#leatherangelo

Reading order:

Primary Undertones - [12k words] focusing on Donnie's & Mikey's childhood

Metamerism - [36k] focusing on Leo's & Raph's childhoods

Chroma - [22k] awkward first meetings

Color Scheme - [15k] a few new friends

Tint and Shade - [67k] bonding time between all the brothers

Color Clash - [16k] end of season 1; Many Unhappy Returns

Baby Blue - [36k] Leoichi-centric get together fic

Pigment - [47k] post season 2; farmhouse healing arc

Tangerine Neon - [40k] Mikey-centric fic

“Nice save,” Raph teases, which earns him a kick to the back of his seat.

Mikey doesn't think April and Kendra used to get along, and he wouldn't really be surprised if that never changed. Kendra's funny but mostly in a mean kind of way, caring to an almost obsessive point, and generally speaking – just a bit mental.

Personally, Mikey can't imagine his brother with anyone too normal, and April must agree at least to a certain point, because most of her remarks seem only a little petty at worst.

Mikey's not sure if it's a mutual feeling, because trying to get a read on Kendra feels a bit like trying to read in a foreign language while upside down, but he appreciates them keeping the peace the very few times he's seen them together. Mostly for Donnie's sake.

Mikey considers them both family – in very different but equally important ways – but he's had enough experience with that to know family doesn't always mean being friends.

“She made her dad get into crypto back in the day,” Donnie says.

Parked in the driveway, he turns off the car, the world suddenly still, dark, and quiet. Mikey shifts in his seat, like he's trying to beat the stiff, smooth leather into submission. It's not really working so far.

Donnie's car of choice is a sleek, shiny thing – all black and a lot bigger than it looks on the outside, with three rows of seats. Mikey's never seen it before, and judging by the smell and the general uncomfortableness of it all, it must be new, and that's about everything he knows about it.

Leo called it a 'Ferrari' and Donnie looked at him like he wanted to smash his head into the side of it, so Mikey guesses it's not that.

For the most part – he doesn't care much for cars.

He likes when Donnie lets him paint something on the side, and he likes going just a little above the speed limit, and he likes when they're all red and shiny.

Donnie's unapologetically snobbish when it comes to that kind of stuff, but it's one of the things he never quite managed to rub off on Mikey.

“And it's just a nice house,” Donnie adds. “Don't exaggerate."

Leo gives him a long look.

“Sometimes I forget you're a rich bastard, too.”

Sometimes, Mikey wishes his brothers could've grown up as rich bastards. It would've spared Raph some of the deep lines on his face. He pushes back against his seat to look at Raph over Usagi's head. His brother stares back but only shrugs.

Mikey’s not sure what that's supposed to mean.

“You're a rich bastard by association,” Donnie answers, seemingly spared from a similar train of thought.

He doesn't say anything else, and there's a beat of silence before anyone else speaks up.

“What are we waiting for, exactly?” Usagi questions, leaning out from his seat in the middle to take a better look at Donnie.

“Nothing,” Donnie answers, a little too quickly.

“Hey,” April says, her eyes narrowing. She looks halfway between concerned and amused. “Are you, like, nervous?”

“Fuck off.”

“That's not a no.”

“Dude,” Leo says. “Your heart's beating like crazy.”

“It's okay if you're nervous,” Raph supplies, so earnestly it makes Mikey laugh.

Donnie leans over to the passenger seat to punch Leo's arm before turning to look at the rest of them. He looks close to passing out.

“If any of you,” he starts, voice low and only a little shaky, “say anything weird tonight, I'm blowing this car up on our way back.”

Mikey snickers.

Donnie talks about Kendra with a kind of hushed wonder, like she's a spooked deer he found in a forest clearing that might still bolt at the first sight of rowdy, annoying brothers. Mikey's only met her a couple of times but always thought she seemed closer to a feller buncher than anything else.

If she hadn't run yet, there are slim chances she'd do so now, but he supposes he can't blame Donnie for feeling a little unsure.

“I'm gonna be so weird,” Leo says, rubbing his arm. “Wait and see.”

“Define 'weird',” Usagi says, slowly.

He's not even joking, judging by his expression, and Donnie's face folds in on itself like wet paper.

“Fuck,” he says, halfway to a laugh, sounding only a little manic with it. “All of you are going to be the end of me, I swear.”

“Man, I haven't even done anything,” Leatherhead says from behind Mikey, so quietly it might as well be just for the two of them.

He's been awfully quiet the whole ride, actually, eyes fixed on his phone screen. Mikey assumed it was something important, and it very well may still be, but now he's wondering if there's a part of his friend that feels just a bit overwhelmed by all of this.

Mikey feels a bit off-beat, too, if he's being honest with himself. Which is why he chooses not to be, most of the time.

... Maybe he understands Donnie a lot more than he first thought.

“I'm going,” Donnie says finally, with the same level of definiteness as a question mark. “You,” he adds, pointing at Leo. “Get out.”

“Huh?” Leo laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Want me to hold your hand on the way?”

Donnie's hands are shaky, and the genuine answer might be yes, but he says:

“This is my car. My girlfriend sits in the front.”

Leo's face falls, twisting in such an honest display of betrayal that Mikey can't help but laugh.

“You said I can always have the front seat!” Leo huffs, seemingly annoyed at both of them now.

Donnie did say that, and Mikey still hasn't really forgiven him for it. He's been sitting in the front since day one, and yes, that was when there were only two of them – but still.

“Things change.” Donnie reaches to push at Leo's arm. “Go sit in the back.”

Leo detangles himself from his grip, throwing in a hiss for good measure.

“Bros before hoes, man,” he grumbles, fumbling with the door handle.

“Don't say 'hoes',” April chastises, but not too enthusiastically, probably more for Donnie's than Kendra's sake.

