Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Donnie desperately needed a break. But he couldn’t afford to take one now.

His workload had doubled since the invasion. He’d had to fix the Lair, fix his brothers (Mikey’s hands, Ralph’s eye, Leo’s…everything), upgrade the security system in the Lair, research PTSD in all forms, wipe his family’s existence from every camera that may have seen them during the invasion, research time travel with Mikey and Casey Jr to make sure they hadn’t broken the universe with their bifurcated time branch, attempt to destroy the key to the prison dimension, subtly help New York’s infrastructure system fix the damage the Krang had caused, and many other small projects that required his immediate attention.

Currently, Donnie was in the middle of recalibrating the tracking chips on his brothers. Installing ways to measure their location and health status had been one of the very first things Donnie had done once he regained hand dexterity. The chips had alerted Donnie about his brothers’ panic attacks and nightmares on many a night. But after four months he deemed it time for an upgrade. None of them had really left the Lair much until recently, meaning that Donnie needed to fix the range.

Currently, Donnie had them offline so he could make modifications. He was just recalibrating Raph’s chip when someone banged on his lab door. He hurriedly exited the stats. His brothers had already given him the “respecting boundaries” talk when they caught on to how he always seemed to know when one of them was freaking out and he didn’t care to repeat it.

“Hey Dee!” Leo called from outside the door. “We haven’t seen you in like three days. You alive in there?”

Donnie stood. His back and neck popped no less than six times. Ow. He walked stiffly to the door, resolving that he needed to move more. He’d add that to his list of reminder alarms later.

The lab door slid open with a hiss. Squinting as the light hit his eyes, he said, “All good, brother of mine. Does something else need to be fixed?”

Leo’s sharp eyes roved suspiciously over Donnie’s tired face before brightening. “Brrreak time!” he announced.

“Kind of in the middle of something here, Leon.” Donnie said flatly.

“I’m sure whatever genius thing you’re working on can wait,” Leo waved. “We haven’t gone skating in forever and I’m booored.”

“You mean going topside? Around the city?”

“Please Donton? When was the last time we did something fun together? Just us twins?”

Nothing immediately came to mind. Other than showing Leo the videos Donnie had taken from when Leo was high on painkillers after the invasion. While those had been humorous, it didn’t exactly fall under the ‘fun stuff to do with your twin’ category. “Sigh, I guess you do have a point. Let me assemble my skateboarding gear.”

“You won’t go right back to what you were doing before?” Leo asked suspiciously.

Donnie glanced over guiltily. It wasn’t like the others even left the Lair that often anymore. The tracking devices weren’t exactly urgent… He hated it when Leo was right. “I’ll finish it later,” he said. “Rendezvous by the projector in five minutes.”

Leo grinned. “Excellent!”

Grabbing his battleshell, phone, and skateboard, Donnie stopped. Was there any reason to bring a weapon? If something unexpected happened he could simply use his ninpo, right? Right. Skating with a bo staff was unwieldy anyway. He was comforted by the fact that Leo had elected not to bring a weapon either when he emerged from his lab a few minutes later.

“Let us away, amigo!” Leo announced.

“Are you positive your knee can take this?” Donnie asked flatly. “We’re kind of still on mandatory rest from strenuous activity.”

Leo flexed his leg. The knee brace had only come off a few weeks ago. Leo still had issues with stairs sometimes. “Aw come on it’s literally just skating around New York, Don! It’s not like I’m gonna die if my knee gets a little messed up again. I’ve been cooped up too long. We gotta do something.”

Leo was being too stubborn for Donnie to feel like arguing right then. “Precisely. Shall we proceed to venture out into the crazy streets of New York?”

Mikey’s head popped out of his subway car. “Hey guys! On your way back do you mind picking up some pizza? I could use a late night snack in a bit.”

“Affirmative, Angelo,” Donnie called back. “See ya later.”

“Have fun!” Mikey waved, disappearing back into his room.

Leo and Donnie walked through the tunnels in comfortable silence for a bit before Donnie piped up. “Hey what was that about? Mikey loves making late night snacks.”

“See, this is why you should leave your lab more often,” Leo scoffed. “If you’d hung out with us in the past week, you’d know that his hands are acting up again.”

Mikey’s hands had healed marvelously well despite the fact that they’d almost been destroyed by ripping a hole in the universe. Still, his hands often shook and ached when he overused them. Unfortunately, their youngest brother’s main interests were art and cooking. Avoiding using his hands for those particular activities was a puzzle Donnie had been trying to solve for four months.

Guilt edged its way into Donnie’s stomach. “Oh,” he said lamely. Had he been so obsessed with protecting his family that he’d forgotten to actually check on them?

“Shoot, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean– Aw come on we miss you, Dee! That’s all. Didn’t mean to upset you. Miguel’s fine, he’s just been doing more fingerpainting than is good for him, you know? Now come on,” he insisted, obviously changing the subject, “we got some roofs with our skateboards’ names on them!” Leo dashed up the abandoned subway stairs into the street.

Donnie followed, resolving to test out the voice activated art supplies he’d been saving for Mikey’s birthday when they got back. And after he finished updating the trackers. And forced Leo to wear his knee brace again. And he should probably also check to see if Raph needed anything. And now that he thought about it, the Lair could use some more insulation because it would start to get (cold soon. And, and, and– Okay so maybe Leo was right. Donnie needed a break. Curse Leo’s ability to read his family so well. I can spend a few hours not stressing about anything, right? It’s not like this stuff is going anywhere.

“Wait up, Leo!”

Donnie could feel his stress start to leave him as he and his skateboard zipped over rooftops. The New York air had the slightest chill to it, indicating that summer was being slowly swept away. But the wind in his face was a welcome sensation compared to the still hair of his lab.

Leo had found a particularly crowded rooftop. It was dotted with satellites, lightning rods, vents, and those random metal boxes that seemed to have no purpose other than being a surface to flip off of. Donnie zoomed over the roof, dodging the obstacle course of metal with little regard for caution. He and Leo flipped over their skateboards, feeling the momentum of a large jump. It was the right amount of exhilaration.

“Touchdown-slash-homerun-slash-correct-sports-reference!” Donnie announced after landing a particularly difficult move.

“OOooooOOOoo, is that a large, dorky smile I spy?” Leo teased from his perch on top of a large satellite dish.

“Can’t a guy enjoy the calculation of trajectories in peace?” Donnie grinned back.

“Nerd.”

“Why thank you, Nardo. That is high praise indeed.”

“Yeah yeah all right, speaking of high praise, watch me do this–” Leo jumped up, skated down the curve of the dish, cartwheeled midair when he hit the arc of the jump, and managed to land back on the board… only for him to skid over a loose rock as he swiveled to a stop. He tripped and went faceplanting into a metal air vent with a clang.

“Meant to do that,” he mumbled, brushing himself off.

Donnie howled with laughter. He held his sides, unable to stop snorting with mirth. The mental slow-mo replay literally made Donnie fall to his knees as he wheezed. “If you’re the fffff– if you’re the face man, then why– kkkkk– why do you keep falling on your facccceeee?” he cackled. “Oh maaan I can’t wait to show the recording of that truly majestic feat to the group chat.”

“The what?! Just because you record everything doesn’t mean you have to share it! No no no delete that!” Leo rushed over to try to pry Donnie’s phone out of his fingers. Donnie held it away, trying to shove Leo off of him. “It’s not even that funny!”

“You are mistaken, dear brother. For the act of you falling on your precious face is a humorous situation indeed,” Donnie snickered, sticking out his tongue.

“Okay okay. I guess your eyebrows have gotten enough fresh air, then, hm?”

“Is this your way of telling me you want to go home?”

“Pfft, what? No! Well… uh. It’s been great actually spending time with my twin and all. But uh,” he shifted his knee slightly, “I’m not sure how many more epic fails I’ve got in me. You know?”

Donnie narrowed his eyes, taking in how his stupid, stubborn brother was keeping all of his weight off of his bad knee. If only someone had warned Leo that this might happen. “Dramatic sigh, I told you. But I agree. I could go for that pizza Mikey requested right about now.”

“Yeah I’ll call Hueso.” Leo pulled out his phone to place a pick-up order.

Donnie stooped to pick up his board and as he did so, he got the distinct impression that they weren’t alone. “Leon…?”

“–yeah yeah I know you close in five minutes, that’s why I’m ordering now. Duh. Okay okay geez there’s no need for that kinda language! Mhm we’ll be there right on time. Alrighty see ya soon Bone Man! Buh buh bye!”

“Leon.” Donnie straightened slowly.

Leo caught sight of the look on Donnie's face and his grin faded. “Dee?”

“Something’s wrong. We’re not alone.” Donnie slid his goggles over his eyes, scanning the surrounding rooftops for mystic activity. “There’s a figure approximately seventy feet to the north. Hard to make out. Might be one of those hired mercenaries from the Hidden City.”

Leo kicked his board up into his hand. “Act natural,” he whispered. “Man, I’m so hungry! Time to head to Hueso’s!”

“Shoot. Too late, he knows we know. He’s moving in our direction, I repeat–”

“Let’s go!” Leo grabbed Donnie’s wrist and they vaulted onto the next roof and took off running.

Leo and Donnie were fast, and pretty slippery when they wanted to be. But their stamina was lacking at the moment. It didn’t matter how bulky the mercenary following them was, he was gaining. There was no question who would win if this came down to a fight. The twins were out of practice; they hadn’t trained in months. On top of that, Leo’s knee wasn’t in the best condition, neither of them had weapons, Donnie hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, and the guy was most definitely armed to the teeth. Their only course of action was evasion.

“Hide in the shadows of that alley,” Leo ordered, pointing at a gap a few buildings away. Donnie nodded and got ready to leap, when we felt something prick the back of his neck. Less than a second later, Leo cried out, slapping a hand to his own neck.

Immediately, his vision started to tunnel. “Uh, Leeeee?” Donnie slurred. His feet felt industrial steel. He stumbled, falling to his knees again. Distantly, he registered a blue blur on hands and knees in front of him. Come on! Come on, get up, the rational part of his brain screamed. One of us has to stay on his feet.

Distant honks of traffic faded away and the neon lights of New York winked out as everything went dark.

Donnie’s head was pounding and his limbs felt like wet paper as his senses started to return. Even with fuzzy vision, he could make out a horribly familiar office. Through the large, floor to ceiling window, the rising sun shined right in his eyes. Unfortunately, the ringing in his ears made it hard to distinguish sounds, but he knew the honeyed, singsong voice that was emanating from the lavender blob in front of him.

“Good morning, turtley-boos! I have a business proposition for you.”

Chapter Text

When it came to strategy Leonardo was undeniably the best (obviously. He was fantastic). He’d even outwitted Big Mama herself on previous occasions. However, in those instances… he had not been drugged and tied to a chair (it was a nice, rather comfy chair but still ). 

Leo had blinked himself awake and raised his gaze from the warm carpet to the woman sitting primly on the edge of her desk. She was eyeing him through her glasses like he was a delicious turtle-shaped fly caught in her web. 

Leo made to leap to his feet, only to find his wrists chained to the arms of the chair, and the chair itself stuck to the ground. That was enough to shake Leo from the dizziness caused by whatever had been used to knock him out. His eyes darted around the scene. 

He, Donnie, and Big Mama weren’t the only one’s in her office. There was a guard by her potted plant in the corner, and when Leo twisted his head, he could make out two by the door. Knowing Big Mama’s tricks, there were probably more. He was certain that fighting their way out wasn’t the smart thing to do. 

Okayyy… Fighting was out, sneaking was out; that left one reasonable course of action. Luckily, if there was one thing that Leo was good at, it was talking. 

Next to him, Donnie groaned, stirring. 

“Good morning, turtley-boos! I have a business proposition for you,” Big Mama beamed, showing off her sharp teeth. 

Leo hitched on his most winning grin and spread his hands to the best of his ability. “Yoooo Big Mama! What a surprise! We haven’t seen you in, gee it’s been so long, I forget. How long has it been, Don? 

“Definitely not long enough.” Donnie scowled, his eyes narrowed. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while. If you just wanted to hang you could have like, texted or something. Honestly. There are easier ways to reach us than, you know, kidnapping us. We’ve even got a family email for these situations: @peskyturtles004?” At this point, Leo was just stalling for time. He needed to think of a plan . The longer they stayed here with Big Mama, the less chance they had of getting away injury free. 

No one bought Leo’s over the top performance. He didn’t intend for them to. Big Mama’s eyes narrowed. “I think we both know that I’m not the type to host cozy little vizzy visits for the fun of them. Oh and do stop struggling with the restraints, you two. If you rattle the wrists too much I’m afraid the chairs are built to fight back. You’ll find it quite… shocking.” 

Donnie stopped straining. He looked like he wanted to bite something. 

Leo caught his eye. I got this , he tried to convey either by their patented Twin Sense™ or by mind melding. Honestly it didn’t matter which with Donnie. He had to get the message either way. Donnie raised a skeptical eyebrow. Leo widened his eyes in a way that said, Trust me. Please. Donnie gave the slightest nod. 

“Ah ah ah, I’d prefer to keep this conversation out loud, if you don’t mind, my dear turtley-boos. This will go a lot smoother if you cooperate.” 

“Fine. I’ll ask,” Leo huffed. “ What exactly will go a lot smoother if we cooperate?” 

Big Mama’s grin stretched her face in an unsettling way. “Negotiating business of course.” 

“And here we were hoping this was just a mandatory tea party, he said with heavily intended sarcasm.” Donnie couldn’t cross his arms, so he crossed his leg instead. 

“Riiiight, your whole Battle Nexus thing,” Leo said. He waved his hand dismissively. “How’s that going? Oh right right, how could we forget? Shreddy destroyed your hotel and bodily injured you, then, let’s see… oh right just as you had finished rebuilding there was this whole alien invasion thing. You went quiet after that and we haven’t seen or heard from you at all in these past four months. So business must be booming, then?” 

Big Mama’s smile twitched. It was probably just as false as Leo’s, only hers hid a lot more malice. 

“Ever since that unsporting Krang incident,” she began, “I’m afraid that business is not ‘booming’. In fact, it’s been rather quiet. Yokai and mutants alike have been hesitant to go out and about to watch violent arena fights, for some reason. It’s been ever so difficult to fill my seats, and even more duddy difficult to find anyone willing to compete. Don’t even get me started on the merch sales! I’ve had to start offering prizes other than “glory” or “living past tomorrow”. So of course I’ve had to be resourceful.” 

Leo knew where this was going. But he specialized in being difficult; he wasn’t going to give Big Mama the satisfaction of letting them make assumptions only to go back on her words later. “So you want us to help you advertise or something? Why didn’t you just say so? We’d love to help you put up fliers!” 

“Fliers you say? What a splendiferous idea. I’m thinking shiny plum purple with blood red, loopy writing that goes something like,” she spread her arms, as if framing the words in the air, “‘ Heroes of New York Extravaganza. The twin sons of Lou Jitsu fight for your entertainment. Ticket sales at the door !’ I do quite like the sound of that.” 

Leo’s stomach dropped. He had expected something similar to this from the moment he woke up, but actually hearing it was another matter entirely. “Uh, no.” 

Donnie’s face was set, but Leo could tell he was just as shaken at hearing the actual words as Leo was. “Yeah we’ve already been forced to be your little performing puppets before, remember? At your Battle Nexus New York something something shabang? We’re not interested in repeating that whole unpleasant experience. Especially that whole getting-turned-into-a-chess-set thing.” 

“And I’ve fought in your actual arena. And while it was totally awesome to outsmart you– I mean, fight alongside my dear ole dad– it’s not something I want to make a habit of. So thanks for the offer and such, but no. Absolutely not. We’re not fighting for you.” 

Big Mama did not appear phased by the blatant refusals. In fact, she looked like she was expecting them. She laughed with a hand to her mouth. “This won’t be anything like that, my dizzy darlings! I assure you. Let’s make a deal, shall we?” 

