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Four turtles, a human, and an Omatranian walk into a bar on some remote space port hoping to seek information on a necessary component for a time machine. At first, they don’t draw many eyes. Maybe a few side glances towards their well-to-do appearances, clean clothes, and state-of-the-art gear. No, the trouble only starts when one of them breaks from the group to glance at a bounty board. A canvas of glowering faces with text promising varying rewards for capture or death. The turtle sizes them up for fun, confident that he and his brothers could turn a nice profit if they ever wanted to shift career paths from being ultra cool ninjas. One of the bounties catches his eyes, tucked behind several others that he has to rip away to get a better look at. He points at the familiar name and likeness and, without thinking, turns to get his companions’ attention.
“Hey, guys, look! It’s me!”
A bounty posted decades ago, a handsome reward offered to those who might collect one Michelangelo to battle against the descendant of a Levram chieftain who was dishonored in ages past at the Battle Nexus Tournament and dishonored again during a befouled rematch. By Levram customs, higher accolades are gained by succeeding where their predecessors failed. Of course, one doesn’t have much time or care for politics when they are suddenly beset by a room full of bounty hunters.
All too familiar with this song and dance, Mikey and company flee the scene.
“Nice going, shell-for-brains!” Raph growls, smacking his brother’s arm as they sprint down metal cobbled streets.
“I didn’t mean to!” Mikey whines. “It was so old! How was I supposed to know anyone’d still care about it?!”
“I think you’re underestimating,” Cody says, a few steps behind and trying very hard not to seem winded, “how much of an impression you leave on people, Mikey.”
“You’ve always said you wanted to be famous,” Don adds from Mikey’s other side.
“And be hounded by fans! Not by–” Mikey yelps as he ducks under a projectile that whistles suspiciously like a dart. “Not by these guys!”
“Ah!” Starlee skids in her skates, avoiding the turn she’d been leading them towards to swerve in the other direction. “We got more of ‘em on the right!”
“We can’t keep running like this,” Leo reasons from the back of the group, one hand ready to unsheathe a sword while the other hovers just behind Cody to make sure the teen is keeping up. “Raph, Don, we’re gonna slow them down. Mike, you go on ahead with Cody and Starlee. Prep the ship, and we’ll meet you as soon as we can.”
Plan set, the group splits. Mikey slows slightly to let Cody ahead so he can keep an eye on both him and Starlee. Behind him, he can hear the clatter of heavy objects, a series of explosions, and a chorus of unhappy screams. If he wasn't actively being hunted down, Mikey would laugh about it.
“We’re gonna have to make a few more detours,” Starlee explains, tapping on her wrist computer as she examines a map of the area. “Avoid the busier streets so we don’t get spotted. Think you’ll be able to keep up, Cody?”
“Uh, yeah?” Cody huffs. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Starlee looks back at her friend then meets Mikey’s gaze. Mikey just shrugs. Starlee rolls her eyes and smiles. “Alright, if you say so. Sending the route to your gauntlets, now. I’ll scout ahead.”
The girl zooms forward, leaving Cody and Mikey in the dust before either of them can question her decision. It’s a good plan, so Mikey has no reason to complain. A glance at Cody’s face confirms the boy feels similarly, if more bemused.
“Hey, doesn’t it seem like–” Cody starts between breaths. “–like she’s taking the whole danger thing a bit too well?”
“Probably got used to it,” Mikey answers, catching the boy when he stumbles and pushing him to continue. “Kinda have to when you’re a friend of an O’Neil-Jones and four ninja turtles.”
“Guess so…”
They’re interrupted by Starlee speeding back and pointing urgently at something behind them. “Heads up!”
“Woah!” Mikey and Cody dodge on either side of a large net that flops uselessly between them. It crackles faintly on the ground. Mikey grimaces. Getting hit by that would’ve sucked.
“Found ‘em!” cries a bounty hunter on the other end of the street, holding a bazooka-looking contraption in their arms. They’re quickly joined by other rough and tumble folks.
