Work Text:
His hands are shaking when he swipes up his work satchel, fumbling with the button, he pretends not to flinch when he feels something loud and heavy land in the room downstairs, followed by the building argument from his brothers.
He dumps out the contents of his bag; all the things he usually brings with him on a work day like his lunch box and a spare pair of foam nunchucks. He swaps them out for the real deal just as the fight downstairs continues, Donatello’s voice shrill and impatient as he yells about responsibility and leadership .
It’s the same old crap Mikey has been made to listen to for months now. The same rehashed issues brought around again and again with no promise of them ever getting resolved.
And other thud and crash, most likely Raph throwing his weight around, like a winded bull, he’s unable to take Donnie’s criticism very well. It will only be a matter of time and a few broken plates before Splinter will separate them.
Mikey doesn’t wanna catch Raph on the walkway when he inevitably storms up to his room so he’s quick to pack away everything he thinks he might need, despite the tremor still working its way through his hands.
Tears blot his eyes but he acts as if they’re not there. If he cries, he admits that he’s sad: that’s the logic.
He’s not supposed to be sad. He’s supposed to be the happy one. He’s supposed to be the one that strolls on downstairs, gets in the middle of the fight with a loopy grin and an off handed joke and pulls their broken, little family together with ease.
A sharp inhale of air tugs painfully at his chest.
It didn’t work like that anymore. It wasn’t going to work like that anymore.
He passes his desk. A scrap of paper with Leo’s name scribbled at the top as well as the first few lines of a letter he never found the words for.
He stares at it, vision blurring with those un-fallen tears. It makes his eyes burn, so he blinks, wetting his face instantly, he reaches out with a fist and crumples it.
If Leo can’t write him, then he’s sure it’s only fair to return the favor.
He slings the bag over his shoulder, flexing his fists by his side to quell the shaking. He leaves his room, hoping he can go unnoticed but apparently he picks a great time to leave, as the sudden lull in the argument causes both brothers to turn their heads to watch him descend from the walkway towards the entrance.
Donnie shoulders past Raph, anger on pause for a moment, his face furrows, reaching out to catch Mikey’s wrist with his hand.
“Where are you going?” Donnie demands. He holds not an ounce of resentment towards Mikey that he does towards Raph, but there’s still an edge to his tone that has the younger turtle ripping away his arm with a breath.
“Out.” He says sharply. He goes to the fridge and grabs a couple cans of soda. It leaves only two left but Mikey paid for these. He doesn’t care anymore.
“Out?” Raphael says with a bark. “Out where?”
Mikey doesn’t look back at them, afraid he might start welling up again, he just busies himself with stuffing the beverages into his bag. His hands are still shaking despite his best efforts.
“Out,” Mikey repeats, voice flat. “Away from here. Away from you.”
He imagines the face Raph makes; Mikey knows better than to poke a provoked tiger but he can’t help it — if everyone else in this family gets to be angry then he can too, he’s decided.
“You’re running away.” Donnie concludes, unimpressed and unconvinced. When Mikey does finally turn away, his brother has folded his arms over his chest, mouth drawn into a thin line. Raph is making a face. Fists clenched, it’s best he gets out of here before it gets real ugly.
“Yeah,” he says with a breath. “Cos I can’t stand it here no more. So just. Leave me alone.”
Donnie hums, like a bothered mother. Raph just barks a short, sharp laugh, like he’s not gonna let him leave without a fight.
Mikey doesn’t want a fight, that’s the point.
His heart kicks up in his chest, making his palms sweat and his head swim.
“You have work in the morning,” Donnie reminds him. “What about that?”
Mikey’s chest squeezes, like he’s about to have a heart attack. It frightens him for a moment.
“Screw work,” he spits.
It’s then that Splinter emerges, his snout wrinkling with distaste, he’s quick to chastise his son.
“Michelangelo,” he says sharply. “Do not use such language in his home.”
A frustrated laughter bubbles out of Mikey, bringing with his fresh tears. His whole chest feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and if he weren’t so angry and hurt right now, he might just crawl over to Donnie and tell him what was wrong.
Was he dying? He thinks. Was this it?
“This isn’t a home,” he tells his father rather bitterly. “None of you act like it anymore so why should I?”
He doesn’t mean to let his tears fall freely down his face but it happens anyway. He sniffs, afraid that if he tries to scrub them away , it’ll only make it worse.
The sight of their brother crying seems to shift something within Donnie, his hardened expression melting away, he reaches forward again, this time less aggressive, like an invitation. But Mikey doesn’t take it, stepping backwards he inches towards the door.
“Hey,” his brother says in a gentle, soothing voice. It’s Donnie. His soft spoken brother who’s always been able to chase away the hurt. Not the Donnie who uses his loud, angry voice all the time. Not that brother.
“Hey,” he repeats. Mikey just shakes his head. “C’mon now. Don’t be silly. Let’s. Let’s talk this out, hm?”
