Chapter Text
"That's a cool arm."
"Yeah."
"Wish I'd made it."
Leonardo lifts his gaze and gives his twin a long stare.
"You did make it."
Donatello scoffs. "It's not really the same thing when you're so far removed from Before that the style you would go for has become something completely… different."
"You know everything you made had to be either functional or sleek and stylish, can't really have everything in the middle of an apocalypse. You do know that, right? And you choosing functionality over style definitely saved more asses than I could ever even begin to count. It saved my ass a billion times and thanks to you, I'm here in the past now, still alive – apparently just so that you can gripe at me for being jealous of your own damn teenage self."
Donatello looks aghast. “I’m not jealous!”
Leonardo doesn’t even grace him with an answer and turns back to his task at hand, which is finally taking care of his odachi. It’s actually a real real sword, made by an actual blacksmith and not with mystic power, and Leonardo feels a little ashamed. He hadn’t touched the sword after they came back from getting the key from the Foot and it shows, dirt and blood stuck in the blade and the hilt.
The hilt.
“...you seem awfully snappy.”
The slider doesn’t answer, stuck staring at the intertwining masks on the handle, dirty and tattered and important.
His chest feels tight, even with Donatello’s unwavering presence so close.
The spirit shifts his weight on his feet and crosses his arms over his chest, huffing.
"Will you finally get rid of those?"
Leonardo flinches and clears his throat. "No, why would I..."
"You need to let us go."
Leonardo’s expression turns pained.
"But you're here."
Donatello sighs. "See, that's the problem. I don’t think you fully believe that. Something is still making you hold onto the thought that we're gone when we so clearly are not."
"...and you think it's the masks."
"Precisely."
Leonardo pulls the hilt of his sword toward himself, gently running his fingers along the two pieces of fabric weaved on it. He falls silent, thinking.
"No," he finally says, lifting his head to look at the spirit still looming next to him.
"I just need to find a better… place… for them."
“You do know I would not wear that old ragged thing even if I was somehow brought into a live body again? I guess Raphala would keep his, but not for himself. He would only do it for you.”
The slider frowns, growing irritated at Donatello’s bluntness, but stays silent and starts untying the masks from the hilt. He knows his brothers wouldn’t wear the masks again, especially as spirits, but they could do whatever they wanted with them. As long as… as long as they wouldn’t be in his possession anymore. The thought of throwing them away makes something dark and heavy grow under his lungs and his hands falter. He curls his fingers into fists and wonders why Donatello is still not leaving.
“Why are you still here? Don’t you have hot ghost shit to do?”
The air between them stills and grows cold before Donatello answers.
“I’m not leaving you when you’re like this.”
“And why am I like this? Your insistence on making me upset sure helped!”
“‘Nardo.”
“‘Tello,” Leonardo mocks before glancing up and sucking in a sharp breath in surprise when he sees his twin’s face hovering centimetres away from his. The softshell is bent at the waist, hands on hips, leaning down and staring at him with a harsh scowl.
“You really are asking for another slap in the face, are you not.”
Leonardo leans backwards and looks away.
“You can hit me as many times as you like.”
Anger flashes across Donatello’s features before his expression crumbles, not that Leonardo sees it, and he sighs aloud.
“Sigh. Scoot over.”
Leonardo sets his sword down, pulls his legs on the bed and flops down to lay on his side. He shuts his eyes, holding his knees against his chest like a petulant child. Donatello follows, settling on his back and folding his hands on his stomach. They’re not touching but Leonardo can feel his brother’s energy and how it seems to seep into his skin.
It’s comforting to the point that Leonardo thinks he might cry. It’s infuriating. He’s supposed to be upset with Donatello.
They don’t speak for a long minute and Leonardo starts feeling drowsy. His twin breaks the silence.
“You haven’t been sleeping again.” It sounds like an accusation.
“I have... tried,” Leonardo mutters, “I just can’t seem to get any rest.”
“The phantom pains should not be as big of a problem now that you have the new arm, but if they persist, you should talk to Draxum. Yokai remedies are plentiful in this world. In case you forgot.”
“Sure.” God, Leonardo is tired. Deciding that his superficially hurt feelings aren’t worth holding onto, he unwraps his arms around his knees to straighten his legs so he can hold onto Donatello instead.
“What are you doing.”
“Mhm. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Being unnecessarily clingy.”
“Sure,” Leonardo hums and tucks his head into the crook of Donatello’s neck. Holding onto pure ninpo like this still feels funny, it’s solid but not really, and it fills him with inexorable warmth. It’s family, it’s belonging, it’s you’re not alone. Leonardo presses the side of his face against the sheets and maybe, just maybe, Donatello won’t know of his tears.
—
—
“Aww. I’m taking pics.”
