Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

April O’Neil is tough.
She’s the tough one. A difficult title to obtain in a group of all boys, not to mention being the only human. Comparatively weaker than the rest of her family. Still, she’s the tough one. People still flinch when she steps forward. People still listen when she talks.
She isn't going to let that change.
Still, the life she leads is a dangerous one, especially for someone like her. Someone without ancient magical destiny. Someone human.
She can puff up her chest and tote around a bat all she wants, but at the end of the day it doesn't keep her safe. It doesn't really make her stronger. 

The others, blessedly, don't seem to realize that. 

She goes on missions with them, she kicks ass, and she keeps their spirits up afterward. She is an incredibly valuable member of the team, and she’s happy about that, she is, it’s just- 

She’s so, so tired. 

Reputation isn't upheld unless one never backs down. She doesn't get to relax. She doesn't get to cool down after a fight. She has to keep her back straight and her eyebrows furrowed. Her voice has to be loud and she has to always have the right thing to say ready on her tongue. She has to work harder to be taken seriously, both as a human and as a girl. Maybe not by the brothers, not consciously, but bias works its way into the cracks no matter how hard you try to prevent it. 

Her bat cracks into the side of a foot scout's head with a nasty crunch, making her wince. They’ll be fine. Probably. She ignores the body crumpling to the ground to spin and make sure she’s covering Mikey’s back. Not that he really needs it, but still. She kicks out at another advancing scout, nailing them in the chest. She huffs. She’s so tired.
“Shouldn't the foot clan know not to do shady shit during exam week?” April complains, whacking her back into someone’s knees.
“You’d think that wouldn't you?” Donnie says dryly. “Some of these guys have to be students.” 

“Maybe they’re in trade school!” Mikey posits brightly as he swings one of them into the side of a bakery.

“Is being a bad guy a trade?” Leo asks conversationally before slamming the hilt of his sword into some poor nobody’s chin. “Like. Do people wake up one day and say ‘I’m gonna be a villain’?”
“Casey says most folks are born into it.” April replies with a shrug. 

“That’s so sad.” Raph pouts, kneeing someone so hard in the stomach that they puke. “Ew gross.” 

Before too long, all the members of the foot that had been attempting to… do something nefarious have been defeated. April is so tired. She’s leaning most of her weight on her bat but that doesn't stop the swaying of her body as she struggles to stay upright. She hadn't been joking about exam week. She hasn't had a good night's sleep in what feels like ages. She can't afford to fail her exams. Financially speaking. She still has to come up with a good thesis for her history final before Monday. And pick up extra shifts because her dickshit landlord has raised rent again. She only stays because he lets her keep a magical pet. 

“You good Apes?” Mikey asks as he passes her on the way back to the tank.
“I’m good Mikey,” April says around a yawn. “Just been up studying lately.” 

“Ah, school.” Mikey says wisely, nodding his head.
“School.” April agrees. 

“We can drop you off at home so you don't have to walk.” Donnie offers. “Unless you want to come unwind at the lair…?” He let the offer hang in the air. April wants to accept, wants to sleep on their couch and pretend nothing stressful or bad is happening, but she knows what will happen if she does. She won't have a project proposal for Monday, she won't be on time for classes tomorrow, then she’ll be even worse off than she was before. 

“Nah, I’ve got classes in the morning.” She says. “But I will take that ride.”
She presses her forehead against the cool glass windows and tries not to fall asleep on the drive over. 

She finishes her proposal on time, and turns it in with shaking hands. 

April stares down the barrel of a gun. 

The two men who had yanked her into the alleyway- and really, can you get any more stereotypical, New York?- are scowling at her.
“Give us everything you have.” Says the one on the left, wearing a beanie even though it’s hot out.
“It’s all in my backpack.” April mutters, surprising even herself at her words. In her head, she had always imagined she’d be brave, take out all the bad guys and get away scot-free. But there is a gun pointed at her face and her knees are shaking and she doesn't want to die. 

“Drop it.” Beanie says, gesturing with his gun. April does, pulling back her shoulders and letting her backpack drop to the floor. There goes her laptop. And her wallet. She’ll have to cancel her credit card. And get a new driver's license. That’s gonna be really annoying.
The man on the right, wearing a scarf- and what is it with these guys wearing fall clothes in June?- drags her bag away from her with his foot and starts to rifle through it.
“Got her wallet.” He says to beanie. April wants to cry. She’s fucking terrified.
“Alright. Let’s go.” Beanie says, backing out of the alley with his gun still trained on April’s face. “Tell anyone about this and you’re fucking dead.” He spits before tucking his gun back into his coat and disappearing into the crowds of people swarming the street.
As soon as the two men are out of view April collapses to the floor, head spinning. The gun probably wasn't loaded. She tells herself. She’s okay. 

She doesn't feel okay.
She’s shaking. Her whole body is shaking. She needs to call the bank.
She goes to grab her phone and realizes it was in her backpack. She bites back a frustrated sob. She can't call anyone. She just lost all her money and her laptop and her phone, she had a gun pointed at her. She- she can't do this- she doesn't-
April takes a deep breath, smoothing her hair back as she desperately tries to soothe herself. Sitting in this alley isn't going to help anyone. She stands on shaky legs and marches out of the alley, head full of fog as she tries to get home. She steers clear of any shady spots on the street. She has nothing to steal anyway. 

Donnie can probably make her a new laptop. Scratch that, he definitely can, but that means telling them what happened, and recounting any of what had just occurred makes her stomach twist. Maybe she can just say that she lost it. 

She makes it home with no further incident and climbs the creaky stairs to her apartment before unlocking her door and stepping inside. It’s dark, it smells like dust and drywall, but it’s home. Mayhem is sleeping, curled up on the back of the couch. April walks to her bedroom, collapsing on her unmade bed. She has assignments to do, but she isn't going to be able to do them without a laptop. She should call Donnie and ask about making her one. She would do that if she had a phone. 

April lays there on her bed for fifteen minutes, letting her mind spin with anxiety about all she had to do next, and all the time she was wasting by just sitting here. She doesn't cry, though. Her pillow is dry when she lifts her head. 

She walks to her bathroom mirror, checking to make sure it didn't look like she’d been upset, smiling a couple of times for good measure. She grabs her bat, just to complete her unbothered image, and walks to the couch, running her fingers over Mayhem’s back to wake the creature up. 