A chill raced up Leo’s shell. 

“Why the heck would we make a deal with you?” Donnie snapped. 

“Because the last time I checked, Donnie-boo, you two are chained to chairs in my office. Your phones have already been disposed of–” Donnie made an indignant noise, “–you have no weapons, you are surrounded by my armed men, you have no rimbly routes of escape, I have two anti-mystic cuffs in my desk right now, there is a horrible little pitch black cell waiting for you if you refuse, and to top it off, no one knows where you are. No one is coming to save you.” 

She slid off of her desk to stand over Donnie. She leaned down so that he could see his reflection in her glasses. “So I’ll ask you again. Let’s make a deal, shall we?” 

Silence, except for the distant roar of New York traffic many, many floors below. 

“Fine.” 

Big Mama’s head snapped to Leo. She straightened and leaned back against her desk. “Good to know one of you has some smibbly sense.” 

Leo let his good-natured attitude fall away as he looked into her hungry eyes. Now was not the time to use witty banter. Charming comments and feigned idiocy would grant him no leverage here in this spider’s web. This was a time for cold calculation. Time to deal with hard facts, and difficult compromises. Right now, his main objective was to make sure he and Donnie got out of here as soon as possible. What he had to sacrifice to achieve that was going to be the issue. 

He straightened as much as he could with his arms still fastened to the chair. His stomach squeezed and his heart thudded through his head, but Leo could not show weakness. Not now. 

Right now he was wearing two masks. 1) the blue bandana that marked him for who he was, and 2) the stony face of someone who was about to make a tough business decision. 

In his firm ‘leader voice’ (as Mikey would call it) Leo said, “Name your terms.” 

Big Mama grinned, looking more like the top of the food chain than ever. “One fight.” 

“Fat chance.” 

“Donatello,” Leo snapped. Donnie’s eyes widened. What he saw in Leo’s face either reassured him or frightened him, because his mouth snapped shut. It didn’t matter. Either way, it got him to stop talking. 

“One fight,” Big Mama repeated. “Tomorrow night. No weapons and no mizzy dizzy mystic powers. You will each fight against an opponent of equal strength. I will provide lodgings and medical care, if necessary. If you win by putting on a splendid, entertaining performance then I will let you go back to your dirty little subway Lair.” 

“And if we lose?” 

“Tsk tsk, I thought you had more confidence in yourself than that. If you lose… well there might not be very much left of you to go free.” 

Her words from when they had first met her rang in Leo’s ears… blood-curdling battles where warriors are ripped limb from limbity limb.  

“Can you give me five minutes alone with Donnie to talk it over?” Leo asked. 

“One minute,” Big Mama pouted.  

“Really?! You’re bartering over this? All right, four minutes.” 

“Two.” 

“Just give us three minutes and forty-five seconds to discuss this, okay?!” 

Big Mama rolled her eyes and waved them on. She walked to her window and gazed over the city sparkling in the clear early morning light. 

“Nardo you can’t be considering this,” Donnie hissed, leaning as close to Leo as his restraints would allow. 

“She’s right! We don’t have very much of a choice right now,” Leo whispered, leaning in as well. 

“Why on Galileo’s green earth do you believe her?”  

“I don’t! Look, she’s ‘altered the terms of the deal at the last second’ literally every time we’ve made any sort of agreement with her. She’s a sneaky, conniving jerk and we can’t trust a word out of those heavily lip-glossed lips. I don’t expect her to uphold her word.” 

“So you agree that there’s no way she’ll let us go after just one fight?” 

“Or at all,” Leo nodded grimly. “But we’re only going to do one fight. Because after that, we’re busting out of here. I just need until tomorrow to think of a foolproof escape plan. I’ll get us out, I just need you to trust me. Okay?” 

“I do trust you, Leon. But–” 

“Time’s up!” Big Mama returned from her perch by the window to sit at her desk. She observed Leo over her delicately crossed fingers. 

Leo cleared his throat. “Okay. My turn. One fight, same time and place. No mystic powers but we get weapons of our choice. We fight together , not separately. Splitting up twins is bad showmanship anyways. As long as we put on a good show that wins you lots of money and fans and stuff, we get to go free. No matter what. After that you leave us and the rest of our family alone .” 

“Won’t weapons make it too easy ? I don’t want the fight over too quickly.” 

It stung to admit it, but Leo sighed. “If I’m being completely honest, Big Mama, the fight will be over quickly if you don’t give us weapons. We’re rusty. Since the invasion, we haven’t really trained very much. You know, recovery and physical therapy and such take precedence. You’ve gotta at least give us a fighting chance or else it’s going to be the most disappointing match since Lou Jitsu refused to fight.” 

Leo didn’t actually know many details of his father’s time in the Battle Nexus… he sure hoped he was remembering correctly. 

Big Mama was quiet for a few moments. Her gaze flickered between the two of them. “You’ve changed, little blue one. You doubt yourself.” 

“I’m being realistic, Miss-Makes-Up-Nonsense-Words.” 

“I suppose almost destroying the whole wobbly world is a wake up call.” Leo bit his tongue. Of course she knew about the key. “I could use more battle-made fighters like you. We have a deal.” 

“Aren’t you going to shake on it?” Leo asked, waggling his fingers. 

“Don’t do anything rash,” she warned as she stood, crossed to his chair, and unlocked the clasp on his right hand. He rotated his wrist, listening to it pop. He made eye contact with Donnie, who nodded grimly. 

Leo reached out his hand, then stopped. “You’re not going to alter the terms of the deal at the last second, are you?” 

Big Mama giggled. “Silly turtley-boo. Don’t you know I run an honest business making Yokai brutally fight each other for the sake of bloody entertainment?” 

She grasped Leo’s hand and shook. Her lavender fingers were delicate and colder than Leo’s own reptilian skin. 

“We have a deal.” 

There was a soft whoosh and a tiny blowdart stuck into Leo’s arm. Donnie flinched at the same time. “Aw come on, not again,” he groaned. 

Big Mama turned away, but she was still grinning that evil grin. “Well I can’t have you knowing the layout of the Battle Nexus, can I? Don’t worry, it’s just a teensy little dosage.” The world tilted and her voice seemed to echo from down the end of a long sewer. “I look forward to the fight tomorrow, my champions.”

Chapter Text

Donnie was sick of waking up in lavish rooms with his head pounding. It was strange because he honestly expected to wake up in some dim, dingey holding cell made of dirty stone or something. Not this. He did suppose they were technically in a hotel, but still. 

The room itself was narrow, but long. Along the short back wall were two beds with fuzzy blankets. The bed frames were each meant to look like open clams, perhaps, but they reminded Donnie of twin bear traps. A wooden nightstand with a pink lamp rested in between (and yes, everything was bolted down. Donnie had checked.) On the other side of the room was a porcelain toilet, sink, and very small shower. Across from that were fluffy white towels and extra blankets. The walls were entirely bare, but painted a garish pink that only Raph could possibly enjoy; Not quite Krang pink, but close enough to be uncomfortable. 

However nice the room may have appeared, it was still a prison. No windows, the door was a solid metal brick, and the air vents were so small that Donnie couldn’t even fit his fist through them. 

Also, there was a 94.7% chance that they were being watched and listened to by cameras that Donnie could not yet locate. But he would. Data collection calmed him down and by Archimedes he was going to find those recording devices if it was the last thing he did. 

Haha, not because he was stressed, of course. Why would he be stressed? They were trapped in a pink little room where they waited for certain doom. Who would be stressed about that? Not him, that’s for sure! Absolutely no way– 

“Donnie? Can you stop shaking out all the blankets please?” 

Donnie’s head snapped around to look at Leo lounging on one of the beds. “I’m collecting data,” he said flatly. 

“Mhm. Sure. Have you tried taking deep breaths? If we’re being watched it’s probably through mystic means. Big Mama doesn’t seem the type to allow you near any sort of electronics if she wants you to stay put.” 

Donnie stalked over to the other bed and flopped down. It was not as comfy as it looked. “I hypothesized as much.” He rubbed his bare wrist. “I miss my tech.” 

He and Leo had awoken about an hour previously (but Donnie couldn’t be sure because there were no clocks anywhere) to find that their wrist wrappings with built-in communicators had been taken, their panic buttons were gone, and Donnie’s goggles were nowhere in sight. The only personal possessions they had left were Donnie’s battle shell (which had been emptied of all its contents to ensure it was nothing more than shell protection), Leo’s medical pouches, and their masks. 

And it appeared they had new accessories. 

Leo’s was a silver bracelet with a marble-sized bobble in the top that swirled the azure colors of Leo’s portals. Donnie’s was identical except that his had a violet bobble. From the sick, empty feeling it created in his chest he had assumed it was the anti-mystic cuff Big Mama had mentioned in her office. 

Upon trying to tap into his ninpo (make weapons appear, talk to a Hamato ghost, mind meld, sense Leo just a few feet away from him, anything) he found that absolutely nothing good happened. No powers, but it did make him feel like his insides were being churned like water in a hydroelectric powered dam to the point he needed to sit down whenever he tried to use his power. 

“At least Big Mama had the sense to give us a nice room instead of a dank cell or something,” Leo shrugged. 

“How can you be so calm, Nardo? We’re trapped here! And we’re going to be forced into combat! Last I checked you were laid low by a skateboarding accident .” Had that only been last night? It felt like forever ago. 

Leo sat up more fully. “I’m not calm in here,” he rubbed his plastron. “I don’t want to do this any more than you do. But I can’t afford to go diving into piles of towels searching for nonexistent microphones. I’ve gotta be thinking.” 

“Yeah you do that.” Donnie crossed his arms, pouting. 

Click. Screeeeeeeeeech . 

Both Donnie and Leo clapped their hands over their ears as the thick metal door was pushed open.  

One of Big Mama’s assistants, the large owl bellhop, stood on the threshold. “Follow. Don’t try anything funny,” he grunted. 

Donnie and Leo exchanged glances, before pushing themselves off their beds and following the Yokai out of the room. Their room may have been nice, but the hallway was not. It was rough, moss-covered stone peppered with more heavy doors every few feet. Donnie shuddered at the cold air. So their room was a cell but at least it was a nicer one. Comparatively. He supposed. 

They followed him in silence through the many twisting corridors of what was clearly the holding area. There was an occasional boom from the ceiling. Distant roaring noise, so faint Donnie thought it was just his ears ringing, echoed from somewhere above. 

“I think we’re… under the Nexus,” Donnie whispered as dust shook down. 

Sure enough, they walked up a set of stairs (Donnie saw Leo hesitate, wincing with each step upwards). Then more corridors that opened into a room that made Leo suddenly brighten. “This looks familiar! Dad and I were here to get fitted for our costumes for his match.” 

Donnie surveyed the greenish tinged room. From the vivid fabric strewn about, large mirrors, sewing machines, and random mannequins lying about, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess the use of the place even without Leo’s realization. 

One wall was blueish and transparent. Through it, Donnie could see the Battle Nexus Arena itself in all its round, rocky, spike-edged glory. An orangutan-looking Yokai was currently tussling with one that looked reminiscent of a pterodactyl. The challengers looked evenly matched until the orangutan Yokai managed to grab his opponent’s wing and bite down hard on it. Donnie looked away as the screams of the crowd rose in volume. They might have been chanting “Finish him! Finish him!” but Donnie didn’t want to listen anymore. 

Leo, on the other hand, was watching intently. He looked vaguely sick to his stomach, but he wasn’t looking away. 

“Pathetic fight, isn’t it?” Big Mama’s voice came through the doorway. 

The twins jumped in unison, whirling to face her. 

“Oh don’t get into a fizzy flopple. I’m just here to observe the polishing up of my new champions.” 

A pink squid Yokai with far too many tentacles emerged from behind Big Mama. “I remember you,” she chirped, looking at Leo. “Still have the Lou Jitsu outfit?” 

“And the glasses, Synthia,” Leo beamed. Curse Leo for being so charming and knowing everyone. He was going to make Donnie look bad. He shook himself. Wait, why did he care about looking bad in front of people who were actively forcing him to fight?

“So my dears, we’ve got some work to do before the event tomorrow. Nearly twenty-four hours to prepare, and it’s hardly enough. For one,” she snapped her fingers and the squid lady (Synthia, was it?) bustled forward and pulled Leo and Donnie towards the stand in front of the large mirror, “we simply must find you something to woddly wear.” 

“Are you sure about the blue?” Synthia asked Leo skeptically. “Red or yellow seem like they’d match better…” She reached a tentacle towards Leo’s mask. 

“Blue is my thing ,” Leo protested, grabbing his mask protectively. “I’m keeping the mask.” 

“I assume the same with you and purple?” she asked Donnie. “And the… eyebrows?” 

He nodded, pursing his lips. Raph had advised him a long time ago that if he didn’t have anything nice to say, then he shouldn’t say it at all. Normally he didn’t care to follow that suggestion, but he had a hunch that Synthia might not appreciate his sass as much as his brothers. 

Synthia launched into an explanation of what she was planning for their fighting outfits. Something something range of movement something something flashy. Donnie didn’t really care. He was too busy watching a squad of janitorial bellhops mop up blood from the arena floor. The rock was uneven, and from other dark patches scattered around the area, Donnie could tell they weren’t going to get all of it. 

He thought about his blood seeping into the stone. His mutated DNA left to rot there, decomposing, trampled under countless more fights. He thought about Leo’s blood, staining the ground. He wondered if there were still spots in the prison dimension–

“You’re up, Purple,” Big Mama sang. 

Donnie flinched. “Don’t call me that. Only Papa is allowed to call me that.” 

“If you insist.” She grinned her evil grin again. “Actually, I was thinking about your stage names. Donatello. Leonardo. So long, so unwieldy. But Donnie and Leo? Absolutely not. Those sound much too cutesy cute. Much too approachable. Your battle names must be bold, splendiferous, scrumdilly doo! ” 

“Those are not real words,” Donnie mumbled. He didn’t know how much more of her falsely fluttery, fabricating voice he could take. 

Speaking of fabric… he was currently being draped and wrapped in shimmering silver silks. Donnie didn’t like the way Synthia’s tentacles moved around him. It reminded him too much of the Krang. One look at Leo’s ashen face told him that his twin was thinking the same thing. 

“This thing,” the squid lady squinted, poking his battle shell, “it’s so chunky. You’d be better off without it, dear. May I?” 

“NO!” Donnie stumbled backwards off the pedestal. “I-I need it.” His desperate gaze turned to Big Mama. “If they see my soft shell, that’s what my opponent will immediately go for. You don’t want the fights over too quickly, right?” His cheeks burned to admit it. But it was true. Without his battleshell, he wouldn’t last very long in combat. 

But there was another reason he didn’t want to part with it: his battleshell was part of home. It was the last piece of his tech he had left. It was part of who he was as much as his purple eyebrowed mask was. 

“Let him keep it,” Big Mama shrugged. “Bedazzle it if you must.” She appeared indifferent, but Donnie could see the eagerness in her posture. He had no doubt that she was going to use this against him at some point. 

It didn’t matter. He and Leo were getting out as soon as their fight was done. 

It was difficult to tell how much time Donnie and Leo spent with the seamstress. She kept rethinking their whole design. Sometimes she wanted them to match, other times she wanted complimentary outfits. When all was said and done, Donnie and Leo stood in front of the large mirror, admiring Synthia’s handiwork (tentaclework?). 

She’d gone with spots of silver armor to compliment the blue and purple. However, Leo’s armor was more reminiscent of a knight and Donnie’s armor drew inspiration from samurai. Leo had a dark blue belt and matching scarf that functioned as a sort of cape in the back. Because of Donnie’s battleshell, he didn’t get anything like that. Instead, he got a kusazuri, which was basically an armor skirt worn by samurai. 

