Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s indescribable. The feeling of being torn apart on an atomic level. Still, as a turtle of many thoughts, his dissolving mind tries to comprehend the experience.

His body burned, possibly a side effect of the intense friction between his every atom vibrating out of place, trying to disperse across the city’s sky. Or it could just be his body’s only way to communicate pain in these brief moments.

Who knows? Not him.

He shouldn’t be able to know or think with a deconstructed brain. And yet he continues to be aware. So vividly aware.

Could be he’s functioning solely as, well, a soul.

That’s a troubling thought.

It would mean he’s dead. That he just died.

Sensation vanishes along with his body, and it’s peaceful. Erie, but peaceful. Then, like a rubber band pulled taut and released, everything snaps back together in one sharp second of realignment and he’s corporeal once again.

Donatello has barely a moment to acknowledge this before he hits the ground with a loud thud. Right…. He’d been suspended in the air.

The mutant makes no effort to stand, focused on the fuzzy vibrating in his limbs and bones and skin. As if his atomical makeup is still buzzing, full of energy that could disperse at any moment, given the lightest push.

He exhales. A sound caught somewhere between a wheeze and a groan escaping his parted, trembling lips. Try as he might, his body refuses to settle. Shivers and the occasional strong twitch rattle his entire being. He's made even less comfortable by his skin rubbing against the cold concrete surface beneath him with every involuntary shift.

Hands are on him. Donnie can’t suppress a full body spasm in response to the unfamiliar touch. Those hands are too large to belong to any of his brothers, and definitely too large to belong to Casey or April…..

The thought of April makes this chest ache.

Unbidden tears wet his mask and it’s just not possible to quiet his sobs.

He died. No matter how briefly, he had died…. And April killed him. She apologized and then killed him.

He leans into that foreign touch, the hands pulling him into an embrace. Its comforting, even if it shouldn’t be. The purple masked turtle accepts the strong and gentle hold of this stranger.

“What did you do?!” a voice whisper shouts somewhere to his left.

Donatello couldn’t answer if he tried. Anything he'd say would doubtless sound like unintelligible rambling. Luckily, however, the question was not for him.

“That was soooo not me!” a second person says, not bothering to lower their voice. “Did you see a portal? Cause I didn’t. Ergo, not my fault.”

The embrace shifts and Donnie is lifted up. Now free of the cold floor and being held in a warm grip, his shivers finally begin to subside.

It's nice. Grounding in a sense.

The stranger is gentle, yet sturdy. Reminiscent of the rare few times Raph would forego his favored tough guy routine and just… hold him or Mikey. Let them lean on him instead of shoving them away.

Donatello really would appreciate one of his brothers speaking up right about now.

The lanky turtle forces his eyes open, surprised to find his face pressed up against plastron. Another turtle? One roughly the size of Slash? It’s not Slash, is it?

Unfortunately, he’s held in such a way, he can hardly see anything else.

The stranger starts walking.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Bro,” the second voice waivers, “We can’t take him home.”

The one holding him finally speaks up.

“We can’t leave him here. I mean, look at him!” He says in a gruff though kind voice. “The sun’s gonna be up soon. So unless any of youz got a better idea, we’re going home.”

Donnie tries to push out of the hold. The stranger doesn’t budge. Instead, his captor gives him what is most likely meant to be a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay, little buddy. Raph’s got ya.”

Raph? What?

Curse his shaking limbs, the shivers return in full force. That meager escape attempt had taken a concerning amount of energy out of him. Donnie can do little more than wriggle around uncomfortably.

“Is he gonna be alright?” yet another voice asks.

He hears the unmistakable sound of a manhole cover sliding against pavement. Their home was in the sewers?
Seems his body has a mind of its own today. Donatello can’t help the choked laugh that comes out muffled from being pressed so snugly against this “Raph’s” plastron.

What’s the likelihood dying had landed him in another universe?

He must sound awful, cause all he receives for the laugh was a pat on the head from a small three fingered hand.

Chapter Text

“Can he even breath with you smothering him like that?” Leo mumbles to fill the awkward silence as they enter the lair. The only sounds during the walk home being their footsteps and the new turtle’s uneven breathing.

The stranger seems to be awake. Aware, however? Not a clue.

“Am not!” Raph insists, only to peer down uneasily. “He shakes less the closer I hold ‘im.”

Mikey at some point had made himself comfortable on their big brother’s left shoulder. He wraps his arms around the snapper’s head and presses their cheeks together.

With a half smashed grin he exclaims, “No one can resist a hug from good ‘ol Raphie here!”

Raph smiles appreciatively before looking around the room for a good spot to place their…..guest.

The main room doesn’t have much in the way of furniture, and the couch was no doubt currently occupied. After the Shredder tore their old place up, they prioritized filling this abandoned subway station with the essentials. This including, but not limited to, a new and completely necessary skate ramp.

Setting the obviously distressed turtle on the ground just doesn’t sit well with the eldest brother.

“He can use my bed.” He decides.

He feels a pat on his arm. Raphael turns to face Donatello, the soft shell looking rather intently at his cellphone.

“Shouldn’t someone tell papa what’s going on?” He asks, voice a bored monotone as he stares even harder at the device. “We brought a complete stranger home.”

“I doubt he’s any trouble. I mean, look at him?!” Raph says, holding said stranger out for everyone to see.

It’s actually the first good look everyone gets of their guest. It was night time up top and dark. But here, with the room properly lit, he was more than just a shadowed silhouette.

The new mutant– or yokai maybe? –kept a shaky arm pushed against the snapper’s chest, as if to keep what little distance he’d gained in that moment. He looked worn out and dazed. It would be all too easy to pull him back in, but Raph resists the urge.

Despite how wonderful a world it would be, hugs are not always the answer.

“Hey there, um….” The red clad teen trails off.

Vibrant reddish-brown eyes framed by a tear soaked purple mask catch sight of Mikey (who offers an eager wave) before they settle wearily on Raph.

“Donatello.” The strange turtle finally supplies, his voice shaky.

The other purple masked teen finally looks up from his phone with a cautious glare.

“And how is it you know my name?” he asks, quirking a sharpie drawn brow.

“Because I’m you.” this other Donnie says, managing to appear all the more exhausted with each word. “Could you put me down now?”

The large snapper hesitates a moment or two before acquiescing. He half expects this Donnie impersonator to topple over the moment he sets foot on the ground, yet he manages to stand just fine.

Outside of being a green humanoid mutant turtle with a purple mask, he looks nothing like Don, or any of the four brothers really. He’s obviously a different species. His plastron and shell are rounder, and his limbs start thin and end wide. His sizeable feet are thick stumps with three short toes, instead of two large and dexterous ones. His hands are larger than theirs, with the exception of Raphael’s own. To top it all off were those vividly colored eyes of his.

Who did this guy think he was fooling?

The impersonator’s gaze sweeps over his surroundings briefly before returning to focus on the large snapper. Something in the way the strange turtle looks him over and shifts back a few steps… It hurts to see, and Raph can’t help but frown.

What would be the point of an imposter like this? What could this stranger gain from a lie so blatant?

It couldn’t be an excuse to find the lair. They'd already brought him here.

It all felt ridiculous enough, Raph was beginning to think that this imposter was actually telling the truth. Or, at least, believed himself to be.

“While it’s been said that imitation is the highest form of flattery, you’re doing a poor job.” Don muses with a mildly off put expression. Very convincing to all except his family who recognize the intrigued glint in his eyes and subtle quirk of his lips. “What are you wearing? I mean, where’s your tech?”

No answer. The stranger ignores him, too busy gaping at Raph apparently.

Don tilts his head and begins to make his way forward to try and draw this new turtle’s attention. Leo, however, beats him to it.

The slider casually drapes an arm over this taller Donatello’s shoulders and smirks.

“Better question! Why’d you choose Donnie? I’m obviously the better looking twin.” Leo says, not seeming the least bit phased when he’s shoved off (rather weakly, mind you). He takes it all in stride, turning his slight stumble into a spin before righting himself. “It’s the nerd voice, isn’t it? Yours might actually be worse than Donaldo’s here.”

The odd turtle wavers a bit, eyeing everyone with exhaustion clear in his posture. A good reminder of the dysfunctional state they'd found him in earlier.

“I take it I’m your first interdimensional encounter.” He sighs.

The room falls silent.

No one likes to remember the prison dimension. Leonardo especially, who’s smile wanes.

Their Donnie recovers first.

“Interdimensional…” the soft shell’s eyes blow impossibly wide. “As in there’s a multiverse. The multiverse is real, and you’re me from another dimension? And given the casual nature of your word choice, I assume you’ve done this kind of thing before.”

The empty look his counterpart pins him with in response is unnerving.

“Not like this.” He says in a distant voice. “Never like this.”

“Hey.” Mikey calls from his perch.

The box turtle adjusts his hold on his eldest brother to shift close enough to be eye level with this new Donnie. Raph moves instinctively to accommodate the change in weight distribution, more than used to being his baby brother’s personal jungle gym.

“Are you…. okay?”

The turtle in question stiffens for the briefest moment. Then he takes a long, grounding breath. A genuine, if hesitant, smile stretches his lips.

“I’ll live.” He answers with a nervous chuckle.

Less than a minute ago, Mikey would have been ecstatic to see that smile. Now, however, his pupils shrink to mere pinpricks as he looks on in horror.

“But…” His voice is a painful squeak as he tries to reign in his panic.

The others notice it too, and everyone takes a few hurried steps back.

“….Your hands.” The small teen finally forces out.
Donatello raises his hands and instantly regresses into visible shivers.

His blunt fingers are a hazy blur, glitching in and out of existence. Worse yet, sometimes there's visible muscle and bone, only to disappear and return whole again.

There's a rhythm to it. Like he’s being pulled apart to a beat steadily growing in strength.

When the effect spreads past his fingers and to his palms, the panicked teen let’s out a strangled gasp. He scrambles back, as if that would let him escape his fading hands. Soon his carapace hits a wall. His knees give out and the lanky turtle sinks to the floor.

And just as suddenly as the glitching had made itself known, it pulses one final time and then nothing. His hands are whole and solid.

Mikey moves first, dropping down and sprinting over to latch on to their interdimensional brother. Cause that’s what he is, and whatever just happened may have hurt him. That reality glitch could only be bad, and has taken a mighty toll on its victim. As such, this Donnie needs the strongest prescription Dr Feelings has to offer.

A hug from a brother. Not a stranger.

Soon both turtles are pulled into Raphael’s all encompassing arms, and Mikey shoots his big brother a grateful smile.

He wasn’t lying when he said Raph’s hugs were impossible to resist.

Not a moment later, Leo is dragging their Don over to join them.

They stay like that for a while, no one daring to speak. The four brothers wait patiently as the new turtle lets himself relax in their hold.

“Thank you.”

Its said so quietly, only the small box turtle hears it.
He still speaks for them all when he replies, “Any time.”

“I don’t….. H-he’s not here.” April stares dejectedly as the last of the Aeon crystal shatters and fades from her hands. “I can’t do it.”

Her voice is raw and all the more desperate.

“I thought he was just dispersed around the city. I thought I felt him.” She turns her teary eyes to the three remaining brothers and Casey. “He’s gone.”

Her voice breaks.

“Donnie’s gone.”

Chapter Text

Someone had tried to pull him back. He was sure of it. And whether that someone was April or the Aeon, he could not care less.

He doesn’t want to die again.

The group hug helps. It’s like these counterparts are trying to quite literally hold him together. And while he’s not always the most physically affectionate person, this is nice.

It doesn’t quell the pit of dread from knowing there’s even the slightest possibility he could disappear in any moment, but it’s enough.

The terrapin has been dragged up and down on this emotional roller coaster two times too many, and is content to accept a moment’s pause. He can process the oddities of this 2D universe later. For now he will let his thoughts slow and his mind quiet.

Soon enough, Donatello gives in to his heavily taxed body and allows himself to drift off in the embrace of somewhat strangers.

As soon as Raph had their guest settled in his designated train car, the four brothers’ combined reserves of levelheadedness and calm were thoroughly depleted.

“Oh-me-gosh! What the hell happened back there?!” Leo exclaims, shaking their resident genius imploringly.

The soft shell shrugs off the hold to cross his arms and frown. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to know?”

He’d been tempted to take a blood sample from his counterpart. Even though biology was never his passion, the desire to find a perfectly scientific explanation for a living being to straight up glitch like a poorly coded model from a video game was motivation enough to exercise his knowledge of a lesser science.

Donnie, however, didn’t think his brothers would take too kindly to the idea. And he was in no mood for one of Raph’s disapproving speeches, or worse, one of his youngest brother’s doctor personas in full lecture mode about ethics.

“He's not gonna…. Y’know…. Disappear if we leave him alone?” Mikey asks, wringing his empty hands.

The box turtle is no doubt fidgety because that impromptu horror show left him restless, whilst simultaneously too stressed to busy himself with something productive. Otherwise he’d be doodling or cooking to relieve some of that unwelcome energy.

Donatello’s own hands twitch in sympathy.

“Again,” the soft shell groans, “How am I supposed to know?”

Now he can’t help but fidget himself. It’s all too easy to picture his own hands warping in and out of perceivable reality. To imagine the different layers of his anatomy stripped away and exposed to open air.

He doubts its contagious. Still, given the many inexplicable factors of the situation, the purple masked turtle will avoid any further contact with his counterpart. No touching until he can get a sufficient explanation from the other him.

“You said he didn’t come from a portal?” Donnie turns to Leo for confirmation.

His brother pulls a strained smile.

“Pretty sure, yeah. No flashy lights. Definitely no glowing blue-”

Of course Leo was worried this was somehow his fault. Ever since he’d been made leader, his proclivity for guilt had doubled.

“Stop! Nardo, I’m not blaming you.” Donatello assures, trying his best to not scoff at his self proclaimed twin. “I want to know if it looked anything like….”

He shakes his hands towards Raph’s room in lieu of completing the sentence.

Fortunately, the slider understands just fine.

“Oh. Um…” Leo’s forced smile shifts into something more thoughtful and less tense. “I don’t know. At first there was nothing and then he was just kinda falling out of the sky. Right?”

“Raph didn't see no portal neither.” Raphael affirms.

Oh. He’d been listening. Hard to tell with how intently the large snapper was staring at the subway car currently housing their guest. Not focused enough to construct a proper sentence though, which was only slightly annoying.

Ugh…. Don knows he’s having a stressful night if something as insignificant as poor grammar usage is beginning to bother him.

“Your misuse of the english language aside,” Donatello mutters before clearing his voice. “If there was no portal, then that glitch is probably what brought him here.”

“Can we stop it?” Mikey asks with a hopeful smile.

For a moment, the youngest teen’s fidgeting stills.

Don rubs at his face in attempt to hide some of his irritation. “For the third and final time, how am I supposed to know? All I’ve got to work with are mere theories until other me wakes up.”

Sometimes his dearest brothers fail to grasp the difference between genius and omnipotence.

“Soooooo we wait then.” Leonardo says with a shrug.
The slider receives what’s undoubtedly meant to be a reassuring pat on his shell from their eldest sibling.

“Good plan, Leo.” Raph praises.

It was no secret the snapping turtle had taken it upon himself to prop Leo up for his still relatively new role in the team, never short of encouragements and advice… Even when they’re less than necessary.

“Just stating the obvious.” The katana wielder grumbles under his breath before trying to cover it up with a rather exaggerated yawn. “Any-who! I’m gonna take this opportunity and catch up on my beauty sleep. Buenos noches mis hermanos!”

The unease in his dismissal does not go unnoticed, and Raph frowns at Leo’s retreating form and sighs, “I think I’ll keep an eye on the other Don for now.”

If the soft shell hadn’t already decided to avoid his counterpart, he would have offered to keep watch. What’s another all-nighter to an insomniac? Alas, he rather not push his luck tonight.

Besides, Raph wouldn’t rest easy if he was left to wonder if their guest might vanish under the care of one of his younger siblings.

“We can postpone any major planning until April finishes her afternoon class. She has an exam or something she refuses to miss, but she really wants to meet other me and promised to bring extra pizza.” Donnie says, opening his phone to fifteen new texts from his best friend (cause of course he’d already told her about their guest).

Hopefully the new turtle would wake up before then so Raphael could snooze for an hour or three.

“I'll stay up with you, Raph.” Mikey offers, hugging a large spiked arm.

It was plainly evident their younger brother was already attached to the other Donatello. His anxious energy is as easily perceptible as Raph’s fear stink after a Mrs. Cuddles commercial.

Michelangelo always had a sort of aura to him. Lighting up a room just by being there, or inciting empathy from even his least emotive brother with his woes. There was never a scientific explanation to it, but now Don wonders if Mikey’s proclivity for mystic energy is to blame.

“Get some sleep, little brother.” Raphael suggests instead, awkwardly trying to hug the smaller mutant with his lone free arm. “No point in two of us loosing sleep. Besides if he’s anything like our Donnie, you’ll be a better help to him in the morning.”

The box turtle looks like he’s going to argue for a brief moment. His mouth opens only to shut. Then he bows his head to nuzzle his big brother’s arm.

“Oh alright.” He sighs, some of the tension leaving his body as he releases his hold. “Night Raphie. Night Donnie.”

“Night.” The two older siblings say in unison.

With that, Mikey takes his leave.

…..and then there were two.

They share a sidelong glance.

Donatello knows he’s expected to say something. This is about him….. in a way. Not really, yet kinda?

What does one say or even think about all this? The multiverse is a dazzling concept, but actually meeting himself is jarring, to say the least. Then the other him had to go and nearly phase out of existence. So… yeah.

He’s pulled from that rather unproductive and stagnant line of thought when his brother asks, “You gonna be able to sleep tonight, genius?”

Raph gives him a knowing look. The look that says he can tell his soft shelled brother is thinking too hard.

“I’ll manage.” Don answers, giving Raph's room one final glance.

Some hard data collection would help ease his nerves better than sleep. But he can’t do that right now. Not until his counterpart wakes up…. Or he could analyze some blood or tissue samples maybe? Which he’d already decided against cause of brothers and ethics and blah-blah-blah.

Now his ideas are beginning to loop. Lovely.

The teen pulls off his mask to rub between his eyes and forehead.

“Drastic measures.” He decides, slipping into his room and grabbing the first set of headphones he sees.

His emergency night-time dubstep playlist on full volume it is. If his mind refuses to be productive, might as well drown out his loud thoughts with even louder music.

Chapter Text

Waking up always takes effort, and once the process begins, he can’t stop it. So, he’s forced to make his way into the waking world. Instead of feeling well rested and his energy renewed, he's more like a worn engine that needs to sputter through a warm up before it can properly run.

In plainer words, Donatello was not a morning person.

He’s tempted to just lie there and pretend falling back asleep was an option. Life, sadly, is unrelenting, and there’s some pressing matters in need of his attention.

He opens a single eye and is greeted with an impressive variety of teddy bears piled up neatly, so each is seated up straight and facing away from the wall. Cute and organized and wholly unfamiliar. Which serves as a great reminder that he’s in a different universe as of this moment.

The terrapin opens his other eye and turns his head away from the plushy monolith. He flinches and sits upright at the sight of this dimension’s Raphael.

The sizable turtle blinks unevenly, looking up from his cellphone to offer a tired yet kind smile.

“Sleep okay?”

This counterpart of Dee’s immediate older brother has yet to fail to throw him for a loop.

Give or take a couple inches, the guy likely stands as tall as Splinter. Even now, from his spot on the floor, the terrapin doesn’t have to look down to meet his eyes. Honestly the behemoth resembles a fusion of Raphael and Slash in appearance. An intimidating combo, only he’s yet to be anything but kind and gentle.

How exactly does that match up?

Donatello realized he must have taken too long to answer, because Raph’s expression shifts to one of concern.

“I’m good!” Donnie says with an effort to sound chipper.

It’s still morning, however, and the remaining dregs of sleep have yet to be assuaged with a healthy dose of caffeine. He sounded less than enthused, even to himself.

“That’s, um….” Raph trails off as he lists a little to the right and his eyes blink twice out of sync. “Good. That’s good.”

Probably stayed up keeping watch, Dee thinks.

Maybe the guy is just as paranoid as his own Raphael, and stubbornly refused to leave the possible threat to his family unattended, even at the expense of some obviously needed rest. Only…. His Raph wouldn’t ask if a possible threat was okay or smile so warmly…… Or look so relaxed. He’d be tense, poised to attack at the first sign of danger. So, maybe not.

The bulky teen yawns, and Donatello can’t help but echo it with one of his own.

Mornings really do suck.

Raph chuckles, “Mikey’s in the kitchen making breakfast. Trust me when I say he’ll be more than happy to make you some coffee.”

Oh. It seems he already accepts the premise of the terrapin being an alternate Donatello, and his brother of the same name also appreciates the bitter beverage.

“You look like you could use a caffeine boost yourself.” Donnie says, sliding his legs off the bed to stand.

He gets a lazy head shake in the negative.

“Nah. ‘m gonna take a nap.”

The spiked turtle pushes himself up off the floor and rubs at his eyes with another yawn.

Aaaannnd this is probably his room and his bed. Which means the smaller teen is all that is keeping Raph from his nap.

Donnie takes a few quick steps towards the sliding door, but not far enough to avoid Raphael’s outstretched hand. Said hand pats his head twice. Before the terrapin can think on how to react, Raph falls plastron down onto his bed and immediately begins to snore, dead to the world.

Okay… That happened.

Not wishing to inconvenience the sleeping teen any further, he decides to accept the gesture and leave.

Outside the bedroom is nothing like the lair back home. Strange, maybe, considering it is also an abandoned subway station.

First off, everything is bright. Like, exceedingly so. The vivid colors are an assault on his half awake mind and tired eyes.

Second, there are visibly patched cracks on many surfaces (bringing the structural integrity of this place into question).

It’s also more…. Cluttered isn’t quiet right. There’s more stuff. Spray paint decorating the walls. Christmas and fairy lights strung up everywhere. And just stuff…. So many things in impressively good condition everywhere without looking like a complete mess.

It's less organized than the lair back home, sure. But it also feels more lively. More lived in. Kinda cozy.

And that only serves to set Donatello on edge with how different and unfamiliar this universe is.

What was he doing again? Kitchen. Right.

Donnie makes his way up and passes some turnstiles to what likely serves as the living room. It doesn’t have a pit in the center of the floor for watching TV, but it does have a skate ramp that evokes a spark of envy in the terrapin. Splinter always hated skating in the lair.

Why didn’t this universe’s Splinter mind? Did this universe have a Splinter?

Ugh. Why does thinking hurt?

Oh.

Kitchen. The promise of caffeine.

It’s not too hard to find. He can hear someone shuffling around, while the inhabitants of the rest of the station are probably asleep. This at least feels somewhat familiar.

Mikey was usually the earliest to rise in his dimension as well. The only one of them who was trusted to make breakfast, because he’s the only one awake enough and practiced enough to not set the food on fire in the process.

“Morning!” this smaller Michelangelo greets the moment he spots the terrapin. “Coffee’s not ready yet, but I got some of Donnie’s flavorless juice if you’d prefer.”

Flavorless what-?

The purple masked turtle blinks owlishly, his thoughts a war between having misheard or not.

“I’ll wait for the coffee.” He says, deciding to ignore the other option’s existence entirely.

The – box turtle?? Maybe? – is suddenly by Donatello’s side, a welcoming grin showing off his own narrow gap tooth. In his hands are a spatula and a hot pan of half cooked scrambled eggs (that thankfully appear free of jelly beans or anchovies). He’s wearing a chef’s hat and a spotless apron.

Now that Donnie looks around, the whole kitchen is excessively clean compared to the rest of the subway station by far.

“Do you like cheese with your eggs?” Mikey asks, lifting the plain looking scramble up for emphasis. “Don can be real picky, so I didn’t want to assume.”

Picky? Its real hard to be picky when you live in a sewer and rely on two jobless teens for groceries. Besides, almost anything his adventurous younger brother makes is better than worms and algae.

“It’s fine, I guess.” He answers, trying and failing to fight off a yawn.

Mikey’s eyes positively shine and his grin widens.

“We’re gap tooth buddies!” leaning close enough to bump shoulders (well… more shoulder to bicep. He’s just so short) then moves to return the pan to a lit stove top. He proceeds to sprinkle in a handful of cheese. “Smiles with extra character, baby!”

Against all pre-morning-caffeine reason, Donnie chuckles lightly.

He can already spot some differences between the turtle before him and his younger brother, yet overall, they carry the same positive outlook on life. After the enigma that is big Raphael, he’d been worried none of these counterparts would make sense.

“Don’t you dare. Or no breakfast for you!” The orange clad turtle chides, waving his spatula.

Before the taller mutant can ask for clarification, a loud voice speaks up from right behind him.

“Ah come on!”

Donatello spins around and reaches for his bo staff, only to grab empty air.

His staff!

“Calm down, Donnie Two.” Leo says with clear amusement, a smirk reminiscent of Dr. Prankenstein stretching his features, framed by the ends of two red crescents.

A red eared slider, no doubt.

Donatello frowns.

It’s bad enough when he has none of his tech on hand, but no staff? He had been sure he'd taken it with him to save–

That line of thought dies quickly. He rather not think of her right now.

“Yeesh. Tough crowd.” The blue masked turtle comments, then looks to Mikey. “Hasn’t had his morning coffee yet, has he?”

“Where’s my staff?” Dee asks flatly.

They might have taken it as a precaution. Although, considering Raph had let him wander around their lair unsupervised, these guys don’t seem the cautious type…. That or they’re just cocky. Which, yeah, him and his own brothers were guilty of on multiple occasions.

This Leo (evidently more alike to Michelangelo’s mischievous side than to his actual counterpart) nudges the taller mutant, guiding him to the only table.

“Relax Donnie Two, Tall Don, El Segundo Donaldo, Two Dee–”

“This whole universe is 2D.” the terrapin mutters, sitting down and crossing his arms.

“– It’s probably back where we found you last night. We can search for it later, if you want.”

The slider claims the seat beside him, no qualms about intruding in another’s personal space to be seen.

Great. Yet another baffling counterpart for Donnie to puzzle together.

A steaming mug slides noisily across the table top, effectively putting his irritation on hold, along with a plate of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast. The smell of it all welcoming in its simplicity.

He grabs the mug and takes a deep breath. The strong sent of freshly brewed coffee already improving his mood by leaps and bounds.

He sips lightly on his morning cure and thinks maybe, just maybe, the worst of this whole predicament is behind him.

It’s only been some few hours or whatever and yet the others might as well have given up.

The freckled turtle kicks his foot against the ground to keep himself and the rickety office chair spinning. He tries to take in every inch of his missing brother’s lab with each rotation. There must be something here he could use. Donnie always has everything, and even when he doesn’t he can….. make it….. himself.

But his genius brother isn’t here, so its up to Mikey to solve this.

Leo and Raph? They actually told Splinter that Donnie was…. That Dee was dead. Like they believed their brother was gone for good. Casey? He didn’t say anything, going home instead of returning to the lair. And April had given up first! Even after she'd said she could feel him, and Mikey truly believes it! Why would she lie about that? She wouldn’t.

His brother is still out there…. So why is Michelangelo alone in trying to bring Donnie back?

The orange masked terrapin shakes his head, refusing to allow that question to distract him from the task at hand. Dee isn’t here, but he’s somewhere. So Mikey just has to find that somewhere!

The teen juts his leg out to catch against the desk and halt his spiral. Some of the desk’s contents jostle and teeter. One empty beaker falls and shatters on the floor.

Sorry, Dee.

Time for the laboratory and one hyperactive party dude to work together…… aaaaannd Ice Cream Kitty. Maybe.

No, definitely.

Mission set! Retrieve his trusty assistant from the freezer and return before his bros realize Mikey’s plans for the lab.

Chapter Text

She could save his sorry shell, but she couldn’t save Donnie.

That single thought kept one hotheaded turtle restless. No amount of exercise or sleep or screaming until his throat itched and burned could rid him of that fact. Doesn’t stop him from trying though.

As of now, he's settled for beating his lone training dummy barefisted, no tape, while also pondering this unsolvable puzzle.

Why did April listen to Raph?

“Remember Donnie.”

That shouldn’t have worked. Not when minutes prior, April failed to fight Za-Naron's influence when it actually mattered. When she had that same turtle in her hold, begging…. Why couldn’t she think of Donnie right then, huh?

It makes no sense.

“This isn’t her fault.” Leo had whispered as they watched the red-haired teen walk away with tear soaked cheeks, unable to face the family she broke.

Believe it or not, Raph IS trying to curb the building resentment seizing his chest and mind.

He understands more than anyone what it’s like to be controlled. To have his body willed to harm his family and friends. The way it scatters your thoughts and the effort it takes to break through and focus.

But it’s hard.

It’s hard because while he was suspended in the air and his bones began to creak and his joints pop under invisible pressure…. April listened. She broke through the Aeon’s influence and saved him.

But not Donnie.

She couldn’t save his younger brother, her best friend, and it MAKES. NO. SENSE!

The training dummy tears as the red masked turtle delivers a final heavy punch. The patch on it’s head breaks free from the rest of the body for what’s probably the hundredth or so time; still clinging to the hook and chain suspended from the ceiling.

If his genius brother were here, with his steady hands and knack for repairs, Raph would have asked him to stitch it back together. His sewing jobs were usually more durable than the rest of his family's efforts.

…….He’s not here, however.

He’s dead.

Raph kicks the fallen dummy, still brimming with anger and confusion and hurt. So much hurt and guilt.

He failed to save his little brother….. And then he saved himself.

Maybe he doesn’t blame April after all.

This weird looking Donatello is just as easy to rile up as his twin. Difference is, he at least attempts to be polite, and the struggle to remain so is a fun twist. A new element to one of Leo's favorite pastimes.

The slider laughs into his hand, hardly muffling the gleeful sound.

A new brother to tease? And that brother just so happens to be another Donnie? It’s too good to pass up.

“Ok, ok, ok! You’re the tallest? Like,” he laughs again, helpless to keep his mirth contained. “Taller than your Raph?”