“Hey Mayday? Think you can get us to the boys?” 

Mayhem stretches, yawns, and in the next breath they are standing in the lair. 

“April!” Mikey shouts from where he sits at the table, a posterboard spread out beneath him. “What are you doing here? I thought you had school stuff to do!” 

“I do,” April says breezily, as if her heart is not still pounding in her chest. “My laptop has been compromised, I need the nerd.”
“I heard that someone needs my skills?” Donnie asks from the doorway to the atrium, a teasing smile on his face. “What’d you do to it this time?”
“Alright, it actually wasn't my fault this time,” April says, pausing as she tries to think of something believable. “I dropped it off a bridge.”
Donnie’s fake eyebrows shoot up and April mentally smacks herself. That is not a good lie.
“And that isn't your fault how?” Donnie drawls. April shrugs.
“It was windy.” 

“Alright,” Donnie says, sounding exhausted. “I’ll make you a new one. It’ll be tricked out too, though it’s gonna take a few hours. You get some rest while I do, you look dead on your feet.”
“Nah, there’s some stuff I can do in the meantime, I have these chapters to-”
Her textbooks had been in her bag too. Fucckkk.
“Well, I’ve got other stuff to do.” April says lamely. “I can't waste time.” 

“You need a break, April O’Neil.” Donnie says with a frown.
“That’s rich coming from you!” Mikey yells from the table.
“If I had the right number of fingers I’d flip you off.” Donnie says conversationally, and April relaxes at the attention apparently being taken off of her. Presumably not forever, if the concerned look Donnie shoots her as he walks back to his lab is any indication. 

While Donnie works on the laptop, April starts to remake some of the flashcards she remembers that she had lost along with the rest of her things. She ignores the heaviness of her eyes and the worried glances Mikey throws her way. She has to. She’s tough. 

April regrets agreeing to hang out with the boys today. Not because she doesn't want to, she does. This is her first day off from both school and work in over a week and she had wanted to spend it unwinding with her family. Unfortunately, her body chose today to have a migraine.
She had noticed it in the middle of a movie, when her brain suddenly couldn't process anything in the middle of her vision, like there was a black spot obscuring her sight. Shit. 

She stands, cracking her back, and moves to the kitchen to get some headache medicine. Maybe she can catch it before the pain starts. 

She walks slowly, trying not to run into anything while half her vision is obstructed. She doesn't want anyone to notice her impaired state. She doesn't want to be babied. (Yes she does, someone bring her water, pat her head, tell her she’s going to be okay pleasepleaseplease-)
She opens the medicine cabinet, squinting when she realizes she can't read any of the labels. She grabs one at random and brings it close to her face to try to read it. She isn't able to until she moves it to her peripherals. Excedrine. Bingo.
She pours three white capsules into her hand and dry swallows them, wincing at the bitterness of them melting in her throat. She heads back to the movie, snuggling into place beside Raph, her spot on the sofa still warm. 

She doesn't catch the pain in time. By the end of the second act of their movie the light from the screen hurts too much to keep her eyes open, so she just tucks her face against Raph and pretends to fall asleep as the sharp sounds of space battle slice through her brain like a hot knife. 

“Did she fall asleep?” Leo asks, his voice a blessed whisper. 

“I think so.” Raph whispers back.
“For shame, falling asleep during the first movie of movie night.” Donnie says dryly, though there is no animosity there. 

“Go easy on her Donnie, she’s been working hard lately,” Mikey says, scooching a little closer to her. “I don't think she’s been sleeping well.”
“Hm. I’ve noticed she’s seemed a little more tired as well.” Donnie says thoughtfully. April wants to tell them to stop talking about her like she isn't here, but that would mean raising her head and that is just out of the question. 

“We’ll keep an eye on her.” Raph says softly, scraping his claws lightly over her back. April can't help but hum at the touch, arching into it. Raph chuckles softly. 

She doesn't want them to keep an eye on her. She doesn't want them to see how close she is to a full meltdown. How tightly she’s keeping herself wound, just because she knows if she backs down she’ll never be able to rise back up again. 

They turn the movie down and keep watching. Someone throws a blanket over her. April cannot fall asleep, cannot move without her head screaming at her. She just lies there, tense, in a half-awake state, and hopes no one notices the trembling in her frame. 

4.

April thought the bullying would have stopped in college. Honestly, what kind of college student has the time to harass other students? Trust fund babies, that’s who.
She had been stuck in a group with three others in her intro to psych class, and all three of them refused to do any work on their group project, leaving April to flounder for enough material to fill out the presentation. She had, of course, reported their lack of effort to the professor (like hell is she letting them take credit for her work) and they had all failed that project.
So now she had three enemies. 

Following her off campus.
Shit. 

April hoists her new backpack higher on her shoulders, walking more quickly. She doesn't want to go home. She doesn't know what these guys’ intentions are, but she doesn't want them to know where she lives. If she can find an entrance to the sewers and slip away out of their line of sight then she can get away. 

But what about the next time? Or after that?

She trips over a raised part of the sidewalk and stumbles. One of the men jeers. She can hear them getting closer. She’s almost running.
For the second time this month, she is shoved into an alley. She hates how many alleys there are in this city. She lands hard, and her wrist makes an interesting noise when she does, sending an electric shock of pain up her arm. She hopes it’s not broken, but she’s not dumb enough to think she didn't sprain it. Someone puts a foot on her chest, shoving her to the ground. She grabs the leg holding her instinctively, baring her teeth. She wonders if her attacker can feel her heart pounding beneath his boot. 

“You think you're so smart, telling the prof we didn't do shit.” He snarls. His two friends behind him are glaring. April hates all of them. 

“You didn't!” April snarls, even though it’s stupid to argue with someone pinning her down in a pile of trash. 

“Shut the fuck up. We did, you just wanted all the credit.”
April opens her mouth to protest, but before any words can escape the boot rises and stomps down on her chest, knocking all the wind out of her in a high-pitched wheeze. The guy’s buddies laugh. April hates them so much.
“Now we look like idiots and you look soo much better in comparison.” Boots snarls, grinding his heel into the fresh bruise April is no doubt sporting under her jacket. “But that isn't going to last. You think you're so tough. Such a strong independent woman, but at the end of the day you’re still here, laying in an alley under my boot.”
“Cause- cause you're a coward who takes fights three on one.” April wheezes, her teeth clenched. “Take your off-brand fuckin doc martins off me and fight me like a real man.” 

