More Than Just One

Chapter 3

Mikey clenched his fists, "No. I'm fed up with how you're treating Michelangelo."

Donnie looked up, "Why are you referring to yourself by name?"

"Because I'm not your Mikey."

Leo rolled his eyes, "Ha ha. Okay, you can be done now."

Mikey gritted his teeth, "Do I look anything like your Michelangelo? From pictures I've seen, I'm darker, have paint-stains on my plastron, and thinner. And you guys just didn't notice?"

Raph narrowed his eyes, "Stop joking around, Mike."

Mikey slammed his fists on the table, "I'm not fucking joking!"

Only Mike's harsh breaths filled the room. He looked up, finding three sets of wide eyes. He glared at each one.

"What's..." Leo said slowly. "What's your proof?"

Mikey pulled out his phone and dropped it on the table, "Not one of your phones, is it?" He opened it and video-called Raph.

It didn't go through.

"What undeniable proof," Raph said with a roll of his eyes. He went to chuck a chopstick at Mikey, who caught it.

"Stop throwing things at me!" Mike demanded loudly. He groaned and walked away, utterly distraught.

Michelangelo was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. He didn't have any of his fidgets to keep his ADHD in check, so he resorted to stimming (via rocking side to side) and zoning out. That's when he was hit in the back of his head.

"Not so quick when you're zoned out," Leo noted. "You always have to be vigilant."

Mikey ignored him.

"Don't zone out again," Leo quipped. "It's annoying."

"True," Raph added from somewhere else in the room. "And you mumble sometimes. God, it's frustrating. Why were you rockin'? Were you trying to comfort yourself? Try and remember what it felt like when your mommy rocked you to bed?"

"Actually," Donnie mumbled. "I assume they were stims."

Raph groaned, "No science-talk, Don."

"It's not— It's not science-talk," Donnie said. "It's a behaviour—verbal or physical—that neurodivergent people, usually those with autism or ADHD, use to soothe themselves. I'm assuming the rocking was Mikey's stim—or one of them."

Mikey tore his eyes away from the wall to smile at Donnie. The turtle smiled back.

"Lame," Raph sighed.

"In fact, we all stim from time to time," Donnie said. "When Raph taps his pencil against the table when he's thinking; That's a stim. When Leo hums to himself when he's focused; That's a stim. I stim by flapping my hands when I'm excited."

"We aren't neur— We're normal," Raph fought. "He isn't." Mikey had a finger jabbed into his face.

Too close.

"Am I normal?" Donnie asked, closing his computer.

Raph rolled his eyes, "'Course you are, Don."

"I have autism."

In retrospect, it was hilarious. Raph's eyes widened to saucers. Leo's face went pale. The two were quiet—frozen in shock—as Donnie explained his research and how he self-diagnosed a few months ago.

But Mikey was too caught up trying to soothe himself from the almost-burning feeling of the couch. He hugged himself, trying to replicate how Raph would hold him. He counted, he breathed, he flexed his fingers, but nothing worked.

"Are you okay, Mikey?"

The turtle just saw Donnie kneeling beside him from the side of his vision.

"Raph and Leo left. I'm sorry they talked about you like that."

Mikey just nodded.

"I have some paint in my lab? I take it you like art."

Another nod.

Mikey followed Donnie to his lab, staying relatively close.

"Do you need anything, Mikey?"

His knees felt weak. He was going to cry.

"Hug."

Donnie opened his arms and Mikey immediately latched on. He cried into Donnie's plastron, gripping his shell. The taller one rubbed his back slowly, just holding him. Sure, it was nothing compared to Raph's hugs, but it was enough for now.

"Do you believe me?" Mikey asked weakly.

"Of course I do," Donnie soothed. "I noticed something was wrong immediately. I was going to conduct tests, but you telling me bluntly helped."

Mikey gave a weak chuckle.