It was ironic, really, that all Synthia was putting in all this trouble to give them armor… then put it in the least effective places possible. Wrists, ankles, shoulders, knees. Nothing that would actually be helpful. 

In Donnie’s opinion, they looked more like actors in a cheap stage play about combat than actual warriors.  

“I didn’t expect you to give us armor,” Leo probed. 

“It’s mostly for show,” Big Mama waved. “Flashy costumes get more fizziwhopping fanfare.” 

“Flashy indeed,” Donnie grumbled, flexing his armored forearms. “Suspiciously heavy too.” 

“Well you two are nimbley nimble enough to scamper your way out of anything, aren’t you? Besides, with no natural armor of your own, I was certain you would appreciate this, Tyrian.” 

“Tee-ree-who now?” Leo scoffed. 

Donnie would have asked something similar, but he was too busy choking on his rage at Big Mama’s insinuating that he needed her protection because of his soft shell. How dare she. This would just have to be another tick mark in his Revenge Booklet back home. 

“I’m so glad you asked, my future champion. I’ve decided on your stage names of course. Tyrian and Astros: Battle Nexus twins.” 

“Groan. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Donnie said. “I told you, calling us colors is our dad’s thing! You can’t do that!” At Leo’s confused face, Donnie sighed. “Tyrian is a type of purple and astros is just a different name for blue. She could at least pretend to be creative. Come on lady, if you wanted the twin shtick you’ve got so many famous twins of history to work with! Castor and Pollux, Artemis and Apollo, yadda yadda. You really went with colors?” 

“My Nexus, my champions, my rules. You said you wanted to keep your precious colored bandanas, so I had to work with that. Obviously. This was your decision, not mine.” 

“Hey, no.” Leo said. “Don’t turn this back on us.” 

Big Mama waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever you say, my delusional darlings. I look forward to the fight tomorrow. Yokai are already camping out around the arena to buy tickets. It’s quite spiffxhilarating.” 

“Again,” Donnie muttered, “not a word.” 

Big Mama waved them away. 

Donnie hadn’t realized how hungry he was until their dinner was pushed through a slot at the bottom of their door. It makes sense, he reflected. The last time I consumed anything was when I rapidly inhaled the dinner Mikey made for us last night. It felt much longer than that. 

Looking at the bowl in front of him, he really really (two really’s) missed Mikey. 

“What is this stuff?” Leo said as he poked at his own bowl. 

“It appears to be a…soup of some sort? Or…mush, maybe?” 

A guard who must have been stationed outside of their cell banged on the door once. “Various types of meat and veggies that’ve blended up and packed with vitamins. Champion food.” He said nothing else. 

“‘Champion food’? Scoff,” Donnie said. His stomach growled loudly enough for Leo to hear. “You try it first.” 

Leo shrugged and dug his spoon into the clumpy brownish mix. “Here goes.” As he chewed, his nose wrinkled, but he didn’t gag, so Donnie took that as a good sign. “It’s not… bad by any means. Big Mama just hasn’t heard of a little thing called ‘spices’.” 

Donnie cautiously took a bite of the ‘food’. Leo was correct. He could detect pork, chicken, probably spinach, and some other vegetables he couldn’t identify (leading him to believe that they were native to the Hidden City). He wrinkled his nose at the aftertaste. He deduced that it was caused by the ‘vitamins’ in the mix. 

All in all, the champion food wasn’t entirely bad, and Donnie hadn’t eaten anything all day, so he and Leo cleared out their bowls in no time. 

“When we get home we’d better get pizza,” Leo said as he put the bowls back by the door. 

Donnie curled up on his bed. His shoulders were starting to ache from wearing his battle shell for so long, but he didn’t want to expose his leathery shell to this horrible pastel cell. He didn’t feel safe enough. 

“Heh, remember how we were going to get pizza for a late night snack last night?” Donnie asked wistfully. 

“I don’t like that tone, amigo . Are you okay?” 

A bizarre question, considering they were literally being held prisoner. 

“They’d better know we’re missing." 

There was a soft intake of breath from Leo. “So that’s what this is about. Don’t worry, Donton! If my brilliant plan to get us out of here somehow fails, it’s not like that’s it for us. We’ve got great brothers who aren’t just going to sit around and wait for us to come home. In fact, I bet Raph and Mikey are out looking for us right now.” 

“How is your quote, ‘brilliant’ plan to get us out going?” 

“Very well, actually. But if you’re right about this room being monitored, I can’t explain it right now. But I’ve got one.” 

Normally, Donnie would scoff and tease him. But he was exhausted from, well, this whole debacle. So instead he said, “I trust you, Nardo.” 

The last thing he heard before sleep (natural sleep, not the drug induced kind he’d been subjected to too often in the past 24 hours) claimed him was Leo’s soft voice. 

“I won’t let you down, Dee. I promise.”

Chapter Text

The fighters’ entrance into the Battle Nexus was designed to look like a mouth. 

Leo and Donnie stood in front of the lowered gate made of sharpened tooth-like spikes, awaiting their entrance que. 

In Leo’s entirely honest opinion, his outfit was rather fabulous. The scarf/cape swished delightfully, as did the tails on his belt. The armor on his shoulder, forearms, and knees glinted in the low light, but he knew they would practically glow under the arena spotlights. He was aware Donnie hated his own outfit, but Leo had to admit that Dee’s outfit was pretty cool. The samurai-inspired skirt/armor (which Donnie had informed him was called a kusazuri) and shoulder, knee, and forearm armor made his twin look like a warrior of the Hamato Clan. Honestly, Leo was a little jealous. 

Why he was comparing outfits at a time like this, he didn’t know. Maybe it was to keep himself from panicking. He gripped his dual swords more tightly. 

They weren’t exactly like the katanas he was used to (these seemed cheaper, somehow) but he was grateful for them. His stomach clenched as he thought of the last time he’d wielded two swords. All alone. On top of the Technodome. Raph’s voice from his comms warning him not to do it– 

Donnie’s hand found its way to Leo’s shoulder. “Stay here . In this moment. Okay?” 

Leo blinked. “How’d you know I was spiraling?” 

“Twin sense. Or whatever.” 

He felt a surge of fondness for his purple brother. “Thanks Donnie.” He took a deep breath. “We got this.” 

Donnie spun the metal bo staff he’d been given, nodding. “Indeed we do. Just one fight.” 

“We don’t even have to kill him, remember?” 

A few hours previously, as Leo and Donnie had been dressed in their new costumes, Big Mama herself had explained the rules. 

“A ‘win’ in my arena is not necessarily a kill. You must render them incapable of continuing the mizzy match. If that means incapacitating them, causing them to surrender, grievously injuring them, or kidillie killing them, then it is a win. Remember turtley-boos, the fizzy fight is not won until I say it is.” She had informed them that she would be watching from her personal box in a booth carved with her spider form. 

“Remember our agreement,” she’d sang, then disappeared down a shadowy hallway. 

“Let’s give ‘em a show,” said Leo.  

The roar of the crowd increased as spotlights in the arena swept the audience. The arena itself was a large circular pit, sunk about twenty feet down from the front row of the audience. The walls and floor were made of uneven stone, with spikes lining the edges in some places. If people wanted a spectacle, this was certainly the place to find one. 

“ Presenting, ” an announcer's deep magnified voice reverberated through the stadium, “ your new Battle Nexus champions, the twins that harbor disaster, the fearsome fighters of the Hidden City, the heroes of New York, Tyrian and Astrooooos! ” 

The gate slid open with a screech. Leo and Donnie exchanged one more reassuring look before striding into the arena. The air exploded with noise. Though it was hard to see individuals in the crowd, Leo could tell that nearly every single seat was filled. And every single one of them was cheering. Leo couldn’t help but grin. 

Was he being forced to fight? Yes. Was he was also a sucker for attention? Also yes. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all. 

“ And their opponent: you know him from his crushing victories last season, you love him, he's the terrible troll, the crusher of dreams and skulls, it’s Goliath! ” 

Leo retracted his previous thought.  

On the other side of the arena, a massive figure stepped into the ring. Leo had heard stories about trolls, but mere fairytales clearly couldn’t do the figure in front of him justice. Goliath, Big Mama had called him, was at least four times as tall as the turtles, and much more armored than they were. Where his rough, grayish skin ended and the sharp, rocky armor began, Leo couldn’t quite tell. Facial features were hard to make out, other than a dripping nose ring and his large mouth brimming with sharp, greenish teeth. Goliath wielded a club the size of Raph in his beefy hand. His heavy footsteps made the ground shake as he stalked into the ring. 

“What are we thinking, Donnie?” Leo asked. 

“Judging by his unwieldy size, our best course of action is to unbalance him–” 

“Use our speed and dexterity to trip him–” 

“Maneuver to turn his weight against him–” 

“And above all else, avoid getting smushed,” Leo finished. “We got this.” 

“What makes you think we can accomplish such a feat with two swords and a stick?” 

“I’ve got your back, Don. And I know you’ve got mine. Just one fight, then we’re out of here. We’ll be back home in a turtle pile before sunrise, just you wait.” Leo gave his swords a twirl. He widened his stance, ready to face the troll in front of them. 

“ FIGHT! ” the announcer yelled as the audience cheered their approval. 

Goliath let out a reverberating roar and charged towards the twins. Leo and Donnie held their ground until he was close enough Leo could smell him (sweat, blood, and a thousand dirty bathrooms). He raised his club to strike. Leo dove left and Donnie dove right. Leo rolled, then sprang back to his feet immediately. 

He tried to dash behind the gargantuan figure, but it turned to meet him shockingly fast. The next few minutes were a blur of the twins scrambling for an opening while simultaneously avoiding getting squished. 

Leo and Donnie ducked and wove around Goliath’s massive feet, trying their best to unbalance him. He swung his club wildly, but the twins used their advantage of being small and very fast. 

As Leo leapt around the troll, he hit one of his legs with his sword. It glanced off of stone armor, shedding sparks, and jarring Leo’s wrist. All Donnie’s staff did was clang off the solid protection a few times. 

Leo’s brain worked fast. They could only play this game of evasion for so long. He was already breathing heavily, and he could see that Donnie’s chest was heaving. Leo knew that from down here there wasn’t much they could do. 

“We’ve gotta get to higher ground,” Leo called. He started forward, meaning to climb Goliath’s leg, when the club swung in out of nowhere. It struck Leo squarely in the chest and he flew backwards, landing on his shell with an “oof–”. 

Leo struggled to his feet, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. His recently healed ribs ached. Walk it off, Leo. Gotta be there to help– where was Donnie?! 

“Yellllllllll!” Donnie cried out as he flew through the air, faceplanting a ways away from Leo. 

“Donnie! Donnie, are you okay?” Leo gasped, clutching his plastron. 

“‘M fine,” he grunted, struggling to his feet and limping towards Leo. “We need a new plan.” 

“ Whyyyy haven’t we been training,” Leo groaned, allowing Donnie to pull him up. 

“Because, as Raph put it, ‘ya got too busted up’?” 

“Oh yeah. That.” Leo watched Goliath start to circle them, dragging his club behind him. “I have an idea.”  

“I hate it when you use that tone of voice.” 

Leo dashed forward, ducking into a slide at the last moment. 

He had been meaning to go directly between Goliath’s legs to provide a distraction while Donnie swooped in. But he had underestimated the troll’s footspeed. 

Goliath’s huge gray foot slammed down on Leo, pinning him to the Nexus floor. Leo’s senses were overwhelmed by the smell of blood on sweaty troll feet, pressure on his chest, the sound of the ground cracking beneath him. 

Leo was no longer in the arena. 

He stared up into the red glow of the Krang’s lazer. Its clawed foot crushed him, pressing him further into the unforgiving ground. Cold cold cold metal, cold like the prison dimension, cold like the hands of death that had tried to pull him away. 

Strength always prevails . 

Leo wasn’t strong, he wasn't strong enough to get free, he was weak, weak, small frail and going to die here. Alone. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything he was trapped and he was going to get crushed. 

“HEY! RUBBLE BRAIN!” 

Donnie? 

There was a shink , a distant roar, and the pressure on his chest was gone. Leo peeled his eyes open, wincing at the spotlights shining down on him. His face was wet. He sat up, trying to comprehend what was happening. His hand closed around a metal staff. Donnie’s metal staff. 

Through his tears, Leo could see one of his swords was stuck in a chink in Goliath’s armor, right behind the knee of the leg that had been pinning Leo down. Donnie was wielding the other one with shaking hands. 

“Yeah that’s right, you metamorphic-clad monster! Get away from him!” Donnie dodged a swing, dancing away. “How’d you even become such a champion anyway? Were there arrows pointing to the arena instead of signs?” 

Goliath roared, following after Donnie, who was slowly taunting him away from Leo. 

Leo sat up, his chest throbbing. He had to stay focused. For Donnie’s sake. His twin had the troll distracted, leaving Leo an opening to… to do what? Jab at Goliath’s legs again? Or maybe… 

“Here goes nothing.” 

Donnie had backed himself into the wall of the arena. His insults were getting less and less frequent as he fumbled for ideas (“I liked you better in the 2016 animated feature starring Anna Kendrick!”). Goliath advanced menacingly, dragging his club behind him. 

It was Leo’s way up. 

The blue turtle leapt onto the club. He’d climbed up Raph many times and with the size comparison, it wasn’t too different. Leo scrambled up onto the troll’s arm and perched on the spiked armor of his shoulder. Goliath jerked his arm around, trying to throw Leo off. But Leo was a needy middle child. He had years of experience hanging onto people as they tried to buck him off. 

“Ha! Gotcha! You know, for a guy covered in rocks, I bet you don’t even know the difference between weathering and erosion!” Donnie crowed. 

“You go, Dee! Let’s troll this troll!” Leo clutched Donnie’s staff like he was playing pool, steadied his aim, and jabbed the stick right into Goliath’s beady little eye. He yelled in pain, now trying to slap Leo off. Leo, however, scurried from Goliath’s shoulder to his helmeted head. 

He was eye level with some of the audience now. He couldn’t resist throwing a Lou Jitsu-like wink at them even as he whacked the troll on the head repeatedly.

Down below, Donnie was stabbing at every gap in Goliath’s armor that he could find. He stumbled forward, toward the center of the arena. Leo punctuated every word with another hit to the head, “You’ve– got– a– thick– skull– but– I’m– sure– even– you– can– un-der-stand– the– con-cept– of– gra-vi-ty– Dee! Catch!” 

Leo dropped the bo staff. Donnie caught it mid-air, spun, and smashed it into the front of Goliath’s weakened legs. 

With one final bellow of pain, Goliath pitched forward, face planting into the stone with a bone-rattling thunk . Leo leapt off of the head moments before it made contact. He rolled to avoid the impact, and popped back onto his feet to stand before the toppled mountain that did not get up. 

“That’s how we rock , baby!” Leo cackled. 

“ Ladies and Gentleyokai we have our winners! ” the announcer boomed. “ Tyrian and Astros! Astros and Tyrian! The twins triumph! ” The audience exploded. Flowers, coins, and various merchandise rained into the arena. A large, beefy cleanup crew popped into the arena, looping rope around the barely-conscious Goliath to drag him away (presumably to the medical area Big Mama had alluded to earlier). 

Donnie limped over to Leo, clutching both of their weapons in battered arms.  

“Donnie! You genius! Taunting him like that? I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!” 

The softshell allowed himself a smile. “You could say I trolled him.” 

“No way. No. Freaking. Way. Was that a pun? Was that an actual, honest to goodness pun?! Man, Dee, it must be Opposite Day or something. We’re using each other’s weapons and you’re making puns ? I must be dreaming.” 

“If only that were the case,” Donnie said grimly. “Are you okay?” 

Leo hesitated, taking stock of their injuries. His chest throbbed with every breath, his hands were all scraped up, and his knee ached. Donnie had a black eye and his knee was bleeding copiously. “I– yeah I’m not too badly hurt. Don’t worry.” 