“They just don't know when to quit.” Boots says to his friends. “Hold her arms down.”
April swears her heart drops out of her chest.

“Fucking cut it out!” She shrieks as Boots’ friends pin her arms by her side. “You’ve made your point, just let me go home!”

They don't.
Boots beats the shit out of her while she snarls and screams. He breaks her nose, she’s pretty sure. They don't hit her for very long, but they hit hard.
Boots stands and motions for his friends to rise. He spits at her before turning and walking out of the alley without a word.
April lays there for a while, shaking like a leaf on the grimy floor of the alley. She turns to her side and curls into a fetal position. She doesn't cry. She doesn't know what to do. 

“I don't want to do this,” She whispers to no one. “I don't think I can.” 

She should go to the hospital, but she still hasn't gotten her insurance card replaced and there’s no way in hell she can afford care out of pocket right now. She could go to the boys, they know how to deal with injuries but- that would mean explaining what happened. That would mean looking them in the eyes and telling them that she laid on the floor of a random alley and let some random junkie beat the shit out of her without even fighting back. 

She can't. She can't give up her reputation along with everything else. 

She pushes herself to her knees and tries not to throw up at the wave of dizziness that overtakes her. She might be concussed. She can't move her hand very well, and it’s swollen up terribly. Definitely sprained. She stands, supporting herself on the wall and wobbles forward, intent on finding a pharmacy where she can stock up on first aid supplies so she can retreat to her lonely apartment and lick her wounds. Metaphorically. Literally, she is going to wash them. 

There is a CVS three blocks from here, she knows, but the idea of walking three blocks is agonizing. She has a first aid kit in her apartment. It’s lacking, but it’ll do for now. She can handle the worst of it tomorrow after she’s slept off her concussion.
She’s aware she’s being stupid, she ponders as she climbs the steps to her apartment. The elevator is still broken. It’s beyond stupid not to go for help with this. The boys could scare off her attackers without even trying but… 

She's ashamed. She let them get the best of her, she didn't fight back. She wasn't tough. She was scared. She’s always scared. 

She scatters the contents of her first aid kit over her living room floor, ignoring Mayhem’s questioning, worried little chirps, and starts to splint her wrist. She had gotten a good look at herself in her bathroom mirror. She really is a wreck. She had washed all the blood off, but it’s still trickling from her nose, stemmed by a rolled-up paper towel. She has a black eye and is bruised to all hell. She’s lucky those thugs didn't chip one of her teeth. 

She sets her broken nose, hoping she did it well enough that it won't heal crooked, takes four ibuprofen and curls up on her couch, the felted blanket that Mikey had bought her for her last birthday pulled tightly around her shoulders. 

She doesn't feel better when she wakes up. 

She doesn't look at her attackers when she goes to her class. She feels like a coward. They throw balled-up bits of paper at the back of her head and she does nothing. She’s still nauseous. Her head still hurts. She’s dizzy most of the time. She can't take time off school. Reporting them- what good would that do? She knows- she knows how this goes. Three white trust fund babies are going to win out against her. If not because of her race then because of their parents’ money. 

She could beat them. Realistically, she could. But she’s so tired, and her head still hurts and her wrist is sprained.
She’s tired. She’s so, so tired. 

She’s falling behind in school. She’s exhausted. She wants to sleep. She wants to be done. 

She can tell she’s getting close to a meltdown and she doesn't know how to stop it. She hopes it comes when she’s alone. She can shake apart in her cold apartment and bounce back the next day like nothing ever happened. Maybe she’ll feel better.

Another piece of balled-up paper hit her head.
Maybe not. 

She hasn't been hanging around the boys. She hasn't thought of a good enough lie to explain her injuries yet. She’s leaning towards ‘got hit by a car’, but that wouldn't make sense unless it was a very small car driven directly into her face over and over again. 

She snaps back into her own mind. The professor is erasing the board and April hadn't taken any notes. She huffs through her nose. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

She keeps that thought in her mind throughout the rest of the class. 

She isn't followed home. She doesn't know what she would do if she was. Maybe throw herself off the nearest bridge. That’s a joke, by the way, don't tell her brothers. She gets the feeling that none of them would find it funny. Except maybe Donnie. He’s always had a bit of a funnybone for dark humor. 

She arrives back at her apartment, aching and miserable, and unfortunately finds her landlord standing in the lobby.
“Hey, O’Neil.” He says, because he is apparently incapable of calling anyone by their first names on the off chance he might be misconstrued as friendly. “I need to speak with you.”
April cringes. She hates talking to this guy. Also, she can't remember his name so it’s going to be really awkward if that comes up somehow.
“What’s up?” She asks instead of voicing any of this.
“I’m just letting you know that rent’s going up this month.”
“Again?” April asks, a little too loud. The landlord- Mr. Shithead, as April will now be calling him, shrugs.
“Inflation.” He says. April lets out a helpless sort of giggle.
“I can't afford it,” April says, putting a hand to her head. “I’m barely scraping by- please, let me-”
“Nope. We’ve been here before, if you can't pay it I’ve got people who can.” Mr. Shithead says flatly. April feels like her chest is being constricted. She never saw this place as home, but it was safe, it was shelter and everything else is crumbling . How can she handle this too?

“How long- is it starting- what’s-”
“It’ll be raised when the next rent is due.” Mr. Shithead says, holding up a hand to shut her up. 

April can't afford it. There’s no way. She’s barely sleeping as it is.

She’s going to lose her apartment.
“Thanks for letting me know.” April says numbly, turning from her landlord and walking up the stairs.
“Who needs this stupid ass complex anyway,” April whispers as she climbs the stairs, furious tears welling in her eyes. “With their broken ass elevators and their- stupid- stupid-”
April stops talking. She doesn't want to cry. She’s tough. She can handle it. 

She gathers her things when she enters her apartment, piling them in the center of the room for easy packing later. She runs the shower as hot as it will go and sobs until the water runs cold. 

___

A week later she is calling Leo with a shaky hand, what meager belongings she was able to carry with her on her back.
“April! Just the girl I wanted to speak to! It’s been a minute, howya been?” 