A small Raphael? Impossible.

Donnie Two manages to look both pleased and unimpressed with the other mutant’s disbelief. His voice goes flat and informative.

“Contrary to this reality, my brothers and I are the same species-”

“Laaaaame!” Leo interrupts. His effort rewarded with an eye and sharpie-less brow twitch. “No variety? That’s just sad.”

He can’t picture a life without his stripes.

“Says the turtle who’s too short to reach the top shelf in two realities.” The terrapin shoots back with practiced ease, a smirk turning his scowl playful.

Banter is an art form. One that the double katana wielding mutant fancies himself an expert in. Meeting anyone who could match his level of petty wit was few and far between.

Raph grew tired of the game too soon to really get anywhere. Mikey would constantly change the subject until Leo gave up. Pops and April were a pair of lost causes. Casey may have potential, though Leo would admit he was hesitant to try something so “childish” with the time traveler (not like he was trying to live up to future Leo’s reputation or anything).

Donatellos, regardless of dimension it would seem, could rightly hold their own.

“Ah–me? Unable to reach the top shelf?” he stands and gestures to draw attention to his entire self. Second tallest of his brothers and proud of it. “You are mistaken. We’re like the same height. You might even be shorter.”

The terrapin follows his example, rising to meet him eye to eye. Or real close to it…. Okay, so maybe he was looking down slightly. It proves nothing. The dude is just shaped different!

“See? Same height.” Leo insists, “Back me up here, Angelo.”

The box turtle glances up from the racing game now only he was playing.

It had taken some convincing to do any activity outside of leaving to search for a bo staff. Especially given Donnie, their Donnie, was keeping his distance and offered no help in entertaining their guest. The new nerd would undoubtedly love to geek out in the lab if given the option.

“Dee’s taller.” Mikey declares, setting his controller down to join its two abandoned brethren, game officially forgotten.

Donatello’s smug grin softens at the nickname. Something the other two mutants decide to keep in mind.

It’s an easy nickname, and not one they use for their purple brother too often. Convenient.

“So what? You got maybe an inch or half on me. Basically the same.” Leo presses, trying to keep the conversation running.

“I can admit when I’m wrong. You can reach the top shelf.” Dee acquiesces, though the smugness returns in full force. “….On your toes.”

Mikey snickers and soon all three turtles are laughing. Good.

About time the terrapin let himself go, if even only a little. He’d been so tense and kinda skittish.

Getting him to open up about his home reality might come easier now.

Hopefully.

It took a good while of pestering for him to let slip his height advantage and now the fact that he and his brothers are the same turtle species. All their previous chit chat had been vague and, at some points, Donatello actively avoided answering questions. None too subtle as he did so.

He may be excellent with banter, yet he comes off sorta…. Well….. Somewhat socially inept, with the way he tries to change subjects.

The slider’s twin at times will struggle too, but its more on an emotional level than with simple conversation with a stranger.

Not that Leo is gonna allow himself and Donnie Two to remain strangers for long.

Speaking of Donnies, his twin sees fit to finally grace them with his presence after ditching out at breakfast.

“Pizza's inbound. Do not fret. It's Tony-Lou’s. Best pizza this side of the multiverse. You are welcome.” The soft shell says while still keeping his distance.

Apparently, Dee is well aware that distance is due to his being there.

“Time and space does not implode when counterparts interact.” He calls over to his shorter self.

“Noted.” Donatello acknowledges, some tension leaving his noticeably stiff shoulders.

He keeps his distance regardless. Which, okay? Why?

Leonardo promises to speak with the genius later (a small part of him contemplating the possibility of his brother being jealous of how quickly Mikey and him were warming up to the new Donnie).

“So who’s waking Raph and who’s interrupting dad’s afternoon program?” the soft shell asks, looking none too eager to take on either task.

Must have not slept well.

And Raph won't be feeling much better either, if they wake him so soon.

“Let the big guy sleep a little longer.” Leo suggests.

As much as his older brother’s support tends to feel like a heavy weight of expectations for the slider, Leo really does appreciate the snapper’s help. But that help would be far better if Raph wasn’t dead on his feet, only half awake.

Mikey leaps from his spot on the floor, hand raised and waiving.

“I got Pops!” he exclaims, shooting Dee a hopeful grin as he all but sprints out the room.

Of course he’d be excited to introduce the new turtle to their pops. Probably has another heartwarming speech about family prepped and ready for use.

If only Donnie Two understood how clingy their baby brother was to newly perceived family.

Leo muses, “This should be fun.”

Dee throws a wary glance his way, and the blue banded turtle checks this as officially coming out on top of their little war of quips and general ribbing.

He smiles, promising interesting times without expounding on the implications. It’s always better to let one’s imagination fill in the gaps anyways.

The terrapin begins to lightly shuffle his round feet and stand straighter.

Works like a charm.

From the entryway opposite the projector room, a loud stomp can be heard. If there’d been a door, it would likely have been kicked open instead.

April always did love to announce her arrival loud and proud, in whatever way she could.

“PIZZA!” the girl shouts, an impressive stack of pizza boxes balanced in one hand, two more than their usual.

Her arm wobbles a little under the strain, but remains strong as she grins and holds her hip with the free hand. It would be a lie to say the four boys didn’t get some of their flair from their childhood friend.

Don moves first, his arms quickly accepting their lunch, because of course if April was buying, he convinced her to go to his favorite pizza joint.

It kinda sucks that the briefly united family of famous pizza makers had broken up the moment their old restaurants were rebuilt. For the turtles it meant arguing over four places that required some effort to buy from without human aid, or settling for the far more convenient option, Run of the Mill Pizza.

When it isn’t pizza week, they almost always end up at Señor Hueso's.

“Where’s your manners?” April snaps, shooting the twins an admonishing frown. “Ain’t ya gonna introduce me to my newest brother?”

The terrapin blanches and a flurry of emotions twists his face in funny ways.

“Karai?” he blurts.

The twins share a heavy frown of their own and a questioning shrug.

“Gram-gram?” they say in unison.

April would have laughed, considering any moment these two actually acted like twins to be downright adorable. Instead her eyes pinch and she crosses her arms.

“Do I look like your grandmother?” she asks seriously.

Dee seems to panic, and his whole body becomes excessively animated.

“Grandmo– No! Karai, she’s technically my… Nevermind that!” he shakes his head and swats at the air like that will deter any judgement. “I’m Donatello.” He finishes, offering a nervous hand to shake.

April moves to accept his gesture.

“April O’Neil!”

Chapter Text

“April O’Neil!”

He retracts his hand just as his fingers brush against her palm and the world blurs. Why does it blur?

He’s stopped breathing too.

Irrational, really. It’s just a name.

A tightness is building deep within his chest. Reminiscent of a panic attack, which is deeply concerning because, once again, it was just a name. The name of his best friend, no less.

In spite of this sound reasoning, the tension isn’t easing up.

He moves to rub at his plastron, attempting to relieve some of the pressure. Loosen up his lungs (that cannot be doing well at this point). Soon enough the rest of him follows the movement and he draws into himself, knees bending and his eyes pressing shut.

With his vision cut off, its all the more simple to delve back into those few seconds of nothingness. When he was little more than a mass of scattered atoms. Remembering the eerie peace that came with it.

He both longed for and feared that horrible place.

It was the moment of his death…. And there he felt nothing. No anxiety or pain. No betrayal.

Donatello grits his teeth and pulls into himself even further, on the verge of retracting his limbs into his shell.

He feared the name of his best friend. His first crush. The first person outside his family he’d offered his complete trust… And, in a way, she betrayed that trust. Broke it. Chose a crystal over-

A cold sensation hits the back of this neck.

Finally the tension snaps and Donnie gasps. The rush of air to his lungs pulls him back to the here and now.

The world is 2D. He’s not a quantum smear. He’s solid. He’s whole…. and dripping wet?

To his side is his counterpart. A silver claw extended from his armored back, holding an empty glass. Their eyes meet and the soft shell offers what’s meant to be a smile, yet it’s more an awkward grimace.

The message is clear enough.

Sorry, not really. I panicked, but it worked.

“What is going on in here?” A deep, familiar voice sounds directly beside the hunched over teen. “Purple?”

The terrapin casts his eyes up and around, searching for a tailless tiger. The assassin is nowhere to be seen, but this dimension’s April is.

She’s put a good distance between them, her back almost to the furthest wall.

Donnie’s breath hitches before it evens out.

She may be April, but she clearly isn’t HIS April. They look nothing alike, for starters. And, more importantly, there’s no alien crystal hanging from her neck.

“Second Purple?”

That voice is still beside him, uncomfortably close. Against habit to look up in search of the giant that is Tigerclaw, he follows the voice down coming face to face with a grey furred mutant. A rat mutant.

This mutant grabs the sides of his head with clawed hands and Donatello doesn’t pull away.

From one shock to another, he simply observes who must be this universe’s Splinter, whilst he is looked over in return.

This version of his father is rather short and his face round and full (the opposite of the tall and dual colored figure the terrapin is accustomed to). His eyes are just as calculating, and the underlying concern there is easy enough to pick out.

“You boys have some explaining to do.” The old mutant says, yet his voice is more exasperated than worried or demanding. Surprisingly informal in its delivery. There might have even been a hint of amusement.

The three brothers present instantly find interest in various surfaces of the room.

Splinter sighs and looks expectantly to the odd turtle out. Out of respect, Dee shifts from his crouch to his knees, pulling away from the ninja master’s touch to offer a quick bow.

“Sensei.” He greets, nodding his head.

Now all eyes are on him.

That’s fine. He’ll just treat this like a mission report. Stay professional and informative. That should be manageable, right? They would be expecting an in-depth explanation about his being here at some point. Might as well get it over with.

“My name is Donatello.” Good start. “I’m from an alternate dimension.” Just stating the facts. Facts are reliable. “I….” Meanwhile, feelings are intrusive things. “I was forced into this dimension via amplified telekinesis.”

See? That wasn’t so bad-

“Amplified how?” his counterpart asks.

Dee’s mistake for being too specific. Of course another him would actually catch every word instead of zoning out after the first three.

“The tip of an alien artifact. A small blue crystal, gifted to my f-friend,” Dee inwardly curses the stutter. “In gratitude for restoring their planet and species to their proper state.” He then adds to try and tempt his counterpart to focus on that bizarre tidbit.

He's none so lucky.

“So, the artifact is the amplifier, and it was amplifying….?” “I already told you.” The terrapin does his best to deflect. “Telekinesis.”

If roles were reversed, he would be asking the same questions. That doesn’t make answering any less uncomfortable. Neither does the concerned gaze of the old rat beside him.

Suddenly, kneeling in the center of a group is a little too much. Makes his skin itch.

He moves to stand.

“Indeed. And the source of this telekinesis?”

Dee stumbles, the image of glowing eyes and a hazy blue aura flashing too clearly in his head.

Without meaning to, he shoots April a glance. Their eyes meet, and some level of recognition or understanding is met. Her irises narrow as her eyes widen behind bright red rimmed glasses. Something too similar to pity resides there.

It's all too much.

But his counterpart is still talking.

“To best solve a problem, we must first analyze the cause. So! If you’d be willing to part with the specifics of your interdimensional shift, we could mayhaps come by a solution.”

The soft shelled turtle sounds only mildly annoyed. His interest in traveling dimensions softens any exasperation.

There’s no good reason the words so easily chip away at what little composure Dee desperately needs to keep a cool head. This universe and its version of his family have been nothing if not hospitable.

However, akin to his hot tempered elder brother and his sole younger brother, the genius struggles to keep his emotional state out of sight and out of mind. But while Raph expressed his in bouts of rage and Mikey in absurd amounts of joy and optimism, Dee finds himself a mess of varying feelings.

He doesn’t have a go to emotion, though he tries to fall back on logic and cold reasoning.

It rarely lasts.

“Correct, if we wanted to recreate what brought me here.” The terrapin replies after a deep breath. “Which, even if it were possible, I don’t.”

He needs a moment. Alone.

April is by one exit, so that’s a no go.

He isn’t sure what she’s figured out, except maybe that he’s scared of her. Well, not actually scared of her. More the reminder she represents.

Regardless, he rather avoid her.

“It was the hand thing, right? That’s how you got here?” Mikey speaks up, drawing Dee’s attention.

The smallest of the turtles stands directly between the only other exit and him.

Out of all his brothers, Donatello would consider himself closest to Michelangelo. Not out of shared interests or complimentary personalities. No, it was simply the fact Mikey sought him out more than Raph or Leo did.

The youngest would waltz into the lab, welcome or not, not just to request his expertise or to remind him of training or dinner. He came whenever he was bored. Whenever their older brothers were arguing for the whatever-millionth time.

Seeing this universe’s equivalent of that brother (this turtle who sought to comfort him first last night) curbs the snide remark on the tip of Dee’s tongue.

“Yeah.” Donnie sighs instead. “I don't….”

He doesn’t want to die.

No one here knows about his brush with death. They won’t until the terrapin explains it to them.

And he will.

He just…… needs time.

“Excuse me.” Dee mutters and sidesteps Mikey, heading for the deemed safe exit.

No one stops him.

Chapter Text

He awoke to the wondrous call of pizza and forced himself to get out of bed. Too often would his brothers get carried away and eat more than their share.

Oh!

And there’s a guest to account for as well.

“Guys?” Raph finds himself staring into a room of his family speaking in hushed tones and their guest no where in sight. “Where’s other Donnie?”

His little brothers pause in their animated chatter with various frowns. All three standing next to a stack of miraculously unopened pizza boxes. An instant red flag to the large snapper, promising a stressful start to his afternoon.

Off by herself is April, her arms crossed and her face pinched in thought. Not happy or intrigued thoughts (if her pouted lower lip was anything to go by).

A quiet and reserved April, was a rare and usually unwelcome sight to see. Raph wants to hug away that pout and see her confident smile restored.

He takes a total of two steps before he finds his way blocked by his blue masked brother.

“I promise it was not my fault! It was those three.” Leo proclaims, one hand splayed out towards their purple and orange siblings. His other hand points to the lone human, her eyes sharpening and her pout giving way to an unimpressed scowl.

“Me and pops are innocent.” The slider continues, now at their father’s side and leaning heavily on the short rat.

It earns him a light swat of Splinter’s tail and a chuckle when he looses balance and tips over.

Then the old mutant’s face falls.

“I am not so sure I did not add to Second Purple’s distress.” Splinter sighs. “And if any of you, which includes you, Blue,” he says, patting his fallen son on the shell. “Had answered when I asked for an explanation, things might have gone better for him.”

None of this tells Raph where the other Donatello is, adding more questions than anything.

“You guys telling me you scared him off or somethin'?” he asks, a part of him wishing he’d stayed asleep.

“He was scared of me.” April says in a voice barely audible.

Her hands tighten around her arms in a sort of self embrace, and Raph remembers his hug has yet to be delivered.

“I’ll just go.” She then says with a strained smile. “Enjoy the pizza-”

“Oh no! Just because my counterpart is being a dum-dum, doesn’t mean you need to leave. Especially since we have no idea how long he will be stuck in our universe.” Donnie insists. “Further more-!”

“Don, he totally freaked when he heard my name… W-what if I’m evil or dead or something in his world?”

April’s head tilts at just the right angle for light to reflect off her glasses, the glare hiding her eyes from where the snapping turtle is standing. It’s just a little too easy to imagine tears building up behind those lenses.

Too bad she’s already leaving.

Raphael makes to follow, stopping just short of the doorway to turn and address his brothers.

The snapper points to himself. “Raph will handle April. You guys find other Donnie.”

“Me and Angelo are calling him Dee.” Leo says back.

Random, but the slider probably has a good reason for it, so whatever.

“Sure.” Raph spares them one last glance. “Goodluck.”

He has a big bro hug to give, and it’s recipient is currently getting further away.

“Alrighty! With big brother gone and as leader of this team, I’m in charge.” The snapper hears Leo declare. “And I propose a battle of rock-paper-scissors. Looser finds Dee.”

Donnie replies with a verbal “Scoff" sounding resigned to his twin's antics. "How original, Nardo.”

Might have to make that two big bro hugs if other Don– if “Dee” will accept one.

His feet kept moving of their own volition, regardless of knowing next to nothing about this lair and it’s connected railways and sewer system.

Back home he would undoubtedly retreat to the lab, but he isn’t home. Even if there is a laboratory present, it belongs to his counterpart; and if this dimension’s Donatello is anything like himself, he rather not have strangers rooting around his stuff uninvited and unsupervised.

So, the lanky terrapin lets himself wander without a destination. Anywhere alone is better than back there, surrounded by well-meaning interrogators…..

Interrogators is a bit harsh.

Still, that’s what they felt like in the moment.

Then there was his horrible start with the first human he met in this universe. Seems the purple clad mutant was doomed for bad first impressions with April O’Neils of any kind.

Donnie huffs a miserable laugh and turns from a dead end room with a projector and couch.

Despite being free of people and mutants alike, it doesn’t feel secluded enough (far enough) from the lair’s inhabitants.

He makes his way back towards the train cars. There he tiptoes silently in case Raph is still resting, then drops down to walk along the railway. The further he goes, the less tension in his back and shoulders.

The turtle is five minutes out when he comes by an opening that connects to semi-familiar sewers. Here it is far less bright and free of obnoxious neon colors and lights, making it the closest thing in appearance to his home dimension. Here with the awful smells and damp walls, Dee felt safe.

A shaky breath escapes him and previous events seem at least somewhat distant.

If only that were enough.

With a mind that runs a mile a minute 24/7, its near impossible to keep out bad thoughts without a distraction of sorts. Something engaging that allows him to work with his hands.

Too bad he’s in the sewers and without his tech.

He could attempt meditation. He’s been able to clear his mind a few times now, much better than he used to be.

Still, however, it rarely works out.

Donnie drops to situate himself in a quarter lotus position (his thick ankles and feet making a full lotus near impossible) and presses the tips of his fingers together in his lap.

“Take a deep breath” he imagines in Leo’s voice. The voice the older turtle uses when he’s trying to be professional, yet is obviously excited to have a sibling actually indulge one of his lone hobbies.

“Hold” this time he hears Splinter say. “And release." His voice is gentle, yet solid. Guiding and nonnegotiable. Not at all like the Splinter of this–

Oh look. He’s already failed.

The terrapin groans and rubs at his eyes.
Why did he even bother?

He drops his hands and glares at the shallow stream of murky water. His angry reflection stares back.

Part of him insists hitting said reflection would be the ‘Raph’ thing to do. The other part says there’s no one here to see. Besides, he’s already embarrassed himself plenty today.

His scowl deepens, so he looks away from the water and further down the tunnel.

Not too far away is a build up of trash. It looks like it was formed by junk being kicked down the sewer grate from the street above over time.

Donnie thinks to ignore the mess in favor of a second meditation attempt when he spots a small kitchen appliance settled at the base of the trash mound.

A broken toaster.

Well, that may prove a decent distraction.

His left arm is soon filled with a barely held together appliance while the other sifts through the rest of the junk for anything he can use in place of a screwdriver.

He always did his best work with other people's leftovers.

Chapter Text

The cord was cut and stripped of it’s wiring, which would have been a problem if he hadn't spotted another undamaged one. An easy replacement. Then, before he could get to securing the sides of the appliance, he needed to clean out and check the insides.

Nearly finished scrubbing the coils free of debris, Donatello hears someone approach.

Good for them. He’s busy.

One coil in particular may possibly be fractured– Oh. Nope. That was just a hair. A few more swipes with his scavenged toothbrush and the innards are as clean as they can get without a solvent and a better tool.

Now to piece it all together…..

….The footsteps are coming from the opposite direction of the lair.

“Ah, sewer apples.”

He has just enough time to gently place the toaster down (he WILL finish it) before a metallic object, shaped suspiciously similar to a hockey stick, enters his field of vision. It’s poised like a blade, aimed at his neck.

“W-who?” the wielder stutters. “Another turtle?”

Dee gives the newcomer an assessing once over.

A human teen (assumably) with dark hair, tanned skin, and a mask hanging from his belt stares at the terrapin ninja in utter bafflement.

“Are you one of those yokai?” he says, no doubt thrown off by Dee's form in comparison to the turtles of this reality.

Possible hockey stick. Black hair. Mask. And is that…? Yep. He has a gap tooth. It’s crooked and minuscule compared to the puck sized abyss Dee’s familiar with, but differences are to be expected.

Donnie groans.

Just his rotten turtle luck hard at work.

“Mind your own business, Casey.”

The shock and how it twists the human boy’s face all funny like is confirmation enough. Entertaining as well.

Dee relaxes and turns his attention back to his little project.

With what visually appear to be functional coils, the scientist takes a moment to lament his inability to find a replacement for the missing springs, and resigns himself to assembling the toaster without them.

Unfortunately, Jones can’t seem to leave things be.

“How do you know my name?” the boy asks.

Casey’s hold on the metal stick shifts from offensive to defensive.

Huh?

A Casey Jones that properly trains beyond street fighting? Cause this one definitely has some training under his belt and active combat experience if his perfect posture and loose stance are to be trusted.

The undisciplined tend to be sloppy or overly stiff.

Although, he is handling his stick more like a sword than a long blunt weapon. That’s whoever-trained-him’s fault. Or there could be hidden blades inside. Or it's just sharper than it looks.

Who knows? Who cares?

Donnie is in the final stretch of completing the toaster. And without enough screws to work with, he has to get precise on where to best use them. He rather not rely on his little pile of substitute parts, finding them lacking in structural reliability and trouble-free installment.

The terrapin waves a chipped plastic butter knife (his counterfeit screwdriver) in dismissal.

“Look, why don’t you go ask the turtles what’s going on and let me finish this.” Dee says, still trying to keep his focus on the appliance rather than dimension business. “I already have one Casey Jones in my life. I really don’t know if I can handle another one.”

The human’s guard drops completely.

His voice raises in pitch as he asks, “You know my mom?”

Now that is mildly interesting.

“Can’t say that I do.” The terrapin replies, already two screws secured and positioning the third. “So, you’re named after your mother? Makes me wonder if it’s the same for my Casey. He never talks about her though.”

Well…. Not never. The few times his friend mentioned the woman, his words were less than flattering. There’s a reason the hockey obsessed teen only searched for his father and sister way back when the Kraang overtook New York.

“Is she a deadbeat in this dimension too?”

Okay. Not the best way to carry a conversation, but Donnie could admit to himself that he was never the most tactful in social situations.

“What?! No! She took care of me during the apocalypse! How could you-” Casey looks caught between genuine outrage and wondering if his hearing was faulty… only for his eyes to sharpen. “Who are you?”

“He’s me.” A voice Dee has come to recognize says in the flattest of tones.

Rotten turtle luck. The gift that keeps on giving, and giving, and giving some more.

Why can't he be left in peace.

At least the final screw is in place. However, seems he will have to pull from his pile of substitutes if he wants the toaster to withstand anything rougher than a gentle breeze.

“Master Donatello.” Casey greets with not a hint of sarcasm, going so far as to nod his head in respect.

“It’s official.” Dee mutters, grabbing a pair of pencils held together by a rubber band. “The universe where reporters wear jumpsuits and our counterparts constantly scream ‘turtle power’ makes more sense than this place.”

He pinches the end of his makeshift tweezers, the graphite free tips plucking a spiral metal shaving from the pile. Donnie is quick to guide the twisted piece inside one of the few remaining corkscrew passages. The actual impression meant for a screw is tighter than the shaving’s curls, so it’s not the easiest thing to maneuver.

“Just how many dimensions have you been toOOOO–OH HOLY PIZZA SUPREME! WHAT IS THAT?!!” his counterpart screeches, voice ringing clearly throughout the sewage system.

The terrapin frowns, selecting a small twig that he can wedge into the final hole. He tosses his pencils aside in favor of a rock.

With every tap of stone against the tiny peg of wood, he can see the other turtle cringe.

“Other me, Dee? While your ingenuity is impressive, your materials are an affront to the genius brand.” His voice is pained despite obvious effort to sound amicable. The smile he has plastered on is twitching at the corners. “I will not suffer this abomination a moment further. We’re going to my lab.”

Even after actively avoiding the taller mutant for an entire morning, the soft shell grabs his wrist and tugs. Dee allows himself to be dragged up, the promise of a proper lab an enticing prospect, yet one arm grips his completed toaster. He needs to plug it in to see if the repair was a success or not.

“I’m taking this with me.” he insists, much to his counterpart’s chagrin.

“Deep inhale.” Don says with a completely straight face instead of actually taking a deep breath. “If you must.”

And so Dee follows.

“I’m lost.” Casey strides up to the soft shell’s side, then matches his pace. “Is this why April insisted I come down for lunch?”

Being led by the wrist proves unfavorable when the terrapin fails to suppress a flinch.

Don’s grip waivers in strength, yet ultimately does not let up.

“Yes. Which reminds me,” the shorter Donnie pauses, hesitating a moment to carefully select his words. “Go find Raph. He could use your help….. Cheering her up.”

Now Dee feels a guilty pit in his stomach.

Of course he upset April. He panicked when she introduced herself and left before giving her an explanation as to why.

“Okay.” The human agrees before turning to Dee and offering his hand (much like April did not too long ago) “It was nice to meet you, I guess.”

Dee’s surprise is a good enough cover for not accepting the proffered handshake (that and his arms are both currently occupied).

“Holy shell. You’re polite.” The gap toothed turtle says with a gasp.

Definitely the strangest alternate dimension by far.

The dark haired teen holds no aggression when he asks, “Why is that surprising?”

“The Casey of my universe is…. I dunno. An adrenaline junky? Insults are his primary language. Kinda unhinged. Craves violence when he’s bored.” The terrapin lists.

Yeah, he and his once rival are friends now. That doesn’t make what he just said any less true, and the proud teen would accept that description with pride.

He'd be more upset that Dee didn’t mention his solo vigilante work.

“Sounds like Cassandra.” The other turtle comments offhandedly, his stride speeding up now that the lair is in sight.

Dee does not know a Cass–

“Was– IS she really like that?” Casey asks surprisingly soft and slows his walk to a full stop.

The kid becomes the epitome of kicked puppy energy, and it’s all too easy to pity the sad sight.

Don faulters. “Please tell me you’ve spoken to your mom.”

The soft shell is a master of the disappointed genius look. Exasperated, put upon, and disproving all neatly wrapped into a single expression.

The tech clad turtle continues, “We’ve been over this. The timeline has already changed too drastically for you to worry about the consequences of meeting your own mother. Now shoo! Go grab a couple pizza boxes and find Raph.”

Don points with his free hand, as well as two metal arms that extend from his armored shell, to emphasize his dismissal of the human teen.

Without a quip or something as simple as a roll of the eyes, Casey nods and enters the subway station without them.

That conversation felt…. Personal.

The terrapin holds his toaster a little tighter against his chest.

Maybe people of this universe are generally more open about such matters. Still, Dee felt odd hearing what little he did during the exchange between his counterpart and Casey.

Or maybe he’s delving too deep into something that doesn’t involve himself.

“Timeline as in time travel?” Dee asks.

The soft shell replies with a curt “Indeed” and says nothing more to expound on the subject.

So, maybe there is something deeper there. At least where time travel itself is concerned.

Understandable, really. Dee’s own experiences in traversing time weren’t exactly happy occasions. And though both times turned out favorable for him and his brothers, there were bitter memories attached to each experience.

The grip on his wrist finally releases.

His shorter self has him standing on front of a curtain of the same shade of purple as the soft shell’s mask.

“Behold,” Don reaches for the corner of the hanging fabric. “My laboratory!"

Chapter Text

Don’t root through trash if you don’t HAVE to root through trash.

Donatello would not suffer another Donatello stoop so low. Not while he can help it.

Donnie watches the taller turtle’s eyes widen and his jaw drop in awe. Pupils expand until they overtake rust colored irises and the terrapin begins to bounce on his thick rounded heels. The only thing that could make his reaction better is if he forgot he was holding that filthy appliance and dropped it.

No such luck.

“This is amazing!” Dee exclaims, rushing into the lab to better immerse himself in the technological wonderland. “By Darwin’s beard, how…..”

He trails off, lost amongst the metallic purples.

His hand hovers just above the surface of everything he passes, itching to touch yet respectfully restraining the urge. Though he nearly gives in at sight of some exposed circuitry.

The soft shell can’t deny the swell of pride filling his chest as he observes his enthralled counterpart.

This already feels different than that time he altered his brothers’ IQs. Not once did that mistake involve appreciation of his work. Only a severe case of being outclassed and more alienated than ever before.

Maybe multiple Donatellos isn’t as bad as that day led him to believe.

“I have officially impressed myself.” Donnie says with an easy smirk.

His counterpart spins to face him.

“How is any of this possible? Did you raid an entire military junkyard or something? I’ve never seen this much titanium in a single room before!” Dee says with what look to be literal stars in his eyes.

“Yes, well, titanium IS my preferred medium.” Don couldn’t imagine settling for less once he’d secured access to the high-quality alloy. “What material do you usually work with?”

He expects the terrapin to reply with something common like steel or iron.

Instead, his enthusiasm falters. An embarrassed blush colors his cheeks, and he holds up that filthy Frankenstein of a toaster.

Garbage…. He works with garbage.

The soft shell drags a hand down his face to make sure he isn’t grimacing too hard.

“Dear me, why??” Don implores, already decided on helping his other self map out a solution to this crime against mechanical engineering.

Dee sighs.

“It’s all I’ve got.” The terrapin admits with a shrug. “Trash and Kraang parts.”

Turns out there’s a downside to sharing hobbies with his father. Something he only began to notice at age 15.

Back when their lives were relatively monotonous and they never strayed outside the sewers, there wasn’t anything to observe. No hesitations when asked a simple query. No tension that stretched from head to tail. Splinter was a paragon of calm control during their tea and meditation sessions…...

Then Leonardo and his brothers turned 15 and were finally allowed to breach the surface world.

The signs started out small.

A creased brow often replacing a relaxed one. Staring into his teacup just long enough to be noticeable. Occasional glances at the dojo’s sliding paper doors. Shorter sessions for days following a rough mission. More medicinal teas when so much as a bruise marred Leo’s skin.

