire to protect his pride and play this off. What he was not expecting was for Donatello to throw his hands in the air, shouting so furiously that his face turned the color of a bruised avocado. “Then what’s the damn point?!”

Frowning, Draxum reached for the jar of willow and screwed the lid on. He glanced over the boy appraisingly, but ultimately said nothing.

“Seriously! What good is this going to do?” Donatello asked, gesturing angrily at the jar of willow bark. “Leo’s sick. Like sick sick! Nana Draxum’s cure-all isn’t going to cut it here!”

This didn’t seem like a great time to tell him it was actually Great-Nana Draxum…

“Have I just been wasting our precious time here? Sweet banana pancakes, I have, haven’t I…” Donatello stared, horrified, then stumbled to his feet, gnashing his teeth. “Just one dead end after another. Useless, useless, useless—!”

Calling after the boy before he could get too far, Draxum stood. “You’re not useless, Donatello. Leonardo is only with us to be saved in the first place thanks, in part, to your efforts. That you’ve been unable to help him now does not make you useless.”

Frozen in place, as he was, with his back turned to him, Draxum could see how much the turtle was shaking. It was a long moment before he responded, voice too croaky to be intimidating. “With full offense, yes, it does. My brother’s life is on the line. It doesn’t matter how many times we go through this; even one failure in unacceptable.”

“Think about it like a scientist,” Draxum said, trying a new tactic instead. “Are the hypothesis and testing steps any less important than the final conclusion?”

Donatello clenched his fists tightly. Then, all at once, he bowed his head and sagged, the fight draining out of him. Several seconds passed in silence, but Draxum waited.

“I don’t like sitting on my hands,” Donatello admitted eventually, sounding so, so tired. When he turned back to Draxum, the expression on his face was miserable. “But you’re right. We have to try everything.”

:

:

:

Donatello requested some time to himself. Draxum told him the others would no doubt want to regroup and discuss their options soon, but otherwise made no ultimatums. The young turtle’s avoidant behavior was troubling, but his dedication to his family could not be marred. Donatello would be there, just as soon as he cleaned himself up.

Still, it was a long walk back to the master bedroom. His thoughts drifted, lingering inexplicably on the final words of their conversation. No matter how many times he attempted to shift to a more productive train of thought, they would not leave his mind.

We have to try everything.

Holding a jar of willow that he knew would not save Leonardo, Draxum wondered if this truly counted.

“Do yokai have hospitals?” Raphael asked. “’Cause we don’t look so weird down here. I bet we wouldn’t have a problem getting in like we’d see topside.”

"Half of us still have warrants out for our arrest. Or more accurately: April, Leo, myself, the Hidden City’s Most Wanted, and the notorious Evil Emerald,” Donatello reminded them. “Even if we used disguises, they’re bound to recognize Leo eventually.”

April spread her palms. “Look, him getting arrested is better than him dying. I say we risk it!”

“Yeah!” Michelangelo agreed readily, his enthusiasm for the plan only slightly dampened by how thick his voice was with drowsiness. He’d been nodding off in Raphael’s lap scant moments before. “We can just use the same trick as last time and break Leo out afterwards!”

Raphael himself seemed less sure, despite being the one to suggest the idea in the first place. “I dunno, that’s riskier than Raph was thinking it’d be. And they gotta know our tricks now.”

“You sure about that?” Mikey replied. “‘Cause they were really dumb. Right, Dad?”

“Hm?” Lou blinked, distracted. Then he chuckled and stroked his beard, though to Draxum the laughter seemed forced. “Ah. Yes, when I changed into my cowboy hat right in front of them, they thought I was some other rat yokai who came in after the first one left.”

“That would’ve worked on them last week, I’m sure.” Donatello frowned severely. In the absence of his broken tablet, Donatello was tapping away at the comm on his gauntlet. “But I’d bet Raph’s autographed Ghost Bear poster that the EPF has found out about the warrants. This email from them to the HCP has a list of our last known whereabouts, obvious injuries, and a tip that we may be seeking medical treatment. In other words—”

“They’ll be more vigilant with Bishop breathing down their necks for anything to do with you,” Draxum finished for him, from his position at Leonardo’s bedside. “That man is relentless.”

April snorted derisively, folding her arms. “Yeah, that sounds like Agent Smith’s M.O. What an asshole.”

Raphael waved his hands. “Okay, okay, so hospitals are out. Next idea?”

Donatello leaned backwards in his chair, balancing on its rear legs. “We kidnap a doctor, obviously. I’ve made a list of five candidates—”

“No!” The plan was rejected in chorus, and Draxum summarily tuned out of the discussion. They’d be arguing for a while.

The willow bark—along with the other herbs and oils he’d gathered—had been ground into a thick paste. The potency left some things to be desired, but given what materials he’d been left with after the lab’s explosion he was satisfied. Scooping up the salve with his fingers, Draxum began spreading it over Leonardo’s forehead and felt the heat come off his skin long before he actually made contact with it.

He didn’t need Donatello’s thermometer to tell that the boy’s fever had climbed dangerously high. At this temperature, he really should be taken to one of the Hidden City’s healing centers.

Next he tackled Leonardo’s neck, spreading the salve from the hollow of his throat to just under his chin. It took him longer than he’d like to find the slider’s pulse when he was through, weak and rapid as it was. Between that and his wheezing breaths, Draxum could see now why the Future Child had been alarmed. Most likely he had been hoping to see improvement after the anesthetic had worn off but, from what the alchemist could tell, Leonardo’s condition had not changed.

Draxum settled his hand back over the boy’s forehead once again and searched for his aura—found not even the ghost of it. And that settled it, really. As much as he’d been anticipating the worst, Draxum had also held on to the small hope that Leonardo hadn’t dipped so far into his reserves that he couldn’t recover naturally. Had he done so, however, there would be signs of it by now—an increase in output, or some other change in his aura. That it remained colorless felt especially concerning, but he didn’t actually know what to make of that.

A healer would know better.

Picking up the bowl of salve, Draxum moved on to the end of the bed to apply the concoction to the soles of Leonardo’s feet. It had to be cold, but the turtle didn’t twitch even on reflex.

How much time does he have left? Draxum wondered, scraping the sides of the mortar to make sure he used every last bit of the salve. Days? Less?

He still needed to break the news to his family.

Eyes flickering over to the others, he tuned back in to their conversation.

“We wouldn’t hurt them, there are better options than that,” Donatello was insisting. “Blackmail, for instance!”

(“Just one dead end after another. Useless, useless, useless—!”)

“For the love of—” April buried her face in her hands. “Let it go already, we’re moving on!”

“Okay, but,” Michelangelo started, fidgeting in his brother’s arms, “if we really can’t come up with something else, I don’t mind circling back to Dee’s plan.”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously, Mikey?” Raphael’s tone was tinged with disappointment. “We’re heroes.”

“I’m just tired of wasting time talking! Leo’s aura is all weird now, and—” He tripped over his words, struggling to explain the source of his anxiety without knowing what it was, exactly. “I just have this bad feeling, okay? We have to help him soon.”

A bad feeling. Yes, Draxum could recall the look on the box turtle’s face as Leonardo finally stopped fighting them and went under; Michelangelo had stared and stared, fat tears rolling down his chin until April had pulled him away. It wasn’t an expression Draxum wanted to see again anytime soon.

Casey laid a hand over the box turtle’s shoulder, voice gentle. “We all want to help him, Master Mi— Mikey.”

Raphael said nothing, glancing behind him to stare unhappily at Leonardo’s face; Draxum wasn’t sure the snapper realized he was watching him. For the past week he’d been walking on eggshells, first ashamed of the Krang taking control of him, and then holding himself responsible for all that had happened to his brothers. There was already too much weight on his shoulders.

“Maybe my mom and dad could find someone…?” April volunteered. “I’m not gonna have ‘em roll up and kidnap a doctor or anything, but we could ask a vet, or—or a zookeeper! They’ll have equipment for treating turtles, and Bishop might not have that angle covered!”

Draxum knew she had a sharp mind, but that she was proposing something reasonable over the more feral ideas being tossed around showed how seriously she was taking this.

Lou hadn’t suggested anything yet. Draxum had no idea what was going through the stupid rat’s head.

Flapping wings reached his ear seconds before a familiar weight touched down on his shoulder: Huginn, returned. “We found the guy you were looking for, boss,” the gargoyle whispered low in his ear. “I told Muninn to stay and keep an eye on him. What should we do now?”

The question of the hour. Draxum stared down at a salve he knew could only delay the inevitable; glanced up as Leonardo’s breath rattled out of him and, for a terrifying moment, the rise and fall of his chest stuttered. That he continued breathing at all should have been reassuring, but Draxum could not shake the feeling he was watching grains of sand falling down an hourglass.

“I’ve made my decision.” And it was impressive, just how swiftly Lou’s voice cut through the chatter. All eyes turned to the rat as he stared at his hands—his ears, Draxum noted, were flicked back towards Leonardo—and stood. “I will go to Big Mama and—”

“Absolutely not.” The words were out of his mouth before he so much as processed thinking of them.

Lou kept his back turned. “There will be a cost, I know. Her deals never come without strings attached. But if it saves Blue, I’m prepared to deal with that.”

“I’m not.” Draxum stood to his full height, pulling at the first excuse that came to mind that didn’t make him sound concerned. “Big Mama is a babbling egomaniac, but she’s no fool. She will trace back my involvement in this matter and discover I’ve returned to the Hidden City. Despite running a criminal empire herself, I would not put it past her to send mercenaries to claim the bounty on my head.”

The rat did snap around to face him then, eyes wild and fur bristling. “My son is sick, and you’re worried about saving your own skin?!”

“Relax,” Draxum sneered, staring him down. “I didn’t say we do nothing.”

“What are you saying, then?” April asked, scrutinizing him with sharp eyes.

The yokai took in her expression as well as those of the others, all watching him with a mix of wariness and curiosity, then looked back to Leonardo. Save for Michelangelo, perhaps, they still didn’t know how precarious his situation truly was. Now was the time to tell them.

...But he decided against it, and the plan solidified itself.

“I’ll handle this.”

Raphael’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but how?”

“Dragon’s Ambrosia is a remarkable cure for many ailments, if a hard one to come by these days.” Draxum gestured to Leonardo, still lying motionless on the bed. “It’s an elixir five times as potent as the salve I treated your brother with just now, though in exchange it comes at fifty times the cost.”

“That… sounds pretty great, not gonna lie,” April said thoughtfully. “If it helps. You sure it’s gonna do all you think it does?”

The yokai didn’t hesitate to give his answer. “Without a doubt.” He went on. “Once, many decades ago, I broke my leg and was stranded at the bottom of Devil’s Backbone for nearly a week; Dragon’s Ambrosia is what saved my life.”

“Okaaay.” Donatello started suspiciously. “But you told me—literally less than an hour ago—that you’re not a healer.”

“But I am an alchemist; one well-versed in all branches of the craft, at that. At some point during my lessons, I found my interest lay more in…” Draxum grinned devilishly. “Well. Let’s call it the potential transmutation magic has in genetic experimentation.”

“’Cause that’s not creepy,” Raphael interjected blandly.

“In my youth, however,” Draxum went on, “I did study medicine. I never excelled at it in the same way I did with transmutation and chemistry, but neither was I mediocre. I still dabble today, in fact.”

Huginn chimed in, helpfully. “I like it when he makes the medicine taste like candy.”

It was a strong sell. Casey touched his fist to his lips in contemplation, and the rat wouldn’t stop squinting at him with his beady little eyes, but between his firsthand account and confidence in his expertise, Draxum could tell the others were coming around. Now he just had to lay it on thick.

“I can do this,” Draxum insisted. “The most difficult part will be acquiring all of the necessary mystic ingredients; some are quite rare and hard to find. With only a few hours left of the night, the sooner I leave to find them, the better.”

“Why does it have to be during the night?” Casey asked, forehead pinched in confusion. “Couldn’t you keep looking in the morning?”

The alchemist watched comprehension dawn on Michelangelo’s face. “There are wanted posters for him everywhere around the city; he’s too recognizable. Ugh!” The boy sagged grumpily in Raphael’s arms. “I still can’t believe we lost that cloaking brooch to the cops.”

Draxum nodded. “Unfortunately so. I can find the ingredients that grow in the wild; the others will have to be picked up by someone else at morning market or, alternatively, the auction house.”

“Do we have the cash for that?” Raph asked.

Donatello flashed him a thumbs up with one of his spider limbs, tapping away at his gauntlet again. “We will soon.”

Draxum turned to regard the humans next. “In my absence, Jones must remain to care for Leonardo. O’Neil, you can assist him. Michelangelo is in no condition to leave, of course, so it will be up to the three of you to go out in the morning. We’ll need fairy inkcap mushrooms, the chrysalis of a moona butterfly, honey, the tears of a mermaid—do not let those leeches at the lagoon upcharge you on them, by the way, they will try—and the rarest of all: the eggshell of a freshly hatched dragon.”

“I recognized maybe one of those.” Casey rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

“Yeah, Barry.” April sounded almost amused. “What’s the honey for?”

“To keep him from throwing the elixir back up immediately. Weren’t you listening? The other ingredients are disgusting. Don’t get me started on the mouth feel.”

April leaned over to Casey, whispering loudly. “Says the guy who serves gruel in a lunchroom.”

“...I swear,” Donatello muttered from where he was taking notes. “If this turns out to be some old wives’ tale—”

“It will work.” Draxum was firm. “Besides, you were the one who said it, didn’t you? We have to try everything.”

He heard the soft shell’s breath catch at that and knew it would not take much more to convince him. He was too desperate. Before Draxum could seal the deal, however, help came from an unlikely place.

“C’mon, Pops. Donnie. Think about it.” Raphael stood up, still holding his youngest brother in his arms. “Who do you want helping Leo? Big Mama and a buncha strangers, or someone who’s gone to bat for us before?”

“If Barry says he can do it, I believe in him,” Michelangelo added sincerely. “You do too, don’t you, Dad? You know he’s changed.”

Lou Jitsu maintained his stare and, for a moment, Draxum was sure he knew. But then the old rat looked at Michelangelo as if struck, and combed his fingers through his beard pensively.

“Old grudges die hard, I suppose,” Draxum said wryly.

“They do,” Lou agreed in a gentler tone, “but Orange is right. You could stand to pay child support, of course, but you have been there for our family time and again... I will trust you on this, Draxum.”

And it was better not to think on that for too long.

“Good.” Draxum turned his back on the group. “Then prepare yourselves; we’ve all been run ragged these last few days. Jones?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Finish applying this to Leonardo’s bite wound,” Draxum said, holding the mortar of salve out for the human to take. “And keep monitoring him. The salve should keep the fever at bay until I get back, if nothing else. If it doesn’t, apply it again in one hour.” He looked over his shoulder. “Are there any other questions?”

Casey took the medicine from him and shook his head, though it looked like there was something on his mind. That was fine. But then Draxum noticed Michelangelo beginning to raise his hand from the corner of his eye and turned his head quickly, pretending not to see.

“Then I should be on my way; time is of the essence. Follow, Huginn. We leave shortly.”

“Good luck, Draxum.” Lou’s voice echoed after him.

Even when he reached the study, he could still hear it.

It was no matter. Just the thrill of the hunt, he told himself as he collected what he’d need: documents, and a briefcase full of small unicorns he’d stashed away for emergencies. A dark cloak to disguise himself. The glue traps could be useful as well, if the meeting went south. There had been merit to Donatello’s kidnapping plot from earlier, after all.

When Draxum was satisfied he was as prepared as he could be, he opened up a portal. “Lead me to him, Huginn.”

The little gargoyle saluted and flew through the portal. Draxum gave chase after him, knowing it would be a long night.

First, Witch Town.

Then the Crying Titan.

Chapter Text

The first thing he thought was that someone was painting; brush strokes on canvas echoing in the quiet.

Who’s painting? he wondered, blinking his eyes open sleepily to a room that was strange and unfamiliar in the dark. Mikey curled in on himself, unsure, but as his vision adjusted to the shadows he could make out the back of a worn, deep purple hoodie inches from his face: Donnie, lying next to him. His brother was turned on his side, facing the wall.

This bed was smaller than the last one he was in. And where was Leo?

Then there was that sound again—brush on canvas. Except… no, that wasn’t right. Mikey shook his head as if dispelling a cloud, listening for it again.

Something snuffled in the dark: hushed, but throaty.

Picking his head up off the pillow, Mikey peeked over Donnie’s shoulder to find the soft shell lying still and breathing slowly. Not him. He looked around the room next, and spotted Splinter sleeping in a chair in front of a door, surrounded by piles of fabric on the floor, but his dad looked dead asleep. So not him, either. That left…

Wincing as the movement tugged at his arms like a bad sunburn, Mikey carefully turned over in bed to look behind him—and found a Raph-shaped shadow on the floor, face buried in his hands.

“Raphie?” he whispered, and watched his eldest brother freeze up. “Are you crying?”

“...un-uh.” Raph swiped at his snout, poorly disguising his rough voice. “I’m not.”

“Raph…”

“It’s okay.” Now he sounded too chipper. “Go back to sleep.”

Frowning, Mikey lowered his arm over the edge of the bed until his fingers brushed against a familiar, tattered cloth. Raph stiffened, but didn’t pull away as Mikey fumbled for where he knew his brother’s cheek would be, only to have his fingertips come away wet.

Raph made a choked sound.

Mikey gave him a single warning. “Make room.”

“Huh? What are you—” Gasping, Raph scrambled to catch him as Mikey rolled himself off the bed and flopped into his arms. “Dammit, Mikey,” he hissed. “What if you hurt yourself again? You should be resting.”

“You too, Double Standards McGee…” Mikey muttered. He couldn’t remember coming to this room, but that had to be why they were here, right? Everyone else was asleep, so it seemed likely. But if they left the master bedroom and Raph was upset… He was afraid to ask but he had to, voice coming out small. “Did something happen to Leo?”

“What? O-Oh.” Raph sniffed hard, and the arms holding him pulled Mikey in closer, in a loose hug. “No, Leo’s still hanging in there. Raph forgot you conked out before we came in… Dad just wanted us to stay here tonight. Keep out of April and Casey’s way while they take care of him, y’know?”

That was a relief. If something happened to Leo, Mikey wanted to believe he’d feel it, weird mind meld stuff or not—and not just him, but any of his brothers; maybe even Dad and April. Their family bond was just that strong to him. Ever since Leo flipped out earlier, though, it was like there was nothing left between them anymore. The feedback he’d learned to rely on had disappeared like so much smoke.

He wished he’d had a chance to ask Draxum about it. The yokai had definitely been looking right at him before he left—it kind of annoyed Mikey, actually, that he’d been brushed off like that. What was his deal?

So long as Leo was still okay, though, it’d be fine. Mikey sighed, and lay his head against Raph’s plastron. “Why are you crying, then? Bad dream?” he guessed.

He didn’t get an answer in words, but rather felt the motion above him when Raph nodded.

