Chapter Text
Mikey blinked, taking in the soft, warm orange light radiating around him.
He groaned tiredly, as if he had woken up from another bad dream during a restless night, and rubbed his eyes, barely registering the creaking under him, the mattress under his hands and body. How…soft his own hands felt.
Which shouldn’t have made sense, because they were supposed to be rough and calloused from decades of untrained magic—from all those years of his hands cracking apart and coming back together after performing his spells.
His eyes flew open, to inspect what happened to his hands—only to stare in shock at the room around him.
Small, metallic. The bed he was on one side—with its custom-dyed blankets, a mess of orange shades—with a door on the other. The sides were covered in wardrobes, clothes that hadn’t been picked up, orange and gold fairy lights, posters of artists and musicians hung up around the wall, art supplies messily tucked into corners.
He knew this room like the back of his hand. He had only spent a year in it, after the Shredder, but it radiated comfort.
His old bedroom.
How did he get here? The last thing he had been doing was—Leo.
His eyes widened, and he scrambled off the bed, shock and confusion filling his veins as he remembered the last thing that happened to him.
He had opened the portal, and his essence had disintegrated! How was he alive?! He should have been dead! Did he somehow end up in the past as well? Was this some near-death hallucination? Neither of those answers made sense! He knew fully well that spell was fatal, and he got rid of the hallucinations years ago—
Amidst his panic, his vision grazed along a mirror, and he paused, not recognizing his own reflection.
His heart might as well have stopped. He walked up to the reflection, unable to take it in as he held a hand up to it.
He was…younger.
Early thirties, at least. There were only a few cracked scars along his fingers, barely noticeable, and on his head was a fresh mop of kinky black hair, just starting to grow out. His skin seemed brighter, deeper, not like the dull, dusty color it once held, and his orange spots seemed to glow with color. He brushed his hair out of his face, studying it. Not a single wrinkle.
He really was…young.
And then it struck him. The only viable explanation.
He was dead.
He was dead, and this was the afterlife.
Or something along those lines.
It was the only explanation that made sense. He couldn’t have survived that spell, and even if he had and ended up in his past bedroom (for whatever reason), it wouldn’t explain his youth.
If all those stories of the afterlife Draxum had told him were true, that the greatest warriors and heroes got the afterlife they deserved, where all their desires came true, then it made sense.
Mikey had missed his youth. The spells had made him worn out and age, making him look 68 rather than 38. And his home, his bedroom. He had missed it for literal decades. The comforting light, the colors, his bed. And if it was what he desired, and he had missed his home, then that must’ve meant the rest of the Lair was past the bedroom door—
He froze again, this new revelation hitting him harder than the previous one.
If he was dead, then…Raph.
Raph and Donnie and Dad and April and Cass and everyone they’ve lost was here.
He gasped and rushed to the bedroom door, unbelieving, heart pumping adrenaline into his body, laser focusing on the door, filled with a burst of energy he hadn’t felt in years—
Knock knock.
He slammed to a stop, an inch away from missing it. He stared at it as a raspy yet familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in decades, came from it.
“Orange, are you still sleeping in there? It didn’t take Purple nearly half as long as you to—”
Mikey grabbed the handle and forcibly slid the door open, and gasped as he looked down at him.
A grey rat mutant in a warm brown robe, smiling up at him.
Splinter.
Mikey’s voice cracked as his eyes grew wet, “Dad?”
His father held out his open arms.
The mystic warrior practically threw himself at the rat, uncaring for his larger size as he wrapped his arms around his father, crying in his shoulder.
Splinter warmly chuckled, patting his shell, “It’s nice to see you too, my son.”
Mikey gasped for air as he cried, sobbing into the old rat’s shoulder as he rocked him, “Shh, shh. I know. I know.”
“I-I’ve missed you so muh-much!”
“Shh, it’s okay Orange. Just let it out. There you go.”
Mikey loudly sniffled, frantically wiping his eyes to no avail. “How-how—”
His voice hitched with another gasp for air, and his father’s claws gently scraped against his shell as he lightly joked, “What, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I’ve taught you about the Spirit Realm!”
“The-the Spirit Realm—wait! Of course!” Mikey exclaimed, the realization hitting him hard enough to pull him out of his tears, “That’s where we are! The afterlife where the spirits of the Hamato Clan get to live out existence after they die, like Gram Gram.”
“Yes, that’s it, my son.” Splinter nodded, and Mikey added, “Also, you really didn’t teach us anything, it was like a crash course before an exam type deal—”
“It was a hands-on approach!” Splinter retorted, and then cleared his throat, “Anyways, I’m glad you’re taking this so easily! You should’ve seen it when Purple showed up, that was hilarious!”
“Purple—Donnie.” Mikey’s eyes shimmered, and he grabbed his father’s shoulders, “Dad, where’s Donnie and Raph?”
“Oh, yes, your brothers, they’re actually right down the hall—Hey, where are you going, mister?!”
“OW! Dad!”
