Chapter Text
“Breathe, Michelangelo.”
“Whatdoyoumeanimtotallybreathing,” Mikey gushes out, immediately gasping for more air. Draxum sighs and runs a paw over his face, posture dropping to a slouch.
“You need to take this seriously. As of right now you are a danger to your family with how much mysticism is coursing through your veins unchecked-“
“Yeah, yeah, I know! It’s just hard, okay?” Mikey interrupts, breaking out of his rigid posture and placing his elbows on his crossed knees. They had been at this for two hours now, and Mikey was tired of it.
These sessions with Draxum had started a month ago, and barely any progress had been made in controlling the excess power that rolled off of him at the most random of times. For a few weeks after the invasion he had managed to hide how his hands trembled on the Bad Hand Days™, or how things in the room would shatter when the lightning-like scars on his arms pulsed with bursts of warmth.
Most of the attention was focused on Leo and Raph physically healing, anyway, which was way more serious. It’s not like it was a big deal.
Of course, when it happened in Donnie’s lab on a night neither of them could sleep, there was little Mikey could do except come clean about the ongoing problem, much to the annoyance (and overdramatic worry) of his older brothers. Donnie went on a rant about nerve damage that Mikey sort of listened to, Raph and Dad chewed him out for ‘hiding something so serious’, and Leo tried to defend Mikey a little bit, but he could tell his immediate older brother was disappointed in him, too.
Mikey thought that he had been able to escape relatively unscathed from the whole mess with the K-words. Everyone else was busy physically healing from their injuries and that in turn meant Mikey picked up even more shifts as Dr. Feelings. Just to make sure his family's mental healing went off without a hitch, too. There was no need to focus on his arms, he was handling it fine.
Only, according to his family and Draxum, that wasn’t the case.
It was sweet that Draxum acted like a mother hen when he heard the news about what happened on the surface during the invasion. That is, until Mikey was explaining the portal situation. Draxum had completely flipped his lid, ranting about the dangers and how ‘of course there would be complications after a downright miracle, Michelangelo has never been trained to handle that kind of power!’.
So, that led to this arrangement. Weekly sessions in Draxums apartment about how to control and direct the mystic energy coursing through Mikey’s body so it couldn’t unintentionally hurt him or other people. Easy peasy (not).
“Let’s try again. Close your eyes, and remember to breathe deeply.” Draxum abruptly began, straightening to his full height while sitting cross legged in front of him. Mikey copies him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, matching Draxums speed. “Focus on your mind. Let your thoughts slow.”
That was always the part Mikey couldn’t understand during these lessons. How was he supposed to slow his mind? There had always been five drawing ideas, seven upcoming dinner menus he wanted to try, and at least 10 different snippets of songs floating around his head at all times. His brain had never known peace since the moment he gained consciousness.
“I can hear you thinking, Michelangelo,” Draxum states, briefly snapping Mikey out of it. “This will not work unless you have a clear, blank mind.”
“Okay, that makes sense, I guess, but you never really explained how I’m supposed to get there-”
“It is different for everyone. Start by thinking about whatever makes you relaxed, that should help get things going.”
Mikey huffs, sticking out his tongue and hoping Draxum would hear that, too. Regardless, he takes Draxum’s advice. He imagines his sixth birthday, when he and his brothers had run each other to the brink of collapse and flopped into one big turtle pile in front of where Dad had been watching telenovelas. And about that time Leo had snuck him out of the lair when he was eleven, stealing popsicles from a stand on the street before climbing onto a roof's edge to enjoy their bounty. And when Raph had forcefully snuggled him to sleep when he was five and his favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Croc, got lost in one of the sewer tunnels.
“Very good, keep doing…whatever it is you’re doing,” came Draxum’s voice, lowered to a soft, lilting tone. “Now, think about what it feels like to use your power. Remember the way it flows through you. That you control it and that it does not control you.”
This is where it always went off the rails, in Mikey’s opinion. He takes one more deep breath, mentally psyching himself up in a voice that sounded oddly like Leo, and started sorting through the memories he would prefer not to exist.
The hopelessness his family felt. The echoing boom of the Prison Dimension as it closed on the Technodrome, cutting Leo off while they could do nothing but stand and watch. The wetness of Mikey's cheeks as he sobbed, straining all his muscles with the small, small hope that maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe he could save him and really be the badass mystic warrior that Casey said he grew up to be, and then the burning, stabbing pain of molten lava flowing through his veins–but the portal was opening and he could see Leo, alive, so it didn’t matter that this was the worst pain Mikey had ever felt in his entire life and his skin was falling away—
The blank picture frame explodes to his right, jolting Mikey out of his spiraling thoughts with a yelp. His eyes fly open and he gasps for breath, wiping off the sweat from his forehead with a frown. Since when had he started sweating? Or stopped breathing?