His father was not the unshakable force once believed to be…. And something about that just felt wrong. A core part of Leo’s childhood shattered. Then he lost the pieces when he watched his Sensei die, reality hammering how “flawed” and “mortal” his father truly was.

Rewinding time and saving Splinter, saving the world…. It didn’t fill or even begin to repair that void.

Now, here Leonardo sits across from his father, neither having touched their cooled tea. Now, neither can find the energy to speak first. Now…. a new void fills both their hearts.

Donnie is gone. Wiped from existence in a flash of glittery blue.

“My son.”

A clawed hand rests on the turtle’s cheek and the older mutant swipes his thumb against the damp edge of navy blue.

Leo had not realized he’d been crying. The feeling of wet cloth against his skin is soon unbearable, so he tugs the mask down to hang around his neck. The wet spots resting on less sensitive plastron instead.

“Does this ever get easier?” the teen croaks, his throat aching and his voice nearly as harsh as when he first woke from a coma.

Maybe it’s not fair to pick at his sensei’s old scars while dealing with a fresh wound, yet he needs some reassurance. He craves the naivety of his childhood. How Splinter’s mere presence meant everything would turn out fine.

“No.” his father answers softly. “Loss is simply a part of life all must learn to accept.”

This time Leo is hyper aware of the moisture building in the corners of his eyes.

Why should he have to accept this? Mikey certainly doesn’t seem to be, and look how better off–

He shakes his head.

A leader – no – a brother shouldn’t think like that.

He knows Mikey is only delaying the inevitable, and when the dam breaks and reality hits, his little brother will be worse off for it.

With luck, by then Leo (and hopefully Raph too) will be prepared to handle the backlash.

“How do I…. How do you deal with it?” Leonardo says, closing his eyes to try and keep the tears from falling.

His father hums in thought.

“Since my mutation, I sought out the more spiritual aspects of meditation and chants.” Splinter begins, glancing over to his old family portrait. “On occasion, I would catch glimpses of my beloved Tang Shen.... I suppose it was easier to accept loss when I knew death was not the final destination.”

If it weren’t for the past couple years, and that one fight with a literal ghost, Leo would have his doubts. Now, however, he accepts his sensei’s words with ease.

A spark of hope follows the moment Leo fully processes what all this could mean. He looks up with imploring eyes and a silent question.

Splinter takes a quick breath then shakes his head in dismissal.

“I have yet to see your brother.” He states.

While disappointing, that’s not enough to curb the terrapin’s new found hope. A goal he can focus on instead of moping around and feeling sorry for himself.

“Teach me.” The teen presses.

His voice is on the near edge of the demanding tone he would use for team missions, barely held back by a habitual need to respect his sensei.

The team is broken. Down a pivotal member. If he could just reach Donnie and actually see the genius, maybe they could find a way to communicate. Maybe the brother shaped void in his chest wouldn’t hurt so badly.

He needs to learn.

“This is something that cannot be taught. I can offer little more than general guidance. You must find your own way. Feel out what best connects you with the spiritual plane.” Splinter says, back straightening as he shifts fully into his sensei persona. “Know this, my son. Communion with spirits is a two-way street. While Michelangelo and yourself have shown promise in this regard, the others did not. Donatello perhaps struggled the most.”

Leo nods.

He remembered a similar analysis, but the focus had been their sense of intuition.

Splinter continues, “You may learn to peer into the spiritual plane. However, your brother must also put in the effort to reveal himself to you.”

Not that it really matters.

If it’s too difficult for Donnie to show himself, then Leo will just have to make up the difference.

The teen steels his gaze and corrects his posture.

Noticing the change, his sensei’s ears flick back. The same way they would during training when someone made a mistake in need of correction.

Confused, Leonardo’s confident posture begins to deflate.

Then the rat mutant smiles.

“This is perhaps contrary to the method I have suggested, but you must not live dwelling on those who’ve passed on.” Splinter reaches over to grip the turtle’s shoulder and give a firm squeeze. “Lest you neglect those who remain. Now, more than ever, you and your brothers need each other.”

His brown eyes (a few shades lighter, yet still so similar to Dee’s own) search Leonardo’s deep blues.

What for? Leo can’t be sure.

“Hai, sensei.” The teen forces out, to at least let his father know he would try.

He wouldn’t forget Raph or Mikey. Not now. Not ever.

Still, it’s a–

‘– good thing I know how to multitask’ he remembers his purple brother saying on multiple occasions. Usually paired with Donnie’s signature gap toothed smile. The one that looks so sweet and dopey while somehow also incredibly smug.

That void in Leo’s chest continues to ache.

Chapter Text

It would seem the Kraang were once a threat in this reality.

Although, what with the way the soft shell kept referring to them in the past tense, Dee assumes they are no longer an issue… Yet, if that’s so, what was with the haunted look he watched pass over his counterpart?

The look continued to come and go as the conversation progressed.

“How can you stand to work with all that revolting half-organic tech?” Don says with a wide grimace and a full body shiver.

“Half-organic? Not even. Those guys are all polished metal, transparent plastics, glass, and obnoxious neon pink lights…” the taller turtle pauses to look around the room with equally bright lights of pinks and blues. “Well. Obnoxious for my dimension at least.”

This dimension has a major saturation problem.

Dee looks back down to his second sketch of a Kraang (or Utrom. Whichever.) this one displaying its many strange head antenna. He’s not quite finished, yet he decides to move on.

He was always better at drawing machines at any rate.

The terrapin starts on a completely stripped Kraangdroid. None of the blue rubber filling and fake skin and black suit.

Maybe he’ll draw multiple examples of these too.

Don was kind enough to lend him a notebook and pencil while the soft shell kept his hands busy with modifying the T-phone.

By some miracle his phone stayed securely tucked into the inner pocket of his belt and survived the trip over. On a less fortunate note, Dee couldn’t get it to connect with anything in this dimension.

When the soft shell showed no interest in drawing out this universe’s Kraang, Dee reluctantly handed his T-phone over with a request to be fixed.

Considering the shorter turtle’s reaction to what materials the terrapin usually works with (and then looking around at all the brilliant tech surrounding them) Dee was surprised to see his counterpart admire the little shell shaped device.

He even commented positively on the voice activated self-destruct feature! Said he might add one to his and his brother’s rather normal in appearance cellphones.

Now, after he’s already connected the T-phone to their private network, Donnie is still at work. Refusing to return the device until he's changed out the battery and boosted the storage.

“No flesh spaceships? How fortunate for you.” He grumbles.

“Not quite.” Dee corrects with a shrug. “Lord Dregg-”

Don quirks a very expressive fake brow (admittedly not so ridiculous an addition, that even served a minor purpose in enhancing facial expressions).

“An alien warlord and father of all insects, allegedly. He's a type of cyborg and his ship is a giant living bug. Same with his castle and possibly his entire planet.” Dee explains.

His counterpart pauses, no longer focused on the upgrades, and gives the taller turtle a hard stare.

“How many alien species target your Earth? I’d like to be prepared.” He says after a moment.

“Oh, uh. Only two. Just the Kraang and the Triceratons. Hopefully, you won’t have any issue with the later. They only targeted Earth because of the Kraang’s presence.”

The terrapin so sincerely hopes that is the case. As fun as their trip with the Professor had been (and getting to work with all the most advanced tech he’s ever seen) the events leading up to that was not worth it.

“Lord Dregg and the rest of the aliens we fought were out in space or on other planets.”

Though, now that he thinks about it, that one lizard the Kraang had in custody looked an awful lot like Sal Commander and Mona Lisa–

Don interrupts his thoughts with, “Other planets like the one your friend restored?”

Smooth as a brick to the face, this one.

Dee’s pencil strokes become just a tad harsher.

“Yeah.” He mutters, avoiding eye contact with the other mutant.

Still not too comfortable discussing April yet.

At least the darker lines make the quick doodle of Bishop’s face (complete with a pair of sunglasses) look less scratchy. Dee adds two arrows pointing between the Utrom’s fake head and the now finished Kraangdroid sketch.

“They disguise themselves as humans?” Don guesses, leaning over to get a better view of the drawings.

Dee nods and turns the notebook so his counterpart can see them at a proper angle, instead of upside down.

“How big are your Kraang exactly?” the soft shell asks.

Something unreadable fills those dark eyes of his as he glares at the paper.

“Well the droids are about 6 ft, which would make the Kraang…” Dee taps his chin with the pencil’s eraser, tongue poking out for the half a second it takes for the genius to think. “Approximately 30 centimeters tall.”

The other turtle’s jaw drops.

“You’re kidding me.” He makes some sort of half-laugh/half-scoff hybrid sound. “They’re minuscule.”

It’s said in a derisive tone. True hate and disbelief behind his words.

Now Dee really wishes he knew what the Kraang of this dimension looked like.

“Well, most of them. Their leader, Kraang Prime, is well over 20 feet tall without his mech suit.” The terrapin leans back to better observe his other self, and how he handles the new information. “However, I believe he only got so big after his mutagen experiments.”

The fake brows raise and the soft shell frowns.

“Mutagen?” he repeats, sounding interested and slightly confused.

Odd. The word is pretty self explanatory, and it’s only the reason for their entire existence.

Dee begins to elaborate, “You know. The organic chemical substance that created-”

Then the lab’s curtain is drawn back and a blur of green and blue dashes inside, right up next to the table.

“You nerds forgot lunch!” Leo shouts, dropping two pizza boxes down with a loud thump.

For the first time, the terrapin sees true panic in his counterpart. Metal claws burst from his armored shell and shove the open notebook into Dee’s chest. Frantic eyes bounce between the slider and the book.

The message is clear.

Do not, under any circumstances, let Leonardo see the drawings.

“Oooh-kay?” the striped turtle looks between the two Donnie’s with clear suspicion before he just shrugs. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Leo turns to fully face his brother, jabbing a finger at the soft shell’s chest.

“Don’t order from YOUR favorite pizza place, Donald, if you’re just gonna forget about it!” he chides, planting hands on his hips and shaking his head.

It’s probably the first thing Leo-like that Dee has seen from this blue clad turtle.

His older brother would stand much the same when he was disappointed, but not for any serious issue. For the important things, he would cross his arms and lift his chin.

“I had more pressing matters to attend to.” Don insists, “Such as loosing what I still believe to have been an unfair game of rock-paper-scissors, to then find my counterpart fixing trash with more trash.”

Dee takes this moment to covertly shut the notebook and roll his eyes.

Oh! That reminds him. He still had to find an outlet to test out the toaster.

You’d think that would be easy in a place like this, but no. The ones in view are all in use, and the rest are probably hidden behind panels to keep the sleek and modern aesthetic his counterpart has going on here.

“Sooooo.” Leo is trying to press one of the pizza boxes into his arms. “How’s my dude from another ooze?”

Dee accepts with one hand. The other clings to the notebook.

“Its mutagen actually.” He can’t help but correct.

His counterpart once again looks panicked.

Considering what context the word had been previously brought up, and how that connects with the sketches, it’s understandable.

Luckily, the slider’s attention is fully on Dee. So Donnie’s worry goes unnoticed.

Leo smiles and recovers just as quickly as he proved himself capable of with their earlier banter.

“Fine. My twin from another mutagen.” He follows the rhyme with a pair of finger guns, then adds, “Whatever that is.”

Dee can hear his counterpart facepalm and groan.

“That’s not…. Just no.” the soft shell says, clearly exasperated.

At least he’s no longer panicking. Which is fortunate, because Leo turns to beam at his brother.

“He’s you Don, which – WAIT – that kinda makes us triplets! Hold up hold up!!!” His smile shifts to something a tad manic, and he pokes the terrapin’s shoulder. “Are you and your ‘Me’ twins?”

Dee has heard him refer to the other as his twin a few times. It didn’t really catch his attention until now (probably since he lacks whatever leap in logic they use to justify it).

The two aren’t even the same species.

Donatello shrugs. “My brothers and I are the same age, so we’re possibly quadruplets.”

Leonardo’s whole demeanor flips and literal tears begin to form.

“I’VE BEEN ROBBED!” he wails, as if a true injustice had been revealed.

The slider slumps over until he has to lean against the table to keep from sinking to the floor. He then throws an arm over his eyes like a near faint character in a play, fully committed to the act.

The theatrics earn him a single pat from his brother.

“What do you mean by possibly?” Don asks, “You mean you’re not sure?”

“I ran some DNA tests which confirmed us to be directly related on our turtle side, which suggests we came from the same clutch. We had to have hatched around the same time. A large time gap between hatching would have had us split up and delivered to different pet stores. Not that it really matters since-”

“Wait.” the soft shelled turtle narrows his eyes in thought.

Still half on the table, Leo silently mouths “pet shop” like it’s some foreign concept.

Dee’s beginning to believe the irregularities of this universe a far greater than he previously thought. The many differences he’s seen thus far are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

“Exactly how did you mutate?” his counterpart inquires once he'd gathered his thoughts.

It’s a question he’s sure Don wouldn’t appreciate Leo hearing the answer to.

“It was an accident.” The terrapin says slowly, tapping one blunt finger against the notebook hard enough to draw the shorter turtle’s attention. “Involving 30 centimeter tall creatures disguising themselves as humans.”

Donnie takes on the face of someone trying to suppress their gag reflex and failing miserably. Whatever impression the Kraang left in this dimension must have been quite severe.

Despite posing a threat on multiple occasions back home, it was difficult for Dee and his brothers to take them and their roundabout speech too seriously.

“Hang on.” Leonardo rights himself, sitting up off the table. “Are you saying you don’t have a Draxum back home?” he says incredulously.

The name is unfamiliar.

Dee’s face must say as much, since the other Donatello quickly supplies, “He’s a sheep yokai. A ‘mystic scientist’ who created an ooze to mutate an army strong enough to overthrow all of humanity. We were some of his very first successful mutations.”

“He’s a lunch lady now.” Leo adds, “And Mikey calls him dad.

Oh. Wow.

“That’s…..” Dee isn’t sure how to respond to any of that. “Did you say mystic?” he tries for instead.

Don nods and his ‘twin’ grins.

“Observe!” the red eared slider instructs, raising up an open palm.

Before their guest’s very eyes, twin swords materialize in a flash of light. The katanas fall into Leonardo’s awaiting hand.

A fancy trick, Dee thinks. One a talented magician could pull off with the speed of a trained ninja to fall back on.

Mikey could accomplish far more impressive feats with a smoke bomb and some water balloons.

But then Leo throws one of the katanas.

Before Donatello can blink, the slider is across the room, holding his wayward blade with a pleased smirk and no signs of physical exertion. Hovering in front of his chest is a vaguely familiar glowing symbol.

“I know. Impressive, right?”

Chapter Text

The thing about using a curtain in place of a door is the fact it does little to nothing to filter sound.

“-Can it be measured without the use of a magical element?”

“Mystic! Not magical.”

“Well, forgive me for finding this all a tad too supernatural to be considered a science. I mean, you say you inherited this ‘Ninpo’ that originated from your many times great grandmother. A skill she discovered that passes down through genetics of all things. How does that happen?”

Raph can hear the telltale signs of a debate between the Donnies.

“To be fair, it’s not clear whether it is passed genetically or not.” His brother comments, always one to favor accuracy.

“Which only validates my skepticism.”

Definitely a debate.

“Don Tron here used to hate all the mystic stuff too, until he got his Ninpo.”

Of course Leo is in there too, probably enjoying the disagreement.

Don huffs, “What about your universe?! You said you fought a ghost and your brother can draw out poisons with ‘magic hands’-” the snapper can picture his genius brother gesture out the air quotes. “-and chants.”

“Healing hands, which uses spiritual energy. The mantras help focus and direct said energy. And yes, it is measurable.”

“How can you honestly sit here and tell me that spirits are anymore scientific than our powers?”

Raphael pulls back the curtain to witness approximately what he’d been expecting. Two purple masked turtles focused on each other and Leo observing off to the side.

A displeased soft shell is trying to level his counterpart with his flat I-know-better-than-you stare. Dee meets it with a near perfect match.

In the terrapin’s hands is Donnie's prized goggles. He lifts them to his eyes and gives one of Leo's katanas a studious glance.

Dee pulls the goggles back down and leans back towards the table, where he adds some fanciful words and equations to an already crowded page of notes. At the top of the paper, it’s boldly titled “Mystic or Magic?”, the words underlined twice.

“Alternate planes of reality sharing the same space is a widely accepted concept. More so than time travel, or let’s say multiverse theory.” He stops writing to tap his chin with a pencil in mock thought. “And yet here I am.”

The soft shell snatches his goggles to return them to their rightful place on his head.

“Guys?” Raph calls, trying to interrupt their discourse.

It was getting late, and a tired Don was an irrational Don. And an irrational Don is nine times out of ten impossible to negotiate with.

The snapper is paid no heed.

Donnie’s voice raises, “For the record! And everything IS recorded, mind you. I could easily build something to measure mystic energy without a crystal, if I so wanted-!”

“Hey guys?” Raph tries again, louder this time.

Only one turtle acknowledges his effort for attention.

“Yo, Raph!” Leonardo is sitting on the far end of the table, legs crossed and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He waves his big brother inside, wearing a giddy smile as he does so. “You gotta sit down. This is way more entertaining than wrestling!”

The snapping turtle does make his way behind his table perched sibling. He does not, however, sit down or even begin to make himself comfortable.

He came here with a purpose.

“Doubt it.” Raph dismisses, “Just wanted to let you know that Casey and–” he then tries to put a lighter tone to his voice (with a totally not forced smile) “–that our friends went home for the night.”

His tech clad little brother's demeanor shifts immediately, and Raphael knows he slipped into his “babying Donnie” voice.

Only, he did it for the wrong Donatello.

Before the snapper can stew in his embarrassment, Don asks, “Night? What time is it?”

He squints and lifts a…..

Raph has no idea what it is.

The little domed object looks kinda like a turtle shell. That’s cute– wait – NO! The snapper can’t let himself get distracted.

“It’s late.” Raph insists, pinching between his eyes. “You guys have been holed up in here all day. And I mean ALL day.”

He earns a handful of popcorn to the face, a few of the buttered puffs nestling between spikes and where skin meets plastron.

“Boo! Mi hermano wants to big brother us all to bed early.” Leo says mournfully into his now empty bowl.

The snapper plucks one of the stray pieces and flicks it back at the striped turtle.

The slider sticks out his tongue in retaliation, whilst Don glares at the accumulating mess littering his workshop floor.

“You’re older?”

Dee is looking up at the spiked turtle in a mix of awe and realization. Which is strange, cause wasn’t it obvious? No one’s ever questioned it before.

Raphael shrugs, “By a year, yeah.”

“Fascinating.” And boy does the terrapin truly look fascinated. His eyes alight, the reflecting purples and pinks of the lab intensifying the red of his irises, as he analyzes the larger mutant. “My brothers and I always considered Leo the oldest.”

Raph chokes down a hearty laugh, trying to repress making light of this other-dimensional brother’s words. It’s only mildly successful, reduced to a series of wheezes and unflattering facial expressions.

Leo? Older?

It just doesn’t process.

“What? Why!?” Don asks in disbelief.

At least someone is taking this seriously, as Leo is indisposed, doubled over trying and failing to suppress his snickers.

Dee looks none too impressed with any of their reactions as he explains, “He finished mutating first. Then Raph, then me, then Mikey.” Those intense eyes soften. “But mostly its just how he acts.”

It’s difficult to place whether the terrapin’s mood had soured or improved. Mikey could probably tell if he was here, but Raph had already sent him to bed some minutes ago.

Maybe it’s a bit of both. A bitter sweet kinda deal. Thinking fond thoughts of a big brother he can’t reach.

That possibility is enough to make the snapper’s chest ache.

Being cut off from your family? The worst feeling in the world, in Raph’s opinion.

“Oh. Thanks.” Dee's gaze diverts, as he accepts that little domed device from his soft shelled counterpart. “That took a while.”

“That’s because you had like no apps. And your music playlist was all polka and metal.” Don remarks, crossing his arms in distaste.

Oh. It’s probably a phone.

Dee tucks it away somewhere between his side and his belt.

“There’s only the one polka song, and metal is perfect while I’m working.” He defends. “Drowns out sound from outside the lab and it doesn’t put me to sleep.”

To which the shorter Donatello informs, “And now you have plenty of Dubstep to correct your entitled and yet entirely wrong opinion, as well as the best 80’s jams for dancing.”

The soft shell really couldn’t help but take advantage of his more flexible back when it came to dancing. To be honest, his three brothers often envied him for it (not that a single one of them would dare admit to it, considering its about the only positive Donnie saw in his vulnerable carapace).

“Eh. I’ll leave the dancing to Mikey.” Dee says, his voice taking on a kind of sharp edge. “It was hard enough learning to sneak around with these-” He lifts one of his thick cylindrical feet for emphasis. “Must be nice to have more human-esque proportions.”

Something about the frown on the lanky turtle’s face and the tone of his voice gives Raph a nasty feel in the pit of his stomach.

“I feel ya. Raph’s in the same boat.” The snapper tries to relate.

No, he doesn’t have Dee’s unique limbs, yet by size alone the snapper found a great many things inconvenient. Stealth took some practice and finding the perfect angle to fit through a manhole cover was annoying.

Still, he doesn’t believe that quite covers whatever is bothering the terrapin.

“Which reminds me!” Don points to their guest while locking eyes with his elder brother. “My counterpart needs a hoodie for tomorrow.”

The switch from displeasure to utter bafflement on the terrapin’s face helps ease that off-putting feeling in Raph’s stomach, and the snapper silently thanks his genius brother for prompting the change.

“Won’t mine be too big?” he asks.

Not only did he need much bigger clothes than his family, he preferred some extra wiggle room so his spikes wouldn’t completely shred whatever he put on.

Ever the pragmatist, Don quickly replies with, “Better too big than too small. I need one tonight so I can patch it up first.”

Because in spite of all the care the Snapping turtle put into his clothes, there were always tears and holes in every one of them. Even the ones made with the more durable cloths Donnie recommended for him.

“Sure.” He says, shooting the other Donnie a smile.

Dee still appeared to be stuck in his bout of confusion.

He raises a nonexistent brow. “Why do I need a hoodie?”

“You know? To blend in.” Leo answers, hopping down from the table to stretch.

He must have been sitting there a good while, cause Raph can hear his little brother’s joints audibly pop.

“I highly doubt one single article of clothing will hide the fact that I’m a mutant.” Dee insists, crossing his arms.

The word “mutant” is said in no flattering manner.

All three brothers frown.

This feels like a Doctor Feelings situation, or possibly even Doctor Delicate touch. Or one of Michelangelo’s many, many self-assigned personas. Or just Mikey in general.

But Raph had to go and convince his littlest bro to head to bed already.

“It’s New York. No one really cares. I mean,” The snapper’s words come out a little strained. “We have hardly any issues blending in. Even when we were just little tots, no one batted an eye as long as they didn’t get too close.”

Now Dee looks completely horrified.

“When you were tots?” he echoes.

Somehow his horror feels like an improvement.

“Yeah!” Leo confirms, evidently just as perturbed by their guest’s previous disposition, and ready to move on. “When pops was watching tv, sometimes we would sneak out to the nearest playground.”

If the lanky turtle’s jaw could drop all the way to the floor, Raph has no doubts that it would have.

The diamondback glances between each of the other turtles in disbelief.

“How are any of you alive?”

“Like I said. It’s New York. People gots better things to do. Places to be.” Raph attempts to smooth over, cause he really does not want to end tonight on a low note.

He then gestures for his Donnie to listen.

“I’ll go get a hoodie if you promise to go to bed immediately after the patch job. Deal?”

The soft shell turns his grimace from his counterpart to his red masked brother.

“Groan.” He mutters, “I'm old enough I no longer have to adhere to an enforced bedtime.”

But the words lack Don’s usual vigor. The will to argue not as pressing a matter as the puzzle his counterpart is revealing himself to be.

“That’s why I’m making it a deal.” Raph says, knowing he’s won this battle.

Don nods, accepting the terms.

Success.

“You can sleep in my bed again.” The snapper offers their guest, remembering he has two more targets in need of dealing with.

Horror makes way for an anxious smile.

“Thanks but that’s really not necessary. I'd like to continue working on my notes, if I could. Besides,” Dee rushes, “Falling asleep at a desk is nothing new for me.”

Of course it isn’t.

Two Donatellos. Twice the work.

“No. Nope. Nuh-uh.” Raphael grumbles. “I can’t in good conscience let you stay here and encourage my Donnie to break our deal. So-“

So he picks the terrapin up by the nape of his shell.

The treatment elicits an indignant squawk from the now dangling turtle.

“As your big brother in two dimensions-“

“Dee says he’s taller than his Raph.” Leo cuts in, no longer stretching, content to watch the new struggle between Dee and yet another one of his brothers.

The slider also could be a pain to get to sleep. Especially if he found something interesting to occupy his attention.

“Bigger as in older.” Raph clarifies through grit teeth (with how often his siblings try his patience, he sometimes wishes he wasn’t).

“And how old are you?” his captive inquires, swinging his legs experimentally and reaching up to feel for the larger mutant’s grip.

Purely inquisitive in his search, probably not familiar with the hold if he really was the tallest of his brothers.

“Seventeen.”

“Same here. Nearly eighteen if you count the extra six months of time travel. So, I’m probably older.” Dee comments, dropping his hands to hang down at his sides.

The snapping turtle opts to ignore the time travel bit, pulling his captive into a more secure hold instead of questioning how little he actually knows about their guest.

“As the biggest brother of this dimension, of which you are our guest, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.” Raph declares, sure he left no room for further technicalities to be used against him.

So, if he’s dragging Dee to bed and Don accepted his deal, that leaves–

“Leo.”

The slider wags a finger that is surely meant to be patronizing.

He begins, “I’m the leader here-“

“Of the Mad Dogz. Not family business. Go to bed.” Raph is quick to correct.

He doesn’t give his blue clad brother the chance to retort, pivoting on his heel to go get Dee settled and to find a decent hoodie.

He slides the curtain shut behind him for good measure.

He makes it a total of three steps from the lab when his unwilling passenger starts moving.

The gentle brush of a blunt thumb against chipped plastron draws his attention. After a moment Dee flicks, a piece of popcorn is dislodged from the narrow crevasse…. Yet the smaller turtle’s interest in the scar remains even after it is clear of debris.

The mark is not a story Raphael wants to share. Not in the slightest.

Dee runs his fingers over the same spot, now more sensitive than the rest of the snapper’s shell. The result is an unpleasant, if mild, tickle.

“Surprised you haven’t asked about it.” Raph blurts out before he can think better of it.

Why would he say that?

That’s the last thing–

“My Raph has a chipped carapace and plastron too.” Donatello says.

No positive or negative connotations to be found. Just stating a simple truth.

“He does?”

“Mh-hmm…”

And that was that.

Raph tolerates the soft examination of his freshly healed injury, relieved as long as Dee doesn’t question it’s origin.

Strange that something as small as an injury remained a constant between their dimensions, but not age or even species.

They make it inside the subway car before Donnie starts to protest the hold, pushing himself free.

“For future reference, I do not like being picked up.” The lanky terrapin says, taking this chance to better examine the room. “At least it wasn’t by my face, so thanks for that.”

Mental note, avoid grabbing Dee by the face. Not that Raph was ever going to, but it’s a good thing to keep in mind regardless.

“You left me no choice.” Raph defends, heading over to his makeshift closet to find the hood in need of the least amount of patching. “If I let you stay up, Leo and Don would stay up too. And you three need your rest if you're going topside tomorrow.”

Don probably wanted to go out during the day if he thought a disguise was necessary. From a distance they’d look like a few green loving teens performing parkour over rooftops.

Why Donnie’s counterpart started acting so weird about everything was a mystery.

The terrapin is facing the bed, now free of most of the stuffed toys and dressed in new bedding.

“Hey, um….” Dee’s voice waivers. “Was April okay?”

That gives Raph pause.

She’d been upset. Ready to keep away from the lair for however long the new turtle was stuck in their universe. Even after the many hugs and the addition of Casey’s help in providing distractions, her usual spunk and energy didn’t quiet reach 100%.

“She’s fine.” The larger teen replies, settling on a white hoodie with minimal punctures to it’s sleeves.

April is fine, but she could be better.

It’s just hard for older siblings to relax until they’re sure the rest of their family is well off.

The snapper wasn’t there to witness the incident at lunch, but from what Mikey described, Dee is far from alright.

“And what about you?” Raph prompts, draping the chosen top over his forearm. “You okay?”

The smaller teen's lips part to answer, but nothing comes out. After a few drawn out moments his mouth closes.

By the time Raphael exits the subway car, the question remains unanswered.

Chapter Text

The hoodie feels ridiculous. Just as most clothing does to the mutant terrapin.

It was white with a graphic for some sci-fi he's neither seen nor heard of (possibly a modernized reboot of Space Heroes). The fabric's soft and the patchwork nearly imperceptible at first glance. The cuffs of the sleeves fit comfortably around his large wrists, but that’s it. Donnie was practically swimming in the oversized top.

How they expect him to maneuver inconspicuously in the thing, he has no idea.

And worse yet, they were going out during mid-day. When the city would be at its most active and have a guarantee person on every street. The perfect opportunity for any human to lift their phone and snap a picture or take a video of the strange beings traversing their city rooftops.

Then they’d have to hunt down the phone before the evidence of mutants could be shared with the wrong people. And if they’re too late, hope no one armed to the teeth (like an Italian gang or the US government) takes interest.

“I think you’ll like Barry.” Mikey chirps, skipping up to Dee’s side and matching his pace. “You get to meet the new him!”

And this is supposedly why they were going out so early.

Dee had simply wanted to look for his bo staff. His counterpart then planned to kill two birds with one stone and also pay a visit to….

“Barry?”

“Baron Draxum. Once bad. Wanted to destroy all of humanity. Now sorta good.” Don clarifies.

Ah, yes. The reason Leo decided not to join them.

Apparently this Draxum guy dropped him off a twenty story building and the turtle in blue couldn’t quite get over the experience. Which, honestly, Dee can relate.