And if they hadn’t already tried that a hundred times already, then maybe Mikey would have just shrugged the satchel off his shell and folded himself into his willing arms and cried and cried until he couldn’t cry again, and done his best to patch the wounds between them all.
But he knows how it goes. Raph pretends. Donnie puts on a false smile. Splinter turns a blind eye and it’s Mikey left standing in the wake of those ruins, picking up the pieces until the next bomb goes off and sends him hurtling through more hurt again.
He flinches and steps back.
“No.” He says. Raph’s mouth twitches, like he’s going to say something and Splinter steps forward, maybe to physically stop him from leaving but Mikey gives them no chance for anything of the sort. He’s always been the fastest, spinning on his heel he takes off through the entryway and breaks into a sprint down the tunnel.
He pretends like he can’t hear Donnie’s pained voice calling out for him, and pushes forward.
He ends up at April and Casey’s place, standing out in the rain on the fire escape, looking like a kicked puppy, he must be the absolute picture of pathetic, it must not matter to his human friends who welcome him in with a tight, warm hug.
A half hour later and he’s curled up on the couch with a blanket draped across his legs and a cup of his favorite kind of cocoa cupped between his hands, nursing it slowly as Casey finishes up washing the dishes from their dinner and April paces on the phone to Donnie.
“Yeah.” She says. Mikey is trying to not eavesdrop but it’s hard when she sounds so unusually short on the phone to his brother. It makes his heart go a little squirmy in his chest. “Yeah. I know. He’s here. Yep. Uh huh. Will do. Kay, Don. Talk later.”
April sighs, running a palm over the flat of her head where her hair is pulled into a ponytail, she pockets her phone into his jeans, masking her face with a smile as she drops into the space next to Mikey.
He runs a thumb around the rim of the mug, unable to lift his gaze to meet hers.
“Guess you’re gonna tell me to go home and sort it out like real brothers do, hm?” He says, his voice failing to find its usual spark of humor.
When April says nothing does he finally lift his head to face her.
“No,” she says slowly, like she’s only just fully deciding on it now. “I’m not.”
Mikey blinks at her. “You’re not?”
She shakes her head. Reaching over She readjusts the blanket folded over his legs. It’s warm and fluffy and feels like it came straight out of the dryer, probably for her and Casey to crawl under after their movie but Mikey is thankful he has such understanding friends.
So understanding, apparently, that she was fully on his side on this one.
“I told Don you could stay the night. If you want, that is.” He clicks her tongue. She’s disappointed, he realizes. “Told him you needed some time away from home. It’s not good for you, cooped up with that stuff going on all the time.”
Mikey mutely nods. He hates admitting it. It’s not like he hates his family but… it just isn’t the same as it was before, and he’s afraid that it won’t ever go back to how it was ever again.
“Hey,” April coos softly, and when Mikey blinks does he notices he’s crying again. He huffs an exhausted sounding laugh.
“Man,” he says, reaching up to wipe the tears away with his wrist. His smile wobbles, barely touching at his face at all. “What a wreck, huh?”
April brushes a stray tear off his chin with a flick of her thumb. “I’ve seen worse.”
Mikey tries to laugh but it turns into a choked off sob. Embarrassed, he ducks his head down and makes a pitiful sound.
He’s not supposed to be here blubbering to poor April on her date night. He’s supposed to be the goofy, happy go lucky one. The silly brother. The glue, they’d called him once.
If he couldn’t hold together just two brothers let alone the four of them, then what use was he anymore to their half assed team?
He drops his head low, burdened by his swelling emotions, he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth. His gut swirls with the little food he’d consumed throughout the day and the hot chocolate that was now sitting there. He feels a hand land gently on his shoulder.
“It’s gonna be okay,” April tells him, voice hushed and gentle, such a difference to the loud, harsh screaming voices he was used to back home. “You can cry. It’s okay.”
It’s all the permission he needs to fold himself into her arms, snout pressed wetly into her shoulder, he lets go of all the tears he’s been holding back, hiccuping a sob, his body shakes with it, feeling the warmth shared as April wraps him up in his arms.
“I miss Leo,” he admits to her in a small voice when he’s finally found it again. He feels like a child. “And I really really hate him right now.”
April rubs slow, lazy circles on his shell with her palm. She rocks him slightly, the cocoa still held between them. “I know,” she tells him. “So do I.”
“And I miss Don and Raph, and I’m like so mad at them.” Mikey says, his voice thickly crowded by emotion. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”
April holds him. “I know, honey. I know.”
She continues to hold him until he starts to grow heavy against her shoulder, his drink gone cold, he later hazily recollects the memory of her shifting him on the couch and prying the mug from his fingers, pulling the blanket up under her chin and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, wisps of her hair tickling his face, he hasn’t the energy to stir.
“It won’t be forever, Mikey,” she whispers to him before she leaves the room.
He’s not sure if she says it just in the moment or whether she believes he even hears her, but Mikey likes to think that there’s some truth to her words.
He can only hope, at least.