Pale Sunlight, Clouded

by BrightLotusMoon

Summary:

Mikey is depressed. He doesn't understand why or how, but it's getting worse. After a severe head injury, he starts to realize that he's not the happy go lucky cheerful kid he thought he was. That's when an amateur therapist steps in. The Turtles' lives are unexpectedly changed.

Notes:

Shamelessly based on my own personal experiences with major depressive disorder and temporal lobe epilepsy.

Started as a bunch of snippets on Tumblr.

Chapter 1

 

“…a hug, to death!”

Screaming, Michelangelo clawed his way up from the vicious dragging clutch of Kraang’s robot arms, pain in his ribs flaring, darkness like an ocean.

He felt himself flip in mid-air for a heart-stopping second before he crashed to the ground, face first, entire plastron protesting with red hot shrieks of agony. He tried to move his limbs to curl up, but all he could do was sob in pain.

Deeply familiar arms surrounded him, carefully easing him upright and around and pressing his face to a massively muscled shoulder. “Sshhh, easy, little bro, easy, I got ya. Just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay, Mikey. Big bro Raph’s here, you’re gonna be okay. Kraang’s gone, it’s just a nightmare. Okay?”

Choking on a whimper, Mikey just shuddered and grabbed at his brother’s arms before the red pain overwhelmed him, struggling to convey the sheer agony ripping through him. “Raphie…hurts…”

“I know, Mikey, I know, it’s only been a few days since the fight with Bubblicious, s’gonna hurt for a while. Ya want Donnie?”

Mikey tried to inhale and nod, but ohh his neck hurt and he couldn’t move and he stuttered out the first letter of their genius brother’s name like a damn baby.

He heard Raphael inhale to shout Donatello’s name, but then Donnie’s voice floated toward him. “I heard him scream, I grabbed the pain medication. There’s only so much stuff Casey can get at a time.”

And then he heard Leonardo. “What about Splinter’s herbal teas? Sometimes they help.”

He felt someone sit him up and support him. Automatically he opened his mouth to drag more air in and two tablets were placed on his tongue, followed by a glass full of water bumping against his lower lip. Mikey swallowed the pills with a grateful moan.

It was too much. He let his head hang, chin touching his chest above his plastron. He knew the pills would take a bit to kick in and he just wanted to sleep, but the raw burning deep in his ribs and sides and back were jolts of…of awake. He didn’t realize he was clenching his jaw and fists until Raph’s big hands covered his and squeezed. From behind, Leo was holding him up with one arm while the other hand hand was massaging his jaw, and he felt like a child. Something quiet and very dark and soft with sharp edges crawled into his mind and settled, and it was too heavy, and he sagged and let it spread. He was so tired.

 

A few days went by and he was pushed into bed whenever someone saw him flinch.  A whole week flew by without him noticing; he mostly slept through it, with Splinter’s teas and Donnie’s pills and pain causing exhaustion. He fell asleep on the couch often, jolting awake wrapped in someone’s arms.

“Cold,” he would mutter whenever someone asked how he felt. He was covered in blankets and given tea with honey, and there was always a heat lamp nearby. His ribs burned, his head pounded. He wasn’t hungry. They worried. Splinter fed him oatmeal that Don mixed vitamin powder into. He still felt like a little kid, but he didn’t object; it was comforting. Raph holding him, Leo massaging him, Don reading to him or watching TV with him.

Another week went by. Michelangelo felt himself get stronger. His mutation sped up the healing in his body enough so that the red hot pain vanished almost completely. His muscles were sore and his bones ached when it rained. When he finally walked into the dojo, nunchaku held casually in his loose fists, his brothers cheered. Splinter warned them all to go easy on him. After training, Donatello flipped on those goggles and scanned him, every inch, humming neutrally until Mikey squirmed. They all held their breath. Mikey tried to relax as Donnie stepped back, nodding.

“He’s gonna have permanent soreness, little aches,” Don said. “But he’s fine.”

Michelangelo exhaled and gave a victory sign.

Another week. He played his video games.

He was pronounced well enough to go back on patrol. Raphael clapped a heavy hand to his shoulder, grinning. Mikey grinned back.

The dark thing in his head, the soft quiet thing with sharp edges, was still there, and it had grown bigger, it had pushed against the walls of his mind and climbed up, like fog. He ignored it. It didn’t hurt.

**

April and Casey visited, hands casually intertwined as they balanced bags of groceries. Mikey greeted them like a puppy and grabbed one of the bags.

“What’d you get us?”

April smiled. “Actually, we did get you a present, Mikey. Sit down.”

Grinning widely, he squeaked and bounced, ignoring a tiny flash of pain in his ribcage that still hadn’t faded. Next to him, Donatello narrowed his eyes, which Mikey pretended not to notice. He hadn’t flinched that hard after all.

They set down the bags and began pulling out food.  April pulled out a wrapped soft thing and handed it to Michelangelo, who squealed and yanked off the wrapping paper easily. It was a glittery orange plush cat, and Mikey shouted, “My new best friend!” He kissed the plastic nose and shoved the cat, the size of his hand,  into his makeshift belt while he helped them put the food away.

**

Two more months.

