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Under normal circumstances, Mikey would never neglect an injury. He wasn’t a masochist, and he knew his family would be beside themselves if they knew he was intentionally hiding something like that from them. The thought alone managed to plant a seed of guilt in Mikey’s subconscious, but that seed paled in comparison to the tree of concern that grows beside it—concern for his brothers, namely. After the incident with the Kraang, everyone was left worse for wear. Naturally, Leo took the brunt of the damage, but Raph wasn’t far behind. Donnie may have been in the best shape physically, but Mikey knew he was plagued with memories of the technodrome. Leo could crack jokes, Raph could act tough, and Donnie could distance himself, but Mikey could see right through his brothers.
He considered himself to be the least affected by the ordeal. As such, it was his job to look after his brothers, especially emotionally. Leo was their medic, but Mikey was Dr. Feelings. Not to say that he had avoided any repercussions—he would be outright lying if he said that.
It had been a few weeks since the invasion. Leo had only just been allowed to walk around without supervision, albeit with crutches. Wounds were mending, but they weren’t fully healed yet. Raph could barely see out of his right eye and was still adjusting to his new blindspot. Donnie wasn’t sleeping without consistent reminders, and although the major depletion of energy from the invasion helped Leo’s insomnia in the beginning, that had since worn off. Mikey… would be fine. He wasn’t in great shape, but he was in a better position to take care of himself than the rest of them.
Although, he had to admit things could be better. Even with Donnie and Raph’s assistance in opening the portal to the prison dimension, Mikey hadn’t gotten off scot-free. He had limited mobility in his fingers, making precise movements almost impossible. He could still work his way around a kitchen, much to his relief, but his art… that was another story.
Detailed works were out of the picture for the time being (and Mikey really needed it to be for the time being; he clung to the hope that his arms would be fully functional again one day). This certainly wasn’t from a lack of trying on Mikey’s part. He’d spent hours on different pieces, using different mediums, but nothing was moving the way he wanted it to. At first, he treated it like he would an art block: inconvenient, but something that would go away with time and effort. He quickly learned this was a different situation entirely. He could perfectly envision all of these different images he wanted to portray, yet he couldn’t manifest them. Losing his art felt like losing a sixth sense; he had taken his ability to create effectively for granted. His resentment towards everything was building as a result. Resentment towards art, the Kraang, his arms. A childish, bitter part of him wanted to lash out and blame his brothers. This idea was always immediately shut down by a cold guilt washing over him, any other emotions fleeing in its wake.
Without his art, Mikey didn’t know how to cope. He knew, realistically, that there were other options, but it wasn’t the same. Sometimes, words weren’t enough to convey his feelings. Sometimes, he didn’t want to talk it out or write it down where his brothers might find it. Sometimes, he just needed to draw it, and without that he felt lost.
Even if his art wasn’t a factor, the pain certainly was. The scars running up his arms would throb and ache with too much movement, especially after an extended period of time. Some days the pain was so bad he had to forego making dinner with the excuse that he was just really craving take-out. He’d had to adjust to new ways of fidgeting that didn’t invoke the nerves in his arms to light on fire. It hurt to move, and he was exhausting his list of excuses not to use his arms. His brothers needed him, and he couldn’t ask for the same. Not yet, not when their family was still piecing itself back together. He’d get better with time, for sure, and then he could ask them for advice. He just had to hold on, but that was getting increasingly difficult with each failed art piece and every spike of pain.
This day was more of the same. Draxum had asked Mikey to execute some simple tasks using his mystic abilities, a routine that began once the yokai had learned about Mikey’s portal and Casey Jr. 's recount of the alternate timeline Mikey. They were going to slowly incorporate more difficult tasks, but since Mikey had only recently been deemed recovered by Leo’s standards, he was really just lifting pencils without touching them for the time being.
Mikey’s arms burned under the weight of mystic energy. They had just finished and Draxum had dismissed him for the day. Mikey was planning on visiting Leo to check up on him, but that would have to wait. The marks crawling up his arms were agitated, shining a paler yellow than usual. In all the weeks he’d been dealing with the repercussions of the Kraang, this had never happened. Mikey figured it must have something to do with his mystic abilities, but that didn’t matter. He was supposed to be training with Draxum for the foreseeable future, he couldn’t let this impact that. What if his family needed him again? He couldn’t stomach the thought of not being able to make another portal if they needed him to. So, he’d take it easy the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, his predicament was blatantly obvious. He’d have to grab a sweatshirt before he visited Leo. He was already lucky Draxum hadn’t caught on, and he wasn’t about to test his luck. As he made his way to his room, he noticed Raph exiting his own. Mikey sped up his pace, just missing his older brother as he slammed his door closed.
“Er… Mikey? Everythin' alright?” Raph questioned from outside the room.
Mikey guessed he had a few seconds before his brother came barging in. He quickly began to yank on the sweatshirt closest to him and had just finished pulling his left arm through when Raph entered.
“Hm? What’s up?” Mikey asked, adjusting the sleeves as he spoke.
Raph raised an eyebrow at him. “You just rushed in here. I wanted to make sure you were okay. So, uh… you okay?”
Mikey smiled. “Peachy! You’re such a worrywart.”
He gave Raph a reassuring pat on the arm, cringing at the pain that followed. He sidestepped his brother and began his walk to find Leo.
Raph gave him a perplexed look, but made no move to follow him. “Well, jus’ be sure you don’t mess up that hoodie. Donnie’ll kill you if it gets ruined.”