Leo waits for Donnie to undo his seatbelt before stepping outside. He's being surprisingly agreeable about all of this, which probably has a lot to do with Donnie's general jittery mood but feels a bit off-beat either way.

“Everyone's so mean to me today,” Leo declares.

“You need to set a good example,” April jokes.

Mikey wonders if Leo's actually upset about the front seat stuff. His face looks a bit tight, his smile a little tired, but the way his shoulders tense at April's words makes him think it might be over something else entirely.

“Go,” Leo tells Donnie, standing on his toes to look over the hood. “Break a leg.”

“I think that's just a theater thing,” Raph notes, watching their brother's back.

Donnie's shoulders are raised, back awkwardly straight and stiff. Mikey hopes, for his sake, that Kendra's dad won't be the one who opens the door.

“Oh, that was a suggestion,” Leo says. He steps to the side, opening the door next to Mikey's seat. He leans over, hand resting on his knee. Then: “Get out.”

Mikey blinks up at him.

“What?”

Leo grins. He really does look a lot like his father when he smiles.

Mikey would rather die than tell him that.

“Get out.” He leans over to pat Mikey's knee, like he's trying to move a particularly stubborn horse. Mikey would probably bite him for that if he wasn't so busy being confused. “I'm sitting next to my boyfriend. And I have older brother privileges.”

Mikey opens his mouth, trying to think of something sufficiently nasty to say in return, before stopping himself.

Discreetly, he turns his head to look behind at the only other empty seat – sandwiched right between April and Leatherhead.

Mikey didn't think much of it while he was getting in the car, but there must've been a part of him that assumed they would sit next to each other, because realizing they're not left him feeling vaguely disappointed.

He guesses Leo isn't really lying about wanting to sit next to Usagi, at least judging by his friend's poorly hidden giggling, but Mikey knows him well enough to not assume anything he does is ever unintentional.

“Man,” he says, while unbuckling his seat belt, “fuck you.”

Leo's subtle yet persistent wingmaning didn't bother him on a good day, and he hadn't decided yet if today was going to be one of those.

***

April's school doesn't seem anywhere near as nice as Kendra's neighborhood.

Mikey doesn't know what else he expected, but whatever it was must be showing on his face, because April laughs while getting out of the car.

“Sorry it's not exactly 'High-School Musical',” she says, stepping behind him to shake him by the shoulders.

“What's that one again?” He asks, always a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of human media his family has forced down his throat in the last couple of years.

April looks at him like he just stabbed her right in the back, and he quickly slips out of her grasp. Mostly for his own safety.

“Are we going in?” Leatherhead asks, coming up behind them.

He and Mikey haven't really talked for the rest of the car ride, but their shoulders kept brushing against each other, and he shifted a little in his seat so their knees would touch, and that was enough for Mikey to need to take a couple of deep breaths after getting out.

He's acting ridiculous, and he knows it, but sometimes it feels impossible to remember his own dignity in moments like these.

“Gotta wait for those idiots,” April answers, gesturing to the car with a tilt of her head. “Get used to it.”

Leo and Usagi stand by the trunk, their expressions growing gradually more and more exasperated, probably trying to convince Raph to not bring in the massive shoulder bag he's currently clutching to his chest. Mikey's not sure what's in it, but judging by Raph's guilty-dog look – it's probably his sai. Or knives. Or both, as far as Mikey's concerned.

In the front of the car, Donnie's holding the door open for Kendra, his face perfectly blank and bored. Not that she seems to really pay it any mind, leaning over in her seat to fiddle with her heels.

“Shit,” she swears under her breath. “I hate these shoes.”

She looks pretty – dressed up head to toe in all sparkles and purple, and Donnie must be thinking the same thing, because he hasn't been doing all that much besides looking at her since they picked her up.

It's kind of funny, and probably something Leo is going to tease him about later.

“Just take them off then,” Donnie supplies, rather unhelpfully.

Mikey's not sure if he's joking or not, but maybe Kendra does, judging by her glare.

“It's enough that I have to look at your face all evening,” she says.

Donnie grins, wide and with all his teeth.

“You love my face, shut up.”

“Don't tell me to shut up, that's so sexist.”

Mikey looks up at Leatherhead, giving him his best attempt at raising an eyebrow.

“Is she as lovely as you imagined?” He says, and April nudges him in the ribs, but probably just to hide her own laughter.

He’s not trying to be mean, but it’s sometimes a little hard to make sense of whatever it is that Donnie and Kendra have going on. Mikey’s happy for them, but only from the safety of a few steps away.

Leatherhead looks at the couple still bickering in the car and shrugs.

“It's close enough.”

***

The school looks a little nicer on the inside; dressed up and polished for the occasion.

“Looks like a circus crashed and burned here,” Leo declares, looking around at the violent mash of colors, serpentines, and balloons. “And not even a particularly good one. Like, the ten bucks kind.”

Mikey has never been to a circus, but as a personal fan of tacky party decorations and trashy radio music, he finds it all the better the more it makes his family grimace.

“What is that?” Leo grabs April's shoulder, pointing to the bundle of balloons tied together on one of the lockers, loudly declaring: 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY'. “Are the budget cuts that bad?”

“Yes,” she says in reply, and her tired expression tells them just about everything else. “Now stay here until I tell you otherwise.”

As Kendra's plus one, Donnie's technically the only one who's allowed to be here, and Mikey doesn't miss the rather smug expression growing on his face when he walks past to follow the girls into the gymnasium. Mikey hopes he'll trip.

He leans against one of the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest. Discreetly, he glances at Leatherhead, standing a little closer to the door.

He's looking at his phone again.

Mikey slouches, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a sigh.

“Hey.” Leo nudges him in the side. He has a rather peculiar talent for knowing the exact moment when Mikey's starting to grow annoyed, but he rarely uses it for good. “Look at that.”