Donnie said Mikey’s injuries might flare up depending on what he did. Mikey brushed it aside. Leo worried. Raph softly growled.

Typical family dynamics.

He still did not tell anyone about that crawling clawed pulsating dark thing moving around inside his head, the thing that felt like a creature with teeth and claws, made half of fire and half of ice.

They didn’t ask.

Mikey lived his life. He pretended to laugh more than he actually laughed.

Another week.

**

The sun had set not long ago and they were perched on a rooftop,  and Mikey felt himself coiled like a cat. April and Casey had befriended an old man and his husband, owners of a local jewelry and antiques shop. The granddaughter was working there tonight, she and April had become close. Casey had asked the turtles to keep an eye out; he’d heard chatter about a potential robbery.

The small sharp thing in the back of Mikey’s head shot to awareness and nearly made him dizzy.

It’s happening, she’s vulnerable, she’s afraid.

His head was filled with heat. He rubbed his forehead.

A trio of black-clad men raced out of the storefront and an alarm blared.

Leo gave a hand signal, and they moved.

Mikey put himself closest to the door and heard glass shatter. Pure instinct made him dart into the store. Donnie was yelling his name.

A fourth man was holding down a tiny woman who was shaking, glass cutting into her arms. Without thinking, Mikey drove his elbow into the back of the man’s neck, then lifted him with one hand and hurled him toward the door. All his focus was on the woman who was sitting up, shivering, and staring at him in wonder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and the thing in his head was soft and it purred.

She kept staring, panting. Her hands came up as if to frame his face.

“I dreamed about you,” she whispered, and began hyperventilating.

Mikey blinked and quickly grabbed her hands. “Hey, what’s brown and sticky? A stick. What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile? Robin, get in the car. What’s black and white and read all over? A newspaper. Breathe. Breathe with me.”

She kept staring at him, but her breathing evened out and she smiled weakly. “Th-thank you.”

He smiled back, nodding, looking her over. Pale light gold skin with freckles sprinkled across a long narrow nose; dark brown roots peeking through deep purple hair gathered in a wavy ponytail almost down to the waist; bright hazel eyes with a huge splash of blue in the left iris, deep undereye circles that spoke of pain and insomnia. A wide mouth and a sharp square jawline. Sharp high cheekbones. The hands he held were tiny, fingers long and thin, nails clipped short. Clothing was casual. Turquoise tee shirt, light blue jeans, brown ankle boots. Her musculature was unusual. His ninja senses told him something was extremely off. The whole left side of her body was crooked, muscles in permanent contraction. He carefully pulled her up and noticed that she limped on her left side, and as he watched her left wrist tucked inward but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You hurt?” he asked, watching.

Her tiny one-sided smile told him that she had been asked this a thousand times. “Nah. I was born disabled. I mean… I’m not hurt from the break-in. Bruised maybe.”

“So, not hurt right now.”

Her eyes flicked to him, then decided to stay, and he realized she wasn’t used to prolonged eye contact. “Right. You’re quick.”

“And you’re all right with me. You’re not scared of me?”

She inhaled. “I told you. I had a dream about you. Or three. Also, I made April tell me about you four.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Lights and sirens. He blinked.

Casey was hurrying toward them. “Mikey, what the hell? You’re lucky these cops know who you are!” He looked at the woman. “Avalyn, are you okay? Need an ambulance?”

She shook her head. “Nope, my rescuer helped out. Hi, Casey.”

Casey wrapped his arms around her. The way she hugged back was hesitant and very tight.

Casey heaved a sigh of relief into her colorful hair. “You know I’m gonna have to tell your granddad. He’s gonna freak out. Your grandpop will have his hands full calming him.”

She rested her head on his chest. Mikey guessed she was barely five feet tall. It was endearing. “Granddad always freaks out. Sometimes he forgets I can handle myself.”

Casey leaned back and booped her nose. “That doesn’t matter. You’re autistic, epileptic, and chronically pained, and you have mildly spastic dystonic ataxic cerebral palsy, and you live in fucking Manhattan. I’m not related to you, and I’m worried about you.”

Mikey tilted his head. That would explain that, the physical thing, her body.

He watched her wrinkle her whole face and pout. “Excuse you, Detective Jones. I’m twenty years old, halfway through online college for neuropsychology and I take tai chi for cripples, plus I’m extremely psychic.”

Aha. Yes. The thing in his head purred. He frowned, confused.

Casey heaved a huge sigh. “Yeah yeah, you’re a rarity. Okay. We’re not doing this again.” He turned toward Mikey and made a waving gesture. “Avalyn Gold, meet one of the Heroes Of New York.This is Michelangelo.”

Mikey waved, feeling shy. “Hi.”

Avalyn Gold, the disabled psychic, waved back in the exact same way. “Hi.”

Casey’s brow knit as he frowned at Michelangelo.

“You’re in so much trouble, Mikey. Your bros are panicking. Aren’t you still recovering from Kraang’s attack?” This time, Casey folded his arms and looked stern. Mikey raised an eyeridge. Avalyn giggled.

Mikey glanced at her and grinned, and did a backflip.

