"They were roommates, Mike. It was so crazy."
"Sounds it."
"I mean probably not as crazy as having Slash as a roommate but still."
Mike choked out a laugh and shivered a little in the cool breeze. Maybe eating dinner on a rooftop was a bad idea. "You have no idea."
Woody smiled and Mike quickly shoved a spring roll in his mouth to stop himself smiling back. Slash had totally set him up on a date with the damn pizza guy just to get him out of the lair. Jerk. Mike had conceded and started texting the guy and they had fallen into the habit of texting every day, and Mike was getting better at it.
But talking over text and having to hold a conversation with a guy, who had really nice hair, and was only an arm's length away over Thai food, were two totally different things and Mike sucked at it. Not that Woody seemed fazed by Mike's lack lustre responses. He just kept talking.
"Yeah, college is wild dude. Glad I live at home still."
"Can't relate."
Woody laughed and Mike smiled weakly.
"You should totally come to a party. For Halloween."
"April will have a fit."
"April yelled at me last week because I put too many olives on her pizza," Woody grumbled, spooning too much curry and rice in his mouth. Mike frowned.
"Doesn't sound like April." Maybe he wasn't the only one feeling the strain of the anniversary being a month away.
Which was a stupid thought because everyone was putting so much effort into distracting Mike that of course he wasn't the only one being strung out. He knew he was exhausting.
"Well, dad wasn't in the store so I told her where she could stick her olives."
"In the fridge."
"Mike, no."
-:-
"And before I forget, you're a jerk!" Mike yelled. He huffed and glared as best he could at Slash from two buildings away.
Slash had the nerve to not only force him out of the lair, but to ghost him the entire freaking time. The fact that he had no shame about it annoyed Mike even more.
"How was dinner?" Slash yelled back, not bothering to step out from his hiding spot.
Mike felt right screaming, but it conflicted with how badly he wanted to go to bed. He wanted to flip his brother off but he didn't have enough fingers.
-:-
Mike felt… normal. He was up and making breakfast. He wasn't exhausted, he wasn't any sadder than he should be on the anniversary of, well, you know. Getting out of bed wasn't a struggle.
He was fine.
Just fine.
"I feel fine but if there's someone hovering behind me every time I turn around today, I'm going to lose my mind," Mike spat, giving April the side eye.
"What's for breakfast?" April asked with the false cheer that drove him mad. He knew she didn't do it for his sake, it was just how she coped. But the tight smile and dead eyes made him sad, which made him mad in a way because he already had enough to be sad about.
"Bacon and eggs," Mike said calmly. He wasn't going to start a fight. Not today. "I guess you're here to mooch a meal."
"What, why?"
"Because everyone else does it," Mike smiled.
"Oh," April deflated and Mike hadn't realised he was tensed to begin with. "You were joking."
"Yeah I do that still." Mike could sense a 'you used to' kind of talk coming because April seemed to really liked those. "You want some or not?"
April nodded, pulling out a stool and sitting down. "So, you're really fine?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm really looking forward to being asked that fifty times today."
"We're worried about you," April said with a frown.
Mike spun around and opened his mouth to say something. He stopped when April's shoulders hunched up.
When was the last time he spent time alone with April that didn't end with a fight? It had been a while.
"I'm not gonna fight today," Mike said simply, feeling the anger in his gut stop suddenly. "Not today. We're going to have as nice a time as we can."
-:-
A week after the second-year anniversary the guy at the pizza shop convinced him he should go see his father. A weekend thing so he would have some alone time. Having spent nearly two months talking to the guy Mike agreed it might be nice.
Mike didn't ask for permission. He just asked Rockwell to help Leatherhead look after the boys. He looked sceptical, given Mike's initial aversion to any socialisation but didn't push it. April however was less than impressed about him going off with some stranger.
Everything was fine. The car trip was quiet. Nervousness ebbed through Mikey as the city grew smaller and smaller. It was the longest he had ever planned to be away from his boys.
Woody dropped him off at the farm house and went back into town, saying he had a friend he wanted to catch up with. That gave him a few hours. He sat with his father for a while. Just staring. Feeling... nothing.