“Oop! Move, move!” Mikey gestures wildly at the kids. Starlee grabs Cody’s hand and practically drags him down the path. Mikey follows, making sure his shell covers his friends from the hunters’ lines of sight. He’s glad to have done so literally a second later as darts ping off his carapace.
For the next couple of minutes, they’re beating feet on Starlee’s planned route. Mikey has to run backwards a few times and twirl his nunchaku to divert bigger projectiles. At one point, he grabs a speeding hoverbike that tries to get ahead of them with his magnetic chucks and spins, hammer-throwing the vehicle at the advancing hunters. He turns before he can see the impact. They’re all armored and tough. The force probably won’t kill them. Maybe.
When Cody stumbles again, Starlee helps him up, but even she’s having trouble catching her breath. Two science kids aren’t gonna out endure these guys, even with their quick wits. They’re gonna need time to start up the ship, too. Mikey grits his teeth and makes a decision.
At the next junction, Starlee and Cody turn right. Mikey goes left and calls out to the bounty hunters, “You’re all gonna have to do better than that if you wanna catch the Battle Nexus Champion!”
The title’s probably lost on most of the aliens, but the taunt works swimmingly well if the cries of rage are anything to go by.
“Uh, Mikey!?” Cody and Starlee come to a halt from the other turn. “What are you doing?”
“Splitting up our split up! Don’t worry!” Mikey grins at them, shooting the kids a thumbs up. “I won’t be long!”
And he’s gone before they can protest, vaulting from a nearby market stand to grab a hanging stretch of wire and swing himself onto a ramshackle building’s poor excuse of a fire escape. The metal groans under his weight, but he’s quick to climb to the roof and blow a raspberry at his pursuers. Now at a familiar height, Mikey bounds over to the next building, calling out loudly to the bounty hunters as he goes.
“Missed me!”
“Whoops, too slow!”
“Aww, so close!”
Mikey whittles the hunters' numbers down, losing more of them with each hop and turn and pass into the shadows. He leads them so far astray, he might have gotten lost himself if not for his gauntlet. Cheers to 22nd Century GPS! When the irate shouts of his pursuers fade with the sounds of the port, Mikey runs for a few minutes longer before deciding it’s probably safe to double back. Honestly, he’s surprised no one’s checked in yet to scold him for his spontaneous change of the plan.
At the next roof, he peeks over the edge. No hunters on the left nor the right nor hidden away. Double checking his map, Mikey figures out the fastest route to the ship and hops to the next building. His stomach grumbles faintly. Man, they’d missed dinner, hadn’t they? Probably wouldn’t be smart to go back out in the open just to buy a snack, either. All the more reason to reunite with everyone ASAP.
“Maybe I could collect my own bounty,” he muses to himself as he runs. “No rules against that, right? Bet I could beat Kluh’s grandkid, no sweat.”
And he’d be advised to hell and back not to do it. His brothers would probably say something about ‘tempting fate.’ Spoilsports. Noting the distance between the current rooftop and the next, Mikey twirls one of his ‘chucks and sends it flying like a grappling hook. It attaches magnetically to a ramshackle antenna. Mikey jumps, hitting a button to reel the line in so he can zoom forward and clear the gap.
All at once, his senses go off, clamoring desperately for his attention. Three oncoming projectiles race towards him from different directions. Instinctively, Mikey twists his body. Something scrapes by his shell. Another whooshes right where his legs had been. As the last one passes by, he thinks he’s home free.
His nerves alight, limbs jerking as a net wraps around him. He screams, voice warbling with the current of electricity. Unable to keep his grip on his nunchuck, his fingers slip. In a dizzying whirl, he falls, slamming into the side of the building and tumbling the rest of the way down. He lands on his side with a heavy thud, groaning. No dumpster to cushion the impact this time. Everything feels disconcertingly numb.
