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At a young age, Michelangelo became a master in many things. He was the master of cooking, of pizza, of comics, of action movies, of colors and orange bandanas.
Most of all, though, he was an expert in art and turtle shells. The two things overlapped quite a bit, actually.
Master Splinter did his best, of course, but it was admittedly difficult to find supplies for four little kids all the time. Food and blankets and other essentials were more sought after than paper and crayons. Thankfully, Mikey wasn’t picky. He scribbled on newspapers, receipts, cardboard boxes, and even the walls, with a mix of crayons and pencils and gross slimes. No one seemed to mind - in fact, they encouraged it. His brothers loved the pictures, and his dad seemed grateful for such a cheerful child, even if said child needed the most frequent baths after his art sessions.
For his fifth birthday, Mikey’s dad pulled out all the stops. Wrapped in actual wrapping paper, in a little box, came a set of paints and brushes. Mikey squealed, launching into a hug, without a clue what the brushes were meant for.
He painted on the wrapping paper, carefully saved. He painted on the walls again, on his little bed, on the ceiling and the floor. It took practice, but Mikey was getting better and better as holding the brushes properly, making shapes and squiggles that resembled clouds and mice and turtles.
That was the mood in the living room one night, tapping his brush against his head thoughtfully. He just needed to find an idea for his next painting. In front of him, Leo sat on the floor, attempting to use their new ninja training to look at his own shell. The red-eared slider kept trying different angles and sides. Their flexibility had improved enough that he managed to get a glimpse for just a moment.
“I’ve got box patterns,” Leo crowed proudly. “Just like you, Miguel!”
Light bulb.
Mikey brightened immediately, darting down to the floor with his big brother. “Leo!” Mikey said eagerly, grabbing one of his hands. “Can I please paint on your shell?”
Leo, who rivaled Mikey in everything enthusiastic and daring, laughed in response, spinning so his back was firmly facing his littlest brother. “Of course!” Leo said. “Make sure you paint something awesome!”
Mikey lit after his task with unparalleled joy. He traced the crevices with broad strokes, painting each scale a different color highlighting every little crack and imperfection. He was sloppy, of course, but it wasn’t too different than painting on the brick walls or the rough floors.
In fact, the hardest part was-
“Leo, quit moving!” Mikey whined, though he couldn’t stop smiling. Leo fidgeted in place again, raising one hand to cover his mouth.
“Sorry,” he giggled, muffled. “It just tickles so much!”
Mikey paused mid-brush, blinking in realization.
He knew their shells were sensitive. Raph especially became more cautious around them when roughhousing, only ever barely tapping their shells in victory. Donnie even studied their anatomy from a crummy old textbook, babbling eagerly about how their shells were infused into their spines, wasn’t that cool? After that, Dad practically tripled the precautions around the lair, making them each promise to come get him any time anyone got hurt. But Mikey had no idea Leo could feel his shell so much.
In a few years, when they get older, that knowledge become a threat rather than a cool fact. It’s the reason Donnie builds battle shells, the reason Leo becomes the medic, the reason they all worry about Raph being the shield for his family. Their shells are their greatest protection and their greatest liability.
But right now, it made Mikey grin. He swiped a long line of blue against Leo’s shoulders, gleefully ruining part of the picture just to hear Leo burst into laughter. They both ended up covered in paint, and Mikey had never been happier to waste his supplies.
It quickly becomes a mini-tradition between the two of them - when Leo’s having an off day, or when Mikey desperately needs something to do with his hands, they find themselves couched in the living room, decorating Leo’s shell. Long after the paint runs out, Mikey gets creative with mixing mud and clay and grime. He dots Leo’s shell, traces out all the constellations and patterns between the boxes, and Leo loves the attention.
And, as it seems everything in their little family does, the habit spreads.
Mikey’s approaching seven - still a few weeks away, but getting closer! - when Raph walks in on him doodling. Leo had long since fallen asleep, but other than the occasional twitch hadnt reacted against the brush.
Mikey could practically feel his biggest brother watching them, with that laser-focus intensity only a child’s curiosity could master. Sure enough, when he glanced up five minutes later, Raph hadn’t budged from his spot in the doorway.
“Hi Raphie,” Mikey greeted quietly, but no less happy. He beckoned the snapping turtle over, making grabby hands the older had never once managed to resist. Sure enough, it worked like a charm - like a big brother force of nature, Raph came plodding over to join him. “Do you want a turn?”