“I’m good.” April lies. “I don't work tonight, I was wondering if I could come stay the night at the lair?”
“Uh, does the pope shit in the woods?” Leo asks.
“I don't think that’s-” 

“Of course you can stay the night!” Leo cheers. “I’ll tell the others to get snacks!”
He hangs up. April lets her arm drop down to her side with a shuddering exhale. She feels awful for using the boy's hospitality to keep her off the streets, but she really doesn't know what to do. She feels like crumpled-up tinfoil, and she doesn't even know what that means. 

It’s just until she can figure something out, April tells herself as she descends the ladder into the sewer system that is now her only safe place to stay. Maybe she can get Casey to let her couch surf, or even Sunita. It isn't the end of the world, she has plenty of people to support her while she gets back on her feet. Her hands shake. She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to rely on people. She doesn't want anyone to see what a mess she had become. 

Her nose is healed. It’s crooked, just a little. You can only see it if you know it’s there. Her wrist isn't in a sling anymore, but it still aches. It’s almost healed. Soon it’ll be like it never happened. She’ll never have to tell anyone, it will die with her. 

She knocks on her brothers’ door and forces a smile. She can be tough.
After all, she’s got a reputation to protect. 

+1 

She is greeted by Mikey, who is beaming and pulls her into the lair, babbling about all the latest projects he’s been working on that April has been too busy to see. April smiles and nods and laughs at all the right parts, but most of what her little brother is saying goes right over her head. She’s still dizzy. She’s so tired. She’s so tired. 

She makes it throughout all the little interactions she’s learned to master, though she remembers very little of it now. Eventually, the talking ends and she can sit and pretend to watch a movie for a couple of hours while she thinks about what to do next. 

It all seems to pass in a moment, though April didn't think she had fallen asleep, and before she can shove all her emotions back down into a box Mikey is calling out that dinner is ready. 

She rises with a grunt, trying not to let the sudden headrush make her falter lest her brothers notice. She follows them to the kitchen, laughing along with their jokes. She doesn't stop smiling. She’s tough like that. 

Mikey asks her to grab some plates for everyone, and how can she ever say no to him? She smiles and nods and reaches up to grab the plates out of a cupboard. She grabs one off the top of the stack and fumbles with her shaky, clammy hands. The plate falls, making April jump back to avoid it falling on her, and it shatters on the ground. 

April stares at the pieces and feels her heart seize. 

Everyone had been talking, but they aren't anymore, startled by the broken plate.
“Hell yeah, one less dish to wash!” Leo jokes, but April can barely hear him over the static that is rushing over her. She can feel the little box she’d built for herself splitting at the seams. What a stupid thing to break over.
“Hey…April?” Raph is asking, gentle as always. April doesn't want to be treated gently. ( It's a lie she does she does please help.) “You good? It didn't hit you did it?” 

April can't move. Her vision is starting to tunnel.
“Is she okay?” Mikey asks. His voice sounds small. April’s breath hitches, and she hears four chairs simultaneously scrape across the floor as all of her brothers stand up at the same time. It would make her laugh if she had any breath to spare. Her hands are shaking so badly. 

“April, take a deep breath.” Leo is saying. He’s in front of her now, hand hovering over her shoulder like he wants to touch her but doesn't know if he should. “It’s just a plate.”
April knows her eyes are wide and blank. She’s probably making them nervous. She doesn't think she can stop. She isn't breathing. She doesn't care, though her body does. Her vision is going black around the edges, she might black out. That would be so embarrassing. 

She sucks a deep breath in and suddenly, every bad thing that’s happened that month comes crashing down on her at once. Her exhale is a choked sob, she feels hot tears rolling down her face and she doesn't want to be crying in front of them she hates crying in front of people. 

She can't stop it, curling in on herself and crying harder than she’s ever cried before. Her teeth are clenched, her whole body is shaking, she might be dying. This might take up the last of her energy and finally put an end to her misery. That might be a little dramatic. 

She can't hear the boys anymore. Her breathing is speeding up to the point where she’s not getting enough oxygen, but it’s better than not breathing at all, but it's not really helping. April hates this. She can't do this on her own and she’s so scared-

Donnie is grabbing her shoulders, making her look at him.
“April.” He says. She can't hear him but she is still present enough to read his lips. “I know it’s hard, but you need to take a deep breath, okay?” 

But April can’t- she can't because suddenly she’s on the ground again, and the hands on her shoulders are holding her down and she’s being hit again and again and-

“Don't fucking touch me,” She gasps, and she’s aware she's being rude. She knows they’re only trying to help, but it burns. Donnie takes his hands away instantly, holding them palm up to show he’s not going to hurt her. It settles her a bit, but not enough to take a full breath. 

“Please don't leave,” She wheezes.
“Hey, we’re not going anywhere.” Raph says, his face pinched with worry. “We’re gonna stay right here.” 

April nods, though her jaw is still clenched and she’s still choking on her sobs.
“I can't do this,” She tells them, the emotion in her chest expanding until it’s too big for her body and it hurts. “I can't.”
“You can.” Donnie says calmly. “It feels terrible, but it isn't going to hurt you.”
“Not this, ” April sobs. “Everything. I don't- I’m not- I thought I was strong but I’m just weak. I’m just weak and I’m no good on my own and I keep letting bad things happen-”
She has, without realizing it, brought her hands up in tight fists and began to slam them against the sides of her head. Raph grabs her wrists to stop her, and she can't help but struggle, a terrified wail leaving her throat as she sinks to the ground. She’s never felt weaker than she has in this moment.
“Please let go,” She sobs, writhing on the ground, kicking out at her brother weakly. “Please, please, stop. Let go. 

Raph is crying now too, but his face is set, he isn't letting go.
“I can't, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Once you're calmer, I’ll let go.”
“You don't understand,” April shrieks, throwing her head back and relishing in the thud it makes against the floor. “You’re hurting me! You're hurting me, let go!” 

“Raph, let her go.” Leo says sternly. Raph turns to face Leo, incredulous.
“But-”
“You're making it worse,” Leo says, a little more frantically now. “Let go!”
Raph does, letting April scramble back and slot herself beneath the counter. Having her back to something makes her feel marginally safer, allows her to take a breath a little deeper than before. Her mind keeps slipping, leaving her behind in the space between the lair and the alleyway. She doesn't know where she is, not really. 