Leatherhead. Slash. Karai. They’re all well meaning people. Two good allies and a sister that work to be better.

Yet even now, Donatello can’t help but remember being grabbed and thrashed around by his face. Or being singled out first and thoroughly beaten on a secluded rooftop. Or being strapped in to an electric chair wired directly to his head.

He's forgiven each of the three. Easy enough once you consider the fact that not one of them were in their right mind when these events took place.

Meanwhile, what little he’s been told of Baron Draxum sounds as if it was all his own doing. No impairment meddling with his thoughts and actions. No brain worm, unstable mutagen, or triggered bouts of blind rage.

So, yeah. It makes sense why Leonardo didn’t want to come.

Raph isn’t with them either, having followed after the pouting slider.

He’s a very different kind of doting elder brother than Leonardo. More physical with his affection and hyper aware of the size discrepancies and age gaps between himself and his siblings.

At least, that’s what Donnie observed earlier while the four brothers discussed meeting up with Draxum.

“You said he works as a uh…. lunch lady?” Dee believes he’s remembering that correctly.

“Which is why we didn’t leave sooner.” His counterpart grunts, sliding a manhole cover to the side and climbing up into the revealed alley way. “He didn’t get off work till a half hour ago.”

Sooner? How are these counterparts so casual about daylight hours in the city?

Maybe their New York is less active than his own….

The yellow spotted box turtle follows after his brother, then waves for the final turtle to join them. He extends a hand for aid, which Dee accepts only to freeze the moment his head is above ground.

The terrapin was wrong. So, so very wrong.

Instead of a person on every street, there’s CROWDS. Plural. Like some kind of big event is taking place on either side of the alley.

Dee ducks back through the manhole and tries to drag Mikey down with him, yet (for some unfathomable reason) is met with resistance.

“Whoa! Hold up.” the orange masked turtle shoots him a worried look. “What’s the problem?”

The terrapin stops trying to pull his baby brother’s counterpart to safety, but does not let up on his hold.

What’s the problem?!

There are humans not more than 12 feet away, and they’re standing out in the open!

Apparently he said that thought out loud.

The soft shell peers over his brother’s shoulder and sighs, “The longer we waste our time here, the more likely it is someone will notice. So-” he claps twice. “-hurry it up.”

Don doesn’t wait for a reply, his armored shell folding out into a jetpack type attachment using drone inspired propulsion. Before the taller Donatello can fully marvel at the engineering feat, his counterpart has flown up and out of sight.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine. I promise.” Mikey says, now using the terrapin’s grip to lightly tug him forward. “C’mon Dee.” He punctuates with an encouraging, gap-toothed smile.

Against his better judgement, Donnie accepts the pull up and out of the sewer.

His short companion points up before leaping onto the nearest fire escape to begin his assent of the apartment complex.

The sooner they’re on the roof, the safer they’ll be.

Dee aims for the lower bars and over shoots…. By a lot... Like a whole extra story high.

The clumsy clang as the lanky turtle hits the fire escape is loud enough to echo in the narrow alley, prompting the mutant to use his new found mobility to scale the building and hide as fast as is physically possible.

Different universe…. Different gravity? Why had he only realized this now?

He’s felt off since he first entered this universe, but not much different than that other 2D reality now that he thinks back on it.

“Gravity is lighter here.” He says between deep breaths. “That’s good to know.”

He takes a moment before he peeks down over the edge to scan the alley and bustling streets. Not a soul looks back.

What is with this city?

A hand pats his shoulder.

Dee flinches.

Mikey is there, holding his hands up, palms out. Nonthreatening. Just Mikey.

The terrapin forces his posture to relax and his breathing to even out. He’d freaked out over nothing.

“Shoulda figured you didn’t like crowds.” The box turtle deflates a little, as if he really was to blame for Donatello’s panic. “Sorry.”

First off, crowds aren’t an issue. Crowds of humans with their fears of the unknown and their curious assumption making minds…. Yeah, nope. Not a fan.

Second, why the younger turtle saw fit to apologize for–

“Found it.” Don calls out, sounding criminally underwhelmed for a person using a jetpack.

Whether the bland tone comes naturally or the genius turtle actively practiced to master it was a mystery unlikely to be worth solving. It’s impressive, none the less.

Dee turns to see his counterpart hovering over two pieces of a once whole bo staff. It must have broke when he fell into this reality.

Just his luck. His never to be forgotten turtle luck.

The lanky mutant makes his way over to gather the uneven halves.

He really should have expected this.

“Wood? Interesting choice.”

Contrary to his statement, Don does not, in fact, sound interested.

“I don’t have mystic powers, so yes, it's wood.” Dee says with just a hint of annoyance.

How fortuitous it would be to own a weapon you could summon by shear willpower and a little energy input instead of replacing one that brakes every other mission. Of course he would choose a “magic” staff if he could.

The soft shell shakes his head.

“No tech?” he clarifies, genuine in his confusion.

Oh.

“I made some modifications.” The terrapin says, giving the little notch on the top half of his bo a firm press.

A fine blade springs out, rousing an approving nod from the other staff wielder.

There’s no point in salvaging the poor thing. Better off making a whole new one than wasting valuable materials to hold together and reinforce a broken stick.

Dee returns to the edge of the building and drops the pieces into an open dumpster seated far below, only drawing back after they've reached their target with a muffled thump.

“With all that fuss about finding your staff earlier,” His counterpart grumbles, “Thought it might have been sentimental.”

Hard to harbor a strong attachment to something that’s better off scrapped and replaced than repaired.

His very first staff, a three and a half foot tall training bo, had been all too easy to give up. The terrapin had outgrown the weapon and was eager to switch to something more fitting his size and provided him with even greater reach.

Every bo after…. They never lasted a full year. Not since the day Raph discovered he was strong enough to snap the wooden pole over his knee.

Dee shrugs. “I’ll make a new one.”

Conversely, memories of learning to carve out a bo staff from scavenged wood beside his father were held very near and dear. One of the few times his sensei would create and craft alongside the terrapin. A skill not self taught (with the aid of a waterlogged manual or an internet search) but instead knowledge passed from father to son.

“In that case!” The hovering turtle clasps his hands together with a positively gleeful shine overtaking his eyes. “I’d happily provide the materials, then we could fix it with all the works! Tools and gadgets of greater ambition than mere blades!”

His arms grow increasingly animated with each word passed his lips. A familiar excitement overtakes Don’s entire person. The kind of energy that comes with the prospect of sharing in a deep passion with someone who might actually understand.

“I’m talking optimum utility, durability, style, a disco ball-!” He keeps listing even as his little brother grabs onto his sleeve and starts dragging the soft shell across the rooftop.

After a few moments, Dee realizes the box turtle is likely leading them to their next destination and follows.

The diverse gadgets his counterpart suggests are (for the most part) conveniences the taller genius would often ponder. If a weapon as Don describes is possible in this universe, it doesn’t change one very important road block.

“I wouldn’t be able to maintain it… Can’t maintain the tech bo I already have.” Dee admits.

Okay. So there actually is one staff he cares for.

The scanner from Fugitoid wasn’t built with combat in mind, but with materials that surpass most (if not all) Earth metals, a bo staff it became.

Even then, it could still be damaged.

With no compatible metals to choose from, repairs would be the equivalent of patching a steel sheet with aluminum foil.

Titanium may not be as elusive a material as the extraterrestrial alloys of the scanner, however, for a sewer dwelling mutant, it might as well be.

Yes, he would forever appreciate a bo so advanced as what Don is offering. No, he could never promise to give it the proper care it would deserve.

Mikey picks up the pace and leaps to the next building.

The terrapin follows suit and only stumbles a little with the landing. He expected the lighter gravity. Still he’ll need time to adjust.

“We really need to chat business, you and me. One on one. A little forgery, a fake identity and you’re set.” Don stage whispers.

The conspiratorial grin splitting his face lacks any hint of sarcasm, which suggests–

Dee stumbles again. This time out of shock.

“You actually paid for all that titanium?!” he exclaims, thankful he recovered enough he didn’t faceplant.

He really doesn’t want to stain or rip the borrowed hoodie.

“Indeed I did.” Don shrugs. “Well, most of it. Regardless, with maintenance covered, let’s talk weaponry. I fancy myself some varied fire arms, but if you prefer blades–“

He just keeps going.

The excitement is contagious, and the terrapin is nearly drawn into his counterpart’s musings. Wants to loose himself and join in with his own ideas. If it weren’t for the masses of people down below (or the endless stream of noise, or the assault of bright colors rendering the city unrecognizable) maybe Dee could have.

This universe won’t let him settle. Not for a moment.

They’re too exposed here.

Sunny days were a rarity back in his New York. In fact, he’d never seen a cloud free sky until the farm house.

The sky here is mostly clear, and the sun only further saturates the already vivid city. Neon colors and lights demanding your attention, creating a collage of focal points to attract wandering eyes.

Scanning his surroundings was a nightmare.

The constant clamor was proving just as irritating. How was he supposed to listen for approaching threats with all this racket?

Dee wonders if this is what it’s like for his hyperactive little brother.

Mikey was simultaneously the most and least observant person he knew. Always noticing the smallest of vital details in one situation, only to get distracted from the glaringly obvious in the next. Maybe his attention was constantly shifting because he noticed too much?

Sounds exhausting.

This whole dimension is exhausting.

The terrapin is just barely keeping up with the other two mutants.

His sense of self preservation (insisting he treat everything as a possible threat) wars with his desire to listen to the slider talk and remembering to take lighter gravity into account as they move from building to building.

The ability to multitask dwindles as anxiety settles in.

They cross a final rooftop before Mikey uses his purple clad brother as a parachute, the added weight forcing the jetpack to drop down slowly between an office building and yet another apartment complex.

Don breaks from his enthusiastic chatter, recognition dawning as he halts their decent to push open a window.

Dee takes the nearest fire escape, joining them with only a few seconds delay.

“We’re here.”

Chapter Text

If whatever telekinetic transport his counterpart refused to expound upon isn’t an option, that left two immediate alternatives.

Try and invent a method of dimensional travel from scratch, or.... find a mystic solution.

Contrary to what his family believes, even with the awakening of their Ninpo, the soft shell only tolerates mystic powers. If he wasn’t able to form his light constructs exactly as he would real weaponry, he would still primarily use his tech bo.

The constructs had all the inner workings. The wires, the springs, the gears, the chambers, the ammo, the rivets, the hubs and washers – Everything! All pieced together using the knowledge stored within his brilliant mind in a matter of seconds.

The advantages are too great to toss aside out of principal.

As such, loath as he is to admit it, a little mystic spell or ritual or something just as painfully unscientific is probably the preferable option as of this moment.

Hence, Baron Draxum.

The alchemist answers the door with a hairnet still bundling maroon locks atop his head. Proof he had just recently returned from work.

Donnie mentally pats himself on the back for his impeccable timing.

“What is it now?” the yokai asks, his usual frown pulling at his long face.

Red eyes circled by orange sclera immediately latch on to the odd mutant out amongst the trio, narrowing till there is more pupil than iris.

A question twists his lips, interrupted by a sudden armful of box turtle.

Mikey clings to the sheep yokai with a proud grin. Always the happiest of Draxum’s creations to see the mystic scientist.

“Congratulations!” he beams, throwing out one arm towards Dee in presentation. “You’re officially a father of five!”

It would doubtless have been six to include April. Maybe seven to include Casey too. If he was talking with Splinter that is.

Draxum’s place in the family was improving day by day, yet still strained.

Mikey couldn’t yet bring himself to ask April or Casey to accept the yokai as family.

He also believes the Baron is still in the early stages of accepting the idea of a loving family in general, and rather not push his progress too fast, too hard.

That being said, the box turtle held no qualms about encouraging his brothers (interdimensional brothers included) into warming up to the new and improved Draxum and vise versa.

“Hm? Unlike any Kappa I’ve seen. A mutant then… I did not create this one.” The alchemist says, prying the clingy teen off his mildly sweat stained work shirt. “Unless they’re a product of a missing mutagenic mosquito–“

“Oozesquito!” Mikey corrects.

“– then this is someone else’s handiwork.”

Don balks, frowning.

He rather not imagine what life would be like if they considered all the oozesquito victims as family. That would make Repo, Ice Bear, Meatsweats, Hypno, that worm guy, Todd, Bullhop, all those silver fish Meatsweats ate…. What? Weird half siblings? Distant cousins?

“Cringe.” The softshell shakes his head.

Yeah, no.

He can only hope Draxum didn’t just give his little brother any ideas.

“This is myself from an alternate reality.” He says, turning to his shuffling counterpart.

The terrapin bounces from foot to foot (like he’s anxiously waiting for a reason to bolt) his wary gaze shifting between the empty hallway and the warrior alchemist.

“Dee?” Mikey calls, also noticing the overtly cautious behavior.

Dee hunches into the oversized hoodie and asks, “Can we speak inside?”

The soft shell rolls his eyes.

They are hardly at risk of being caught. The moment they hear footsteps or someone opening a door, they can slip into the apartment before they’re spotted.

Although, he did notice his other self stumble a bit on the way over here.

Maybe he’s not confident in his speed?

He also complained about how his feet made stealth a difficult skill to master…. And yet that hardly makes sense. Don recalls very few moments he’s heard his counterpart’s footfalls; which suggests the terrapin is well above proficient in stealth.

Did he just hate crowds like Mikey had assumed earlier?

Whatever the case, Draxum steps back, allowing the trio inside before closing the door behind them.

Dee’s relief is immediate. Tension drains from his frame as he pulls back his oversized hood to look around unobscured.

The youngest turtle’s head swivels between the yokai and Don’s counterpart with an encouraging smile, eager to see what they pair think of each other.

The terrapin notices and smiles awkwardly.

“Not sure what you’re expecting, Mikey. I don’t have a Draxum in my world, so, uh... not my father.” Dee says, with a shrug. He then offers a hand in formal greeting to the alchemist. “Which actually makes it fascinating to meet you. I’m Donatello.”

The sheep yokai isn’t given the chance to react as Michelangelo grabs the taller mutant by the shoulders to give him a solid shake.

“What?!” Mikey exclaims. “How is that even possible? Like, how do you exist?!”

The soft shell notices Dee frown and throw him a wary glance.

Ah.

“Michael.” Don sighs, “His family was mutated by their Kraang.”

There was only one person the soft shell found himself completely open to discussing those vile creatures and the almost apocalypse with. That being his little brother.

Maybe it was the fact Mikey and him had spent the majority of that time at each other’s side? Or simply because it has always been easy to talk to Mike about the hard stuff?

It helped that it was his baby brother who reached out first; wanting to vent about everything that happened with someone who could relate. Anything to ease up on the stress of bottling it up and acting like nothing was amiss.

Admittedly, chatting helped. Just as it did for all of them with the whole Shredder incident.

The Kraang, however…. No one wanted to be the first to openly talk about them with Leo or Raph.

“That’s awful!”

The box turtle now has one arm hugging Dee’s neck and his free hand patting his head.

“It’s fine, really. From what I’ve gathered, our Kraang are very different.” The terrapin assures with a placating tone and a partial smile. “The Kraang back home are terrible fighters and the majority are pretty dense due to their hive mind mentality.”

The more Don hears about these pathetic aliens, the more jealous he finds himself becoming.

Small? No organic tech? Terrible in combat? Dimwitted?

No fair.

Mikey releases his hold and steps back. His hands fidget as he meets Dee’s eyes.

“Okay. Just uh…. Don’t mention them to Raph or Leo.” He says.

The terrapin nods, and Mikey lets out a relieved breath.

And this is a perfect example as to why Mike was the best for handling tough subjects. Covering all his bases to avoid a future incident.

Meanwhile, his soft shelled brother had only hinted the subject as being a taboo around Leo, and never even considered mentioning the silent warning should extend to Raph as well.

The snapper’s eye still twitches on occasion.

“Aaaaannnyways,” Don draws out, looking to Draxum. “I was wondering if you knew of any mystic avenues capable of returning my counterpart to his rightful dimension.”

Attempts to get Dee to broach the issue were repeatedly derailed. Over and over and over again.

Not all of it was the taller of the Donatello’s fault. The soft shell couldn’t keep his curiousity in check and kept asking off topic queries. Impossible to resist with all the oddities his counterpart mentioned so casually.

Then, of course, his twin didn’t aid matters when he decided to show off his Ninpo (and Don REFUSED to be one upped by Nardo of all people).

And then Raph came in to put everyone to bed, and the much needed plan to return their guest home was forgotten.

Draxum's apartment is a great place to force the conversation forward. The genius turtle and the yokai had very little desire to engage in small talk and other distractions.

Mikey raises a hand.

The following words leave a bitter tang in the back of Don’s throat.

“There’s my portals-“

“No.” Donatello and Draxum deny in tandem.

The box turtle’s subsequent pouted lip and narrowed eyes are completely misplaced. He should know that was never (and never WILL be) an option. Yet the younger teen doesn’t let up under Don’s disapproving scowl. Stance growing defiant just as it often would when Raph declared Mikey too young to participate in something or other.

Too young, too small, less experienced.

Who cares?

The soft shell receives nearly the same treatment due to his sensitive carapace and yet he never reacts this bad to his brothers’ wariness. And he certainly wouldn’t act this way if death was so high a probability.

His baby brother turns his pout to Draxum.

No luck.

“While you have improved in the mystic arts, you still lack the control needed to safely manage the vast output of energy required to sustain a portal.” The alchemist explains, but Don can see the words do not sway the box turtle in the slightest.

“You could die.” Donnie stresses.

Casey admitted what happened to future Mikey. He died sending Junior back to the past.

And Don was there when Mikey pulled Leo out of the prison dimension.

Gold lines plagued many dreams since.

“That was with time travel! This isn’t time travel!!” Mikey insists, “I opened that portal to the prison dimension just fine. And you just admitted that I’ve improved since then!”

The soft shell’s respect for their creator ups just a tick when the sheep yokai refuses to give in (a part of him believed Draxum was too easily pressured by the box turtle for his own good).

“You had a strong motivator back then, and brothers to support you and to diminish the excess energy.” The Baron states. “And still the energy was too strenuous. Those crevasses of light you described were blatant signs of your Ninpo beginning to tear apart your body. At any moment you could have completely disintegrated.”

“Why won’t anyone trust me?!” Mikey’s voice breaks.

Just a little. A small crack in the word trust.

Don’s scowl slips just the tiniest bit.

“Just let me try.” Mikey is pleading at this point. “Trust me. I can–”

“No.”

It’s Dee who cut him off.

His body is rigid and voice deeper in tone. His demeanor that of someone older and unyielding.

Don then remembers that this version of him IS older. Older than Raph even.

Mikey falters, completely caught off guard.

“You don’t-"

But the terrapin isn’t having it.

“No one’s disintegrating on my account.” He insists, eyes determined and unblinking.

There’s a pregnant pause.

All the while, Mikey’s will visibly beings to diminish. There’s the briefest moment it looks like he might try to fight back…. Nothing comes of it.

Eventually the smaller teen sags in defeat.

And as if that tense interaction had not just occurred, Dee returns to his regular odd self and pats Mikey’s head.

The mutant in orange looks none too happy with the development, yet accepts the lanky turtle’s gesture with only a frown to express his displeasure.

Don might just have to thank his counterpart for getting through to a stubborn Michelangelo.

Draxum appears quite satisfied as well… Until he remembers the question posed and returns his attention to the soft shell.

The alchemist and purple clad mutant hardly interact outside of necessity. They don’t share as uneasy a relationship as the yokai and Leo, yet it’s no where as congenial as it is with Mikey. Then there’s the whole alchemy vs tried and true science debate they dance around that doesn’t help facilitate a familial bond.

“Regrettably,” yet without any regret, if Draxum’s bland tone is to be trusted “I have not studied anything so specific as travel between realities. I would suggest you search the Mystic library.”

That’s a clear dismissal to Don's ears. A good suggestion nevertheless. Good enough to leave the old sheep to whatever it is he does to wind down from his shift at the school.

“But we’re banned.” Mikey mutters, looking rather drained.

Donnie chooses to play aloof to his brother’s declined mood.

There is no reason pity him. Not when he wanted to step over a line that should obviously never be crossed.

Still, arguments are exhausting.

“I have my methods.” He could take his Hortense persona for a brother free trip to a knowledge utopia. “And I’ll go by myself, as to avoid last time’s debacle.”

“Raph said you got caught singing!”

“That was entirely Leo’s fault for encouraging my lyrical genius.”

And that’s the story Donnie is sticking with.

The slider just had to play into it and drop a half decent beat, and it’s a damn shame to let a good beat go to waste.

“So, um…” the terrapin begins.

The soft shell frowns. How thoughtless of him. Of course another Donatello would appreciate a good library.

Yet before he can extend the ever so courteous invite, his counterpart continues whilst facing the Baron.

“You don’t happen to have any of that ooze left, do you?”

The Baron lifts a brow in interest.

“Whatever for?” he asks, voice pitching up.

Definitely interested. Too interested.

Don looks on in dawning horror when his other self lights up, also recognizing the change in the yokai’s mood.

“Just curious. I’d like to analyze it, if I could. Compare it to the chemical structure of mutagen. Or if you have a reto-mutag – I mean retro-ooze, that would suffice.” Dee smiles wide, gap tooth on full display.

Is…. Is he a chemistry inclined scientist? Is that why he didn’t express this much excitement while discussing a tech bo?

Don huffs lightly under his breath.

Maybe the terrapin would show greater interest if the weaponry incorporated more chemical based functions? Like poisons and tranq darts!

Excellent plan.

Now, back to the conversation at hand–

“Retro as in something capable of reversing a mutation?” the soft shell guesses. “Why would you want that?”

Not that Don himself was against dabbling in the riskier of scientific projects, but a substance to reverse mutation?

Mishandling that could mean death.

Not death as in you would stop living. Death as in what makes Donatello and his brothers themselves dissapear. Their memories and personality potentially wiped clean.

The mind of a regular turtle could not hope to retain or process the higher functions and knowledge of a human mutant hybrid. So even if the process was eventually rectified, too much of themselves could never be recovered.

Why chance it?

“To help everyone whose lives may have been ruined by becoming a mutant.” Dee answers like it’s obvious.

Is it?

Most the humans who were mutated adjusted to the transformation and enjoyed the benefits of their new bodies. Todd and Repo Mantis still carry out their old jobs without issue.

Although…. Bullhop did have a rough start.

Why hadn’t Don considered reversing his mutation back when they let the guy freeload for a whole miserable week?

The concept just never crossed his mind.

“I could synthesize a fresh batch of the ooze if I were provided an ample supply of Empyrean.” Draxum grins, which reignites the youngest teen from his somber state.

Mikey straightens and jabs a finger into the yokai’s chest.

“Barry, you are BANNED from making or using ooze. BANNED.” He reminds sternly; a hint of Doctor Delicate Touch slipping through his words.

And Don’s respect ticks back down as the once feared warrior nods along to the mild reprimand.

Draxum IS wrapped around Mikey’s manipulative little finger.

How the box turtle managed it is a mystery his brother in purple is not motivated enough to solve.

Fun to ponder nonetheless.

“What's Empyrean?” Dee presses.

The alchemist’s previous interest is subdued. He answers anyways.

“It is said to be the source of all yokai power.”

“And I could find this…?”

“It’s in the Hidden City.” Don says, vaguely remembering the Shredder’s interest in the stuff. “Unfortunately, we’re wanted criminals for all our own unique and completely asinine reasons.”

Seriously, when would Witch Town get over their petty grudge?

“Hidden City?” A bewildered Dee echoes, instead of questioning their criminal status.

“A mystic yokai haven beneath New York.” Mikey clarifies.

The lanky turtle’s confused expression remains, suggesting there to be no such place in his own universe. At least, not one that he’s aware of.

“Is there anything else you require of me?” Draxum asks, “Or can I go about my afternoon in peace?”

Yet another dismissal.

The sticker adorned box turtle shoots the Baron a disapproving glare, to which the yokai shrinks under.

Don can’t help but smirk as an idea pops into his head.

Another time, Hortense. Another time.

“As a matter of fact, I could use your brooch to get into the library.” He says, all too happy to inconvenience the kowtowed adult.

Draxum rolls his eyes, walking over to a tiny desk and extracting a cloaking brooch from the top drawer.

“I expect it returned promptly.” He says before tossing the round devise.

The soft shell catches and pockets it with ease.

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

And finally progress towards Interdimensional travel may begin.

The possibilities would be endless.

Chapter Text

Well that was…. Something.

The terrapin had been itching to rant about the absurdity of a maroon man with unguligrade legs living in a regular apartment (not to mention having a job cooking and serving meals to hundreds of human teenagers). Doubt that would have gone over well, so of course he latched onto the first scientifically inclined subject that came to mind.

Ooze. Which, sadly, is unattainable due to its creator’s marred past.

Which then leads to this Empyrean substance. Again, unattainable (cause apparently everyone here is a fugitive).

So, yeah.

It was something.

Less stressful than the trip over and still preferable over their journey now.

Donnie thinks they’re headed in a new direction, but he can’t be sure. This city (this whole universe) is a test on his sanity.

It isn’t until the trio drop into an alley way lacking any viable sewer entrance that Dee is positive they’re someplace new. The narrow space is cleaner than usual, save for a heavily graffitied wall.

A graffitied wall that opens up with a simple hand gesture.

Because of course it does.

“Let’s sit down today.” Mikey says, stepping into the warmly lit space. “I want me some fresh out of the oven specialty pizza.”

A pizza joint?

Dee enters just before the mystic entrance can close on him.

Inside is a sight straight out of a dream.

People, inhuman people, are seated about the room. Whether chatting amicably in small groups, eating their food, or searching a menu…. No one panics at the sight of three mutants. They’re too busy minding their own business while acting– no –BEING normal. Doing normal (previously believed to be) human things.

Dee’s jaw drops.

His baby brother’s counterpart nods in understanding, “Super sweet secret pizza restaurant for yokai. And mutants fit in perfectly.”

This place is amazing.

Sure, it's nowhere near as impressive as any one of the merchant planets Dee and his brothers visited, with vast markets and countless alien species milling about. However, a place like this is more convenient. More accessible for an Earth dwelling mutant, due to being closer than a few billion light-years away.

“Ah. If it isn’t two of my most loyal customers.” A literal skeleton greets in an exasperated voice. “You did not call in, and as you can see, I am very busy. The wait for more than five pizzas could be anywhere from forty minutos a una hora.”

The man of no skin and all bones somehow manages to express in ways that should not be possible for hard calcium tissue; a proper mouth with lips instead of exposed teeth offering a tired smile. Empty eye sockets manage to blink in Dee’s direction, but the skeleton makes no comment.

Because strange here is normal.

“We’re here to stay, and maybe, just maybe, if I’m feeling generous we might order a couple pizzas to go.” The softshell proclaims, glancing around the busy restaurant.

At this, the yokai huffs a knowing sigh.

“Another disagreement between you and Pepino, I take it?” he states more than asks.

Pepino?

Don shrugs, “Nardo refused to join us. So as the saying goes: you snooze, you don’t-deserve-to-be-dealt-favors-by-those-who-got-up-and-decided-to-be-productive.”

“Right.” The skeleton says simply, his face the picture perfect definition of disinterested indulgence.

He leans over to reach behind a counter and pulls out a single menu. Instead of offering it to the closest mutant, the yokai holds it out directly for Dee to accept. Must know his customers well enough to immediately spot a new face.

That or, even amongst the yokai, Dee is some freak outlier that stands out.

The probability leans towards the skeleton being an observant businessman over that later option…. Hard for the terrapin to not consider it regardless.

The taller turtle takes the menu with a slight bow.

The yokai perks up at the polite gesture. Another smile graces his lips before he returns his attention to the softshell.

“The tables are all occupied. Luckily for you, your lady friend took the last booth.” He says, jutting his thumb to the furthermost corner of the room.

A metal claw springs out the top of Don’s battleshell, shooting straight for the other Donatello’s face. Cold titanium covers Dee’s eyes. Not quite gripping, but close enough to be completely unappreciated.

He hears his counterpart panic much the same as the shorter turtle did when Leonardo burst into the lab the other day, words spilling out in a rush.

“On second thought, we’ll just place our order and send Leo to pick it up later-”

“What?!” Mikey demands, true betrayal in his voice.

Dee swats the claw away, only for it to dart right back. It slips past his hands, once again depriving him of sight.

Yeah, no. Not welcome in the least.

He grabs the neck of the metal appendage, yanking the claw from his somehow always targeted face. Doesn’t even care that it causes his other self to stumble as the terrapin resists the claw’s attempts to escape his grip.

Not that it matters cause Don is too preoccupied with a cranky younger brother to complain.

“You know we can’t take the S.C.P.S to-go, and I haven’t had one in almost two months now! Two months, Donnie!” the box turtle whines.

All the while, Don is jerking his head none too inconspicuously to the very corner the yokai had pointed.

Following the movement, Dee’s eyes settle on a table occupied by two very different people.

The first to catch his attention is some green viscous being with the silhouette of a human. Fascinating, but hardly panic worthy. Considering the fact Dee houses a frozen Timothy in his lab, also a viscous green sludge (with visible, free floating organs) the appearance of this yokai is no issue.

Then the terrapin has to do a double take once he recognizes who’s seated across from the green figure.

April O’Neil.

The human girl is sipping on her drink, listening intently to whatever it is her companion is saying. Completely oblivious to the three turtles now staring her way.

His mouth moves of its own accord.

“We can stay.”

A less than pleasant tension overtakes his chest. Extending to his throat, it prevents a despondent 'sewer apples’ from immediately following to curse his loose tongue.

“Yoooouu sure about that?” Don asks, slowly retracting the metal arm.

Too late to take it back now. The terrapin doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods.

“Alrighty then!” Mikey chirps.

This specialty pizza better be worth it, the less serious and more snarky side of Dee’s mind thinks. The rest of this thoughts are a jumbled mess trying to keep everything together and act casual and unaffected.