Shadows fall over him, blocking the neon lights of the space port. Three blurry bounty hunters loom, talking animatedly to each other. He doesn’t understand what they’re saying, which is concerning. His translator doohickey must’ve shorted out. They’re having some kind of argument, though. One of them –a burly Chewbacca knock-off– shoves at another and points down at him. Ah.
“Never learned to share, didja?” Mikey croaks, unable to help himself.
That brings all the attention back to him. Mikey smiles winningly. A boot kicks him hard in the stomach. He recoils, wheezing. Stars burst in his vision. The argument renews, even more heated. It’d be an opportune time to slip away if he felt like he could move at all. Aching and struggling to breathe, Mikey’s head lolls, letting the darkness creep and creep until his eyelids inevitably shut.
–
He comes to silently, lamenting layers of screaming bruises and the distinct feeling of being folded into a pretzel. Netting digs into his skin. The rhythmic sway and thump of movement indicative of the fact that he’s being lugged around like a sack of potatoes over someone’s shoulder. Mikey squints his eyes open, greeted by dark shadows and neon lights and mostly empty streets. Still in the space port, thank the gods. He must not have been out for long. If these hunters manage to get him into space, it’ll make escaping or getting rescued a bigger pain in the shell.
Taking note that no bounty hunters are keeping an eye on him (what a mistake), Mikey carefully taps at his wrist gauntlet and frowns when the screen doesn’t light up. Still shorted out then. A pat at his belt confirms he doesn’t have his ‘chucks, either, one still swinging uselessly on that roof he’d failed to clear and the other likely in someone’s pocket. Ugh. He’ll have to free himself the old-fashioned way.
Mikey tugs at the netting, noting its strength. Even if he was in peak condition, it’d probably take too long to tear open with his bare hands. He needs something sharp.
His captor, the roided-out Wookie clone, shifts, shrugging their shoulder to reposition their unwilling cargo. Mikey winces as something digs into his side and highlights the difficulty he’s having breathing. If his translator and gauntlet aren’t working, that means his enviropack and regulator aren’t either. It’s like day one of future shenanigans all over again. Great. He’d rather not have these guys succeed where Jammerhead and his goons had failed. Grimacing, Mikey grabs at the offending object, eyes widening as he touches the hilt of some kind of weapon.
Ohhh. A smile curls up his beak. As the bounty hunter rocks with a heavy footfall, Mikey unsheathes a dagger, notes its sharpness, and tucks it into one of his empty weapon holders. Now, he just has to wait for the right moment.
The opportunity arrives at the next intersection. Hanging around the entrance to a seedy bar are another group of mercenary-looking types. Pungent smoke curls around them as they pass around a lit stick of some kind of narcotic and grumble to each other. Perfect.
Closing his eyes, Mikey purposefully shifts and opens his mouth, letting out an obnoxiously loud and (only partially fake) pained groan. Heads turn and raise. Before Mikey’s captor can do anything, they’re confronted on all sides, the mercenaries practically getting in their face. Mikey takes several creative liberties for his own entertainment and imagines the conversation goes something like this:
“Hey! That’s the Battle Nexus Champion!”
“Yeah, what’s it to ya?”
“The guy’s worth a fortune! You’re lucky to have caught ‘em. Real lucky.”
“Not luck. Pure skill, which you all clearly lack.”
“Skill, huh? Would you say it’s ‘skill’ if someone took this bounty off your hands? Would be a real shame.”
“That a threat?”
“Nah, it’s a promise.”
Blaster fire triggers the next moment of chaos. Deja vu, but hey, at least Mikey isn’t the only target this time. It’s an all-out brawl with him as the prize, and they’re barely paying him any mind. In the whirlwind of fisticuffs, clashing weapons, and indiscriminate shooting, Mikey makes his next move. With one swift motion, his shiny new stolen blade cuts through the netting like hot butter. He hits the ground and tumbles (owowow) as far as he can before stumbling to his feet.