Mikey follows his gaze, right to the big cardboard display hung up on one of the walls. It's filled with pictures of what must be the graduating class and the hopeful predictions for their surely bright future.

He finds Kendra and April – both placed under the rather vague category of ‘most likely to chase their dreams’.

He gets the feeling that it's a description for the kids that not a lot of people really know anything about, which makes him scoff, just a little.

“What do you think I would get?” Leo asks.

Mikey looks him up and down, pretending to think.

“Most likely to become a teenage parent.”

“What the fuck?” Leo bristles. “Says the 'most likely to become a DUI victim'.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You're both most likely to be annoying,” Raph says, catching them both off guard.

As a human, he's so much smaller than he usually is. It's hard to even notice him.

“That's not even how that works,” Leo mumbles under his breath.

“No, you're 'most likely to become the president',” Usagi supplies, resting his chin on Leo's shoulder.

He has to stand on his toes to do it. Mikey and all his brothers have been growing awfully fast for the last couple of months, and it's even more noticeable now without Usagi's ears.

“I know you meant it as a compliment,” Leo replies, “but don't say that to me ever again.”

“If you ever get into politics, Raph's moving to Japan,” Raph says, voice a little too serious for him to be joking.

Leo opens his mouth, something dumb but admittedly very funny, probably already lingering at the end of his tongue. He doesn't get the chance to say it, which is probably for the best.

The door to the gymnasium cracks open, April's face popping out from behind it with all the urgency of an anxious deer.

These days, he's mostly sitting down.

But there's something like new confidence growing in his bones now, making him want to stand up ten feet tall just to show off he still can. It must come off as mostly pathetic and maybe a bit sad, judging by the looks his family is usually giving him, but in a mostly cautiously optimistic way.

“Like a kicked puppy,” Leo told him.

Donnie got mad at him for it, because he's always getting mad on Mikey's behalf now, but Raph stayed mostly silent, which usually meant he agreed with Leo but knew better than to admit it out loud.

Mikey didn't really know what to say to that.

He and Leo haven't fought in over a week, which is something of a record. Probably a rather short-lived one, judging by the glare Leo sent him last evening when Mikey finished the last slice of pizza without asking, but a record nonetheless.

“Do you think you would ever talk to him again?” Leo asked him that very same evening, when he was finally done being angry about the pizza thing. “Like, if he apologized and all.”

They were laid out on their stomachs in front of the TV, bathed in blue-ish light. Donnie finally got around to installing one of these in their house, and it's been something of a nice distraction.

“I don't know,” Mikey lied, not looking away from the screen. “Why? Has he been texting you or something?”

“Just curious,” Leo lied, looking everywhere but at Mikey.

“Okay.”

They're all walking on eggshells around him, but Leo always knew best which buttons he could get away with pressing.

For the most part, Mikey spends his days painting.

He's been having a lot of strange dreams lately. He's blaming it on stress, or mystic energy, or whatever else he happened to be full of that given day. Either way, when they're not leaving him feeling achy and cold all over, they're a great inspiration for the kinds of paintings he'd never show to anyone.

(There's a lot of glaring red eyes in many of them. Mikey wonders if they might be his own.)

He's standing in his kitchen now, filling up the empty cup he's been using to wash his brushes. When he paints, he tends to get lost in it, hours passing by without him noticing, and he's not exactly sure when he ran out of water. Judging by the paint smears at the bottom of the cup – a while ago.

Maybe he drank it by accident. That happened to him more than once.

He turns off the faucet, rolling his shoulders to turn before stopping at the sound of footsteps. He waits for a moment, almost instinctively, before a familiar shape fills up the doorframe.

“Hey,” Mikey says, because for a moment, he forgot that they were fighting.

“Hello,” Dad says, because he didn't.

Mikey stands there, awkwardly tapping his fingers against the rim of the glass.

They haven't talked much since last week. Since The Farmhouse, actually, but Mikey's been particularly jumpy since the evening when he saw Mr. Hamato for the last time.

He came home exhausted, achy, and full of magic, and his body fell numb against the couch without much of a thought.

Dad was sitting in his chair, and he looked up when he walked in with something equally cautious and wishful painted all over his face, which made Mikey think about the time he and Donnie used to be able to fit on that chair right next to him. That didn't make him feel much better.

Dad never said anything regarding Leatherhead (nor about Mikey's trashed room, thankfully), but Donnie must've told him something because he's been navigating around the topic with all the grace of a blind tourist. Even before The Farmhouse, Mikey considered his love life to be one of the things he'd happily let his father remain virtually oblivious about.

Dad was never too harsh on them, but he tended to grow crudely protective when it came to things like this, which was probably one of the main reasons why Donnie hadn't brought Kendra home yet, and Mikey was more than willing to follow in his big brother's footsteps.

Usagi seemed to be the only exception to that rule, but Dad always had a soft spot for (in Leo's words) his 'future-son-in-law-not-really-but-kind-of-yeah'.

It all left them sitting in a rather awkward silence for the most part of that evening.

Mikey remembers watching their fireplace, thinking about candles, ghosts, and family.

“Are you...” Dad spoke up finally, with all the pained hesitation that was clear on his face. “Do you feel alright?”

Mikey wanted to scoff at that before realizing his father probably meant it in a physical way. The answer to that was also a 'no', but he only shrugged. He sniffled, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

It came back wet.

And just like that – Mikey broke in half; face hidden between his knees, hot tears spilling out between his fingers.

Dad moved to sit next to him on the couch. He straightened the collar of Mikey's jacket, rubbed a hand down his back like he could wipe the smell of smoke and fire right off, and said the only thing Mikey wanted to hear from him at that moment.

Nothing at all.

Mikey clears his throat, shifting up and down on his heels. His face feels a little hot.