Despite the lead-like weight of this feet and the stiffness seizing his joints, the lanky turtle keeps pace with his mutant companions.

Mikey crashes into April, forcing her to scoot over till her shoulder is pressed up against the wall. The teen girl laughs, patting the orange masked turtle’s head affectionately.

“Ease up a little, Mike. Almost gave me a heart attack.” She jests… and then she looks up. “Oh! Um. Heyyyy Donnies.”

Right. She’s probably feeling just as uneasy, Dee tells himself.

A version of someone she considers family shows up and panics at the mere mention of her name. Probably made her feel unwelcome in the lair as a result. And now here that same someone is, interrupting her lunch.

The terrapin swallows to loosen the constriction of his throat and tries for a smile.

“H-hey.” He says.

She seems to relax by the smallest margin. Her shoulders drop a little.

Don has joined his younger brother, sliding in to occupy the last of the space on that side of the table… Which leaves Dee with the stranger.

The slime yokai simply scoots over (somehow leaving no residue in spite of her unique complexion) with a welcoming pat to signal him to join them.

And so he does.

“You’re new.” The yokai says easily, as if there’s not a suffocating cloud of anxiety hovering over the booth. “I’m Sunita.”

“Donatello.”

The girl’s mouth forms a perfect “o” shape, and the she turns to address April.

“So this is the guy…” she trails off.

The human nods.

Oh great.

Of course April mentioned him. She probably came here to get last afternoon’s disaster off her chest with a good friend, and here Dee was messing that up too.

Wait. No. He can’t afford to keep thinking like that.

This could be his chance to right their harsh first meeting. The terrapin genius was better with second impressions anyways, cause by then he at least had some data to work with.

Key point to remember: don’t panic.

And there really is no good reason to panic.

As far as a he is aware, no one here has been to outer space. Which means no Aeon crystal. No Aeon crystal means no possession.

He can do this.

“Sooooo.” April draws out, choosing her words with care. “What brings you three here, and why aren’t Raph and Leo with you?”

Mikey claps his hands together eagerly. Repetitive little quiet claps.

“Specialty pizza number 3!” he cheers.

Sunita joins in with her own happy claps, approving the box turtle’s choice. Meanwhile, the lone human shudders, sticking out her tongue in disgust.

“Share a slice?” the yokai pleads. “We ordered just a plain old cheese pizza.”

April’s choice, obviously.

“Nothing wrong with cheese pizza.” Dee finds himself rushing to defend. “It’s a classic! And sometimes simple is better.”

Another key point to remember. A golden rule for the terrapin to keep in mind no matter with whom he is speaking:

‘Slow down and think before embarrassing yourself, genius.’

Dee can all but hear his Raph calling him a “kiss up” from over a dimension away.

It’s fortunate his counterpart speaks up before the terrapin can begin to ramble.

“We paid Draxum a visit. As is expected, Nardo refused to come. Then, also expected, Raphie chose to stay behind to keep the drama queen company.” Don says as he rests his chin in his palm and those sharpie-drawn brows of his nit together.

April relaxes even more. Enough to genuinely chuckle at least.

“Drama queen?” She smirks. “That’s rich, Donnie, coming from you.”

The softshell responds with a proper scoff, a lighthearted argument sure to follow; if not for a server stepping up to their table.

“Excuse me. Are you ready to order?” The uniformed yokai asks, a notepad and pen at the ready.

Dee realizes he hadn’t yet looked at the menu.

He could just settle with a cheese pizza, since he knows they have that. But that might look like he’s trying too hard to cater to April.

The terrapin begins to scan the menu only for Mikey to pluck it from his hands and hand it over to the server.

“Two specialty number 3’s!!” the box turtle answers, shooting Dee a quick wink.

So the box turtle is confident enough to order for him. An honest to goodness relief, because what little the brainy turtle did see listed included ingredients he did not recognize.

“He means one specialty number 3, two cheese with extra cheese, and two pepperoni. And three more pepperoni to-go, I guess.” Don says, much to his little brother’s chagrin.

“What?! That’s like… less than two pizzas per person!” Mikey protests, eyes widening and watery.

The resemblance to his 3D counterpart was undeniable with this one expression. An ability reserved for baby brothers of all realities. Anyone not accustomed to those eyes would fall prey to the wielder's every whim (and those used to this manipulation technique still give in to it on occasion).

The softshellI must be highly acquainted with the pitiable expression, for he is not swayed.

“Family funds are gonna be tight if nothing turns up at the library. We’ll need that money for more important things. Like materials for a portal, and possibly a new tech bo……” Don pauses, eyes settling on his counterpart. “If someone is interested.”

A tech bo sounds wonderful, yet still a waste of resources.

Dee won’t turn the offer down though. Nice things are hard to come by in the sewers, so everything useful is never rejected by the self-made scientist.

The lanky turtle sighs, “I doubt I’ll be much help with any of the mystic stuff, so a project would be nice.”

A goal he could direct his focus. Something to help drive out intrusive thoughts and settle his nerves.

Which reminds Dee, he still needs to test that toaster.

Repairing the kitchen appliance had been too brief. Building a tech filled bo staff would doubtless require more effort and time.

“Too bad I can’t analyze that Empyrean.” He adds.

Chemistry would take even longer. At least, that’s what past experience suggests.

Engineering complex machinery is his passion. A natural talent. As such, it takes far less thought and dedication than the study and manipulation of chemicals.

Without a timeframe for now long he may be stuck in this reality, the longer the project, the better.

“It’s not that hard to sneak into the Hidden City.” Mikey mumbles, his begging eyes forlorn as he watches the server leave.

Dee holds back a chuckle and a witty remark. The box turtle’s antiques prove to be quite amusing for the older mutant. But these are not his actual brothers, and a sharp (if playful) jab at the young teen might not go over well.

“Or we can just walk in like normal people.”

The terrapin feels his neck pop with the speed in which his head swivels to face April. By some miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash.

Is she suggesting what he thinks she’s suggesting?

The human teen shrugs with an attempted smile.

“I… I could take you.” She offers, “I’m not wanted or anything like the boys.”

Wait.

This is perfect.

Perfect in a gut twisting kind of way. An offer Dee wouldn’t decline because the promise of Empyrean is too enticing, while simultaneously forcing him to make amends with April. One on one. Free of an audience.

“Sure!” Dee accepts, “I'd appreciate that a lot actually.”

And just like that, April’s shoulders drop completely. Her smile comes much easier, and the tension over their booth dissipates.

Only one person takes issue with the change.

Don looks less than thrilled to have his offer beaten out so quickly.

“April, you're foiling my pl-!”

Mikey covers his brother’s mouth, silencing the softshell’s protests.

“You two should go tomorrow. Since Don here will be busy at the library and Leo wants me and Raph’s help with his plans to finally get the Caseys to meet up.” The orange masked turtle suggests.

“Sounds good, uh–” April meets Dee’s autumn eyes with the mildest of hesitancy. “Sound good with you?”

“Sounds good.” He agrees.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Okay…. Now its awkward again.

No one speaks. Mikey is too busy grinning at the turn of events, his hand still pressed against an irritated Don’s mouth. The later pins the former with a displeased glare. Meanwhile, Sunita taps lightly at the table, her head turned up as if she found the ceiling quiet fascinating.

And then there’s the lone human and other-dimensional turtle…. Just staring at each other, unsure of what else to say.

Their well timed server returns to break the silence, one cheese pizza in hand.

“One pizza for the fine ladies.” He lays the flat pie down. “The special number 3 will be out shortly.”

And as quickly as he came, the server left.

A certain ornate box turtle is upset to have missed his chance to demand a change in their order.

“One specialty pizza split between five people is hardly a snack.” Mikey pouts.

“Four.” April is quick to correct. “Do not count me in none of that. You’re all crazy for eating that stuff.”

She goes so far as to point to her tongue and gag, to which Mikey releases his brother to instead cross his arms in disapproval.

Freed, the softshell also looks to his friend disapprovingly.

“Hm. I see.” Don threads his fingers and leans forward to better fix the girl with an analyzing stare. “It can’t be the flavor you abhor. That’s impossible. It's devine. Might it be an issue with the texture?”

April shakes her head in the negative.

“Just not a fan of food that moves.”

“Moves?” Dee questions.

His confusion is ignored. No one seeing fit to clarify what that could possibly mean.

April’s whole face pinches as she picks up a slice of her pizza.

“How can you eat that stuff, Donnie?” She asks, “You don’t even like flavor in your juice.”

“Do not compare the perfection that is pizza with plant water.” Don says, in no way rebutting her accusation.

So, that flavorless juice thing was real, not a construct of Dee’s pre-caffeinated mind?

Why not just drink water?

To be fair, he shouldn’t judge his counterpart for a useless food adjustment. The terrapin has been playing around with the idea of anti-gravity calzones or empanadas for a while now.

The process of forming anti-gravitons may now be plausible with what Dee’s learned from– Huh?

His thoughts screech to an abrupt halt, cause that’s not the pizza is it?

Shell. Their server is bringing that writhing mess towards them.

“Specialty pizza number three, the Super Creepy Pizza Supreme.”

Mikey, Don, and Sunita cheer. Each grab a slice the moment it hits the table.

Aaaaannd it’s moving.

Wait… Is it alive?

“Eat us.”

IT TALKS?!?!?!

Chapter Text

A soft trill beckons for attention.

The larger turtle rubs absentmindedly at the tiny creature's shell, eyes distant and unfocused.

Another trill, more demanding and followed by a head-butt to Raphael’s chin, fails to rouse the terrapin from his inner musings. The petting continues. It isn’t until the alien lives up to his name, biting his caretaker with all the petulance capable of a needy infant, that Raphael breaks from his trance.

The turtle in red hisses, scooping up Chompy in one hand while the other rubs at the newly attained sore spot.

“Sorry about that, little buddy.” The mutant apologizes, sitting up off his bed. “Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

His charge squeals, delighted to finally have his caretaker’s full attention.

Raph can’t help the soft laugh (his first laugh in days) that leaves him spent and breathless. He brings the baby turtle to his shoulder. There Chompy settles himself between carapace and plastron, nuzzling the mutant’s neck in appreciation.

What a lousy caretaker he’s turned out to be, Raph thinks to himself. Too busy moping around to give the child his full attention.

Not for a lack of trying, mind you.

He just doesn’t want to air all his stresses to yet another impressionable listener. Anything to avoid another Spike situation is best. Especially since this little turtle would grow to be a space kaiju of unbelievable power someday.

“I bet you’re hungry.” Raph guesses, peering over at his alarm clock and trying to recall the last time he fed his charge.

Long enough.

The terrapin makes his way out of his bedroom and to the kitchen.

A few nights ago, Mikey would have been there, cooking everyone the most semi-decent abomination his creative mind could conjure up. That, or he’d be begging one of his brothers to order pizza. Or pizza gyoza. Or both.

But now the room is empty and quiet.

Sandwiches it is, cause even he couldn’t mess up a sandwich.

Raph gathers up the ingredients for simple ham and cheese sandwiches when Chompy trills yet again.

His little turtle deserves a treat for putting up with his moody shell.

The terrapin opens the freezer, only mildly surprised to find it’s usual occupant missing.

Mikey truly was taking Donnie’s…. passing the hardest.

The freckled turtle was born every bit the social butterfly, more so than the rest of his family. On a normal day, the youngest couldn’t stand to be left alone for more than an hour or two.

Now, however?

Now Raph’s baby brother kept secluding himself in his bedroom day in and day out. Only Ice Cream Kitty for company, it would seem.

Makes sense. Mikey did not take kindly to either of his elder brothers’ insistence to drop the whole “April sensed him” shtick. Acting as if immediately afterwards the girl had not announced that Donatello was gone for good.

Raph sighs, grabbing a non-sentient tub of ice cream and setting it to the side to soften as he begins to assemble the first sandwich.

“Seems I’ve been a poor caretaker AND brother, haven’t I?”

Chompy, of course, doesn’t respond.

That’s okay. The mutant was used to talking to himself at this point. Speaking his thoughts out loud always helped him think. More so than any of sensei’s meditation sessions.

“I’ll check up on Mikey tomorrow.”

And that’s a promise.

A horribly difficult and too feelings-y promise, but it must be done.

Leo spends most his time in the dojo, completely ignoring Splinter’s encouragements to seek out his remaining siblings.

He’d be of no help.

Probably requires a good brotherly intervention as much as Mikey does, but if the hot head were to talk to their fearless leader now… There’d be yelling. Possibly a trade of a punch and kick or two.

Better to deal with Mike first, then sic his little brother on the eldest.

Priorities set, Raphael nods to himself.

He lost one brother too many. All because he failed to stop April sooner. That’s why he can’t afford to sit back and let the remaining two drift away. Not while he can help it.

A flash of fire flickers just a few inches shy of the mutant’s working hands.

The finished sandwich's top bread slice is now crisp and black on one corner.

Chompy gives his handiwork a few scrutinizing sniffs before turning bright proud eyes to his caretaker.

Raph laughs for the second time that day. It’s louder. Less tiring. Even settles into one of the mutant’s warmest of smiles.

“I guess that’s one way to toast a sandwich, little buddy.”

The alien child wiggles at the perceived praise, tail swishing and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He then proceeds to burn the second, unfinished sandwich followed by the ice cream.

“Take the hoodie.”

The recently returned top is pressed into his arms with a sense of urgency.

“What for?”

“Trust me. The police down there won’t arrest people robbing a police station while wearing hats screaming that they’re criminals; BUT they will arrest anyone that even sorta-kinda resembles a person on a wanted poster.”

Dee makes a little show of noting the many disparities in his form comparative to the snapper’s own, looking down at himself and back up. Ends the display with a sweeping gesture that starts with his lower legs and curls up, pointing at his colored irises to finish.

No one with half decent vision could possibly confuse HIM with one of THEM, right?

Raphael disagrees.

“You’re a turtle mutant wearing a mask. That's enough to confuse those bozos with one a’ us.” The snapper insists with not a single ounce of sarcasm or exaggeration.

Fine.

Resigned to his fate, Dee slips into the oversized hoodie.

There’s no point in questioning this family’s advice for conducting oneself outside the lair. Or anywhere in this universe really. They live here, and therefore are the experts.

The conflicting information doesn’t help though.

Mikey had earlier insisted the terrapin wouldn’t need a disguise for today’s trip. Which Dee believes meant the journey there would remain underground. You know, through the sewers or subway system. No time up on the surface, which is all well and good.

Unfortunately, the destination itself came with its own unique dangers.

He’d been hoping for something like yesterday’s lunch. A place where no one spared him a second glance. Where he blended in without necessitating precautions.

The closest thing in his dimension’s New York had to be Murakami’s place. But even then they could only go after hours when they called in advance. Not to mention that Mr Murakami couldn’t exactly stare at the mutants he was serving, being blind and all.

Dee wonders how the old chef is doing. And Splinter. And his brothers.

Casey even.

He pushes aside that line of thought to instead focus on straightening out the hoodie and checking to see that the bunched up sleeves weren’t twisted.

The towering turtle in red nods, pleased. He pats the terrapin’s head to show his appreciation.

It’s the second time he’s done that. A simple thing that feels so out of place for Dee. Being the tallest of his brothers, pats are usually kept to his shoulders or shell.

The snapper’s touch is heavy, and the strength there undeniable. Still (like all his displays of physical affection thus far) it is executed with much care.

So different as the gesture may be, it felt nice.

“Alrighty, Raph!” Leo calls out. The striped turtle skids into the main room, three tickets in his triumphantly raised hand. “Junior will be here any minute now, and the plan is hockey!”

“Hockey? Really, Leo? Couldn’t have picked something better like wrestling or basket ball?” the older turtle asks with a poorly suppressed groan, “Hockey’s cold.”

The slider’s hand drops to his chest and he hunches inwards as if protecting something infinitely more precious than three strips of paper.

“I’ll have you know that I found a hockey poster in Cassandra’s factory of demon children. So that’s what I offered, and that’s what she accepted.” Leo defends, “Soooo, stop questioning my-ah-genius master plan!”

Raph rolls his eyes.

It’s fascinating for a certain terrapin to watch. These versions of his elder brothers are just as argument prone as Dee’s own. Although, not fascinating enough to let be, as experience dictates the phenomenon not be encouraged (less it come to blows). A brawl between the teleporting slider and his elder brother (of Ninpo abilities not yet known to their guest) does not a pleasant prospect make.

Dee cuts in before either can continue.

“Is Jones playing or…?”

The brothers stop glaring at each other, attention successfully diverted. Two pairs of bewildered faces turn the terrapin’s way.

Right. Cassandra is Casey’s mom, so they might share a surname.

“I meant Casey. Is he playing?” he amends.

Their bewilderment is not abated.

“Noooo?” Leo asks more than answers.

Oh. Could it be possible there exists a Casey Jones who isn’t obsessed with Hockey? It sounds impossible, but so does a Casey Jones with good manners.

“My mistake. It’s just that Casey – my Casey – he plays. Hockey, that is. And, you know, yours carries around what looks like a high tech hockey stick.” Dee fumbles out each word with regret.

Embarrassment never did him any favors in the speech department.

At least someone enjoys his struggle.

Leo chuckles, “Dee? Anyone ever tell you you ramble like you’re tumbling down a flight of stairs? Cause you do.”

Dee lifts a nonexistent brow.

Embarrassment may twist his tongue. Teasing on the other hand? He could work with some light teasing.

“Ramble? Hardly. You haven’t heard me ramble.” Donatello shoots back with a smirk. “Usually I’m told that the complexity of my verbiage is oftentimes beyond the comprehension of the general populace, which necessitates my conscientious efforts to simplify my vernacular to ensure effective communication and comprehension–”

Leo raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Slow down there, Dee.” He says, “You win today.”

And just like that, the opportunity for banter is shut down.

Dee might not know this family all that well, yet something about giving up any form of challenge so quickly felt out of character for this Leonardo.

Come to think of it, himself and Leo had yet to talk since two nights ago, back in Don’s lab. The following morning the turtle in blue refused to visit Draxum. Then, by the time the trio returned home, the slider had already left to set up his meeting of the Casey’s scheme. And this morning he had left early with Mikey to pick up tickets for the game.

Over twenty-four hours without sharing a single word? Especially with how clingy and intrusive Leo had been when the terrapin first woke up? Hard not to be a little suspicious.

“I believe I won yesterday as well.” Dee states matter-of-factly, hoping to egg on the other mutant’s competitive nature.

It proves successful for only the briefest moment.

“Haha! Good one. Pretty positive that I–” the slider sprints towards the sound of incoming footsteps, a flash of what could be described as relief crossing his face. “Oh hey there, April. Caseyyy! Ready to sit in a cold room watching people hit a tiny disk back and forth? Sounds amazing, Right? Right.”

How could something said in such a cheery tone sound so unappealing?

“I suppose.” Casey answers neutrally, looking to April as if she might have a better answer for him.

The girl shrugs, pushing Junior closer to Leo with a reassuring smile. Casey watches her a little longer before he realizes she doesn’t intend to add anything.

It's like he thinks he’s a student surrounded by teachers; looking for guidance in even the simplest of matters. The memory of Jones referring to Don as “Master Donatello” suggests there’s some truth to the idea.

“It is nice to see you again, Donatello.” The teen then greets with a little wave.

“Likewise.” Dee returns the wave.

Still not sure what to think of a polite Casey Jones, the terrapin can’t think of anything else to say.

Not that he’s given the chance.

“Enough of the chit chat! Mikey’s already at the rink trying to save us all seats.” Leo says, tugging the human boy by the arm back out towards the subway tracks. “Enjoy your trip, you two!”

Raph echos the sentiment, shooting April and Dee a thumbs up before jogging to catch up with his brother and Casey.

“Enjoy the game!” April calls after their retreating forms, hands framing her mouth.

The two remaining teens watch on in silence until the others venture out of sight.

And thus commences Donnie’s plan to earn a kinship with yet another April O’Neil. The terrapin checks his mentally constructed flow chart and settles for a simple greeting to start.

“H-hey.”

Amazing start, genius, Dee internally scolds himself.

Fortunately the human’s attention is mainly occupied with a not previously seen bundle of fur in her arms (seriously, her arms were empty just moments before).

“Hey.” She says back, stutter free.

Right off the bat, she’s fairing far better than their last meet up. No signs of stiff apprehension. Just loose limbs and a fond grin as she pets the…. What is that?

“Who’s this?” Dee asks, leaning down to get a better look at the unnaturally colored creature.

The ball of fluff seems to detect the attention and begins to unfurl with a four limbed stretch, revealing….. Not quiet a cat, dog, or fox with long tusk like teeth jutting out from under it’s upper lip.

The tiny animal hisses and buries its face into April’s jacket.

Accustomed to the creature’s antiques, the girl laughs and adjusts her cradle to hold the animal (a yokai pet???) higher.

“This here is Mayhem.” She presents, and any irritation Mayhem had expressed prior melts away. The creature peers up with something approximating a happy hum or purr. “He’s our shortcut to the city since Mikey mentioned you don’t do so well with crowds.”

Ah.

“Did he? Well, that’s thoughtful of him, but it’s not ‘crowds’ that I... You know what? Nevermind.” Dee shrugs and waves his hand in dismissal.

They were just trying to be accommodating and take his comfort into account. No need to explain what humans in his New York would do if they spotted a mutant that wasn’t Muckman.

Something about that interaction must rub Mayhem the wrong way. He growls in the mutant’s direction.

Interesting. Might he be as intelligent as Ice Cream Kitty? As in capable of understanding human speech?

Dee shuffles back to put a little distance between himself and the agitated creature.

“Thanks for the consideration.” He adds, because he truly is grateful for the effort.

That, and to watch how Mayhem reacts.

When the bright furred animal nods before curling back into a ball, the self made scientist is positive Mayhem has at least some comprehension of English (or at minimum, is attuned to what tones and verbal inflections signify).

“Sorry bout that. He only really likes me and tolerates the boys. Except Raph. He hates Raph.” April says with a laugh.

Must be infectious, cause Dee laughs right along.

Nothing to do with the fact that his Raphael is loved by all animals. Except insects (understandable). And horses (less understandable). No siree.

“Ready?” April asks, holding out her hand.

Unlike the last time she’d done so, Dee takes her much smaller hand into his own. No hesitation.

April responds with a delighted hum, giving his much larger hand a reassuring squeeze.

So far, so good.

She doesn’t let go and says, “Do your thing, Mayhem.”

Donatello has been through many a portal and experienced a decent variety of teleportation methods.

Kraang portals were a constant spiral, strong enough to bend light to match the flow and warp the appearance of anything that enters.

Triceraton teleporters rapidly section off your mass into pyramid shaped energy to then reassemble in rapid secession. So fast it felt little more than a brief tingle.

There was…. the whole disintegration thing.

And then there were Renet’s timescepter portals. Just a blinding freefall that leaves your heart lodged in your throat.

Whatever Mayhem was doing felt like that with a half speed kraang portal's twist for additional discomfort. The experience was guaranteed to make anyone inexperienced to such forces nauseous.

The spiral adjusts so the travelers land on their feet, in the exact positions they were in before. Only now, they’re in a completely new setting. An abandoned warehouse by the looks of it, with one abnormally large pillar in the center for support.

The lifelong trained ninja scans his surroundings.

Nothing amiss.

Except maybe the new portal April opens against the pillar with the help of some small trinket she carefully pockets.

This portal is yet another freefall, longer and with an even weaker twist. Expecting the exit to be as neat and easy as Mayhem’s teleportation had been, Dee was unprepared and barely catches himself with a stumble.

Beside him, April has already recovered from the portal’s affects. Standing upright. Mayhem on her shoulder. She’s facing the opposite of him. Facing…...

Whoa.

His New York has no Hidden City. It has what’s nicknamed the Under City. An abyss with sparse few ruins, just begging to one day make the entirety of the metropolis above into one massive sinkhole.

This place feels infinitely more grand in scale. Could just be due to the place being properly lit where as the Under City is pitch black and lifeless.

Donnie gapes at the impossibly high cavern ceiling, then slowly drops his gaze to take in as much of this world as is possible. Because that’s what this place feels like. It’s own unique world.

It’s just as colorful as the rest of this dimension, and yet it may as well be it’s own universe. Maybe it is? Could be some kind of mystic made pocket dimension, because no way could this place be considered structurally safe. Not with the assumed city above bearing down on the one beneath, complete with its own unique society and ecosystem.

Or there’s some other mystic mumbo jumbo fortifying the cavern’s ceiling.

Whatever. It’s amazing either way.

The mutant walks closely behind his guide down some winding steps, leading to a huddle of houses and buildings with a crowded courtyard.

Yokai of various forms look their way, gazes settling on the human amongst them more so than the mutant, just to loose interest and return to whatever it is they were doing.

So they might not completely blend in. Whatever. It’s not so bad.

Or so Donnie thinks, until April leads him to a series of boards and posts littered with announcements, advertisements, missing and wanted posters. The later of which hold familiar faces.

“They weren’t kidding.” Dee gasps.

He picks out his counterpart first. The softshell is reclined, arms crossed, and eyes closed wearing an impressive frown. Only two posters away is who he assumes is Michelangelo and Splinter disguised in stereotypical country attire. Complete with cowboy hats and fake moustaches. Finally, Dee spots Leonardo, looking disheveled with stringy little hair-like things scattered round his scalp.

No Raphael to complete the set, oddly enough.

“Nope. Still wanted even after they saved the world.” April says with no small amount of ire. “And thanks to Donnie, I have to steer clear of Witch Town.”

The terrapin’s counterpart got her banned from a whole town? Yikes.

“It’s not other me’s fault they're all wanted, is it?” he asks.

April shakes her head.

“Not at all. Me and Don went to Witch Town together, where he ruined a peace ceremony. Leo said he was framed for theft in a spa that hates bald people. Mikey and Splints were seen with Draxum, and they were caught on camera breaking everyone out of prison by impersonating lawyers. And Raph’s not actually wanted, but the police confused him for some big time criminal.” She pauses, scanning the posters. “This guy right here!”

She taps at a poster with a yokai by the name Evil Emerald. The angry figure has eyebrows, a beak, and crystalline spikes protruding from his back to form a geode shell.

Maybe if one were to stand twenty feet back and cross your eyes a little to blurr the image, the yokai’s silhouette could possibly resemble Raph from a side profile. That’s it. In no other way do the two resemble each other.

Looking back on the posters of Don and Leo, Raphael’s warning rings in his ears. He’s a mutant turtle wearing a mask. That’s all it takes for him to be arrested.

Dee reaches up to feel the purple fabric around his head and eyes.

The mask was a near constant. Part of his identity. Where most clothing proved unconventional and uncomfortable, his mask was perfect. The color a meticulously thought through choice bestowed to Donatello by his father.

He pushes at the well-worn material just to pull it back into place.

The small action does not go unnoticed by a certain human.

“If you’re worried about what happened to Raph, you could pull your mask down.” She suggests.

That’s right. He doesn’t have to take it off. He can wear it around his neck.

That doesn’t quell the unease he has as he loosens the knot so the mask can slip down his face without stretching. Nor the feeling of being overexposed, despite the massive hoodie concealing more of his form than his usual joint pads and wraps ever did.

Before he can think better of the decision, he receives a proud smile.

“Looking good.” April compliments, complete with two thumbs up and a single nod that bounces her springy ponytails.

Her support is cheesy and sweet; kinda Mikey-esque in it’s execution; and greatly appreciated.

Dee chuckles, “Really?”

She nods again before turning back to her original goal.

Further ahead is a map of the city. Not a proper map. One that’s exaggerated and simplified to look like the map of a theme park. Key locations and routes to them are blown out of proportion to draw the viewer’s attention.

After a only a minute of study, April appears satisfied and motions for the terrapin to follow.

Wherever they’re going isn’t within the actual city itself.

Clustered and tall housing gives way to suburban type neighborhoods. The further out they go, the greater the spacing between each house. Eventually there are no houses. Just a grand stretch of cavern floor and blurred rock formations in the far distance.

The pair walk without speaking. Something Donnie finds favorable, as it gives him some time to think.

Things have been…. well… not EASY, but they have been less demanding since he came to this reality. The rush of constant heroics and looming threats didn’t tag along like they did with time travel or portalling into Dimension X.

He should feel relieved, right?

And everyone he’s met has turned out to be decent and considerate of his situation. No sign of mal intent to be found thus far.

Every threat Donatello searches and prepares for is absent.

Panicked humans? Nope. Mankind’s discovery of mutants? Nada. A grand villain hunting your family down? Not that he’s aware of. One of Raphael’s moody days? The Raph here might as well be a big cuddly teddy bear (does he even have a temper?).

Betrayal?

Dee looks to the human beside him.

Mayhem is asleep on her shoulder. Able to do so because April is taking great care to not jostle the mystic creature.

She really does fit the role of a sister more so than a family friend. At least, that’s what is seems to a mutant who’s only known his own sister for a couple years now (a sister whom spent the better half of it wanting to kill their father, loosing herself to an unstable mutation, or being mind controlled).

He doesn’t know how long he stares, but he realizes he hasn’t looked away for a good while when she turns his way. He didn’t mean to, so he ducks his head and looks at what appears to be a giant hand protruding from the earth up ahead.

Now he can feel her staring, and he’s tempted to pull up his hood.

April sighs, “I’m dead in your world, aren’t I?”

Donatello freezes.

“W-what? No!” he chokes out.

Where the shell did that come from?

April stops too, hands planted on her hips. There’s a determined glint to her imploring expression.

“Did you and other me have a disagreement? One where we left off on bad terms?” she asks.

Yes and no?

How was he supposed to answer that without giving the wrong impression?

Dee tries to shrug it off, settling for a “Not really.”

But she’s not letting his go.

April begins to pace, a worry line forming between her brows.

“Not really?” she quickens her pace. “You don’t act like I’m your sister, which, ow. Okay. But are we even friends in your world?”

“…….”

No good. Words fail him.

He wasn’t prepared for her to speak up first. It wasn’t a possibility on the flow chart.

He wanted to collect his samples first. Get the work out of the way before he could sour the mood by explaining what happened their first meet.