“That’s going around lately…” Mikey said softly. Then he sat up further in Raph’s embrace, just enough so that he could carefully, carefully loop his arms around his neck and hug him back. “Must’ve been a bad one, huh? I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure if Raph wanted to talk about it; that was secondary to keeping him company. When his brother dropped his head into the crook of his neck and Mikey felt tears dripping down his shoulder in earnest, he was glad he did, because this felt like a dam bursting.

Raph rocked back and forth as he sobbed quietly, holding Mikey like one of his favorite teddy bears. “I d-didn’t mean to wake you up…”

“I don’t mind.”

“I just hate…” He sniffed loudly and scrubbed at his eyepatch. “I hate seeing you guys get hurt. And every time I close my eyes, I see it happen again! The warehouse, and what happened to…” He swallowed thickly. “A-And before, during the invasion…”

…Was he talking about their fight on the Technodrome, or before all of that? Maybe it was both—so much had happened. A stone dropped in Mikey’s stomach all at once when he thought about how little time had passed between then and now. In some ways, Raph was still fresh off his own kidnapping; had he even gotten enough breathing room to process it before their lives went to hell in a handbasket again?

From the way Raph was sobbing like he could break apart, Mikey knew without asking that the answer was no.

“I’m so glad we got you back…” he whispered, squeezing Raph as tightly as he could. Screw the pain. “We missed you, big bro. We’d be lost without you.”

Raph made a sound like he’d been stabbed. “That wasn’t what…” His voice cracked. “Mikey, I barely did anything. We were almost too late, and—and they used me against you guys twice.”

Oh, and that hurt to hear. Mikey’s chest felt tight in a way he could only remember feeling a couple of times before; when that portal closed with Leo on the wrong side of it, and once before that—swaying on treetops and staring in mute horror as Raph came apart at the seams.

(“Why can’t I do this? I’m failing you.”)

“So what?” Mikey huffed with false bravado. “They nearly used me to let that leader guy back out of his prison and doom the world again. You’re not special.”

Raph sputtered, clearly having no idea what to do with that. “Mikey, that’s—”

“When I did open that portal,” Mikey went on, cutting him off. “Do you know what I was thinking?”

He heard Raph’s mouth click audibly shut and waited. When no guesses were forthcoming, he took a shaky breath and hid his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let the Krang out, but I had to help Leo, so…” And oh great, now he was crying too. Mikey sniffed, and forced himself to continue. “All I could think about was wanting you to come and make it better.”

He’d just wanted his brother. His biggest brother.

Several seconds passed in silence, but he heard the moment it clicked for Raph. It was written as plain as writing on the walls in the sharp intake of his breath, and the way the snapper pulled his head back as if trying to get a better look at him. Mikey didn’t know how much of his expression would actually be clear in the dark, but he stubbornly continued to duck his head to hide it all the same.

He loved his brother with every fiber of his being, but they used to be closer once, back in the day. Then Raph had gotten weird, more mutant mother hen than turtle, and it had all started to fall apart. He’d do anything to prove he could take care of himself, but no matter what he tried he was always the baby. And now he was literally crying like one, swaddled in Raph’s arms to boot; sheesh, he was never going to live this down.

But Raph didn’t push those sore buttons. He only set a giant palm on his head instead, rubbing it softly to try and coax Mikey to look up at him. “You believed in me that much, huh?”

“Not just then. Always,” Mikey said. Might as well dig himself deeper into this sappy hole. “We know you have our backs, Raph.”

There was another loud snuffle above him before Raph dropped his hand, replacing it with his chin instead. “Thanks, little man.” Mikey would let the hated nickname slide, just this once. As Raph’s rocking slowed, he closed his eyes and swayed gently with the motion. “You’re not allowed to forget it, okay? You gotta stop thinking of yourself that way. We love you.”

“Tell you what. Raph’ll let it go when you stop blaming yourself for Leo getting sick.” He snorted when Mikey winced. “Not so easy, huh?”

It wasn’t. And Mikey wanted to say that was different, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t. “...I’ll try,” he offered eventually. “If you do.”

He felt his brother smile against him. “All right. Raph can promise that much.”

There was a lot more to say after that, but Mikey felt worn thin and worn out. He had the sneaking suspicion that Raph wasn’t any better off as they both kind of just… sagged into each other, Raph’s chin dropping to his chest before jerking back up again.

“Are you guys done talking?” A third voice startled them both, chiming in from above them. “If you are, you should get back to bed.”

“Dee?” Mikey tried to hide his embarrassment. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Yeah,” Raph said, bashful. “Sorry we woke you up.”

“Don’t be. I couldn’t sleep either. Had too much on my mind, I guess,” Donnie said from above them. Another beat passed, and then he added, “Even if I hadn’t been, you wouldn’t need to be sorry. Not for that.”

Raph made a small, conflicted sound like he didn’t know what to say to that. Mikey felt his brother stand then, turning around to deposit him back on the bed. Before he could carry the motion through, the box turtle tapped lightly away at his shoulders to get his attention.

“Hm?”

“You lay down, too.”

Raph laughed quietly. “Mikey, there’s no room for me. This bed ain’t even as big as the one in Draxum’s room.”

“I’m small!” Mikey fired back. “You’ll fit, trust me.”

A low rumble sounded from inside Raph’s chest, small and questioning. In answer to it, Mikey heard the box springs creak as Donnie scooched over, then patted at the space next to him. Raph continued to stand dully for a moment, and then—oh so slowly, like he was afraid of breaking it—crawled onto the bed.

The bed groaned under his weight, but ultimately held. After a few more seconds, Raph slipped Mikey into the middle of the bed between him and Donnie. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable.

Room or not, it would’ve been better with four of them, though.

“—ime to get going,” someone was saying, and Mikey felt cold on one side in the absence of a familiar weight there.

Another person—Raph, if the morning breath was anything to go by—yawned in his ear, then made the bed creak as he sat bolt upright. “He’s back?”

“Yeah, just now.”

That was April, right? Mikey opened his eyes to find her and Casey standing by the door, then woke up much faster as the mattress dipped hard.

“Sorry, buddy,” Raph whispered as he slid out of bed, but his attention wasn’t spared on Mikey for long. “Dee already out there?”

“He’s somewhere.” April sighed, caught between exasperation and worry. Mayhem was draped around the back of her neck like a scarf, and she gave him a little scritch behind the ears. “Splints is up, though. He said he’d sit with Leo while Draxum went to clean up.”

Sitting up, Mikey scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and regarded the empty space Donnie had left next to him. “Did Donnie sleep at all?”

Raph sighed. “I dunno. We’ll have to worry about it later. How’s Leo?”

April folded her arms, expression turning somber. “His fever dipped a little. That’s the good news.”

Well that just made his stomach twist into knots. “And the bad news?”

“...We had to put him back on oxygen,” Casey confessed, shuffling further into the room past April. “And we don’t have very much left of what the paramedics gave us. It should last until you guys get back, so long as you’re quick, but after that we might need to have Donnie whip something up.”

He and Raph exchanged glances, and Mikey wondered if he looked half as tense and terrified as his brother did. Vision tunneling, he swallowed reflexively and dug his fingers into his palms, uncaring of the pain.

“Might,” he stressed the word, “but only if that elixir doesn’t work. The sooner you get out there, the sooner Barry can put it together, baby!” The smile he flashed was wobbly at the edges, but Mikey put all of his confidence behind it all the same. “It’s too early to give up.”

Leo definitely wouldn’t, if it was one of them.

“...Yeah,” Raph said, quiet at first, then rallying. He grinned wide, and smashed a fist into his open palm. “Yeah! We’re gonna collect those mystic ingredients like a boss, and then Leo will be better in no time!”

April smiled, contrite. “I wish I could come with and help, but humans in the Hidden City would probably just attract the wrong kind of attention right now.” She bumped her temple against Mayhem’s, nearly missing him with the motion, and that was when Mikey noticed just how much she was wavering on her feet. “And not gonna lie, I’m wiped.”

Raph scooped Mikey out of bed, freeing it up for them. “Yeah, you guys get some shut-eye. We’ll take care of—uh. Did he just fall asleep standing up?”

All eyes switched to Casey, leaning against the wall with his head dropped to his shoulder, breathing slow and even.

“Whoa,” Mikey whispered, awed.

“Man, he really can fall asleep anywhere,” April muttered, making Mikey feel like he’d missed a conversation somewhere along the way. Grabbing Casey by the shoulders, she gently tugged him towards the bed. “C’mon, you weirdo. There’s a perfectly good bed right here, y’know.”

“Huh?” Casey jerked his head up, startled like some long-limbed bird. “Wh—”

April got him to the edge of the bed and shoved. Casey made a small, undignified sound, then fell flat on his face into the mattress.

A beat later he snored, dead asleep.

“That’s gonna be me in a minute,” April said dreamily, then wrinkled her nose. “Eugh. Hopefully without the drool.” Shaking her head, she let Raph scoot past her, then reached down to tug Casey’s shoes off of his feet.

It was hard to spot under all the cuts and bruises, but now that he was looking for it, the bags under her eyes were pretty pronounced. Casey’s, too. Between going after that truck and two nights of looking after Leo, they must have been up around the clock ever since they first realized something was wrong. No wonder they were exhausted.

“April?” he asked, making Raph linger at the door before they could go through it. “Are you okay?”

Chucking Casey’s boots in a corner, April met his gaze with a look Mikey wasn’t used to seeing on her, wet and touched by heartache.

“Doing better than you,” she said without any sort of meanness. “And definitely a lot better than Leo. Until that changes, I don’t mind doing some heavy lifting around here.” Standing on her tiptoes, she leaned forward to envelop both of them in a big hug, pressing their foreheads together when Raph ducked down to receive it. “Now stop worrying about me and get a move on, huh? Your bros have a big job to do.”

They kept the hug brief. April was right, after all, and they should let her sleep besides.

On the way out of the guest bedroom they ran into Donnie coming from the other direction. There were stray flower petals clinging to the shoulders of his hoodie, which gave Mikey pause. He wondered where they came from, and might have asked had the soft shell not spoken up first.

“I updated our comms,” Donnie explained, going for Raph’s armband and skipping the greetings. “Upgrading you now, aaaaand—there we go, that should do it.”

Mikey peered over, trying to see what was so special. “Do I get an update too?”

“Of course, it should already be sent to your device. Next time you use your comm, just tap ‘accept’ and you’ll have it. I’d recommend doing so as soon as possible, actually.”

“You put in some new features or something?” Raph asked, bundling Mikey in one arm and tapping away at the armband with his free hand. “It looks the same.”

“It was a quick patch; mostly enhanced security features. After our run in with the EPF, I thought it was prudent.”

“Oh, yeah. Good thinking, Donnie.” Raph managed a small grin. He paused, mouth open as if he were about to say something—and then stopped short, coming to a halt a few paces from the master bedroom.

Donnie stopped too, turning around to face them curiously. “Is some—”

“Shh.” Raph hushed them, single visible eye narrowed in concern. “You hear that?”

They didn’t have to listen very hard to hear it. In the quiet, it became obvious.

Just ahead of them, someone was weeping.

Looking at Raph and Donnie both, Mikey saw the fear flash in their eyes before they all crept forward to peek beyond the door.

No one was inside, save for their brother and Splinter. To his immediate relief, he saw Leo’s oxygen mask fog with breath. If he’d been standing, Mikey was sure he would have fallen over then. Still safe.

Dad sat on the stool beside him, clutching Leo’s good hand tightly in both of his. His head was bowed as if in prayer, but the words were too low to be audible. Even his sobs were muffled, only escaping him in short, troubled gasps when he lost the breath to hold them in any longer.

…Should they be watching this? Mikey felt his eyes prick with tears, and something thick lodge in his throat. He wanted to run in there and hug Splinter until he stopped crying. He wanted to pretend that he never saw this.

Stuck between the two, he was still trying to decide when Raph lowered him down to stand on his own two feet. Donnie looked just as lost as he was and they both looked to the snapper, hoping he’d tell them what to do.

“How ‘bout you fellas go make some tea,” Raph suggested, not looking away from Dad even once. He sounded much more calm than Mikey felt. “Raph’ll catch up.”

Hesitating, Mikey turned to Donatello, who shrugged at him after a moment, his thick Sharpie eyebrows downturned. They lingered a few seconds longer, but it was clear neither of them could find the words they wanted.

So turning around, Donnie braced a hand against Mikey’s shell and led them away.

Fifteen minutes later they reconvened in the master bedroom—Raph, Donnie, Dad, and Draxum sipping tea while Mikey drank warm milk from a cup with a crazy straw. (He was sort of surprised Draxum had crazy straws, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He could use some of that whimsy right about now.)

At least Splinter had stopped crying. By the time the three of them returned he was back to his loud and boisterous self, though Mikey suspected he was overcompensating for their sakes. He set his drained teacup down on its saucer with an audible clink, voice calm.

“All right, that’s enough of a wake-up call. Let’s move on to the matter at hand. How did your mission fare, Draxum?”

Wearing a dark cloak over his usual garb, the alchemist cut a weary figure, shoulders hunched when normally he’d be sitting straight at attention. “It was difficult, but I managed to acquire all of the herbal ingredients before sunrise—plus one extra,” he added, setting a jar down on the nightstand.

Inside was a piece of wood that looked like it came from a rotten log, a small colony of mushrooms growing out from it. They looked like something taken straight from a fairy tale illustration, each mushroom tinier than the tip of his pinky, and all sporting pale blue bonnets that glowed faintly.

“Fairy inkcap mushrooms, I presume,” Donnie concluded, peering with interest at the jar’s contents. “Is this mystic variant as fragile as the kind that grows on the surface?”

“They disintegrate when touched, yes,” Draxum explained. “Which is why I’ll be adding them last; the other herbs are being boiled, currently.”

Raph counted off his fingers. “So that leaves the cocoon thingy, the mermaid tears, the dragon egg, and the honey.”

“Chrysalis,” Draxum corrected, folding his hands together in his lap. “I would say your best bet for finding it would be at the Pirate’s Bazaar. If you’re lucky, you may even come across someone selling the dragon eggshell there—though if you’ve not found one by mid-morning, you’re better off departing for the auction house. There’s one up for the taking there today.”

“What about the mermaid tears?” Mikey asked from where he sat on the bed, curled up by Leo’s knees. He wasn’t involved in this, but he was still trying to follow along to keep himself awake. There were things he wanted to discuss with Draxum once the more important stuff was out of the way.

“No better place to go than the source, for that one; just make a mermaid cry at the lagoon. Flash them some coin and they’ll whip out the crocodile tears, but you’d be better off saving your money.” Draxum took another sip of his tea, smacking his lips in satisfaction. “I find yelling at them to be more efficient. It’s quick and free.”

“That’s because you’re a barbarian,” Splinter jabbed back. “I will handle the tears. The honey, too, since apparently that doesn’t count as something you can get from the wilds, despite it being made out there—”

“Bees don’t make honey underground, rat.”

“—but who am I to judge, you sound like you’ve had a busy day.” Splinter shrugged mildly, then tossed a pile of clothes at Donnie and Raph. “Disguises, for the two of you. You are not as recognizable as Draxum, but if there really are warrants for your arrest, we should still be careful.”

So that’s what that fabric Mikey had seen him with last night (this morning?) was about. He must have sewn those disguises together before falling asleep. As his brothers tugged the material over their heads, it was obvious the outfits were of simple make—much like Draxum’s outfit, they were little more than cloaks with hoods—but they hid the bulk of Raph’s shell and Donnie’s gear well, which was arguably more important.

“Anything else?” Raph asked, adjusting the fabric around the spiky pieces of his shell it was catching on.

“You have your map?” When Donnie held his up, Draxum waved a hand. “Then no. Hurry and be on your way.”

Heading for the door, Donnie paused by the edge of the bed, hesitated, then laid his palm lightly against Leo’s forehead. “We’ll be back soon, Nardo.”

Raph drew up behind him, dropping a hand on his shoulder and sparing a pained and tender look for Leo. Then he gave Mikey a noogie. “Hold down the fort for us, little brother.”

“Will do.” Michelangelo laughed under his breath, seeing his family off with his best gap-toothed smile.

Draxum went ahead of them at the door. “Take the hall on the right. I’ll call for Huginn and Muninn to escort you through the back passage.”

:

:

:

Mikey finished his milk, his slurps obnoxiously loud with no other sounds in the room to break the silence—well. No other sounds save for Leo’s wheezing breaths, and the hiss of oxygen that muffled it.

His brother somehow looked worse than before, expression pinched, and his skin had taken on a sallow hue—more gray than green—that made the red slashes on his face stand out more starkly than usual. Had any of them been hurt this badly before? There had been a lot of close calls in the past, but nothing like this—it took a lot of knocks to keep them down, and they healed faster than most people besides. So unless something happened when they were babies he was pretty sure this took first place, which wasn’t reassuring at all.

The despair was thick and cloying, like mud. He hated it. If this is what Raph felt like when he saw them get hurt, one hug wasn’t enough; Mikey owed him at least ten more later, because no wonder he worried so much.

“Don’t give up, don’t give up,” he chanted angrily to himself, then took a deep breath. “It’s like you told Raph and April; it’s too soon to call it quits.”

They just needed to make that elixir now. Mikey wondered how long it would take after they had all the ingredients. Maybe Draxum had gone to get a head start on it? But that doesn’t make sense, he thought. Wasn’t it important that someone stay and watch Leo?

He couldn’t do that if he was asleep, which—to keep it real—was more often than not lately. Heck, if something happened he wouldn’t even know what to do for him.

“Well that’s a cheery, not-at-all-terrifying thought.” Mikey laughed, a touch hysterical. “I need to lie down now.” Sidling as close to Leo as he dared, the box turtle closed his eyes and counted his own breathing until he felt calm again.

Don’t fall asleep.

Right. He opened his eyes.

In case his brother could hear him like he was hoping, Mikey draped an arm over his plastron, tapping lightly at the thick plates as if it’d do anything to get Leo’s attention. Because, hey. Maybe it would.

“Just hang on a little longer, Leo,” he whispered. “Barry’s not a very good doctor, apparently, but he is a good alchemist. Once we put that elixir together, nothing’ll be left standing in our way. Help is coming, okay? I promise.”

Mikey held his breath hoping for some kind of response, something—anything—through what was left of the mind meld link. There was a flutter in his chest, but that was probably just his racing heart. Sniffling, Mikey closed his eyes again, and tried to focus on Leo’s aura.

It hadn’t really changed since the last time he saw it: just a few motes of light, like dying embers. They lacked the signature blue color he associated with his brother’s ninpo.

But more distractingly, there was another aura close by—a teal one, lingering outside the door.

That motherfucker.

(Mind-Raph gasped in shock, hand slapped to his chest like an 80-year-old grandmother.)

Quietly enraged, Mikey settled down and forced his body to relax, pretending to fall asleep. He gave it a few seconds, then added in some soft snoring for good measure.

It took a few moments, but then sure enough: Draxum stepped into the room, hooves treading purposefully light. Mikey waited for the footsteps to stop next to the bed; held his act a little longer while he was sure he was being scrutinized. It was only when he saw—through his mind’s eye—Draxum reaching out to touch Leo that he sprung his trap, shooting his hand out as quick as a cobra to catch the yokai’s wrist.