“Well, it is safe to say we have made little progress in today's lesson,” Draxum states, face blank but ears flicked back.
Mikey rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement, Barry.”
“Of course, that is what I hear teachers are supposed to give their students to help them succeed,” Mikey sighs, looking up to Draxum to see he was entirely serious. Of course.
A thick silence stretched between them as Mikey caught his breath, Draxum silently handing him a plastic water bottle. He felt marginally better after drinking the luke-warm water, but there was still an exhaustion attached to what felt like every bone in his body.
“Michelangelo…” Draxum suddenly says, pursing his lips and looking anywhere else but at said turtle. “I know that these past few months have been hard for the family, especially during the brunt of the blue one’s recovery,” he pauses, glancing at Mikey’s now painfully forced smile and grimacing, “...but I believe my suggestion at our last session would help you–”
“Nope, nuh uh,” Mikey immediately denies, rolling to his feet and snickering when Draxum nearly trips on his robe in his haste to follow suit. “I’m all good, Barry, but thanks for the offer, I’ll be sure to pass it along to the bros, they probably need it more anyway–”
“Michelangelo.” Mikey freezes at the stern voice, glancing nervously at the sheep-man as he crosses his arms and a new steel flashes in his eyes. That look never spelled good things for anyone. “The therapists in the Hidden City are uniquely qualified to help–”
Mikey dryly swallows, slowly backing towards the door. “Y’know, I think I forgot to feed my…frying pans, yeah, they must be super hungry by now so I think I’m just going to go,” he rushes out, swiftly pulling open the door and dashing into the hallway. “Besides, I’m totally fine, I’ve got Dr. Feelings! He has a certifiable PhD in people's emotions! I got it covered! Thanks for trying again with the lesson, Barry, same time next week? Yeah? Okay bye!”
Mikey attempts to slam the door to seal his escape, but it’s blocked by Draxum’s hoofed leg. He huffs, and as Mikey tries to make a run for the window in the hallway he’s snatched back by his weapons strap across his back, holding his nunchaku as well as a spare kusari fundo. Mikey groans, turning to face the open doorway with the best pout he can muster.
Draxum’s face is unyielding. His fur is getting even redder, and Mikey braces himself to be yelled at in Draxum’s warrior alchemist voice before his expression softens and he’s let go with a deep sigh.
“Please think about it, Michelangelo. This is clearly impeding our progress, and your outbursts of mystic energy are only going to get more extreme until you get the hang of it. Just…be careful.” Mikey beams up at Draxum, rocking on his heels.
“Aw, you really do care! I knew I was your favorite son, c’mon, you can admit it–” Mikey is cut off by the door slamming in his face. He laughs at the muffled cursing from under the doorway and bounces his way to the window. Sliding it open he perches on the fire escape to slide it back shut with his foot.
Making Draxum feel things other than annoyance and exasperation was always a foolproof way to get out of his company. Mikey had practically mastered the tactic by now, using it to his advantage to get out of conversations he was not equipped to handle.
A shiver works through his body as he parkours to the roof of Draxum and April’s apartment building. Mikey has the errant thought to visit April since he’s already here. She would probably make that home-made hot chocolate he loves to drink when fall officially starts. Reluctantly, he decides against it. His brothers were expecting him back soon, and Mikey really doesn’t want Don to send a Donnie Pod crashing through April's wall. He didn’t know how she would explain a giant hole in their apartment to her parents.
Mikey breathes in the fresh air and absorbs the sounds of the city. He very much prefers the surface noises to the staleness of the sewers and the abandoned subway station. Sure, it was home and he would always love being there, but there was something about the ambient sounds of New York City that relaxed him in a way the muffled drips and distant rumblings of subway trains simply couldn’t. And now that the city was fully reconstructed from the failed invasion, everything was slowly sliding back to normal. Well, as normal as a city sitting atop a Yokai and mutant metropolis could get.
His phone blaring out Raph’s ringtone (Dancing Queen by ABBA) knocks him out of his thoughts. Mikey rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone to be greeted by Raph's smooshed face in his profile picture.
“Hey Raph, just got out of Draxum’s place, I’ll be home soon. Do you need anything? That’s the only reason you would call, not ‘cause you felt some paranoid big brother instinct, right?”