And Casey’s eyes narrowed when Mikey winced, hot and cold pain from his cracked ribcage and plastron hitting even now. Mikey’s eyes widened and he inhaled deeply, trying not to cough, because the young woman’s kind eyes with their heterochromia were wide and she was biting her lip, because her own hand was rubbing her own sternum, as if she could feel his pain.

Michelangelo knew they would be friends. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

Avalyn Gold gave him a tiny smile and nodded.

The creature in his head hissed and backed away, blinking as if struck with a beam of strong light.

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

Mikey has no idea his family has been worrying, which shows how far inside his head he's been.

Notes:

Me? Spill moments of my own depression and ADHD RSD into a fanfic?
...well, these days it's far more accepted than it was twenty years ago, at least.

The dreams had gotten worse, actually.

"Pfff, nightmares? Why would I be having those?" It was the morning after the jewelry store robbery. Mikey had been pale. And his smile had been twitchy and Splinter had stared at him. He had stuffed his breakfast in his mouth until the others had shrugged it off.

 

In the room he shared with Raph, Mikey sat at the drum set and stared at the stretch of floor between their separated beds and wondered if they should put down a throw rug. Oooh, or a yoga mat. 

He blinked a few times and watched as his feet began to swing back and forth. His hands began tapping on the bed. The song that had suddenly struck in his head was getting louder. He wondered if he could find a citrus perfume to make his bed smell like oranges.

Krang's metal arms squeezed him a little harder and his lungs tightened.

Mikey jolted, gasping, and every thought flew out of his head. The room smelled like metal and sweat and ozone and an odd fleshy musk that he couldn't place, something with blood and tissue underneath.

He didn't realize he was wheezing until he coughed.

 

It happened again the next day, and at dinner he poked around on his plate, ignoring the worried stares.

That night, the memory flash was longer, deeper, and more painful. He gripped his head and screamed through his teeth. And he felt something burst. Before he could stop himself, Mikey began crying. Hard, harsh sobs that he hadn't felt since he was little.

There was a loud strange silence that echoed, and he had the intense sense that someone had heard. He managed to breathe in all his darkness, wiped his face, and just stared at the floor again, picking out patterns.

It took a long time, but finally there were footsteps and a soft knock on his door, and Mikey grabbed a pillow and crushed it to his face so he wouldn't scream when he cried again.

"Mikey, I'm coming in," and it was Leo, and he was not really surprised.

Michelangelo kept the pillow against his face and jerked when gentle hands tried to pull it away.

"You need to look at me, Mikey," Leo said. "Please."

He sucked in a breath. Leo's voice was hoarse and too quiet, too raw. It wasn't asking for obedience at all. Leo was in pain.

Michelangelo whimpered. He had caused all of this.

He let his brother take the pillow and then fresh tears welled up when Leo wiped his eyes with his thumbs. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Leo sounded like he was smiling. Mikey finally opened his eyes, and yes, Leo had a tiny smile there. It made Mikey even more miserable.

"For screwing up!" His molars ground together. "For goofing off to make that woman laugh and letting the crooks get hits in, and for you guys getting hurt, and..."

"Hey, no, stop." Leo's arms were around him, pulling Mikey's chin to his shoulder. "Raph is all right. I'm all right. Cuts and bruises. And you saved that woman's life. You saved her from a panic attack. You got her name and number. And that's one more human who accepts us. That's a good thing, Little Brother."

Nuzzling his shoulder, Michelangelo sniffled. "So you're not mad? Raph's not mad?"

Pulling back just enough to bump foreheads, Leonardo grinned. "Right now, Raph is lounging on the couch enjoying painkillers and watching a boxing match. He's the one who asked me to check on you. Nobody's mad. Donnie is worried."

Mikey blinked. "About me? Why?"

Leo tilted his head. "Because you've been depressed."

Mikey jerked back, eyes wide. "What? Pfft, no. Dude, I don't get depressed."

The look Leo gave him was heartbreaking. "You have no idea, do you."

Mike scowled at him. "I'm not sick, Leo. I'm fine."

Leo didn't even blink. "No, Little Brother. You're not fine. You can't even see how you're falling apart."

And now Mikey was feeling angry, and the new tears felt like fire in his eyes. "Shut up, Leo, you don't know what you're talking about."

He wanted... he wanted to hit something. He didn't want to be here anymore. The hollow numbness was being filled with a strange prickling heat.

"At least let Don check you over," Leo was saying.

"I'm not sick!" And he was yelling and to his ears he sounded cracked. "I'm not depressed! Shut up! Leave me alone!" And those images came again, the knives against his skin, the rush of wind and miles below to the ground. He scuttled back onto his bed, dropping his head into his hands. "Leave me alone, I'm tired."

He heard his brother get up and whisper his name and it sounded like a sob. He listened to Leo leave. He drew his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth. He felt himself start to shake.

"I'm fine," he whispered to the silence. "Everything is fine."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

Mikey woke up to silence, which was weird. It took him a long time to shake the sleep out of his head, which was also weird. He glanced around, seeing Raph's bed empty and the door closed.

Maybe his ears were clogged? He tested that. Nope. His head did feel fuzzy and there was a slight ringing. But was that in his ears or in his head? It was really hard to tell.