“Blast it all,” Draxum cursed, sounding exasperated.

“You were snubbing me!”

“Keep it down.”

Mikey ignored him, sitting up and tightening his grip. There was little strength behind it and the pain was excruciating, but he was too mad to care. “You were waiting for me to fall asleep just so we couldn’t talk—!”

“I said keep it down,” Draxum hissed, using his free hand to cover Mikey’s mouth. There was actual alarm in his eyes when he regarded him sternly. “And let go. You’re hurting yourself more than you’re hurting me.”

April and Casey’s exhausted faces came to mind. It was the only reason Michelangelo cooperated, glaring at Barry the whole while. When he tried to bend his fingers, though, they were locked up so badly they couldn’t move; even trying to shift them a fraction of an inch brought terrible pain and wracked his arm with tremors.

Tutting, Draxum took pity on him and gently—so gently—tugged at his fingers, pulling them back one at a time. Once the first two were released, Mikey didn’t need help with the thumb and thus snatched his hand back to himself. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, anger, or both.

“You suck.”

Draxum sighed with the air of the long-suffering, and maybe a little guilt as well. He wouldn’t meet Mikey’s eyes. “I’m aware.”

“Why? Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded. He had a feeling he already knew the answer, and part of him was afraid to make it real, but he needed to know. “It’s because I was going to ask about Leo’s aura, isn’t it? You know why it looks weird because you saw it too, and you don’t want to tell me what’s happening.”

“You would be better off not—” Draxum cut himself off with a shake of his head. “No, there’s no time for this.” He looked at Mikey appraisingly, frowning, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. “I will answer your questions, but not until we’ve left this wing of the building. You can come along, but only if you can do so by your own power.”

“...What?” Mikey felt his stomach drop, his emotions doing a 180 degree turn. That was one thing Draxum had been right about yesterday, though; it was his arms that were hurt, not his legs, so he crawled to the edge of the bed, dropping his feet to the floor. “What’s going on?”

Draxum snapped his fingers and the two gargoyles flew in, Huginn going for the vital signs monitor they’d nicked from April’s school while Muninn wheeled a cart up to the collection chamber for the stuff Leo’s chest tube drained into, giving him an awkward wave. This did nothing to freak him out less.

“I said I would answer your questions after we left,” the yokai repeated, slipping a hand behind Leo’s shell and looping the other under his knees. There was nothing cold about the look he leveled at Mikey, though; if anything, it was apologetic. “I know this is alarming, Michelangelo, but I assure you that I want to help your brother. This is for his sake.”

This conversation was giving him a serious case of mood whiplash. For how angry Mikey still was, though, he had no doubt that Draxum was being sincere. He believed him whole-heartedly. And if this was for Leo, then fine—he’d waited all night to get this chance to talk to Draxum, so he could wait a little longer.

He nodded hesitantly, and Draxum took that as his answer.

Clambering off the bed, Mikey hovered anxiously as the gargoyles went to work on the equipment, packing the collect chamber and the oxygen into the cart. Then the alchemist picked Leo off the bed and his brother gave a low groan, his head rolling limply. Draxum moved to guide it against his shoulder, adjusting Leo with exaggerated care until he was as comfortable as he could get in that position.

“Shoulder pads?”

“I think we can get everything but the pole thingy, boss,” Muninn replied, flashing a thumbs-up.

“It’s better that I carry that, anyways.” At that, a vine darted out of Draxum’s sleeve and wrapped itself around the IV pole. Then he turned back to Mikey. “Follow me.”

Between Leo’s injuries and all of the equipment he was still hooked up to, they had to move very, very slowly. In theory this made it easier for Mikey to keep up, allowing him space to catch a breather whenever he got a little woozy, but it did nothing for his nerves. He’d been here before with April to clear out the lab but had never been in this particular wing, so he had no idea where they were going, much less how far off it was.

It felt like forever before they got to a spot where Draxum would answer his questions.

Which is probably why he jumped when the yokai finally did speak up, taken by surprise.

“That should be far enough,” Draxum said, letting out an amused breath at Mikey’s expense. “All the same, try not to shout. Sound carries here.”

He doesn’t want April and Casey to hear. It was the only explanation that made sense, even if he couldn’t guess the reasons behind it. Why else would they need to be so quiet?

“Where are we going?”

“My secondary lab. Or rather, what’s left of it.”

Mikey pondered that. “Is it because you need to work and keep an eye on Leo at the same time?” Draxum had said he’d left herbs to boil...

“No.” The alchemist spoke stiffly, in a measured way that suggested he was choosing his words carefully. “I am making the elixir, but it was never my plan to rely on it alone.”

“...What?”

“Even if it were as potent as I claimed, it would not be enough,” Draxum explained. “His injuries are no longer the worst we have to deal with. That stunt he pulled last night drained not only his mystic energy, but a portion of his life force as well. Until we replenish that, he will not heal.”

It was the answer he’d been fearing. The world distorted, the hallway in front of him turning impossibly long. He stumbled, tripping over his own two feet, and barely registered when Draxum caught him around the torso with another vine.

“No. That…” Hanging from the vine, Mikey barely recognized his own voice. “That can’t be right.”

“Michelangelo—”

“But it’s different!” he insisted, swiping angry slashes at the air. “He doesn’t look like you did, after the Dark Armor drained your life force! He’s not all scrawny and—and shriveled up like a grape!”

Draxum was silent. Mikey had enough presence of mind to drag his eyes away from the floor and over to him, just in time to see a dark cloud pass over the yokai’s face as he stared down at Leo, and felt a pinch of regret for his words.

But if Draxum was angry about it, he didn’t take it out on him. “The Dark Armor was designed to sap its wearer’s strength,” he explained patiently. “In my case, I believe it targeted my musculature. But I was in good health when that happened; Leonardo does not have the same advantage. Like a pillar with a crumbling foundation, I suspect he’s bleeding energy from where he’s currently weakest: the lungs, and his failing immune system.”

Mikey thought about what Casey had said this morning, his eyes flitting over to Muninn’s cart and one of the canisters on it. If Draxum was right, that must have been why they had to put him back on oxygen, despite finding no issues with the chest tube.

Don’t panic, don’t panic. You already thought it was gonna be bad, didn’t you?

Yeah, but back then, he thought they knew the plan.

He took a second to get his bearings back in order, then wiggled in the vine’s grasp. “Put me down.”

“Are you—”

“Yeah, I’ll be good. Put me down, Barry.”

Draxum acquiesced and the vine retreated, leaving Mikey unsteady but standing by his own power. He had no idea if they’d kept moving while he’d been dangling in his grasp, but wherever they were going felt more important than before now, so he kept moving.

“So… you’re saying we can’t nurse him back to health the way I did for you.”

“Correct.”

“Then what’s the plan?” he asked, and narrowed his eyes. “The real plan.”

Draxum made a face like he’d bit into something rotten. Leading them down another hallway, he sighed with discontent. “Fine. This can be a lesson for you, on why healing magic is so powerful and yet so costly.”

Healing magic? Mikey blinked. “But you said you’re not…”

Wait.

He snapped his head in the yokai’s direction, and caught a raised eyebrow. “I am not a healer, no. But there is little else that can save Leonardo now, and so, to that end, I set out last night to find someone who is.”

“So when you said you were going to search for ingredients, that was just a cover?” Mikey was so confused. “Then what was with the mushrooms??”

Draxum shrugged. “They were on sale.”

Oh, Mikey could have smacked him then if he had the strength for it. Instead, a giggle rose out of him unbidden, and he only felt lightheaded with relief. “You’re so getting your butt kicked for this.”

Draxum huffed. “I’ll worry about that a month from now, I suppose.”

“Or I could just tell my brothers and watch,” Mikey replied sweetly.

It didn’t get the reaction he was expecting. Instead, Draxum leveled him with a cold glare. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m falling back on bad habits. I assure you, if I wanted to get on your family’s bad side I’d make it more worth my while.”

So they were getting into this, then? Mikey raised a brow ridge, unimpressed. “Okay, but you get how hiding this is wrong, right? Because I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but hiding the fact my brother is maybe kinda sorta dying is really screwed up.”

“And what would it help if they knew?” Draxum bit back sharply. Apparently they’d reached the end of his patience. “You are more observant than this, Michelangelo; surely you’ve noticed your family’s behavior has been strained at best. If I told them Leonardo is dying, how well do you think they would cope?”

Cutting words, and they cut deep. He thought of their exhausted human friends, and Raph and Dad both crying to themselves alone and hoping no one would see. And who knew what was even up with Donnie. Wilting, Mikey ducked his head.

As much as he didn’t like it, Draxum made a good point.

“They still deserve to know…” he protested weakly, sniffing back angry tears. “It’s not like we’d be grasping at straws anymore, either. You said you got a healer! Don’t you think everyone would feel better if they knew?”

Draxum snorted with derison. “Or they’d waste their time arguing over who gets to play sacrifice.”

Mikey stopped in his tracks, staring. “What?”

Draxum did not wait for him, turning down another corridor and forcing the box turtle to keep up or be left behind. He chose the former.

“Barry!” He darted after him, drawing up alongside the yokai. “What do you mean by that?”

Draxum met Mikey’s eyes briefly, then looked away with an almost bored expression. “I’ve told you that healing magic comes with a heavy cost. That cost is not strictly monetary.”

Well, that was vague as hell. It also wasn’t going to cut it. Mikey dashed ahead to block the alchemist’s way, dodging left and then right to keep Draxum from scooting by when he tried to pass him. Maybe if it had just been him on his own he could have done it, but holding onto Leo and transporting the IV stand? Draxum had no choice but to stop for him, looking rather put out. Mikey glared back and held his ground.

With a heavy sigh, Draxum elaborated. “For yokai, our lives serve as batteries for our magic. This is true of all disciplines, but none more so than healing. Just as I use mystic energy to control my magic,” he said, nodding his chin at the vine around the IV pole, “so do healers use their own life forces to treat the sick and wounded. It takes little to tend to simple ailments—but for severe injuries like Leonardo’s, the price will be steep. Most healers would refuse to even try, in the interest of preserving their own lives.”

Wide-eyed, Mikey’s voice came out small. “You’re saying someone has to die for Leo to live?”

“Has to is too strong a way to put it.” Draxum tilted his head, considering his words. “Someone long-lived or possessed of robust stamina could be used—an intermediary who offers their own life energy in place of the healer’s to fuel their techniques. It still comes with risk, but this method mitigates it somewhat.”

But they didn’t know anyone like that. All of them but one were hurt, or messed up, or hurt and messed up, and—

All of them but one.

It was the last piece of the puzzle he needed, but even as it clicked into place, Mikey could only stare in dull shock. “You volunteered yourself.”

Draxum met his gaze levelly and raised an eyebrow. “And you’re making me late for my appointment.”

“The healer’s already here?” Mikey looked over his shoulder and must have reached out with his senses mystically as well, because everything felt sharper. He couldn’t pinpoint their exact locations, but he could feel April and Casey and even Mayhem dozing away, somewhere in the direction they just came from.

And ahead of them—close enough he could track it—he sensed the aura of a total stranger.

Draxum used his moment of distraction to push past him and Mikey reacted on instinct, grabbing for the sleeve of his robe. “Wait. Please?”

Vision blurring with tears, he couldn’t see Draxum’s expression. It felt like his heart was being ripped in two. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say, but the words bubbled forth all the same.

“I don’t want to lose either of you,” he cried, dropping his head against Draxum’s arm. There was nothing he could do to stop him. If it meant saving Leo, he didn’t want to stop him, and somehow that was even worse. “You can’t die, okay? Promise me you won’t die.”

Draxum sighed, though this time it sounded almost fond. “Listen to me. I’ve lived a long life—”

“Ohmigosh, stop death-flagging yourself,” Mikey blubbered.

“Literally, Michelangelo. I’ve lived for centuries, and will live longer still.” He paused, and something uneasy slipped into his voice. “In fact, there is a chance I may yet outlive you.”

“But after what happened with the Dark Armor…”

“That I survived speaks to my fortitude. I will not die here,” Draxum promised simply. “Now lift your head.”

Mikey sniffled, but did as he was told, letting go of the yokai’s sleeve while he was at it.

…Behind them was more sniffling. He turned around to find Huginn and Muninn sitting on the hospital monitor, holding onto each other with tears streaming down their faces. Muninn had a tiny popcorn bucket.

“Oh! Don’t mind us.” Lip wobbling, Huginn blew his nose into a hankie and gave them a watery smile. “That was just so touching.”

“The drama! The feels!” Muninn wiped a tear from his eye. “You’ve changed so much, boss, but we really like this softer side of you.”

“Enough gawking.” Draxum swatted them with a vine, toppling them from their perch and sending popcorn flying everywhere. “Back to work, the both of you.”

“Yes, sir!”

Sighing, Draxum turned his back to them and shifted his grip on Leo like adjusting a big sack of flour. He was probably getting heavy.

“Listen, Michelangelo,” Draxum began as the gargoyles got back into position. “You may attend the ritual, but whatever happens, do not interfere, and tell no one of what you see. You are sworn to secrecy.”

“This healing stuff is that big of a deal?”

“...Yes.”

There was just enough of a delay in Draxum’s words to make them unconvincing. Mikey squinted.

“Well, there’s no taboo against speaking of their customs.” Draxum coughed awkwardly, looking away. “But it’s a matter of confidentiality.”

“Oh, so I could tell Leo.”

“That is not what I said—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Because he will—as the humans say—make it weird,” Draxum groused, finally coming out with it. “You know he’ll make it weird, and I don’t want to deal with that. There, are you happy?”

“Yes. No.” Mikey chuckled wetly. It was such a Barry answer, if nothing else. “Not really. But I’ll think about it.”

The alchemist rolled his eyes and, with Huginn and Muninn back at the ready, made to move on again. This time Mikey let him, trailing after.

He didn’t like the idea of hiding this, but maybe he should respect Draxum’s wishes? He was giving up a lot for them. He’d also made a good point, besides, that the others weren’t… really doing well. But on the other hand, family shouldn’t hide these kinds of things from each other, either.

It really depended on how things played out, and he didn’t want to make a decision one way or the other until then.

The next hallway they exited through led to a chamber where the ceiling rose high overhead, and Mikey knew where they were again: the mezzanine of the main lab, where they first met. The secondary lab Draxum mentioned earlier was right around the corner, and they were standing at its threshold long before Mikey could think of something else to say.

“I hope you’re ready,” Draxum muttered like he wasn’t the one volunteering for soul transplant surgery, and marched inside.

The room looked… redecorated since the last time Mikey had seen it. Everything in the room had been pushed up against the walls haphazardly, furniture smashed against unplugged machinery with odds and ends crammed in their gaps as if to save space. It looked like a tornado had blown through.

In the cleared space at the center of the room, someone was etching a massive magic circle over the floor with chalk. It looked like a small dragon yokai, or maybe one of those kobolds he’d seen in tabletop games. He wore a gray pinstripe-vest like a 1930s gangster, missing only the trilby hat that would complete the ensemble; Mikey saw one hanging from a sword that had been propped against the wall of junk.

“Jet,” Draxum called as they made their slow trek across the room. “I thought you’d be finished by now.”

“Had to clear the bad juju,” the new yokai—Jet, presumably—replied, glancing up at them with bright blue, reptilian eyes. He abruptly stopped what he was doing to sit up, affronted. “Oh c’mon, you’re bringing in more human garbo? Drax, baby, this is an offense to my craft.”

“Make do. We need it for stupid reasons,” Draxum argued. Stopping at the edge of the circle, the alchemist adjusted Leo in his arms again, studying him with an expression Mikey couldn’t read. “I do not think he would last the entirety of the healing session without it, besides.”

“Eh, you never had a good sense for these things, so I’ll be the judge of that.” Jet waved a hand in the air, then took up his chalk again. “But fine, fine; I’ll add a rune for the garbo. It’s gonna cost you extra, though.”

“I’m good for the unicorns,” Draxum said, completely straight-faced.

Mikey wondered what he meant by ‘stupid reasons’. If he thought Leo needed it, that couldn’t be the reason, so maybe it was Donnie? Knowing him, he probably had Leo’s vitals patched straight through to his comm.

“Hey, Barry,” he whispered. “This is the healer, right? Are you gonna introduce us?”

“Barry? Oh, I like that.” Jet laughed, a forked tongue slipping out his mouth. “Go on, Barry. Introduce us.”

Draxum grunted with disinterest. “Michelangelo, Jet is an old associate of mine.”

“Hey,” Jet prodded, scribbling away elegant script like it was second nature. “You’re supposed to do both halves of the intro.”

“I said his name is Michelangelo,” Draxum said curtly, with a tone that discouraged any further questions on the matter.

“You’re never any fun,” Jet whined, tossing his nib of chalk aside and clapping dust off his fingers. “Kid’s looking kinda tapped for an intermediary, though, dontcha think?”

“He’s not the intermediary,” the alchemist corrected, stepping into the circle with Huginn and Muninn following. “I am.”

“You?” A pair of bat wings unfurled from Jet’s back, the same deep red wine color of his scales. He flew into the air, flapping to keep aloft next to the other yokai’s head. “Barry, you gotta be joking.”

Vines descended from the ceiling, twisting and threading themselves together into the shape of a gurney. Draxum lowered Leo carefully down upon it, growing a flower bed at the head of the cot almost as an afterthought, like some kind of pillow. Mikey couldn’t see what look he gave Jet from this angle, but it must have been convincing because the kobold looked surprised.

“Holy shit, you aren’t joking. Huh.” Then a slow smile spread over his face. “Oh, Barry. That’s gonna cost you extra.”

Mikey didn’t like the gleam in his eye.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively.

Jet flew over in his direction, and Mikey noticed for the first time that he was sporting fuzzy eyebrows and a shock of white hair. It looked vaguely familiar. “Sorry about that. If you aren’t the intermediary, why are you here?”

“The guy you’re healing is my brother,” Mikey announced proudly, just to see Draxum turn around and facepalm.

“Oh, so you’re family.” Jet flew around him in a circle. “That explains the synergy, yeah. You here to observe?”

“Draxum said that’d be okay. Right?” He looked between the two of them, suddenly unsure about the arrangement here.

“Usually I charge extra for that, but I'll tell you what. I’m tickled pink right now, so I might just throw that in for free.” Jet’s eyes flicked to watch the gargoyles set Leo’s medical equipment back up, then back to Mikey. “But to answer your question—if you weren’t so thin on energy yourself, you know, you'd be a lot more suited for this than ol’ Barry over here.”

“Because we’re brothers?”

“Because you’re close, like two peas in a pod. I can smell it on you. That makes a big difference for this ritual.” The kobold jerked a clawed thumb in Draxum’s direction. “Your bro and Mr. Sourpuss, on the other hand? Oil and water.”

Wheeling the cart back out of the circle, Huginn and Muninn blew raspberries at him.

Before Mikey could ask what that meant, the alchemist elaborated. “He’s speaking of resonance.” Draxum inspected the gargoyles’ work with the medical equipment, moving it this way and that until it was presumably as centered as he’d like. “In practice, it’s much like matching blood types in traditional medicine, but with souls.”