He wanted to accept, Mikey can read it in his face the way Donnie can read the dictionary, but Raph hesitated. Slowly, he touched the edge of his plastron, wincing.
“My shell’s kind of sharp, Mikey,” he said, like it was a deterrent that would change Mikey’s mind. Leo, next to them, let out a soft rumble in his sleep, and Raph immediately reached over to run his head soothingly.
Mikey doesn’t understand his worry all the time. That comes years later, when he realizes that Raph has been hyperaware of his size compared to his little brothers, has obsessed over how he could possibly hurt them without realizing it. It’s a conversation Raph has with Splinter, one Mikey eavesdropped through the door to hear. It’s three days later that Doctor Feelings emerges in Mikey’s life, desperate to help his brothers cope.
But for now, Mikey says, “I’ll be careful, promise,” instead of ‘You’d never, ever hurt us, and we know that, and we trust you, and we love you.’
His patience is rewarded when Raph, still nervous but painfully hopeful, slowly turned to spread his shell.
It’s a big canvas, and Mikey made the most of it. He painted a background of trees in a park, the buildings of New York, the sun and the clouds. His sense of perspective improved over time, and now he knows what directions the shadows have to face compared to where the sun is, how to make a real horizon, even how to blend the colors together to slowly change from one palate to another. Whereas a barrage of colors seemed to suit Leo, Mikey preferred reds and greens and softer shades for his gentle giant brother. Every spike got a light pink or purple or yellow, like it would hide the danger Raph saw on himself.
Raph held perfectly still, even breathing as shallowly as possible in an effort not to move. Which was sweet, but unnecessary.
“You can move some, Raph,” Mikey told him easily. “Leo can’t hold still to save his life, I’m good at painting on a moving target.”
“Thank goodness,” Raph wheezed before sucking in a huge breath. It made his entire back shift, shoulders rising with the force of it, and Mikey threw his head back and laughed.
He really, really loved his goofball brothers.
The trickiest one was Donnie.
Their whole world changed constantly because of Donnie. Splinter would tell them stories, huddled together at night, about a world above them. A place called New York, filled with people who did awesome things and made incredible, cool stuff. He explained to them one day how a computer worked, in generic terms that even Mikey could understand. None of them were more enraptured by the concept than Donnie, whose eyes were wide and fascinated through the whole explanation. The next day, Donnie tumbled up to story time with arms full of technology bits, parts of broken toys they’d scavenged, and a broken mirror. Splinter seemed confused until the mirror lit up with a computer background. “Is that a computer?” Donnie asked innocently, pushing his big glasses up, as if it were just a regular drawing or Lego set that anyone could do.
Very quickly, their home was filled with new gadgets and toys, curtesy of the ever-curious and intelligent Donatello. Splinter, to his credit, waited until they had a functioning light and water system to ask about making a TV set. By that point, Donnie was an expert in all things science, technology, and internet.
It made sense that these upgrades, be they gifts or necessities, would apply to Mikey, too.
It was after Mikey’s eighth birthday gift started to get low on supplies again - running out of watercolor paints, this time - that Donnie popped into his room unannounced, holding dozens of smaller bottles and jars.
“You like doing crafts,” Donnie said abruptly, shifting on his feet. Mikey, who was laying upside down in his bed, set aside his Jupiter Jim comic book.
“Hello to you too, Dee,” Mikey laughed, flipping upright and clearing some space off. He wasn’t stingy about his personal space the way Leo and Donnie could be, which was good consider how many times his brothers would pop in unannounced. “I do love making things. Whatcha got for me?”
If Donnie was asking Mikey to make something for him, it seemed only fair. Especially since, you know, the lair only had electricity because of him.
But instead, Donnie shook his head, dumping the contents of his arms onto the bedspread. Along with empty bottles were a bunch of powders in all sorts of colors, oily stuff in another one, a big flat weight, a flat board. Mikey blinked at it, trying to puzzle their use, but Donnie was one step ahead.
“I know you’re running out of paint again,” he admitted, readjusting his mask with his newly freed hands. “And having paint is important to you, even if you don’t paint on paper or cardboard or keepable stuff. So I did some research on how to make watercolors.” He shuffled in place, looking oddly nervous. “I, uh, borrowed some supplies from a store up top. And I left my piggy bank, don’t worry, but this is enough to make loads of it, so you won’t have to wait until your next birthday or until we make a garbage run or anything-“
Mikey didn’t wait long enough to let him finish, already diving forward for a hug without thinking. Thankfully, Donnie seemed in a good mood, so the hug was returned. He even held on for an extra minute, a rarity from his barely-older brother, and by the time they separated Mikey was fit to burst.