That was weird.

Mikey obeyed his first instinct, and slammed his hands into the sides of his head and opened his mouth as wide as he could. He could hear his own pulse.

The ringing faded. The fog remained. Blinking, Mikey shook his head rapidly a few times. He began his stretching routine. The fog remained.

In the middle of a yoga pose, the bedroom door opened and Raph marched in holding a bag of fast food. “Oh, yer up! Casey came down with breakfast for everyone.”

Mikey nodded at him, feeling drained. “Cool, cool. Thanks.”

Raph looked at him, really looked. Mikey looked down at his feet, pretending to study his foot placement. He heard Raph put down the bag on Mikey’s cluttered nightstand. 

He heard and felt his brother walk behind him, then around. Raph's feet came into his line of sight. A thick finger touched the edge of his chin and nudged up.

Mikey slowly dragged his eyes up, meeting golden green irises thinning from dilation. Raph's eyes looked stormy, and brimming with concern.

“Yer not okay,” he said. “Ya don't usually tremble in the middle of a warrior pose.”

His Brooklyn accent was thickening. Raph was upset.

Mikey's chest ached. He exhaled deeply, then brought himself back to center. He smiled with a practiced flourish. “Eh, I just need food. I'm good, bro.”

Raphael raised an eyeridge perfectly. “Well. You should eat. C’mon, I'll sit with ya.”

He stood aside and gestured to Mikey's bed. Mikey sat and grabbed the bag and began eating, staring at the poster on the opposite wall. It was the 80s movie The Goonies, a timeless classic. He wondered what the actor who played Mikey was doing now.

When he looked down, the food was gone and he was full. Raph, sitting next to him, stared at him with naked concern. “Are you any better?”

Mikey gave him a bright smile. “I did need food! I feel better.”

Raph looked at the movie poster as if searching for something. He looked down at Mikey’s hands. “Yer still shaking.”

“Huh?”

Raph pulled the bag away, and Mikey looked down and noticed that his hands were trembling. Actually, he was clenching his jaw pretty tight, wasn't he?

“Mike,” Raph said, and Mikey felt like he was underwater. He watched Raph's mouth form more words, but the strange ringing and pulsing in his head wouldn't let him hear. 

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice echoing around in his head.

Raph's mouth said he wasn't, and then Raph's head was turning and Raph was yelling a couple of words. His voice had a way of bouncing around.

Mikey felt his legs start to shake. He wasn't cold, not really. He was a little too warm, actually. The world began to fade. He felt his body tip sideways, towards Raph, and before everything went white, he saw Raph'st terrified, panicked face, tears in his eyes.

 

Chapter 4

Mikey gasped himself awake, and for a moment, the world was gray. His pulse pumping through his head sounded like thunder. There were hands cupping his face. Donnie was gazing at him intensely. 

As color rushed back in, Donnie’s worried golden green eyes were shining and bright. His mouth moved, and sounds caught up to Mikey's brain.

“...hear me, Mikey?”

He wriggled to sit up but exhaustion rolled through his body. “Hey, Donnie. Ugh, what hit me?”

A collective sigh cut the tension. Mikey realized that he was lying in the infirmary bed, surrounded by his family.

Donnie was shining a pen light in his eyes now. Mikey endured it. Donnie kept frowning. “You had a seizure,” he said. “From my studies I figured it went from absence to tonic clonic.”

Mikey nodded, knowing he could look up those things later. They sounded really familiar. He might have read about seizures in a comic or something. Then the world finished catching up to him. “Wait. Why would I have a seizure?”

“Don't know,” Donnie smiled sadly. “That's what I will be investigating. But one theory connects it to the injuries Krang gave you.”

“But that was months ago!” Mikey said. “And it's not like he cracked my brain or anything.”

Raph huffed nervously, both hands gripping Mikey's right hand. “Y-ya remember there was nerve damage, right?”

“No,” Mikey said slowly. “I just remember pain.”

As he focused on Raph's hands sandwiching his, Mikey found his left temple and jaw aching. He shifted to focus on that and caught Donnie and Leo murmuring. 

“...memory loss is actually pretty normal…”

“...how much more might be impacted? I want to read the articles, too…”

“How is your pain now, my son?” His father's voice broke through and Mikey found himself frowning.

“What, like my chest?” he asked. His free hand automatically moved up to rub his upper plastron, and he realized how comfortable and familiar the motion was. Had he been doing that all this time?

“Yes, among others. Have you stopped experiencing pain?”

“Uhh…” Mikey felt himself sink deeper into the mattress, realizing that he hadn't really paid attention to his body's situation in weeks.

Leo's face filled his vision. “Mikey, do you remember that talk we had?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said. “You… you were right.”

Leo nodded slowly. “Okay. I…I'm glad you're accepting it.”

“I'm not accepting it,” Mikey said lightly.

Leo frowned, deeply. “You…what?”

“I get I'm depressed, but I can fight it,” Mikey clarified.

His brothers shared a look.

“What, uh, what makes you say that?” Donnie asked.

Mikey just looked at him. “Just. Because.”

“My son, that is not an acceptable answer,” Splinter said.