Mikey groaned from his sudden place on the floor, his father’s tail uncoiling from his leg, “I’m not done talking to you, Orange! It is very rude to leave when your elder is speaking directly to you!”
Mikey sighed, and got up, “Sorry Dad. I got carried away.”
“Ah, yes. My impulsive, excitable son. You haven’t changed much at all.” Splinter smiled, and Mikey frowned, “Actually, Dad, I—”
“Hush, Michelangelo. Let me speak and then it will be your turn.” Splinter seriously said, and Mikey simply nodded.
“Listen, my son.” Splinter grabbed Mikey’s shoulders this time, pulling him close, “I have witnessed both your confession towards Raphael and Leonardo, and I would like to say that—”
“I CAN EXPLAIN!” Mikey frantically interrupted, eyes wide as he pulled away, “Listen, look, I know they’re my brothers, but—”
“Orange, I’m not angry at you.” Splinter said, and Mikey stared at him, “You-you aren’t?”
“No. Now do you have anything else to say or can I finally speak without interruption?” Splinter sternly crossed his arms, and Mikey said, “Sorry Dad.”
“Thank you. Anyways, as I was saying—” Splinter cleared his throat, and gently grabbed his son’s hands to hold, “I’ve been watching you and your brothers ever since I’ve died—for the appropriate parts, mind you—and I want you to know that I still love you, and I understand. You will always be my son. No matter what.”
“R-really?” Mikey’s voice cracked once again, going hoarse.
“Really.” Splinter nodded, “Also, I’m very proud of you for the things you’ve done. But we have plenty of time to talk about all that, so why don’t you go talk to Red and Purple? They’re just down the hall, where the living room is.”
“I—” Mikey’s voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed his heartbeat down, nodding, “O-okay.” He quickly hugged Splinter, “I love you, Dad.”
“Ha! I love you too.” Splinter joked, “Now go. We both know how thin Purple’s patience can be. Once you’re done talking me and Barry will be in the kitchen making dinner.”
“Dinner? That’s my job.” Mikey smiled, and Splinter shook his head, “Not anymore it isn’t. Now go!”
He pointed down the hallway, and the box turtle wiped his eyes one final time before nodding, and waving his dad goodbye, “See you later, Dad.”
“See you later, Orange.” Splinter nodded, before walking off in the opposite direction.
Mikey nodded—more to steel his own nerves than anything—and walked to where the living room was, his heart beating wildly as he did.
If Splinter saw that whole ordeal between him and Leo, did that mean Raph and Donnie did too? Would Raph be mad at him? He couldn’t stand the idea of angering his mate, especially after all these years—and what about Donnie? He always had gotten horribly jealous of people who flirted with Leo, and to find out not just one but both of your other brothers were in love with him—
He stopped, just a few feet away from the open entrance of the room, frozen with anxiety.
He had always been scared of the Krang. But this? This was a kind of terror he hadn’t felt in years, not since he told Raphael he loved him.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could turn around and pretend he wasn’t there and avoid them.
Maybe—
“So we’re sure on tellin’ him?” A voice interrupted his racing thoughts, and Mikey reflexively threw a hand over his mouth to hide his gasp.
He knew that low, deep rumble anywhere. Raph.
It had been years since he heard it—
“Yes, I’m confident, Raphael. We both saw his confession towards Nardo. It’s the only way.”
Sharp, precise, confident. Donnie.
They saw him confess. They knew.
His stomach dropped with an uncomfortable nausea. They knew, and they both hated him—
“Raph just doesn’t wanna scare him, y’know?” The nervous thumping of a huge tail followed, “‘Cause he misses him. A lot.”
“Oh, I know, darling.” Mikey’s eyes went wide at the pet name while Donnie’s monotone curled into something softer, sweeter, “I feel the same. But fret not. We have all of eternity to convince him, as well as Nardo.”
Mikey blinked as he slowly uncovered his mouth, his anxiety morphing into confusion, and something lighter from Donnie’s tone—hope.
He couldn’t possibly…could he?
There was only one way to find out.
He swallowed his nerves down, and carefully stepped over to the entrance, “Guys?”
Raph and Donnie both snapped their heads towards him in surprise, looking the same way they had in their early thirties. Raph, lightly scarred and blind in one eye, otherwise uninjured from the war, and Donnie, in his stupid black overalls that they had all laughed about when he found them.
“Mikey!” Raph exclaimed, shooting up from his spot on the couch, and Mikey’s voice hitched, tears immediately welling up again, “Raph—”
“Oh, Mikey, I’m so sorry.” Raph was already there, holding his head with his big hands easily, as he had always done, and Mikey swallowed, “N-no, Raph, I’m sorry—”
“I’m sorry for making you keep it a secret. I didn’t know I’d die first.”
“But I broke your promise!” Mikey cried, “I-I tried to—and-and Donnie died—and then—and then I had to—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Raph easily picked him up—as he always had done—and held him close, pressing their foreheads together, “It’s okay. I’m here now. S’all that matters. I love ya so much.”
