Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mikey woke before the city.

His room was dark, lit only by the cool blue light of the moon slanting in through the grate above. The hum of distant cars was a muffled heartbeat, the lair still and peaceful, like the world had paused just for a moment.

He didn’t know what woke him at first, not until his hand slid across his bed and brushed against fur. Warm, but shallow.

He sat up slowly.

Klunk was there, curled beside him in the usual spot, but breathing in that barely-there way that told Mikey something was wrong. Very wrong.

He looks at his small fuzzy friend… his frame smaller now, his fur pale and white in some parts.
And he knew.
He knew what was happening.
Because master splinter looked the same when it happened to him.

He didn’t call for help. Didn’t shout for Donnie. Didn’t panic.

Mikey just shifted gently, cradling the small, aging body into his lap, and tucked his legs underneath him. One hand came up to rest over Klunk’s side, and he could feel every thin, wheezing breath.

Klunk let out a sound, something soft and broken, and Mikey shushed him quietly, petting between his ears the same way he has done for the last 12 years.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispered, barely a breath, “you’re okay. I’m here.”

His other hand trembled where it curled protectively around his cat’s back.

It wasn’t sudden, not really. Klunk had been slowing down for a while now, losing weight, sleeping more, eating less. Mikey had known. Somewhere deep down, he had known for a long time. But knowing wasn’t the same as being ready.

“Do you remember that Christmas ?” Mikey murmured, voice cracking just a little, “You picked me, remember that? Just strolled right up and meowed like I owed you the world.”

Klunk purred, just faintly, a thin rasp of a sound that barely lasted a second.

Mikey swallowed. “You’ve been with me through everything, man. Through Foot raids,the Shredder attacks through Leo’s Raph stage, through me messing up over and over… you stayed.”

He rubbed slow circles across Klunk’s spine, mindful of how fragile he’d become.

“You never left.”

His voice caught again, but he didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Because Klunk was still breathing. Still there.

Mikey leaned down and pressed his forehead to Klunk’s, noses almost touching. “You’re my best boy. The bravest, toughest, fluffiest little furball in the world.”

Klunk let out one final sigh. Long. Gentle. Like a candle flickering out in a quiet room.

And then…nothing.

The rise and fall stopped.
The warmth stayed, but it wouldn’t last.

Mikey didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

He sat there, cross-legged in the dark, cradling his best friend’s body in his lap, gently stroking soft orange fur as the room around him started to feel too big.

He didn’t sob. Didn’t scream.

His face stayed blank, but something behind it cracked.

Somewhere far off, in another room, a pipe dripped.

Mikey didn’t hear it.

He just kept petting. And petting.

He leaned down and kissed the pale fur.

“Thank you so much buddy…”

Chapter Text

It was early.

Too early for the kind of sound that woke Leo.

It wasn’t an alarm or the creak of pipes or even footsteps. It was a sound that didn’t belong to anything functional. It was quiet at first, something buried and soft, barely more than the shaky rhythm of someone trying not to cry.

Then it swelled.

Choking. Harsh. Guttural.

Sobbing.

Leo was on his feet in an instant.

He stepped into the hallway and immediately saw Donnie. His brother looked pale and half-frozen, his lips parted like he had been about to say something but couldn’t. Then Raph came out from the other direction, expression dark and unreadable, eyes flicking between them before they all turned toward the source of the sound.

Mikey’s room.

The closer they got, the more intense it became. The door was half-closed, but it didn’t hide anything. Not the sound. Not the heartbreak.

They didn’t knock.

The room was dim. Mikey was on the floor, curled into himself, holding something tight to his chest. His back shook violently with each breath, each scream that didn’t reach full volume, each gasp for air that only fed another sob.

It was Klunk.

Leo’s chest crumpled in on itself. The tiny orange body was still, limp in Mikey’s arms, as if he had just laid down for a nap and never woke up. His fur had already lost some warmth. Mikey clutched him like he hadn’t noticed. Or refused to notice.