A nervous chuckle answers his question before Raph even starts talking. “Whhhaaaaaattt? Of course not, little–I mean big man! Nothin’ like that, I swear! Just, ah, wondering exactly when you’d be home so Raph could, um, start makin’ the popcorn! Yeah, for movie night, y’know? Don’t want any stale popcorn for my youngest bro!”
Mikey shakes his head, both annoyed and amused by Raph’s lies. You’d think that he’d have gotten better at it, especially with how much Leo’s been trying to teach him, but his biggest brother still can’t lie for shit.
“You still don’t trust me to be out on my own, huh? I’m fifteen now, Raph, not even close to being a baby! I can handle myself just as well as you guys can, you know that,” Mikey snips, wincing when it comes out harsher than he intends. That had been happening a bit too much lately, and his family chalked it up to a late forming teenage phase, but Mikey still tried to keep it in check, whatever it actually was. He was not a moody teen, thank you very much. “Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean to say it like that. No matter how true it is,” he finishes under his breath, but knows Raph still caught it.
“It’s alright, Mike,” Raph says, his voice softer now. “You’re right, I know I worry too much, but…it’s been too quiet lately, y’know? I can’t help but feel like somethin’ bad' is cooking. And when that happens I would really like to have all my little brothers accounted for so none of you bozos go and do somethin’ stupid again.”
Mikey sighs, swinging his legs gently against the bricks. “If I promise to never do anything stupid again will that make you feel better?”
“Absolutely not, ‘cause it would be a straight up lie.”
“How dare you slander me like this!” Mikey gasps, giggling when he hears Raph’s amused huff over the speaker. “Although I can’t really blame you, that sounds like something me and my razz-ma-tazz would do.”
“Yeah, I know,” Raph grumbles. Mikey hears something explode over the speaker, followed by the muffled shouts of Donnie. Raph sighs, and he can practically see the way his big bro is rubbing the bridge of his snout.
“What’d Leo break this time?” he asks, idly counting how many red cars pass by below him. He’s at seven before Raph answers him with a huff.
“No clue, but Don is not happy ‘bout it. Also, you never answered my question–you know when you’re going to be home? I could use some Dr. Delicate Touch to calm those two down.”
Mikey laughs at the muffled arguing growing louder and a clear hiss comes through the speaker. Yep, Leo definitely broke some big project of Don’s. “I should be home in about 15 minutes, think you can hold them off from maiming each other for that long?”
“I guess I’ll have to, see ‘ya then, Angelo. And you will be telling me how the lesson with Draxum went this time, no more distracting Raph to get out of it.” Another crash and Leo’s colorful swearing and Mikey is swiftly hung up on with a mumbled, “Maybe if I mash their heads together hard enough that’ll knock some sense into–”
The dial tone sounds and Mikey’s face scrunches in despair. He had been successful in redirecting Raph and Dad’s questions about the failing lessons so far, but Raph sounded serious this time. It was going to take all of the charm to get them off his back when he got to the lair.
Besides, there was nothing to talk about in the first place. His mysticism was doing slightly better (as long as he didn’t think about it) and, unsurprisingly, no new progress had been made.
Already formulating a plan of action for when he’s inevitably cornered at home, Mikey stands and stretches out his shell. Who knew sitting ram-rod straight for almost two hours just thinking would hurt his muscles as much as regular training? And whatever had happened during that last attempt had made him unfairly exhausted for having been sat on the floor for that long.
With one final shake of his limbs Mikey takes off across the rooftops with a loud whoop. Summoning his chains he wraps them around various anchors hanging off of the buildings, swinging his way through the streets. All of the Spider-Man movies made it look easy, but it had taken almost an entire year for Mikey to perfect this technique enough to avoid slamming into buildings and lamp posts. Donnie had an entire new folder full of blackmail material from that year of face planting into bricks on the regular.
Nothing could beat the feeling, though. Leo had his portals, Raph cleared most buildings in a single leap, and Donnie could use his battle shell to fly everywhere, but this was all Mikey. The wind whipping past, the ground rushing so fast beneath him it looked like a blur, and all of the flips and acrobatics he could ever want to perform.
Mikey was a bit surprised he had never seen an upload of ‘Giant Flying Turtle Real?’ on Youtube.
After almost a full ten minutes of swinging and flipping through the air, Mikey finally came into view of the abandoned fire station they used as a waypoint to get home. It took a while to get used to traveling mainly above ground to their lair instead of jumping into a random manhole and going from there, but by now it was second nature to look for the chipped red building.