“I love you too!” Mikey exclaimed, his wet grin breaking through his tears like the sun in cloudy winter skies, and Raph chuckled, before kissing him deeply.
He tasted the same as he had before—savory, almost spicy, from the spices and meats they had available at the start of the apocalypse, before it all went to shit. But it had been so long Mikey had forgotten, until now.
Mikey eagerly reciprocated, holding onto Raph like he was his lifeline, and Raph muttered against his skin, “Raph has so much ta make up for. ‘M gonna start right now.”
The box turtle smiled as the snapper thumbed his tears away, “Oh, Raph. I have stuff to make up for too.”
“As well as me.” Donnie suddenly said, standing up from the couch as well, and Mikey looked at Raph, who merely smiled and set him down.
He turned to the softshell, who was just walking up to him with a look Mikey couldn’t recognize, “Listen, Michael—Angel.”
The softshell sighed, averting his gaze briefly before looking right back at him, his red and blue eyes piercing his soul, “I’m sorry. About…everything. That happened.”
“Wh-what? What are you talking about?” Mikey asked, “Nothing’s your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But I do.” Donnie insisted, and that’s when Mikey recognized the emotion in his eyes. Guilt.
There was only one time Mikey remembered seeing Donnie with that look.
When Raph died.
But it was only a mere second of his grief-enveloped memory and the weeks he spent in his room alone afterwards…
“What-what is it?” Mikey swallowed, and Donnie sighed, gently grabbing Mikey’s hands, “This is…this is my fault. What happened, I mean. Between all of us. If-if I hadn’t been a coward, or-or such an idiot, then maybe—”
“Hold on, what do you mean? I don’t understand.” Mikey asked, and Raph interjected, “Donnie—”
“No, Raphaela. I insist I say this for myself.” Donnie stubbornly said, swallowing and looking back into Mikey’s eyes, “I had a plan. I-I always have a plan, and I had a plan for us too, all of us. All those years go. First I told Leo I loved him. Then I was going to let our relationship stew for a few days before talking to Raph, and then you.”
Mikey’s eyes widened, “Wait, so you mean—”
“But then seemingly out of nowhere you and Raph got together, and I was caught so off guard that I doubted everything. None of my predictions or my plans accounted for you two to get together. And-and I was so scared of telling Leo of how I felt about you two, because then if I got rejected I would be alone, and—it seems my fears were proven correct.”
“No, no Donnie, don’t say that.” Mikey squeezed his hands, “Leo loves you more than anything in the world, and even if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea I’m sure he would still love you—”
“We’re getting off-topic.” Donnie interrupted, “If I wasn’t such a coward and had told someone how I felt none of this wouldn’t have happened.”
“‘If’s and ‘but’s and ‘should’ve’s and ‘could’ve’s can’t fix anything, Donnie.” Mikey cupped his face, “There’s no point in thinking about ‘what-if’s and getting stuck in the past. All you can do is focus on the now.”
“I-I know, I just—I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” Donnie’s face fell, and Mikey smiled up at him, “Wow. Two ‘really’s, huh?”
“Yes.” Donnie sincerely nodded, and Mikey beamed at him with the same love the sun had for the Earth, “Well, it just so happens that I’m the most forgiving in the family and I’m hopelessly in love with you, so I guess I got no choice but to forgive you. And do this.”
Then he did what he had wanted for decades: he kissed that softshell right on the mouth.
And thank Fortune and the stars and every four-leaf clover Mikey had found as a kid because Donnie did it right back, swallowing him up in his mouth and wrapping his arms around his waist, a combo of minty mouthwash and coffee filling his throat that was so completely Donnie Mikey was surprised he had imagined anything different—
“Angel.” Donnie breathed against his lips, and then bent his neck to kiss Mikey’s chin, then the apple of his throat, and Mikey laughed, feeling light-headed from the whirlwind of emotions he had experienced in the past twenty-four hours.
Somehow this was both one of the worst and one of the best days of his life, and of course it was, because his life revolved around his brothers, and he loved them more than anything.
Donnie kissed him one more time on the lips before gently pulling away—hands still wrapped around them—and Raph came over to pull them into his arms.
“As much as I would love to copulate with you right here right now—” Mikey laughed, because of course Donnie would use unnecessary scientific words to describe sex— “Father isn’t a fan of us having sexual intercourse outside the bedroom when him and other guests are over, so… Raphela?”
“Oh!” Raph blushed redder than his mask, and swallowed when Mikey looked right at him, “Me and Donnie were uh, wonderin’ if maybe ya’d like to join us in the bath after dinner?”
“Bath?” Mikey turned to Donnie, who explained, “I figured since this is where we’re going to spend the rest of existence, we might as well have a bath that can fit all of us and then some. I would love to show it to you.”
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve had a bath since… before the apocalypse.” Mikey blinked at the realization, and then smiled, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
“Wonderful.” Donnie stated, and Mikey smirked at him, “But until then…”
He grabbed Donnie by the straps of that wonderfully stupid pair of overalls to kiss him stupid, and Raph laughed, holding two of the three turtles he loved close.