“Except better, because unlike blood, souls are mutable. So long as you got people who care about you, donors are easy-peasy. ‘Course, the flip-side of that is people who don’t get along are bad matches.” Jet had the grin of a crocodile, eyes glinting like polished marble. “If it takes too long to achieve resonance, there can be complications. Do you really want—”

A vine swatted him out of the air, and Draxum growled. “We’re not here for your games.”

Jet laughed, massaging his jaw. “Hey, hey. Just giving the kid the facts, okay? Can’t blame me.”

“Complications, huh…” Mikey sweated anxiously, then inclined his head in thought. “But you also said you just need people who care about you. Right?”

The kobold nodded, flapping his wings to get airborne again. “Generally.”

“Oh, then that makes this easier.” Mikey brightened, genuinely assured by that. “I believe in Draxum. I know Leo’s in safe hands with him.”

Jet burst into laughter, cartwheeling head over tail in the air. By contrast Draxum was stunned speechless, looking as if he was trying to stifle his expression as the box turtle approached. Michelangelo didn’t give him time to get his bearings.

“I’m still mad at you.” That conversation wasn’t over by any means, but it also wasn’t what was important here. What Draxum—and Leo—needed right now was support, and Mikey would make sure they’d get it. Smiling warmly, he continued, “But I meant what I said. I know this is going to work. You wouldn’t have gone this far to save Leo in the first place if you didn’t care about him.”

“Yes, fine, I appreciate having your blessing,” Draxum muttered hurriedly under his breath, twisting to keep his back to his old work buddy. “Now please stop talking.”

“Wait, wait! I have something for you. A good luck charm! Here, reach into the pocket of my hoodie,” he said, twisting his body to give better access to it.

Draxum raised an eyebrow but humored him, retrieving one of the many stickers that Mikey carried around. “What am I looking at,” he asked flatly, turning it over in his hands.

“A smiley face! That’s a good one; they match my knee pads. Put it on!” Mikey grinned, gesturing encouragingly at Draxum. When the yokai’s expression turned confused, he helpfully added, “You have to peel it.”

When at last the alchemist was able to peel off the sticker’s backing, however, he gasped loudly. “This is crafted from the same high sorcery that created the tape O’Neil used to seal the Mystic Orb!”

“Not the reaction I was expecting, but glad you’re hyped!”

“Thank you,” the yokai said stiffly, but still pressed the smiley face sticker to the front of his robe, Mikey noted. The awkwardness was gone from his voice when Draxum spoke up again. “And remember: do not interfere. Once this ritual begins, it’s imperative you stay on this side of the circle.”

Mikey stared quizzically at the alchemist’s back as Draxum turned away, walking closer to the center of the circle. Don’t interfere?

That was the second time he’d given him a warning like that.

Gasping for air, Jet wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “I love it, I love it. All right!” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Huginn, Muninn,” Draxum ordered, moving into position. “Keep an eye at the front of the lab for the return of the rat and his brood.”

The two gargoyles saluted, and flew for the door. They poked their heads back in not a moment later.

“Good luck, Baron Draxum,” Huginn said.

“Yeah,” Muninn added on, flashing a thumbs up. “We believe in you, too!”

Draxum hung his head, trying to hold back his embarrassment as Jet flicked his tongue, clearly entertained. “You have your orders,” the alchemist growled.

“Right. Okay!” And with that, the two of them flew off.

Rolling up his sleeves, Draxum took his place standing directly across from Leo’s cot. Now that Mikey was examining the magic circle more closely, he noticed that it contained three smaller ones; Leo and Draxum were situated in the two that were drawn in the middle ring, while Jet flew to hover over one that was situated between them at the circle’s very center. Mikey sat as close as he could get to Leo without obstructing his view of everyone else.

“Baron Draxum offering to play intermediary for someone,” Jet chuckled, shaking his head. “Still can’t believe my eyes. Guess that means you got over that little handicap of yours, huh?”

Mikey laid his hands in his lap, looking between the two yokai. “Handicap?”

Jet inclined his head, gesturing to Draxum the way one might do while holding a door open for someone else. After you, his smarmy grin seemed to say.

“My affinity with plants overshadowed many of my talents. Admittedly, it also suppressed my potential in other fields. Normally, I cannot trade energy freely as you and your kin do.”

A memory came to him from the week prior, back when Draxum had first helped him with his arms.

(“I’m going to try and draw the stagnant magic out. It won’t work from my side, but you will hopefully feel a tug.”)

Is that what he had meant, when he said it wouldn’t work from his side…? Mikey wondered if that was a common issue or not.

“And that’s gonna make this super interesting.” Jet hung upside down, waggling his eyebrows. “Because I know you wouldn’t waste my time, Draxum, so you must be good for this.”

Draxum smirked. “Oh, I’m good for it.”

Jet clapped his hands again, flipping upright again. “Tell me how you did it. Did you finally crack one of those science projects of yours? Tampered with your own DNA?”

Snorting, Draxum reached for something in his robe. “No.”

“Ooh, ooh, I have it!” Mikey bounced in place. “You realized your plants were a barrier between yourself and others, and that was keeping you from letting people in!”

“What? No! Your guesses are terrible,” Draxum said, hand wrapped around a glass vial containing something bright and green. “I stole Empyrean to skip all of the extra steps and extract my soul directly.”

And in the breath before Mikey could process what that meant, Draxum smashed the vial against the ground.

Chapter Text

In all his years working with Empyrean, Baron Draxum had taken great care to never use it on himself; be it glass or heavy gloves, there had always been a barrier between himself and the substance.

As a pawn of the Council of Heads, at first it was out of respect for their teachings—Empyrean was sacred to the yokai, and had to be treated as such. To behold it at all was an honor. By the time he’d struck out on his own, the stars had fallen from his eyes, but not his good sense. Pure, distilled power that amplified the effects of every ritual it was included in, Empyrean had earned the reverence it was treated with. To throw caution to the wind while handling it would be repeating the mistakes of John Bishop, and Draxum had no interest in exploring Empyrean’s potential if it came with a chain that left him forever beholden to it.

Now, screaming himself hoarse as his soul was torn from his body, Draxum wondered why he’d never tried it, not even once.

Sure, the pain was agonizing. He could also do without the brief rush of blinding terror that came from the literal out-of-body experience, but hey. You had to crack eggs to make an omelet.

And now that he had, Draxum was cooking.

He couldn’t feel the energy—he was the energy. Shouts of pain turned into bellowing laughter as Draxum explored his senses and felt his perception of himself expand. This energy had to go somewhere, but if he only adjusted this first—and if he tweaked that—then the possibilities would be endless.

“Marvelous! Why did I never try this sooner?” Draxum questioned, flexing his hand. His aura was a tangible mass that filled the room, and with his form, it mimicked the motion. “My mind has never felt so sharp! So focused, so… energized!”

Bees buzzed. He ignored them, laughing madly. Only seconds could have passed, but Draxum felt as though he had every scrap of knowledge he’d ever amounted at his fingertips, his mind drawing connections between them in leaps and bounds that had never occurred to him prior. In his forays into the world of genetics, he’d long ago written off the path of spiritualism as being a dead end, but clearly that had been a mistake. He doubted Empyrean could bring about true enlightenment, but with even a grasp of it, there was no telling what he could have accomplished.

“I could use this…” he realized aloud. The bees continued their incessant noise, like a hive cracked open. “The quality of my work would improve tenfold. I could rebuild; start over! The shadow cast over the Hidden City by the Shredder may have passed, but this alien invasion has proven that threats to our peace will not end with him. But with this, I could—!”

“Draxum!” Several voices clamored above the buzzing. No, they were the source of the buzzing.

Who would dare interrupt him? The room was a maelstrom of energy, thick and magenta and near impossible to see through, but for a moment he caught sight of it—wide, terrified eyes framed by an orange mask.

“Barry!” Michelangelo’s voice was desperate, just barely audible as the energy cracked and stole his vision again. “Barry, please!”

Why was he pleading?

No, more than that…

What had Draxum been doing, again?

Memories came back to him in a rush: Leonardo’s aura shrinking like a collapsing sun before his eyes; a raging infection that stole over him like a thief in the night, burning him inside out with fever. When healthy, the boy had always been an obnoxious presence—always moving, always chattering about some nonsense or the other—but as he’d carried Leonardo in his arms, it had felt wrong to see him so lifeless and still.

Right. Purpose washed over him like ice water, reminding him of what was important, and Draxum breathed in deeply to center himself.

Immediately, the storm of energy began to coalesce as, bit by bit, he seized back control. Sweat beaded Draxum’s brow from the effort, but he persisted until the avatar bearing his likeness—his soul made manifest—stopped floating overhead and shrank in on itself, no longer swallowing up the room, but outlining his physical form like a shroud.

It felt strange to be manipulating his soul outside his body like this, but also not so unusual. The only barrier, really, had been surpassing his own limits and maintaining his energy outside of his body. With that done, it was really no different from the manner in which he manipulated his plants. The alchemist shuddered to think how much life force he’d bled in his lack of restraint, but so long as he kept steady control over his energy from now on, the costs should still be minimal in the long run. He could do this.

“Barry?” Michelangelo’s voice again; worried, but hopeful. “Are you back with us?”

“Yes,” Draxum began, only to wince. His throat hurt terribly. He coughed to clear it, though it helped little. “Forgive me. I was not expecting such a… pronounced reaction.”

“I’ll say!” Jet chimed in, and Draxum could recognize the manic gleam of interest in his eyes. “I’ve been doing this for near two centuries now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a healing ritual this flashy. What a damn hoot!”

“...This guy was seriously the best healer you could find?”

“Hey,” Jet challenged sharply, pointing a clawed finger in Michelangelo’s direction. “I’ll have you know, I come highly requested.”

“Enough,” Draxum called. Council of Heads, did everything ache. The sooner they wrapped this up, the better. “I’ve achieved the first step. What do I do from here?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jet warned. It was a rare, serious tone Draxum had only had the fortune to hear when the healer was focused on his work. “This should’ve started with me running a diagnostic. But then you went and jumped the gun, so now we gotta back up a step.”

Well, that was irksome.

“Right. I’ll just continue to… hold this, I suppose.” Draxum shifted from foot to foot, grunting from the strain he was under. “Just the cascading energy of my life force. No big deal.”

“You brought it on yourself.”

Unfortunately he couldn’t argue with that.

Jet flapped his wings and touched back down in the center of the circle, inhaling deeply and folding himself into the lotus position. Draxum bore with it, gritting his teeth and giving the healer space to do what he needed. The way he moved his hands reminded Draxum of a potter working with clay; with a wave, the mystical runes spun like a wheel and glowed brightly, conferring information to their master at a speed too fast for the alchemist to decipher.

About a minute passed before Jet tilted his head, quick and birdlike. “What the hell kind of beating did this kid take? Even for the Makers of Brutality, this would be pushing it.”

“It’s a long story,” Michelangelo said softly, looking forlornly to his brother.

“And not one you’re being paid to hear,” Draxum reminded.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jet was clearly annoyed. Not that Draxum minded, considering what he knew of the healer’s personality. The kobold was the kind of person who would tear up another person’s couch looking for loose coins—if those coins were trauma and secrets, that is. Draxum was not foolish enough to suspect he could keep everything hidden; with the information Jet could discern from his diagnostic, the healer had almost certainly uncovered the boys weren’t yokai by this point. Most likely…

His train of thought was cut off as Jet’s reptilian eyes alighted on him with a knowing smirk. Draxum kept his face schooled, but knew it was for naught. Yes; going by that look, Jet had certainly worked out that Leonardo was a product of genetic modification, and had put two and two together to make four. The slider’s accelerated healing would give it away, if nothing else.

It was more than Draxum was comfortable with him knowing, but it also couldn’t be helped.

“Eugh, that sucks.” When he only got a raised eyebrow as a response, the dragon yokai clarified himself. “You weren’t far off about how long he’s got. He’ll last longer than the session at least, but his life force is too weak for me to start meddling now. We’ll have to top him off first.”

Michelangelo frowned from his position outside the circle. “I thought you were going to do that anyway?”

“Nah. If we could afford to, it’d be better to treat his other ailments first and save the life transference for the end; it puts less stress on the intermediary that way. I’d risk it if I was guiding someone more experienced, but I doubt Draxum can maintain this for longer than an hour, so…” The healer sighed heavily. With another wave of his hand, the magic circle dimmed. “Yeah, I’m not seeing another option. We’ll have to work backwards.”

“Wonderful,” Draxum replied, deadpan. “Would you instruct me now?”

“All right, fine. You’ve been patient.” Jet beckoned him with his fingers. “Keep a thin but steady stream of your energy coming at me. I’ll evaluate your compatibility with the kid as we go.”

That wasn’t a problem, at least. If anything, Draxum was all too relieved to relinquish some of it, willing his life force to go. By the end of it he was left panting, but his aura surged forward all the same like a long, magenta vine. It crawled down the length of his finger, then across the particles in the air to meet Jet’s outstretched hand.

The other yokai nodded appreciatively, swirling the energy into the palm of his hand. “It’s garbage, but honestly, I didn’t expect you to get even this far.” Sniffling obnoxiously, Jet mimicked wiping away a tear. “Baby’s first attempt at resonance. I wish I had my camera.”

“Jet.”

“If you remember the theory from our studies back in the day, I don’t have much else to tell you. All that’s left is for you to achieve resonance.”

“A connection goes two ways. So long as he remains unconscious, that’s impossible.”

“He can hear you. Part of him, anyway,” Jet added dismissively, gesturing to the runes around them. “The circle takes care of that. You just have to do the heavy lifting.”

Draxum considered the situation with a low hum. It didn’t help him with the task at hand, but in some ways that was preferable. He’d rather Leonardo not learn of this matter.

“Very well, then.” He straightened his shoulders and focused, thinking back to all he could remember learning about this subject in the days of his mystical training.

It had been so long ago that Draxum did not expect to recall much but, under the influence of the Empyrean, the information came to him as clearly as if the scrolls were in his hands. For those naturally compatible with one another, no effort was required; for the rest, resonance was typically achieved by sharing memories or interests—anything to establish the kind of common ground that would foster a bond.

“Common ground, huh.” That could be a problem; he and Leonardo saw eye-to-eye on very little. “What do we have in common…”

He stroked his chin, turning the facts over in his mind. Whatever boost in mental acuity he was getting from the Empyrean didn’t seem to have any effect this time around. The reasons why that might be fascinated Draxum, but he didn’t dare let himself get swept away by his curiosity, lest he lose sight of his true goal once again.

“Ahem. You’ve… certainly grown into your abilities.” Some light praise should be an easy avenue, given Leonardo’s propensity to show off. “There’s something to be said about honing a single skill to its utmost potential. When I first began my training, it was much the same; my teachers failed to recognize my aptitude but, within the span of a few years, I demonstrated finer control over plants than any student before me.”

It was a proud memory for him, but apparently not enough. Crickets sounded in response, and Jet shook his head. Fine. Draxum could admit that when it came back to Leonardo in that comparison, his own role was more akin to his teacher’s than it was to his younger self.

Back to the drawing board, then.

“Not every Lou Jitsu move is terrible,” he tried again, after a moment of thought. “The musical was enjoyable. The plot was nonsense, of course, but the choreography and vocal talent punched above your average B Movie.”

“Leo hates that one, actually,” Michelangelo said apologetically, as Jet flashed him a thumbs down sign. “He thinks the supporting cast’s acting let it down.”

“Of course he would,” Draxum muttered under his breath. Well, there was no accounting for bad taste. He was sure he would come up with something eventually.

:

:

:

Ten minutes later, his head throbbed with such fury that he could almost feel his brain leaking out his ears. A chill that settled in his limbs had sent him to his knees some time ago, deep and aching, and the warmth of his clothes offered no respite. Massaging his temples with numb fingers, Draxum met a wall.

“This would be a pitiful way to die, Leonardo,” he snapped. “You’d make your brother upset. I don’t want that. I doubt you want that.”

“Yeahhhh,” Jet piped up, from behind the game of cat’s cradle he was playing—with Draxum’s life force as the strings, no less. “That’s poison? If I gave this to him now, it’d be poison.” Pulling a blackened strand of energy away, the healer flicked it away, and it dissipated before hitting the floor like so much mist.

If looks could kill, Jet would have been out of his hair centuries ago, but the concept was worth revisiting. Draxum slammed his palm against the ground. “If you would explain things clearly, perhaps we would be making more progress!”

“It ain’t me! A kid could do this, Drax. Hell, the pests in your ceiling could do a better job than this!”

“Okay!” Michelangelo jumped to his feet. “Dr. Feelings is in the house, and he’s calling a timeout.”

Slouching his shoulders forward, Draxum glared at him crossly. “We can hardly afford to stop now—”

“No need to stop! It’s just a quick huddle.” Michelangelo assured him, leaving his place by Leonardo’s side to crouch next to the alchemist instead, while still keeping outside of the magic circle. His expression softened. “You’re getting too caught up in your head, Barry.”

It surprised him how much those words stung. “I’m trying to get through to him.”

Michelangelo waved his hands. “I know you are! It’s just that… everything you’re spouting is all pretty superficial, you know? Like, come on. Hawaiian pizza? Seriously?”

“Yes, well.” Finding himself with no defense, Draxum pinched the bridge of his nose. “I admit I was scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one.”

“You’re just coming at it the wrong way. You gotta stop thinking with this—” he tapped the side of his head— “And start thinking with this.”

The box turtle shifted his hand to hover over his own heart, eyes bright and painfully earnest. It was an attitude Draxum had, against his better judgment, become fond of—though not one he felt he could share.

“That is—”

“Foolish sentimentality?” Michelangelo mimicked his voice in a low and gruff tone, smile small, but amused. “You’re not so above it. All that smart guy logic you gave me earlier went right out the window as soon as you smashed that vial open.”

Draxum grunted, already weary of this conversation. “It irks me that I cannot refute that.”

“Right? So why’d you really do it?”

He thought of the humans, running themselves ragged; Donatello coming apart at the seams both literally and figuratively. Raphael wasn’t far behind, more fragile than his size would imply. And the rat…

A shiver wracked his frame, from weakness or rage he did not know. Hunching forward, Draxum wrapped his arms around himself and stared ahead at Jet, mouth pressed into a thin line. Even if he wanted to reply—and he did not—there was the matter of their present company. Chin propped up on a fist, the kobold had the cheek to waggle his eyebrows back at him.

Bastard.

Refusing to be the first to look away, he changed his mind on a dime. The great Baron Draxum was a goat, not a cow.

“Your family has enough worries,” he answered, forthright and plainly. “Better to have it be me than one of you.”

Jet blinked in surprise, clearly surprised by that response. He would regret this later, perhaps, but for now Draxum only took great satisfaction in watching his smirk fall—though the victory was likely to be short-lived.

“So this is just about helping us? Not Leo?”