“I didn’t mean your physical condition.” 

Donnie had seen him have his flashback. Donnie had saved him from his flashback. “I’m all good, thanks to you. You really saved both of our sorry shells in there.” 

“Good, because now it’s your turn, dear brother. We need to get out of here.” 

Leo looked to where Big Mama was making her way down from her spectating box. 

“Ah. Right. Now for the hard part.” 

Chapter Text

“Okay Donnie, listen to me very carefully. When I fall over, you’ve gotta hit the lights.” 

Donnie stared at his twin blankly. Maybe Leo had hit his head when fighting Goliath because that made no sense. “What? When? Where? What lights? Does mystic lighting even have an off switch?” 

Big Mama was striding in spider form across the arena towards where they stood, still winded from their fight. Leo grabbed Donnie’s wrist. “Donnie I don’t have time to explain everything because our escape plan only just clicked into place but I just need you to trust me, okay?” 

“I do trust you, Nardo! I’ve told you this, but–” 

“Turtle-boos! That was quite a splendiferous performance! I thought you said you were out of practice, dear champions.” 

“Ah ah ah, you shouldn’t call us champions anymore, your pincer-ness,” Leo said with an exaggerated bow. “We gave you your show, now you have to let us go. That was our deal. If you’d be so kind as to get these mystic bracelets off, then my brother and I will be on our way.” 

“Oh yes. About that… I’m afraid you’re not gimbly going anywhere.” 

“Gasp, dear me, Big Mama not being entirely honest with us? Oh the shock. Oh the horror. I feel as if I may faint from the suddenness of it all,” Donnie drawled. 

“Our deal was that I’d let you go if you put on a good show that won me, quote, ‘lots of mizzy money and fizzy fans and stuff’.” 

Leo pointed an accusatory finger towards her many-eyed face. “I did not say mizzy or fizzy, Lady.” 

“But I say that you did not specify what ‘lots’ meant. And I say, that you will fight for me until I deem you to have won me all the goodies I could possibly hippity hope for.” 

“Oh so you’re just going to make us keep fighting for you until we reach some arbitrary and totally real number?” Donnie demanded. “I’m not doing that. I like to occupy my time with much less barbaric activities than fighting to the death, thank you.” 

“Can we at least get our mystic powers back?” Leo asked. 

“Hmm nope. Only my guards are allowed access to the keys, so I doubt you can unlock them yourselves. Speaking of,” she turned to a squad of no less than five burly bellhops, “escort Tyrian and Astros to their room. They must rest up for tomorrow night’s fight.” 

“My name is Leo and you’re going to regret this,” the slider growled even as he was ushered away. 

“I think you’ll find, Astros , that it is you who will regret ever crossing Big Mama,” the arachnid sniffed. 

Donnie and Leo were shoved through the tunnels, back into the twisting labyrinth of corridors that somehow led to their room. Donnie kept his eyes on Leo, looking for some sort of clue as to what to do, but Leo appeared to be looking anywhere but his twin. Just as Donnie opened his mouth to hiss more questions, Leo cried out in pain and pitched forward onto the ground. 

“Ow owwww ow my ribs, owww. Ahh I can’t bear to walk another step ahhhh,” Leo clutched at his sides, face screwed up. 

Donnie had lived with the drama queen his whole life and knew a fake injury when he saw one. Okay, so Leo tripped…how the heck do I hit the lights? ” Donnie’s eyes darted around until– was that a circuit breaker? 

Leo’s distraction occupied the guards (“no don’t carry me, it hurts to be touched, ohhhhh ohhh ohhhhhhhhhhh…”) enough that Donnie was able to dart away and open the metal box sticking out of the wall. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Circuitry? Wires? Little blinky lights? The weird, witchy language of the Hidden City? He certainly wasn’t expecting moss, glowing mushrooms, and slimy little tubes. How did one operate this? A surefire way to destroy it would be to start extracting things but… Donnie flashed to the Technodome, thinking of the gooey tentacles wrapping around his hands. Into his shell. Inside his mind. 

Donnie shook himself. No. He couldn’t afford to get sucked back there now. He took a deep breath, grabbed a blue mushroom, and yanked it free. The lights sputtered. Heartened, Donnie reached his hands through the box, pulling at strange tubes, tearing out funky plants, and ripping out every bioluminescent thing inside the box. The lights above them flickered out and died, plunging the whole corridor into darkness. 

“Now what, Nardo?!” Donnie demanded, blindly flinging out his arms. He noted that the bobble on his anti-mystic cuff still glowed. 

A faint blue light– the one connected to Leo’s wrist– reached out and grabbed his flailing hand. “Now we run !” Leo said, and he dragged Donnie down the hallway. They could hear the shouts of guards behind them, and even some in front of them. Leo turned sharply and Donnie thought they were going to smack into a wall, but soon realized Leo had turned a corner. 

“Okay, are you going to clue me in now ?” Donnie demanded. His scraped-up knee was stinging as they dashed forward in the dark. 

“Air vents,” Leo said shortly. 

The air was lightening ever so slightly. Donnie could just make out the shine of light on Leo’s silver shoulder armor. They soon met a staircase upwards, with light spilling down the stairs like a slinky. Now they slowed, moving more cautiously in the buzzing lights of the hotel. 

“Give me a boost.” Donnie complied, lifting Leo towards the ceiling. Leo unscrewed the vent cover and squeezed himself in. “Your turn.” 

“Leon I don’t know if my battleshell will fit through there. He glanced down the stairs into the shadows below, where shouts and running footsteps were growing in volume. “Buuut I’m not leaving it.” He grabbed Leo’s outstretched arms and hoisted himself into the vent. 

His battleshell fit. Barely. 

Moving was slow, but they were trying to be stealthy anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. 

For the first time since Big Mama had struck her deal with them, Donnie allowed hope to spark in his chest. A ninja’s greatest weapon. Could they actually pull this off? Actually get out of here? They should buy Angelo an apology pizza. Donnie realized that there was still a lot of work waiting for him at home. He’d gladly do it if it meant he never had to fight another smelly troll again. They were so close. In fact– 

“We’ve gotta drop down into the lobby of the hotel, then we’re home free,” Leo whispered from ahead of him. He slithered downwards, out of the vent and into the empty lobby. Donnie followed, landing silently. Their combat skills may have been rusty, but their stealth skills were certainly still intact. 

“Wait, what about these?” Donnie held up his wrist. 

“Oh yeah, I suppose we’re missing a key component of our escape.” 

“Nardo.” 

Leo tossed a small key into the air and caught it. “Of course I swiped it from the guards. Did you think I was rolling around just for fun?” 

“You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself.” 

“Yeah well, it’s fun to do that with people who don’t know better,” Leo winked. He went to work unlocking Donnie’s anti-mystic cuff. 

“I can’t believe your ‘grand plan’ that you’ve been hyping up for two days was literally ‘turn off the lights and run’.” 

“Isn’t it de-light-ful?” Leo grinned. “It’s a tried and true method, baby. And ta da! There you are.” 

Donnie rubbed his wrist. The moment the bracelet had clicked off, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It reminded him that he was not alone. Violet sparks danced at his fingers as unused power vied for attention. Donnie resolved to use it later, after he and Leo were out of danger. 

He took the key from Leo’s fingers and began unlocking him. Once Leo’s clicked off, he grinned. “Good to be back. Let’s go.” 

They turned towards the doors and dashed across the plush carpet of the lobby. 

Spider webs wrapped around his ankle and yanked his feet out from under him. Donnie fell face first onto the not-so-soft-anymore carpet. He heard Leo yelp as he did the same. 

He could see the streetlights outside. He could smell the car exhaust that hung over his city through the glass of the doors. For the barest of moments, he thought he felt the ninpos of Mikey and Raph, however distant. 

They were so close. 

But then he was pulled backwards, dragged roughly across the lobby, up the stairs, and into the elevator where Big Mama towered over them. 

Donnie’s last view of the sky was cut off as the doors of the elevator slid closed with a horrible ding. They rocketed up, presumably to Big Mama’s office. 

Hissing, Donnie felt his ninpo flare up. His geometric markings glowed with power as he rose to his knees (one leg still wrapped in Big Mama’s spiderwebs). Pixels of power swirled around his hands but before he could form anything– a missile launcher, a giant bug zapper, a deltaroid torture stick, anything, anything – bulky bellhops forced Donnie’s hands behind his back and fired a cylindrical device at them. More violet-colored spiderwebs shot out, trapping his hands together. The same was done to Leo, but Donnie didn’t register. 

Sticky. Slimy. Cold. Donnie’s mind immediately went to the Krang ship. He could feel tendrils wrapping around every inch of him, drilling their way through his shell, burrowing into his insides, into his brain. 

He thrashed, desperate to be free of the ghastly substance that pinned his hands and wrapped around his ankle. Gags made his whole body convulse as he desperately tried not to throw up champion food all over himself. 

Distantly, he heard Leo demand something like, “Let him go!” 

He was met with stony silence from the bellhops. 

The elevator dinged again and Donnie became aware that he was being dragged by the webs on his foot towards Big Mama’s office. Not the Krang ship not the ship not the ship– 

“Donnie! Donnie, focus! Just breathe with me, okay? I’m here, you’re okay, it’s gonna be–” Leo cut off with a grunt as a bellhop kicked him in the stomach. He gasped for breath, crying out as his already hurt chest was struck for the third time that day. 

That jolted Donnie out of his spiral. He needed his mind to stay with Leo. Neither of them could afford to be dragged back to that day right now. He had to be here. For Leo’s sake. 

The twins were tossed unceremoniously into the horribly familiar office. It was darker than last time. Tall velvet curtains obscured the massive window. 

The spider queen herself towered over them, tapping her eight legs in annoyance. “This simply will not do, dear turtley-boos. Don’t you remember my number one rule? ‘No stealing from Big Mama’. You are my pipping property. By trying to escape you have turned into bizzy-binkling thieves.” 

Donnie grit his teeth, still breathing heavily. “We are not your property.” 

“Oh, I’m afraid you are, Tyrain. Those who fight for me, belong to me. And you struck a deal to fight for me until I say you no longer do. Or… until you die.” 

“We didn’t make that deal!” Leo said. 

Donnie had had enough of this. He sprang to his feet, trying to burst through the webs with his ninpo. A bearlike bellhop behind him moved faster. A large, clawed hand swiped out of nowhere to pin Donnie to the wall. Donnie’s head snapped back, and he heard a picture frame crack. With his hands trapped behind him and feet immobilized, there was nothing he could do to break the hold. He stared into the Yokai’s cold, beady eyes, his own wide with terror. 

The bear bellhop squeezed. Donnie choked. 

Leo shouted. 

“Dear dear, I will miss the splendiferous ring that ‘Tyrian and Astros’ had. I suppose ‘Astros: Solo Act’ might work.” 

“Stop it! Let Donnie go!” 

“Who is this Donnie you speak of, my champion?” Big Mama was, of course, playing dirty. 

“Donnie! Please, Big Mama, we don't want to fight for you! We just want to go home.” 

Dark spots were dancing in front of Donnie’s eyes. As the paw tightened at his throat, his mind started cycling through facts about bears. Bears are nearsighted. They love coffee. Polar bears have black skin under their fur. Polar bears’ fur is hollow to better retain heat. Polar bears possess webbed feet. 

“You do want to fight for me. You made that deal, did you not? This is what you wanted, Astros.” 

Through Donnie’s teary vision, he could see Leo’s face was screwed up. He obviously knew what the evil woman wanted him to say. Donnie suddenly remembered Leo in a similar situation, held aloft by their Krangified brother. How Donnie had watched helplessly, wanting to do something– anything to stop it. 

“don’t–” he managed. 

With one more look at Donnie (who was certain his face was changing colors by now), Leo steeled himself. His stripes glowed with rage, but he had no weapon to channel his power. He looked into Big Mama’s six red, hungry eyes. 

“Yes Big Mama,” he spat. “This is what we wanted. Please let Tyrian go so we can fight for you in your Battle Nexus.” 

Immediately, Donnie was released. He slumped to the floor, coughing weakly. He wanted to clutch at his neck, reassure himself it was free of clawed paws, but his restraints wouldn’t budge. The bear Yokai grabbed the back of his battleshell and tossed him back towards Leo. 

“You okay?” Leo looked on the verge of panic. Great. 

Donnie shook his head, wincing at the movement of his neck. It was probably bruised. The world still slid in and out of focus as he panted. He shook with adrenaline. How could he possibly be okay after getting strangled? Or after Leo had given in to Big Mama’s manipulation. He didn’t blame him though. Donnie would have done the same. He tried to convey all this through a halfhearted mind meld. Leo looked like he understood. 

“Well now that we agree this is what we all wanted, we have just one more wibbling little thing to diddy discuss,” Big Mama trilled. Her triumphant grin stretched showed off her fangs. 

“We agree that your pesky powers would merely complicate things in and out of the arena, yes?” She got two glares in response. 

“Ah, yes. Well I have just the thing. Besso,” she called, “the vault.” The bear Yokai lumbered forward and began the process of unlocking Big Mama’s massive hidden vault. 

“You see, Astros, last time you and my dear Snuggle-Muffin Beefcake fought in the arena, you snuck that little sword of yours in with you. You created such a fizzy fuss with all those portals, besting my beloved Kraken Tom and the Evil Six.” 

Okay, maybe Donnie had sustained brain damage from lack of oxygen because none of that made a single grain of sense. Leo however, seemed to understand what the monologuing Mama was talking about. 

“Those powers of yours created such an unfair advantage. You bested my champions without you or my huggy-poo sustaining a single injury. It set me in search of a way to prevent similar unbalanced matches from happening in the future. In the time since, I’ve managed to procure some trinkets to aid me in the arena. Four, in fact. Now, only two of them will be put into use right now, but I suppose there’s always room for more if you two give me unsatisfactory performances.” 

Donnie grit his teeth. There was no way he’d let her lay a single of her many legs on Raph or Mikey. 

Besso returned, presenting two trinkets on a pillow. Big Mama lifted one up and it sparkled in the light. Donnie’s stomach plummeted. All he saw were sharp barbs. 

“I present to you,” Big Mama said, her voice shaking with repressed excitement, “your new anti-mystic device. I call them Spider Brooches, because, well, obviously. Your cuffs worked well enough, but after your little rebellion down in the tunnels, I think we need something more… permanent.” 

Donnie opened his mouth to say something like, uhh-no-thanks-we-kind-of-need-our-ninpo , but all he managed was a weak cough. Leo, on the other hand, was very vocal. “What if, just spitballing here, we just promise to keep the cuffs on? Less trouble for you, less… final for us.” 

“Not at all. In fact, if anything is making my life easier, it will be these. Not only will they completely cut off your mystic fizzy-wobbles, but they can track your every move. Aren’t they beautiful?” Big Mama held one of the trinkets closer for the twins to inspect. 

It was about the size of a cloaking broach. Two shiny, colorless stones were inlaid into a silvery metal band. One was smaller and set above the other so that it vaguely resembled the shape of a spider. But what was attached below really sold the whole spider image. Eight long spikes, each covered in wickedly sharp barbs protruded from the sides and back. 

As horrifyingly medieval as it looked, Donnie had to appreciate the engineering. Once it was jabbed into something, getting it out would be horrifically painful. Donnie calculated that the leg/spikes were long enough to go all the way through a turtle’s plastron and then some, but short enough to not be considered a full-on stab wound. In a surreal, absurd way, it reminded Donnie of his spider-shell, if it was twisted into some evil, cruel accessory. 

“Yeah no,” Leo said, barely repressing the shake in his voice. “Fangs for everything, but that’s not going to happen. I arach-need you to understand how much I don’t want to get stabbed by that thing.” 