Mikey’s face scrunched up. What? He looked down, realization dawning as purple cloth invaded his vision. He had grabbed the softshell’s hoodie in his frantic search. How had his brother’s sweatshirt ended up in his room? Mikey couldn’t recall, but Raph made a good point. Donnie would kill him if he messed up his hoodie. His brother was very particular about clothing, thus making it difficult to replace any ruined items.
Mikey shrugged. “Got it!”
No matter, he just wouldn’t mess it up. He didn’t want Raph asking questions if he turned around to search for his own hoodie, so this would do for now. Besides, Donnie did have impeccable taste in clothing.
Crisis averted, Mikey made his way to the kitchen in search of his blue-clad brother. Entering the space, he didn’t find Leo, but he did find Donnie. His brother was shuffling around the kitchen cabinets as their coffee machine poured steaming liquid into his World’s Best Genius Brother mug. Donnie insisted he’d received it for Christmas a few years back, but nobody else remembers it. Mikey thinks he bought it for himself, and he isn’t sure if that’s super funny or super sad.
But, that dilemma could wait.
“Donald. What are you doing rearranging my kitchen?” Mikey asked, glaring.
Donnie startled, a box of cereal falling on his head and landing on the floor. Thankfully, none of the cereal spilled.
“This is not just your kitchen, Michael. This is a communal space and I— hey , is that my hoodie?” Donnie questioned, half bent over as he picked up the cereal box.
Mikey short-circuited. A variety of excuses and answers fired in his head simultaneously, and he became paralyzed with indecision.
“Yeeesss…” Is all he ends up saying.
Donnie stood up straight, the cereal box forgotten. “Hmm. And why, pray tell, are you wearing my precious not-to-be-messed-with hoodie?”
Mikey simply shrugged. “It’s cold.”
Donnie narrowed his eyes. “Give it back.”
He was holding his hand out—he clearly wanted it back now, but Mikey couldn’t give it back now without revealing the reason he’d put it on in the first place.
Mikey shook his head.
Donnie doubled down, moving closer to his brother as if to take it off himself. Mikey wouldn’t put it past him.
“‘Angelo. You have your own clothes, go wear those. You know I don’t like you guys messing with my things. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Mikey paled. He really did intend to take the hoodie off himself if Mikey wouldn’t. Mikey couldn’t let that happen, and he couldn’t tell Donnie why. So, he ran.
“Mikey!”
He made a beeline for his room, but Donnie caught up all too soon. He grabbed Mikey by the ankle, toppling them both over. Mikey yelped when his arms hit the floor, pulling them close to his chest as he turned to look at his brother. Tears welled in his eyes despite himself—that fucking hurt. Donnie didn’t seem to notice as he began tugging at the hoodie in a weak attempt to reclaim the garment.
“Why are you being so stubborn! This is mine! ” Donnie cried.
He looked ready to argue, but stopped when his eyes met Mikey’s. It was only a split second before Donnie looked away—he was never a fan of eye contact—but it was enough time for him to realize his little brother was crying. His grip loosened as the fight visibly left his body.
“Mikey…” He mumbled. “What… I’m… confused.”
The fight drained from Mikey’s body, too. He loosened his muscles and sighed. Secret keeping wasn’t worth all of this. He might as well come clean.
“Donnie… let me explain, but get off of me first so I can sit up.”
The older acquiesced, moving to sit next to Mikey. They probably could have gone to the living room or something, but Mikey didn’t have the energy to do much more than shift to an upright position. He had the urge to wipe the tears from his cheeks, but stopped himself. That would only agitate his arms more.
“So… you remember the Kr—the invasion? I opened that portal? It left marks on my arms?”
Donnie nodded.
“Yeah. Well, it’s… not good. They haven’t really healed. I can’t make precise movements, so I can’t make art, and sometimes it's too much just to cook. Draxum started training with me today, and that made things worse. Now the scars are all weird looking and I didn’t want anyone to see, so I threw on a hoodie. I didn’t realize it was yours. Sorry, Dee.”
“Let me see.”
Mikey tilted his head. “The hoodie?”
Donnie huffed a laugh. “No, your arms. Let me see.”
Mikey hesitated, but there was no point in holding back. Grimacing through the pain, he rolled up the sleeves of Donnie’s sweatshirt. He turned away, tears welling in his eyes again as his brother moved closer to examine the scarring. He pulled down his goggles as he observed.
“Shit, ‘Angelo. This is some serious mystic stuff.” He put his googles back in place. “Why didn’t you tell someone sooner?”
“I… I didn’t wanna get in the way,” he mumbled. “I mean, everyone was so messed up. I should be the least of anyone’s worries when Leo can barely walk. I was gonna bring it up eventually, but I thought maybe it’d get better with time.”
Donnie sighed. “You know I’m not… good with emotional conversations, but you can’t do that, Mikey. You are just as important as anyone else in this family. Taking time to help you and make sure you're okay is just as necessary as making sure Leo’s okay. You’re not taking up space by having needs that should be addressed. And this is dangerous! What if this gets worse over time? We can help, but you have to let us be there for you.”
Mikey sniffled and nodded. “Thanks, Dee.”
He didn’t have the energy for a heartfelt response, but he knew Donnie got the message. Donnie rubbed his knee in a gesture of reassurance.
“We can tell everyone else about it tomorrow. It’s getting late. Would you… would you want to spend the night with me? Or do you want some space?”
Mikey holds up a single finger to indicate the first option, and Donnie nods.
“Come on, we should put bandages on your arms, first.”