“I'm making a new painting,” he says, holding up his cup, like the paint smeared all over his hands and face didn't already make that clear.

Dad has seen him in all kinds of states, and breaking down never made him feel this skittish sort of embarrassed before, but he can't help it now.

His dad hums, vaguely. He looks stuck on something between hesitation and resolve, which probably means he's trying to find the right words to say... something.

Mikey already dreads whatever that might be.

Why does he keep doing that?, he wonders. Why is he always pushing Dad away these days?

He's not really angry at him. Not anymore, at least. There are only so many mistakes that holding grudges can fix, and this was never one of them.

But it feels a little like something in him broke that day at The Farmhouse; a small fracture in the thick walls of his childhood built with blind trust.

He never believed his father to be without a flaw, but it feels a little like finally outgrowing old shoes. He loves them all the same, and he'd never bring himself to get rid of them, but he can't help that they keep scraping at the back of his heel.

Mikey's not a little kid anymore, and it feels like all he does these days is try to prove it.

Finally, he says:

“I should-”

“Sit down.”

Dad's tone is not a particularly harsh one, but it shuts Mikey up either way. He gestures to one of the chairs, and Mikey follows it, hesitating before taking a seat, settling his cup down.

It feels a little like he's on his way to a solid talking-to, but he knows that's probably not the case.

Probably.

“What's wrong?” He asks, watching Dad sit on the other end of the table.

He looks a bit tired. Sometimes, it feels like he's aged years since The Shredder. There are a couple of gray hairs growing out by his temples now.

“That's exactly what I've been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh.” Mikey shifts in his seat. There are a million different ways in which he could answer that – none particularly good. “Nothing.”

Dad raises an eyebrow. He looks a lot like Donnie when he gets like this.

“Nothing?”

“Well, uhm...”

He feels very small, all of a sudden. He's not used to Dad grilling him like this, and he's not used to not being in trouble when it happens.

Dad's usually not the type to ask about things like this – mostly relying on the idea that if there is something they need to talk about, they'll bring it up themselves. Mikey used to think it quite resourceful, if a bit self-serving.

Now, he wonders if it has more to do with fear than anything else.

Being a parent, as he's coming to realize, seems to be a whole lot of being afraid and not much else.

“Well, it's... You know.” There's some loud music playing outside now. They don't really have neighbors, but the stairs up to their house always seemed to attract all sorts of people. It's mostly softened by the walls. Mikey really considers opening the window. “But it's okay, really. I'm doing fine. It's just a lot of shit all at once, you know?”

He sniffles, wiping at his face. The music's really bad, which makes him feel kind of worse, actually.

“... I'm not sure I do,” Dad says, which is fair. Kind of. For the most part.

“Well,” Mikey sniffles. He doesn't feel like crying, but he always starts to feel a bit gross when he gets like this. “I don't really know what to tell you.”

Dad's face softens a bit.

“The truth?” He suggests, finally.

Mikey doesn't really know what that means. He spent so much time lying – to Dad, to everyone, to himself – that he's not sure what he would find buried under all of it, even if he tried.

Nothing, maybe.

He shifts his jaw. He must've bitten his tongue sometime during their conversation. His mouth tastes like iron.

“I'm–”

“Hey?”

Mikey turns, the skin on the back of his neck crawling. It's been a while since someone managed to sneak up on him like that, and Donnie's expression seems almost equally surprised.

“Oh,” he huffs, looking between Mikey and Dad. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Mikey says.

“Yes,” Dad says.

“Right.” Donnie looks behind over his shoulder, then back again at Mikey. “We have a bit of a problem.”

“Okay,” he says, mostly just to give himself a moment to think it over. “Do you need me there?”

“I think you'd want to be there,” Donnie answers. The look on his face is hard to read. “It's about Leatherhead.”

That rips Mikey up from his chair. He wants to say something. Something like 'What do you mean?', or 'Why?', or 'What the fuck?'.

In the end, he only shakes his head.

Donnie turns, walking down into the living room, leaving Mikey to follow.

Mikey stops, hands frozen on the wooden doorframe.

He turns back to look, and he's not really sure what it is that's showing on his face, but it can't be anything even close to normal and casual (whatever that might mean for him now).

Dad raises an eyebrow, but in that way where he's more waiting for Mikey to make up his own mind than push him one way or another. He usually gets like this when he's thoroughly lost as to what to do with his kids, which happens more often than he'd probably like to admit – based on how easily Mikey can recognize that on him.

“Go,” he says, finally. Then smiles, like he just realized he forgot to do so.

Mikey hesitates for just a moment. He can hear the music blaring from the outside.

What would he even say to Leatherhead right now? What is it that he wants to say?

He's not really sure.

But he knows what he wants to tell Dad even less.

“Be right back,” he says, turning back to look at Donnie. “What's going on?”

**

The thing that's going on, apparently, is Leatherhead camping outside of their house with a boombox.

“Oh, wow,” Leo comments rather aptly, glancing outside through the sheers. “This is kind of sad, actually.”

With most of Mikey's family huddled by the window, it's a little hard to get a good look, but easy enough to get the general idea.

Leatherhead's got an awful taste in music, and he always seemed to favor whatever happened to sound the loudest. Mikey would know. He spent the last year pretending to like it.

“I told him not to do it,” Usagi comments.

He's got his hands on Leo's shoulders, standing on the tips of his toes to look over his head. It looks a bit silly. Leo's a lot taller than him these days.

“What do you mean?” Mikey asks, turning to look at his friend. “You told him not to, what does that mean?”

Usagi blinks, his cheeks a little red now.

“Uhm,” he says.

Mikey gets the feeling it's as much of an elaboration as he will get from him.

“Has he been talking to all of you?” He turns to Donnie now, because blaming Donnie for most of his Leatherhead-related problems seems to be his default mindset.

“He's been texting me,” his brother says, rather defensively. “I haven't texted him back.”

