Chapter Text
It’s half past two. Leo can tell it is even before he looks at the clock, because it sounds like there’s a tea kettle screaming its way down the hall. All one note, high enough to make him cringe. The sound halts at his doorway, thankfully. The curtain doesn’t so much as sway, even as the source of the sound phases through it– or, he thinks it must do, because it whistles again right by his bed, less urgent, sounding more like a squeaky dracula organ than a tea kettle of doom.
wake. The word isn’t a noise, not really. His headphones don’t make them any quieter, and music doesn’t either. He’s pretty sure they're talking right in his brain. Which would be concerning, if it wasn’t this goofball. wake.
“I’m up, I’m up,” he sighs, careful to keep his voice low, even though his dad snores so loud he could probably scream and not wake him up. Leo stretches, letting his comic book fall to the side, dogeared in a way that would put Donnie’s teeth on edge. When he bid his brothers goodnight, he already knew sleep wouldn’t be coming to him, so he’s almost glad for the distraction. Plus, his eyes hurt from reading in the dark for so long. “You do anything cool today, lil guy?”
kill. There’s no breeze of movement, no warning besides the way Leo’s skin prickles before he feels the lukewarm presence brush featherlight against his shell. He shudders away from it, only relaxing when they settle at his side. Close enough to sense, ambient heat and the fuzz of tv static that’d probably make his hair stand on end if he had any– but no longer touching. snake. killed snake.
Leo lip quirks, almost a smile. “Oh yeah?” He asks indulgently. “Y’know, I’m a turtle. Turtles n’ snakes are super besties.”
bad snake , they sniffs, haughty. no friend. bad friend kill friend snake bad.
“Ohhhh, of course. I’m a dumdum. Thank you, dearest Pancakes, for continuing your quest to keep our humble abode safe,” he croons, stifling a snicker at the wave of goodyesproudyes the little guy radiates in response, bathing his mind in soft, yellow tones. “You’re probably expecting a reward for your hard-fought battle, huh?” he wonders innocently, grinning when the presence at his side shifts from soft static to sharp and brittle and alert in an instant. “Mayhaps you even feel… a little hungry?”
feed! feed. feed. feed.
Leo finally laughs, then, standing with a grunt, stretching from the tips of his fingers to his tippytoes. Exhaustion laps at him, but it’s a familiar, distant thing, not too pressing yet. Still, he’ll probably try to squeeze a cat nap in tomorrow afternoon. Just to be safe. “Yeah, alright, alright. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”
Pancakes whistles once, rising in pitch, and shoots off, disappearing. Or, well. Disappearing more. Their little pocket of warmth is gone, leaving the chill of the lair in its wake.
Leo shivers.
Sneaking out of his room at night is never hard. They all have curtains for doors, for one, but honestly, nobody giving a shit in the first place does allll the heavy lifting. He can go where he pleases when he pleases, and it’s not a surprise to his brothers if they see him out and about this late. See: the insomnia. So it’s not like Leo really has to tiptoe to the kitchen, and he doesn’t have to stick to the shadows the whole time…
…But, consider: it’s cool! Makes him feel just like Lou Jitsu in Lou Jitsu: Storming Manor Nightmare, where he has to sneak around the titular Manor Nightmare in his quest to find those missing fish vendors, or risk getting caught by the terrifying Madame Nightmare and probably devoured whole.
(Lou Jitsu: Storming Manor Nightmare is kiiinda the black sheep of Lou Jitsu movies, considering the genre switch and the more in-your-face fantasy themes. It never got a sequel, and Leo laments this to his brothers whenever he can convince them to watch it with him.)
As always, though, Leo is not eaten whole, and reaches the kitchen with ease. He slides across the tile in his socked feet for extra style points, gently bumping into the counter.
eat. eat. eat. Pancakes, the heathen, is no fan of Lou Jitsu, and has no patience for Leo’s incredibly necessary roleplaying. They’re impatient, words a little louder in his head - not enough to hurt, but enough that it feels less like a little presence and more like a pressure. He shushes them, leaning down and– oh, oops, that’s just air. Thankfully, Pancakes winds around his dangling hand before he can feel too embarrassed. A little, involuntary hum escapes Leo’s lips. Whatever the little guy is made of, it doesn’t feel like any fur he’s felt before– no, it’s far too soft for that. It’s like what he imagines touching a cloud must be like, so soft and airy it’s like he isn’t touching anything at all. Which he kinda isn’t but. Well. You know what he means.
It feels nice. He wishes they could have a cat, but they’ve been banned from the lair since that stray tried its best to eat Dad.
“Okay, okay!” In the silence of the lair, Leo’s fond exasperation for the little bastard is louder than he’d like it to be. He winces, lowering his volume. “Let’s feed you, and then you can stop bugging me.”
yes. food!
