Little warning here: slight dissociation, self inflicted light burns

Mikey sighs once more as he cooks the third pancake of the early night. Even with Mr Loverman playing in the background, the Lair feels empty and quiet. It's just Mikey in the kitchen, alone. No Dad and no Donnie and no Leo-

Mikey bites his lip and stirs a little faster.

Just flip and serve. Add more mixture to the pan. Wait. Flip and flip and serve. Add more mixture to the pan. Wait. Flip and flip and flip and flip and there's nothing in the pan.

Mikey glances at the ceiling at the new addition to the collection of stains. He hasn't done that since he was seven.

The pancake falls onto the stove.

Mikey's eye twitches and he throws the hot pan across the room, not even noticing the clang. He grabs the pancake that sags in his hand, some of it ripping away and throws it at another wall. His fingers scrape at the remnants of the pancake batter leaking across the hob. He throws it to the side, digging his way through over and over-

And then it's gone and a sob drags its way out of his throat.

Mikey sinks to the floor, shell pressing against the stove and he sobs into his knees. His hands sting and his claws are now jagged and broken, but he doesn't care. It doesn't hurt that much.

Two hours later, Mikey's wrapped hands flip pancakes again, all his attention on the food. It is a process, a distraction, not the joy Mikey has always found cooking until-

Late Christmas Extravaganza was the last time Mikey remembers enjoying cooking.

He sighs, humming along to the song and tapping his foot, trying to invoke some joy, but he's not smiling, not dancing. It's so stupid. He's supposed to sing and twirl as he dances around the room, shaking his shell as he serves up meal after meal. He's supposed to giggle and sing as he delivers Donnie's or encourages them into the kitchen for once, laughing after a short conversation. He's supposed to knock and ask Dad if he wants to join him or if he'd rather eat in bed or the living room. He's supposed to carry his Dad wherever, give him the piggybacks Mikey remembers fondly from his childhood, even if they were mostly from Donnie.

Mikey is supposed to enjoy this, not just go through the process so his family remembers to eat.

Mikey doesn't want to cook, but he doesn't want his family to forget to eat.

Mikey sighs and flips another pancake and then another and ano-

"MIKEY!"

Mikey screeches, pancake flying up. It turns, almost in slow motion, falling down directly towards the two, some batter flying outwards.

Mikey shoves Leo to the floor and away from the batter-y pancake. He glances over his shoulder at the place where it sizzles and sighs.

Laughter and snorts reach his tymphana.

Mikey forces his limbs to freeze and remain out of his shell. That's-

Leo.

Mikey feels the smile that spreads across his face wobble. He's back. A week and he's back.

Mikey swallows down the sob that wants to be released and tackles Leo to the ground, squeezing tight. Leo's laughter dies and he coos, rubbing his neck against Mikey. Mikey rubs his neck against Leo's and chirps back, but it isn't right, cracking at the end.

Clearly, that means something to Leo as he tucks himself around Mikey, holding him tightly. All Mikey can do is cling to the other turtle, burrowing into his arms.

Leo's here. He's here. He came back. He always comes back.

It's okay.

Mikey doesn't have to be scared anymore.