That calms Mikey, just a little.

Maybe it's a bit unfair to expect his brothers to always take his side over other people, especially someone like Leatherhead. He was Donnie's friend before he ever said a word to Mikey. But he can't help the feeling of something selfish and prideful filling out his chest at the thought that they still do.

“Right,” he says. “I'll go talk to him.”

The words leave his mouth faster than he can think of it. He stops for a moment, and it's only now that he's realizing he's not really angry anymore.

He hadn't been for quite some time, maybe.

“You sure?” Raph asks.

There's a harsh line forming between his eyes, his snout all scrunched up. Mikey didn't really believe him when he said he never liked Leatherhead, but now he's starting to.

They're all looking at him a bit funny now, actually, which is probably understandable but makes him bristle either way. Mostly for the principle of the thing.

“Yes,” he says, gathering as much conviction into his voice as he can. Which is not a lot, but still more than he expected.

His brothers all share a look – the kind they can't even be bothered to hide from him anymore.

“Alright,” Donnie says, a bit too quickly. Then: “Scream if you want us to come beat the shit out of him.”

“Please don't,” Mikey says, feeling very flattered.

**

The music stops when he steps outside.

Leatherhead scrambles to turn off the boombox, but it must be stuck, or broken, or something like that, because ultimately he resolves to just hitting the thing right between the speakers.

“Hey,” he says, all casual, shaking out his hand.

He looks good. He always does.

He's wearing his jacket – the one Mikey loves to see him in, and there are dark spots under his eyes, which mostly make him look handsomely rugged, and only a little washed-out. But there's something scared and desperate, hidden just between the lines on his face.

“Hi,” Mikey says.

Leatherhead sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, his tail shifting nervously. If he's trying to look unbothered, he's doing a rather piss-poor job of it.

“Hey,” he repeats.

Mikey feels his mouth stretch into something between a smile and a frown. He's not sure how it looks on his face, but judging by the way Leatherhead's shoulders slump in defeat – not good.

Mikey wonders what he should say. There are a lot of things gathering in his mind now; thoughts lingering like heavy clouds.

He's not really sure what to make of them. Out of the two of them, Donnie was always the one who could read out the weather just by looking at them. All Mikey was ever able to see were the shapes.

“So what's with the boombox?”

Leatherhead looks down, like he somehow managed to forget all about it.

“Oh,” he says. Then quiets for a moment, shoulders tense. “I guess I figured if I did that, someone would have to come and talk to me.”

“What if that was my dad?”

Leatherhead scratches at the back of his neck.

“It was a long shot.” He looks to Mikey again just then, his eyes narrowing a little. “You're not angry anymore.”

It's more of a statement than a question, and there's a part of Mikey that suspects he's not really expecting an answer either way.

He's been thinking a lot about that day over the last weeks. It's a dark and grey picture in his mind; all anger and stubborn bitterness. But he's been staring at it for long enough to finally see some of the cracks. Enough to realize that very little of the things he said and felt that day had anything to do with Leatherhead at all, actually.

He wishes that would make it hurt less.

That seeing his friend again would quiet the parts of him that want to sink claws and teeth into every ugly, mean thought that's ever passed through his hands. He's not sure anything ever will.

But they're a little easier to drown out these days.

“I'm...” He starts, then stops for a moment, thinking. He finishes lamely: “Upset. I guess. About the whole thing.”

“Me too,” Leatherhead says. Then, very quickly: “About how we left off, I mean. I didn't–”

“No, you're right,” Mikey interrupts. “Sorry I blew up in your face like that. I wish I could say it won't happen again, but it probably will.” He sniffles, wipes at his face. They're a bit past the point of caring about looks now, he thinks. “But I didn't want you to... I don't know, pity me?”

“Pity?” Leatherhead repeats. He sounds genuinely taken aback, but that doesn't really surprise Mikey. Over the years, he found that pity can be a rather subconscious thing. “I wasn't– I mean, I do feel bad that you... But it's not like that. You know me, you know it's not.”

He's fumbling over his own words again, like he needs Mikey to understand this more than he ever needed anything in his entire life. It's not a good look on him.

“I'm sorry,” he adds, still all too quickly.

“It's fine,” Mikey says, more to his feet than anything else. “Fair reaction, all things considered.”

“No.” Slowly, Leatherhead shakes his head. “It was... a lot. I didn't know what to say. I'm not sure I do now. But I'm sorry I didn't go after you.”

That makes Mikey look up.

In the time he's been busy staring at everything else – Leatherhead shifted a little closer. Standing a few steps below Mikey, he seems a lot smaller than usual.

“Okay,” Mikey says, mostly breathless. He feels silly, all of a sudden, standing up a bit straighter.

They stand there for a moment, looking everywhere but at each other once again.

Mikey wonders if his brothers are still watching them. Probably. He knows he would be.

“Listen,” Leatherhead says, finally, his voice quiet. “I'm sorry that you're... sick. And I'm not gonna say I don't care about it, because I do. But that's 'cuz I care about you, okay?” He walks a step up. Mikey has to tilt his head to look at him now. “I like you. A lot, actually. I know we... But you're my friend, too. And I'm really fucking sorry if I made you feel like that's not true.”

There's something particularly elegant about the way he swears; always like he meant to say something gentler, swapping it for the crude word at the last moment. The sort of vulgarity that only came from growing up in an environment that allowed none.

Or maybe it's the accent.

“Thanks,” Mikey says, then almost beats himself over the head for it. Thanks?

Leatherhead smiles, just a little.

“I don't know you. That's what you said.”

Something inside of Mikey's chest squeezes painfully at that. The only thing that's worse than blowing up at everyone he cares about is remembering everything afterwards.