“What?” Draxum’s gaze snapped back to the box turtle, taken aback. “No, of course I want to help your brother! For all our grievances, I do not—”

The explanation wasn’t required, he realized too late, finding a proud gleam in Michelangelo’s eyes.

“There! Hold on to that feeling.” From his tone, you’d think the boy had made some great discovery worth celebrating. Michelangelo nodded at him, brimming with encouragement. “And try again. You’ll get it this time.”

Less convinced, Draxum could only stare at him. But then again…

At this point, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by trying. Slowly, he raised his eyes; looked away from Michelangelo and past Jet’s head to the gurney on the other side of the circle, where Leonardo lay.

There was another reason he was doing this, yes. It was not an appeal he anticipated the slider accepting, however; he’d have to find another way to prove that he cared. The problem was there was very little to draw on. Michelangelo had declared him family with little prompting, of course, and he and Lou Jitsu had settled their differences. In the past week, he’d gotten to know both Raphael and Donatello well enough, and April was easily his favorite human long before that.

Leonardo, though? He barely knew him at all. They could hardly be in the same room together without a jab about the time Draxum threw him from a roof. Until last week, he was certain the boy would rebuff him to the end of his days.

…Wait. Maybe that would do.

He held on to that feeling—that instinct—and didn’t let go.

(“With all that’s happened, I must have lost track of the time. I hadn’t realized the weekend had passed.”)

“When O’Neil told me what day it was, I played it off, but I was disappointed,” he began, watching Leonardo gasp for breath behind his oxygen mask. “Perhaps you were joking. Or maybe it was the drugs talking, and you meant nothing by it. But still…”

He thought of a medbay fit into a train car; of Michelangelo’s sleepy giggles as Draxum spent his borrowed power on a light show, miniature portals sparking along his knuckles like the smallest of fireworks. There was an odd pressure building in his head, but he recalled Michelangelo falling asleep; how, on a whim, he’d elected to carry him to somewhere more comfortable to rest—only to find Leonardo watching him.

Their conversation spanned little more than a few words, the boy only asking after his brother’s injuries. By the time Draxum replied, he’d already been half-asleep.

(“Good. Thanks.” Leonardo made a face, and shifted his free hand to let it rest on Casey’s hair. “Dinner on Sunday. Or something.”)

Vision tunneling, Draxum dragged his fingers against the rough stone floor, feeling his skin tingle as if scrubbed with menthol.

“You missed Sunday dinner. I expect a rain check.”

His ears popped, and the world went away.

A table stood before him; empty, but set for eight.

He half expected a restaurant to go along with it, but the scene seemed to have been stripped bare of everything but a concrete floor. A glance upwards revealed a night sky starkly divided by a winding, pale blue aurora. Scattered stars made the side Draxum stood under somewhat brighter; in contrast, the opposite side of the line was pitch black.

“Huh. I wasn’t expecting you.”

The yokai lowered his eyes to find he was no longer alone. A figure sat at the table, spectral and not entirely whole. The outline was there, but it was as if it had been scoured haphazardly with an eraser until key features were left blurred. Yet even with the top half of his face missing, it was still recognizably Leonardo.

“Is that so.” Draxum arched an eyebrow. “Who were you expecting, then?”

“Thought I heard…” The boy’s head lolled as if it was too heavy to be supported by his neck. Though Draxum could not read his expression, he seemed to be looking at a plate next to him, marked by a folded orange napkin. “Hm.”

He patiently waited for Leonardo to continue, prodding only when a response no longer seemed forthcoming. “Yes?”

“...Dunno.” The slider made a confused noise and shrugged his shoulders, one hazy and one not. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

So even here, he could not escape his delirium. That could make things difficult.

“We were having dinner,” Draxum answered. For now, perhaps it would be simplest to play along.

“Right!” Leonardo snapped his fingers, sitting up straighter. “Riiiiight. Sunday.”

The boy could barely string a coherent thought together, but he still remembered that? Draxum’s mouth curled into a small smile. Despite everything, it was good to hear his voice.

“You gonna keep standing there? C’mon. Sit.”

Draxum approached the table. When he moved to pull the chair back, however, he was surprised to find his hands were already occupied. A ball of light was cupped between his palms, warm to the touch and colored the same magenta hue as his aura.

“Whatcha got there?” Leonardo asked.

His job wasn’t done just yet, it seemed. Transferring the orb to one hand, Draxum took his seat opposite from the turtle.

“It’s for you,” he replied, offering up his life force freely. “Take it.”

“Cassserole, huh?” The grin on the boy’s face was one Draxum had come to recognize, and usually meant he was about to make a terrible joke. “Minus 200 points for being unoriginal, but I’ll casse-roll with it.”

Draxum snorted. That joke would almost be funny, if it wasn’t so concerning.

“Aww. Ease up, Barry.” Leonardo waved his hand in a grabby motion, reaching for the light. Missing it entirely on the first pass, he fumbled for it a second time. “M’jokes are hilarious.”

Wait. How did he…?

The alchemist didn’t have long to ponder the questions that raised, because the instant Leonardo made contact with the orb, he hissed and snatched his hand back as if burned—and to Draxum’s horror, the outline of his form wavered like static on an old television set.

“Are you all right?” he asked, jumping to his feet and sending his chair toppling over behind him.

“That didn’t…” Curling in on himself, Leonardo gagged as if he were about to be sick. “Didn’t feel good…”

Why is this happening? Is the resonance not complete? Draxum ran a hand through his hair, as worried as he was exasperated. That he was here in the first place meant they should have reached some kind of understanding, so why was Leonardo’s spirit still rejecting him?

“Why are you blaming me?” Leonardo interrupted his train of thought. His tone was only defensive but, inexplicably, Draxum felt deeply hurt. “It’s your fault, not mine.”

Bristling at the implication, the yokai just barely managed a civil response. “I never said it was.”

Not that courtesy mattered here. Something had gone very wrong. With mounting dread, Draxum suspected that his mind was no longer his own in this place—and neither were his emotions, most likely. It had to be a two-way street. This feeling in his chest; it was the outburst of a sullen child, and not a grown man.

In a sudden movement, Leonardo pushed his seat back and began stumbling away on shaky legs.

“Where are you going?” Draxum questioned, following after.

“You’re a jerk, and I don’t gotta take this.”

No, no. They couldn’t afford two steps back right now. Orb still in hand, Draxum dashed to catch up with him. “Listen to me, you fool. I’m trying to save you—”

You hurt me.

Just shy of touching Leonardo, he flinched back. The boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the slightest, but Draxum still understood his dismay as clearly as if he were looking at it through a magnifying glass. The intensity of it took the yokai aback; he wasn’t used to seeing Leonardo so emotional. A flash of insight struck him that the slider disliked that he was being seen like this.

“That was not my intent.” Frustration bubbled inside his chest. Draxum was genuinely unsure which side it came from, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to make Leonardo understand he was not here to do harm.

“Right.” Leonardo whirled around on him, throwing his hands in the air. “Just like the time you threw me off a building.”

Draxum clenched his teeth. “Is that what this is about? I should have known.” Always, always it came back to this. “Fine. Hold your grudge forever-”

GET OUT.

A gale knocked him off his feet, sending both him and the table flying backwards. Instinct demanded he scrabble for anything to hold onto, but he didn’t know what would happen if he let go of the gift of life energy he was here to deliver; protecting it, he clutched the orb close to his chest instead, an instance before his back slammed against—a wall?

No, Draxum realized uneasily. It’s a parapet.

At some point in the midst of their argument, Leonardo’s mindscape had expanded, revealing more of itself. He had been right to assume the ground was concrete, but failed to realize the bigger picture. If the parapet hadn’t been enough to clue him in, the skyline would.

This was the roof of the Grand Nexus Hotel. The fall below might not be real, but he had the sneaking suspicion that being blown off the edge would break their resonance.

No matter what, Draxum could not let that happen. Crouching low to the ground to better brace himself against the wind, he tucked the orb of life under his shoulder and made to army crawl away from the edge.

Turning his back on him (the cracks over his shell looked painted over in Wite-Out) and clutching his hands to his head, Leonardo clearly didn’t like that.

If you don’t care, just—just leave!

The wave of anger was expected, but it was duller than he would have thought it to be, given just how long this had been festering. No, there was a stronger emotion running beneath it instead; something familiar to Draxum, even if he couldn’t name it right away.

“I do care! But this isn’t something you should—” Even that felt like revealing too much, and Draxum snapped his mouth shut. Damn it all, but he had never wanted to have this conversation. He shouted against the wind, trying a different tack instead. “I can’t change the past, Leonardo!”

Disbelief. And oh, Draxum had a name for this feeling after all; it was disappointment.

“M’not asking you t’go back in time and—and hit undo.” Leonardo swayed on his feet, walking away. Above him, the sky rotated on its axis, making it look as if he were strolling towards the void. “Pizza Supreme,” he scoffed breathlessly, “you really don’t get it.”

Then what was he asking? His bewilderment must have been strong enough it’d transmitted, because he was immediately met with a wounded pang.

For the love of—you don’t treat family like that, okay?

Draxum froze, shuddering as the wind grew fiercer, whistling in his ears, and thought of a table set for eight. “Family?”

“Go away,” Leonardo keened, but his inner voice still came through. Yes! Families make up with each other. I shouldn’t have to say this!

The alchemist scarcely knew what to do with this information. Leonardo had been resistant to having anything to do with him for so long that Draxum had just assumed he would hold the roof incident over his head forever—he’d even been okay with that, if that was the boy’s choice.

But to apologize? Where would he even begin? Often Draxum wished he could go back and change what happened that night, not to put an end to Leonardo’s endless badgering on the matter (though that was part of it), but because thinking of it for too long made him feel sick. It was unpleasant. Nearly every time he saw the boy’s face he was plagued by regret, and he didn’t know how to…

The world was quiet.

When had the wind stopped?

Draxum lifted his eyes and found Leonardo turned to look back at him from over his shoulder, staring with that half missing face.

“You... regret it?” The slider sounded tired. And genuinely surprised.

“Of course,” he confessed. The words cut his throat like gravel, but were met with no opposition as he tested the waters and climbed back to his feet. “I didn’t understand at the time how much I stood to lose,” he added, awkward but honest.

He’d been such a blind fool that he’d nearly killed his own son.

“Oh,” Leonardo said dumbly. “Huh. Maybe you do get it…”

And then he swayed, knees buckling.

“Leonardo!” Draxum lunged forward, just barely catching him before his head cracked against the floor. The boy’s form wavered like fog, and it was just as hard to keep a grip on him.

“Sorry. I’m…” He couldn’t tell what Leonardo was looking at, but he seemed to be getting weaker in his arms. “Can we talk about it later? ‘M really tired…”

The yokai looked above them, finding the ray of blue light that divided the night was far behind them. Call him superstitious, but he didn’t like how close to the darkness they were now.

“Just… Just listen to me for a little longer,” he replied, swallowing down his panic. It was desperation more than anything that saw him lifting Leonardo in a fireman’s carry; if the turtle couldn’t move on his own, Draxum would do it for him. They had to get to the other side of that line.

“Nngh. ‘Kay…” The boy groaned, but didn’t fight him. Draxum wasn’t sure that he could, even if he wanted to.

It was a short distance, but he had to fight for each step. His heart felt just as heavy as his feet, because what could he say? His son wanted an apology but, all evidence of the contrary, this wasn’t the place for one. He wasn’t sure how much of this Leonardo would even remember, so when Draxum did apologize—properly, on the outside—he wanted the boy to be well and on his feet again.

As if to spite that wish, Leonardo went completely limp.

No! They weren’t on the side of the living, but they had made it under the blue aurora again, so that would have to be good enough. Draxum dropped immediately, taking the turtle into his arms as if afraid he would disappear. Because he very well might, if he couldn’t figure out how to transfer his life force to him.

Draxum held the orb of light to Leonardo’s chest, willing him to accept it. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he felt a slight pull. It still wasn’t enough.

What to do?

There was a pulse then, not in his chest but outside it, and something faintly glowed—a smiley face sticker placed right over his heart.

(“You’re just coming at it the wrong way. You gotta stop thinking with this—” Michelangelo tapped the side of his head— “And start thinking with this.”)

Leonardo hadn’t disappeared yet, so a part of him must still be around to listen. Draxum cradled him in his arms, and laid his soul bare.

“I never intended to apologize,” he started, giving the boy a gentle shake. Please let him still be in there. “Not because you don’t deserve one, but because my actions are not something you should forgive.”

With the oozequitoes as his line drawn in the sand, Draxum hadn’t pulled his punches that night. Had Raphael not unlocked his mystic powers at that moment… Well. He didn’t care to dwell on the what-ifs.

“I tried to kill you. The way I see it, you should continue to hold that against me; I’ve certainly nursed longer grudges, and for far less personal slights. So it’s not like I haven’t earned this. If that means annoying me day after day—” He caught himself. “Well, no. I would rather you drop it, it’s tiresome. But… perhaps it is not unwarranted.”

Still nothing? Draxum felt lead settle in his belly, but kept talking. He didn’t know what more he could do.

“You bring it up constantly, but somehow I never considered that had been your way of nagging me,” he whispered to himself, contemplatively. “It would seem I have much to make up for.”

Beneath his hand, the light felt warmer. It jolted him back to attention, searching Leonardo’s face for any sign of awareness. Without eyes it was hard to tell, but Draxum could not shake the feeling that someone was watching him now.

“I can’t do that if you’re not around.” Encouraged, he continued with more urgency, pushing the orb of life energy at the boy again and praying it would work this time. “Live, Leonardo. Give me the chance to make this right. Please.”

Something pulled and something gave. In his hand, as the orb became a fireball and then an inferno, magenta igniting into teal flames that swallowed the both of them whole. It didn’t hurt.

If anything, it felt like home.

“...know he’s all right?” A voice came from very far away. “He looks so…”

“C’mon, kid… profess…” Another voice, cutting in and out like a tuning radio. “...more credit than that.”

He was lying face down against… something. His body ached from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes, leaving him cold and hollowed out in a way he hadn’t felt since the Dark Armor drained his life force. It wasn’t a pleasant reminder, and Draxum cracked one eye open, half-expecting to find himself in the rainy alley he escaped to once more.

Strange. There was a puddle next to him.

“But he’s been out for a really long time.” That was Michelangelo. “And you said you weren’t finished!”

“Uh-huh.” Jet’s voice was strained, and just a touch testy. “Can’t emphasize enough how much concentration this takes, by the way. Just putting that out there.”

“Let the healer work, Orange. It’s normal for a ritual such as this to take some time, especially for those with conditions as serious as your brother’s.” There was a beat, and then: “Though I have to say, this is the first time I’ve seen an intermediary collapse in their own drool.”

Well, that was undignified.

Draxum recoiled, swiping at his mouth and rolling onto his back with great effort, because that voice could only belong to the last person he wanted to see: a furry, three-foot bowling ball with legs.

“What are you doing here, rat?”

Michelangelo caught the movement immediately, face lighting up like a Christmas tree.“Barry!” he exclaimed, leaning as far into Draxum’s space as he could get without crossing into the circle proper. “You’re okay!”

“Told you,” Jet remarked snappily. Hovering over Leonardo with his hands placed over the boy’s chest, he had his back turned to Draxum.

It was Lou who had his attention, though, standing beside Michelangelo with a hand to his chest and feigning innocence. “Who? Me?”

“Yes, you!” Draxum fired back, feeling lightheaded. “You shouldn’t be back yet!”

“You really thought you had me fooled? Ha! And you called my acting pathetic!” The rat threw back his head and laughed, a short, barking sound. When he looked back at Draxum, however, his mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “No, I suspected you were up to something, so I made sure to return on the double.”

Turning his head away, the yokai scoffed. “So much for trust.”

“That’s not it, Barry!” Michelangelo came to his father’s defense. “Dad was really worried about you. Ohmigosh, you should have seen it—when you passed out, he came leaping from the ceiling!”

“Wha—!” Lou gasped as if betrayed, slapping Michelangelo’s shell with the tip of his tail. “I was not worried! Do not put words in my mouth!”

“Well I was worried. You scared the crap out of me.” The box turtle whispered that last part, looking him over with a pinched forehead. Draxum could see that worry hadn’t entirely faded. “Things were going okay for a while, but then you just dropped. And your aura was bleeding everywhere.”

…Of course. If he was unconscious he’d no longer have been able to control his energy flow, but under the effects of the Empyrean, he’d continue leaking like a sieve. It was no wonder he felt like hell frozen over, and Draxum glanced over himself with alarm.

To his surprise, he looked better than he felt. More importantly than that, despite what Michelangelo had just revealed, his aura seemed contained enough. It still wrapped around him like a tangible shroud, strangely teal instead of the magenta it had been before, though Draxum noted it was much thinner. Had he gone through so much of his life force that this was all that was left?

Impossible. Unless…? The thought was sobering.

“Don’t worry about it,” came the unexpected answer. Jet hadn’t even looked back at him, manipulating dozens of mystic needles in the air. Some hovered on standby, while others passed painlessly through Leonardo’s skin. “It wasn’t easy, but I kept you in check until you hit resonance, and I could transfer your life force to the kid. Now I’m just siphoning off the excess for the rest of his treatment.”

Lou narrowed his eyes. “And you couldn’t tell us that sooner?”

He could hear the smirk in Jet’s voice. “You’re not the one paying me; I don’t owe a party crasher squat.”

If that were the case, he’d stow the rest of his concerns for later. They could wait. “How is he?”

When Jet didn’t respond immediately, he knew there’d be a catch.

“Good news first? I wrapped up the soul transference before you woke up, and it took. He’s out of immediate danger.”

To the side of the circle, Michelangelo and the rat turned to each other, overjoyed.

Draxum didn’t allow himself the same courtesy so quickly. “And the bad news?”

Jet clucked his tongue with annoyance. Whatever he had to say must have rankled at his pride. “I’m not gonna be able to deliver on everything I promised; not unless you’re willing to do this twice. I got to you in time to keep that energy leak from getting dangerous, but you still lost a lot of life force all at once. It left me with less to work with than I would’ve liked.”

“That’s far from ideal.” Draxum sighed, drawing up a knee to drape his arm over, and flicking his eyes over to Leonardo. Jet must have done something to keep him under, because the boy remained wholly out of it even as the healer operated on him with his needles. “Just… do as much as you can, to ensure he heals quickly.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Michelangelo left his side then, to circle back to his brother. “Could you focus on his shoulder? He has this really bad infection…”

“I could, but I’d rather kill two birds with one stone. Kid’s got one hell of an immune system and healing factor here…” Keen interest colored the kobold’s voice, as if he were looking at something only he could see. Most likely, he was. “A couple of temporary tweaks, and I could speed his recovery up in all the places he needs it.”

“So your solution is just strengthening his immune system?” Lou tugged on his beard. “I feel like at that rate, we could just order some supplements off the television.”

“I’m not strengthening it,” Jet corrected sharply. “You must hang out with humans; their kind are obsessed with that garbo. Ever hear the saying you can have too much of a good thing? That applies to healing too. So no, we ain’t giving him a boost. We’re giving him a switchblade.”

“A switchblade?” Michelangelo raised a brow ridge, glancing between healer and patient.