“That’s so amazing, Donnie, thank you so much!” Mikey gushed, looking down at the supplies with stars in his eyes. He could make so much paint with this, he’d never have to worry about running out ever again. “Will you teach me how to use this stuff?”
Donnie smiled - actually smiled, this was Mikey’s luckiest day ever - and started to walk him through the process.
The first two batches of paint were a little soupy, and the next was a bit more lumpy than needed. Donnie had only done things as far as the theory and prepping, with no practice. But by the fourth round, Mikey had gotten the hang of grinding and measuring the proper amount of pigment vs oil. He held up a fully successful bottle of purple paint with no small amount of pride.
Then he paused, sizing up Donnie with a grin. “Hey! What if I test this on your back?” he asked, tilting his head.
Where he was capping the next bottle, Donnie froze. “Uh,” he said slowly. One hand wrapped around to touch his shell, like a reminder. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mike. I don’t know if the leather, um, and the paint…”
It wasn’t quite an unspoken thing they had, like the way they just agreed they were brothers, and Donnie and Leo were twins, and how everyone ran to protect each other against the sewer rats that invaded their lair sometimes. But they all knew that Donnie’s shell wasn’t like theirs. It didn’t offer protection the way his brothers’ did, and he was still a few years from creating the battle shell prototype.
Mikey burned with determination. “Hey, I got it,” he said softly. He pulled out a tub of water that he usually used to clean brushes. “Why don’t I just use water? It’ll help me practice! Please, Dee?”
Though he still looked hesitant, Donnie undeniably had a soft spot for the youngest. He shifted, letting Mikey see his shell the way Donnie never liked, and Mikey came close to tears then and there.
The fun thing about Donnie’s shell was how the leather changed colors with the use of water. His brush lead a trail of dark brown across the surface as it went. Mikey did his best to mimic robotic and tech designs that Donnie would like, tongue poked out in concentration. By the end, Donnie’s shoulders were practically hunched over his ears, but he said he liked the picture, and that’s what counted.
Mikey was the only one allowed to touch his ‘naked’ shell, and Mikey took that with no small amount of honor and pride.
Flash forward quite a few years, and Mikey still prided himself on these things. He could paint a masterpiece on his brother’s shells, and knew exactly how to make each of them relax. Knew what they were comfortable with, what paintings they liked, everything.
It was a highlight of sleepovers, nowadays, that Mikey would break out the paint. Even Donnie, though he grumbled through a token protest, looked forward to the beautification of his shell. When April joined them Mikey would paint all over her cheeks and face, but tonight it was just the four of them.
“Hey,” Leo said suddenly, sitting up from where he’d been lounging over a pillow. “Hey Miguel, you never get a turn with getting your shell painted!”
It was said like it had never occurred to him before. Mikey blinked, brushes in hand, because it had never occurred to him either.
“I don’t mind, honest,” Mikey started. Because he didn’t, really, he loved being able to give this to his brothers. Except Raph furrowed his brow in determination and Donnie’s eyes scrunched in thought and Leo reached over to snatch away the supplies.
“Don’t worry, Mike, we’re gonna draw something awesome! Right, Raph?”
“Sure we can!” Raph said, plopping on the floor. He reached out and spun Mikey around, like his strength was nothing, and Mikey ignored the wash of dizziness with a grin. “Donnie, you got any ideas?”
“I do, though I’m not sure how many would be feasible given our lack of talent and practice - Leo, don’t you dare, we haven’t even discussed-!”
“Too late!” Leo chirped in Mikey’s ear, and then Mikey felt a swipe of paint straight across his back.
It was a new experience, definitely. It tickled, the way Leo always claimed it had, and it was calming the way Raph described, and it also felt so personal and overwhelming, like how Donnie explained it. He felt vulnerable, knowing someone was right behind him, but it was the three people he loved and trusted most in the world.
They weren’t experts on turtles or art the way Mikey was, but there was no one other than his brothers Mikey would want painting his shell. He wore the blue-red-purple-orange mishmash for the rest of the night with a huge smile.