Later, suckers, Mikey thinks, forgoing his usual theatrics because he needs to make as much distance as he can before something in his body gives out on him. He staggers away, rounding a corner just as someone shouts an equivalent “Hey, he’s getting away!” Internally cursing, Mikey hoofs it to an unkempt alleyway, met immediately by the unfortunate sight of a dead end.
“Shiiiiit.” Solid walls and locked doors that he doesn’t have time to bust through. There’s a rusty ladder leading up, but he doesn’t think he can handle any roof-hopping without taking another nasty tumble. There’s trash, more trash, and even more trash scattered in bags and bins and grossly overflowing dumpsters. Trying to double back would land him straight into the bounty hunter stampede. He can hear their footfalls getting closer. Mikey grimaces. An idea pops into his head.
He sprints forward, grabbing the ladder and giving it a hard shake. As it clangs, the sound echoing in the cramped space, Mikey takes a deep breath and dives into one of the open dumpsters. Resisting the urge to gag, he burrows underneath the bags and yuck until he’s sure he’s hidden. Then, Mikey holds still and listens.
Not even a second later, he hears bodies flood into the alley, all talking over one another as the ladder continues to rattle. It creaks louder as people choose to climb it. Others argue back and forth before running back out onto the street, likely trying to see if they can spot Mikey jumping across buildings again. Mikey dares not move, feeling the minutes crawl with the thump of his pulse loud in his tympanum. It’s not long before the voices fade, all the bounty hunters still in hot pursuit.
He waits for a few minutes more before feeling confident enough to emerge from his disgusting hiding spot. Peeking over the edge of the dumpster, he’s relieved to see the alleyway empty. Finally, he exhales and allows his lungs a full breath, despite the rankness of the air. Mikey doesn’t know how much more he can take of this. He already feels like a sack of jello and crunchy bones. Desperately, he wishes for home, for the safety of the living room at the penthouse with his family (he wouldn’t even mind Serling’s nagging voice). He’s so over today.
Sighing, Mikey clambers out of the dumpster. No rest for a weary ninja turtle. He’s gotta move in case any of the hunters doubleback. He’s gotta find his bearings and get back to the docking bay where their ship is or run into his brothers. He’s got a mountain of aches to alleviate and an itching need for a shower. Food would also be great. Sleep, too.
At the mouth of the alley, Mikey checks both ends of the street. No bounty hunters lingering as far as he can tell. Barely anybody, honestly. This space port is lit in ever-present neons and bright overhead lights, but everyone’s gotta go to bed eventually. Lucky him.
Is what he wants to believe before something pricks his arm the moment he steps out into the open. He slaps at the pain, dislodging the dart that had embedded itself deep in the muscle of his forearm. Too late. An instant wooziness. His jelly limbs turning liquid. A dull-sounding fall that he doesn’t feel. Heavy, heavy eyelids, closing shut just as a tiny figure strolls towards him.
–
—
He awakens again, slowly and with a pounding headache and a weird little voice muttering in his ear. …Wait, huh? Mikey squints his eyes open to the sight of the low ceiling of a metal hull. On his right is a pristine collection of glass containers with–oh, EW–strange body parts floating in clear liquid. The source of the muttering is on his left, a small, spider-like alien who has their back turned to him, their many appendages clacking on a wide console for an absurd number of screens. The displays are mostly complete gibberish to him, but Mikey sees a silhouette next to a bunch of stats and jolts with recognition, instantly shaking off any lingering grogginess.
“Hey–!?” MIkey’s protest cuts short with the realization that his limbs are strapped down. The restraints are oddly soft, like he’s being cuffed with the toughest bubblewrap in existence. It’s a cold comfort against the ugly reminder of his past experiences tied to a table. Sweat beads down his neck as he rotates his wrists, trying to suss out any weakness in the material. “Uh, excuse me? I’d like to file a formal complaint.”
“Oh!” The spider alien turns, fixing their many eyes on him. They skitter close, mandibles opening with the spill of accented English. “You are awake! How fascinating. I hypothesized that the anaesthetic would keep you under for much longer.”