“I don't want you to see me like this,” April sobs, hiding her face in her hands. At some point, she had lost her glasses. She hopes she didn't break them. She can't afford new ones.
“We’re your family,” Mikey says quietly. He has settled himself near April, but still far enough away that she has space. “We’re here for you no matter what.”
“But I’m not supposed to let this happen,” April says, hiccuping through frustrated sobs. “I’m strong, I’m helpful. I’m tough. I try- I try to be tough but it isn't helping. I keep getting hurt. Bad things keep happening.” 

“This is more than stress about school, isn't it?” Leo asks, his voice grim. April tucks her face into her knees, her shoulders slumping. Someone had turned out the lights and the darkness has helped soothe some primal part of her brain, chasing away the worst of the panic. 

“I think people think too highly of me,” She admits softly, her voice cracking in all the wrong places. “I try- I want to be tough. I want people to see me as unshakeable but- but I don't know how much longer I can be that person.”
“Tough people can get hurt.” Raph says, scooching a little closer to her. “Being tough just means you get back up again.”
April watches her family through her lashes. 

“I don't know if I can get back up this time.” She breathes.
“Then we’ll be here with you until you’re ready.” Leo says firmly. April sniffles, wiping her eyes on her shoulder. 

“I got mugged.” She says, quietly. Half hoping they wouldn't hear.
“WHAT?!” All of them yell simultaneously, making April flinch further back into the darkness of the counter.
“When I said I dropped my bag over a bridge,” April murmurs. “That was a lie. They had a gun and I- I just froze. I let them take it.” 

“I knew that bridge story was a lie.” Donnie breathes while Mikey gets teary-eyed.
“I’m so glad you did!” The box turtle cries. “Your life is worth so much more than a bag!”
“And all my stuff.” April murmurs. 

“Still worth more! All the backpacks and laptops in New York city can burn for all I care, as long as you're okay!” 

“Then later- later these guys followed me off campus,” April says, her hand squeezing the fabric of her jacket. Why is it still so hard to say out loud? “Three of them. Fucking- fucking cowards cornered me and beat the shit out of me and I was just too ashamed to tell anyone and I didn't- they broke my nose and gave me a concussion. They sprained my wrist.” April is crying again. Each of her brothers goes through the same shift of expressions, from shock to slow, murderous rage. 

“I didn't do anything.” April whimpers. “I didn't protect myself.” 

“There were three guys and one you,” Leo says, sounding angrier than April has heard him in a long time. 

“They held me down.” April croaks. She needs them to know, for some reason. Something dangerous flashes across each of their faces. “I was scared and- I knew in a fair fight I could take them, but- but I didn't know what to- what to do.” 

No one says anything for a long time.
“And- and I lost my apartment.” April finishes with a trembling sigh. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you guys. I didn't want- I just didn't have anywhere else to go tonight and I- I can't afford housing right now, and-”
April breaks down into a new wave of sobs, matching Mikey’s own. 

“April, you’ve been through so much this month,” Her youngest brother chokes out. “Why didn't you tell us?”
“I’m- I didn't want to lose my reputation as the tough one.” She breathes. “I don't know. I was ashamed, I guess.” 

“Bad things happen to tough people,” Leo says, looking a bit watery-eyed himself. “Being tough doesn't mean bearing everything by yourself.” 

“I don't know how else to do it.” April admits, the core truth of the matter, one she hadn't even realized before she said it, spilling into the dim light of the kitchen. “I don't know how to let people help me.” 

Mikey can apparently resist it no longer, and lunges towards her to wrap himself around her in a tight hug. April chokes out another sob and wraps her arms around her youngest brother, sobbing on his shoulder. He’s crying too, soaking the shoulder of her jacket but she doesn't care. 

By the time her sobs have quieted somewhat, she looks up to see her brothers all crowded around her. They aren't able to fit under the counter with her and Mikey squeezed beneath, but each of them has a hand on her somehow. 

April scooches out from under the counter, still holding on to Mikey, and lets Raph pick her up and place her in his lap, wrapping his arms around her protectively. The twins manage to wiggle their way into Raph’s arms too, pressing against April.
They sit there for a very long time, pressed against each other while April shudders her way through her meltdown. 

When she has cried herself dry and the crumpled-up tinfoil feeling in her chest has flattened out a little, she pulls her face away from where it had been buried in Raph’s carapace and sighs.
“Sorry I cried on you.” She mutters. Everyone hears what she means.
“Don't apologize,” Raph says softly. “We’re your family. You can cry on us any time.”
“Alright,” Leo says, clapping his hands together as he stands. “This calls for a full-on ‘spa day for April’ night. I’m talking big pajamas, I’m talking music that’s mostly water and bird sounds, I’m talking cucumbers on our eyes-”
“We don't have any cucumbers.”
“-I’m talking zucchini on our eyes. The whole nine yards.”
“I’m not putting zucchini on my eyes.” Donnie mutters. April is inclined to agree with him. 

The spa night helps. If you asked Leo, he would say it was the healing power of relaxation, but if April was the one to tell the story, she’d say that spending time with her family had taken a weight off her shoulders that was heavier than she’d ever thought it to be. It didn't hurt that Donnie did all her math assignments after stealing her recently-replaced laptop. 

She fell asleep in a pair of her boxer shorts and one of Raph’s hoodies, which is so big on her that it’s basically a snuggie, wrapped in felted blankets with a bad rom-com on screen. She even put the stupid zucchini on her eyes. 

When she woke up she found that- for the first time this month, she wasn't afraid. 

Chapter Text

Jed Tracey is not a good man. 

 He doesn't feel bad about that. He does nothing but drink and smoke, going to school off his parents’ money. He isn't kind, or softhearted, or misunderstood or any of that shit.
And he’s cool with it. 

He’s a bad person, but at the end of the day, he falls asleep satisfied. He gets laid, he eats good food, he’s sure to have a successful future lined up ahead of him with his parent’s position. Why even try? He’s twenty-four now and by the time his father was twenty-four he owned half the world or whatever other bullshit his dad likes to spew. So why bother trying to beat that when he’s already won out over everyone else purely because his parents’ clawed their way to the top? He’s usually okay with what he does. Flashing a gun to make some money or get some free booze don't upset him. Beating up random assholes who think they’re better than him doesn't upset him. 

Two weeks ago he had done something he wasn't proud of. 