“Ed, I'm–”

“No, that's... You were right. I don't think I do. But I want to. Whatever...” He moves his hand, gesturing between the two of them. “You want this to be now, that's fine by me. But I can't keep on hitting dead ends like that forever.”

Mikey's face feels hot now. He claps his hands together, mostly because he's a little scared he might try and do something stupid if he doesn't hold himself back.

“I felt like I was all dead ends,” he says, because it's true.

“You still do?”

“... I don't know.” That's also true. He hopes it won't be for long.

“That's fine.” Leatherhead smiles again, something more honest this time. His voice is quiet, gentler than what Mikey had ever heard from him before. He doesn't sound nearly half as posh as usual. “I can work with that.”

He's got really pretty eyes.

Mikey's noticed that before, of course. He's just not sure they were ever looking at him like this before.

“Listen,” he says. He's a little afraid if he doesn't say it now – he might never gather enough pieces of himself to try again. “I'm not... This might be as good as it gets. Ever.” Leatherhead's face falls a little at that, but mostly just to show he's listening. “And I know I'm a lot, and I know I can be intense, and weird, and crazy or whatever, and you need to know that, too.”

“You're a handful,” Leatherhead says, agreeably. He raises his arms – palms up. “But I have big hands.”

Mikey can't help but giggle at that. He lifts a hand to his mouth to cover it up, but it's too late, and then they're both grinning – all dizzy and lightheaded with it all.

“Also,” Mikey adds, because he wants to get it off his chest and because Leatherhead is his friend. “I really hate your taste in music.”

“Okay!” Leatherhead laughs. “Sorry for the boombox, then.”

He lowers his hands but then lingers for a moment, just under Mikey's elbow. Hesitantly, like it's something wild and skittish, he reaches out, holding onto Mikey's arms. His thumb digs into the soft skin of his elbow.

Mikey's hands feel fuzzy.

“I want to ask you something,” Leatherhead says.

Mikey wonders what it is that he's seeing – when he's staring at him so intensely like this. Something nice, he hopes.

(Something real, he hopes even more.)

“Okay.”

“That thing I asked you back then, at that party.” His voice is barely a whisper now. They're standing so close he doesn't need anything more. “Would you reconsider it now?”

The realization makes something equally nervous and excited bloom in Mikey's chest; his hands landing on Leatherhead's arms and squeezing with familiar giddiness.

Yes, he thinks.

Yes, yes, yes.

“Maybe.”

Leatherhead smiles, the kind that makes his whole face look a bit funny, all scrunched up.

“Okay,” he says.

Then, hesitating only a moment, he leans down, arms wrapping around Mikey's middle, tail shifting over his ankle, their chests and heartbeats pressed close.

For a moment, Mikey thinks about the scars on his hands. About the weight of the entire world, pressed tightly around his shoulders. About the shouts, the murmurs, the singing inside of his head.

But his hands feel still around Leatherhead; his shoulders light.

He feels young, brave, and ten feet tall.

“Do you have any more secrets laying around?” Leatherhead asks. Mikey feels every word against his cheek.

“Plenty.”

Leatherhead hums quietly. Mikey wraps his arms around his neck, letting him push his snout down his face, from his cheek to his neck. It tickles, and he shivers; another giggle escapes his throat.

“Good. I like surprises.”

Mikey wants to tell him all of them. Tomorrow, today, right now. But then Leatherhead's pulling back a little, his eyes dark in the half-shadow, and Mikey can't help thinking his secrets can wait.

Just a little longer.

Getting ready to go anywhere with his family is fun but messy and chaotic in a way that leaves every room they occupy looking like it lost a fight with a rather vicious tornado.

It turned into a real problem in The Farmhouse, to the point where Dad refused to use the main bathroom at all, which turned into a bigger problem when they all collectively realized he was also the only one cleaning it.

Mikey was never closer to strangling all of his brothers than at that point.

Asking their aunt to let them use one of the suites at the Hotel for this was also his idea, because he didn't really want a repeat of all that, and it was worth dealing with a couple of awkward looks from Donnie.

In front of the mirror, his brother tilts his head, loosely throwing the purple tie around his neck.

“Does it?”

“Just pick whatever's more comfortable,” Usagi interjects from his seat.

He's spread out in one of the armchairs, legs thrown over the side.

His shirt is still unbuttoned, shoes untied, and he still hasn't even touched his cloaking brooch, and all that combined makes Mikey feel he's been intentionally avoiding doing so.

Mikey always prefers trying his own a little earlier, just to give himself some room to adjust, but he supposes he can't blame his friend either way.

Using brooches always feels a little weird, like wearing a pair of shoes that's just a size too small – if shoes came with extra fingers and way too much soft skin.

It's fun sometimes, kind of, but there's always a bone-deep feeling of wrongness that follows him on every step.

It makes him feel a little exposed, and unfamiliar on his own feet, and kind of like there's too much going on inside of him at any given moment.

It's hard to look at his own reflection, and it's hard to meet his brothers' gaze. They're familiar but off by just a little bit in every single direction, and it's like trying to look at a clock in a dream.

April's friend Sunita seems to have a hang of it, which he guesses would come with practice, but he's not too inclined to spend days in a race he's not particularly interested in winning.

“What's a tie saying, though?” Donnie asks, like it's anything close to an even relatively normal question.

“A tie isn't saying anything,” Leo huffs, moving his arms in his blazer like he's trying to break it in.

Mikey knows he understands what Donnie meant, so he's probably just being annoying on purpose.

“Of course it is.” Raph walks up behind Leo, leaning over his shoulder. “Your tie, for example, is saying that you don't know how to tie a tie.”

He grabs the sides of Leo's head, giving it a good shake.

“Hey!”

“Stop saying 'tie' guys, it's giving me a headache,” April yells out from the bathroom.

“You're ruining my look, dude,” Leo huffs, finally breaking out of his brother's hold, but not before Raph manages to sneak a kiss to the top of his head.