“Yeah. Your ideal immune system isn’t super buff or super weak; it’s a dude sleeping with a switchblade under his pillow. He ain’t picking fights, but when someone picks one with him, he’ll stab ‘em.”

“Wow.” The rat clapped his hands together. “That is an oddly specific metaphor.”

“And you came up with it so quickly!” Michelangelo gaped. “You can stab a fever? Why don’t they put that in a bottle??”

“Heh. You can stab anything if you put your mind to it.”

Draxum clutched a hand to his chest, winded. “The less those two talk,” he muttered breathlessly, “the better.”

“You’re the one who brought him,” Lou huffed without animosity, and Draxum was genuinely unsure if he meant the healer or the boy. But then the rat side-eyed him, lowering his voice. “Can you hang in long enough for him to finish, Draxum? You’re looking rough.”

“This is nothing.” He’d been in much worse shape than this. “I haven’t suffered anything I can’t sleep off.”

The rat hummed, watching him with an expression Draxum didn’t know how to read. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to read it; the only person he’d wanted to find out about this less than Leonardo was his father. If he was asked to explain himself…

Lou opened his mouth, only to shut it again. Then he sat, hands tucked in the sleeves of his robe and deliberately looking away, and they were left with an awkward silence.

:

:

:

Unbidden, Draxum’s mind wandered for a time after that. As much as he wanted to pay attention, his pain and fatigue were very distracting.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes, so it startled him when a hand clapped his shoulder, giving it a good shake. Draxum jolted, blinking to find Jet crouched ahead of him. The kobold had reclaimed his sword, balancing it over his shoulder. A second look revealed the glow of the magic circle around them had faded.

The alchemist sat up straighter, trying to reclaim his authority and composure. “It’s done, then?”

“As good as it’s gonna get, anyway. Thanks for the show.” The healer popped his hat back on his head. “I’ve worked with better intermediaries than you—a lot better—but none quite as entertaining.”

“This is why you were fired.”

“As if. I quit, same as you. Now you gonna pay me, or what?”

The room spun as he stood, but he managed, sparing a glance for Leonardo. Michelangelo and the rat were crowded against the makeshift vine gurney and, upon seeing him standing, his youngest shot him a bright, tearful expression, beckoning him to join them. Draxum felt himself smile back, small, and held up a finger as if to say ‘one moment’.

He didn’t have far to lead Jet; the briefcase of unicorns was only on the opposite end of the room, though the walk was slow. He used it to his advantage, lowering his voice. “Will he remember any of the ritual?”

“The kid?” At Draxum’s nod, Jet shrugged. “I dunno. They say that thing about fevers frying your brain is a myth, but his head was a freaking omelet. So normally I’d doubt it, but things always get a little weird when the soul’s involved.”

Draxum wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Belatedly he realized that, no matter what answer Jet gave, it was always going to leave him conflicted.

Handing off the briefcase, he left Jet to count his unicorns. Later, the healer would have to be blindfolded and escorted off the premises; he’d get the gargoyles to do it, if he could find them again. They were clearly better guides than they were security guards, given the rat had managed to slip past them. For now, though, his place was with Lou and the boys—with his family.

As he approached the gurney, they made room for him to squeeze in as if it were natural.

“His fever is still high,” the rat remarked, palm cupped to Leonardo’s forehead. “But the healer said we should start seeing a change in a matter of hours.”

“I think he’s already breathing a little better. But check it out!” Michelangelo looked back and forth between them, expression brimming with hope. “It’s back. Do you see it?”

His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but that could only mean one thing. The yokai looped his fingers around Leonardo’s wrist and tuned in with his mind’s eye.

A flame greeted him; still a bit on the small side, but strong and steady and warm.

Draxum knew, then, that the price he paid for this had been more than worth the cost.

Chapter Text

Moving Leo back to the master bedroom was trickier than bringing him to the lab had been. Draxum was in no shape to carry him again—the yokai could barely stand up straight, and between Mikey’s arms and Splinter’s sprained ankle, they weren’t much better.

Jet offered to help—for an extra fee. He was summarily turned down.

In the end, Draxum had pulled out a pink, jagged stone about the size of his hand, its flat surface polished smooth. It glowed when the alchemist touched it, and Mikey realized he’d seen Foot Recruit use something similar once before—a cross between a magic mirror and some sort of mystic walkie-talkie. It was the right guess, because Muninn’s cheerful frog face appeared in the stone’s reflection.

One tongue-lashing later, both gargoyles returned to the lab with two important jobs to do: first escorting Jet off the property, and then carrying Leo. Draxum’s weird vine gurney came in handy a second time, letting the pair move the slider without aggravating his injuries too badly. Muninn took the head of the cot and Huginn the rear, and then to Mikey’s great surprise, they lifted Leo into the air as if he and the gurney combined weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

“Wow! You guys don’t skip gym day, do you?”

“Oh, we skip constantly,” Muninn said proudly, as if that was something to brag about.

Huginn interjected, “On account of how busy we are with other things, of course!” The little guy smiled widely (then again, when was he not smiling?). “But we gargoyles are naturally swole, heh. Don’t worry, turtle buddy! Your brother’s in safe hands.”

“Come to think of it, yeah,” Splinter remarked. “That time you kidnapped me was a pretty smooth ride.”

Draxum snorted. “And you were a lot taller back then, too. Not that you’ve gotten any lighter—”

“Rude??”

Mikey was glad they could talk like this again. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the atmosphere had turned so heavy after Leo got sick. He had a ways to recover, but now that they were assured he’d have the strength to heal, it was like seeing the sun peek through the clouds, and Mikey couldn’t stop smiling as they made the slow trek back to the bedroom.

With the gargoyles carrying Leo, Splinter used the pushcart full of supplies as a crutch for his ankle while Draxum took over rolling the vital sign monitor, but argued over who would take the IV pole. That duty fell to Dad in the end, though not without complaint.

“Oh, too sore to help, but you could jump in through the damn ceiling,” Draxum jeered. From the way he was stumbling, Mikey was pretty sure he was running on fumes and spite at this point.

“I said rule of cool! And it turns out that was a terrible idea,” Splinter winced, bouncing along on his good foot. “Ow, ow, ow.”

“If it’s that bothersome, old man, perhaps you shouldn’t have rushed back.”

“Oh, it was no rush!” Splinter’s voice was unbearably smug, like Leo when he was on an ego trip. “I would have made it back even faster if I hadn’t accepted dear Margaret’s invitation for tea. Your neighbors are lovely, by the way.”

“My laboratory is at the top of an appropriately dramatic hill,” Draxum said, deadpan. “I don’t have neighbors.”

“Semantics, semantics. I meant the little old mermaid who lives at the bottom of the hill. I told her of my heroic exploits saving orphans from a fire, along with all of their kittens.” Splinter cackled. “She was so moved, I collected an entire bottle of tears!”

Oh, right. Mikey had nearly forgotten the errand Draxum had sent everyone else out on as a distraction. “Will the elixir actually help?” he asked. “Earlier, you made it sound like it was just some snake oil.”

Draxum sighed. “No, I merely exaggerated its potency. Dragon’s Ambrosia is no miracle cure, but it still has many beneficial properties. Now that Leonardo’s life is no longer in immediate danger, he’ll respond better to any medicine we use to treat him, including the elixir.”

“Huh. So you didn’t send everyone on a total wild goose chase.” He wasn’t going to say it, but that made him feel a little better, especially for his brothers.

“Good,” Splinter agreed with his inner thoughts. “I thought you were just using us to shop for one of your weird experiments.”

“And you still went along with it?” Draxum questioned. “Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

“Hey,” Huginn piped up to his partner. “I think this guy’s trying to move in on our job.”

“We’re supposed to compete with Lou Jitsu now?” Muninn gaped from the head of the gurney. “Man, this labor market is brutal.”

Mikey yawned. Now that the buzz of adrenaline was wearing off, he was crashing hard. “Weren’t you guys slacking off at the churro stand ten minutes ago?”

“...The wards are very distracting.”

Draxum sighed twice as heavily this time, grumbling under his breath. “Next time I’m going to pin my instructions to your foreheads, so when you look at each other you won’t forget.”

“Ouch.” Mikey scrunched his beak. That sounded painful. “Wouldn’t some cute, snazzy stickers be better all around?”

The yokai turned to look at him from over his shoulder, eyes squinted, but keen with interest.

A slow grin creeped across his face. “Do you want more stickers, Barry?”

“...I would not be opposed.” But before Mikey could laugh, Draxum motioned for silence. “Now hush, the lot of you. You’ll wake the humans.”

Oh, they were that close? That was a relief. Mikey nodded, and they made their way through the rest of the wing quietly, not speaking again until they returned to the bedroom.

Upon arrival, Dad and Draxum switched duty with the gargoyles, having them set the medical equipment back in place while they carefully transferred Leo back to the mattress. Michelangelo felt bad for being unable to help, but he only got stinging fingers and an earful for trying—so.

He crawled into bed beside his brother, focusing on the steady flame of his soul. Leo’s aura looked stronger than ever, no longer colorless, but back to its eye-catching electric blue.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. Only this time when he said it, it felt real.

Draxum didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, because for the second time that day he found himself face down on a hard surface. At least he was sitting in a chair this go around—not that hunching over a small table was doing any favors for his back.

Initially it wasn’t clear what had awoken him, but slowly he became aware of the faint sound of chimes.

“Draxum.” That was the rat’s voice.

He grunted in response.

“Your rock thingy is ringing.”

“Hngh.” That meant he shouldn’t dally. Picking his head off the table, Draxum brushed his hair out of his face and fumbled blearily for the mystic communicator. It glowed to life at his touch. “What is it?”

Muninn’s face appeared, a piece of paper pinned to his chest by a sticker shaped like a blue lightning bolt. The note read ‘KEEP STANDING WATCH’.

“Hey, boss!” Muninn greeted him pleasantly. “The turtles are on their way up the hill now. Want us to let them back inside?”

“Yes,” Draxum said, straightening his collar. “Send them in.”

Muninn gave him a thumbs up and the image faded, taking the glimmering light along with it. Draxum breathed in deeply, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts, then made to stand.

Leonardo remained where they’d left him. Michelangelo turned over in his sleep next to him, but settled quickly, breathing even. That left Lou sitting on the stool next to their bedside, sipping tea with his back turned to Draxum. The alchemist had little interest in words right now, however, and plodded over to a mirror he had hanging from the wall.

By the Crying Titan, did he look haggard. It was nothing he couldn’t pass off, but he was going to need at least a few days to recover. Lotion, at least, would help his skin look less dried out, so he fetched a bottle from the nightstand, being careful not to shut it too loudly and wake Michelangelo.

Lou slurped his tea loudly. “You’ll need more than that to fool them. Try YouTube. If you’re quick, maybe you can find some influencer’s two-step beauty routine!”

“I don’t need your help, rat.”

“That’s not what it looked like on our way back, when you could hardly walk in a straight line.” Lou cupped a hand around his ear. “Tell me again how you planned to pull this off without anyone noticing?”

“I didn’t tell you the first time,” Draxum reminded him, slathering lotion over his hands and face.

There was a harsh clink as Lou set down the teacup with force. “And you should have!” he whispered loudly; perhaps more loudly than he’d meant to, given the way his eyes darted to the boys. Only when they didn’t stir did he move the cup aside. “I get hiding it from the kids, but why me? I am his father, Draxum.”

In truth, that was the reason why. And the yokai wasn’t any more interested in having this conversation now than he was then. But there was no use in hiding it anymore, and he was tired. The ghost gave itself up, regardless of his intent.

“For all I knew, you would have turned me down,” he replied, returning to the mirror. In its reflection, Lou continued to watch him. “And it’s as you said: any deal with Big Mama comes with strings attached.”

And once one willingly walked into that woman’s web, she wasn’t the type to let go.

In the reflection, Lou turned back to Leonardo; the move successfully hid his expression, but not the way his ears drooped and folded back.

Footsteps in the hallway had both their heads swiveling for the door. He and the rat exchanged brief glances, and—blessedly—that was all that was needed to shelve the conversation for another day.

The rat hastily hid his teacup in a nightstand drawer, and Draxum picked up a random book someone had left lying around before returning to his chair. Cracking it open, he wondered why the text looked like gibberish until his brain kicked in and he realized he was holding it upside down, and turned the book over quickly.

Two familiar faces appeared in the doorway, one right behind the other. There was a slight tension to the boys’ shoulders that loosened when they took in the sight of Leonardo; only then did they look at the rest of them.

“Oh, good,” Donatello said, striding into the room. “Papá beat us back.”

“Still got it.” Lou grinned, flashing a peace sign with his fingers.

Raphael approached, looking between the three of them. “Did we get everything?”

Pulling back his cloak, Donatello retrieved a glass vial and a small wooden chest, which he deposited on the table next to the jar of inkcap mushrooms Draxum had shown them earlier. “That’s one chrysalis, and one eggshell from a very, very freshly hatched dragon.”

“Is that why Red’s mask tails are singed?” the rat asked, hopping off the stool to join them at the table, setting his finds next to Donatello’s. Cheerful and bear-shaped, the bottle of honey looked out of place next to everything else.

Raphael smiled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “The auction could’ve gone better.”

Draxum set the book down in exchange for the nondescript flask Lou had put forward. A quick examination of its contents proved the mermaid tears were genuine; if anything, the glimmer and the smell of sea salt were signs of higher quality.

Damn him and Margaret, whoever she was. He screwed the lid back on.

“These will do,” he affirmed, standing slowly. “I’ll get started—”

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Raphael asked. “You sound like you’ve been gargling marbles.”

Draxum schooled his face into a bored expression, gathering the smaller mystic ingredients that would fit on his person. “It was a long night.”

“Do you need help making the elixir?” From his tone, the yokai couldn’t tell if Donatello was concerned or just eager to put himself to work. One of his spider limbs clamped around the wooden chest and held it aloft. “Because all six of my hands are at your disposal!”

“No,” Draxum replied, hating how croaky he sounded. He coughed once—hard—to clear his throat before starting again. “While I appreciate the offer, in this instance, I’ll finish more quickly by working on my own.”

Donatello looked quietly crestfallen, eyes dropping to the floor as Draxum took the offered chest from his mechanical hand.

Lou seemed to notice as well, hobbling with exaggerated strain towards the nearest chair. “I could use your help anyway, Purple,” he said. “That Mermaid Lagoon is something, but it clearly isn’t designed for people with feet in mind. Terrible infrastructure! I think I might have double sprained my ankle on the beach.”

It didn’t wipe the disappointment from his face, but the softshell nodded. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, morose. Tugging off his cloak, he tossed it at the foot of the bed, then made a beeline for their boxes of supplies. “I’ll get the bandages.”

“Thank you, my son.” The rat smiled serenely, taking a seat while propping his injured foot up on one of the other empty chairs.

Gathering the rest of the ingredients, Draxum shot him a grateful look. Before he could make his exit, however, Raphael met him at the door.

“Not a lotta change while we were gone, huh?” the snapper asked, simultaneously sad and quietly relieved. He shifted his gaze back to his brothers. “Don’t imagine Mikey would be sleeping so soundly otherwise.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Draxum gave the boy a long look. Instead of observing the ritual, Michelangelo should have been here resting; after all of that, it was no wonder he was exhausted. If not for his advice, however, it was unlikely the situation would have turned out so favorably.

“I’d let him sleep a little longer,” Draxum advised. “Rather than rest, he stayed up to offer me company.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.” Raphael chuckled, folding his arms. His one visible eye shone with nothing but fondness. “Raph’s little brothers can be a handful, but they’re good kids.”

Yes.

“You all are,” Draxum agreed, earning a shocked expression from the snapper. Great. Between that and his ghastly appearance, Raphael probably thought he was dying or something.

He left before he could be called on it.

“—you’ve been voted off the planet!”

Mikey jolted awake to a chorus of winces and groans against a backdrop of dramatic music.

“Volume down, Dee!” April’s voice came from close by. “You’re gonna wake ‘em up!”

“Hoo, mama, too late there,” Mikey complained, sitting upright. “I think that woke our ancestors up.”

Not Leo, though. When he glanced beside him, he found Casey leaning over his brother, hands covering his tympana. It might as well have been for nothing; to Mikey’s disappointment, his brother didn’t show any signs of waking.

“Sorry, sorry,” Donnie said hurriedly, fiddling with the buttons on that old television set he’d been working on a day or two ago. Immediately, the noise fell to a whisper. “On the other hand, good news: consider the television fixed.”

Splinter threw his hands in the air with a cheer. The rest of them gave a round of polite applause, Mikey clapping his feet in lieu of his injured hands. His brain woke up with the rest of him a moment later, and he blinked at how the room had changed—namely, there were a lot more people here than there’d been earlier.

“Oh, hey.” He yawned loudly, wobbling sleepily in place. “You guys made it back.”

“Hey, bud,” Raph greeted him back, dropping a warm palm on his head. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“That’s okay,” Mikey said, shaking his head. “How’d it go?”

Donatello rose to his feet, abandoning the television to sit on the edge of the bed. “By hook slash crook, we got what we needed. Draxum’s making the elixir now.”

So that’s why he didn’t spy Barry. Damn. He’d wanted to talk to him before the others got back.

Casey looked towards the door. “How long until you think he finishes it?”

“He started before we woke up, right?” April said, playing cards at the tea table with Splinter. “It’s gotta be any time now.”

As if he’d been waiting for those words, Huginn flew into the room, hugging a glass vial in his arms. “I come bearing gifts!”

Raph rounded the bed. “Is that what I think it is?”

Everyone that wasn’t bedridden stood at once, Dad and April folding their cards. Huginn touched down on their table, setting the vial down carefully.

“Dragon’s Ambrosia!” he chirped, pulling out a piece of paper that had been rolled up under his arm. He handed it off to April, who passed it to Casey. “And the instructions for how to use it, straight from the boss.”

Casey accepted the note, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “He won’t be administering it himself?”

“He said you guys could take it from here,” Huginn said with a shrug.

“Seriously?” April put a hand on her hip. “He’s just checking out?”

Donnie approached the table, lowering his goggles to examine the elixir. “Well, it is for Leo.”

“Rude.”

Mikey curled in on himself, wanting nothing more than to jump to Draxum’s defense. Sure, he’d hid some important things, but his heart was in the right place! He’d given up so much for Leo…

Raph folded his arms. “I dunno, fellas. He didn’t look so good before. Maybe he’s sick?”

Casey frowned, looking up from the note. “Should we check on him?”

Though it was closer to the truth and gave Draxum more benefit of the doubt, Mikey had a strong feeling the alchemist would hate it if any of them came barging into his study over this. Sweating bullets, he froze like a deer in headlights, too half-asleep to think on his feet. Huginn didn’t look much better.

Dad cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“First,” he started, “we should give Blue the medicine. Future Boy, what do the instructions say?”

“It’s pretty straightforward.” Despite saying this, Casey’s eyes roved over the text, scanning the note from top to bottom twice over as if scrutinizing for errors. “It just says make him drink it.”

Donnie peered over his shoulder. “All at once?”