He had reached his peak. He had felt as much as he possibly could and now all he had was numbness. There was nothing here that stressed him out. He knew his boys were being taken care of. Woody was taking care of everything for the weekend. And he thought he'd be happy and relieved. He had packed a book to read.
But there was honest to god nothing in him. No urge to cry. No anger.
It started to rain slowly but he didn't move.
"Is this your way of telling me to go back, father? Because it isn't going to work. I'm going through my moody phase." There was no humour in his voice as the rain started to pelt down hard enough to hurt.
He turned to leave when his phone started to vibrate. There was no way he could take a phone call in this weather. It was just Woody in the end making sure he was ok.
Mikey started making dinner on auto pilot.
"It was hard huh?" Woody asked quietly, pulling two beers out of the fridge.
"Kind of." He accepted the beer and drank from it without thinking. He didn't like the taste and he didn't care.
"You go sit down. I'll make dinner." Woody offered, guiding Mikey by the shoulders towards the lounge room. "Watch some tv. Text April. She knows you did that thing in your phone so it doesn't tell you when she calls or texts."
He did do that. April had been a nightmare the past week. He pulled out his phone and frowned at the ten missed calls and fifteen messages. He took a deep mouthful of his beer.
We made it to the farm house hours ago. I sat with Splinter for a while. Woody is making dinner. I'm alright.
That's a lie.
He tossed his phone onto the floor and sprawled himself across the couch. Staring at the ceiling he blocked everything out, closing his eyes and drinking from his bottle. His cheeks felt warm as he downed his last mouthful of beer. It was awful but the tingly feeling in his face was the most he felt all day.
"Hey Woody, is there more beer?"
"Plenty."
Mikey got drunk for the first time in his life. He insisted Woody drink with him which the guy eagerly agreed to. They danced to music from the beat-up record player they found in the attic. They danced in the rain. The world moved, and it was out of his control and his whole head felt funny and he couldn't stand without swaying. It was the escape he needed. He didn't think, everything that worried him didn't exist in these hours.
They were in the bathroom looking for towels to dry themselves off when he stumbled, catching Woody by the sleeve and bringing him down as he fell. And his memory was fuzzy, but it started with a kiss and there were snippets of trepidation and elation. They were drunk and messy, but so happy because nothing else existed.
"We should go somewhere." He says when it's all over. They're lying in some bed breathing in each other's scent with heavy eyes and crocked smiles.
"Where would we go?"
"I just don't want to go home." He didn't want to have to sober up and choose between the nothing or the overwhelming everything. He wanted to last this fantasy out for as long as he could.
"I know some people."
The next morning Mikey lay in the backseat of Woody's car, fighting a hangover and an exhausted body. They don't reach where they wanted to be until it was dark all over again. He was getting calls from April.
"Where the hell are you?" Was her voice always this shrill? "You should have been back two hours ago!"
"I'm taking a break."
"What?!"
"Catch ya later, April."
They were in some heavily wooded area Mikey doesn't recognise. He went to the boot of the car and took out a beer. It didn't matter that it wasn't cold. People were already there sitting around a fire or dancing to the music playing softly from a car radio. There were about six of them.
He was too drunk to care and everyone there was either too drunk or too high to acknowledge him as anything other than normal.
"Guys this is my friend Mike."
"Geez this is some good shit."
That started his nearly four-week road trip, fuelled by drugs, alcohol and sex with a group of self-proclaimed social outcasts. He drifted between lying in the grass telling wild fantasy stories at anyone who'd listen, to drinking games and pill popping by the fire, and occasionally found himself being led into a secluded part of whatever wooded area they'd parked in for the night.
There was one girl he regularly slipped away with. She called herself Seri and they were both pretty sure she'd made that name up. She had the darkest skin and curliest hair and the bluest eyes he thought he could drown in them. And one particularly warm, acid clouded night he nearly convinced himself that he did.
He forgot about the world with her, a world he had reduced to just this group of hermits and vagabonds. She danced so freely but still as if everything she did had a purpose. And that purpose was to hypnotise him. A fact he was ok with. Sure, he'd go off with Woody or some other person most of who stayed faceless to him, but he always seemed to go back to her.
But all good things must end. But he wasn't heart broken. Something told him in his heart that it was ok. Their little affair was to stay where it was.