The creepo-meter that’s been chiming in Mikey’s head blares louder. He laughs shakily, “Ahah, well, y’know, I like to keep ‘em guessing.”
“Of course, I left some room for error,” they continue without acknowledging what he said. “The bounty states you are from Third Earth, but my extensive catalogue of Earth creatures does not include even a mention of bipedal terrapins. Are you and your kin perhaps a unique divergent evolution?”
“Uh, you could say that.” Mikey twists his wrists again, ruling out trying to break the cuffs. Where’s a convenient friend with a precision laser scalpel when you need one? “Don’t know much about the science-y part of it. One of my bros would know more or, better yet, the Utroms.”
“The Utroms!” the alien squeals, immediately breaching Mikey’s personal space. They’re so close to his face that he can see his icked-out expression multiplied in the guy’s smooth dark eyes. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined meeting a creature associated with the Utroms! Here! Of all locales! Fortune truly smiles upon me!”
“Uhhhh…?”
They continue to ramble, going on about their entire life story and how the Utroms inspired them to pursue science and how unfortunate it is that they’re so elusive from the greater universal community. Okay, wow, he probably shouldn’t have mentioned them. The whole spiel is boring and creepy, so Mikey tunes it out and tries to work at the cuffs again when he realizes the guy is completely self-absorbed in the rant. He uses the moment to take stock of his situation.
One, he’s probably still in the space port. There’s no sign of the ship being in motion. Also, when he cranes his head back, he can just make out the pilot’s seat and the front windshield showing a clear lack of streaming stars and a whole lot of other parked ships. So, probably docked at the port somewhere. Would be convenient if it’s the same place where Mikey’s ship is. Probably not, though, knowing his luck.
Two, the ship is tiny to suit its pilot, so they probably don’t have an accomplice or anybody for Mikey to worry about. Does make him wonder how the guy dragged him all the way here. Spidey-strength, maybe? Regardless, they seem easily distractible in a Stockman sorta way. Mikey can use that to his advantage.
And three, he still feels like complete and total shit. Even using his brain right now is taking all his concentration and giving him a worse headache than before. If he gets himself free, will he be able to overpower this guy? And what about escaping this ship? He could try piloting it, but that might result in some unfortunate explosions. Ugh, he doesn’t wanna think anymore. Where’s his family when he needs them to think for him?
Mikey sighs, closing his eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath to try and focus. First things first, the cuffs. He knows how to get out of them. It’s gonna suck. It’s gonna hurt. He has to do it.
A loud chime sounds out from the computer. The perfect distraction. As soon as the alien’s back is turned to address it, Mikey clenches his teeth and tucks his right thumb as close to his palm as he can. He inhales, closing his eyes. In one swift violent motion, he wrenches his arm, bending his elbow outward. For the briefest half of a second, the joint of his thumb catches the edge of the cuff. Then, fire shoots up his arm as it dislocates. His hand slips out of the cuff, and Mikey's entire face scrunches as he holds back a scream.
Yup. That Sucked. Really Bad.
He exhales slowly, opening his eyes and blinking back tears. Ignoring the throbbing pain radiating from his now-broken thumb, he places his arm back down, keeping his wrist close to the empty cuff. When the alien turns back to him, they don’t seem to notice anything amiss.
They sigh, shaking their head, “The Levram have already responded to my message and demand you be delivered posthaste. How unfortunate.”
“Y’know, you don’t have to turn me in, right? I mean, if you’re such a big fan of the Utroms, I could give you, like, the inside scoop.”
“A tempting proposition! But, alas, the Levram’s offer could fund my research for many decades. I would also find it more fulfilling to attract the Utroms’ attention by my own merits.” They press at something under the table Mikey’s attached to, popping out a drawer holding a filled syringe with a scary-long needle. “Still, you are a truly fascinating specimen. Perhaps the Levram will allow me to study your corpse after the chieftain slays you.”
“Uh, yeah,” Mikey smiles brightly. “How about no?”