Leo rolls his eyes and drops to his knees, yanking open the corner cabinet with a grunt. It’s way harder to get open than the rest - Leo’s pretty sure Donnie cut it wrong, or it swelled with the moisture or something - but instead of fixing it, everybody just… stopped using it. Which works for Leo, ‘cause it means it’s a perfect spot for snacks meant just for him, aaaand, more importantly right this instant, a bag of cheap cat food and a rusty little food bowl.
At the first rustle of the plastic, he feels little, warm points of pressure on his shell - first two, then four, standing atop the crest. Static prickles across his skin.
He manages to stop himself from rearing back, bucking Pancakes off of him, but it’s a very near thing. Instead, he grits his teeth against the wave of pins and needles, holding painfully still as it runs its course.
“Pancakes, down!”
His voice doesn’t shake, thankfully; he’s finally getting better about controlling that. As soon as the words leave his mouth, the weight vanishes, the warmth appearing beside his knee. Not touching him. He’s grateful for the consideration, but he’s mad at himself that they feel like they have to give him that, just ‘cause he got a little surprised.
bad? Nearly inaudible. Their presence in his mind feels like a little shrinking flower. Ah, man. Now he feels double awful about it!
“No!” Man, his volume control is all over the place. Leo sighs, sitting on the floor and scrubbing a hand over his face, reigning himself back in. Their warmth prickles more harshly, giving their worry away. “No, you’re not bad. I was just… distracted. You spooked me.”
good?
“Yes, good. You’re good.” He smiles tiredly, reaching out and ruffling its fur. His hand tingles, but it’s not so bad when he's expecting it. Like touching the screen of Dad’s tv. “You aren’t bad.”
“...Uh. Nardo? Is this a mental break? Should I be getting Mikey?”
Leo, the bravest and coolest turtle in the world by the way, does not yelp. If his dum dum sneaky purple brother tells you otherwise, he’s lying. Why that nerd starts snickering, Leo has no idea. None! Nada. Because Leo did not jump.
“Geez, Donnie!” Leo clutches his chest dramatically, to mask just how fast it really is rabbiting in his chest. “Scared to death is not the way I wanna go out, you jerk!”
“ Scoff. If you weren’t so jumpy, you wouldn’t need to worry about that. Besides, you’re young, and your heart is reasonably healthy,” he points out. “The chance of you going into cardiac arrest isn’t statistically likely.”
After he’s done reassuring his twin - because for all his sass, Leo knows he’s not just doing it just to rag on him - Donnie eyes the cat food bag Leo has yet to open with open suspicion. “What were you doing out here, anyway? You’re not planning to prank Mikey with that stuff again, are you? Getting his hopes up like that last time was not cool, even by your standards.”
Leo winces. Right. The last time he left the cat food bowl out, poor little Mikey got so excited that they got a kitty that he practically tore up the place looking for the thing. To make matters worse, it was after the cat ban. Leo had to spin a story about a stray topside he’d been feeding to avoid Raph’s big brother Disappointment and Mikey’s toddler rage.
It was, uh. Not a good day. Not his best moment. Lots of waterworks, and he still ended up getting chewed out by Raph for going topside by himself. 0/10 stars, would not recommend.
“No, god no, I would never do that again. I was like, seven!” He throws up his arms with a huff. “How was I supposed to know Mikey would find it and already be coming up with a name for the thing?!”
“Maybe because Mikey has always been obsessed with animals, and constantly begged Dad for a pet?” Donnie offers dryly, unsympathetic. “So why do you still have that thing? Eugh, I can smell the tetanus from here.” He shudders and hugs himself, because despite how much the nerd denies it, they are twins, and they both definitely inherited the drama gene.
Leo would be proud, if he wasn’t too busy thinking.
His gaze hangs anxiously on the bowl while he chews his lip, struggling to quickly come up with something believable. The moment Donnie showed up, Pancakes fled, and he has no idea where the little guy ran off to. It’s not a pressing issue... probably, but he’s a little worried they might draw the attention of some of the actual troublemakers that lurk around the lair in an attempt to “save” him, or worse, interrupt an important nap. He’s gotta finish this up ASAP, or else he might have more on his plate than a nosy brother and a hungry ghost. But his silence must last a bit too long.
“Gasp. I see how it is, Nardo. You never stopped going topside to feed that cat!”
Ha!
Leave it to Donnie, ever the problem-solver of the family, jumping to the perfect conclusion for him. Leo smothers his smirk in a pout, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He even scoffs! The whole nine yards, really. Pulling all the stops to look as guilty as possible, which honestly isn’t that hard, since he gets in trouble plenty often. Pancakes owes him pancakes, after this! “It’s- it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Ohhh, but you promised Raph!” Donnie crows, accusatory and gleeful, striking a crab-like pose and pointing at him, outdoing all the mad scientists he puts to shame. “You promised him you’d stop feeding it!”
“It’s not the same cat, Donnie,” Leo retorts before he can stop himself - there’s no way Donnie doesn’t know how short the lifespans of strays are in New York City, for crying out loud - before shaking his head and adding sharply, “and didn’t you promise Raph you’d stop going to the scrapyard all by yourself?”