"Come on, Mike. We need to go back to New York."
"Whatever."
He was still too under the influence to realise the implications of what that meant for him. But slowly as they drove the long way back home it started to set in for him.
"Woody, what the hell have I done?"
He made Woody pull over at the first man hole he knew would take him home. Which was a bad idea. Coming down from whatever he was on plus the smell he was no longer used to made him dizzy. Most of his walk home was against the wall with a bit of crawling. He managed to stand straight as he approached the turnstiles of the lair.
No one was there to greet him. But the place looked clean. He frowned, a throbbing feeling building in his throat. Wandered to the bathroom and slid into the bath.
He woke up who knew how much longer later covered in vomit with Casey sitting on the toilet across the room, frowning at him. The lights were too bright, the porcelain cool against his skin.
"What's up?"
"Unnnhg" he started to retch.
"You're lucky I came in when I did. You might have chocked on your own puke."
"I'm sorry."
"Where have you been?"
"Where am I now?"
"You're in your bathroom, Mikey."
"Oh."
He didn't remember much after that.
-:-
"Want to tell me where you've been for the last four weeks?"
There wasn't much he could read in Casey's voice. Mostly concern. He didn't sound disappointed… maybe a little sad.
"I really don't know. We just went."
"Are you ok?"
"No."
He cried. No, he more than cried. It was that gross soundless sobbing that felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Wait here. There's someone who wants to see you."
God don't let it be April. He balled the top of his blanket and burrowed into his mattress.
When did he go to bed?
"Hey. Leo look, daddy's back."
"Casey n-"
He peeked his head out from the blanket, he didn't want the boys to see him like this. He was pretty sure he wasn't sober by any means, but Leo's big blue eyes were looking at him, worried and happy. "Daddy are you sick?"
"Yeah buddy." He sat up, crossing his legs and taking Leo into his lap. "I'm getting better though."
"Where did you go?"
"I..." He felt the tears build up in his eyes and then, "Oh heck."
"What?" Casey frowned.
"I got a tattoo."
"What? Is that what that bandage on your arm is?"
He hugged Leo close, who had no idea what was happening. He was just happy to have his dad back. Mikey stared at the wall until he realised Casey was laughing at him.
"I can't believe how well your taking this."
"Dude, you must have been really wired."
"Case this guy had a tattoo machine in the back of his van and I said yes and oh god" he squeezed Leo a little tighter. "April is gonna flip."
"Oh, you're not seeing April for a while she'll kill you."
"Not if I don't first." They both jumped as Rockwell entered the room.
"Rockwell."
"I'm being dramatic." Rockwell approached him and pressed the back of his hand to Mikey's forehead. "You aren't going to feel very well for the next few days. You're not allowed to leave your room until I say. And I've gotten my hands on an IV drip."
"I'm sorry."
"Enough of that." Rockwell scolded him lightly. "Considering the cocktail of lord knows what you were on the last month you managed to check in with either Casey or I every night. You never left your phone on long enough to track though."
"I just... There was nothing, Rockwell. And Woody just offered me a beer and-"
"It's ok. I can sense you had no malice or ill intent."
"What else can you sense?" Mikey asked. The calmness in Rockwell's voice made his skin crawl like his was a kid again and got caught eating too much candy before dinner.
"Enough."
Mikey groaned and tilted Leo's head to look him in the eye. "Hey, do you want to go and get Donnie and Raph?"
"You won't go?"
"You heard Uncle Rocky. I'm too sick to leave my room."
Leo searched his face and god the boy didn't trust him anymore. He slowly slipped off the bed and puttered out of the room.
"Tell me, what damage have I done?"
"It's not the huge disaster you're thinking," Casey chuckled. "Leatherhead is worried but not hurt or anything. Pete is pretty oblivious."
"No, he's not don't say that." Mikey rubbed the heels of his hands I his eyes. "And April? Is she really mad?"
"I'm serious I'm not telling her you're back yet." Casey rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Rockwell. "I'll take that bullet. With how she is right now and how Mike is it isn't going to end well. But hey, let the guy shower before you start poking needles into him. He still smells like vomit, cigarettes and sin."