He swipes the syringe out of the alien’s hand and plunges it into what he thinks is their neck. The scientist gurgles. They stagger drunkenly, appendages grasping at the empty syringe. It falls from their grasp and rolls away.
“Ohhh, this.. is…” They topple onto the floor, eyelids blinking out of sync before slowly closing. “Unnn…fortunate…”
They slump, unmoving. Mikey watches their body for a moment before finally sighing. He rests his hurting hand on his plastron and takes another deep breath. Okay.
“Okokok, next step: escaping. I can do that! Already did it twice today. What’s one more?” Mikey doesn’t move, just lays there and whines internally until he reminds himself that the guy isn’t gonna stay unconscious forever. He needs to get off this table.
Clamping down on his loose thumb with his mouth, he sets the joint, allowing himself a small yelp. Yeah, that’s gonna swell in a bad way, but he needs the mobility. He painstakingly undoes the other cuff. With both hands free, he makes quick work of his other bonds. When he hops off the table, he almost blacks out from the sudden headrush, needing to steady one hand against the table so he doesn’t meet the floor for a third time. Right. Slow down. There isn’t anyone actively chasing him. He doesn’t have to rush.
Mikey waits for the dizzy spell to pass. When his vision clears, he straightens up, only to immediately hunch when the top of his head grazes the ceiling. He shuffles to the back of the ship and considers a low-placed panel of buttons. Shrugging (because what else does he have to lose), Mikey presses all of them. He’s rewarded by a cacophony of bells and whistles going off before a hatch ultimately clicks open and lowers as a ramp out into the shipping dock. His knees buckle a little as he steps down the ramp, met once again with the spaceport’s artificial gravity that he’s currently unequipped to handle with all his busted gear. Mikey groans, resigning himself to an awful trek back to his family.
So, it’s a pleasant shock when he steps down the gangplank and spots the familiar cruiser parked on the far side of the dock (he can even see the little turtle he’d spray painted on the front just the other week). A giddy relief washes over Mikey. He can’t wait to sink into his chair before the others hound him with questions and medical doohickeys. Uncaring of his surroundings, he takes another step forward.
A large hand clamps down over his beak and lifts him off his feet. From just off to the side of the spider alien’s ship, a stalwart being with craggy skin emerges, expression stony as they regard Mikey in their grip. Screams muffled, Mikey kicks uselessly at the air, legs too short to connect. Clawing at the guy’s wrist yields nothing but chipped nails. The rock alien looks beyond Mikey, into the interior of the small ship, and shakes their head when they spot the creepy scientist on the floor.
They say something, tone derisive and bleeding with annoyance. Mikey doesn’t have to wonder anymore how the other guy carried him all the way here. This new (stupidly strong) alien steps away from the spacecraft to another, bigger one parked right next to it. Their muttering heats up into a rant as they slam their free fist against the hull. Air displaces with the opening of a large hatch. Mikey nearly gags with the overbearing stench of the interior. They carry him inside.
Contrasting the spider alien’s chemically clean and tidy space, the rocky bounty hunter’s ship is disgustingly stained with metallic-tinged blood and littered with a mishmash of objects. Pieces of armor, open bags with their valuables strewn about like guts, and marked sacks that he really doesn’t want to know the contents of. The walls are no better, plastered with bounty notices that have all of their profiles crossed out. Mikey can see his own has been freshly placed, his visage still unmarred.
Dread weighs on Mikey’s shoulders with the ache of his entire body straining his neck. He thought the freaky scientist was bad enough! Mikey renews his struggles, managing to pry one finger off of his mouth.
“H–hey!” he croaks desperately, syllables distorted by the iron grip on his jaw. He really hopes this guy understands English. “Can’t we talk about this!? I’m sure we could work something–AGHH!!”
His ears ring, the force of his head and shell hitting the wall reverberating through him. The bounty hunter holds him in place, continuing their pissed off rant as they pull out a viciously serrated weapon that’s longer than Mikey’s forearm. They point it at his face, clearly trying to communicate something to him. Mikey is helplessly clueless.