“No, just before nightfall. It sounds like we can split the dose up over the course of a few hours.”

The softshell consulted something on his comm, then the rest of the medical equipment. “Now’s as good a time as any to try, then. He’s coming off his pain meds soon, so it should be easier to rouse him.”

There was some debate on if Leo was well enough to go without oxygen for the time it would take to make him drink the elixir. The canister the paramedics had given them was near the end of its life, however, so they opted to ditch it entirely in favor of one generated by Donnie’s ninpo. Subbing out the full face mask for a cannula let them continue oxygen while leaving Leo’s mouth exposed.

It also had the—mostly unintentional—side benefit of nearly waking him. Leo groaned low as Donnie attached the cannula, face screwed up and trying to squirm away from him.

“It’s okay, Big Blue. We’re almost done,” April soothed from the end of the bed, where she’d come to sit with Mikey. She looked over at him, pulling a face. “Don’t blame him, though. He probably thinks we’re trying to pick his nose.”

Mikey stuck out his tongue. “That’s just nasty.”

It was laughably easy for Donnie to hold Leo’s head still, bracing his face with one hand. “I’m not sure he’s thinking of anything, right now,” he replied, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he finally secured the purple cannula in place. “There, that should do it. You’re up, Raph.”

Donnie took a step back and Raph filled his place. The slider was already sagging again, but one firm shake changed that; with a hard flinch, Leo opened his eyes, Mikey felt a pull in his chest, and everyone sucked in a breath.

Staring at them with hazy eyes that couldn’t seem to focus, he didn’t look present. All the same, it was the first time Mikey could remember seeing him awake since that terrible nightmare. Was that really only last night? So much had happened it felt like forever ago, and Mikey knew he couldn’t be the only one getting misty about it.

“Quickly,” Dad urged, breaking them out of their reverie. “While he’s still awake.”

Casey stepped in, elixir at the ready. “Here, Sensei,” he said, propping Leo’s head up with one hand, and guiding the vial to his mouth with the other. “Drink this.”

It took a little more prodding than that, but Leo either eventually got the message or reflex took over, because he drank when Casey slowly tipped the vial back. One sip—two. Halfway through the third, though, Leo’s eyes closed and his face went lax, and Casey had to tilt the slider’s head back quickly to make sure he actually swallowed the rest of the dose.

“That was more than I thought we’d get in him on the first try,” Casey said, staring at the vial with some awe. The golden mixture was half gone.

Raph looked over the moon. “That’s great!”

“Huh. Draxum’s salve must be having some effect after all,” Donnie mused with a complicated expression. Mikey thought part of it might be relief. “Speaking of, when’s the last time one of us applied more of it?”

Long enough that they should give it to him again, apparently. Mikey resituated himself at the end of the mattress to give the others better access to Leo’s bandages, so that they could remove them and reapply the salve.

Watching them work felt kind of… surreal. The box turtle couldn’t help but stare, watching Leo’s chest rise and fall. He didn’t realize how far his mind had drifted, though, until April poked the side of his head.

“Hm?” He blinked at her, smiling. “What’s up?”

“You doing okay?” At his puzzled expression, she went on. “I tried calling you twice, but you were in outer space.”

“Oh, sorry. I just…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. Unbidden, his eyes returned to Leo.

April hummed, then tilted her head to the side. “Still can’t feel him, huh?”

And that was exactly it. Mikey stared, surprised to be called on it, but April only shrugged her shoulders as if it were the natural conclusion. Maybe it was. When their connection had snapped last night like a rubber band, he’d been near beside himself; it had taken Dad, April, and Raph who knows how long to calm him down.

He felt silly for getting hung up on it, but he’d gotten used to that emotional feedback. After the healing session, he was assured Leo was going to be alright, but that was different from knowing it—feeling it.

“I mean, there might have been something? For a second, I thought…” he whispered, hand hovering over his chest and thinking of that faint pull. He shook his head. “It wasn’t like before, though. He was awake, April. I guess I just… expected more?”

He wasn’t sure he was explaining this well.

April hugged her knees. “But Draxum said that leftover mind meld stuff was only temporary, right?”

Mikey nodded.

“So maybe it’s wearing off.” At his pensive look, she leaned forward. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve been using it to get a vibe for how Leo’s recovering and all, but once he’s awake for real? I dunno about you, but I feel like that’s gonna be a hundred times better than any mystic mojo.”

She had a point there. Really, that’s what got to the heart of it; he just wanted Leo to be okay. They’d come so close to losing him, but no one knew how close. Ever since their connection had snapped, he’d felt so hollow, desperate for any sign his brother was coming back.

But if he were awake? If they could talk and laugh like normal? April was right. He didn’t need a fancy mystic bond—he just needed Leo as he always was, happy and whole, and cracking enough stupid jokes to make the whole family groan.

Maybe when that happened, the invasion would finally feel over.

They managed to wake Leo a few more times—first to finish off the elixir, and then to get some water into him. Both Donnie and Casey seemed pretty happy about that; the IV fluids were helping, but the H2O assist was appreciated.

The few times Mikey was awake to see him, Leo still seemed really out of it. That he was rousing at their prodding at all, though, was a definite improvement, and everyone could feel it.

Night came and went. Draxum didn’t join them once.

There was some debate about it over a very late dinner—chicken and pasta, courtesy of April. She and Raph passed out plates while a marathon of Martian Lily Survivor played in the background.

“I’m telling you, he was acting weird,” Raph said, taking his serving last. “Maybe he caught something while searching for those mushrooms last night? You can’t trust mushrooms.”

Mikey gasped, scandalized. “See if I make my mushroom risotto for you again.”

“You know what I mean!” Raph waved his fork. “Some are good, but some of them are really dangerous, and who knows what all is growing in that forest. He might’ve gotten a whiff of something that made him sick.”

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, April looked up from her plate. “Well, someone finished off the last of the Chinese food,” she reported. “Unless it was one of you guys grabbing a snack, I think it’s safe to say Barry’s still kickin’.”

“So he’s avoiding us,” Donnie said, holding out a piece of chicken on his fork for Mikey to eat.

He took it, but it didn’t have much flavor. If he could just tell everyone the truth, this could all be cleared up in a second.

“C’mon, guys, go easy on him,” Mikey said, trying to speak up for their creator as best he could without spilling the beans. “We did take over his whole place. Maybe he just needs some space to himself.”

“With this whole situation?” April gestured to Leo. “His timing could be better, just sayin’.”

“You raise a good point, April.” Splinter stared down at his plate solemnly.

Mikey’s eyes went wide in shock. He hoped the old man wasn’t up to what he thought he was up to.

But Dad only tipped his plate back, scarfing down his supper in one whole gulp and rising to his feet with a satisfied belch. “I’ll go give him a piece of my mind!”

And before anyone could question that, Splinter rounded on the television, pushing it towards the exit. He got about half a foot before tripping over the cord and falling flat on his face. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, yanked the cord out the wall, and was out the door in a whirl that could give the Roadrunner a run for his money.

“Wh—Pops!” Raph cried after him. “We were watching that!”

Casey rubbed the back of his head, confused. “Why does he need a television to talk to someone?”

April dragged a hand over her face. “Better yet—why’d Donnie have to put wheels on that thing?”

“Curse my proclivity for designing towards modern convenience!” Donnie clenched a fist around his silverware, looking betrayed and forlorn. “Who could see it backfiring like this??”

Mikey released a shaky breath while the others weren’t looking. Thank Pizza Supreme, that would distract them for at least a little while.

Slumped against his couch with a half-eaten egg roll in hand, Draxum could feel his right eye twitch with every squeak he heard outside in the hall. Lou appeared at his door with a television, made direct eye contact, then moved to setting it up without another word. It wasn’t until he seized the armchair, however, clearly intent on making himself comfortable, that Draxum realized he wasn’t planning on leaving.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” he droned, “but what are you doing, rat?”

Lou dragged the armchair next to the couch. Unlike the television, it did not have wheels, so it scraped loudly against the stone floors every inch of the way.

Once the rat had it as he liked, he sat down, staring straight ahead at the screen. “Blue drank all of the elixir.”

“...I see. Good.”

“Is this where you’ve been sleeping?”

“Yes. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to it.”

After putting the finishing touches on the elixir, he’d more or less collapsed and slept for ten hours straight, only coming around when Huginn and Muninn brought him dinner. It didn’t feel like nearly enough.

Lou opened his mouth—shut it.

Then he raised the remote, turning the television on and lowering the volume to somewhat more tolerable levels. He said nothing else.

But he also didn’t leave.

That night, Michelangelo dreamt.

It wasn’t one of Leo’s dreams, but one of his own; a familiar song and dance behind his eyelids where wishes could come true, and he had the chance of a lifetime to eat at the Chateau Prétenche.

The only problem? No shirt, no shoes, no service. And that’s where the dream always turned into a nightmare. The shirt was no problem—he had a swaggy gold number he’d been saving for the perfect occasion. But the shoes? He spent the rest of the dream as he always did: turning the lair upside down, unable to find a single pair before his reservation, until he was left downtrodden in the rain, beating the ground dramatically with his fists like some movie star from an old film.

Mikey woke up, still shaking from disappointment. It took him a moment to notice someone was looking at him.

Leo was looking at him, his pupils blown wide, but focused. His mouth parted, and Mikey held his breath.

“Didja check the fridge?”

“...Huh?” He had no idea what to say to that.

“For your, uh. For your shoes,” Leo stumbled over his words. He was soaked in sweat, heedless of a bemused Casey dabbing away at his temple with a sponge. “Check the fridge.”

This time when Mikey’s breath caught, it was for a completely different reason. Eyes sparkling, he laughed. “Why would they be in the fridge?”

“I dunno.” Leo’s head rolled languidly, falling back against the pillows like it was too heavy to hold up. “Thought I saw ‘em in there.”

He snorted. “Leo, we don’t wear shoes.”

His brother blinked slowly. “Oh. That’s riiiiight.” Leo blinked again, but it took longer for him to open his eyes the second time. “Well, that’s… that’s why you couldn’t find ‘em then. Weirdo.”

Then he snickered and fell back asleep before Mikey could respond.

Casey gave him a crooked smile, speaking quietly. “He’s still pretty loopy.”

“But he’s been waking up?” Mikey whispered back.

“Just here and there. This is the first time he’s held a conversation for long. I’m kinda surprised, actually,” Casey confessed, gently patting at Leo’s forehead with the sponge. The look in his eyes was far away, though. Contemplative. “Sensei’s doing miles better than he was last night. I wasn’t expecting that so soon.”

Mikey tilted his head, not following. “That’s a bad thing?”

“What?” Casey blinked, jolting in his seat. “No, of course not! Uh, that came out poorly.” The kid rubbed the back of his neck, a bit sheepish as he gathered his words.

No, not sheepish. Guilty, perhaps? Michelangelo couldn’t understand why that might be, though.

“I was just thinking—mystic ingredients really are amazing,” Casey continued eventually, his tone awed but oddly bittersweet. It was only when their human friend replaced the sponge over Leo’s forehead with the back of his hand that Mikey realized Donnie’s ninpo cannula was gone. “I wish we’d had them in the future. They could’ve saved a lot of lives.”

The lives of people he cared about went unsaid, and it all clicked into place. So that’s what was up—Casey had his mind on another time; another home. A life of what-ifs based on Draxum’s lie, and Mikey felt his stomach churn in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he said on impulse. Falsehood or not, it wouldn’t change anything, but what else was he supposed to say in the face of that kind of grief?

Casey shrugged, taking his apology for something else.

“It can’t be helped. Just another valuable resource we lost to the Krang’s invasion, I guess. At least we prevented that from happening in this timeline.” Seemingly satisfied with Leo’s temperature, he returned to mopping up his sweat, and wow, he actually looked happy doing it. Casey was too good for them.

“How come you’re the only one up?” Mikey asked, deciding to change the subject. He couldn’t see anyone else, so he assumed the others were sleeping anyway.

“I wasn’t, until around an hour ago.” Casey nodded his chin at the other side of the bed, and Mikey rolled over just enough to spy Donnie sprawled next to him, limbs akimbo and out like a light. On one of his outstretched arms, his comm was still lit up with a display of Leo’s vitals—all of them looking much better than they had been before.

Mikey was willing to bet he hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that—Donnie tended to sleep like a vampire when left to his own devices, flat on his back and ramrod straight—but he was privately relieved. Maybe it was just because of how often he himself had been snoozing, but he hadn’t seen Donnie actually rest since that tranquilizer nap over a week ago.

“So that’s why we’re whispering,” he remarked pleasantly.

“Well, it’s not only him. April and Uncle Raph are sleeping, too,” Casey said, pointing to his right. When Mikey peered over Leo’s legs, he could just make out the two of them slumped against each other.

“You’re not gonna join them?”

“Someone has to keep an eye out.”

It was kinda sad the way Casey said it, but probably true. Leo’s fever was lower than it had been according to Donnie’s readout, but it wasn’t fully better by any means. Until he was further along in his recovery, it was probably wiser to play it safe.

“What about Dad?”

Casey’s face scrunched up, like he wasn’t totally sure what was going on there. “Uh, he hasn’t come back.” Then his expression relaxed. “But Draxum stopped by. You just missed him, actually.”

Mikey sat up. Or wriggled, more precisely. It was hard to move without his arms. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not really? He just asked how things were coming along. He sounded tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Mikey sighed, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. And then because he realized that sounded weird, added: “We should make a club. A club for tired people. I bet Dee would love to design some matching jackets.”

Casey snickered quietly. “I could see that.”

“Oh well,” Mikey said, lowering his gaze. “At least soon this will all be over, and we can keep our date.”

Wringing out the sponge, Casey made a confused noise. It sounded like if a question mark was pronounceable, and made Mikey glance back over to him.

“You know. Our pizza date?”

“Oh.” And Casey looked at him as if he’d been struck; as if Mikey had brought up something he hadn’t thought of in years. “That.”

That wasn’t really the reaction Mikey had been expecting. He frowned, concerned. “Did you forget?”

“No, I—” Casey started, then looked away, seeming to second guess his own words. “Maybe?” He set the sponge down with an unhappy sound. “I wasn’t, uh. I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

So he said, but the lack of eye contact made Mikey think otherwise. It was almost funny, because Casey’s expression was so similar to the one Leo made when he was lying; not for his Faceman schtick when he was playing up his charms, but the kind where he was trying to hide something he was sensitive about.

(“I’ve been wondering what he meant this… this whole time.”)

He hummed, thoughtfully. “There was a lot going on.”

“Yeah,” Casey said blankly.

Mikey sat up. “Hey, Casey?”

The other kid raised his eyes, but he looked a million miles away. Despite his words, it was clear this had been weighing heavily on his mind—and not just for honoring his Sensei’s request, if Mikey had to guess. When they promised to get pizza, Casey had specifically said he wanted Leo there—that it wouldn’t feel right without all of them.

For a while there, it must have felt like that wasn’t going to happen. Mikey wished he could reach over and hug him. He settled for giving his warmest, most reassuring smile instead.

“Leo’s gonna be okay,” he promised, making sure to hold his gaze.

Casey fidgeted. “I know on paper all his vitals are improving, but—”

“No buts!” Mikey cut him off, grinning. “I can’t explain why, but I’ve got a really good feeling things are going to get better from here. Doctor Positive guarantees it!” he finished with a wink.

Wide-eyed, Casey only stared at him for a second. Then scrubbed a hand over his face with a laugh that was more of a short, exhaled breath.

“Yeah?” The other boy’s voice came out shaky. Mikey wasn’t sure he’d managed to comfort him until Casey peeked at him between his fingers, his eyes wet, but grateful. “Well… I’d be crazy to doubt you—”

“Mhmm, mhmm. I think you mean Doctor Positive,” he interjected, and Casey gave a sigh somewhere between exasperation and amusement. It wasn’t a victory—yet—but he counted it as a point in the right direction.

“Right, how could I forget your four doctorates,” Casey snorted, and Mikey preened. So he got a fourth one later? Good to know. But though his smile remained, Casey got that faraway look in his eyes again as he stared down at his lap and the sponge in his hands. “Either way you cut it, those hunches kept us alive more times than I can count.”

“Damn straight, son.” Mikey grinned languidly. But his look softened as he continued, more gently, “So chin up, okay?”

Casey looked at him, and raised his head slowly. “...Okay,” he said after a moment. A light had come back to his eyes; a hope that was bright and fragile as he gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“Any time,” he replied. Then let loose a yawn that made his eyes water.

Casey laughed quietly, and dunked the sponge into a bowl of clean water. “You should go back to sleep.”

Mikey hummed, then eyed everyone still sleeping in the room. “Actually…” He trailed off, fishing for an excuse. One look at his bandaged arms, and a good one came to him. “I think I’m gonna go find Barry? See if, uh, he can hook me up with more of that snazzy ointment that makes the pain go bye-bye.”

“Oh!” Casey sat up straighter, eyes widening. “That’s right, it’s been a while; you must be hurting.”

He was, which made the excuse easier to sell.

“Yeahhh, I could use some TLC.” Not bothering to hold back a wince, he gingerly scooted to the end of the mattress, taking care not to shake it too much and disturb his brothers. Once on solid ground, he turned back to Casey. “Hold down the fort for me.”

Casey gave a firm salute that Mikey would’ve returned, if his hands weren’t useless. He settled for heading out the door, just to duck his head back in for an ‘at ease, soldier’ in his best grizzled old man impression, earning him a soft laugh from Casey. Then he was off down the hall, a turtle on a mission.

Hopefully Draxum was still up, because they had things to talk about.

Heavy snoring led him to the study, only to find the wrong dad; Splinter was snoozing away, one hand in a bowl of half-eaten popcorn as commercials played on the television. Mikey used his toes to turn the volume down on the remote then continued on with his exploration, confident Draxum had to be around somewhere.

He found him in the kitchen, shoulders hunched and staring blearily into a bowl of cereal. The moment the alchemist realized he wasn’t alone was obvious, because he froze with the spoon still sticking out of his mouth, swiping a trickle of milk from the bottom of his chin.

“Eugh…” Mikey made a face. “You really know how to take the cheery out of Cheerios.”

Draxum pulled the spoon from his mouth and dropped it into the bowl with a little splash. “It’s 4 AM. The hour is intrinsically dour.”

Mikey grinned, a small and teasing thing. “Can’t handle Pop’s snoring?”

“I can handle it,” Draxum retorted crankily, not missing a beat, and leaned back in his seat with his arms folded. It was much less imposing than he’d probably hoped for. “But it would involve a pillow and more trouble than it’s worth in the morning.”

Snickering, Mikey sat down across from him, more amused than concerned. “We all get the urge, but thanks for not following through on it.” Splinter’s snoring was infamously horrific, so there’d been some close calls—from Donnie especially, after his and Leo’s room swap put him closer to Dad’s room. That had been a fun week.

Draxum snorted in response, returning to his cereal. There was only a bite or two left, so Mikey let him finish before speaking up again.

“Leo’s doing better.”

“Hm.” Draining the milk with a slurp, Draxum set his bowl down. “Is he now,” he said, sounding disinterested.