Leo’s panicking, Donnie thought distantly. 

Frankly, he was too. But despite contemplating possible escape routes for the past ten minutes, he had nothing with over an 8% chance of success. 

Big Mama clapped her hands together. “Well, I suppose all that’s left is to insert and activate the lovely little contraptions. Off we go. Boys, put them under.” The bellhops raised blow dart guns. 

Terror prickled in Donnie’s chest. He did not want anything else to happen to him while he wasn’t cognizant enough to know. 

“Do… not drug… us again,” Donnie rasped. 

Big Mama blinked all of her eyes in surprise. “Oh really? I’d have thought you’d want to be unconscious for what comes next. Whatever the champion wishes, I suppose.” Shoot shoot shoot Donnie hadn’t thought that part through. What was with him today? Miscalculation after miscalculation. “Hold them dimbily down.” The bellhops surrounding them shoved the turtles’ shoulders down until they were flat on their backs. The varied hands of the Yokai held them securely, ensuring that neither of them could move. 

Now, for the first time since Donnie had seen the mercenary on the roof, he truly panicked. All he could see was a ceiling, far far above him, strung with cheery lights. He could smell the fresh detergent of the bellhop’s jackets. Big Mama’s carpet was mockingly soft. 

This was happening. 

This was really, actually happening. They were going to be stuck here until they died in a stupid arena, bound to Big Mama with long spikes and shining jewels. 

“Donnie!” Leo cried out, his distress evident. 

“I’m sorry,” Donnie gasped. 

“I’m sorry too. I–” but he cut off as Big Mama stood over them. Delight lit a manic fire in her features. 

The gems glittered wickedly in her hand. 

If there was anyone outside of the office who heard the twin screams of agony, the pathetic pleas, the hollow sobs, they didn’t care. 

Somewhere under New York, located far away enough to be safe but just close enough to be bittersweet, someone else sobbed too. The phone in his hands clattered to the ground. 

The orange-clad turtle sank to his knees in horror. 

Tears came, overwhelming him as he collapsed into near-hysterics. Because for fifteen glorious minutes he had felt his missing brothers’ ninpos. For fifteen shining moments, he’d known with certainty that they were alive out there. 

And now their power, those glowing beacons of hope, had been suddenly and completely snuffed out. 

Mikey screamed. 

Chapter Text

They had found Leo and Donnie’s skateboards abandoned on top of a roof. 

Raph had called them each a dozen times. Straight to voicemail. 

Mikey had called everyone they knew, April, Draxum, Cassandra, Casey, and even Todd. No one had seen them. 

That was five days ago.  

Now, Mikey was slumped over the desk in his room, trying his hardest not to cry. Between all the art supplies scattered across it (paints, markers, brushes, clay, the remnants of his origami phase) it was surprising he had enough space to lay his head down on it. Yet, there he was with his head buried in aching arms. 

They’re not dead, he told himself. Over and over again, they’re not dead they’re not dead they’re NOT dead they’re NOT DEAD THEY’RE NOT DEAD . 

Sure, he’d felt their powers shine for a few wonderful minutes, only for Leo’s to completely disappear in one shattering second. Then Donnie’s had done the same. 

And sure, now, days later, whenever Mikey tried to sense their ninpos, he was met with nothing. A void. A dark stain as unnatural as a splotch of ink across one of Mikey’s colorful paintings. 

“But that doesn’t mean they’re gone ,” Raph had told him when he had found Mikey in hysterics on the floor. “Losin’ your ninpo doesn’t mean you’re gone!” 

Mikey held fast to Raph’s words. He held to it like his only flotation device in this sea of anxiety and desperation. There wasn’t much else he could do. There wasn’t much else anyone could do at this point. After five days of searching, the only trace of the boys they’d found was their skateboards. 

There was a knock at Mikey’s door. “Family meetin’ in two minutes,” Raph informed him. 

Sighing, Mikey raised his head. He rubbed at his eyes, ensuring that there were no traces of tears. His family shouldn’t have to worry about him right now. They needed to work on Donnie and Leo. 

Mikey pushed himself up from his desk and chair. Why did everything feel so heavy? 

Upon arriving in the projector room, Mikey found Raph, Dad, and April. He froze. 

The air was thick with sorrow. All hope Mikey had dared to kindle that there would be actual news was crushed instantly. 

It was glaringly obvious that they were missing people. It all felt so wrong. Unnatural. 

It wasn’t even like Donnie spent a whole lot of them with them anymore. He was locked in his lab more often than not. But knowing that he wasn’t simply working on some project and was, in fact, not even inside the Lair made Mikey itchy under his skin. And Leo… he should be here. Perched on the arm of the couch. Cracking jokes and pulling faces. But he wasn’t. 

“Ah, Orange.” Splinter was seated in his regular chair. “We have things to discuss.” 

April walked forward and wrapped Mikey in a tight hug. “You okay?” she whispered. 

No. He wasn’t. He was exhausted to the bone, about three minutes away from a breakdown, and only just now realizing he’d forgotten to eat the entire day. But he nodded anyway. This wasn’t about him (Leo said that sometimes. Mikey never believed it when Leo said it about himself. But he felt it now). 

Raph had his arms folded tightly. He was probably just as miserable as Mikey was. Mikey wanted to say something, pull out Dr. Feelings or Dr. Positive. Make everyone feel better. But he said nothing. 

Splinter took a deep breath. “Report?” 

“Raph hasn’t found anythin’,” Raph muttered. “None of our regular bad guys have seen ‘em.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Repo, Meat Sweats, and Hypno have all been layin’ low since the inv– uh– for the past four months.” 

“And since we don’t know how much of the Foot Clan is left,” April piped up, “Casey’s been having a hard time finding any of her old contacts. But she says that ‘they’ve been laid too low to attempt such a reckless endeavor’. Her exact words, in fact. Except she yelled a lot more.” 

Mikey managed a smile at that. Casey’s enthusiasm was certainly something. 

April continued. “Our other allies aren’t finding very much either. Casey Jr. can’t track them, Todd’s found nothing in the woods, and Sunita says that she’s been keeping an eye out in the Hidden City. Still nothing.” 

Pressure filled Mikey’s chest. Desperation that grew with every word. Dead end after dead end after dead end. Stop thinking about dead things ! 

But ‘dead ends’ was all they’d found. They’d scoured the sewer tunnels, rooted out every rooftop, snuck into every store, and Mikey had even ventured into Donnie’s Lab to attempt to hack every security camera in New York. Nothing. Not a whisper. Not a single flutter of a blue bandana, nor a single reflection of a purple glowing screen. 

The most crushing dead end had been when Mikey had remembered that Donnie had trackers on all of them. He’d rushed to the lab, heart pounding at the thought of an actual lead . He’d fumbled with the computers for a bit before triumphantly managing to pull it up on a screen… only to discover that the trackers were offline. Paused right in the middle of an upgrade Mikey couldn’t hope to complete. In a fit of hopeless rage he’d punched his glowing fist right through the screen. He still squirmed with guilt over his loss of control. 

April was still talking. “... did say that there was all this buzz about two turtle fighters in the Battle Nexus–” Mikey’s head shot up, “ –but she never got a visual.” 

“I messaged Big Mama about that last night via our family email,” Dad admitted. “She said that the fighters were actually tortoises, and their names are ‘Astro and Tea-ian' or something. She doesn’t know where Blue and Purple are.” 

“And you trust her?” Raph demanded. 

“I trust that she upholds her deals.” 

Mikey’s stomach sank. He exchanged a panicked look with Raph. “You… made a deal with her?” 

“Splints,” April said slowly, “what did you do.” 

“I may have… given her permission to use the Lou Jitsu name to promote her fights in return for her helping me search for my sons’ whereabouts.” 

“ You what?! ” Raph yelled. “ Pops! ” 

“I didn’t have another choice!” Splinter insisted. “We have no other leads! It was a simple thing to sacrifice in return for information about my sons.” 

“ But you didn’t learn anythin’! ” 

“Why is it such a big deal to you, Red? It’s not like I’m using the name Lou Jitsu right now anyways.” 

“It’s not about the name,” Mikey managed at last. It was the first time he’d said anything all day. His voice trembled as he held back the traitorous tears. 

Raph crossed the room to stand next to Mikey, placing a steading hand on his shoulder. “Mike’s right. She’s gonna use that to promote her fights. People are going to think that you’re in favor of ‘em. That’s not the Lou Jitsu we know.” 

“Would you rather we let your brothers stay missing?” 

Mikey actually stepped back like he’d been slapped. 

“Of course not, Splints,” April cried. “We just– I think we’re all– you couldn’t have checked with us first?” 

“I did not want to give you false hope. I was devastated when I discovered that her new fighters were not, in fact, my missing sons. I did not want you to feel the same.” 

“Yeah, because Raph is so filled with joyous whimsy right now,” Raph scoffed. 

Splinter looked down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. His fur seemed grayer in the past few days. The lines of his face more haggard. Mikey supposed that losing half of your sons might have that effect. Splinter took a deep breath. “That is… one of the things I wished to discuss with you. We have no leads. We’re out of options. Surrounded by dead ends. And you are wearing yourselves ragged.” 

Mikey had a hunch where this was going, and he hated it. He hated it so much. 

“Michelangelo,” Splinter said, making Mikey’s head lower into his shell slightly. “When was the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?” 

The night my brothers disappeared, Mikey thought. He’d dozed off, expecting them to come home with pizza. And the next morning he’d awoken to no pizza and no twins. Since then, he and Raph had spent the days digging for leads and the nights searching around the city. Sleep took a backseat. 

Mikey had actually been avoiding sleep on purpose. Yes, Dr. Delicate Touch had flipped out at Leo and Donnie on occasion for such unhealthy acts, but Mikey didn’t care about being a hypocrite right now. 

All he cared about was the last time he’d fallen asleep, he’d lost his brothers. He was terrified of it happening again. 

He realized his dad was still waiting for an answer. 

“A bit,” he muttered. 

“And you, Raphael?” 

Raph shuffled his feet. He was only slightly less guilty than Mikey. 

“April?” 

She stared at him head on. “I think you know.” 

Splinter sighed heavily. “They would not want us to behave like this. They would not want you to be in such pain.” 

“Dad?” Raph asked. His hand, still on Mikey’s shoulder, tightened. Mikey didn’t mind. It was grounding. 

“We have many people out searching. If a clue turns up, half a dozen of our friends will likely find it. Right now, I need you three to focus on yourselves. Sleep. Eat. Do things to relax yourselves. It is not your responsibility to find–” 

Predictably, the room exploded with protests. 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Ain’t no way Raph is gonna–” 

“Dad…” 

Splinter stood up. “NO. I do not want you out there, half dead on your feet, ripe for the taking.” 

Tears welled in Mikey’s eyes. He could understand why but… but this didn’t feel right. The wear and tear of constant worry, desperation, and anguish over the last five days bubbled in Mikey’s gut. He didn’t want to spill over. Not onto his family. 

Then who? Dr. Feelings asked. 

No one, Mikey thought. They have enough to deal with. 

April was still arguing. “We can’t just sit by, dude! They’re our brothers! It hasn’t even been a week yet!” 

“And you are all my children. I will not let anyone else disappear ! I forbid it!”  

Mikey’s tears bubbled over. He let out a sob. The words were out of Mikey’s mouth before he could stop them, torn out in a yell of misery. “SO WE’RE JUST GOING TO ABANDON DONNIE AND LEO?” 

Leo never gave up on us. I’m not giving up on him . 

Everyone went quiet, turning towards him. 

“No–” Splinter began. 

“DON’T!” Mikey cried, pointing a shaking finger at his father. Heartbreak had folded into hatred, boiling through his veins. “DON’T YOU DARE. They’re MISSING and you want us to STOP LOOKING for them. There’s nothing else to it! I don’t CARE about getting sleep, I don’t CARE about ANYTHING if they’re GONE!” 

“You will not leave this Lair,” Splinter said, firm and final. 

Mikey let out a yell of rage. All week he’d found nothing, felt useless, and here he was being asked to give up . 

His spots were glowing. Raph tried to grab him, hug him, but Mikey shoved him off. 

He stomped to his room, slamming the door behind him so hard that some of his framed pictures fell off the wall, shattering on the floor. He screamed in rage. Stalking to his cluttered desk, he shoved everything off. His beloved and expertly maintained supplies crashed to the floor. 

It wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t enough because Mikey was supposed to take care of his brothers. He held them together, he held them close. He’d almost lost everything during the invasion, and again after it. His family had been slowly fracturing apart, each too wrapped up in their own trauma to be much focused on trivial things like ‘togetherness’ or ‘quality time’ for the past four whole months . And now it was breaking apart, split right in half, smashed into smithereens. 

It. Hadn’t. Even. Been. A. Week. 

Mikey’s things were swirling around him now, lit with an insane orange glow. He might have even been floating. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and wailed . 

And suddenly, he was no longer in his room. 

He was standing in an endless void. Everything was dark. And blissfully calm. He could see himself, an orange whirlwind of writhing emotions. But his cluttered room, the subway car, the whole Lair was nothing more than shadow. 

A roaring red bonfire of protective power blazed somewhere close. Raph. Mikey walked across the ‘floor’ (a hard and cold substance like black, shiny marble) towards him. 

Mikey stood there for a moment. A roiling gray stormcloud and a bursting green flower of energy hovered nearby. 

Now Mikey knew for certain where he was. Kind of. Draxum had told him about this place. A space between worlds where his family’s mystic energy seemed to reside. He knew what he had to do. 

He whirled and began walking through the darkness. He didn’t know how long he walked for, only that if he stopped, he was going to lose the faint feeling that was guiding him. At this point, Mikey was running on pure instinct. The same instinct that had told him to raise his hands, frame the sky, and bring his brother home. 

That’s what he was going to do now. Bring his brothers home. 

After an eternity of walking across a space that somehow got colder with each step, Mikey found himself where the void seemed to be blackest. 

He put his hand up, meeting a solid wall. Mystic energy pulsed through his fingertips. There was something familiar on the other side. He knew it. Still keeping contact with it, he walked around. It seemed to be a full sphere of solid darkness encasing something inside. 

Two somethings. 

Mikey put both hands against the solid absence of power. He pushed . He pushed with everything he had, all the rage and fear and pain that the past five days had brought. Neon cracks appeared on the mass of darkness. They spread up and around, burning brightly in the darkness for all of ten seconds before it all went wrong. 

The cracks Mikey had created fizzled out, dark matter closing in on them. Then the solid void at his hands softened. His hands started sinking through. 

It was dragging him in. 

“No! Stop it!” Mikey tried to break his hands free of the suddenly-gooey surface. 

He could feel it eating at his power, licking at the flames, dampening it like a fire running out of air. 

Mikey pulled with all his might. In one motion, he broke free, then toppled backwards. A split second before he could smack into the frigid floor, he gasped awake, flat on his shell in his own room. 

Raph was kneeling over him, saying words Mikey couldn’t make out. 

“–key! Mikey can you hear me? Mikey, come on, snap out of it!” 

“R-Raph?” 

Raph exhaled heavily. “Are you okay?” 

The second time someone had asked him that today when he most definitely wasn’t okay. But he nodded anyway. 

He raised a hand to clutch at his head. It was wet. Only then did he realize that his arms were burning , aching with a deep pain he hadn’t felt since– He cried out. 

“Mikey your arms ,” Raph gasped. “Stay here, big man, I gotcha.” 

Raph was gone, leaving Mikey panting on the floor. His ears rang. His head felt like it had indeed cracked against the solid floors of wherever that place was. What had just happened? Had he found them, or a trap? Or both?

For the first time, he glanced around his room. It was utterly trashed. Distantly, he realized that he should be upset about this. He should regret losing control. He didn’t. He was at his limit of overwhelming emotions for the day. All he could do was take some breaths and push it away to deal with later. 