“It's a different kind of battle,” Leo said, gently.

Mikey looked stubborn, but his face fell into blankness. “Then… how do I fight it?”

“With help,” Donnie said. “With us.”

Mikey looked at Raph, and Raph just squeezed his hand.

“Okay,” Mikey breathed. “Then… everything hurts. And I'm scared.”

Raph let go of his hand and pulled him into a soft hug, starting up a thrumming churr.

Mikey squeaked and wrapped his arms around Raph's waist and buried his face in the thick shoulder.

“What are you scared of?” came Leo's voice.

Mikey grit his teeth, mumbling into Raph's shoulder.

“Say again?” Raph rumbled. He gently pulled Mikey away, holding his shoulders.

Mikey inhaled shakily. “Of losing my skills… of not being good enough anymore. Of being left behind.”

Raph's eyes filled with tears. “Oh…Mike… bro, that will never happen.”

Leo and Donnie surrounded them and wrapped their arms around Mikey.

“Thanks for saying that,” he mumbled. Their warmth sunk into him, a childhood memory springing to the front of his mind, snuggling in a pile covered in whatever blankets they could scrounge.

“We mean it, Mike,” Leo said. “We are a family. You are our family. We would never leave you behind.”

Mikey hummed and slowly pulled away to wipe at his face with both hands. “I believe you. I believe it.”

Donnie peered at him with narrow eyes. “But you don't believe in yourself.”

“Maybe.” Mikey swallowed hard. “Is it cool if I take a walk? Alone? To clear my head?”

His family exchanged long glances.

“I guess so,” Donnie said. “Your vitals are settled. A walk might do you some good. Why don't you wait a little, see how you feel?”

Splinter nodded. “Stand up, carefully.”

Mikey did so, waving off his brothers’ hands. He nodded. Bounced slightly. “Just a little walk. Around the lair. Just to. You know. Get myself moving.” He held his head high. His head felt like it was being squeezed and pulled. He put on a smile.

He ran. Before they could protest. Before they could give more advice. His feet almost felt silent as they nearly flew. There was the exit into the tunnels. He couldn't think. He needed to think. He ran.

---

And he didn't dare listen to the shouts from behind him, he just ran, that was all he could think of, running and running. He needed to get away from all the pain inside him: his head, his stomach, all his joints: weights and chains of fire and ice, and he hadn't asked for it, he didn't know how to stop it...

Michelangelo tripped over a jutting pipe and stumbled, his legendary balance utterly failing him. In that desperate moment he didn't know what to do, so the fall was too hard. The way his hands and face slammed down with pulsing force scraping against the sewer wall and sewer ground was rough and dragging. 

He exhaled in a defeated whine. He couldn't even run away properly. He couldn't do anything right, not even take a fall. He failed at everything now, even failing.

Pushing himself up, Mikey sat back and wheezed, tears slipping into his mouth. Why did being so sad have to hurt so much? His head rang and began to pulse violently. His brain felt shaken. Flashes and shadows swam through his skull, causing strange little shivers. 

A violent throbbing sting rang up from his hands and cut through the fog to get his attention. He brought his hands up and stared. They were bleeding intensely, fingertips to wrists covered in a thick sheen oozing down his arms. He sniffled and tasted more blood. His whole face hurt.

He blinked. The pain... felt good. It was sweet. Like a warm blanket. It felt like a comfort. He licked around his mouth, his own blood like chocolate on his tongue. It was a beautiful beat, welling up from his veins, a drum playing a lullabye.

Michelangelo smiled.

When his brothers' voices reached him, he remained completely still, laughing inside. He felt the body pains fading slowly to the background in favor of the new whispering pulse in his mind.

The sound of rushing water was like static and music. 

Donatello realized he had already failed when they stumbled into a random tunnel and found Mikey. Cold water was ankle deep and there was blood swirling in whirling patterns.

His only younger brother, their baby brother, was sitting with his knees to his chest in bloody shallow water that almost reached his knees , his hands flowing blood over his arms. His nose was bleeding profusely, and Don noticed bloody scrapes on his chin and upper lip. There was a gash on his head, split diagonally between his eyes, ripping his soaked orange mask.

His bright blue eyes were glazed, dilated, and spacey. 

If he hadn't been sitting up... he might have drowned. 

Raph muttered a soft curse.

Swift and silent, Leo moved in, murmuring, arms gently around Mikey carefully, since that memory of his feral panic right before he ran away was fresh in all their minds. Mikey merely smiled, as if telling himself a private joke. A chill ran up Donnie's spine.

He watched Raph go help their little brother stand and walk through the rising water, since he knew that once back home, Don himself would be the one to administer the care. He took the lead back to the lair, and he swore he could hear Mikey whispering nonsensical things, but the others didn't say anything so he stayed quiet. The sloshing of water made the echoing silence worse. 

In the lab, they sat Mike on the cushioned table, Raph acting like a stabilizing pillar when Michelangelo swayed a little. Donnie swiftly took care of the facial wounds, but felt himself tremble a little when cleaning and wrapping his only younger brother's hands. Leo was cleaning the forehead gash, commenting about stitches. Mikey had not made a sound and Leo was worrying about concussion, infection. Donatello drew in a deep breath and went to examine. Yes, it would need stitches. Yes, Mikey had a mild concussion. Don wanted him to stay in the lab for a while.