He was rocking back and forth, his fingers tangled in Klunk’s fur. His face was pressed so tightly against the cat that his words couldn’t be understood, just quiet mumbles of please and I’m sorry and no no no no no—

Donnie took a step forward.

Mikey flinched.

It was instinctive and full-body. He curled tighter around Klunk, his breath catching in a panicked stutter, and then he began to cry harder. So much harder.

They stopped moving.

Leo crouched down slowly, settling near him but not touching. Mikey didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge anyone. Just kept sobbing and shaking like the pain might tear him in two. His breaths were sharp and gasping, like each one hurt. The sound of it was unbearable.

Raph sat against the wall. Donnie lowered himself too, his hand resting against his own leg like he needed to ground himself.

No one spoke.

Leo stared at Mikey, at the tiny form of Klunk in his arms, and his vision blurred before he realized he was crying. Just a little. Just enough to sting.

Then his heart twisted in a way that went deeper than just the loss of a pet.

And suddenly, he was back there again.

Back in the dojo. Three months ago. Kneeling on the floor beside his father’s body, hands shaking, voice trembling, trying to be strong when the world had just fallen apart. Mikey had been the first to break. He had screamed. Collapsed. Sobbed like something inside him had been ripped out. Like it would never come back.

Leo remembered cradling him that night. Holding his baby brother and not knowing what to say. Because there wasn’t anything to say. There was only the pain. And the silence that followed it.

And now here they were again.

Mikey wasn’t just mourning Klunk. He was reliving all of it. Splinter’s death. The emptiness that followed. The feeling of being abandoned by the universe, again and again. And this time, there was nothing in his arms but a still, quiet body.

He cried harder.

His voice cracked so violently it barely sounded human. He was trying to speak but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or didn’t want to. It all mixed together, just sobs and sniffles and breathless little gasps that made Leo’s chest ache.

Donnie reached out but stopped short. Mikey wouldn’t want to be touched right now. His whole body was clenched, curled, locked into grief like a cage. Raph leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His shoulders were tight. He didn’t say a word.

Leo wiped at his eyes. His hand was shaking.

They didn’t tell Mikey to let go. Didn’t ask him to put Klunk down. Didn’t say it was going to be okay. It wasn’t. Not right now.

They just sat beside him.

They listened to the way his voice fell apart. To the raw sound of his heartbreak. And they held still.

Mikey trembled so hard it looked like he might fall apart. His tears soaked into Klunk’s fur, into the blankets, into his own hands. His cries kept coming, wave after wave, mouth open but no words coming out. Just noise. Just sorrow.

But still, they said nothing.

They understood.

And that was the only thing they could give him.

So they surrounded him, quiet and close. Not touching, but near. Protecting him in silence. A shield made of presence, not words.

The room was full of grief. Not just Mikey’s.

Leo’s eyes stayed on the floor, on the soft shape in Mikey’s arms, and he felt the echo of his father’s voice somewhere in his chest.

You do not carry grief alone, my sons.

And they didn’t.

Not today.

Not ever.

Chapter Text

The crying stopped before the grief did.

It didn’t end. It just faded. Quieted. Like a storm moving farther out to sea, still visible, still dangerous, but just… distant.

Mikey didn’t move.

He hadn’t spoken, not once.

He stayed on the floor, curled tightly around Klunk’s tiny form, his arms wrapped like he could keep him safe if he just held on hard enough. His face was blotchy and red, his breathing ragged. But there were no more sobs. No more gasps. Just the hollow kind of stillness that came after heartbreak had wrung every last sound out of someone.

Donnie had brought him a blanket. Left it there beside him, not pushing. Just offering.

Raph had disappeared briefly and returned with a bottle of water. He placed it nearby too. Mikey didn’t look at it.