The terrapin desperately tries to construct a new mental chart, leaving him to just stand there.

The silent treatment only serves to make April more antsy.

Her anxious walk wakes her little passenger, though neither Mayhem nor the girl seem to care. The yokai jumps down to sit on the ground and watch his human with half lidded eyes and a yawn.

She continues, “Please? Whatever happened between you and the other me…… I can’t let that happen here. Not to Donnie. Not to any of them.” Her voice waivers. “I can’t have my best friend in the whole world look at me like….. like I hurt him. Like just hearing my name is painful-“

This is all his fault.

“That won’t happen here.” Dee insists.

He can fix this. He WILL fix this.

“Our worlds are too different.” He says, stepping closer, blocking her well worn path. “Unless you spontaneously develop telekinetic abilities, and unless you’re being corrupted or, or possessed maybe.” In his rush to explain, the weight of his own words register just a little too late– “You would never kill anyone.”

–Too late before he makes matters worse.

April steps back. Mouth agape as the implication settles in.

“I…. I what?” she says almost too quietly for the mutant to hear.

This isn’t how he wanted this to go.

“No, no, no! You didn’t do anything.” He hopes she understands. “It wasn’t you.”

Here she was thinking up the worst of multiversal constants and what the action of another April could mean for her reality. And here was Hamato Donatello, admitting that her counterpart killed someone.

He facepalms.

In the original plan, he would have explained April's corruption and her hand in his being in an alternate universe. Not that he died on the journey over.

Why can’t he ever do anything ri–

“I’m sorry.”

That’s… not what he was expecting.

Dee drops his hand to find April much closer now, no longer pacing.

“Why?” he asks, squinting his eyes, hoping to see whatever it is he’s missing.

“Cause even if we’re different…. She is me.” April says, then lets out an uneven breath. “You said she has telekinesis. And you said that’s how you got here, to this universe.”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re here and you’re...” She gestures to this entirety, indicating that he seems all well and good (Dee swallows down a hollow laugh). “What did you mean when you said I wouldn’t kill anyone? Who did other me kill?”

There it is. One of the hundreds of possible ways to ask the one thing Donatello hoped to avoid.

He has to answer. Because allowing her mind to constantly wonder and guess who she might one day kill is unacceptable.

“I don’t think she was trying to send me here.” He admits, careful to keep his tone level and his words clear so he would not have to repeat himself. “It’s just a theory, but I think switching universes was an accident.” He feels his bottom lip struggle to cooperate, a slight tremble settling there. “An u-unforeseen side effect of having one’s body pulled apart on an atomic level. Or however small it takes to pass into an alternate reality.”

He hopes he didn’t make that too complicated. Dee spoke in a way he was sure his brothers could understand. None of those comforting big fancy words that he preferred.

April runs through a flurry of emotions, her face contorting this way and that. Eventually it settles on something calm and restrained.

“I’m sorry.” She says for the second time.

Donnie opens his mouth, just as April raises her hand in a silent plea for him to let her finish.

“And before you tell me not to apologize, I’m doing this cause other me can’t right now. And you need it.”

She says it with such surety, Dee makes no effort to refute her reasoning.

April opens her welcoming arms, peering up at him with a hesitant smile.

“Now, let your big sister give you a hug.”

Seems he is as much a pushover for this April as he is his own. Unable to deny her request, the mutant obediently steps into her embrace and clings to her.

Here he feels a different kind of peace. Better than the nothingness of his death.

He can still feel here.

He can feel April’s warm arms try to reach around his wide shell. He feels his regret subside and some of the weight he’s been toting around lighten. He can feel the ground under his feet and the gentlest of breezes brush over his skin.

Donatello leans his cheek against his new sister’s head. Cause if that’s the relationship she wants, then that's exactly how it will be.

One tiny problem. Very tiny. Hardly important but…. This genius turtle loves to be accurate.

“I’m probably older than you.” He whispers with a watery chuckle.

“What? No way you’re older than Raph.” She protests softly with her own breathy laugh.

“Most likely.”

“But you ain’t sure? Well, I know for a fact I’m a year and a half older than Raph. So, can it.” April says, leaning back to meet the terrapin’s eyes.

Though no tears are shed, she can see the glassy sheen rimming his bottom lids.

She pulls further back so she can grip his shoulders.

“Do you want me to speak to Donnie? I can get him to lay off on the questions.” The girl offers.

Dee simply shakes his head.

He doesn’t blame his counterpart for being curious. And as well-meaning her offer may be, he doubts any such talk with his counterpart would not exacerbate Don’s need to pry.

April does not insist, accepting his answer with a nod.

Just as her hands relax and drop to her sides, Mayhem leaps back up onto her shoulder to nuzzle his head against the girl’s cheek.

“Finally ready to teleport again?” She coos to the yokai. “Right over there.”

The human waves opposite to the hand-like protrusion. There stands a giant golden figure etched into the side of the cavern wall.

From his distance, Dee can just barely make out a line of green trailing down from it’s eye. The line’s edges wobble and shift. A narrow waterfall of Empyrean, he hopes.

“Think we could go to the top?” Donnie asks. “I might get a better sample the closer I am to the source.”

It would mean less chances for the Empyrean to be diluted or contaminated by outside forces; and as an added bonus, the view up there has got to be sweet.

“I don’t see why not.” April says, giving the yokai creature an encouraging pat. “Mayhem?”

April grabs Dee’s hand just as they’re pulled into the small yokai’s mystic energy. She doesn’t let go after the shift and Donatello finds he appreciates the contact.

They stand precariously on one of the five massive fingers cradling the titan’s face, between the index and middle fingers that frame its right eye. An intimidating structure, reminiscent of the many great statues and buildings of so many long dead civilizations.

Maybe there was a time this place and its river were held in high regard. Worshipped even. Maybe it still is.

From its eye wept a steady stream of acid green. The life blood of the yokai race (or something along those lines) flows freely and without protection.

Dee walks opposite the stream’s flow, pulling April up the titan’s slanted cheek.

They don’t have to travel far to reach shattered gold. A pair of identical indents indicate something bipedal landed there with substantial force. Whatever or whomever made them is nowhere to be found.

Not that the human or mutant care to search.

Not when only a few feet away sits a withered corpse.

Chapter Text

Hockey's okay. Not Leo's sport by any stretch of the imagination, but hey!

It reunited a family.

The Caseys speak with animated arms and raised voices. Not a moment of silence between the two since the game's conclusion; and (judging by the happy tears and wide grin) this is possibly the happiest Junior has been since before coming to this timeline.

“You really think so?” Casey Jr's eyes sparkle like a kid on Christmas morning who received a present that's exponentially better than what he’d asked Santa for.

The ex-foot recruit grabs him round the shoulders and pulls him in close. She pokes his chest and grins a face splitting devious grin.

“I am a highly trained ninja and you a battle hardened warrior. WE SHALL DOMINATE THE RINK! OUR ADVERSARIES WILL TREMBLE BEFORE US AS WE STRIP THEM OF THEIR PRIDE AND THEIR TEETH!!” She declares, pumping a fist into the air.

See? Everything turned out perfect. Better than, actually!

It’s the first of the slider’s plans to go off without a hitch in MONTHS! No fighting. No slip ups. No interference. A job well done.

The relief is immeasurable.

Raph bumps his brother’s shoulder with a closed fist. His good ol’ brotherly pride practically the smothers the slider as well as anyone who steps within five feet of the snapping turtle. And for the first time in a long time, Leonardo relishes the feeling.

The leader of the Mad Dogs feels he’s earned his position. At least for today.

Because today is a good day.

“Oh me gosh…”

By all that is pizza, Leo hopes he didn’t just jinx it.

Ahead of the group, standing on the precipice of the lair, Mikey repeats himself in a half whisper.

“Oh. Me. Gosh.”

The box turtle waves for the rest of the group to join him.

Leo hears it before he sees it; the sounds of scraping metal and clinking glass accompanied by harried chatter. It’s coming from just outside Donnie’s lab.

Had his returned from the library so soon?

Rounding the corner, the slider finds April sitting amongst dozens of jars on the cement floor. Beside her is Splinter holding a funnel as April pours luminescent green from an urn littered with mystic symbols into one of the many jars. Just as the glass is filled and fixed with a lid, the softshell’s counterpart darts out of the lab to take the newly jarred Empyrean, mumbling all the while.

“-it’s not excessive. You’d be surprised how quickly you can burn through samples during the analyzing phase.”

“Sure, whatever, but couldn’t we keep the rest in the magic vase?” April huffs, already filling yet another jar.

“We don’t know what long-term exposure to mystics will have on the Empyrean. Although, if this truly is responsible for creating the yokai, it might also be the source of their magic.” Dee pauses to tap his chin in thought. “Meaning there’s a possibility the Empyrean will remain perfectly stable. On the other hand, the opposite could be true. Which could mean it’s hyper sensitive and every sample from the urn has already been irreparably compromised…”

The terrapin's mutterings muffle as he darts into his counterpart’s lab to deposit the sample, then clear up as he returns for another.

“….’ll need to check for any permanent alterations to the blood. Three more jars and we’ll leave the rest in the urn.”

Blood?

“What…. have you done……. to MY KITCHEN?!” the youngest turtle demands, waving over their childhood friend’s head with urgency.

Should have figured it wasn’t the Empyrean and talk of bodily fluid that shocked Mikey.

Leo takes notice of the many kitchen supplies stacked haphazardly behind Splinter and April. Plastic and glass cups, mugs, tupperware containers and a few pots forming a misshapen pyramid.

“Oh that?” the girl shrugs, finishing off the last few requested jars. “Dee wanted more Empyrean than what he could get with the little tubes Donnie gave him, so we went into the city and bought this storage vase. Which he was totally on board with until we already filled the thing–”

But the box turtle does not care. He’s already gathering up dishes to return to their rightful cupboards (glaring at April all the while).

“O'Neil.” He interrupts stiffly with a raised chin.

From the tight little line his mouth settled in and the twitch of his left eye, it was clear Mikey gave not a single iota for wherever this explanation was going.

The self appointed family cook could be possessive to the point of making himself a downright menace when it came to anything even vaguely related to his hobby. Doubly so with this new lair’s kitchen and it’s entirely brand new stock of dishes, tools, and appliances; bought to replace those lost along with their former home.

“And we’ll help put everything away. Won’t we, Splints?” April adds, looking expectantly to the rat mutant beside her.

Splinter frowns, less than enthused to be roped in to yet another mundane task.

If Leo remembers correctly, none of his pops shows run at this time. It is, however, around the tail end (haha) of Splinter’s late afternoon nap.

How April has mastered pulling the old mutant from his precious daily routine is a mystery Leonardo vows to one day unveil. For now he can only marvel at the begrudging nod the girl receives for her request.

“Actually,” Dee says, taking the urn and last three jars into his arms “I still have some questions for Master Splinter.”

Splinter perks up and crosses his arms with a triumphant (and relieved) smirk. Pleased, he makes his way to Dee’s side.

“You heard second purple.”

“Second Purple” looks entirely unimpressed with the nickname, but nods and shoots April an apologetic smile.

“Guys?” she then implores of the rest of the group.

“I got you.” Raph answers, moving to scoop up the majority of pile.

He could carry it all if everything was stacked properly. As it is, many dishes slip free and clatter on the less than sanitary ground (much to Michelangelo’s dismay).

Casey Jr rushes to pick up the fallen tupperware.

Cassandra however…

“Who’s this new turtle?” she stalks forward to better keep an eye on the diamondback as he moves to place the rest of the Empyrean in the lab.

The combative teen didn’t visit too often (usually busy running her questionable brownie business). The few times she did, however, Cass was always on guard and ready to spar anyone the mildest bit willing.

Not missing a beat, Leo quips “That’s one of Donnie’s deformed clones. Ignore him.”

“One of?”

Cass scans the room in search of others as Dee rushes back out to fix the slider with his uncanny reddish eyed glare.

“Deformed?!”

Too easy.

Splinter hides his laugh with a forced cough into his hand, but Leo sees through it. A point for the blue brother to use as proof he would soon usurp his twin as the funny one; and even more proof that today was still a good day.

Junior pulls Cassandra over to help with the last of the fallen dishes, leaving only Donnie, Splinter, and Leo just standing there outside the lab.

Curious, the red eared slider steps closer to the lab’s entrance to stare at the green filled jars.

“Sooooo…. What you need pops for?” he asks simply.

“Your brother won’t answer his phone.”

A very non-answer.

Back to square one, eh? After all the slider’s progress in getting the terrapin to talk, only to... uh….. They didn’t speak at all yesterday, did they? No, no they didn’t. Leo spent it all ensuring the Caseys’ meet up was perfect.

In better spirits than he’d been all of yesterday and this morning, he can now mend his error.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Phone calls would get him sent to the kiddie room.” He says, remembering April’s yells getting him in trouble with the bats the one time he ever went to a library.

Not fun.

“And?” he prompts.

Non-answers aren’t good enough for this turtle.

“I…..” Dee hesitates “I’ve been advised to keep this kind of thing between me and my counterpart.”

“Whom pops is not-”

Leo cuts himself off just as something in his mind clicks.

He already knows of one not-so-secret between the Donnies. The slider’s twin made it obvious he wanted to keep whatever was in that notebook a secret, so of course Leo had to “borrow” it. Twins aren’t supposed to keep secrets. Its in the unspoken twin code or something equally legitimate.

Getting his hands on the thing was too easy, thanks to Raphael stepping in and abducting the terrapin. Dee didn’t have a chance to grab the notebook before he was whisked to bed. Then all the slider had to do was wait until this twin’s back was turned to snatch it up and portal it to his room.

Most of the notes turned out to be analyses and theories on mystic powers…. But those first couple pages.

No good.

As is required of the word “borrowed” Leo decides now is as good a time as any to return the notebook.

He'd stashed it in the bag on his belt.

Though he found himself unwilling to take a second look at it's contents, he also wanted to keep the thing close for….. Well, for this exact kind of situation. He wanted it as proof.

“What does Empyrean have to do with the Kraang?” he guesses, pulling the notebook out for the terrapin to see.

Dee’s grimace is all Leonardo needs to know he hit the nail on the head.

The sound of dishes crashing and (in some cases) shattering on the floor echoes from inside the kitchen.

Raph fills the doorway, searching the room until he finds the slider. The pride from earlier is replaced with concern. The one who was stuck with the Kraang the longest; the one who was brainwashed and forced to fight his family; whose eye is constantly irritated by the smallest things..... For some unfathomable reason he’s stressing himself out about Leo.

So what if Leo doesn’t like talking about those pink fleshy freaks? Who does? NOBODY! That’s who. Not even Mikey who insists talking about them will help, but even the box turtle cringes whenever the Kraang are mentioned. So why bother?

Leo can’t stand the pitying looks near everyone aims his way and focuses on the one person who isn’t.

Dee holds a hand out to take the notebook and the slider lets him.

“There’s a good chance our universes are more alike than I previously thought.” He says in a bland yet soft tone, thumbing through pages until he finds an empty one. “Pen?”

April tosses him a sharpie they’d been using to label the jars. Dee catches it and seats himself in the floor to begin a new sketch.

“I have reason to believe Empyrean is a diluted mutagen, something akin to the mutagen of my reality. That,” he sighs, “Or it’s Kraang blood.”

The new drawing takes up most of the page. A familiar figure, more so than the terrapin’s previous drawings, begins to take shape.

“April and I found a dead one in the Empyrean.” Dee admits, his voice takes on a slight edge “I took a few samples from the body for comparison. As soon as my counterpart returns, I wanted to run some tests to check for a genetic match.”

His drawing now plainly depicts a lifeless Kraang sat in a pool of liquid.

“If either hypothesis is correct, that would make you just as much a product of the Kraang as I am.” He states, just as he finishes the sketch, and looks Leo dead in the eyes.

‘It was an accident... involving 30 centimeter tall creatures disguising themselves as humans.’

Of course the turtle in blue had already put two and two together. It put a damper on the whole alternate twin hype. Now he was reminded of those damn aliens every time he saw Dee…. But it's less so the thought of the aliens that bothered him as it is remembering the fact they only came to be a problem because Leo messed up.

He'd been leader for what? Less than a month?

In less than a month he nearly caused the end of humanity and yokai kind. The apocalypse was only adverted because a future Mikey sent Casey Jr back into the past.

The gross feeling that fills his gut and twists his insides every time he thinks about that one mistake bothers him. More so than the memory of fighting his Kraangified brother or locking himself in the prison dimension.

It's why Leo dove straight into planning out Casey and Cassandra’s first meet up. The perfect distraction and proof he CAN make good plans and that he IS a good leader.

So much for today being a good day.

Raph is still watching the slider. To his right stands Mikey. To his left are the Caseys. All of them look at Leo with some level of worry or pity.

So do April and Splinter.

The only gaze that doesn’t feel degrading is Dee’s, oddly enough. The terrapin looks tired and irritated.

Dee does not pity him. He's being defensive.

Probably thinks Leo was avoiding him due to his origins, knowing nothing of the slider's greatest mistake.

In light of this, Leonardo finds it possible to slip back on a smile.

“Count yourself lucky.” He says, poking alternate Donnie right between the eyes. “At least you weren’t made by Draxum.”

His baby brother’s subsequent groan of disapproval; Raph rolling his eyes; Cassandra's solemn nod; Casey’s confusion; April’s little smile; and his father’s unrestrained laugh help the slider relax.

Then there’s Dee, who smiles as he swats Leo’s hand away.

“I don’t know. The Baron seemed pretty decent when we met.” He says good naturedly, closing the notebook.

That gross feeling in the slider’s gut lessens.

“You say that, but you’ve only met the reformed Baron Draxum.” Leo offers the terrapin a hand up off the floor and asks, “Did I tell you about the time he threw me off a roof?”

Another disapproving groan from Mikey.

Maybe today is still a good day.

Chapter Text

It took two days to collect every Kraangy bit of tech he needed. Having had to (quietly) break a few half built doodads to extract their incorporated alien parts proved time consuming.

Only Metalhead's offline head had been spared Mikey’s scavenging efforts.

The Kraang? Their dimension? Those things are easier for this hyperactive ninja to work with than the rest of the stuff in his brother's lab. Even the chemicals he'd set aside as a Plan B.

Don’t ask what Plan B is. Mikey’s got nothing concrete, but he’s positive he’ll think up something if Plan A is a bust. Which won’t happen because Plan A will work! Even if it is a bit tricky.

He needs to find Donnie. So obviously the freckled terrapin is building a brother finder!

Of the chrome and pink pieces for him to choose from, he started with the one part that was neither of those colors. A plain white communications orb with no visible seams for Mikey to crack open. He had to tap along the sphere until he heard the dull pats change into an echo-y ping. From there he knew exactly where to cut into the orb with his kusarigama blade.

Everything else just kinda fell into place after that.

Wires connected and twisted like the roots of one of those Dimension X trees across an arch of parts held together with super ninja stacking skills and duct tape. A lot of duct tape.

He’s actually running low on the miracle ribbon and will have to substitute with chewed gum if he’s not careful.

Fixing seven of the Kraang’s robot heads to the top of the arch was necessitating more tape than he’d hoped. Once you opened them up to pull up the antenna within, the head could no longer balance and required extra support to stay upright.

Michelangelo wipes at his nonexistent brow with a very-not-doubtful sigh…...

Okay.

Maybe a LITTLE doubtful.

The Brother Finder is nearly complete. Mikey can feel it. Yet he also can’t help but feel that something’s missing (not just the last three head antennae he’s still in the process of attaching).

Fortunately he has the best lab assistant in the world to combat his wavering morale.

“How’s it looking, Kitty?” he asks the frozen feline in her cute little lab assistant goggles and oversized lab coat.

Ice Cream Kitty tilts her head and gives what could only be an approving “meow” and that’s all the motivation Mikey needs to continue his work.

He begins to situate another robo-head, and nearly drops it when he unravels the last piece of tape. The strip is barely long enough to wrap around the neck and anchor it down against the arch. Far less tape than he’d used for the first four heads.

Mikey pries open the thing’s face as gently as he can manage. Not gentle enough. He can see the tape begin to lift and the neck tilt. The teen straightens the head and pats the tape back down with an annoyed huff.

Chewing gum it is. Always good in a pinch…..

Something in the terrapin’s gut disagrees. If there’s one thing this ninja always trusts, it’s his gut instinct.

Splinter calls it something fancier.

Intuan- No. Intermission? Wrong again. Intuition! That’s it.

His intuition never lies.

Just like that time it insisted there was something wrong with April’s mom back at the farm house. Or even way back when he knew Leatherhead wasn’t some mindless monster. Or any time he fights and lets his body take over and his mind go blank.

Gum wouldn’t be good enough this time.

What else is there?

Glue?? They only had that liquid glue for paper crafts, and that stuff takes forever to dry. No thank you.

Mikey’s patience is running thin as it is already.

Then an idea comes to him. Not one of those boring light bulb ideas, but an awesome array of fireworks and explosions (cause this idea is just that good)!

Plan B is now apart of Plan A, as Mikey could make his own glue. One stronger and better than even super glue. An extra-super glue!! The super-iest glue to ever exist!

While Kraang bits are easier to work with, chemicals are undeniably more fun. They’re also the main thing Donatello refuses to let him experiment with, but that’s never stopped the youngest quadruplet from doing what needs to be done in case of emergencies.

Unlike Dee or Raph, Mikey did his best work under pressure.

The terrapin reaches out to sort through and impressively wide range of dangerous liquids when he hears a telltale rip.

Michelangelo twists around to see the poorly secured robot head clatter against the cement floor, his elbow catching on Donnie’s centra-fudge as he does so. That too falls to the ground.

“Mikey?”

Leo heard that, did he?

“MIKEY!”

Raph too.

The freckled teen reaches down to pick up the machine his brainy brother adored just as his other two brothers push their way through the sliding lab doors.

Leo looks exhausted.

You’d think meditation would be a restful thing (heaven knows Mikey falls asleep every time he tries that absolute bore of an activity). Yet if his glazed eyes and slumped posture were to be trusted, it wouldn’t surprise the younger quadruplet if Leonardo passed out.

Right now, preferably.

Then Mikey could try and convince him this was all a dream-

“Did you break the centrifuge?! We can’t fix any of this!” Raph shouts, snapping Leo from his drowsy state.

Navy blue eyes widen as they take in the room. From the empty shelves to Ice Cream Kitty to then finally settle on the incomplete Brother Finder.

“Michelangelo.” Leo takes on his team leader voice, and it’s the last thing Mikey wants to hear right now.

The orange masked turtle knows he’s done nothing deserving of a reprimand from anyone except Donnie when he gets back (and Mikey is fully prepared to endure a lengthy rant with only the most unrepentant of smiles).

Then the eldest teen deflates with a deep exhale.

“I miss him too.” Leo all but whispers.

Scratch that. THIS is the last thing Mikey wants to hear. Misplaced comfort.

They never believe him, do they? At least, not when it really matters. How can they actually think he’s being the unreasonable one here, and needs to be coddled?

He's not the one needlessly wallowing in defeat and acting like they haven’t been through this before. Twice! When the Shredder tossed Splinter down a drainpipe and when he stabbed their sensei in the back, they didn’t give up. They put their faith in their father or did everything they could to fix it…....

Now his brothers are not even willing to try.

It makes the usually cheery teen’s blood boil.

Mikey liked to think he was the one family member who didn’t have a temper, but who is he kidding? They all have a short fuse, and Michelangelo’s is burnt up.

“Donnie’s not gone!” He shouts.

All Leo can manage is a disappointed frown, while Raph moves to take the centra-thingy.

“Put that down before you break it.” He growls.

The sound lacks any edge, so Mikey knows it’s just his brother putting up a front. That doesn’t make the freckled teen any more sympathetic.

Mikey pulls away, turning to keep Donnie’s chemistry device out of Raph’s prying hands. He might need it to make the glue.

More importantly, he needs his family to let him finish his machine.

“Why are you both giving up on Donnie?!” Mikey can’t help the acid lacing his accusation.

He hates letting his anger get the best of him. Hates the surprise in his siblings’ faces, as it’s the uncharacteristic emotion that puts it there and not his question.

“We’re not–”

“Yes!” Mikey interjects, because they can’t lie to him.

Not about this.

The walk home after their brother disappeared and April fled was proof enough. At the time, Michelangelo tried to excuse their grave expressions as many things. Shock or confusion. Deep thought, maybe? But it all came crashing down when they returned to the lair and his brothers explained everything to Master Splinter.

Donatello was relegated to the past tense.

It wasn’t difficult to recognize that familiar look of grief in his sensei’s eyes; to then match it Leonardo and Raphael’s own.

They’re mourning him.

“Yes you are.” Mikey’s voice cracks as it raises in volume. “You think he’s dead!”

“Yame.”

The heavy clack of a jade cane against hard floor echoes across the room, freezing everyone in place.

It takes effort for the freckled teen to face his father. Unlike Raph and Leo, Splinter had not been there to see Donatello disappear. He only knows what’s been told to him, which means he deserves none of Mikey’s anger.

“Sensei.” the youngest says in both a plea and an apology.

It is all he can manage, as no other words come to Mikey. The tension seizing his throat when the Brother Finder falls under his father’s scrutiny keeping him silent.

Raph opens his mouth, only to clamp it shut when Splinter once again brings down his cane.

The three turtles bow their heads in preparation for some kind of lecture.

Splinter intakes two consecutive breaths in through the nose and one lengthy exhale out his mouth before shaking his head.

“There is an emergency.” He pivots, gesturing for his sons to follow. “To the living-room and turn the television to Channel Six.”

Mikey puts the centrifuge down slowly, ensuring he’ll be the last one to vacate the lab. Not that he believes either of his brothers would ignore their sensei in favor of sabotaging his machine but…. He just has to make sure.

Regardless of the nature of the emergency, tensions between himself and the others will be high.

Mikey scoops up Ice Cream Kitty, helping her remove the coat and goggles. She nuzzles his cheek and pats his face in sympathy as he carries her out of the lab.

Only Leo spares him a glance whilst Raph and Splinter remain fixated on the TV.

On screen is a familiar figure.

Kinda hard to forget a giant, fire breathing, space turtle.

Chapter Text

Don could (and happily would) loose himself in the Mystic Library for months at a time if given the chance. As such, relegating himself to only five additional hours was a commendable feat. Especially once you consider his excuse to indulge in the knowledgeable atmosphere of paper and ink and hushed voices.

That excuse being how none of his studies offered the purple genius a solution to his counterpart's displacement.

Truly, what’s the use of mystics if not to be convenient? To easily solve problems through arbitrary and nonsensical means?

Turns out that while mystic literature holds plentiful knowledge on the existence of alternate realities and dimensions; Donatello found no spell, no item, nor potion capable of traversing them at will. Crafting pocket dimensions? Sure. Portals powerful enough for space travel? Not a problem. Yet nothing capable of locating a specific alternate universe.

Well…..With the exception of some few mystically inclined persons naturally gifted in forming reality tearing portals. He’d have to guard THAT little tidbit of unacceptable knowledge. Can’t have his baby brother using it as justification to nearly self terminate for family again.

“Sigh.”

He may have to inform Draxum. As a last resort, of course. Maybe the Baron could keep an eye out for some mystically inclined yokai with the power to send his counterpart home.

Until then, Don carries seven books for further study into his lab.

His occupied lab.

The softshell’s counterpart peers into a microscope, the Kraang filled notebook splayed open as he jots down his observations of what looks to be Empyrean on a glass slide.

Leaning casually over the diamondback’s shell is Leo. His head perched atop Dee’s shoulder as he watches the other work with glazed eyes and pinched lips. No discernible emotion there, yet not quiet emotionless either. An uncommon look for Don’s twin, which sets the softshell on edge.

Don clears his throat as he drops the books an inch above empty counter space with a satisfying thump, in way of announcing his return.

His lanky counterpart lifts a hand in an acknowledging wave before returning focus to his observations. His twin, meanwhile, offers little more than a lazy glance.

Something's off about the slider.

“Well hello to the both of you too.” Don greets with mild irritation to mask his worry “Me? The library was splendid without misbehaved siblings there to provoke the bats. Thank you for asking–”

“You pissed them off before me and Raph both, Mr I-can-divide-by-biographies.” Leo cuts in, rising to the bait.

It provides but a brief moment of normality for Donatello, as the slider then stands up and walks right past his twin with a heavy yawn. A contagiously genuine one that takes real effort to not echo.

“Don’t you nerds have too much fun without me.” Leo says in a surprisingly soft tone, making his way out of the lab.

The soft shell grimaces.

Not going to explain how the “meeting of the Caseys” went now, is he? No boasting or tale of failure and woe? Not even some mindless chit chat for his twin to distance himself from his problems??

Something happened.

Not a BIG something, and yet still big enough throw the self proclaimed face man off kilter.

How to find out what happened? Probably should just ask, but coaxing information out of others isn’t the soft shell’s forte (that was Mikey and Leo’s area of expertise).

Don glances between his brother’s retreating form and the only other turtle present.

As luck would have it, he doesn’t have to question a random stranger, but another Donatello (whom likely can appreciate a little direct questioning).

Don waits until he’s sure his brother is both out of sight and no longer within earshot before asking, “What crawled up Nardo’s shell?”

The diamondback seems to only just register that Leo is missing, twisting in his seat to make sure there’s no one behind him. A scientist too engrossed in his work to notice the obvious happenings around him. Dee smiles, amused more so than embarrassed to discover the slider’s absence and his obliviousness to it.

“So using you as a mattress while you work isn’t normal?” he asks with a curious expression (one that could benefit from a little sharpie-brow enhancement in Don’s humble opinion).

“I don’t particularly enjoy additional pressure against my shell.” The softshell admits, as he considers how foreign that behavior now seemed along side Leo's solemn demeanor.

Of course Leo avoids irritating Donatello’s softshell, but it’s not like Leo lounges on Raph’s or Mikey’s shells either.

Might be that Raph’s shell isn’t the most comfortable of places. Hazardous even.

Mikey? Maybe it’s because their little brother hates sitting still for any length of time?