His eldest brother returned with a first aid kit. He set it on the floor then gently, so very gently, helped Mikey sit up. He slumped against Raph’s plastron, too exhausted to hold himself up. 

“Arms?” 

Mikey held them up for inspection. They shook worse than they had in months. His geometric scars had split open into stinging currents that dripped onto his floor, and from the raw feeling up to his elbows, they had been burned. “Oh,” he said lamely. “Sorry.” 

“You didn’t mean to do it,” Raph assured him. Mikey had a feeling he was talking about more than the magic. 

“How long ago did I…?” 

“A few hours. When your cryin’ died down we hoped you were sleepin’, but then I heard you sayin’ stuff and came in.” 

“Is Dad okay?” 

“You know none of us are okay right now, Mike.” 

“You know what I mean. What I said… I didn’t… I mean I did but–” yet another sob burst out of Mikey. “I’m sorry.” 

“We know. He knows. He’s makin’ us dinner right now. Let’s get you bandaged up so you can eat it.” 

First, Raph did his best to clean the blood away with one of their many rags. Then he put aloe vera on the burned skin, trying hard to avoid getting it directly in the open rectangular cuts. Mikey bit his tongue to stop himself from hissing in pain. 

Raph was being as gentle as he possibly could be, but his hands were made for heavy lifting, smashing, strength, and big hugs. Not delicate medical work. 

Raph didn’t have clever fingers that operated with encyclopedic medical knowledge. He didn’t crack jokes while he bandaged, or give Mikey blue lollipops, or saunter around the medbay, flashing cheeky grins all the while. Raph didn’t have dexterous fingers used to picking apart intricate circuitry. He didn’t flinch at the gooey aloe vera yet apply it anyway, with monotone reassurances and purple pats on the head. 

But Raph wasn’t missing like they were. 

Raph’s ninpo was easy to find, a bonfire beacon. Not the gears that clicked into place or the zipping string of lighting that bound them together. 

Tears were still flowing down Angelo’s round cheeks as Raph finished his sloppy (but effective) bandaging. 

“Maybe it’s best that we do take it easy for a bit,” Raph whispered. “Your arms haven’t been this bad in a long time.” 

“We c-can’t just abandon them, Raphie,” Mikey choked. “They n-need us. And we need them.” 

“I know. Believe me, I know. But I don’t want to lose anyone else either. I promise that we’ll get them back, okay? I promise . Anatawa Hitorijanai. You’re not alone and neither are they. They’ve got each other.” 

“I m-miss them.” 

“We’ll get them back,” Raph repeated. “Our brothers won’t slip away from us.” 

Mikey curled up as best he could against Raph’s plastron. He just wanted to wake up and discover Donnie and Leo were back from skating, pizza in hand and grins on their faces. Real and there and not gone . 

Gone like their powers. Gone like his connection to them. Gone from the streets and their home and their lives and from the face of the whole earth. 

But I’m still here. And I’ll bring you back .

Chapter Text

Of all the words that Leo could use to describe being kidnapped, he didn’t expect “boring” to be one of them. 

Horrifying? Check (and he had a Spider Brooch stabbed into his plastron to prove it). 

Painful? Check (and he had a barbed Spider Brooch jabbed into the front of his chest to prove it). 

Terrifying? Check (and he had a Spider Brooch that cut off his connection with his family permanently shoved into his shell to prove it ). 

Miserable? Check (and he had leftover bruises, a growling stomach, and a Painful. Spider. Brooch. To prove it). 

But boring? Also check (and he had a whole room of nothing to prove it).

He and Donnie had been escorted back to their cell where they had remained for hours, or possibly days. All that the unbroken time had managed to teach him was that it was extremely painful to try to remove the brooch (which didn’t even budge), and also that their shower had surprisingly hot water. 

When their bowls of champion food were eventually pushed into the room, Leo and Donnie descended on them with vigor. 

“Do these seem smaller to you?” Leo asked after inhaling half his bowl. 

Donnie looked up from the mush. “Probably because we’ve been deprived of food for… an indeterminate number of hours, Nardo.” 

“Yeah… It just seems like a very Big Mama thing to do to feed us amounts based on how much she likes us.” 

“Are you saying we need to stay on her good side or she’s going to starve us? Why am I even asking, of course she’d do that.” Donnie scowled. “Grumble. It’s still manipulation even if we know that we’re being manipulated.” 

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. 

When the door screeched open, they both still flinched. They allowed themselves to be led by two guards through the tunnels towards the mouth-like entrance. Was this how it was going to be every time? 

Apparently not, because as the gate opened. Leo and Donnie started forward only for there to be a clink of chains. Donnie stumbled. 

“Don?” Leo turned back. 

The ‘armor’ around Donnie’s wrists suddenly looked more like shackles, especially since they were now connected to chains attached to the very spikes of the gate. 

“Uhh, what’s the big idea, fellas?” Donnie asked. 

One of the guards held out a walkie talkie that Leo recognized from when he and Pops had come to her Nexus a million years ago. Big Mama’s silky voice purred through it. 

“I’m afraid that Tyrian is going to silly sit this one out.” 

“Oh no no no, we fight together ,” Leo insisted. “That was the deal!” 

“…for… one fight, Leo. That deal was for the one fight,” Donnie realized. 

“…Shoot.” 

“He’s right, Astros. You should really work on your wimbley wording when striking deals. Don’t you know that loopty-loopholes are so easy to find? I would hate for you to be taken advantage of.” 

“I can’t do this alone!” Leo insisted, panic rising in his chest like blood. “Come on lady, let him go. We’re a package deal. Separating twins is bad showmanship, r-remember?” He couldn’t afford to have an anxiety attack right now, but here he was. Panic rose like icy water in his chest. 

Donnie’s eyes were wide. Deep breaths , he mouthed. 

“But it sure is good publicity. I’m sure you can handle this, my champion. After all, you’ve beaten these opponents before. They’ve simply asked for a rizzie little rematch.” 

“Who–” 

The announcer’s voice cut Leo off. “ You know em and love em, the messy hexad, the able apes, the gory gorillas, it’s the Evil Six!!!”  

Leo’s stomach plummeted as the six massive, purple and pink gorillas (as well as their iconic pointy helmets) lumbered into the arena. 

“Remember Astros, you wanted this ,” Big Mama trilled. 

“I can’t –” Leo began before one of the bellhops (the bear that choked Donnie yesterday) strode forward and pressed a sword into his hands. He gave Leo a hard shove in his aching chest. 

He stumbled backwards, into the arena. 

Distantly, he could hear the announcer saying something about “ Astros’s solo act ”. 

“Don’t die,” Donnie called out desperately. 

Leo gripped his sword (his flimsy, non-portal-making, unfamiliar sword) with trembling hands. 

Six on one. Not great odds. But also not the worst ones he’d ever faced. Not that he could think of any of those times right now, though. 

Before he could even say anything– a quip, a battle cry, a pun, some snarky comment that would probably do more riling up than anything else– one of the gorilla Yokai had rushed forward and swung at him. 

Leo dodged, but barely. His footwork was sloppy. 

It all went downhill after that. 

Leo didn’t manage to avoid the next punch thrown his way, and he went tumbling to the ground. Before he could scramble back up, the Evil Six had swiftly surrounded him. Blows rained down, pummeling every inch of him. Leo cried out, but the sound was lost to victorious whooping and the laughter of the crowd. 

He tried to wiggle free, crawl away, do something , but there was no time to react between the massive fists ensuring that Leo was one big bruise. 

He didn’t want his twin to see him like this. 

That was the final straw. Leo’s fingers found their way to the hilt of his pathetic sword and blindly sliced upwards with all his might. One of the Six roared as metal hit flesh with a shink . 

A beefy arm, cut neatly at the elbow, fell to the ground. 

Leo scrambled away, his stomach churning. He’d never actually– never really hurt someone seriously before. Punches, kicks, cartoony violence, maybe some gardening supplies to the face, but not– not blood. That was new. 

Eleven eyes turned to him (one of the Six wore an eyepatch), all filled with rage. 

The one currently readjusting to having one less limb roared , displaying a full mouth full of sharp teeth. His small eyes blazed with wrath. 

Leo didn’t need Dr. Feelings to sense the fury now directed his way. 

“Eughhhh boy…” 

He darted away. Where exactly he was running he didn’t know. It was a circular arena after all. Nothing but impossibly tall walls. 

It clicked. 

“Time to put a monkey wrench in your little revenge plan!” Leo said. All it took was one pun, and he felt much more control. Sure his whole body was throbbing, sure there were still six of them and one of him, sure Donnie was probably about to watch him die. But if Leo was going to meet his end via gorillas who looked like they pulled on push doors with their beefy fists, he was going to do it with style . 

Leo wanted to die as he lived: brimming with wildly fake overconfidence. 

“You guys aren’t even scary without that big ol’ kraken behind you!” Leo yelled, still running head on at the stone wall. Rad skills time , he thought. 

He put on a final burst of speed, running straight up the wall, flipping backwards, praying to Pizza Supreme in the Sky that he wasn’t about to sit on a spiked helmet. By some miracle he landed squarely on the shoulders of one of his opponents. 

Leo whooped, heartened. 

He lifted the helmet off the Yokai’s head, then slammed it back down. There was no chance that it knocked him out; his head was too thick. But the sudden blow still dazed the brute. 

Leo plucked the helmet off again, but this time he chucked it at an approaching gorilla. He went down with a spike impaled in his gut. It probably wouldn’t do much serious damage; The guy had a rock hard six-pack. 

But Leo didn’t need to do damage to win. He just needed to stay standing long enough. 

Slamming the hilt of his sword into his current mount’s head, Leo leapt off as he toppled. That was two down, but the remaining four circled him. 

“Aw, what’s with the ape -rehension? Pretend I’m a banana, that’ll motivate you.” 

Leo sure hoped that he wasn’t being horribly racist in Yokai terms… but he’d worry about that when he wasn’t still outnumbered four to one. 

Three of them beat at their hulking chests and charged. Leo darted between them, sliding, ducking, and spinning out of the way of meaty hands. He really could have used Donnie’s long-reaching bo staff right about now. Instead, Leo continued to skitter like a green grasshopper between them. 

Finally , his plan worked as two of the gorillas smacked into each other. 

As soon as they were down, Leo darted past them, his sword slithering against their feet so they couldn’t walk. He just didn’t want to be followed. They stayed down. 

Two left. And one of them only had one arm. From the look of him, he might faint from blood loss soon anyway. 

Leo pointed his sword at them. Drops of blood flicked off at the movement. “Yield.” 

The wounded one raised his arm in surrender. The other one charged. 

Leo met him head on. No more dodging, just cold, calculated blows and blocks. “You– really brought fists to a– sword fight?” Leo asked incredulously, noting the gashes of red that were appearing on the Yokai’s hands and arms. “Just yield!” 

With a final roar, the gorilla Yokai threw one final punch. Leo held up his sword to block it. 

The blade shattered on impact. 

Leo stumbled backwards, feeling shrapnel sting his skin. He was on the ground now, with the massive purple figure standing triumphantly over him. 

All that remained in Leo’s hand was a hilt. He threw it desperately. 

In a stroke of luck, irony, or maybe just a cruel joke, it smacked right into the Yokai’s face. In the single second of confusion, Leo kicked upwards, right into the center of the gorilla’s blue shorts. He toppled over. 

The crowd roared, one loud wave against his head. The announcer way saying something about Astros’s sweeping victory. ‘Astros’ was struggling to sit up. 

A hand hauled him up, roughly guiding him across the arena floor. Leo blinked, and he was suddenly next to Donnie again. Donnie himself looked pale. “You need medical attention,” he said tightly. 

“Who’s King Kong now?” Leo muttered. The world was tilting. 

“Not the time, Nardo.” 

“But I won?” It was a question. 

Leo looked down to see his hands chained like Donnie’s had been. Donnie was rubbing his wrists. “Wish me the same luck,” he said, spinning his bo staff. 

Leo tried to follow after his brother, but he ended up slumping against the wall. 

His vision was blocked by white fabric. Leo blinked, realizing that a mouse Yokai stood before him. His heart clenched in homesickness. She was fuzzy and short like his dad was. She was also dressed in a white nurse uniform. 

In silence, Leo watched as her clever fingers removed sword shrapnel and stitched up the worst of the cuts left behind. He winced and whimpered with every stitch. She had neglected to give him anything to ease the pain. 

The nurse, whom Leo had already dubbed ‘Doctor Mouse’ in his head, displayed absolutely no emotion as she worked. It was unsettling the way she evidently viewed him as just another thing to fix, nothing else. 

She dabbed liquids from strange bottles here and there, but still, nothing to diminish the pain that radiated from seemingly everywhere. 

When she was done securing the red bandages (interesting choice of color), she snapped up her kit and walked away without another word. 

Everything still hurt, but apparently Leo wouldn’t bleed to death now. 

And it was good to know that medical attention would be provided, however minimal. Leo and Donnie would not die after a fight, only during one. 

Wait. Donnie. 

Leo’s head snapped up. He’d completely forgotten that his brother was locked in a fight with– was that some sort of elk Yokai? Whatever it was, it had massive antlers that Donnie was currently fighting off with his stick. 

Slowly, painstakingly, using the wall as support, Leo got to his feet. 

Donnie moved fast, avoiding the swipes. Leo could see a gash on his cheek from when he hadn’t been so fast. 

With every move that Donnie only barely managed to avoid, Leo’s stomach squeezed tighter. Was this how Donnie had felt when watching Leo fight? It was awful. He didn’t want to see his brother get gored by a deer. 

Deer me, what an awful thought , Leo’s stressed brain said. He hated it. 

Leo wanted to look away. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of his twin. 

Donnie’s bo staff was locked in the elk’s antlers and Donnie was using his momentum to make it back up. The Yokai struggled, and the sharp tips of his horns dug into Donnie’s arms. 

Donnie’s yell of fury and desperation reverberated around the arena as he yanked his staff free. He dropped to the ground, sliding underneath the hooves and slender legs of the Yokai. 

Crack . 

Even Leo winced at the sound of Donnie’s weapon breaking a leg. 

The elk bellowed in pain. Leo saw Donnie’s eyes widen at the miscalculation of his positioning, right before he was obscured by a flurry of hooves. 

Leo took an unconscious step forward, rattling the chains as he heard his brother’s cries of fear and pain over the snorts and general chaos. “Dee!” He was going to get trampled to death . 

Crack. Donnie screamed . 

Snap . Another bellow. 

This time, Donnie rolled out of the way before he could get stomped on again. His staff was gone, he clutched his chest, and he was unsteady on his feet. 

But at that point it didn’t matter anymore: the elk Yokai had dropped to the ground, unable to stand on only two working legs. It was almost impossible to hear over the declaration of victory and immediate wall of noise from the spectators, but Leo thought he could read Donnie’s lips enough to see him say, “And that’s why I’m a biped!” 

Leo laughed. His first real laugh in days. 

Donnie limped back over to where Leo was still chained. “That was awesome, Donton!” 

His twin managed a wincing smile. Only then did Leo’s eyes drop to take in the full scope of Donnie’s injuries. Hoof-shaped bruises decorating his legs and arms. Cuts up his arms. Blood oozed in between the fingers holding his plastron, just below his chest but above his stomach. Under his hand–

“Don–” 

“Don’t.” Donnie winced. “I know it’s bad. Groan…” 

‘Bad’ didn’t really cover it. 

Donnie’s plastron was cracked. 

A dark, jagged line just longer than Leo’s hand. 

“Donnie you–” Donnie’s knees buckled. Leo rushed forward, only for his chains to stop him from taking another step. “Donnie!” He tugged, feeling metal bite into his skin. 

Doctor Mouse seemed to be there in an instant. She looked Donnie over without so much as a grimace or a bat of her eye. She snapped her fingers and three more identical Yokai in identical outfits appeared by her side in seconds. 