Leo hadn’t moved from his spot. He just watched, quiet and steady. His eyes were tired, dark around the edges. There were tear tracks on his cheeks, dried and left untouched.

No one said anything.

Not because they didn’t want to. Because they knew.

Grief didn’t want comfort. Not right away. Not when it was raw like this. It didn’t want reassurances or soft words. It wanted space. It wanted silence. And more than anything, it wanted witnesses.

So they witnessed.

Leo watched Mikey as his little brother slowly, carefully shifted into a more comfortable position. He was still holding Klunk, still cradling him like he might wake up any second. But now he was lying on his side, facing the wall, the blanket pulled halfway over him. One hand rested on Klunk’s back. The other was clenched in the fabric near his face.

He looked so small.

And Leo felt that same helpless ache gnawing at his chest. The same one he’d felt the night Splinter died. When there was nothing to say. Nothing to fix.

Just this.

He kept thinking Mikey would speak. That he’d whisper something. Even a single word. But he didn’t.

Raph shifted behind him. Leo didn’t need to look to know he was still there. Donnie had moved closer to the doorway now, leaning his head against the frame, his eyes downcast and glazed with the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from lack of sleep.

Hours passed like that.

Eventually, Donnie left for a while. Raph stayed longer, though he didn’t try to hide the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. It was like he didn’t know what to do with himself, like his body wanted to fix something and couldn’t.

Leo kept his gaze on Mikey.

Every so often, Mikey’s body would twitch — the kind of involuntary jolt that comes after too much crying. His eyes would squeeze shut. His arms would pull Klunk closer. And then he’d fall still again.

He wasn’t asleep. He was just… somewhere else.

Leo knew that place.

He had lived there too, not long ago.

When their father had slipped away, quietly and without warning, Leo had sat in the dojo until morning, just staring at the floor. He remembered the sound of Mikey’s scream. The way Donnie had collapsed in a heap in the corner. The way Raph had stood frozen, jaw clenched so tight it bled.

That night had broken something in all of them.

And now, this — this tiny life, lost without fanfare — had broken something again.

Leo reached forward slowly. Not to touch Mikey, but to adjust the blanket, tucking it gently under his shoulder. Mikey didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all.

That worried Leo more than anything.

But he didn’t push.

He just sat there.

Let the minutes pass.

Let the pain breathe.

Outside, the lights of the city blinked softly, casting long shadows through the lair. Somewhere in the walls, the pipes groaned. The hum of machinery buzzed low and steady. But inside Mikey’s room, it was quiet.

No words. No comfort.

Just presence.

Leo settled in, letting his back press against the wall, arms folded lightly across his chest. He was going to stay. All night, if that’s what it took. All week, if Mikey needed it.

Raph eventually stood and wordlessly left, but Leo could still hear him moving in the hall. Donnie returned with a warm drink he didn’t expect Mikey to take, and left it on the side table anyway.

The grief lingered like a fog, dense and unmoving.

And Leo stayed.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Mikey would find his voice again when he was ready.

Until then, his brothers would carry the silence for him.

Chapter Text

The lair had never been so still for the last 3 days

Even with the hum of Donnie’s machines, the quiet padded through every hallway like a ghost. No distant game music. No rapid footsteps. No laughter. Mikey hadn’t laughed in days.

He hadn’t drawn. Hadn’t read a single comic. His play station sat untouched beside his the tv room, controllers battery long dead. The blanket he’d wrapped himself in when Klunk passed was still clinging to his shoulders, even though it smelled like old tears and grief. And on his wrist, tied too tight, was Klunk’s collar. Faded, frayed, and clinking softly whenever he moved.

The others didn’t ask him to do chores. Didn’t ask him to do anything. Raph washed the dishes now. Leo restocked snacks. Donnie wiped down the training room mats every night. No one said it out loud, but the gaps Mikey left had been filled in with quiet love.

They just didn’t fill the gap in Mikey.