He had his friends hold down some stuck-up bitch from his Psych course. She hadn't done anything, not really. Made him look bad in front of his professor, but since when did Jed ever care about that? She ended up with a broken nose and a sprained wrist and whatever other little injuries he had given her in his prideful vengeance thing with some freshman. 

But, you know. She lived and the cops haven't come after them yet so… looks like Jed got away with it. 

It’s 2:12 a.m. He isn't really thinking about the girl anymore, emersed in a free steam game, some horror adventure shooter he doesn't really care about. His headphones are over his ears, blaring a review of some movie he only half-remembers. He shoots someone in the temple. They crumble to the ground. He moves on. 

It’s 2:13 when the power goes out. Or overloads, actually, sending a hot electric current into his hands and busting out his headphones, his speakers, all of it. Everything goes black. Jed curses, trying to click his mouse to no effect. Fuck. That current probably fried his PC. He looks at his bedroom door, peering under the gap beneath it. There is no light beyond it. The whole building must have lost power then. He’ll probably have a good case for insuring all his overloaded stuff, at least. 

He reaches to grab a flashlight to better inspect his PC, but is startled backward when the screen lights up again, a black and white video pasted across the screen, so bright it forces his eyes shut for several seconds. When he opens them, the flashlight falls from his hand and rolls somewhere under his bed.
He’s in the video.

And so are Louis and Austin. His friends. 

And… 

The girl. 

Jed is laughing as he punches her. The girl is screaming. She’s getting louder- the whole video is getting louder, until it’s wailing, until it hurts Jed’s ears. He lunges forward, trying to turn the volume down with a hand not desperately covering his ear, but nothing happens. The screen isn't responding to his input at all, just looping that awful fucking video.  

“What the fuck? Hello?” He calls out, not really sure what he’s hoping to get in response. He steps away from his computer, hands pressed to his chest, glancing behind him. Though Jed has never considered himself a particularly superstitious man, his first thought is ghosts . The girl died after they left and has come back to haunt them. No, but that’s not right. She came back the next week and said nothing about what they had done. She’s alive. 

If it’s not a ghost that leaves a worse option. A much worse option.
There is someone in his apartment. 

Someone who knows what he did. 

“Who the fuck is there?” Jed roars, trying his best to sound intimidating. His doorknob rattles, twists, though Jed had been sure it was locked before. He shakes. He breathes. He’s lost the ability to do anything else. 

The door opens, and on the other side is not a ghost. Not a human. 

Jed doesn't know what it is. What they are. He can see more figures beyond the first.
Aliens, the more whimsical side of his mind supplies. They’re lit up pale in the white light of his monitor, but even without seeing them in color, he can see they aren't human.
They’re human- shaped, besides this odd protrusion on their backs, besides the lower half of their faces being beaklike snouts, besides their three-toed hands. 

“What the fuck-who- get out of my apartment!” Jed screams at the intruders. They don't react to his terror at all. The aliens just stare at him, their eyes too comprehending to not understand his words. They just don't care what he has to say. The one in blue- and Jed can just barely make out the color of his mask in the dark, flicks his head towards Jed and speaks.
“Shut him up.” He says flatly. Another alien from behind him steps forward, clearly the same species, but a bit smaller, decked in orange. Jed doesn't let the small size of the new alien make him underestimate it. Not when Orange is walking towards him with a smile stretched too wide for their face, not when they’re twisting a chain in their hands, the metal glowing, buzzing with power. Jed can feel it humming from where he stands, feet away. It lights the room up orange, twisting, blending with the white light from the video. It’s stuck on a loop of the girl’s screams. Echoing in the small bedroom. He is slammed backward into his gaming chair, and before he can even try to sit up, he is bound so tightly he can barely breathe. Orange steps back. His hands go slack. The chains do not. 

Before he can even attempt to struggle, Orange is shoving a foul-tasting rag in his mouth, already slightly damp from something Jed doesn't want to think about. He tries to scream, but it’s muffled by the rag. No one is going to hear him. No one but the aliens that surround his chair. Blue kneels down in front of him, a heavy hand on his shoulder. Jed cannot twist away from their grip, though he longs to. Blue must see his plan in his eyes, because his grip tightens until it is bruising. He smiles, showing far too many teeth for it to be friendly. 

"Hey there guy, buddy, pal ." Blue drawls, his voice horridly casual.  "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, unfortunately for you were only going to answer one. See that video there?"

Jed’s eyes slide off of the alien and onto the video. He watches himself, laughing at the girl. He wonders why the aliens care that he’s a bad person. 

“That’s our friend.”
That doesn't make sense. It really fucking doesn't, but there’s so much else going on right now that Jed has no choice but to accept that- sure, whatever. The weird stuck-up girl in their psychology course is friends with violent homicidal aliens. 

“Oh hey, you're there too!” Blue points out with false cheer.
The video freezes, zoomed in on Jed’s face. He’s smiling in the frame, his teeth bared, his eyes alight with malice. He looks like a wild animal. Jed looks away, back to the blue alien, who is still staring at him with wide, wide black eyes. He’s still smiling, though it grows into more and more of a grimace as he speaks. 

"Weird huh? Beat the shit out of our friend and thought there'd be no consequences?" Blue asks dryly. "Just cause she's strange you thought she'd have no friends to defend her? News flash, pal o' mine." Before he can even tense, the alien is drawing his arm back and swinging a fist into his jaw. Jed chokes on his breath, his head lolling as he tries to breathe through the pain. Had he not had a gag in his mouth he probably would have bitten his tongue clean off. He doesn't have much time to recover. The alien grabs his shoulder once more, fingers slotting easily into the bruises that had already formed, and presses him against the chair, forcing Jed to stare him in the eyes. "All her friends are much, much weirder."

The alien shakes out the hand he had punched Jed with as he stands, letting go of his shoulder. As soon as he is able, Jed is thrashing, trying to scream, to work the gag out of his mouth to cry for help. It doesn't work. The aliens don't even look worried, just… vaguely disgusted. 