“Don’t you dare!” Donatello hisses, trying to keep quiet, and his threat apparently goes to deaf ears as his youngest brother already has his phone in hand.
“Just get over here so I can leave!”
“You could’ve left any time,” Michelangelo shrugs, thumbing through the photos he just got. They’re adorable. Leonardo, sleeping like a baby, holding his twin hostage in his arms. Donatello’s expression could use some photoshopping, though. Maybe he’ll ask if April can help.
“No,” the softshell grumbles, “it will not go well if he wakes up alone.”
Michelangelo sighs and puts his phone away, walking to the bed.
“I don’t know, Dee. What if he wakes up with me and panics and thinks he dreamed you up?”
“It is infinitely better than the alternative. You can just calmly explain that we switched places; he knows that I can’t stay here indefinitely.”
“Mmm. Right. Okie dokie, up you go then,” the box turtle chirps and gently lifts Leonardo’s arm with both hands. Donatello glances at his twin, who’s still fast asleep, and sighs.
“Fare thee well, space cowboy,” he tells Michelangelo, salutes him and vanishes in a flurry of soft blinking lights. Leonardo doesn’t even stir.
“Wowie, you really haven’t been sleepin’ that good,” Michelangelo mutters as he maneuvres himself in between his brother’s arms. Good thing he already prepared for bed so it doesn’t matter if he stays here the whole night, but judging from Leonardo’s breath he didn’t even brush his teeth. Ew, but whatever. The sewers smell way worse.
And… Leonardo is warm. It’s cosy, cuddled up to him like this, and Michelangelo uses just a tiny bit of his mystic power to pull a blanket over them both.
It’s fine, he’s fine, Draxum will never know.
—
Turns out Draxum would know.
“What did I tell you about using your ninpo? To not to use it!”
Michelangelo deflates.
“It was just a little bit! I was feeling good, Leonardo was right there, I didn’t think it’d be a big deal!”
Draxum groans, lets go of Michelangelo's hand and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“It is a big deal. You’re still recovering and while dispensing that power in small amounts will no longer cause such adverse effects you have previously suffered, it can and will slow down your healing. I have not spent my time and precious resources just so you can take it for granted.”
“I– I'm sorry. I'm not taking any of this for granted, I promise,” Michelangelo hurries to placate him. He does feel bad, genuinely, and somehow it seems to get through to Draxum. The yokai sighs and walks to his cupboard where he keeps some of his poultices, taking out a few.
“What reason did you even have for using it? I doubt you’ve been in any scuffles.”
“Uhh. I moved a blanket.”
Draxum turns his head to stare at him.
Michelangelo feels the prickle of sweat running down the back of his neck.
“You. Moved a blanket. You used your ninpo to move a blanket.”
“I didn’t want to move, okay! Leo hasn't been sleeping well and I would’ve hated to disturb him!”
Mentioning Leonardo seems to weirdly switch Draxum’s mood from exasperated to thoughtful. He hums, suddenly looking… not soft, exactly, but softer. He walks to his desk and rifles through a drawer, producing what looks like a light purple calling card.
“Here,” he says, handing it to the turtle. “Tell Leonardo to call this person. They are one of the few practitioners in Hidden City whom I trust and I would recommend booking an appointment post haste.”
Michelangelo takes the card, perplexed. He doesn’t recognise the person’s name but their title says enough.
“A therapist?”
Draxum nods.
“Leonardo would greatly benefit from therapy or at least someone to talk with in order to process his trauma and help with his insomnia, but I am not qualified nor equipped to handle such topics. My area of expertise only consists of the physical. Matters of the mind, on the other hand… If you ever need support in that particular area, you should give them a call as well. Some things are better handled with an actual professional.”
Michelangelo pockets the card and beams at Draxum. He’s aware that his array of doctors isn’t equipped to get to the bottom of anyone’s issues – especially his own – like a trained and licenced therapist is. That, and he doesn’t blame the scientist for not yet knowing that Leonardo has always had his issues with sleep and it's not all to do with the war.
He’s not going to rat the younger slider out to Draxum, though.
“For sure! Thank you, Draxy. I can see your sweet side already!”
The alchemist scoffs but the faint colour rising to his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. This version of Draxum might be younger – if that even matters with yokai, honestly – and lacking the character development of his future counterpart but he so very clearly cares for Michelangelo and his family.
And Michelangelo cares for him.
“Aaanyway,” he smiles, “what’s for today’s session? Same as last week? Or,” here, he knows to look a little bit guilty, “do we have to do something else because of my lil blunder?”
Draxum considers him for a moment, then shakes his head and against all odds, breaks into a small smile.
“No, that changes nothing. Just do not do it again until I give you the clear, alright?”
Michelangelo nods with a grin almost as wide as his whole face. He really, really likes this softer side of his other dad.