So when April returned that afternoon, cheeks wind-chapped and arms full of groceries, none of the boys were prepared for what she was holding.

Wrapped in her jacket, peeking out with wide, uneven eyes, was a kitten. Tiny. Black. Thin, with one orange streak stretching up over her left eye like a scar.

She didn’t even meow. Just trembled.

April hesitated the second she stepped inside and saw Leo’s face. His expression cracked into something unreadable.

“…What?” she asked.

Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t hear?”

April’s heart dropped.

“Klunk passed away,” Donnie said from the hallway, voice softer than usual. “Few nights ago. Mikey was with him.”

April’s arms tightened around the bundle in her coat. “I… oh shell. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—”

“You couldn’t have,” Leo said gently. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I found her behind a dumpster yesterday. Soaked, hungry. She latched onto me. I wasn’t trying to bring a replacement, I swear. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Raph stepped out from the kitchen, a dish towel in one hand. “You gonna tell him?”

April stared down at the kitten. She was so small. Smaller than Klunk had ever been.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. But her feet were already moving toward the living room.

Mikey was curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around him, his whole body turned toward the cushions like he could block out the world. The flicker of an old cartoon lit his face in half-shadows. Klunk’s collar jingled faintly with every breath.

“Mikey?” April’s voice was soft. She stood a few steps away.

He didn’t move.

“I… I brought someone.”

His head turned slowly. Eyes swollen. Dull.

When she stepped closer and carefully placed the kitten in his lap, the room froze.

The kitten didn’t move at first. Just pressed herself low into the blanket, trembling so hard Mikey could feel it through the fabric.

Mikey’s face shifted. Not with softness.

With pain.

He stared at her, this shivering, too-small thing with too-big eyes, and something ugly twisted in his chest.

“No.”

April blinked. “Mikey—”

“She’s not him.”

“I know—”

“She doesn’t even smell like him.” His voice cracked hard. “Why would you—why would you bring her here?”

April flinched. “I didn’t mean—”

“You think I’m done? That I want a new cat already? That I’m just supposed to…” He sucked in a breath like it physically hurt. “Like Klunk didn’t matter?”

“Mikey, no.” April dropped to her knees beside him. “That’s not what this is. I’m not trying to erase Klunk.”

The kitten tried to crawl closer, drawn to the heat of his body. Mikey flinched like she burned him.

“I haven’t been able to do anything. I haven’t breathed, April,” he said. “He died right here, on my lap. I held him and I begged and I cried and I felt him go. And you just… you bring another one in like it’s…”

“She’s not a replacement ,” April said. Her voice was firmer now. “She’s not.i- She’s just… also.”

And beneath everything, beneath her words and Mikey’s tears and the kitten’s tremble, was the truth of it. One life doesn’t replace another.

It never had.

Mikey’s eyes filled again. He looked down at the kitten, at her too-bright eyes and the streak over her face and the way she kept trembling, and something in him cracked.

“She’s scared,” he whispered.

April nodded. “Yeah. Probably hasn’t been touched by someone kind in her whole little life.”

Mikey reached out slowly. His fingers brushed her head. She pressed into the touch like she’d been starving for it.

“I’m not ready,” Mikey said. “I can’t … it won’t- I- I can’t love her.”
Mikey covers his face.

“You don’t have to,” April said. “Just… be here. Let her be here, too.”

The kitten nestled into his lap like she’d been born for it.

And Mikey started crying again. Not loud. Not wild. Just soft, wet tears that slid down his cheeks and into the collar still wrapped around his wrist.

“She’s not Klunk,” he whispered. “She’ll never be Klunk.”

April rested a hand on his shoulder.

“And she doesn’t have to be.”

The kitten curled tighter into his blanket. Mikey pulled it around her too and leaned back into the couch. He didn’t stop crying. But he didn’t stop holding her either.

And when Leo peeked around the corner to check, he didn’t say a word.

He just smiled, almost invisible, and walked away