“Hey, no rush.” Says a gravely voice still hidden in the shadows. Jed hopes he never has the chance to see them. “I doubt anyone’s going to be checking in on this guy at this time of night, we’ve got time.”
Jed sobs at the implication. Are they going to torture him? Kill him? He doesn't want to die. He really doesn't. He needs to text his mom, tell her he should have been a better son. He needs to tell his father that he should have been a better dad.
“Be that as it may,” Says another voice, accompanied by the hum of something mechanical charging up and an eye-straining purple glow that lights up another alien, this one in masked in deep purple, his eyes hard as slate. “I intend to use it wisely. I wrote a list of every injury they gave April. Should we start with a broken nose or sprained wrist?”
Oh God, this really is about the girl. Jed tries to remember everything that had happened to her in that alley, but he can't, his mind is whirling. He’s so, so afraid. A broken nose and a sprained wrist at least but- what else? There had been more, more that Jed had bragged about at the bar, right? 

“Do the broken nose last,” Orange says from where he lays on Jed’s bed, flipping through his comics with his feet up in the air like a schoolgirl. Like he isn't breaking into someone’s apartment to torture them. “I don't want to get blood all over us.”
“Smart thinking baby bro,” Blue says with an easygoing snap of fingers. Baby bro? Is this a family unit? “Wouldnt want to show up to our next appointment all gory.”
Next… Jesus. Who’s next? Jed thinks he’s gonna be sick. Or, he would be if that wouldn't leave him choking to death on his own vomit. He isn't under the impression that they would rush to take out his gag if he was to start throwing up. 

“Appointment is a cute way to say it,” Says Purple, hoisting something up in its grip. A staff of some kind. Are they going to beat him? Why is Purple smiling? “Before any of that, there is one thing I want to do.”

The staff is leveled at his chest before a small, sharp-looking blade juts out from the tip with the click of springs. Jed thrashes, trying to scream. His heart is pounding in his ears as he tries to twist, to keep the soft skin of his stomach, the thin veneer of protection that it provides his organs, away from the knife that the purple alien holds. 

“Oh stay still, this’ll take a delicate hand.” Purple sneers, rolling his eyes a little. What- what will?

Jed doesn't halt his struggles, unwilling to let the purple alien come any closer. Purple’s gaze grows sharper, he huffs through his nose, a frustrated sound, before- 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Purple says evenly, nodding his head forward. Some sort of signal. “Raph, if you would hold him still for me?” 

The last one- hopefully the last one, steps out from the darkness of his hallway. Easily seven feet tall, with vicious-looking spikes that run along the length of his body, looming over him, white eyes gleaming. Jed sees no mercy in his frame. He can feel tears run down his face, soak into the gag, already wet with drool and blood from his split lip. He shakes his head, desperate. If he wasn't gagged he would be pleading.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll stay still, I’ll do whatever you ask, I’ll tell you anything-’ 

‘Raph’ grabs Jed’s shoulders, not even trying to be gentle, his grip crushing as he presses him back into his chair. Jed tries to wriggle, to test and see if his grip is loose enough to escape from, but the hands tighten in warning, and Jed feels his collarbone bend just slightly, and gives up. The hold loosens, just a little. 

“Stay still.” Raph says, his voice deep and far too close to Jed’s ear. He can't turn around to look. He knows what he’ll find there. “It’s for your own good. Wouldn’t want my brother here to hit a vein, would you?” 

Brother? That must be the purple one. Jed shakes his head, tears still falling. Purple’s knife presses into the cotton of his shirt, some old ratty band tee, and slices it in half like butter. Jed doesn't want to know how sharp that tiny blade is. What other things Purple uses it for. His shirt falls away, and the knife flips back into the staff. Jed would be relieved, except for the fact that he knows that they didn't cut his shirt away for no reason. They need him exposed for something.
Something small and cylindrical pops out. It looks sort of like a thin lipstick tube. It hums, pulsing with light and power, bright purple at the tip. He may not be the most into sci-fi, but he can recognize a laser when he sees it.

“Now let me see…” Purple says to himself, putting a finger to his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are we thinking ‘freak who beats up teenage girls in alleyways’ , or is that too wordy?” 

No. No way. Are they going to- to brand him? He can't- he doesn't- 

“Could just shorten it to ‘total creep’,” Blue says with a dry snort, leaning on his sword, gouging a deep scrape into Jed’s floors. 

“Too vague,” Orange argues, like they’re not deciding what to brand him with for the rest of his life.  “What about ‘monster’?”

“And that's not vague?” 

“Guys,” Raph says sternly, holding up a hand not being used to crush Jed’s shoulder in a placating gesture. Like they’re arguing over what to have for dinner, not- not -  “We don't have all night to decide, just get moving.” 

“I’ll do monster,” Purple decides, kneeling down and holding his staff pointed to Jed’s chest, just below his collarbone. He shudders, straining his eyes as he tries to watch the alien work. He needs to see. He doesn't want to but- but he can't- he has to see. 

“Hold him still please,” Purple says mildly. “My handwriting’s bad on a good day.” 

Then pain, horrible and shocking and it burnsburnsburns they’re burning me they’re killing me-

Jed screams, his jaw aches terribly around the gag and he can feel it slipping. If he can just-

He hears the ripping of tape and freezes.
Blue is stepping forward, eyes half-lidded. Bored. Exasperated. Blood drips from Jed’s front.
“Jesus, what a crybaby.” Blue huffs, hands already reaching out with the black tape. Jed tries to turn his head away but Raph- Red- whatever, the big one is grabbing his head with both hands, holding it steady. Blue crouches in front of him, taking Purple’s place.
“Bite me and I cut your fingers off.” Blue says, sounding almost bored. There is a steeliness in his eyes that makes Jed hesitate to call his bluff. The alien shoves his fingers into Jed’s mouth, down into his throat, making the man gag. Red holds his jaw shut while Blue slaps a length of black tape over his mouth, sealing the gag inside, pressing up against the soft parts of his mouth, scraping it raw. Jed gags again. 

Blue steps back, seemingly admiring his work. 

“There we go, really sells the whole ‘kidnapping’ vibe we’ve got going on.” He says. He laughs to himself. Like this is funny. Maybe it is, to him. Purple kneels in front of Jed again, and he knows now not to struggle. Feels the hands on his shoulders, the chains digging into the soft part of his neck. 

“We didn't kidnap him,” Purple argues as he charges up the laser once more. Like he’s not about to-   “He’s still in his house.” 

Pain, worse than before, white-hot. It stays in one spot for a moment. Jed watches Purple stare at the beam lancing into his skin with calm consideration. He hums to himself and fiddles with a knob. The pain gets worse. He can't scream. He can't thrash. Red is holding him down. He has to sit here and let them carve their message into him. 