Mikey could tell, though, from the way he pushed the bowl aside instead of getting up and concluding the conversation, that he was anything but.

“Yeah. They took him off oxygen sometime while I was sleeping.” Or maybe Donnie’s ninpo had faded when he conked out. But Mikey assumed Casey would have roused him if Leo still needed it, so it had to be planned. “And he woke up!” Genuinely brightened by the memory, Mikey smiled, swinging his legs under the table. “We actually talked, for a little while.”

Skeptical, Draxum raised an eyebrow. “Not about anything interesting, I imagine.”

“Go easy on him,” Mikey laughed. “He was high as a kite. And it’s more than I would’ve expected after how he was doing this morning.” Or—yesterday morning? What was time anymore, even.

But the alchemist seemed to understand. “He’s responding to the mystic treatment well, then,” Draxum observed, drawing a hand almost absentmindedly to his chest. He still had the smiley face sticker there, the box turtle noted. “Good. That’s… encouraging news.”

So stiff. Mikey did him the favor of stifling his snickers, knowing the yokai got awkward around warm and fuzzy feelings. “I thought you might wanna know.”

He knew he was on the right track when Draxum gave him a small nod, approving. But it was also accompanied with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” the yokai replied. “Your arms are trembling.”

Michelangelo glanced down, and oops. So they were. In hindsight, this shouldn’t have been surprising—ever since he left Casey, the pain had gone from prickling to a dull, but constant burning. While searching for Draxum, he didn’t have better options than to bear with it, though.

“Right, uh. I meant to bring that up sooner.” Abashed, he held up one arm for the alchemist to examine. “They’ve been stinging more, since I woke up. Could you hook a pal up with more of that ointment?”

He expected Draxum to tell him he’d have one of the gargoyles bring some, or that they’d have to return to the study. To his surprise, the yokai instead reached into the folds of his robe, and pulled out a familiar tin. Had he been carrying that around this whole time? That was… kind of heartwarming, actually.

“What are you smiling about?” Draxum asked, looking at him suspiciously as he set the tin aside and reached for Mikey’s hand. “Your face is dopey.”

“Nothing,” Mikey singsonged, only to wince a moment later. Even though Draxum was trying to be gentle, the grip on his wrist still smarted. The alchemist gave him an apologetic look, but continued unwrapping the bandages, revealing the inflamed, cracked skin underneath. The wounds weren’t nearly as bad as before, but they still looked angry.

“I should have tended to these earlier,” Draxum said, frowning to himself about something. “We’ll take care of it now.”

Mikey didn’t know what he was fussed about until he pulled out that mystic communicator again and summoned one of the gargoyles to fetch some fresh bandages—apparently he didn’t carry those around with him. While waiting, Draxum removed the old dressings and started spreading the ointment over his burns.

The alchemist went about his task more awkwardly than he had the other day, Mikey noticed. Where before Draxum had applied the ointment with skilful ease, now his motions were slow and methodical. More worryingly, his fingers were cold to the touch. Colder than the marbled surface of the table, even.

It brought back to mind the debate between the others earlier, regarding whether the yokai was sick or not. At the time, Mikey had thought Draxum would want his space to keep his secret. Now he regretted not pushing to check on him after all.

“Are you really okay?” he asked, voice small.

Draxum didn’t look up from his work. “Would I be busying myself tending to you if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Mikey said, and to his frustration he could feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I want to say no, but everyone in this family has a bad habit of only saying what’s really going on when hiding the truth stops being convenient!”

“Shh,” Draxum hushed him, and Mikey wanted to be angry, but mostly he was just tired. And worried. “I told you I would survive.”

…That was true. And he didn’t think Draxum was just placating his feelings at the time, either.

“I gave Leonardo several years of my lifespan,” the alchemist continued plainly. “For someone as long-lived as I, it was chump change—or it should have been.” Draxum exhaled through his nose, looking frustrated. “I will begrudgingly admit it took more out of me than I anticipated, but I will recover. Given a few days of rest.”

A few days of rest in exchange for several years? Mikey couldn’t fathom it. “Sleep? That’s all you need?”

“And an extensive intake of calories, apparently,” Draxum said with a hint of annoyance, gesturing to the cereal bowl.

Mikey fidgeted in his seat, still concerned, but feeling slightly more reassured. “Food’s an easy fix, at least.” He eyed the pots and pans on display. “Maybe I could—”

“You’re not cooking. Absolutely not.”

“It’d just be one dish! That’s not hard.”

“Moments ago, you were literally shaking like a leaf. Do you want to heal properly?”

…Okay, Draxum had him there. So long as he had a mix of painkillers and ointment, he could almost forget the pain; the bone-deep fatigue was the most annoying thing. If Michelangelo was being honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t last long enough on his feet to whip up some quick french toast. He was already feeling worn out just sitting here, and they hadn’t even gotten to everything he wanted to talk about.

“Fine, I can’t argue with that.” Mikey sighed and laid his head on the table in defeat, peering up at the alchemist ruefully. “But you gotta eat better than this if you wanna recover, Barry. I’m talking four basic food groups!”

Draxum scoffed. “That’s not a challenge. I had vegetables just last night.”

Mikey narrowed his eyes. “Peas and carrot bits in the leftover fried rice doesn’t count.”

“Yes it—”

“Barry,” Mikey said. And then he played dirty, whipping out the worried puppy dog eyes.

It had the intended effect—Draxum’s face scrunched up unhappily, and then he sighed. “Ugh. Fine.” Spreading ointment along the cracks cutting up the inside of his elbow with chilly fingers, the yokai tutted. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Take better care of yourself, then.” Mikey stuck out his tongue.

“I will if you will.”

“Deal,” he said with a smile. And Draxum sighed again, but his expression was fonder than it had been moments ago as he continued his task.

A little while later, his hands and arms were comfortably numb again, and redressed with the bandages Muninn had fetched. The gargoyle had dropped them off in an adorable pink striped nightcap, yawned, and then flew to curl up on the top of the fridge to go back to sleep, muttering something about overtime.

There was a lot more he wanted to say, but he was waiting for Draxum to finish up; the yokai was just reapplying the last of the bandages to the scars over his neck. As he secured the wrappings, Mikey opened his mouth to begin, but was beaten to the punch.

“Thank you,” Draxum started, like the words were unnatural on his tongue. “For before. Your advice was… useful, in the grand scheme of things.”

It took him a second to put together what Draxum could be referring to, but staring at the smiley face sticker brought everything trickling back—his advice to the alchemist to not think with his head, but his heart.

He laughed, quietly. “I didn’t really—”

“You did,” Draxum corrected him before he could finish. “I’ve mocked it many times in the past, but your empathy is a strength, Michelangelo.”

Oh. Well that… He’d heard that before, but not from Barry. Compliments from him were rare, but he wasn’t the type to mince words. If he said Mikey had helped, it must have been significant after all. A part of him wanted to ask, while Draxum was being uncharacteristically open like this, but figured he’d get brushed off.

Yeah. Better to push his luck elsewhere.

“Thanks, Barry,” he said, eyes soft and smiling. It dimmed a moment later as he looked towards his hands still outstretched on the table, twitching his fingers. “I just wished you would have told me sooner. Maybe I could have helped more.”

Draxum was silent.

“Maybe we all could have,” Mikey continued, glancing over at him when he got no response. Draxum’s face was angled away, but his eyes flicked over to him, unreadable. “That’s what family’s about, you know. Especially this family. We’re at our best when we come together.”

The yokai pursed his lips, looking away again with a tired click of his tongue. “I had my reasons for not involving you or them. I already told you this.”

“Okay,” Mikey relented, stowing his disappointment. “And maybe—I’m not gonna say you were right, but I get it now. I do.” Draxum squinted at him suspiciously, and the box turtle sighed with frustration and looked away to glare at the wall. “We’re all a mess right now. Knowing would’ve stressed the others out even more, sure. I think we could’ve gotten past that, but you were planning for the worst case scenario where that’d be the tipping point, right? That once they knew the risks, that you and Leo were technically incompatible, they wouldn’t let you be the volunteer, and we’d argue, and lose precious time, and so on.”

Draxum huffed and arched a brow. “And you’re saying they wouldn’t?”

I would have gone to bat for you, Mikey wanted to say. Hell, despite everything, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dad would have, too. That was just a guess, though, and there was no point in arguing over spilt milk.

“I’m saying that was then, and this is now.” Draxum blinked, and Mikey pressed further while he had him off guard. “Why keep hiding it now?”

“I told you,” Draxum said with some irritation, drumming his fingers on the table. To Mikey it seemed forced. “It’s that brother of yours. If Leonardo finds out, he’ll be unbearable, and I have no desire to—”

“Who cares?” Across from him, the alchemist looked taken aback. Honestly, Mikey was too, but it didn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth. “He should know. Everyone should! You gave up so much for him, and no one gets it!”

Draxum made a strange sound. Mikey couldn’t place the emotion behind it. “It was just a few years,” he said, hands out like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

“It was just a few minutes for Leo, and he shouldn’t have done that either!” Mikey yelled, sitting straight up in his seat.

“...Michelangelo, are you all right?”

He wanted to shout. Wanted to yell more. But when he opened his mouth, his voice cracked and came out smaller than it should have.

“No,” he said, and closed his eyes tightly. “No. I hate this.”

Silence. Mikey choked on a dry sob, heaving from the unexpected outburst. This wasn’t how he wanted this talk to go. Why was he pitching such a fit? It’s not like he was mad. This wasn’t coming from a place of anger—or at least he didn’t think it was.

But now that he’d voiced it, all he could hear was Leo’s voice. “When I get to the other side, you close that portal.” Behind his eyes, he could still see the explosion that tore the sky open for miles as static filled their comms, without so much as a goodbye.

A click of hooves brought him out of it; a nail-on-chalkboard sound of metal being dragged against stone, and when he peeked an eye open he found Draxum sitting closer. The old yokai didn’t reach out for a hug like Mikey would have wanted, but an attempt at comfort was made all the same—an awkward hand that fell on his shoulder, as orange eyes looked at him in concern.

Mikey sniffed and leaned in, dropping his head against Barry’s chest with a surprised oomph from the alchemist. For a while he just shook, and Draxum let him. Mikey wished he would say something, but also kinda not, because it would probably be something stupid and he didn’t want to be more upset than he already was.

Because he wasn’t mad. Not really. It’d be easier if he was, but instead he was just hurt.

“I’m so sick of everyone in this family doing dumb, noble things without checking in with each other. First Leo, and now you?” He sniffed. “It’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is,” Draxum admonished, proving his point. Stupid. His tone wasn’t harsh—there was a pleading edge to it, actually, like he hoped Mikey would understand—but it was still just an excuse, and only served to make him feel more sulky. “But sometimes it can be unfair in your favor. I made my decision, and Leonardo was saved for it. He was almost lost to the Krang, but in turn their leader was sealed. And you,” Draxum said, pushing him back by his shoulders to get a good look at him, “could have been killed in your attempt to retrieve him, but instead you succeeded, and here we are. Or are you going to tell me you consulted with your brothers on that one?”

He made a good point. Not that Mikey wanted to hear it.

“I’m not dumb, Barry.” He dragged the sleeve of his hoodie over his eyes, then glared. “I know life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be fair to each other. We’re family!”

“Ugh, this again.” Draxum rolled his eyes, but looked oddly contemplative as he leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. He turned to Huginn a moment later, who seemed to be awake again atop the fridge, and gestured incredulously. “Is there some sort of manual on how families treat each other that I’ve not been forwarded?”

Huginn shrugged helplessly. Mikey blinked and raised a brow ridge. “Again?”

Draxum sighed and waved his fingers at him, then grumbled. “Nothing. You’d have to be there.”

Despite the alchemist’s refusal to elaborate, that didn’t seem like a dismissal. Draxum slung one arm over the back of his chair and raised his other fist to his chin, looking annoyed but deep in thought. Maybe he was really thinking of what Mikey had said to him?

He really hoped he was. Because when he said this wasn’t fair, he was talking about everyone—the others, and Draxum, too. Hiding this saved the yokai a tongue-lashing, but it’s not like they were going to burn him at the stake for it. They deserved to know.

And Draxum deserved to not be treated as an outcast. If life really could be unfair in your favor, then this was it. This was the kind of scary moment that brought families closer together.

Hopeful, Mikey gave Draxum a few seconds to think, then tried to appeal to him once more.

“The others might get upset you hid what was going on,” he admitted. “But mostly they’re just gonna be grateful you saved Leo.”

“Hmph.” Draxum didn’t even look at him.

It was time to bring out the big guns.

“Leo will be, too,” he said gently. Then winced. “Okay, sure. You’re right, and he’ll probably be super weird about it for a while. But! I know he’ll appreciate it, Barry.” And here he grinned, bright and sincere, and okay, yes, maybe a little devious as he leaned in. “He might even drop that whole roof thing.”

If that didn’t win him over, nothing would. Surely, the yokai wouldn’t turn down an ace in the hole like that.

Draxum’s eyes slid over to him. “And that is exactly why I don’t want him to know.”

What?

Mikey’s face scrunched up in confusion, and he drew back. “What?”

The alchemist dropped his hand to his lap and sighed heavily, eyes closed. A beat passed before he opened them again, regarding Mikey with all seriousness.

“Don’t get me wrong. Your brother is very annoying. There’s few things I’d like more than to never hear that drivel again,” he groused.

“So why—”

“I could have killed him, Michelangelo. I was actively trying to,” Draxum said plainly. Tired and resigned. “And that is not a thing Leonardo should feel obligated to forgive me for. I cannot make up for that, and his life is not the ransom I would pay for such forgiveness.”

Oh. Mikey stared, wide-eyed and half-dumb as he fully took that in. That was not the answer he was expecting. But now that he’d heard it, now that Draxum was looking at him with such unwavering resolve, a lot of things clicked into place.

“All that secrecy… this was the real reason, wasn’t it?”

Barry didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Mikey knew he had him pinned now, and his heart swelled for it in a mix of pity, frustration, and even a bit of pride.

It must have shown on his face, because Draxum bristled. “What’s that look for,” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Mikey grinned fondly. “Just thinking of how far you’ve come.”

“Stop that.”

“Nope. Don’t think I will,” he replied sweetly. “You caaaaare.”

Draxum growled and swatted at him, but Mikey weaved out of the way easily and stuck out his tongue. The yokai glowered, then turned away from him in his chair, fist propped up under his chin once again. As he looked away, Mikey’s smile fell.

In hindsight, it’d always been strange. Leo brought up the roof incident often, but Draxum never really took the bait the way he did with Dad when he brought up all their past baggage. Apparently this was why. How much of that stemmed from regret or Draxum just thinking Leo had the right to rub it in was anyone’s guess, but… to Mikey, it just seemed sad. It didn’t do Leo or Draxum any favors; it only served to keep their relationship strained forever. Not telling the others what he’d done to save Leo was the same difference. Draxum probably didn’t get it, but he was just isolating himself further from everyone like this.

Mikey didn’t want that for him. But how could he change his mind?

He was still pondering what to say when Draxum spoke up first.

“A compromise.”

“Huh?” Mikey raised his head and gave a hesitant squint. “On what?”

Draxum wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I will tell them what happened someday. Just… not right now.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“Even Leo?”

The alchemist sighed. “Even him. But give me time.”

“Hmm.” Mikey looked him up and down. Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting Draxum to come around so easily. If he really did follow through, he could keep this secret a little longer. But that was a big ‘if’. “And you’re not saying that just to brush me off?”

“Please.” The yokai snorted. “I’d come up with something better if that was my intent.”

“Then why the wait?”

Draxum didn’t respond right away. He looked annoyed—no, that wasn’t it. Embarrassed?

“I…” He gave his answer like Mikey was pulling his teeth. “I wish to apologize to Leonardo. Properly.” And finally, he looked him in the eyes with a nervous expression. Oh. He wasn’t embarrassed; he was afraid Mikey was going to refuse. “I would appreciate it if you allowed me to do that first.”

What on earth had brought this on? Mikey wanted to ask, but no. It didn’t matter. On this, Draxum could have his privacy.

“All right,” he relented, eyes shining. He’d teased Draxum for it earlier, but he really had come a long way from the villain he’d picked up off the street. “I’ll keep your secret, Barry. For a little while.”

Barely noticeable, the alchemist’s shoulders relaxed. Mikey only noticed because he was looking for it. “Good. We have a deal, then.”

“Mhmm.”

Sighing, Draxum closed his eyes and dropped his head over the back of the chair. He seemed relieved.

Mikey took that moment to pounce, leaning forward to wrap his arms around him for a hug, and promptly burst into tears.

“What the—” Draxum jumped, then sputtered angrily. “Michelangelo! I told you not to use—!”

Sniffed wetly, Mikey buried his face in the yokai’s robe. Draxum looked at him in panic as he felt the dampness seep through the cloth and made to pull him off gently, but the box turtle wouldn’t let him go.

“I’m not crying because it hurts. These are happy tears,” he explained quickly. “I know you didn’t do this for a thank you, but you’re getting one from me anyway, okay? I was trying to stay positive, but I thought we were going to lose him. I was so scared, Barry.”

Other than his own sobs and the hum of the fridge, the kitchen remained quiet. But after a moment, Mikey felt a hand drop on the back of his shell. He smiled and wept all the more, glad from the bottom of his heart. Every time he told the others it was going to work out; every time he whispered to Leo it’d be okay, he’d been so scared. In hindsight, maybe he’d just been trying to convince himself of it.

Thank you. Thank you for saving my brother.

“It’s all right,” Draxum hushed him, patting Mikey on the back as his other arm settling around him more clumsily. He wasn’t good at hugs, clearly. With this family, hopefully he’d get better at them. “It’s over now.”

Maybe it was.

“—she’s a traitor, just like you,” Splinter hissed from somewhere and Mikey turned over (over?), eyes frantically searching the dark. Who, where, what? What’d he miss?

Trying to move again, this time he felt the plush fabric tucked up to his chin: a blanket, draped over and all around him. Sleepily confused, he snuggled against it and found his attention drawn to the flickering lights on the ceiling, then lower.

There was a smirk in Draxum’s voice, even if it was only above a whisper. “I told you so.”

“Don’t listen to her, Luke!” A shadow shaped like his dad waved his hands at a bright light. The television? “Chrysanthemum is so much better for you!” He sounded aghast.

“Since when?”

“Since they look super good together.”

“You’re just saying that because she’s your type, and he looks like you,” Draxum slurred, sounding exhausted from the floor. “Meanwhile, anyone could see going with Astriala made more sense.”

“She tried to vote him off last episode!”

“Details,” the yokai drawled. “She’s clearly the superior warrior, so they should be together. Now keep your voice down, you poor excuse for a father.”

Yeah, that was chatter from a TV, all right. Mikey could just barely make it out, though it was too faint to be understood. Eyes adjusting to the light, he could recognize faces from that show he’d briefly seen earlier. That space Survivor thing.

Just a false alarm, then. Assured of that, the bickering of his two dads turned into a sort of soothing white noise. This couch was pretty comfy, too.

He slept.