And Mikey just smiled.

They helped him lie down and he was quiet as Donnie numbed the wound and began suturing. Raphael said something was wrong because Mikey was never quiet.

Donatello looked deeply into the clouded, faraway, wounded eyes of his baby brother, his only little brother, and he tried not to cry.

Because he knew that Michelangelo had welcomed the pain, had enjoyed it, had wanted it, and was hurting even more.

And Donnie knew he might lose his only little brother if they didn't do something quickly.

And Mikey just looked back at him, looked through him, and smiled. And his glassy eyes rolled back and slipped closed and he relaxed into unconsciousness.

This time Donnie cried, and Leo and Raph wrapped their arms around him.

---

Donatello had finished typing in the most recent notes when his tech scanners gave a gentle alert. Relief flooded him and he turned, walking to the medical bed, smiling automatically.

His “patient” wasn’t smiling. It was to be expected. Don sat in the chair and kept his hands in his lap. “Welcome back, Mikey. How do you feel?”

Michelangelo gave him a deeply sad look that had become disturbingly familiar, eyes glazed. “Tired. Th-thirsty.”

Donnie nodded and grabbed a nearby water bottle. He slid one hand under his brother’s head, lifting it, and helped him drink. Michelangelo had always had a habit of not hydrating enough after his skateboarding adventures. Don giving him water was pure instinct.

When half the water was gone, Mike’s head lolled against Don’s hand, so the scientist set the bottle aside and lightly massaged the poor concussed scalp, and with his free he felt Mikey’s burning forehead, just to confirm the biosensors.

Mikey squeezed his eyes, groaned, clenched his teeth, and then widened his eyes. “Dude, I feel like shit. All I did was fall on my face.”

Donnie didn’t let his smile waver. “Well, you’ve got a high fever, since as it turns out, couple of your scrapes got infected. Including this one.” And he ran his finger down the diagonal stitches on Mike’s forehead, which the orange mask wouldn’t quite conceal.

“… oh. Is that why my right hand is throbbing?”

“Yup. Casey got us plenty of medicine.”

Mike licked his lips and swallowed a few times. Donnie bit his lip, took some deep deep breaths, and prepared.

Michelangelo stared at him, dilated and glassy and clouded eyes working puzzles. “I… kinda remember having another seizure?”

Breathe out, breathe in. Donatello smiled gently again and took Mikey’s hand in both of his. “Yeah, it scared Raph shitless and Leo was losing his mind. April and I had to kick them out of the lab. That-that was yesterday. I think Raphie is calm now.”

Mikey jerked upright, before Don easily pushed him down. “Wait, a whole day? Doonnniieee, what did I miss? You guys didn’t eat all the pizza? Am I in toble fr running way? Will Sensei pu me ih the Hashi? I don’t feel good, I don’t wanna!”

“Whoa, hey, hey, easy! You’re not in trouble, little brother, I promise. There’s plenty of pizza. Splinter is really worried for you. I mean, you came home with a gash in your head and a heavy concussion, you’ll be on bed rest for a while.” Mentally, Donnie was already cataloging those obvious slips in his brother’s language processing; that was very bad, and there was no way he could tell his family until he could get more information. He squeezed Mikey’s hand a little harder.

“Something else is up, dude,” and Mikey’s solemn voice jolted him. “You leaving somethin’ out, Donnie. There’s something really wrong with me and you nnn-know wuh-what it probly is.”

Oh damn it, why was Mikey so… so empathic? He had to choose his words carefully; Michelangelo had the weirdest intuition and creepily uncanny cunning insight. “Mike…Mikey, there’s a bunch of tests I still need to run to confirm, and and with our mutations there’s no telling how your neurology will respond…”

Those summer blue eyes narrowed and seemed to crack around the edges. Mikey grinned in a way that seemed predatory. “Yeah but you do got a theory. You have that look, Donnie. You already figured it out, it’s what you do. So spill. Tell me.”

He bit his lip harder. “Mikey, I really don’t think I can…”

But Michelangelo cleared his throat. And then his little brother pulled a trick from Don’s own book.“Do it, Donnie, tell me.” Shaking, sweating, horribly pale, still grinning, Mikey pushed himself up on his elbows and fixed Don with puppy eyes brightened by fever. “Do it, do it, do it, not gonna stop til you do it!”

Donnie’s mouth dropped open. “You cheeky brat, you… Okay, fine.”

Mikey produced that famous cheeky grin and lay back with a light huff. “I always get my way.”

Donnie kept both his hands over his brother’s hand, and he felt his mouth tremble. “Epilepsy, Mikey. Temporal Lobe. You know what that means, right?”

Mikey blinked very slowly and did not move. “I watch medical dramas, dude, I read books. I know what it is.”

Donnie let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose."Good, right. Okay, and as I said, this is my theory as the family medic but…"

“Don,” Michelangelo said softly. He had settled back against his pillow, and his gaze was huge, dark, full of an emotion Don couldn’t quite read. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I… I kinda already know.”