Mikey swings around the corner, coming to a brief stop atop said abandoned fire station so he can walk the rest of the way. He dissipates his ninpō and struts across the roof, about to jump down when whispered, muffled voices filter up from the alley beside him.
He chews his bottom lip, looking between the voices and the direction of home. Raph could handle the twins for a bit longer, right? This would just be a quick pit stop to make sure nothing evil was happening, then he could continue on his way to restore peace within the lair. And, like he keeps telling Raph, he isn’t a baby. He’s fifteen, and he helped stop the end of the world! Twice! He can handle some thugs by himself no problem.
Decision made, he creeps closer to the roof's edge, crouching down to peer over the side into the shadily lit alley. From his angle, Mikey can only make out two figures who seem to be arguing about something, one small and one as big as Raph.
“You spent rent on 57 hot dogs!? Are you completely insane!?” the smaller figure shouts in a raspy voice, bringing up their hands as if to throttle the other. Mikey’s eyes go wide, recognizing the terrible voice of the Foot Lieutenant in an instant. That must mean the other figure was the Foot Brute.
Cass had assured everyone that both of them had been killed when the K-words had invaded, though. And, after reluctantly being shown pictures by an overenthusiastic Cass, Mikey had to agree. There was no walking away from that kind of damage.
He had seen the extent that the Foot Clan had been infected by the K-words. They should be very much in the ground, or at the very least be killing machines locked in a lab somewhere by the government. How were they here and looking relatively unharmed?
Whatever the case, Mikey knows they can’t be up to anything good. Maybe Raph was right when he said something bad has been cooking during these quiet months of recovery.
“How would I have known!? I was hungry, and they were right there!”
Or maybe their brains were affected even more by their infection than Mikey thought, if this was what they were arguing about.
“I can’t believe–ugh! Whatever, just move the crates inside. We should have enough to make rent after the Purple Dragons pay us for this…grunt work,” Foot Lieutenant sighs, looking around at the scattered wooden crates that Mikey only now noticed.
Well, that seals the deal in Mikey's mind. If the Foot Clan is working for or with the Purple Dragons, then something big must be going down. Or, the other half of his mind supplies, these two might simply be desperate to keep their apartment. Either way, Mikey isn’t going to miss an opportunity to kick Foot Clan ass.
Sending a mental plea to Raph that he keeps Donnie occupied enough to not deploy a Donnie Pod, Mikey summons his ninpō and conjures a chain that wraps around the Brute and Lieutenant. They crash together with grunts of pain.
“What the–”
“COWABUNGA!” Mikey shouts as he dives off the roof, swinging the two into the side of the building to make things a little more interesting. They gasp and regain their bearings enough to scowl at him as he gracefully rolls to a stop with a flourishing bow.
“Oh great, it’s the little one,” the Lieutenant says, struggling to break free from his temporary prison. Mikey glares and cocks his hip, swinging the end of the glowing chain through the air.
“Oi, I’m not that small! Why does everyone always say that,” he pouts, slamming the two into the opposite side of the alley, leaving a dent. Mikey smiles in satisfaction at their pained grunts as they try to catch their breath.
“You are tiny compared to the other turtles, especially the red one,” Foot Brute wheezes. Mikey’s frustration grows and he barely resists throwing them around again. He needs to focus and find out what they were doing working with the Purple Dragons, and maybe finally prove that he can handle himself.
He still doesn’t appreciate the comments about his height, though. Mikey had hope that he would reach at least Donnie’s height one day. When that day was would be anyone's guess.
“My totally appropriate height aside, I can’t help but be amazed that you two are still standing, let alone out and about, back to doing your evil thang.” Mikey says. “Wanna tell me what that’s all about? And what do the Purple Dragons have to do with it?”
“As if, Turtle,” the Lieutenant spits, increasing his struggles along with the Brute. Mikey knows it’s worthless. His chains are hard for even Shredder to break, but it was still amusing to watch the two struggle.
Maybe Donnie was on to something when he said Mikey had a sadistic streak as large as his own.
Mikey shrugs, absentmindedly tightening the chain around the two so every breath came out a wheeze. “Suit yourself, I’ll just have to take a lookie at what this stuff is and bring it back home, then. I’m sure Don will appreciate getting some new tech to play with, and I know the Purple Dragons will understand when you explain–”
“No! Our rent money!” Foot Brute cries, shaking his head. “Fine! It’s for some new machine meant to capture Othello von Ryan!”
“You idiot, why would you say that! Now we won’t be paid at all!” Foot Lieutenant shrieks, glaring daggers at his companion and attempting to hit him. The most he’s able to do is bite down on Brute's forearm with his sharp teeth, making Foot Brute yelp in pain.