Or maybe it’s the shape?

Dee’s shell is a soft outward arch. No inward curve at his lower back, making for a more consistent surface to brace or lean against.

Interesting as this all may be to ponder, that is not what Don meant.

“I was more referring to him being…” the shorter teen circles his hands as he tries to think of the word to best sum up his twin.

“Quiet?” Dee offers.

More like reserved and socially worn out. Which shouldn’t be possible, because Leo thrived in social settings. The epitome of an extrovert multiplied by seven.

“I suppose.” Don acquiesces, not wanting to get caught up in something so trivial as a word. He just wants to know what happened. “What’d you do to tame the menace?”

“Not a thing.” Dee says, pauses, then shakes his head. “He uh….. He read my notes.”

Oh.

That might explain it.

“Everyone was so worried, but Leo seemed fine. At least, he did too me. Even answered all my questions about the– Oh! That reminds me!” the terrapin rises from his seat with an eager smile, “Now that you’re here, you wouldn’t happen to be in possession of a DNA sequencer, would you? Manual or automatic is fine. I didn’t think you’d appreciate someone rooting around your equipment. At least, I know that I wouldn’t.”

As abrupt as a subject change that may be, Don appreciates someone finally has enough sense to respect his equipment.

“Of course.” The smaller genius finds himself already moving to collect the sequencer. “Just to be clear, you’re absolutely positive he’s alright?”

“Not absolutely, but we’re talking about Leonardo here. It takes a lot to keep him down.”

Dee sounds so casually confident about the mental fortitude of a person he met only a few days ago.

The softshell stops himself from asking which of their Leos the terrapin could possibly be referring to. There’s no point, because Don agrees.

His twin is far from fragile.

Leo faces most unpleasant things head on, armed with terrible puns and a smirk. If anything proved too much for the slider to handle, he would do everything within his power to avoid it.

Judging by the fact he'd spent the evening plastered to Dee’s back, Leo was (at least on some level) okay.
Don would check up on him later.

Just to be sure.

For now he presents his counterpart with an automatic DNA sequencer. Dee lights up, a mad twinkle in his eyes to get ahold of such a basic piece of tech. The softshell's all too happy to provide whatever he can to encourage his counterpart’s glee.

“Considering what April and I found, I’m inclined to believe Empyrean is their blood. Heavily diluted blood.” the terrapin reaches behind the microscope to present a tube containing a single calcified sliver. “As soon as we sequence this bone and the Empyrean, we’ll know for sure. There’s still a chance the organics of Empyrean came from something else–”

Don’s pulled in all too easily.

Libraries are comforting centers of knowledge and the mystic library puts most others to shame. Unfortunately, its contents place focus on the yokai and their mystic arts.

Science is a superior subject in every conceivable way, and Dee’s theory is music to the softshell’s ears. From the discovery of a Kraang's skeleton down to the apparent “source of all yokai power” originating from an extraterrestrial source instead of magic mumbo jumbo; Don revels in it all.

Dee’s enthusiasm successfully infects the shorter of the science loving pair, who sits contentedly with this other self while the sequencer begins to process an Empyrean sample.

The machine beeps and the results pour out onto a nearby monitor. The diamondback scrolls through the data while Dee moves to begin prepping the bone sample.

He pauses when he spots the seven books he checked out earlier.

It dawns on him that his counterpart has yet to ask if the softshell’s studies proved fruitful or not.

Odd.

“Other me.” He calls.

Dee answers with a distracted “Hm?”

“Nothing, nothing. Nevermind me.”

“I’ll be in the lab.”

Saving New York (yet again) was exhausting business. Leo really wants to go fall face first onto a cool pillow and sleep instead of dealing with this.

The leader in blue looks to his immediate younger brother, anticipating (hoping for) Raph to object. He doesn’t. And judging by his fixed gaze and the way his hands ever so gently cradle a snoozing Chompy Picasso, it’s obvious his mind is otherwise occupied.

Probably didn’t even hear what Mikey said.

Raph walks with even steps passed his brothers and into the lair, not paying them any heed.

As much as Leonardo would appreciate the support, he cannot bring himself to stop Raphael. Not after almost loosing Chompy. Not when that same baby turtle is probably the only reason Raph managed to calm down after….. After loosing Donnie.

So, no.

The responsibility falls once again on Leo’s shoulders.
He intakes one very deep breath, then reaches out to grab his little brother’s shoulder. Mikey stills under the soft grip before simply shrugging it off.

“I’m not giving up.” the freckled teen says, sliding through a turnstile to put some distance between them.

A futile endeavor, as Leo can be just as stubborn as the rest of his brothers and matches the other’s pace. He follows quietly, contemplating what precise thing he could say to get his brother to listen.

Nothing immediate comes to mind.

How do you convince someone already committed to denying what he– what they all saw with their own eyes?
Mikey pushes his way into the lab.

Donatello’s laboratory was never the most welcoming nor warmest of places in the lair. Between the invasive anatomy charts pinned up on the walls, the shelves of unknown chemicals and tools, and the seemingly permanent addition of a frozen Timothy…. It’s not hard to see why.

Without Donnie, however, the place was left cold. Erie.
And the mass of Kraang parts cobbled together only added to the feeling.

The younger teen eyes his brother wearily before heading for a table of chemicals and the centrifuge. His hand hovers over the machine momentarily before he pivots around to instead pick up a severed Kraang bot’s head from the floor.

He stares at it with a tight angry frown.

“I didn’t give up on him.”

The frown gives way to something more incredulous.
“I didn’t give up on him.” Leo repeats, voice firm. “I never give up on family.”

And the fact anyone would accuse him of such hurt. Especially if that anyone was Mikey.

When everyone else thought Karai was a lost cause, Leo persisted. He pushed and pushed and the only one sympathetic to his efforts had been his baby brother.

Donatello had mostly shrugged it of while Raphael actively objected to the idea Karai could change.

Even Sensei thought it too much of a risk.

For a small moment the turtle in orange seems unsure. Hopeful, maybe?

Then that frown returns.

“Why am I the only one trying to find him?” he asks, gripping the robotic head tighter.

The only one?

Leo scowls.

“You’re not.” He says, “We’re just looking in different places.”

“Where? The dojo?” Mikey mutters miserably, “Cause that’s where you’ve been.”

The energetic teen has always been observant of the things no one wants him to notice.

Leonardo curses himself for not paying his brothers better mind sooner. It’s just….. He thought he had some time for himself.

It’s only been a few days now, and the blue turtle spent them under the impression his little brother was holed up in his room mourning. Allowing the youngest quadruplet a little time alone felt respectful, and that certainly isn’t where Leo failed. He failed by not paying Mikey enough mind to realize he’d actually been hard at work in the lab.

Leo eyes the admittedly impressive arch of mixed parts. It stands tall enough to walk under without crouching. While wrapped with wires and excessive duct tape, each part is stacked with expert precision. Machinery and parts interlock in various places, providing stability even without the extra support.

It’s obvious Mikey is putting his all into this machine, and no amount of talking will convince him to give it up.

So Leo won’t ask him to.

“Let’s make a deal.” The older teen says. “You can keep working on….”

He waits, inviting.

A mild success. Mikey’s narrowed eyes soften.

“The Brother Finder.” He supplies after only a few moments of hesitation; because of course he'd already named it (and was clearly pleased with said name).

“The Brother Finder.” Leo acknowledges with a genuine smile. “I’ll even help you finish it, but you have to meditate with me every day after dinner.”

Mikey is not impressed.

“Meditate?”

“Yes. Meditate.”

“THAT’s where you're looking?…..You still think he’s dead.”

“We watched his body-“

“He’s not dead!“

“Then prove me wrong.” Leo’s throat constricts, enhancing that gravel forever tainting his voice thanks to his injury. His voice begins to waiver. “Believe me. I want more than anything to be wrong.”

Every minute Leonardo spends trying to reach out to Donatello on the spiritual plane, only to come up empty handed, torments him. Each session ends with countless questions clouding his mind.

Why hasn’t he seen his brother yet?

Was Master Splinter wrong?

Was Donnie avoiding him?

Is Leo wasting his time?

What if Leo’s calling out to someone who’s not there?

What if… what if Mikey is right?

A part of him so desperately craves to share in his little brother's denial. To hold out hope and believe full heartedly Donnie somehow managed to survive.

Of course he does.

But life is unfair and if you’re not prepared by the time reality sets in, you’re in for a rude awakening–

“Deal.”

Leo blinks at his brother, tilting his head.

Mikey holds out a hand in offering.

“Deal?” the older teen says in disbelief.

It actually worked.

He accepts Mikey’s hand with a frim shake.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

His mind's running a mile a minute. Sleep is a forgotten matter for another day, another time. Neck deep in his studies with his first ever competent lab partner is nothing less than a dream come true, and time passes in a blur.

The Empyrean and the Kraang bone were a perfect match!

In light of the confirmation (and no way to get his hands on Baron Draxum's ooze) Dee took a blood sample from his counterpart to try and get an idea for the substance that created the softshell and his family.

Unlike the diamondback’s own blood (because of course he just had to compare) Don’s held all the markers of precise alteration. The traces of modified Empyrean meld perfectly to every cell and show no signs of destabilization. A credit to the Baron for his masterful work, however shady the yokai’s past may be.

Dee and his family were merely lucky with their mutations. The batch they’d been subjected to was stable enough. Later concoctions the Kraang cooked up were unforgiving in their side effects and stability.

The thought of Spike turning homicidal upon mutation easily comes to mind.

Yet another fascinating (and completely unfair) observation is the speed at which Don’s cells repair themselves. Sickness likely hit these turtles faster than a runaway garbage truck, but the recovery rate had to be insane. For injuries too.

Some of the mutations in the terrapin’s universe included a higher healing factor. Where many are found lacking, others outlandishly exceed this ability (snakeweed could almost entirely regenerate). Just more proof to how volatile and unpredictable a Kraang modified mutagen passed through dimensions is in comparison to the Baron’s expertly crafted ooze.

With the increased stability, formulating a retro-ooze might prove an easier task than retromutagen ever was. Clearly a retro-ooze was begging to be–

“Donatello.”

Dee sits up fast enough to make himself dizzy, and has to take a moment to reorient himself.

Don peers at his hard-shelled counterpart over a grey book, his grip on it’s pages a tad too tense to be considered respectful to the paper and text. His expression is… odd.

The softshell gestures to a stack of books with a flourish. Then waits. Expectantly.

“What are those?” Dee carefully asks.

“Thank Newton! What took you so long?!”

Dee blinks, confused.

“These are books I checked out from the mystic library.” Don explains with an exasperated sigh. “A second opinion would be appreciated.”

Though the terrapin hears his counterpart just fine, the request doesn’t register. Not that he can properly scrutinize Don’s words whilst simultaneously his thoughts turn to computational chemistry.

“Yeah.” He murmurs.

Inputting five new equations into a laptop he’s been lent for his calculations, Dee doesn’t notice the his fellow scientist leave the room.

There are bad mornings, good mornings and there are perfect mornings.

Mikey expects today to be perfect.

He wakes up energized and itching to move. His best full body stretch does little to disperse his need to wriggle and move. He springs out of his covers, removing his night shirt before this feet even hit the floor. In less than a minute his bed is made and his pajamas are folded neatly and set aside.

With his things in order, it’s time to get productive.

The kitchen awaits.

The box turtle skips and hops and cartwheels as quietly as a ninja can to his favorite room.

Maybe he could be a little more adventurous with breakfast today? Their guest seems to lack most the hang ups Don has for food. With the one exception being the Super Creepy Pizza Supreme, he's eaten everything offered thus far with not a single complaint.

Opening the fridge, Michelangelo spots a container of fresh blueberries.

He knows exactly what to make.

Soon the sweet fragrance of blueberries and sugar fill the air, accompanied by the more savory smells of butter and bacon.

A small pot of the fruit burbles in its mix of water and sugar. Beside it sits another small pot of milk, butter, sugar and vanilla. Mikey kills the heat on his two homemade syrups, then finishes off the blueberry mixture with an immersion blender to smooth it out before giving it a taste.

Not too sweet. Not too sour.

The self taught cook hums, pleased with the result.

“Fancy.” a voice comments from across the room.

Mikey shoots Leo a proud grin, watching his striped brother yawn before looking over the table.

Maple syrup, butter, peanut butter, Nutella, a can of whipped cream, sprinkles, the remaining blueberries and a towering plate of perfectly crisp bacon greets the drowsy slider.

He blinks away the final dredges of sleep.

“Going all out today, mi hermano?”

“It’s just–” Mikey twirls till he’s standing in front of a piping hot griddle. “–one of those days, ya know?”

He pours six sizeable dollops of batter onto the cooktop.

“We got plain, banana and….” the box turtle pauses to sprinkle a handful of chocolate chips over the raw batter. “And chocolate chip pancakes!”

“Pancakeths!”

A mass of red dashes into the room.

Raph hadn’t bothered to remove his pjs or night brace. The snapper smiles around his orthopedic headgear and rubs his hands together with anticipation.

Nothing like a warm breakfast to brighten everyone’s morning.

It’s moments like these that remind Michelangelo why he enjoys cooking so much. Yeah, its fun and all that, but to see his family smile and enjoy the meals will always be his favorite part.

Raph reaches out to grab the plate of bacon.

“Hey!” Mikey cries out. “Wait for the Donnies! And pops!”

After all, this was made to be a family meal.

Raph huffs, going to rub at his face. His hand meets the night brace and he huffs again. He pries off the appliance.

“How long’s that gonna take? Cause I don’t want to wake either of the Donnies. Not when I couldn’t get them to sleep the other night.” The snapper grumbles, still eyeing the bacon mound.

“Did they even sleep LAST night?” Leo asks and Raph’s expression turns sour.

Mikey hadn’t thought to consider the Donnies’ broken sleep schedule into his breakfast plans.

He flips each of the half baked chocolate chip pancakes with a waning enthusiasm.

Nobody had been able to break through the purple duo’s little science spree. And that started sometime the night before; back when Don had returned from this trip to the library. Anyone who tried to interrupt was ignored or bombarded with an endless stream of genius gibberish and lengthy words that sound entirely made up.

Seems Raph couldn’t muster up the will to try and put the duo to sleep last night, which means the night previous must have been a real doozy of high IQ word salad.

“Good– uh, one moment.”

Speaking of the purple duo, one of them has seen fit to grace the kitchen with his presence.

Their resident Donatello stands hunched over his own arm, squinting at the band on this wrist (no doubt checking the time). He perks up but over compensates, trying his best to appear lively.

“Ah yes – good morning, dearest family of mine!” he exclaims, immediately followed by a yawn.

Yeah… no way the softshell bothered to get a single wink of sleep in the past 48 hours.

Mikey sighs and moves to put on an extra big batch of extra strong coffee. If Don didn’t sleep, then it was probably safe to assume his counterpart didn’t either.

“So, I have a hypothetical, if you will. Strictly hypothetical.” The softshell continues, hands up and fingers pressed together.

His voice is colored with tension.

“Yeeeeeaah?” Leo drawls, seating himself at the table and clearly not paying enough attention to catch the softshell’s unease.

“What sort of intervention would you propose for someone with a hyperfixation on solving a complete non-issue over, hm, lets say, over LITERALLY anything else!” Don grinds out each word like he’s trying to chew through hard leather. “It’s like he doesn’t want to…” the rest of that sentence is reduced to an unintelligible grumble.

That's enough to capture the slider’s focus. The striped turtle leans back so this chair is balancing on it’s two back legs.

Leo grins a smug cheshire type grin.

“Sooooo…. hypothetically–”

“Hypothetically.” Donnie stresses.

“–this ‘someone’ wouldn’t happen to be Dee, would it?” Leo finishes.

At Don’s not-at-all-subtle guilty side glance, Leonardo scrambles out of his chair fast enough to leave the thing spinning. Raph saves the furniture piece before it can hit the ground.

Mikey watches it all with a steadily growing irritation.

“Are you Donald – the king of hyperfixations and nearly killed his brothers cause he was addicted to a video game – getting a taste of your own medicine?” Leo asks, poking Donnie’s forehead with a chuckle.

The two immediately begin to grapple.

Inevitable, really. The softshell often resorts to violence over shouting when he’s sleep deprived, and Leo KNOWS this. And Leo abuses this every. Single. TIME.

Mikey spots his eldest brother setting himself up comfortably in the abandoned chair, tongue poking out a he reaches for the bacon once again.

It's….. The youngest teen’s eye twitches…. It’s gonna be one of THOSE kinds of mornings.

The box turtle removes the last of the pancakes from the griddle before rolling up his nonexistent sleeves.

You see, perfect days don’t just happen. Not for Mikey at least.

Perfect days need to be made.

Michelangelo marches passed his three brothers towards the lab. Just as he steps out the room he pivots.

With all his pent up frustration to fuel it, he shouts, “HEY!”

His Doctor Delicate Touch bellow works like a charm. The three freeze.

“I’ll be right back with other Donnie in just a moment. Please finish setting the table.” He says with a perfectly tight little smile and a faux cheery voice.

He then leaves his brothers to sort themselves out.

Another sibling needs tending to.

Mikey finds Dee in a mania all too recognizable, which makes this next move a bit risky.

His fellow gap-toothed mutant darts between a desk of notes with a laptop and a table holding an assortment of ominous liquids. He mutters calculations and theories and questions under his breath, not paying the box turtle’s entrance any mind.

Dee has his shell to the younger teen. The perfect opening to abuse the element of surprise.

A moment later, with an armful kusari-fundo wrapped turtle, Mikey sprints out of the lab.

The weight is manageable. This Donnie feels a few pounds heavier than his counterpart. Not, however, heavier than Don wearing his battle shell.

Mikey faces no resistance up until the shock factor wears off and the spotted mutant’s catch begins to fight the hold.

“MIKEY?!”

Dee’s shout is loud enough to make said turtle’s left ear ring.

On the bright side, they’re way passed the point Don would have resorted to biting. Instead the terrapin shouts and kicks his giant flat feet in protest.

Just as the taller mutant’s struggles begin to slow their progression forwards, Mikey covers the chains of his weapon with enough mystic energy to render his captive weightless. This change brings yet another bout of shock as Dee stares at the glowing chains and Mikey rushes into the kitchen.

Waiting quietly around the now fully set table, his brothers simply watch as their little bro drags Dee into an open seat.

“TODAY–” Mikey snaps and his weapon withdraws, freeing it’s disgruntled catch. “–is officially a VACATION DAY!”

Everyone (with the exception of Dee) erupts into cheers.

Chapter Text

Their very first Vacation Day was an excuse to drag a preteen softshelled genius out of his workshop. Many celebrations later and it became something more. A sort of pause on life and its troubles with an ever growing list of unspoken rules and agreements to set the day apart from the family’s usual shenanigans.

Mikey’s declaration after forcefully pulling Dee from the lab was nostalgic and kinda like paying homage to the tradition’s roots.

Dee’s protests bring Raph's mind back to when it was he who had to steal his little purple brother away from the ever consuming hobby that is science. His brother’s counterpart even has that same desperate look in his eyes Don would (and still does) get when torn away from a project. A look that spells trouble. Fortunately, unlike those first Vacation Days (after many years worth of experience) this family was well equipped to handle resistance.

Leo and Raph move in sync, scooting their chairs until they’ve sandwiched Dee between them. With the terrapin effectively trapped, the snapper then shoots his baby brother a wink. Mikey returns it before rushing over to the coffee machine to get ready a caffeinated peace offering. Meanwhile Don is–

“Really? We still need to decide what we’re doing.” Raph grumbles, pointing to Don’s offending board shorts.

When did he put those on? He certainly wasn’t wearing them a second ago.

“Yes, well, considering what happened to our last Vacation Day, we never really got to float the lazy river.” The softshell says with a pout of his lower lip.

Don's pitiable display might have swayed his eldest brother on a normal day.

You see, Raph knows he’s a pushover. Less so for Leo, who tries to abuse the snapper’s weak will at least a bajillion times every day. Always for Mikey (when his little bro decided whatever he’s asking for outweighs his hatred for being babied). Don is a unique case, as he is perfectly happy to let his big brother spoil him and yet rarely takes advantage. Instead he reserves his pleading eyes and younger sibling charm for rare few occasions. It made denying the genius nigh impossible.

But today is Vacation Day.

Don knows this well and his pout is fleeting.

One of the unspoken rules of Vacation Day: whomever declares it gets the final say.

It is Mikey he would have to convince. Not Raph.

“We shouldn’t risk it!” the snapper adds, regardless of the silent consensus and his voice raises in pitch “Ya’know? Considering what happened…”

Any chance of Savage Raph spoiling yet another Vacation Day (in front of company no less) turns Raphael’s stomach.

He looks down to the taller, older Donatello trapped by his side.

The lanky turtle looks like he’s debating whether sliding down his chair and under the table is a viable means of escape, but Leo loops an arm around Dee’s arm to deter an attempt. Dee scowls. Exhaustion softens the dower expression somewhat.

Neither of the Donnies have slept. That’s likely why Don was eager to give floating the sewers another go. It would be an easygoing and relaxing activity.

Raph actually begins to consider the merit of rehashing their last Vacation Day as he absentmindedly begins to fill his plate with bacon, pancakes, and assorted toppings.

Yup. Still a pushover.

A hand prods at his side until Raph leans far enough for Mikey to sneak a mug between the snapper and the box turtle’s intended target. Dee accepts the steaming beverage as soon as he spots it. With both his hands possessively cradling the warm mug, Leo releases the terrapin’s arm to snicker into his freed hand.

Don observes it all in fascination.

Their resident brainiac had long grown to accept the sanctity of Vacation Day and no longer fought tooth and nail to be excluded. If anything, he’d become its greatest proponent.

It must be odd to sit back and watch a facsimile of what once was through a version of himself.

“I declared Vacation Day. And I say we consult our guest first.” Says Mikey as soon as Dee finishes his first sip of coffee, careful to avoid startling him mid swallow. “What do you do for fun, Dee?”

Good thing too. The terrapin jolts a little at being addressed. Then ever so slowly his head turns and his gaze slides back towards the lab.

“He means, what do you do for fun with family?” Raph clarifies.

Dee takes a moment to think and takes another sip of his drink.

“We… we watch a lot of old tv.” He offers with a fair amount of reluctance.

Still snugly seated between two brothers, the terrapin has to fumble with his mug to keep from spilling when Leo suddenly pumps his fists into the air, nearly elbowing Dee in the process.

“Movie night! Movie night!!” the slider chants, unmoved by the displeased glare of his twin’s counterpart.

But Mikey does not yet share Leo’s enthusiasm.

“We can’t ONLY watch movies. What else do you do?”

Dee sighs into his drink, resigned.

“Skateboard.” he answers “Usually up on the city rooftops since we aren’t supposed to skate in the lair. There’s also video games–”

Raphael stops eating his food as Dee lists off activities.

Skateboarding is fun but not really a Vacation Day kind of activity. Doesn’t feel special enough. Same goes for video games. Actually, everything he says sounds like his family’s every day shenanigans.

Raph bites his lip to keep from saying as much.

He would like to suggest a couple things, but most of his ideas are up in the city; and Mikey had been sure to inform everyone of Dee’s possible aversion to the surface. Sneaking out to watch any sports event was out of the question.

“–and sparring or anything competitive really.”

That catches Raphael’s attention.

“Sparring?” he asks with a smile that takes up his entire face.

It wasn’t until he was well into his first set of warm-up katas that Donatello began to question why he wasn’t back in the lab, working on a retro-ooze. Instead he’d been sucked into a whole day’s worth of activities.

It had started out with an extravagant breakfast. Probably the best breakfast Dee’s ever had. Complete with a mug of coffee that managed to suspiciously refill every time he wasn’t looking.

It was followed by a couple hours worth of skateboarding. The second hour in, it became a game of tricks, adding a nice competitive twist with an old football that gave them a goal to work towards.

Everything went relatively well, with the exception of when this universe’s Splinter walked into the room just as Dee lost his balance and the skateboard he’d been lent was sent flying into the next room over. The old ninjutsu master simply chuckled and told the boys to enjoy their vacation.

Now they're in what constitutes a dojo in this reality to spar.

Only the sizable snapping turtle had seemed interested at first, but as of this moment, the terrapin held everyone's attention.

“What?” he can’t help but ask, dropping his stance.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just seems a bit…” Leo shrugs “Formal.”

“If common sense is formal, who cares? You should always warm up.”

“We were just skateboarding.”

“Different activity. Different mindset. Different muscle groups. Skateboarding mainly utilizes the lower body. Ninjutsu utilizes the entire body which makes Katas a superior warm up for sparring. But sure. Don't listen to me. I’ll be here when you pull a muscle mid fight, laughing the whole time I wipe the floor with your shell.” He says the last bit in his best impersonation of his immediate older brother.

Tough talk isn’t his strongest suite, and trying to come up with your own unique threats and taunts becomes a hassle when you’re competing against a hothead with the incurable impulse to piss off his opponents.

In this universe, Dee can use all of Raphael’s signature remarks without getting called out for it.

Although, his drive to spar is dwindling fast.
While it is true his family spars in their free time, it never was Donatello’s favorite of their group activities and his thoughts were beginning to wander.

He should be working on the ooze right now.

Dee looks up with an excuse that catches in his throat.

The brothers are all stretching and bouncing around like Mikey does before a fight. The only thing to deviate from the terrapin’s hyperactive brother is Raph’s closed fist jabs as he shifts his weight back and forth like a boxer. A mirror image of Dee’s own red masked brother in front of a punching bag.

He would be fighting a giant Raphael and three Mikeys….. How quaint.

The slider of the group raises from a deep lunge to point at the terrapin.

“Tough talk for a guy who’s never played before.”

That’s right. It’s not going to be a standard sparring session. They wanted to play “capture the bandana” instead. When Dee asked if that meant snatching the masks right off each other's heads, they decided to roll with it instead of setting up test dummies.

“I called Vacation Day. I choose who faces who! And I think everybody’s gotta earn the right to face our esteemed guest, Leo.” Mikey says, drawing a groan from his striped brother. “First matchup: Neon Leon verses our reigning champion, the Red King! No weapons! No powers!”

The named combatants step forward, each sporting a cheeky grin.

This might prove enlightening. Donatello could observe the ninjutsu style of another universe; one developed in lighter gravity and reformed to fit this version of his family’s mutation. He steps back to get a better view of the room and observe.

The match started with a twinned shout from Mikey and Don. No bows or shared handshake between the competitors.

Leo takes off, charging his opponent.

Raph throws what might have been a punch if he didn’t redirect his closed fist to veer up and overextend. Had the maneuver stayed true to coarse, it would have passed by the side of his brother’s head. Close enough to then make a go at his mask. No redirect necessary.

It left the big guy wide open.

Dee knew it and he could tell Leo knew it too.

The blue turtle’s eyes Raphael’s over extended arm with a smirk. He ducks while still pressing forward, hooking a hand around his brother’s shoulder. Swinging up and around, Leo lands on the opposite shoulder.

That should have been it. The match (a whole 2.47985 seconds worth) should have been over.

The slider raises his hand in a self gratifying flourish. He presses the hand to his chest and says, “Look who bested the reigning champ. It is I! Neon Leo–oh–owwha!”

Raph grips the upper ridge of his brother’s shell, prying the other turtle off. Once he has his opponent hanging two feet in the air at arms length, the slider can do little more than flail uselessly.

“YOU!” Leo yells, crossing his arms most indignantly “ You interrupted my speech!”

Dee bursts into laughter, his sentiments echoed by his fellow spectators.

“You can show off after you win.” Raph says sagely before pulling the slider’s mask free. “But you didn’t win.” He finishes with an almost apologetic smile.

Leo lost because he wanted to showboat. It was so un-Leo like in the most Leo way possible. His brief speech so very reminiscent of Dee’s eldest brother quoting Space Heroes.

Raph sets his sulking brother down and the slider drags his feet as he goes to settle himself between two Donatellos.

“Yet another victory for the Red King!” Mikey says with his best announcer voice, a wooden spoon in his hand in place of a microphone.

Don and Leo clap, so Dee claps too.

“But that was only the beginning folks! Our next contender not only dethroned the all time champion of the Lair Games. He also beat the Red King in an unofficial round of Capture the Bandana. Give it up for Don-Tron!”

“Boooo!” Leo cuts through everyone else’s cheers “The Lair Games was all luck and Raph totally threw their match of Capture the Bandana.”

Don pats his twin’s shoulder.

“Hearsay.” He states simply before meeting Raph in the center of the room.

Dee watches his other self with interest.

He didn’t learn much from the previous fight. Only that Raph either purposefully flubbed a punch or had really bad hand eye coordination (the former far more likely) and that this Leo is just as much of a dork as his counterpart.

This new match up would hopefully provide more insight to their ninjutsu styles.

Dee hums to himself giving the softshell a good once over.

Donatello doesn't like to admit that he's probably the weakest hand to hand fighter of his family. But days spent researching anything and everything at a desk does not lend itself to building muscle or honing techniques.

Back home, Leo trains in his spare time. If Space Heroes isn't running, that's his idea of a good time.

Raph can be nearly as restless as Mikey on a good day. His brothers often find him abusing his punching bag or drum set IF he hasn't left the lair entirely to do a little vigilante work with Casey.

Mikey never stops moving. Even in his sleep he's constantly shifting into a new position unless he can find something or someone to latch onto and cuddle throughout the night.

So yeah. Dee isn't the strongest fighter. That doesn't mean he's weak. Far from it. But it's hard not to compare yourself to the rest of your team.

He's not sure if his counterpart feels the same.

The softshell constantly carries around a titanium plated battle shell. That takes and makes muscle. Then there's his tech Bo also made with titanium. To effectively fight with such a heavy material no doubt requires a great deal of strength and discipline..... On the other hand, during the most mundane parts of existing, he relied on tech for near everything. If his mechanical arms could do the job, why bother using his real arms? Small things that would require Dee to get up and move around were a non-issue for Don.

His overreliance on tech could mean he’s not in the best of shape and mentality to make full use of his strength.