Donatello stared. The corner of his mouth twitched up. “And how could you already know you might have epilepsy when I only just told you?”

Mikey’s next smile managed to be bashful, anxious, arrogant, and overly knowing at the same time.“I… Um, I dreamed about it? For a week?”

Donatello was still staring, unsure of what to do, right up until the voice of their hothead brother carried into the lab, calling Don’s name, asking about Mike. Donnie’s shoulders instinctively straightened. 

“HI, RAPHIE,” Mikey bellowed cheerily. Donnie gave him a deadpan look as Raphael slid into the room.

“Okay, what's the bad news?” Raph asked.

“Hello to you too, Mister Joy,” Mikey grinned lopsidedly.

Raph practically fell on top of him, grabbing Mikey in a tight hug. “I thought I heard your voice. Don't fucking scare me like that.”

Mikey just patted his carapace. “Don says I have epilepsy. How's your day going?”

Pulling away, Raph stared at him, then at Donnie, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Fuck,” he said, like a heavy rock dropped into a still lake. Donnie nodded.

“Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

Mikey's face fell. “Aw, Raph, it's okay!”

Raph stared at him, pupils tiny. “What! No, it's not okay! You're not okay!”

“I mean…” Mikey paused, lower lip out, considering.

“Exactly.” Raph exhaled. He ran his hands over his head, then turned to the entrance. “LEO! LEO, GET IN HERE!”

Mikey squeaked. “No, wait-”

As Leo appeared seemingly out of nowhere and Mikey actually yelped, Donnie tilted his head back and took a few long breaths. He couldn't help the grin that spread, the chuckle he disguised as a cough into his fist. He shook his head. Ah, his dear sweet brothers.

“What is it?” And Leo's urgent tone made Donnie stand straighter.

“I was gonna tell him later!” Mikey tried to snap at Raph. It came out as a whine.

Leo's eyes darkened. “Tell me what?”

“Later?” Raph scoffed. “What, when you have another seizure? Because you have epilepsy?”

“Raph!” Mikey cried.

“What?” Leo whispered.

Donnie raised his hands. “Everybody relax-”

“I am relaxed!” Raph and Mikey yelled in unison, staring at each other.

“That's not how it was supposed to go,” Mikey said harshly, clutching the blanket.

“Oh, and how was it supposed to go?” Raph's voice was just as harsh, as he grabbed Mikey's shoulders, “What did you think would happen?” 

Mikey swallowed. “I wanted to be, y’know, lighthearted. Take some of the weight off.”

Raph's cheek twitched. He closed his eyes and sighed. His teeth clenched. 

Leo had stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Oh, Mike. Thank you. But you don't have to be on like this.”

Mikey managed a shaky chuckle. “W-what? No, it's cool, I like being on. I mean, I have a dimmer switch, I could turn it down a little if you wanted.”

Raph snorted, shaking his head. His eyes glimmered with tears. “I don't believe it. You're amazing. You can laugh at anything, can't you?”

Mikey frowned at him. “Well…yeah. That's…that's my thing.”

Raph squinted. “It ain't your only thing.”

“Of course it is! That and all the pizza I can eat in one sitting.” Mikey grinned, winking.

Leo's hand fell on the top of his head. “You don't really believe that, do you, Mikey?”

Tilting his head to the side and up, Mikey met Leo's eyes. “Of course not, bro. There's my nunchuck skills, my dance moves, my DJ power, uhh, I'm getting better at cooking and baking, I, um…”

Smiling softly, Leo stroked his head. “Okay. But do you actually believe it?"

Mikey's eyes immediately filled with tears. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Raph sucked in a breath, squeezing his brother's shoulders. Donnie placed a hand on the lip of Mikey's carapace and began to rub slow circles down his shell.

“We believe it,” Donnie said firmly.

“We believe in you,” Raph almost growled.

Mikey swallowed hard and nodded. “I know.”

“Do you?” Raph almost shook him. He looked ready to cry.

“I…” Mikey’s breath stuttered. “I know. I know, Raphie, I just… I don't know…I don't know why…” His voice cracked and he ground his teeth together. Raph wrapped him in his arms, letting Mikey press his forehead to his plastron. Leo and Donnie followed by touch, keeping their hands on their brother, soothing him, uttering little chirps.

“I'm sorry,” Mikey gasped, holding onto Raph's sides.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Donnie said softly. “You are loved, Mikey. You have to keep believing that. And if you can't, we will keep telling you. We love you.”

Mikey cried himself to sleep in their arms.

 

 

Chapter 6

April and Casey came shortly after the brothers had tucked in the sleeping youngest. Mikey had convulsed in his sleep. Raph had panicked. Donnie had been strangely calm as he looked online for what to do. And then he had called April.

The air around the kitchen table was tense.

“So, wait, that doesn’t make any sense,” Raphael grunted. He leaned his elbows on the table and grit his teeth. “Mikey can’t have, like, actual, depression, he’s Mikey. He’s too optimistic, it’s not in him to be so sad for so long.”

“That’s just it,” April said, tenderly. “It’s not about being sad, it’s about being overwhelmed and drained, which brings up feelings of sadness multiplied. Feeling worthless and…”

Raph slammed his fist, making her and Casey jump. Leonardo blinked and Donatello frowned.