They hefted Donnie between them and began to march him away. 

“Hey! Hey where are you taking him? Donnie! Donnie !” 

“Leo? What’s going on? What’s happening?!” 

But Leo didn’t have time to answer before Donnie was out of sight. Leo leapt to his feet. “We have to follow them.” 

The bellhops still surrounding him unlocked the chains, but they did not take him to Donnie. Instead, they had to drag him back to his room. He fought and yelled until his throat hurt, but their iron grips kept him from going far. 

Leo was tossed back into his pink room– cell. His cell. Their cell. His and Donnie’s cell. 

Donnie would be fine. Doctor Mouse didn’t seem to have any ill intentions. She also didn’t seem to have any intentions. Leo shuddered. For the first time since he could remember, he couldn’t read someone. Which was bad, because that someone might be the one responsible for his and Donnie’s survival. 

Leo was going to drive himself crazy if he kept panicking over his twin. He paced the small cell, trying to get his breathing back under control. He sat under the shower for a bit, letting the stream of water wash away the blood that had gushed onto him after severing the gorilla’s arm. He felt sick. But also still a bit hungry, like the champion food he had eaten before the fight hadn’t been nearly enough. 

Time in this place was weird. He didn’t know how long he waited for Donnie to come back. One hour or dozens, Leo didn’t know. At some point he had dozed off on top of his covers. 

The thick metal door screeched open and Leo lifted his head in time to see Donnie stumble in. 

He was up in seconds. 

“Donnie!” Leo rushed forward, his head spinning from standing too fast. “Dee are you– how do you feel?” 

Donnie was staring at his feet. “Suboptimal.” 

Leo let his eyes rove over his other half. Donnie’s bruises had faded significantly, and his hands had red bandages just like Leo did. There was also a significant amount of red fabric wrapped around Donnie’s torso. Leo remembered the thick bandages that had practically cocooned Donnie’s back after the invasion. But those had been white. He wasn’t a fan of the red ones. 

They weren’t the striking red of Leo’s markings, nor the strong red associated with Raph. They were like blood: dark and not meant to be all over the skin. 

“Your plastron?” Leo gently grabbed Donnie’s hands and led him to his bed, watching as he sank onto the deceptively firm mattress. 

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut. “I had to walk her through what to do. I know how to treat shells because– because of–” 

Leo remembered. He remembered waking up after the invasion with his back seemingly replaced with a porcupine. The way his shell had stung had made it hard to articulate just how much it hurt . Everything hurt. Still, Leo had been lucky. Yes, his shell had been cracked, but not severely. Thin hairline cracks. Nothing like Donnie’s current plastron. Nothing wet and dark and so very gaping. 

Leo squeezed Donnie’s hand. A simple I’m here . 

“We’re in over our heads,” Donnie whispered. 

“I know. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

“Maybe now is a good time to be grateful Draxum designed us for world domination,” Donnie sighed. 

“Huh?” Leo was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. And also confused by Donnie’s statement. Though Donnie was just trying to distract himself, Leo knew that. 

“I was also grateful for that fact after the invasion. We heal extraordinarily quickly, Leon. And somehow, after four months of neglecting to train, we still possess those ‘rad skills’ you’re always squawking about.” 

“Made for battle,” Leo murmured. “You know Big Mama’s going to take advantage of that, right?” 

“Scoff, Big Mama would take advantage of a mild peanut allergy.” 

Leo grinned. The snark had returned. “There you are.” 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing. We should get some rest. I have literally no idea what tomorrow holds.” Leo slid off of Donnie’s bed and over to his own. 

“I’ll hazard a guess and say: fighting. Pain. Waiting for hours with nothing to do. Something like that,” Donnie drawled, even as he gingerly maneuvered under his covers, wincing with every movement. “Goodnight, Nardo.” 

“Goodnight Donton.”

Chapter Text

For as long as he could remember, Donnie needed to know everything .

When he was but a young turtle tot, he’d absorbed all the knowledge he could from the tattered old books his dad managed to find. Donnie memorized the dictionary and thesaurus, learned about all manner of cycles (water cycle, rock cycle, life cycle), and read a book about why Jack the Rabbit never trusts a snake. 

Donnie didn’t like that one because Snake had been hungry, so he’d used his wit to trick Jack. It was a smart plan, and if Donnie were hungry, he would have done it too. He convinced his brothers to help him steal food from the top shelves all the time, how was this any different? Yet Snake was the bad guy. 

Donnie didn’t want to be the bad guy. 

After soaking up knowledge, he’d teach his findings to his rather illiterate brothers. Usually they didn’t listen. Except for Leo. Leo always listened. 

Leo had always sat forward attentively, hanging onto every word his twin said while Raph fussed over the even fussier Mikey. 

When ragged books were no longer enough, Donnie moved on to obtaining them from libraries. Those magical halls of learning contained the sum knowledge of entire civilizations! Donnie devoured entire sections in mere days. He liked the science ones especially. Those books taught him about machines, electricity, molecules, and even actual turtles!

Leo was devastated when Donnie gravely informed him that the two of them were, in fact, different species of turtle. 

“But we can still be twins, right?” Leo had cried desperately. “Jus’ pecause I’m a slider and you’re a softshell doesn’ mean tha’ we’re not twins, right??” Donnie hadn’t answered. He didn’t want to disagree with science, but he didn’t want to disappoint his twi– his brother . He never actually gave a clear answer until over ten years later, in the week following the invasion. 

(Donnie had clutched Leo’s bandaged body to him in the biggest hug he’d ever given. Through tears he’d choked out how devastated , how torn apart , how alone he’d felt the moment the portal closed. He’d threatened Leo to never do something like it ever again. He didn’t care that Leo had gotten that talk five times already from the rest of their family. The dumb dumb needed to hear it from his twin . 

At that, Leo had beamed– his first smile since they’d gotten back to the Lair. Donnie hadn’t been able to deny their patented Twin SenseTM any longer and that had been that.) 

The reason Donnie had been in denial for so long was because he liked being accurate. He liked data. He liked knowing things. 

But here in the Battle Nexus Donnie knew nothing . 

He didn’t know how long it had been. With no clocks and no consistent schedule, it was impossible to tell time. 

He didn’t know how long he and Leo slept for each day (but he knew it wasn’t consistent and it sure wasn’t enough). 

He didn’t know exactly when their next meal was (all he knew was that his stomach panged with hollow grumbles). 

He didn’t know if they’d be fighting that night. Sometimes they were simply left alone in their room for (what he assumed were) days.  

He didn’t know if they’d be fighting together, or Leo first, or only Donnie. He didn’t know if he was going to be forced to do multiple fights ( that one had been a shock. He’d stumbled out of the arena nursing a clearly sprained wrist, only to be shoved right back in to face another opponent ). 

He didn’t know if he’d receive medical treatment for his wounds. 

He didn’t know if he’d be taken away by the mice doctors to that horrible white room where they’d stitched him up. Some days red bandages were slapped on his scrapes, other times he was sent back to his room with blood still flowing from his chin down his front. ( Leo had had to treat that one with nothing but some towels ). 

He didn’t know how long it had been. He’d tried to keep track of how many fights he and Leo had each done, but accounting for multiple fights in a day, the lack of fights every single day, and the way that the battles themselves were all blurring together, he just didn’t know anymore. Donnie could guess that they’d been missing for at least two weeks, at most a month. But again, He. Didn’t. Know. 

Donnie didn’t even know what the fights themselves would be like. 

Thus far, there were only three constants in the battle arena. 

1) Leo and Donnie hadn’t had any repeat opponents. Donnie was beginning to be skeptical of Big Mama’s whole “pickings are slim” speech that she had given back in her office. It seemed like she had plenty of people willing to compete for her. 

2) Leo and Donnie hadn’t killed anyone. They refused point blank. Knock unconscious, exhaust, injure, yes. Taking a life, no. Absolutely not. As of yet, at least. 

And 3) Leo and Donnie had yet to lose. There had been near misses, too many close calls to count, and ties that had only been won out of sheer desperation. 

But other than that, the arena was a toss up. Weapons. No weapons. Only their opponents had weapons. Sold out seating. Half empty. Huge opponents. Multiple opponents. Multiple huge opponents. A flock of seagulls that almost took Leo’s eye out. Mystic opponents. Yokai. Bloodthirsty. Terrified. Major injuries. Only a few scratches. It didn’t matter because Every. Single. Fight. Was. Different. 

There was no control fight for Donnie to compare the changes to. Multiple variables were different every time. There was no hypothesis to make. No solid data to collect. The only physical data that Donnie could possibly collect was already patchworking across his scales. A cross stitch of violence that would scar if he managed to live that long. 

Leo bore it too. Gashes and bruises so purple they looked like Donnie’s markings. 

Donnie couldn’t even name where every injury had come from. Some of them had already disappeared, too. 

The medical mice applied some sort of mystic cream that accelerated the healing process of most injuries. Donnie’s shattered ankle (from a hammer-wielding ogre of some sort) had healed overnight, but it still throbbed when he ran. The same happened with Leo’s dislocated shoulder (from a cheetah Yokai that left bite marks up and down Leo’s right arm). 

But honestly, the worst unknown wasn’t when food was coming, or who was fighting, or how impossible their opponent would be. 

The worst unknown was how much longer they could keep this up. 

Every time Donnie woke up, he didn’t know if he had the resolve to sit up, let alone get out of bed. He didn’t know if he could take another day of hunger. He didn’t know if he could fight. Or if he could survive. He didn’t know if Leo would survive. He didn’t know what he’d do without him. Donnie had faced his loss of his twin before and never wanted to do that again. If he lost Leo… Donnie wasn’t sure if he could continue to fight. He just didn’t know. 

And Donnie had plenty of time to think about all the unknowns. There was absolutely nothing to do in their cell. 

He could pace, stand under the shower, attempt to sleep, pace some more, pick apart a towel thread by thread... aaaand that's about it. 

He sat on his bed, picking at red bandages around his stinging throat. A witch with a flaming whip (how was that fair?!) had almost taken Donnie’s head off before he’d bitten down on her hand until it snapped. 

It was ironic how bored he was. He needed to be useful. His hands needed something to do. A project to work on, a machine to take apart, a control panel to rewire, something something something anything at all. Oh how he missed his darling projects. 

His battleshell was out of the question, of course. It had taken quite a beating and he had nothing to repair it with. At this point, it would be entirely on brand for it to simply crack apart during the middle of a match. 

And he couldn’t afford that. 

When Donnie was a kid, he’d realized that his shell was much more… fragile than his brothers’. After a particularly traumatizing accident involving Raph’s spikey shell and Donnie’s soft one, he’d developed a near paralyzing fear of something happening to him through his shell. 

Leo would often find him huddled in a corner with his back pressed against the wall. The spunky little slider would always babble to him (or sometimes just squeeze his hand) until he felt better. 

With time (and many battleshell prototypes) Donnie had grown out of the fear. There had been times when it had flared up again: when Shredder slashed through his battleshell with sickening ease, or after the invasion when he’d had to face the fact that the deep grooves in his shell may never fully heal. Still, Donnie’s unease had been getting better . 

But now, here in a battle arena where medical help was minimal at best and every single Yokai inside of it (except for one) would have relished the chance to see his shell ripped open, Donnie’s old fear was back in force. 

He hardly took the battleshell off anymore. When he did, it was to shower or to sleep. Sometimes, not even then. But the battleshell was not designed to be worn for days on end. Bruises blossomed around his shoulders and neck, and Dee’s back was killing him. 

But he’d take the pain over the panic that rose like water whenever the air of the pink cell hit his leathery shell. 

So yeah, tinkering with the shell was completely out of the question. Even if it was missing a chunk, covered in scratches, and littered with dents. The scuffs were merely proof that it was effective. Donnie had to trust that his own engineering would hold up. 

That didn’t solve the problem of him having nothing to do . He could pace again, and give Leo the chance to rub at his agonizing knee when he thought Donnie couldn’t see him. He could sit under the shower and whisper “I’m an aquatic turtle I’m an aquatic turtle I’m an aquatic turtle I’m an aquatic–” over and over. He could recite pi until he cried. 

Instead, he picked at the bandages, letting his mind spiral as he thought of all the things he didn’t know–  

“ ‘Stardate, 4.7243, Zednesday ’,” Leo said matter of factly. 

Donnie raised a smudged eyebrow (they were fading, poor things). Had Leo gone crazy so soon? Disappointing. 

“‘ I Jupiter Jim have come to a decision. After my rousing defeat of the Zorkcack Aliens of Planet Zorksnack, I’ve decided that it’s time…for a vacation. ’” Leo stared at Donnie expectantly. 

Gratitude exploded in Donnie’s chest at the realization of what Leo was quoting. There was one source of entertainment left, and Leo had found it. Their family didn’t have encyclopedic knowledge of every Jupiter Jim movie, TV episode, popsicle commercial, comic book, and inspiring alien-cat poster for nothing. 

“‘And I know the perfect place for a space hero to spend a few days recharging.’” Donnie quoted, flatly. He didn’t have the energy to put any expression into his words right now. But he said them anyway. 

“‘ Red Fox, set a course to Pluto! ’” Leo slid off his bed with a wince and came to sit next to Donnie, leaning back against the wall with him. 

Donnie would have rested his head against Leo’s shoulder, but he didn’t want to reinjure Leo’s recently dislocated joint. “‘Setting course now, Captain. Leaping lightyears, I just realized that while you’re gone, I can enjoy a vacation of my own.’” 

“‘ Brilliant idea, Red Fox! I look forward to my time on Pluto. I could go for a cold drink with lots of ice! ’” 

And so it went. 

Leo and Donnie quoted ‘Jupiter Jim’s Pluto Vacation IV’ back and forth. Donnie softly sang the musical numbers while Leo beatboxed. 

Don only had to correct Leon a few times on forgotten lines. He was actually surprised that Leo remembered so much, considering that ‘Pluto Vacation IV’ was Donnie’s favorite JJ movie and Leo usually got distracted when Raph fell asleep and broke things with his face. …Donnie would have given anything for a movie night with his family right then. But a screen-less movie night with Leo was enough, because…  

For the first time in weeks, they were laughing . 

It felt so normal to just be sitting there, talking about Jupiter Jim, comparing trivia and quoting the iconic lines. Throbbing pains almost completely faded away as the familiar words washed over them. 

Almost. 

Comparatively, their fight that night went a little better than the others. Leo said that Kraken’s name was Tom, and that he’d fought it with Pops. 

Tom apparently remembered Leo as well, and had scars on each of his pointy tentacles to prove it. He also had a raging desire for revenge. Leo made the smallest of slip ups (tripping over a bit of uneven rock) and Tom seized his opportunity. 

A tentacle looped around the unbalanced Leo’s ankle, whipping him around, slamming him into the ground repeatedly with sickening crunches each time. Luckily. Donnie was there to snatch up a discarded sword, swoop in, and sever the tentacle. 

Kraken Tom screeched in rage. Leo fell to the ground with a whump . The hacked-off tentacle kept writhing, but Leo didn’t move. 

He didn’t move when Donnie screamed his name. 

Or when the Kraken reached for him again. 

Donnie dashed forward, dodging a swipe. With a sword in one hand and his staff in the other, he stood over Leo’s immobile form, brandishing his weapons. 

“Don’t you dare ,” he snarled, eyes completely white. 

He stayed there, defending against lashes and blows. It didn’t matter what happened to him anymore. Nothing was going to touch his twin. Not while Donatello still breathed. 

In the end, Donnie managed to wedge his bo staff between Kraken Tom’s long, sharp teeth, propping his mouth open. Then he scrambled up its large face and slashed at its gigantic red eye. Kraken Tom roared in agony, flailing and rolling across the arena. 

Only when the fight was declared won did Donnie drop to his knees next to Leo. He shook his shoulder. 