The round starts and the softshell is grinning like a mad man. Raph, however, looks uneasy.

“HAHA!”

Don delivers a rather playful punch and his big brother backs away. The hit did a grand total of zilch and still the smaller turtle looks positively pleased with himself.

The snapper’s smile looks strained as he dodges each of Don’s advances. He seems unsure of what to do with his hands, so he keeps them up.

It's the exact opposite of Dee facing off his red masked older brother.

Do these brothers spar? Like ever??

Don isn’t doing bad per say, but he certainly isn’t taking a single moment of this seriously.

‘At least he’s enjoying himself.’ Dee thinks because he’s not sure what else to think about this.

This match ends similarly to the first. Raph pulls Don up by the lip of his shell (the maneuver executed far more delicately than with Leo) and frees the mask from the softshell’s head.

“Fair.” Don says, taking back his mask with an exasperated sigh.

Mikey skips out to raise one of Raph's hands with his own. The same gesture many announcers use to present a winner. It looks a little ridiculous given the height differential. The spotted turtle can barely lift the hand a couple inches above the snapper’s head.

“The Red King triumphs yet again!” he shouts.

Raph moves to raise his fists up fully, dragging his baby brother up in the same motion. Mikey keeps ahold and allows himself to dangle.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. A new contender from a far off land – and by far, I mean really really far – the one, the not-so-only, Donatello!”

Dee takes a deep, grounding breath before swapping places with his counterpart.

From what he’s observed thus far, Raph is used to holding back. He’s overly cautious, which suggests he doesn’t spar with his brothers too often.

That and he always lets said opponent make the first move.

Surprise is Dee's best bet. Hit him hard and fast before the larger turtle has time too gauge what level of force he’s comfortable using against his smaller opponent.

Dee bows because it’s a respectful habit to have before a friendly fight.

His snaggletoothed opponent stares uncertainly, seemingly not sure whether or not he should bow too. Raph settles for a nod and a hesitant half bow.

“Begin!!!”

Dee makes his move, darting forward. He twists. A sharp pivot and his foot strikes the snapper’s plastron dead center, drawing a grunt from the larger mutant.

The kick was perfectly executed, but Raph is solid. Heavy. All muscle. He hardly budged. It certainly surprised him though.

Dee is sure to take advantage.

He sidesteps under a massive arm till he’s faced with a spiked shell. A millisecond of calculations adjusting for the lighter gravity of this dimension later, he jumps.

And he still manages to overshoot.

Fingertips brush mask. It’s not enough to get a firm grip on the crimson cloth. He can barely pinch one of the tattered tails between his pointer and thumb.

His target pulls free.

Raph recovered by ducking down. He lets out an impressed whistle when Dee lands right back where he’d started.

The snapper’s eyes light up.

“Ya got a strong kick. You’re fast too.” He commends followed by a smirk “So is Raph.”

Then he hunches down like a panther readying to pounce. Dee prepares accordingly, watching for any tell of his opponent’s next move.

Despite what many are led to believe, big doesn’t mean slow. Not when you have ample muscle to carry the weight.

If not for the terrapin’s sharp eyes and reflexes, he would get bowled over or put in a hold. Dee likes to avoid holds in general, because he can’t afford to grapple with a taller and/or stronger opponent. So dodging until he can find another opening will be his best bet.

Dee dashes out of the way just before he’s caught in the snapping turtle’s swooping arms.

Raph’s eyes are all sparkles now.

This isn’t anything like the snapper’s round with Don or Leo, when he was being awfully cautious and reserved. No. It’s like the Raphael before him was channeling Dee’s own red brother. The Raph who gives every fight his all. The Raph who expects the same of his opponent.

Dee smirks.

Although sparring may not be this particular terrapin’s cup of tea, living with three brothers, your dad, and literally no one else for 15 years encouraged competition. Donatello finds himself happy to match the snapper’s enthusiasm.

An adrenaline haze settles in as the pair begin to trade blows and dance around the dojo.

It becomes apparent the majority of Dee’s twists and turns and strikes go unrecognized to his opponent (that or uncared for). Meanwhile, the genius can read Raph like an open book. The big guy’s fighting style is fairly straightforward. Predictable.

Predictable, yet no less dangerous.

The snapping turtle moves incredibly fast and his strikes are heavy. And just as Donatello thinks he's got the other’s fight pattern down to a T, Raphael deems to switch up his act. He feigns a punch only to go for a simple sweep of the leg.

Dee hits the ground, his shell meeting the cement floor with a loud clack. Louder than it would have been if the ground was lined with colorful mats.

Still, the terrapin knows his shell is just fine.

For whatever reason, the snapper tenses up, allowing his opponent to roll out of the compromised position. Dee isn’t sure what’s making the other teen uneasy.

He fell on his back.

No big deal.

“That all you got?” the terrapin asks, wanting to banish Raph’s worried expression with a taunt.

Donnie blinks and a gentle breeze passes over him. Over exposed eye lids. He reaches up to find his mask absent.

He lost?

But when did–

The terrapin frowns…. Raph’s not wearing a mask either and his hands are empty.

A web of vein like scars encircle the snapping turtle's right eye. Interesting, but Dee's curiosity is interrupted by cheers and giggles.

Raphael’s brothers are laughing. Leo and Don each hold one of the missing masks.

“Too easy.” Leo taunts while waving a tattered red mask up and down.

“Mikey?” The snapper looks to their announcer expectantly.

The box turtle takes his time, tapping his chin with the spoon and tilting his head this way and that.

“I’ll allow it.” He says. “Been a long time since we’ve had a free for all.”

Raph turns back to Dee.

“Tag team?” he asks.

Dee would have listed all the reasons why a teaming up is antithetical to the spirit of “free for all” if he didn’t spot his counterpart pulling out a sharpie to adorn his mask with matching eyebrows.

“Tag team.”

Chapter Text

Must be the caffeine wearing off, because Dee is too busy sinking into a beanbag chair to be bothered by the two hours long debate on which movies to watch. Sounds like it was between some sci-fi series and an old action series starring an actor the teens were mind blown to find their guest had never heard of.

They were congregated in a small room. A single sofa chair sat in the center. Beside it was an old yet well maintained projector. The brothers had been setting up around these two items with beanbag chairs and pillows and blankets, arguing all the while, yet not once did that interfere with their combined efforts to make this the best movie night ever.

The debate abruptly ends when Splinter enters the room and settles himself on the lone sofa.

Lou Jitsu it would be.

A blanket is deposited into Dee’s lap at some point and the terrapin hopes he muttered his thank you loud enough for whomever thought to give him one to hear. Simply speaking seems to sap his waning energy.

A warm voice says something in return, but Donnie can’t be sure what exactly.

He could go for a cup of coffee right about now, but last he checked, Mikey’s little table of “the perfect movie night snacks” did not include a single caffeinated beverage; and Dee doesn’t want to pester the hard working box turtle, or anyone really.

Everyone’s been so accommodating.

As if to prove this thought a gentle hand pats his head while someone fixes the bunched up blanket to properly drape over Dee’s plastron and legs.

It’s nice.

The lanky ninja is currently missing most of his gear. They’re being washed because his wraps were more than a little dirty at this point, and the drawn on eyebrows had to go. His counterpart has a solution specifically formulated to remove sharpie from cloth without damaging the fabric.

As sparse covering as his gear offers, he felt exposed without it. The blanket helped quell that feeling, and Dee sinks into the bean bag chair even further.

When did this place become so comfortable?

Only a couple days ago did this dimension strain his eyes. Now everything looks warm. Cozy and calm instead of loud and bombastic. Being 2D no longer had Dee doing a double take whenever he spotted his own hands.

He was finally acclimating to this dimension. To this version of his family. He feels safe with them. Trusts them.

When the movie starts, he tries to pay attention. He really does. But the caffeine’s left his system and many nights forgoing sleep had come to take it’s toll. So Donnie lets his eyes drift closed and listens.

Voices around him comment or laugh or gasp as the movie progresses and the terrapin smiles.

It’s been so long since he felt this nice.

The stresses of being a teenage mutant ninja turtle don’t reach him here. He doesn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder. He doesn’t have a time sensitive project, the consequence of failure being life or death, resting solely on his shoulders.

The world fades away, and even the voices fade too.

His thoughts quiet.

Everything is peaceful.

The teens smiles.

And unlike the peace he found in the nothingness of his death, Dee was happy. Happy and thoughtless.

“Donnie?” a familiar voice whispers, and suddenly the terrapin has the energy to sit up and look around.

Besides himself and his seat, the rest of the world has become a muted grey. Nothing to this left or right or forward, so he turns around.

A distant figure situated in a loose seiza pose faces him.

If it weren’t for the orange mask and freckles, he might have mistaken the figure to be his eldest brother deep in meditation. But no, it was Michelangelo. His baby brother.

Donatello makes to stand, wanting nothing more than to reach his little brother.

“Oh.”

And with that one sound a wave of sorrow and regret slams into the lanky turtle. He nearly crumples under its oppressive force.

Then he sees tears build up around bright blue eyes, wetting mask at an alarming rate.

“Mikey.” Donnie calls out, dread filling him from top to bottom.

His little brother blinks harshly, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Dee.”

Then the absolute worst feeling swarms Donnie and this time it succeeds in bringing him to his knees.

Acceptance.

“I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Mikey’s words sting like acid and Dee wants to scream.

Words fail the usually verbose genius. Why can’t he speak?! He needs to say something. Needs to let his baby brother know that this isn’t what it looks like. Cause somehow Donnie knows these emotions are not his own.

As the peace from before is replaced by desperation, Donatello’s mind kicks into high gear and the world begins to shift and wobble.

Mikey begins to fade.

“I’m happy for you.”

“MIKEY!!”

Dee reaches out and his brother is gone, replaced by his own outstretched 2D hand in an equally 2D world.

“What’s wrong, Dee?” Mikey, the wrong Mikey, asks.

The terrapin can only stare at the box turtle, searching for anything resembling his baby brother.

The mask is too saturated, the yellow spots should be freckles and they should be on his cheeks, those dark eyes should be a bright blue and rounder, his scales should be lighter.

He should be mourning.

Dee chokes on that realization.

His baby brother was mourning him. A whole universe away his family believed him dead. That’s what Mikey had come to accept in that brief encounter. That his big brother Donatello was dead.

The terrapin fled the room and the concerned gazes of his not-family.

Had he been more observant, he would have noticed the glowing sigil above his chest (one so similar to the symbol of his clan) dim and flicker out of existence.

Chapter Text

Meditation never was and never will be his thing, no matter what sensei says about his potential. Yeah it’s easy to stop thinking sometimes, but to stop moving too? Impossible. Not thinking AND not moving was boring to a painful degree… Although, this week IS all about doing the impossible.

For whatever reason, Mikey finds himself surprised Leo not only kept his word, he'd yet to utter a single complaint as he dutifully aided Mikey with the sorta final touches on the Brother Finder.

Honestly? Mikey was just making stuff up to bolster the machine at this point. Something was still missing (one small yet pivotal thing) but the freckled teen couldn’t figure out what. There’s only so many useless tasks he can make up before his big brother inevitably grows suspicious.

So far Mikey avoided that by calling it quits when Leo so much as yawns.

With his duty bound brother upholding his end of the deal, Mikey has to uphold his. Which means meditating. Which means boredom.

But it's also an opportunity.

You see, the younger teen decided he would meditate for real (instead of taking a nap). He would actually endure the pain of sitting still and clearing his mind simultaneously. Not because he believed Donnie had passed on, but to instead prove Leo wrong.

Everyday the pair would meet in the dojo. Sensei would join them, but halfway through he’d leave to go check on Raph. Not today it would seem. The eldest and youngest brothers had the space to themselves.

Michelangelo pushed himself with more fervor than he currently held for completing his machine. Proving his big brother wrong would make it easier to convince Leo that they should go search for leftover Kraang hideouts to look for whatever it is the Brother Finder is missing.

This led to Mikey situating himself across from Leo, entirely of his own free will.

His big brother had started without him.

Odd thing about Leonardo, he never looks peaceful when he meditates. Not anymore at least. Relaxed? Yes. Rested? Kinda. Yet never quite peaceful.

The freckled terrapin deigns not to mention this. Leo meditates more than almost anyone and likely would not appreciate someone who avidly avoids the activity giving him pointers.

Mikey shakes his head before mirroring his big brother, settling into a seiza pose (one of the only traditional meditation positions turtle mutants with unruly feet can comfortably manage).

Now for the boring part.

His mind blanks easily and the words that form loud thoughts quiet.

He would be bouncing his knees if he’d sat in any variation of a lotus. The seiza position keeps his knees stationary against the dojo floor, pinned under his weight. Meanwhile, keeping his hands still takes a conscientious effort.

This is about how far he usually gets before a yawn breaks his concentration. That or he lets himself drift off completely and takes a nap.

Not today.

Mikey has had two long meditation sessions to practice staying awake and aware. Today he should just have to focus in the weird and wordless way meditation requires and (hopefully) find a whole lot of nothing.

The darkness that makes up his closed-eyed vision brightens with shifting colors after a minute or so, and the teen finds he can look around in wonder without physically moving. Sensei often said that deep meditation could be beautiful, recounting the times he saw stars or a bright sunny sky or his home back in Japan in hopes of intriguing his three younger sons.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so boring after all?

He wants to tell Leo what he’s seeing. Or better yet, show him.

Then, as fast as a light getting switched on, there his big brother was. Same pose as when Mikey last saw him, yet now Leo is surrounded in the same vortex of swirling colors.

“Good job, Mikey.” Leo says with an encouraging smile.

Then Leonardo pulls away. Not literally. He pulls away by simply adjusting his focus back to his search instead of maintaining the connection with his little brother.

Mikey lets him go.

The beginnings of an idea starts to take shape.

A few seconds later and he finds Raph, though his usually hot-headed brother doesn’t seem to notice Mikey at all. The connection is brief and the freckled teen recognizes that his brother wants to be left alone right now.

The connection breaks and Mikey is left with a (dare he say) genius idea.

You see, if he can reach Raph and Leo in this place, maybe he can reach Donnie too! What better way to prove Leo wrong than to use meditation to find an alive Donatello instead of searching and hoping to never find a dead one?

Just as he settles with his new plan, a soft tug in Mikey’s chest pulls him, drawing out an internal gasp. Something vaguely familiar and insistent gently prods for his attention. Something familial.

It can’t be this simple.

Can it?

Following that sliver of a presence is hard. Harder than reaching out to either of his eldest brothers had been, and it's taking forever. The bright colors that made up this weird spirit land or mindscape something or other start to turn to grey, yet the presence grows stronger.

Just as Mikey begins to reconsider continuing into the now doubly boring world of restraint and grey nothingness, he spots a small light in the distance.

It’s only then Mikey realizes how fast he’s traversing this place, because the small light grows until it becomes a reclined figure seated only a couple yards away in the blink of an eye.

Even without his gear, Mikey would recognize his brother.

The young teen pauses.

Donnie, he…. looks wrong. It’s Donatello, but he looks plain and flat. Part of Mikey reasons it has to do with the distance. Like how the further a skyscraper is, the duller and less detailed and just overall blander it becomes.

If that wasn’t odd enough, Donatello seems to emanate a soft glow.

When waves of contentment and peace flood the smaller terrapin, he instantly knows those feelings are not his own. Those belong to Donnie.

Mikey’s the polar opposite as anxiety builds in his chest.

He spots the barest hint of a smile peeking from the side of Donatello’s face.

The usually stressed turtle is happy. And it’s not that tentative happiness that comes with living a life of near constant danger and you’re spared a rare moment of peace. It’s calm and comfortable. Untainted. Carefree.

“Donnie?”

The older teen’s positive output dissipates as he looks around, but why did it stop? Shouldn’t he be relieved? Or excited? The most he offers is confusion.

Dee turns around.

Mikey is struck by his big brother’s eyes. They’re glowing a vibrant red, matched in intensity by a floating symbol of a bright white hovering a few inches off plastron. With a few bumps along the edges and a circle added to the middle it would look exactly like the bell flower of the Hamato clan symbol.

Just as Mikey could discern which emotions belonged to Donnie, he also knew the glow and the symbol were unnatural. Magical. Like Splinter’s healing mantras or an ancient Chinese spirit.

“Oh.”

Were Leo and Raph right all along?

Ugly feelings Mikey had done everything to suppress surged up from the deepest darkest recesses of his mind and reared their unwanted head. His chest seizes with an ache he’s been desperate to avoid.

He’s seen spirits manifest in the real world as blue translucent specters. He had just peered at his present family and they looked completely normal. Donnie looks like neither of those things.

Is this what spirits are supposed to look like after they’ve passed on?

Tears escape and the freckled teen does nothing to stop them.

“Mikey.”

The outpouring of dread from Dee doesn’t help in the sightest.

“Sorry Dee.” Mikey apologizes.

His big brother’s been through enough. He deserves the peace he’s found here (not to be reminded of the stresses of living by a clingy/selfish younger brother).

“I didn’t mean to bother you.”

He hopes to backpedal and convince Donatello that the genius didn’t just watch (and likely FEEL) Mikey breakdown in front of him. Maybe then Dee will stop stressing out?

The dead are supposed to “rest in peace” right?

The smaller terrapin considers saying as much because, even in this nightmare scenario, Mikey was coming up with jokes.

He decides he’s done enough damage and settles for, “I’m happy for you.”

Maybe he SHOULD have tried his luck with the joke.

Donnie is a torrent of negative emotions and his visage begins to fade and waver. The glow of his eyes flickers out completely.

Their connection is breaking, and it’s not of Mikey’s doing.

The supernatural tether that lead the freckled teen here snaps just as Donnie opens his mouth to say one last thing.

“Mikey!!”

That's not Donnie he hears. It’s Leo.

“Mikey, what’s wrong?!”

Leonardo pulls his weeping brother in close for a hug. Mikey curls into it easily.

After a minute of choked hiccups and sobs, all the distressed turtle can manage to say is–

“You were right.”

Movie night was long forgotten as four brothers and their father combed the lair and the adjoining tunnels for their missing guest. Who cared about finishing a movie when Dee (whom Leo and Don claim has no mystic abilities in his home dimension) spontaneously began channeling ninpo in his sleep?

The lab was empty, yet Mikey insists Dee had recently been there, pointing to a hastily erased white board and a stack of equation riddled papers tossed both in and around a too small office trashcan. The box turtle decides to stay and better search the workshop, so the snapper leaves him to it.

Don went to check the same sewer tunnels his counterpart had previously secluded himself after first meeting April. Leo took to the subway tracks. Pops was even pitching in and checking the main rooms.

This led Raphael to the only other place he could think to look. The subway car turned bedroom the big turtle had lent to their guest.

And sure enough, there the terrapin was.

He was sitting on the floor, long arms wrapped around bent knees and his carapace to the bed. In front of him sat a partially rusted toaster. The coils inside were hot and colored an angry red, nothing except empty air for them too uselessly heat. That red reflects in Donatello’s eyes, and he looks all the more haggard for it.

“It works.” He says with a stilted voice, looking none too happy with the little kitchen appliance. “I’m missing for five days and I’ve accomplished what? Trying to recreate a retro-mutagen that took me forever to perfect back home? Goofing off?? Taking a VACATION?!”

He grabs the toaster with shaky hands, raising it above his head and yanking it’s cord from the outlet in the process.

“My brother thinks I’m dead and all I’ve done is fix THIS USELESS THING!!”

Raph lunges forward, diving to the floor and just barely managing to catch the appliance before it hit the ground.

Before the bigger turtle can even begin to process Donnie’s little rant he finds himself instead coming to the toaster’s defense.

“If it works, it’s not useless.” He insists, setting the battered appliance on his bed before situating himself beside his genius brother’s counterpart.

Don always regrets breaking his own things during an emotional outburst, and this Donatello would likely feel the same.

Dee scoffs, “And I could build a refrigerator, or an oven, or replace every appliance in your kitchen; but not one of those things could help me get back home. So while they may properly function, they are nonetheless completely useless to me.”

The terrapin’s head droops till his forehead rests on his knees. A visible shiver racks his body and draws an irritable choked breath past his lips.

Raph takes a page from Mikey’s book and immediately envelops the distressed genius in a firm embrace. No hesitation. Dee only marginally deflates in his hold, tension still plaguing his lanky frame.

“Hey.” The bigger teen tries, mindful not to hug Dee too tight. “You um….. wanna talk about it?”

The terrapin sighs and dismissively shakes his head. Even so, he whispers, “My Mikey thinks I’m dead.”

Ah, yes. That makes sense. He did wake up shouting for Mikey to only run when the snapper’s little brother tried to comfort him.

Must have been one hell of a nightmare.

“How do you know?” Raph asks.

Donatellos like cold hard logic, right? And if Dee’s brother is a whole dimension away, how could the terrapin be so sure what said brother feels?

The snapper is pleased with himself for all of one second before GLOWING red eyes shoot him a withering look.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He starts off with a literal growl. “Maybe because I could feel it?! Because he gave up the moment he saw me! Or maybe because I died right in front of him?!?!”

His shout breaks with a sharp hiccup and his eyes dim.

“H-he watched me die… They all watched me die.” He continues in an impossibly small voice and hiccups again. “My family thinks I’m dead.”

Bile rises up in the snapper’s throat as he finds he himself has grown tense.

“But…. You didn’t die. You’re right here.” Raph gives Dee a light squeeze, hoping to ground the genius in reality instead of horrors he experienced in his sleep.

Yet Donnie once again shakes his head.

“How do you think I got here?” he asks, but it’s not really meant as a question now, is it?

Memory of the terrapin’s hands flickering and glitching comes to mind and Raph feels a shiver run down his spine as the implication settles in.

“So, uh…” the snapper swallows uncomfortably. “Not a dream?”

Dee goes limp in Raphael’s hold, turning his face into the bigger teen’s plastron.

“Depends. Seeing my brother? Maybe… Dying?? No.” he lets out a hollow chuckle. “That was very real.”

Chapter Text

[Found him]

Donatello releases a soft breath, happy to conclude yet another search for his bewildering counterpart. He’d been fully prepared to torch that pile of sewage trash if he found his otherself tinkering with it’s contents yet again.

The softshell is the first to respond to Raph’s group text with a succinct:

[Where?]

No answer.

Donnie stares at his screen as he makes his way back to the lair, silently willing his big brother respond. 2 minutes and 30 seconds later and still no answer.

No matter. If his dum-dum brother wants to keep silent, the tech genius has an alternate way of locating the snapper. That is, of course, with the subcutaneous trackers he placed on each family member's person.

Should the opportunity present itself, he plans to chip his counterpart as well. That would put an end to Dee's little disappearing act.

By the time the softshell makes his way into the lair, he’s shed what few “reservations” (read: the weak ethical arguments his family constantly tries to drill into his head) about invading his big brother and counterpart’s privacy. That’s what they get for unnecessarily stressing him out. Making him worry. Yuck.

The knot in his chest hasn’t let up since Dee interrupted movie night by flooding the projector room with ninpo. And not an insignificant amount, mind you. The unexpected rush of mystic energy set everyone on edge, trying to find whatever threat necessitated the high output.

Said threat seemed to be a mere nightmare.

Don tucks his phone away with an irate sigh just as he enters his workshop.

“Alright, Don-Tron. Work your magic.” Leo greets, drawing out a second sigh from the softshelled genius.

Donatello shouldn’t be surprised to find his twin lounging unproductively on one of the few clear counter surfaces and Mikey collecting papers up off the floor. His brothers have perfected invading his space at the most inopportune times.

He lifts a sharpie drawn brow at the intruding pair.

“Don’t go holding out on us now.” Leonardo says with a smirk wide enough to warp the ends of his red crescent markings. One that looks too strained to be genuine, cause that’s what Leo does when he’s stressed. Ever the face man he claims to be. “Where’re they hiding?”

Never put it past the petty slider to remember Donnie’s slip up about chipping their big brother, despite the more pressing matters at the time. You know. Like an apocalypse and possessed Raphael hanging over their heads.

Don eyes his baby brother. The box turtle offers not one sign of protest.

“Color me confounded. The both of your approve the use of trackers?” He asks with an appropriately smug smile.

Mikey’s expression settles into something less than pleased.

“No point in closing Pandora’s box now.” He answers somewhat cryptically, which means he disproves but won’t object.

That’s enough of a greenlight for Donnie.

He grins, sliding into his favorite chair and booting up the tracking program on his computer. He could just as easily use the one on his forearm, but this mutant genius is never one to pass up the chance to use his objectively impressive monitor setup.

Raphie’s marker blips onto the screen, placing him inside his bedroom. Don pulls up the feed to the corresponding camera (a totally necessary precaution he took to after the whole Piebald fiasco).

The snapper is sat on the floor, his shell to his bed. Several of his spikes poke carelessly into the bedding and mattress, sure to leave several tears. Raph pays the damage no mind as his focus is entirely for the mutant in his arms.

“Sorry.” He says.

Don can see Mikey and Leo lean forward on either side of his periphery. While neither had verbally approved the video reconnaissance, they’re already too invested to complain now; wanting to know why Raph felt the need to apologize.

Fortunately, Dee has them covered.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” The terrapin asks in a weary tone (and by pizza supreme does he look awful) “It’s not like I told anyone. Except April, I guess. And she promised to keep quiet.”

Don grimaces at the thought of his best friend and otherself keeping secrets from him. That’s a new kind of uncomfortable.

“You can’t help someone if they won’t let you. Just look at your Donatello! He’s tried to find me a way home, and what do I do?” the gap-toothed turtle’s voice drops to a worn mutter. “I go looking for a distraction.”

So Dee HAD noticed the softshell’s efforts.

“Sounds like we both owe Don an apology.” Raph says (to which Don allows himself an approving smile) “I wasn’t exactly doin’ nothing to get you home neither. But that’s beside the point. I’m sorry cause it’s my job to protect my brothers and I should’ve–”

“Should have what?” Dee snaps.

Don almost springs to his feet while Mikey lets out an offended squawk and Leo tenses.

Interdimensional brother or not, the terrapin has no right to give their big brother attitude for trying to help.

“I don’t know….Um.” Raph looks decidedly uncomfortable. Still he holds Dee close. “What can I say to…... I don’t–”

The snapper cuts himself off with a deep breath.

“I don’t know what to say to someone that....” His voice is soft and barely audible through Don’s surveillance feed. “I've got no idea what it's like to die.”

When did the lab get so cold?

A chill runs up the genius’s soft shell and limbs.

“I assume it varies, depending on the circumstances.”

No.

Don would mute the feed if he could. Block out whatever his counterpart had to say next. Instead he just sits there, frozen in place.

“I wouldn’t recommend subatomic particle disbursement.” Dee says with the weakest laugh to probably ever be vocalized. “It burned.”

Images of the terrapin’s glitching hands resurface, followed by the memory of Don’s counterpart staring Mikey down as he insists, “No one’s disintegrating on my account.”

Dee is effectively boneless, a hunched tangle of loose limbs gathered in the other turtle’s lap. What sparse energy he’d regained from his earlier nap is visibly draining. His head continuously droops forward and his body follows the movement until Raph adjusts his hold to support the smaller mutant's head against his arm.

Two full days and nights without proper sleep hasn’t done Donatello any favors. He can’t muster the strength to open his eyes, much less lift a pen to scrawl down hypotheses and calculations for a portal. Still, he cannot sleep. Not with the new found anxieties rightfully consuming his waking thoughts.

Caught in a downward spiral, Dee welcomes every distressing probability and question he silently poses to himself.

Why had it taken this long to realize he left his brothers with a possessed April O’Neil? Or to wonder how his family was getting along without him? What if someone gets hurt? Or worse? Is April free of the crystal? Is Casey still around being his usual obnoxious self? How’s Master Splinter? His ankle’s still healing, and Donatello isn’t there to check on it or any other injuries.

“Hey.” The larger mutant gives Dee a light shake “Buddy? You’re startin’ to scare Raph a little.”

How would his family handle a serious injury without him? Yeah, his father and Leo have that whole healing hands technique, but it’s hardly a cure all. Most of their chants focus on drawing foreign entities out of the body, not stitching together sliced or torn muscles.

That line of thought invokes memory of blades protruding from Saki’s metal-fused knuckles.

What if the Super Shredder attacks while the team is down a member?

What if someone else dies?

Sleep be damned. Donatello needs to find a way home NOW.

“The lab…” Dee mumbles, clears his throat, and tries again. “I need to–”

“Nuh-uh. Not a good idea. You can hardly move.”

Even with his eyes closed, the genius knows the snapper is shaking his head. Dee tries to picture Raphael’s disproving expression, but the image is distorted, the red mask fading to a duller shade and framing piercing green eyes. If only it was Raph, his Raph, that was scolding him. Or his Leo. Or Mikey even….. But it’s not.

The too large arms holding him upright are a bitter reminder he’s stuck in the wrong universe with the wrong big brother.

Raph continues, “And I got no idea what you were doin' with ninpo, but that stuff's exhausting on a good day.”

The downward spiral stalls as Dee’s sleep deprived brain cannot connect ninpo to any of today’s events. The abrupt confusion motivates the terrapin just enough to pry his eyes open and squint up at the larger mutant.

“What?” he asks, hoping for clarification.

“Rule number one in this house, never ever overuse your ninpo – well, no. Rule number one is actually don’t interrupt pop’s evening game show unless someone’s bleeding or the lair is on fire or it’s a commercial break – BUT the point still stands! You could hurt yourself.”

Oh. Well…. That clarifies nothing.

“Ninpo?” Dee considers the word and the magical abilities his counterpart and Leo displayed a few nights ago. “Impossible.” he yawns “There is no ninpo in my universe, and your Donatello said ninpo is a-” another, deeper yawn “…a genetic ability.”

The terrapin’s eyes close, despite considerable resistance.

He’s just so tired.

“Raph ain’t a scientist or nothing, but I know ninpo when I see it.” The snapper insists.

And maybe the big guy continues speaking. Dee cannot tell. His senses are shutting down and will soon take his consciousness with them. He can vaguely make out a the sound of someone (or many someones) entering the room just before his mind quiets and sleep claims him.