“Wh–why don’t we–” Mikey stutters, wondering if it’d be worth it to try and disarm them with his fucked-up hand. “–wake up your buddy!? Seems t’ me like you’re not much of a ‘capture the bounty’ type of guy, so…haha…if you could just…put that away? Please?”
The bounty hunter laughs, a harsh, cruel sound devoid of actual humor. They lean towards Mikey’s face, their next words scarily calm as they loom over him. Their arm reels back, aiming the tip of the blade at Mikey’s shoulder. Horrified clarity strikes. Mikey attempts to avert it, raising his hands a fraction of a second too late.
Skin, muscle, bone, keratin, metal. The blade sinks through Mikey’s shoulder, nicking his shell as it stabs further into the wall. Mikey doesn’t register the sound he makes. Something terrible and wounded to accompany a pain worse than legs broken by the Shredder. He goes limp as the bounty hunter lets go. A whimper escapes him as the weapon takes all of his weight, biting further into him. Blood drips down his arm. His mind drifts, scattering any semblance of resistance, any thoughts to escape.
He’s pinned. He hurts. He doesn’t know what to do.
A hazy awareness falls over him. The rock alien, ordering something, moving away. His toes brush the floor, no strength to prop himself up, to alleviate a bit of the agony. His fingers twitch. Blood drips. His head droops.
When an explosion rocks the ship, Mikey can only whine unintelligibly as it jostles him. Light pours in from outside. Shouts of outrage. Shadows moving quickly. Flashes. Sparks. Mikey’s eyelids sag. He feels cold.
There’s a hand on his face. He doesn’t know whose. People talking at him, words unable to puncture the veil. Tapping. Begging. Mikey thinks he recognizes them. His lips tremble with a smile, the need to reassure.
He’s out cold before he can get a single word out.
–
—
—-
Mikey awakens mid-snore, head and body feeling like they’re stuffed with cotton. He pushes through the fuzziness and cracks his eyes open, squinting in low light that’s being interrupted by tiny sparks off to his right. Blinking, he turns his head.
He doesn’t recognize the room, but he recognizes Cody sitting next to him, working a tool over the inside of his gravity regulator. And beyond him, there’s a couch set against the wall with three sleeping brothers sharing a big cozy blanket. Mikey huffs a small laugh at the sight.
“Please tell me you got a pic of them.”
Cody’s head snaps up from his work.
“Oh my gosh, you’re awake!” the teen lights up with a grin, voice soft as he puts the regulator and tool on a side table. It reminds Mikey achingly of April. Cody leans towards him, putting a hand lightly on Mikey’s arm, which is swathed with bandages up to his shoulder while a simple splint holds his right thumb in place. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like cotton candy,” Mikey rasps, returning the smile with his own. He glances to his left. Ah, there’s all the medical machinery he was expecting. There’s an IV drip and a heart monitor and everything. He looks back at Cody. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough that I had to convince them,” Cody nods his head at Mikey’s brothers, “to get some rest. Once the doctors assured us you’d be okay, they’ve been out like logs ever since.”
At that, Raph lets out a particularly heinous snore, which Don instinctively swats at him for. Leo mumbles something that sounds like scolding, and then they all settle again, still deep in slumber. Cody and Mikey share a look and then a quiet snicker.
“Place looks fancy,” Mikey comments, noting the decor of the private room. There’s even a window, glass tinted dark but still translucent enough that he can see a few twinkling stars. “Didn’t think they had one of those here.”
Cody’s expression sobers. “They don’t. Our ship doesn’t have the equipment to handle serious injuries. We had to keep you stable until Starlee could pilot us to the nearest PGA-approved hospital. It was really touch and go for a while. It was…” the boy looks down at his hands and sighs. “It was a lot to handle. I’ve read some medical texts, but it’s all been purely theoretical for me until…”
He gestures at Mikey, who winces. He’s seen that face dozens of times reflected in his family, especially Don. When knowledge is forced into practice. Because if they don’t, someone would probably die.