Donnie’s grin freezes on his face.
“Iiii. Have no idea what you're talking about.” Donnie's voice is strained, shooting for casual and. Well. Definitely missing.
Gotcha! Leo thinks smugly.
“Yeah, I think you do,” Leo drawls, putting on a show of looking at his nails, buffing them on his plastron.
“I– you’re bluffing. You have no proof.”
Leo jumps to his feet, smiling easily. Too easily. “Don’t I?” He asks rhetorically, stretching his arms over his head, relishing in the wary, suspicious expression on his twin’s face. He’d really been meaning to save that particular trapcard for something bigger than this, like bribing Donnie into getting him a tv just for his room, but, ah well. There’ll always be more dirt down the line. “Do you want to roll those dice, hermano?”
Donnie waffles a bit longer, and it’s kinda fascinating to see the argument he’s having with himself broadcast on his face like a wide screen television into his brain. Finally, though, expression pinched like he bit straight into a lemon, he spits, “Fine. Fine. You play dirty, brother. Keep feeding your colony of flea-infested strays, then! Far be it from your wonderful, caring brother to stop you.”
Leo’s grin widens into something one might call shit-eating. “Ohhh, thanks for the blessing, my bestest bro!” He wraps Donnie in a quick, tight hug, making exaggerated kissy noises. Donnie shoves him off, like Leo knew he would, and ooooh! If looks could kill, Leo would be a dead man. He scoops up the bowl and the bag off the floor, sauntering off toward the sewers proper. Before he hits the tunnel, though, he calls back, “and don’t worry! If any of them have fleas, I’ll bring ‘em back, just for you!”
“ Leonardo Hamato, if you bring even one–!”
Leo cackles, darting into the darkness.
…He waits about ten minutes before sneaking back into the lair - really sneaking this time, scanning his surroundings warily. Luckily, his dumdum twin seems to have already boarded himself back up in his lab– he’s nowhere to be seen, and the big metal door is closed. It was a stupid oversight, not considering that Donnie was probably still up and could hear him through the wall, but. Whatever. All he’s lost was a bit of blackmail and only a shred of his dignity. He can live with that.
“Pancakes?” Leo is extra careful, now, calling out so quietly that he can barely hear himself. Cats’ hearing is supposed to be really good, though, so he’s sure that–
Whiiiiistle!
Something tight in his chest finally unwinds. Leo slumps against the counter, setting the bowl down and slowly unrolling the bag so it doesn’t crunch too audibly. He manages to get the bowl about halfway filled before the tea kettle shriek turns into a slidewhistle of greeting, and then little bits of kibble are bouncing off of their invisible little head, scattering across the floor. He stops quickly with a snort, rolling the bag back up and chucking it back in the stupid sticky cabinet.
“Sorry you had to wait,” he offers, even though he’s pretty sure they’re too lost in the sauce to hear him. Or care. There isn’t any crunching sounds to be heard, but he’s watching bits of kibble jostle and then vanish, sucked into the world’s most adorable black hole. “You didn’t wake Alvin up, did you?”
They don’t even pause in their eating to talk, which… actually, hm. He guesses that makes sense. They aren’t really using their mouth to talk to him in the first place. little sleep down sleep no wake. good.
“Good,” Leo agrees, relieved. He loves the little guy, believe him, but he’s not in the mood to deal with all that noise so late at night, not to mention how cranky he’d be at the rude awakening. Honestly, that whole Donnie interlude sapped so much energy out of him that he might actually fall asleep after this. Or, he hopes he will, anyway.
When Pancakes is done devouring every last piece of kibble, including all of the spillage, he shoves the bowl back in its spot and closes up shop, standing with a low groan. It’s not warm in the lair, not at this time of year, and sticking himself to the sewer wall stiff as a board for ten minutes didn’t help matters. He’s sore. He could make some more tea, probably, but he really just wants to fall into bed and try to get some sleep. Maybe…
Hm.
He glances down, tracking Pancakes by the way her prickly warmth orbits his legs in a figure eight, walking circles around him. “Say, Pancakes,” he murmurs conspiratorially, meandering slowly back to his room, “how do you feel about naptime?”
Warmkeephappysleepyes. Warmth bursts in his mind like a warm sunset, and a fuzzy presence whacks itself into his lower leg and bounced off with a whistle. Leo laughs, swiping his curtain out of the way and flopping himself on his bed.
“I’ll take that as a yes?”
yes! yes. yes. yes.
They’re too impatient to wait for him to get comfortable, as always, but the sudden weight on his plastron isn’t so bad when he’s expecting it. He jostles them around while he wraps himself in his blankets, but they remain stubbornly perched, only settling down when he stops moving. They don’t weigh much, but the minute they curl up on his chest, trilling happily, their warmth and their little presence hits Leo harder than any weighted blanket ever has.
He’s out within seconds.