Well, that wasn’t good. They had all assumed the Purple Dragons had gotten over their preoccupation with Don, but obviously their targeted hatred still very much existed. Mikey mentally patted himself on the back for interfering with the plans, and made a note to rub it in Donnie's face when he got back to the lair.
“Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen,” Mikey announces, dropping the end of the chain and conjuring another that he promptly smashes through one of the crates, screeching metal echoing through the alley. “Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have some smashing to do!”
Mikey proceeds to smash all of the crates with his chains, sometimes switching it up and throwing them in the air only to jump up and kick them into the ground to watch the wood explode. The chained duo let out a wonderful collection of curses and threats as a backdrop to his gleeful destruction, some of which Mikey stowed away in his mental folder to use against his brothers in the future. When all of the crates had been appropriately destroyed and all that was left was wood chips and some sparking metal, Mikey turns triumphantly to meet two scowls.
“There, all done! Was that really so hard? And, I mean, there are plenty of job openings for pizza delivery if you guys still need rent money. There’s nothing wrong with having ordinary jobs and hanging up the apron of evil for good!” Mikey brushes off his hands and conjures a pair of nunchaku, flipping them around in little tricks as he saunters up to the fuming Foot Lieutenant.
“We had hoped that you all had died fighting the Kraang. I suppose you will continue interfering with our plans, instead,” the Lieutenant grumbles, glaring daggers at Mikey.
Mikey freezes, cocky smirk wavering and nun-chucks dissipating as an icy cold pit starts to form in his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax his posture when the Foot Lieutenant speaks again, smug now seeing Mikey so obviously falter.
Stupid. They were just words, and he was the one who was completely fine after the invasion. He had to be fine, he was always fine, ask anyone in his family about him, they would always say he’s the happy-go-lucky one.
“Or maybe one of you did perish? I assume it was the large red one that the Kraang also infected, he seems the most likely to have sacrificed himself for you lot,” he continues, smirk growing as Mikey’s hands start to shake.
“Shut up,” Mikey grinds out between clenched teeth. His shoulders hunch and he can feel his breathing start to pick up, becoming shallow as his shaking hands ball into fists.
But that shouldn’t be happening, because he was fine. Not affected at all.
“Or maybe it was the purple one?” Foot Brute interjects, “He seems to be the most squishy, the easiest for the Kraang to kill.”
“Shut up.”
“Ah, it must have been the blue one, then. I wouldn’t have pegged him as the sacrificial type, but you all seem to be stuck on the idea of being heroes, even against beasts such as the Kraang.”
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Mikey screams, slamming his hands to his head and screwing his eyes shut to block out their words. He knows that they are trying to make him slip so they can escape, but he can’t help how his ninpō flickers at every mention of the K-words.
His breathing is too fast. He’s fully hyperventilating, now. All he wants to do is retreat inside his shell, block out all the noise and ignore all of the memories. But he can’t do that, because he came out of the invasion just fine.
Mikey feels his breath hitch as behind his eyes he sees Leo fall out of Raph’s Pod, no sign of Raph anywhere. He distantly acknowledges his own fingernails digging into his skull as the phantom weight of Donnie leaps on top of him, then the crack of his battle shell. His knees collapse underneath him as Raph’s infected arm wraps a tentacle around Leo’s neck, ready and prepared to strike the killing blow while Mikey is stuck in the thick black tendrils of slime. And his body is becoming uncomfortably warm, a piercing light filtering through his eyelids as he hears the sound of the Technodrome splitting in half. As he realizes his brother was going to die, and he can’t do anything to stop it.
He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, he needs to be somewhere else, somewhere away from the Foot Lieutenant and the Foot Brute, somewhere these memories can’t hurt him, where the memories aren’t actually real–
Mikey’s thoughts abruptly cut off with a sharp, lightning-like snap. For a moment he’s weightless, enveloped in warm, pure light before crashing hard onto gritty pavement.
==========
The Foot Lieutenant and Foot Brute blink the bright spots from their eyes as their chain prison abruptly vanishes. They glance around, trying to locate the small, previously glowing turtle, but there is no trace of him.
“Is he…dead?” Foot Brute asks, scratching his head.
“I am not sure,” the Lieutenant replies, taking one last look around before bolting the opposite way down the alley, “If he is, I’m getting the hell out of dodge before those other turtles find out we were involved.”
Foot Brute pales and takes off after the Lieutenant.
“Hey, wait for me!”