“He’s not worthless, though,” Raph growled, “why would he think that?”

“Depression is an illness,” April said, “in the brain. It takes over and makes you feel these things. Mikey can’t help it.”

“So… so we help treat it. I dunno, herbal tea? Meditation?” Raph looked and sounded lost.

“Well,” Casey spoke up, “most people take medication and go to therapy. You guys don’t exactly have access to those things. But I bet April and I can help. Some people do take herbs. And you guys are already so close, you could talk to him and listen to him.”

“Without dismissing his concerns or mocking him,” April added quickly.

The brothers exchanged guilty looks.

“He’s just… so optimistic,” Don murmured. “He bounces back from everything.”

“Maybe back before you got so involved with humans,” Casey said carefully. “Remember what happened all those months ago, at the station.”

Raphael exhaled and shuddered. “The cops called us monsters.”

“Mikey was really upset,” Leonardo added. “Not even Dad could soothe him. But he seemed to brush it off. He was so happy when we got keys to the city.”

“Well, obviously,” April smiled.

“He didn’t say a word about his injury from Kraang,” Donnie sighed, “not until the next day during training.”

April winced, nodding. The week that followed was truly scary. Michelangelo had been trying to hide two broken ribs, deep tissue bruising all around his upper chest and arms, half a dozen hairline fractures along his upper arms, and pinched nerves in both arms. Donatello had swallowed urges to yell at his little brother. It had been extraordinary how Mike had managed to conceal so much pain.

And that had been the problem. He had smiled and laughed and pretended nothing was very wrong, for five whole days, until the morning he had woken up and fallen out of bed, screaming.

As one, the three turtles flinched and grabbed each others’ hands.

“I still hear him yelling in pain,” Raph whispered, “and that was eight months ago.”

“We took apart your bunk beds and put them side by side,” Leo swallowed. “So you could help him more easily.”

“You know, that might have been the worst morning of my life,” Don said. “Having to check our little brother over while he was shivering and trying to insist it did not really hurt when I could literally see how much he was hurting.” He fiddled with his goggles. “Why would he outright lie about that?”

April sighed. “He didn’t want to burden you. It’s common among those starting to display symptoms of depression. He genuinely believed that it would be bothersome, that his injuries weren’t so terrible.”

Raph spluttered. “That’s… that’s crazy!”

April offered a weak smile. “Crazy is mentally ill. And most patients have no idea how they’re affecting the ones they love.”

Raph snarled. “That isn’t Mikey, it can’t be. He’s too damn happy, how could he not know? How?”

Before the humans could respond, Raph pressed his hand to his face and said shakily, “I can’t stop thinking’ about that day. I thought he was dying. I couldn’t do a damn thing other than hold him…”

Leonardo looked at Casey with a naked fear. “I’m failing my family. What if he…what if he deliberately hurts himself?”

Raph sucked in his breath. “When he ran off yesterday. He was bleeding. That…that wasn’t on purpose. W-was it?” He clenched his fists and glanced at his engineer brother. “Donnie…?”

Donatello met his strong sibling’s wounded stare, and somehow the clinical persona inside him surged forth and locked. “No. It was an accident. However, once he realized that his perception of the pain brought a sort of comfort, the…well, the ideation was created. We need to monitor him.”

“You’ll need our help,” Detective Jones said. “Chief Vincent will want to provide accommodation.”

Raphael winced. “Humans are bigots no matter what. Who’re we s'posed ta trust?”

April bit her lip. She looked at Casey, who said, “tell them.”

April folded her hands. “Remember…remember when you stopped that jewelry shop robbery, and Mikey helped the cashier calm down and she gave you her number?”

The teens exchanged glances.

“Avalyn is a friend of mine and Casey’s. And she’s worked with Chief Vincent, she’s a nurse in training. She’s autistic and she works with occupational therapists to help other adult autistics compromise and modify their environment so there’s less sensory panic.”

Leo frowned. “But Mikey has ADHD.”

Donatello tapped his chin. “I’ve researched it. Autism and ADHD are cousins in neurodevelopmental disability. Mikey displays many autistic traits.”

Raph smirked and shrugged. “Well, cool, more reading. He’s got an amazing brain.”

“Regardless,” April continued, “Ava has seen you and not screamed or fainted. She’s fascinated. She told me she wanted to meet the heroes of New York. And she’s a sensitive, an intuitive.“ When Leo perked up, April winked. "She connects to emotions. She…she knows stuff. She’ll really know what you’re all going through. Mikey could even stay in the lair and they could do a video chat. He needs to talk to someone who gets him, literally.”

Leo glanced toward the lab, where Michelangelo was still sleeping off his concussion and bloody head wounds from yesterday. He’d had seizures even in his sleep, which had horrified Raph. Don had printed out pages of information to ease the family’s shock.

They really did need help.

"This would be top secret,” Casey encouraged.

“We…we need to trust humans,” Leo sighed. “We can’t do this on our own.”

April smiled at him. “And Casey and I will behere, no matter what. Mikey is precious and necessary. We’ll make sure he believes it.”