Leo swipes a finger under his eye, looking for any smudges. His eyeliner does look a little messier now than Mikey intended it to, but he doesn't think his brother would mind a more ''woke up like this'' look.

He's been teaching Leo some things for a while, mostly out of lack of anything better to do at The Farmhouse. His brother always seemed to like the general attention more than the makeup itself, but that wasn't really a problem, and generally he's gotten pretty good at putting eyeliner on by himself.

But he couldn't really do that today without any mirrors, and he's been avoiding those like the plague.

Mikey can guess why.

Leo always seemed rather skeptical of cloaking brooches, but they were all in light, sleepy moods, the kind where everything seems funny, and it was probably around two in the morning when Donnie suggested Raph and Leo should try them on for the first time.

Leo only shrugged.

As a human, Raph was a lot smaller, and the look on his face when he realized it made all of them laugh, and then he passed it to Leo, and their brother was still grinning at his reflection while pinning it down.

Until he suddenly wasn't.

Leo stared at himself for a long, long moment.

Finally, he handed the brooch back to Donnie, and then nothing was really funny for a while after that.

Mikey still remembers the look on his all-too-familiar face; like whatever it was that he was so afraid of – it had just come true.

They didn't talk about that.

Mikey rolls where he lies on the bed, looking at his brothers from upside-down.

“Raph,” he says, slowly. “There's a stain on your shirt.”

Raph looks down, wiping at the yellow with his fingers, which definitely doesn't help.

“Really? Aw, man.”

“Again?” Donnie frowns, like he always does when he's not actually angry, but it's best not to push it. “I told you to stop eating those hot-dogs.”

“Don't tell Raph what to do,” Raph defends, clearly a little embarrassed and a lot redder in the face. “They were really good, and I have no regrets.”

“That's nice. I wish I knew what that feels like,” Mikey huffs.

It was his turn in the bathroom when they ordered room service, and there was barely anything left by the time he got out, and he's only a little mad about that.

Raph gives him a funny look, then laughs, shrugging.

He's been looking at Mikey all kinds of funny the whole evening, but he always is when he's wearing his brooch nowadays.

He got quiet for a while when he saw Mikey trying it on at The Farmhouse, and there was something strange in his eyes, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“You know what,” he finally said, slowly. “You kind of look like our grandma.”

That made Mikey blink. He was starting to think it was something on his face, and he supposes it kind of was.

“Splinter's mom?” He questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Mikey stood up, walking up the hallway to see his reflection. He looked the same as always. “How do you know that?”

Raph mumbled something under his breath after that, and then promptly changed the topic. Mikey didn't mind.

He hadn't stumbled upon Splinter's mother in his own array of ghosts, at least not that he knows of, and he has a sneaking suspicion he's never going to, which is probably better for the both of them.

He's sure she was a lovely woman.

“We ran out of spare shirts,” Donnie complains, walking over to assess the damage himself.

He's been so uptight all evening it's almost a little funny, and there's that vaguely nauseated look on his face he always gets when he's trying his best to act casual.

“He can take mine,” Usagi says from his seat.

He's already pulling it off his shoulders, which shouldn't really surprise anyone, given that he rarely says anything he doesn't fully mean.

Donnie must've gotten a little too distracted with himself to pay any real attention to anything else, because his eyes go wide.

“You're not even dressed?” He looks down, shaking out his arm like it owes him money to look at his watch. “At his speed we're gonna be late.”

“Apparently, you're not dressed, either,” Usagi points out, but he looks a little embarrassed, looking anywhere but at them.

“Nobody is ever on time for prom, Dee,” April points out, finally emerging from the bathroom.

She looks good – hair pulled back into a slick bun, eyelids golden, yellow dress twirling at her knees with every step.

That makes Mikey feel a little bad for her.

April is his friend, and he always thinks she's pretty, but she's not the type of person to put much care into how she looks to others. She dressed how she liked, has been putting up her hair in the exact same way for the last five years, and he'd never seen her in anything more than light mascara.

But it seems like she's put in a lot of effort now, and it almost makes her look like a whole new person – mostly in a sad way.

April's smart, and funny, and sometimes he really wishes she'd stop caring about how much space she's occupying.

Leo's looking at her like he's kind of thinking the same thing.

“Not the party, fuck the party.” Donnie walks up to Usagi's chair, picking up his shirt to throw it back into his face. “If I'm late to pick up Kendra, I'm never living it down. Put this on. Or pick something else if you don't like it.”

“I like it,” Usagi lies. Leo was the one to pick out his outfit, so high chances are he doesn't really care for it either way.

“I don't mind if you wear a tee,” Leo notes. There's some real softness in his voice.

Usagi freezes for a moment, like he's considering.

“You wanted us to match,” he notes. “I can wear something nice for once.”

He seems a little upset, but maybe just because of all the attention.

Leo crouches to sift through one of the bags they've brought along, pulling out a plain t-shirt. It's so big it must've been Raph's at some point, but one thing that Mikey learned since gaining two extra brothers is that clothes start out with one owner and then quickly pick up more.

“This is still blue,” Leo grins. “It'll match.”

While Usagi wrestles with the rest of his outfit, April walks up to the bed, plopping down with a heavy sigh.

“Are you nervous?” Mikey asks quietly, and April looks back at him with a smile.

“Nope,” she says, clicking her tongue. “It's just kind of... I'm already one foot in college. Feels weird to be coming back there, you know?”

“Yeah, that doesn't really convince me you're not shitting bricks right now.”

April looks at him a little funny.

“Shut up, you're making it worse,” she says, but not unkindly.

April reaches over, and Mikey closes his eyes, letting her scratch at the soft skin behind his ear. Trying to purr while wearing his brooch feels a little like choking on his own spit, but the feeling itself is always nice.