It’s agonizing, the branding. It is slow, terribly slow. There are times when Purple will declare a line too faint and go over it again. He smiles the whole time. He hums to himself, he makes jokes about the smell of his burnt flesh to the other aliens. 

Purple stands, the laser retracting. Jed sobs in relief. He can't see his chest, but he can feel blood running down his front, pooling in his lap. It burns. It hurts worse than anything he’s ever felt before and they’re laughing. 

“There we go,” Says Purple with a grin, hoisting his staff over his shoulder. “That wasn't so bad, was it?” 

‘I’ve never been in more pain, I yield, I give up, I’ve learned my lesson-’ 

“Aww,” Blue coos, stepping forward again. There is something dark twisting in his smile. “It must be scary, being held down.” He’s kneeling in front of him now, tracing his cold fingers along the burn scrawled across Jed’s chest. It stings horribly, but he can do nothing to pull away. “Knowing you can't win against all of us. We must seem like big old cowards, huh?” 

Jed wants to admit defeat, he tries to tell them he’s learned now, he won't do it again, let him go, let him live please, please-

Nothing comes from behind his gag but a muffled wail. Blue huffs in amusement, getting back to his feet.
“Yeah, I thought so.” He snarks before turning his attention to Purple. “Read the list.” 

“Chest injury, check. A sprained wrist is next, though I’m not sure we’d be able to do that on purpose.” Purple recites, his face lit up blue with a screen on his wrist. Fuck. All the injuries they had given the girl. 

“Just break it, then.” Orange suggests from where he roots around in Jed’s closet. 

“There’s an idea!” Blue says with a smile, snapping his fingers. Jed whimpers. It goes unheard behind his gag. “Raph? If you would do the honors?” 

No, no, no, no nonono no no onononononono- 

There is a hand on his wrist, much, much bigger than his, and pressure- horrible, all-encompassing pressure before- the grip loosens, just a little. 

“I bet this is pretty scary,” Raph says, his face too close to Jed’s. He can see the glint in his eyes. They hold nothing good. "Being tracked down and attacked? Knowing that there's nothing you can do to get away? No chance of justice?" 

By the time Jed realizes that he’s squeezing again, there is already a crunch that vibrates through his whole arm. He screws up his face, waiting for the pain that-

White hot, shattered, like lightning, lit up blue, hotter than the sun his whole arm is gone he’s bleeding out he’s dying- 

When the white shock fades he is left staring at his wrist, already a swollen purple, bent out of place like a crooked branch. 

They don't wait for him to catch his breath. They don't even look at him.
"Alright, then she got a concussion." Purple reads, leaning against the wall. Jed whimpers, his wrist still taking up most of his attention. 

"Ooh, let me do this one! I can break his nose too!" Orange says, perking up from the closet. Jed sobs, dry and muffled. He doesn't want to die. 

"Not too hard, Angelo’. We want him to remember this." Purple says, his voice mild. Like he doesn't care. Like the only reason he’s telling ‘Angelo’ to pull his punches is so he remembers everything they did to him. He wants to vomit. He wants to sleep. 

"I won't, I won't." Angelo’ says, a little exasperated, waving his hands like he’s heard this a hundred times before. Maybe he has. He turns to Jed, and their eyes meet. For a moment, Jed could swear they light up gold. “You guys wanna see something cool?” He asks his brothers, his grin widening. He doesn't wait for an answer before the chains slink out from where they bind Jed, like twin snakes, rising up into Angelo’s hands and wrapping around and around until-. 

He flexes his hands, chains wrapped around his knuckles, and laughs a little to himself, stepping before Jed.
He doesn't even see the alien’s hand rear back before he’s punched square in the face.
The pain doesn't register by the time he’s unconscious. It knocks him out for a few seconds, because he sees stars and Angelo’ is no longer standing in front of him, instead unwrapping his chains and letting them return to binding Jed. Blood pours down his face, hot and thick. Tears thin it before it drips over duct tape, off of his chin, onto his carpet, his pants, his hands. 

“Alright, two for one,” Blue says cheerfully, though Jed can barely hear him past the ringing in his ears.  "Broken nose and concussion, look at those dilated ass pupils. Anything we missed?" 

Jed prays there isn't.
Purple’s eyes flick to the list on their holographic screen, humming thoughtfully.
“Nope.” He says, letting the hologram collapse back into his wristband. Jed has never been more relieved in his life. “Let’s get a move on.”
They start to move, to migrate out of his room and back to the hall. Jed doesn't even care that they didn't unchain him, as long as they leave he can still survive this. He can. 

“Oh, one more thing to mention, Jed,” Blue says, pausing in the doorway. The use of his name makes him shudder more than the threat in his tone does. "If April ever even sees your face again, we're going to come back and gouge your fucking eyes out." 

Jed sees no trace of deceit in his eyes. He nods, even if the motion makes his head spin. 

"Oh, and don't worry about skipping class," Purple says, leaning against the doorframe beside his brother. His hologram thing is out again, he’s tapping on it lazily. "I've already taken the liberty of dropping every class you take with April.” He taps another button. “Oh, whoops. My bad, looks like I dropped all of your classes. And got you blacklisted from every school in New York." He hisses through his teeth in mock sympathy before the hologram collapses once again and he walks out the door with a grating laugh. 

He can hear them talking as they leave the apartment, bantering with one another. Like they didn't just… do that. Their shoulders relaxed as they exit. They leave him in chains. He has no choice but to sit there, bleeding, weeping, until nearly half an hour has passed, when- as if they had never existed at all, his bindings dissipate like smoke in the wind. 

He rips away the tape as soon as he is able, tearing more flesh away from his split lip. He pulls the cloth out, gagging at the texture. He gags a few more times, heart pounding in his ears. He vomits on the floor of his room, blood and tears spilling down his face in equal measure. He crouches on the floor for a long time, sniffling, waiting for the blood to stem, staring at nothing, brushing his fingers over his chest. The shiny wounds that now adorn it. 

He gets up, staggering, and locks all the windows and doors in his house. The power hasn't come back on. He doesn't think it ever will.
He sits down heavily on his bed and picks up his phone, staring at his contacts.
It rings for a while. It’s late, after all. He’s about to give up when on the last ring, she answers, her voice sleepy through the phone.
“Jed?” She asks blearily.
“Uh… hi mom.” Jed chokes out. “I was… thinking about moving back home.”