-:-
He was surprised that Rockwell didn't know he was awake. Maybe he wasn't awake and this was a dream. Or maybe he was awake and this was an hallucination. Or a lucid dream.
Oh, who cares?
"Please tell me you have an idea why he did this?"
"He's depressed."
"No kidding."
"Do not get smart. He is a grieving boy who doesn't know how to handle himself properly. Through drugs and alcohol, he was given the means to feel good so he grabbed that opportunity with both hands." Silence. "I should have stepped up sooner. I feared he would feel like I was attempting to replace Splinter. That boy needs guidance."
"Good luck explaining that to April. She's mad about him leaving the boys."
"Dare I say it, Casey, but April has no leg to stand on. Michelangelo's situation with his sons is not simple. Were he a normal teenage boy who came across being a parent as normal teenagers do, it would be another matter. The boys are marks of what Michelangelo has lost, cruel as it sounds. His whole family died, and he then had those children thrust upon him demanding love and attention he didn't know how to give. He's tried his hardest, it's time those around him picked up the slack."
"So what do we do?"
"I will have Pete move in here for a while. Michelangelo will come stay with me during the first few months of being medicated, so he can stabilise properly without any undue stress. What you and April choose to do with you time is up to you."
"He can still train right?"
"Of course. The exercise will do him good."
"And then what happens? When he's better?"
"We ask him what he wants to do. Should he choose to take the boy on again, we do it slowly, together. We will not expect him to handle it on his own."
"And if he doesn't?"
"I should say that he will want some presence in their lives, he isn't about to leave them completely. But he's only eighteen. It's not unfair for him to not want to be a father. Not like this."
Mikey felt his eyelids droop. "Not like this."
-:-
"Bipolar?"
Mikey hadn't expected a proper word for wat was wrong with him. He thought maybe he'd just get told to get over it. But he started to think that he hadn't imagined Rockwell and Casey talking the night before.
Was it the night before? Maybe a few nights?
"Yes. Given that you have had Rivet help out around the place, and you've been going on patrol more often it may have been hard to miss. Or maybe you've been bipolar for a lot longer than this, but because you don't live and function in human society it was missed. What your family thought was ADHD and then laziness could have been the beginnings."
"But because I went off the rails…"
"I can see this is more than simply depression." Rockwell shifted in his chair and tried to smile at Mikey.
"But I haven't been manic or whatever you called it in ages." Mikey wrung his hands in his lap. "Except for, you know, the last month."
"A swing can last for weeks or months. Bipolar isn't a steady pendulum." Rockwell frowned a bit, reaching forward to tug on Mikey's hands. "Your moods do change suddenly. They have the whole time I've known you."
"So what do we do?"
"I have means to get you the medication you will need to manage your moods."
"You can't use your powers? Like you did on the squirrelnoids?"
"No" Rockwell said sharply. "What April and I did to the squirrelnoids was cruel and invasive. I used my knowledge in neuroscience to rearrange their minds. I have never read your mind like that. I can't help picking up on the most outward emotion you're feeling, but I never invaded your privacy."
"I know this could have all been avoided if you had but thank you."
"I will be making more of an effort though. I will no longer be content with letting you be. I am putting myself in charge of your care."
"I can look after myself," Mike said stiffly, pulling his hands out of Rockwell's hold.
"You have proven that to be false. And I don't want you to interact with that Woodrow boy outside of the pizza shop for a while."
"I was happy."
"You were high."
"Actually, I was drunk."
"Hmm."
"So, what? You're my adult now?"
"Yes. I should have been doing this from the beginning."
-:-
The day Mikey was given the ok to leave his bedroom was the day Rockwell told him to pack some things. Then have a shower and spend some time with the boys.
"Then we're leaving," Rockwell said firmly.
Mikey felt tired. He didn't want to do any of this. He just wanted to stay in bed a little longer.
How long had he been in bed?
He searched his brain, trying to figure it out but he couldn't. Maybe it was time to listen.
Maybe it was time to stop staring at the wall.
So... I've had parts of this chapter lying around since I first started writing this fic, haha. That's how it is with most of the chapter honestly. The pros of writing a slice of life type fic I guess.
Anyway, I hope you like it! Happier things are on the horizon.
I feel like I say that a lot and it only ends up being a 300 word snippet.