“Wait,” Leo says, finally giving up on Usagi's tie and letting it fall down onto the chair. “We have to take a picture together.”

“Oh, yes!” April stands up, smoothing out her dress. “For my mom.”

Getting together into a frame isn't really all that easy, and Mikey doubts there's even one half-decent shot out of all the ones they took, but he got to make bunny ears behind Usagi's head for at least a few of them, so there's really no reason to complain.

They let Leo pick the best one while they bicker, mostly because he'd wither away if they'd ever considered anyone else more competent for such a task.

He's kind of frowning all the while he does it, but mostly in an amused way, until something else passes over his face, lingering for just a moment. He pushes the button to shut down the screen, then looks up.

It's a small moment, something that easily slips by their family, and Mikey's not sure if Leo caught him staring, but he looks away anyway, just in case.

He turns to Usagi, then spots the small frown between his eyes. His friend tends to get a bit wrapped up in his own head, as easily distractible as a newborn puppy, but he always seems to keep a careful eye on Leo.

Mikey's grateful for that. It feels a bit like they're playing on the same team.

And maybe Usagi's a little braver than him, or more honest, or maybe just not under the constant threat of Leo's vulnerabilities blowing up right in his face, because he asks:

“You good, blue jay?”

They all look at him then, which always helps with Leo opening up about as well as trying to catch a squid in a jar.

Leo hands April her phone back, and then he's smiling again, all enthusiasm and nothing to worry about.

He reaches out, wrapping a hand behind Usagi's neck to pull him in for a quick kiss.

“Yup,” he says. That doesn't really sound like a lie, but maybe not completely honest, either. “Are we ready to go now? Don's about to pop a vein.”

“Fuck off,” Donnie huffs, typing on his phone in a rather distressed manner. “But we should hurry. Leatherhead's waiting upstairs.”

***

The Hotel's main lobby is a busy place, constantly flooded by a wave of Yōkai, humming with noise and obnoxiously loud elevator music.

But upstairs – coming out onto the streets of New York – it's a lot quieter, the room almost entirely empty, except for a few Yōkai coming back from work, or school, or visiting friends. It's a small pond of human and non-human faces alike, and it takes Mikey a moment to find Leatherhead in it.

Donnie raises a hand, waving him over from one of the couches, and Mikey walks up a little, only because he wants to have a good first look.

He sees Leo snicker out of the corner of his eye, which earns him a swift kick to the shin.

His brothers didn't really say much when he told them Leatherhead would be coming along, but probably only because he was in the middle of cooking, and they generally knew better than to mess with him while he's handing their food.

But he still saw that look on Leo's face, the same one he's wearing now.

“Don't be weird,” he warns in a whisper, just loud enough for his brother to hear.

“I'm not the one being weird here,” Leo answers.

Leatherhead's brooch is pretty and golden, pinned to the side of one of his pockets, a little like an afterthought. He's wearing a clean shirt and nice pants, looking a whole lot like the class president that he is – with the sole exception of his leather jacket, hanging loose around his much smaller than usual shoulders.

He raises a hand in greeting, grinning wide and familiar, and Mikey notes with a small amount of disappointment that it looks far less handsome without as many teeth. But then he looks at Mikey, and that makes him look away, face warm all the same.

“You're late,” he says to Donnie, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You're not on time, either,” Donnie huffs, not looking up from his phone.

“Sorry, that stick up his ass has been really bothering him all evening,” Mikey jokes, reaching out for a first bump.

That earns him a slap to the arm, but Leatherhead laughs, and his hand is warm, which really makes it all worth it in Mikey's book.

“Good thing I'm not the only one who's not all that dressed up,” Usagi says, smoothing out his t-shirt in a little self-conscious manner.

“Yeah,” Leo says, looking Leatherhead over, with only a little bit of jealousy in his voice. “Someone really likes leather.” His eyes widen a little, lighting up. “Oh, is that why they call you that?”

Leatherhead grins.

“Yeah.”

“Call him what?” April questions.

“Leatherhead.”

Raph, previously a little busy trying to fit his phone into the front pocket of his pants, goes very still, and Mikey's known his brother long enough to recognize when his brain starts to work a little too fast.

“... Leatherhead isn't your real name?” Mikey feels his eyes go a little wide at that, and he must not be the only one, because Raph's face quickly changes shades. “Or, uhm, never mind.”

“... What?” Leatherhead says, voice a little unsure. He sounds the same way Donnie does when he's not sure if he's being made fun of. “No, of course not.”

That makes Donnie finally look up from his phone.

“Did you actually think that was his real name?”

He asks it like a genuine question, but Raph must be a little too embarrassed for all that, because he crosses his arms over his chest, looking away.

“How was I supposed to? What, am I supposed to check everyone's documents or something?”

“Dude,” Leatherhead says clearly, a little amused now, which doesn't seem to be helping. “It's fine.”

And Leo giggles, which definitely isn't helping.

“What is your name?”

“Edward.”

“Edward?”

 April perks up a bit at that.

“Like the vampire?”

Mikey looks at her, frowning.

He's not really sure what she means, but Leo winces, so it's probably nothing all that great.

“Is that why Donnie calls you 'Ed'?” Raph asks, a little breathless with exasperation.

“Yes?” Leatherhead raises his arms in a semi-shrug. “Why else would he call me that?”

“I don't know! I thought it was, like, that weird nickname thing he does.”

“Hey.” Donnie frowns, seemingly having taken some real offense to that.

“Alright, okay.” Leatherhead puts up a hand placatingly. “It's fine, we're all good now.”

“Yeah,” Mikey picks up. “Does anyone have any secret names they wanna disclose?”

Leo leans onto Raph, cheek resting on his shoulder.

“Did you know my middle name is Blue?”

Raph looks at him like Leo's the broken glass he's being forced to swallow.