“Hey.” Mikey’s fingers twitch, wanting to place his own reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. Instead, he meets Cody’s eyes and pulls a ridiculously silly face that startles a laugh out of him. “As you can see, I’m on the road to being fine, so… you did it! Bet Don heaped a whole bunch of praise on you.”
The kid colors at that, clearly fighting the urge to feel happy at the compliment. Then, something in his face shifts. “Why did you decide to change the plan like that?”
“Ah,” Mikey looks away, wanting but unable to scratch at the sudden itch on the back of his neck. “It seemed like a good idea at the time!”
“You wanted to protect us, didn’t you.”
It’s said more as a statement than a question. Mikey matches Cody’s gaze, sighs, and nods. “Well, yeah, of course, duh? You’re, like, my great grand nephew, and you and Star are both my friends. Why wouldn’t I make sure you're both safe?”
Cody’s lips purse, a frustration Mikey’s seen whenever the kid trains with them. “I just... I was hoping the reason you all were okay with not bringing Serling along was because you trusted us to handle ourselves. I guess not, huh?”
“Aw, what? No–I mean–a little–wait, no, what I’m trying to say is–” Mikey fumbles his words, wishing his head wasn’t so stuffed. “I’m–I’m sorry, Cody. I didn’t think about that kinda stuff. I just didn’t want either of you to get hurt. Honestly, I was so sure it was gonna be fine, y’know? If my luck hadn’t been so rotten, I think it would’ve. Still, should’ve trusted you two. Maybe you’d’ve thought of a better plan than leading a bunch of mercenaries on a wild goose chase.”
The teen smiles, “Believe me, Starlee’s thought up a lot over the past few days.”
“Oh man, I’m in for an earful, aren’t I?”
“I think you’re promised several, actually,” Cody quips, glancing at Mikey’s sleeping brothers. “Master Splinter wasn’t too pleased to hear about what happened, either.”
Mikey groans, letting his head fall back in his pillow, “And I thought having a bunch of mercs hunting me down was bad enough.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about that bounty anymore. We sorta persuaded all those mercenaries that you aren’t worth the effort.”
“Aww, you threatened lives on my behalf? That’s so Jones of you, dude.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Cody’s smile falters. “...It was awful, you know? Seeing you in that hunter’s space ship just… hanging there. We weren’t sure where you were for so long, we didn’t know why we couldn’t track your gear. Leo, Don, and Raph wanted to look for you when you didn’t come back. Then, Star said she saw you out the window, but we went to that scientist’s ship, saw they had files on you, and you weren’t there. We were going wait for them to wake up to ask questions, but then we heard you screaming and–”
The kid shakes his head as if he could shake out the terrible memory.
“I thought we were too late. I’m glad we weren’t.”
“Me, too,” Mikey says sincerely.
It’s silent for a few moments as they share in a mutual gratitude. For saving and being saved. For being alive and relatively well.
“Also, if anyone asks, you’re legally dead.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the only way we could get the Levram’s bounty off your head! Starlee tweaked a few things when we got here; so on record, there’s no one actually using this hospital room.”
Mikey mocks a gasp, “You faked my death without me!?”
A snore from the couch cuts short. “Wuh–whose death–who’s dyin’?”
Raph sits up. He blinks, sees Mikey, and shoots to his feet, dislodging the blanket so that it falls in a heap on the floor. He trips on it, stumbling to close the distance. “Mikey! You’re awake!”
The noise is enough for their other brothers to wake up. Don and Leo are quick to join Raph in crowding Mikey’s bedside. The relief on their faces is palpable. Raph asks how he’s feeling. Leo pats him on the head. Don checks his vitals and talks medical jargon with Cody. Mikey reassures them where he can, hoping to delay the inevitable scolding for as long as possible. Not like he’d mind it, really.
He’s just happy to be alive.