“Leon! Hey, hey Nardo! Wake up, wake up, no no no no–” 

Leo’s eyes slid open. He moaned in pain and curled into a ball. 

Doctor Mouse was there in a second, inspecting him. She flipped Leo over, not caring that he cried out. Upon seeing Leo’s shell, Donnie’s stomach plummeted. 

He knew Leo’s shell as well as his own. Exact coloring, the patterns, the shape and curve and feel. Donnie knew every inch of Leo’s shell. It’s what he’d modeled his very first battleshell after, after all. 

Donnie and his brothers had pulled Leo out of the Prison Dimension to discover a dark spider web of cracks across his shell. Leo himself had walked Donnie and Draxum through his treatment, instructing him how to best help the fractures heal and avoid infection. Still, despite the new hairline fissures, Donnie knew Leo’s shell. 

So of course, one glance at Leo’s shell and he could immediately tell that the old web of cracks had expanded.  

Donnie choked on his breath. It– those– the fractures had taken months to be stable. And now– they didn’t have time for Leo to take it easy. Donnie’s hand went to the dark crack in his own plastron. He’d learned the hard way that accelerated healing apparently didn’t apply to shells. 

“Please–” Donnie began, but didn’t know where the sentence was going. Help him? Save him? Get us out of this living hell? 

But it was too late. The Doctor Mouse was already gone, and she’d taken Leo with her. 

Donnie forced himself to his feet. He glared at the box where Big Mama was smirking down at him. This was all her fault. His hands shook all the way back to the pink room. With anger, fear, or exhaustion, he didn’t know (didn’t know, didn’t know, didn’t know anything at all ). 

He didn’t immediately collapse in an exhausted pile like he wanted to. He stayed up, waiting for Leo. It took hours (?) for him to return. 

Donnie paced, as he usually did. But his brain was whirring. He was running over their fights in his head. Their injuries, their opponents, their growing list of near-death experiences. Slowly, a solution was making itself known, carving itself out of their broken bones, shaped out of blood that splattered over a rocky arena floor. 

He thought of Jack the Rabbit, the book from his childhood. He thought of the way Snake had done what he needed to do to eat. To survive. Even if it made him the bad guy of the story. 

He hated it. But he knew what needed to be done. 

Leo returned, collapsing face down on his bed. He was shaking. Donnie sat next to him, stroking his head in a comforting manner. When Leo had evidently collected himself he whispered, “Did we win?” 

“Narrowly,” Donnie replied. 

“Undefeated, baby.” Leo’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Thanks.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“No.” 

“Understandable. Neither am I.” 

Silence filled the room. The thoughts that had been bouncing around Donnie’s head were slotting into place. Trying to form into words. He’d never been good with delicate things like this. But it needed to be said. “Leon.” 

“Hm?” 

“We can’t keep going on like this.” 

“No duh, Dee. You really are a genius.” 

It stung more than usual because Donnie had never felt less like a genius. “No. I mean… our fighting. We fight too much like, well, like Leonardo and Donatello.” 

Leo raised his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? We fight like how we learned to fight, there’s really not much we can do about that, hermano .” 

Donnie took a deep breath. “That’s our issue. We were trained to fight with honor. Show mercy. We go easy on our opponents and somehow expect them to do the same for us. What I’m saying is… we need to stop fighting like Leo and Donnie and start fighting more like Astros and Tyrian.” 

Leo hesitated. “Those– those are just names, Don.” 

“No. They’re battle personas. Ruthless warriors who are currently undefeated. We need to step into that. Play the part instead of fighting against it. We need to embrace the ruthless Battle Nexus Champions that Big Mama wants us to be.” 

“I’m not going to kill anyone, Donnie. Big Mama can’t make me do that.” 

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want to take any lives either. But we could stand to be a little more violent. Perhaps fight more like we want to win, not just survive.” 

Leo was silent. “…We are still alive, though. We– Leo and Donnie– we’re still alive.” 

“He said while in agony from a cracked carapace.” 

“Aha, I see your point. But Don… I don’t want to be this clever little warrior that Big Mama is banking on. And I know you don’t either.” 

“Correct. I don’t. I hate it. I hate being put in these positions. But I hate seeing you be in mortal peril every single day significantly more. I won today because I was angry. And desperate. Not just to live, but to protect you , Leon. Can you just… think about it?” 

Donnie continued to stroke Leo’s head. He wanted to scratch his shell, but with the recently reopened cracks that was probably a painful and counterproductive activity. 

Leo sighed. “In the arena, I’m Astros. The moment the fight ends, I’m Leon.” 

“I won’t be Tyrian for long, I promise.” Donnie meant it. He just hoped that with everything blurring together (the fights, their life before , hours and hours and days), the lines between Tyrian and Donatello wouldn’t blur either. 

Leo was evidently thinking the same thing, because he whispered: “I don’t want to lose myself, Donnie.” 

Neither did Donnie. “I don’t want to lose you , Leo.”  

“I’ll think about it,” Leo agreed. 

Donnie knew that that was his way of accepting the strategy. Astros and Tyrian it would be. “Get some sleep. I have literally no idea what tomorrow is going to be like.” 

Leo shifted to look up at his brother. “I bet you hate that.” 

“You know me so well. That’s not sarcasm, by the way.” Donnie meant it. 

“I know. I know you better than anyone else, twinnie–"

"Scoff."

"But I don’t know Tyrian. And that’s what worries me.” 

Chapter Text

“You’d think… that after all the fights we’ve had… the opponents… would start to feel easier,” Leo panted, leaning against the arena gate next to which Donnie was chained. 

“It’s due to our publicity,” Donnie said matter of factly. “We have yet to lose; it’s attracting warriors from near and far who are certain that they can beat us. Our prowess may have improved, but the matches themselves are increasing in difficulty.” 

“Yeah, it’s probably because Big Mama’s started saying that our fights are ‘Lou Jitsu Approved’. Bigger and tougher dudes wanna get in on this action.” 

“I literally just said that. How did she even acquire the rights to the name Lou Jitsu, anyway? Unless Papa sold it to her, then the way she’s been using his name for publicity is illegal.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Leo huffed. 

He rubbed at his knee. Shockingly, he missed his knee brace. It was itchy and uncomfortable, but so very needed. He wasn’t sure he could walk another step after the strain on his knee combined with the blow took in his last match against a goat Yokai. She’d really liked to kick. 

He never thought he’d miss ol’ Draxum but dang, seeing that goat made him homesick for the sheepman. He’d never ever admit that though. Yes, Draxum was one of the only reasons Leo had pulled through after the invasion, and yes, father figure he was becoming but… admitting that Leo missed the warring warrior scientist might have been a step too far. Maybe. Though he had to admit, without the way the alchemist had modified them for war specifically, he and Donnie probably wouldn’t have lasted as long as they had. He didn’t know if he should feel grateful. 

“Astros,” one of the bellhops grunted. “You’re back in.” 

“Aw come on,” Leo groaned. “I just went. Can’t I be done? I’ll take a raincheck, come back later, you know?” 

They shoved him in. 

He sighed, putting Leo away and pulling out Astros. He and Donnie Tyrian had been working on being their battle names in the arena for the last couple weeks. Leo hated to admit it, but Astros got less injured than Leo did. He also caused a lot more injuries. Astros was more aggressive, but at least he was rarely on the defensive anymore. 

Let’s do this. In and out. Ignore the knee, it’s fine. 

Out of the other entrance, a long, scaly figure slithered towards him. 

His stomach dropped. 

When Leo was a kid, he had come face to face with a small garter snake that had found its way into the sewers. A lost pet, probably. It was a little thing, barely longer than a foot. But Leo had taken one look at the pale yellow and brown stripes and screamed until his dad had come running. Leo remembered being scooped up, taken away, deposited in Raph’s big arms, and then later told that the snake had been taken care of. 

That day, something primal inside of him had told him to run , hide, get away . But Leo had been frozen in place even as panic overwhelmed him. 

Donnie had patted him firmly on the head and explained that garter snakes sometimes ate turtles. He told Leo that it was perfectly natural to be afraid of snakes, especially since he was a turtle. Something about “instinks”. He told Leo that he was very brave facing one down. 

But Leo hadn’t felt brave. 

He’d been scared to walk around the sewers for months. Every cord and cable and crack and shadow looked like a snake coming to gobble him up. He had nightmares about hissing and fangs and poison (“actually, fangs are venomous,” Donnie corrected when Leo came crying to him after a nightmare). 

But then, he turned eight. Being eight meant he was big now. He was older and shouldn’t be afraid of things. Like Raph. 

Leo forced himself to face his fear. He read books about snakes, watched movies with snakes, and even let Donnie tell him horrifying facts about snakes. He hated every minute of it. It did not make him less afraid at all. Now, eight-year-old Leo had a fear of snakes and an obsessive knowledge of them. 

Eventually, he grew out of his fear. He still squirmed at nature documentaries and stuck close to Raph at the Reptile House at the zoo, but he no longer cried over the thought of being slowly swallowed whole and digested in a slithering belly. 

Snakes made him uncomfortable, that was all. He had bigger things to worry about than a childhood fear . 

But now his childhood fear had emerged from the shadows of his nightmares.  

This is Leo’s fear, not Astros’s. I’m Astros right now, not Leo, not Leo–  

From the waist down, she was all tail. The thick, crushing thing trailed nearly a dozen feet behind her. Her scales were the dark, almost-black color of gum that’s been on the sidewalk for too long, with even darker crossbands, and a dirty yellow underbelly. 

From the waist up, she wore a ragged black cloak. Her long neck and dappled triangular head rose from the ragged collar. Even from across the arena, Astros could see red, slitted eyes. 

They bore into him, freezing him to the spot. 

Curse Leo’s ability to recognize any species of snake. She didn’t even need to open her mouth for him to know that she was a cottonmouth. 

Astros spun his swords, trying to analyze weak points. But he couldn’t hone in on anything. Almost every other opponent he had faced possessed scars of some kind, but not her. There was not a mark upon her scales. Usually, that spoke of inexperience. But Astros’s gut told him that her lack of scars testified of her speed. 

“ FIGHT! ” 

She slithered toward him, swaying. Leisurely. Grinning. 

Astros approached with caution. As the gap between them closed, he took in more and more of her terrifying form. She carried no weapon but possessed long boney hands adorned with jagged claws . 

They circled each other. Astros with caution, and the cottonmouth with rapture. 

When she spoke, the inside of her mouth was white, confirming to Astros exactly what she was. “ I am called Viper ,” she hissed in a low raspy voice. 

Introductions? That was new. “Astros.” 

“ I have vanquished many in the hopes of facing you, blue one. ” 

“Oh? Well then have at it. Let’s see what you’ve got, Viper.” His heart pounded in his chest. She was a natural predator. His natural predator. And he was seven again, facing down a snake. Only this time, there was no one to swoop in to save him. 

She grinned. Astros could see fangs glinting in the arena lights. 

Viper lunged with such speed that Astros could barely dodge in time. He ducked her vicious swipe, but not enough. Sharp claws glanced off the back of his barely-healed shell. Pain rippled through his back. 

He wanted to say something witty, like, “Well that wasn’t very nice,” but his breath caught in his throat. 

The shhhhhhhhhhhh of her scales against the stone set his teeth on edge. 

She lunged again, and this time Astros wasn’t so lucky. Four parallel gashes opened up on his arm where her claws had swiped him. 

Astros swung, trying to get a hit in. To his horror, her scaly hand came up to meet his sword. She grabbed it mid swing and used the momentum to yank it from his hands. Instead of keeping it or wielding it against him, she threw it across the arena. 

Before Astros could even blink, she’d pivoted and lunged at him again. She snapped her mouth closed in the now-empty space where his hand had been only a moment before, smirking. 

She was toying with him. 

As the fight wore on, Astros’s consternation did not abate as it usually would in a seemingly impossible match. Astros’s cunning battle persona was nothing, nothing to this snake woman’s. She was composed of ice and twice as cold. Fear was shaking Astros apart and Leo was terrified. 

Viper moved like liquid around him. 

Like venom itself. 

With demonic speed, she twisted around him. Circling and circling and circling. Staying just out of sword range, but close enough that she could dart in to deal damage. Not a single one of Le– Astros’s attempted hits landed. 

He knew that with her speed, she could have ended this fight already. But she hadn’t. She was playing. 

Hunting. 

Hunting… him . 

Cottonmouths routinely ate red-eared sliders. Leo had researched it. Was this why she was so eager to fight him? To have dinner and a show here in this prison of pain? 

The thought made him want to scramble away, right into Donnie’s arms. He was no Raph, yet his arms were just as safe. Especially here. But Astros had a feeling that if he ran, she would pounce. And he would die. 

Astros was tiring. He didn’t know how long the fight had gone on, but he did know that he was covered in nicks and scratches. His hands numbed around his one remaining sword. Viper was going to finish the fight any time now. With each snap at his neck, the image of her locking her jaw around his throat and clamping down got clearer and clearer. Each of her strikes could have been his last. Astros was exhausted from evading her but pure adrenaline kept him standing. He needed to catch his breath, but scratch after scrape after swipe just made him want to lay down. 

Unfortunately, the turtle got his wish. 

Viper whirled around. Her thick tail met the back of his legs. Astros’s weak knee buckled but it was Leo who fell to the ground, petrified. 

His shell smarted, but that was the least of his worries. 

Viper loomed over him, grinning triumphantly. 

In a flash of scales, she had slithered on top of him , coils pinning his knees and chest down. The pressure instantly took him back– back to the Krang– but this, somehow, seemed worse. The spikes of the Spider Brooch dug even deeper into his chest. 

The cottonmouth’s hand shot out, slamming his skull to the ground. He cried out, lights popping in front of his eyes. For having such bony hands, she was incredibly strong. Her sandpaper grip held past, keeping Leo’s head from twisting away. 

Her other hand hovered close– too close, too close – to his eyeball. 

Leo’s white protective eyelid was down, but against the claws they would do nothing. He thought of Raph, how the vision in his right eye was deteriorating. Maybe Leo would match him. Maybe Leo wouldn’t ever see him again, either. 

Leo made to raise his remaining sword, but Viper leaned in until she and Leo were sharing breath. He could smell raw meat. Blood. Rot. 

“ I would think about what would happen if you stabbed me, little blue. ” She tapped her claw against his eye. He flinched, but her iron grip was unrelenting. 

“ Drop it .” 

His fingers loosened around the hilt. Viper’s tail flicked it away. Leo could hear it skitter across the rock. 

There Leo laid. Trapped. Utterly alone. Pinned to the earth under rough scales that cut into his legs. He was going to die here. There was no escape, no rescue, nothing to call off the fight. 

“ I could pluck out your eyeballs right now, little blue ,” she cooed. 

Leo couldn’t breathe anymore. Whether from the terror or pain or the snake flattening his lungs, he couldn’t be sure. 

“ I could gouge them out and ssslurp them up. Watch you crawl back to your brother, crying tears of blood. You’d never see the look of horror on his face. ” 

At least in the prison dimension, he’d thought the last thing he’d see would be his family. Or at least the picture of them. Not this. Not merciless crimson eyes that shone with delight. 

“But no, little blue. I want you to look into my face. Remember this moment. ” 

With her free hand, the one not pressing Leo’s head into the stone, she slid a finger beneath his blue mask. 

“No…” Leo croaked, but he couldn’t even struggle. He needed that bandana.

Viper ignored him. She peeled the blue fabric off his face easily. Gracefully, almost. She tucked his mask, like a token, into the folds of her black cloak. 

A cloak like the Grim Reaper’s. 

Her sickening breath hit Leo’s bare face. He felt naked. Exposed. Empty. Like a crucial part of himself had been ripped away. 

Her forked tongue snaked out of her mouth, flicking at his face. “ Your fear is deliciousss. The fear of children is always more sweet, little turtle. And look at you. A scared, shaking child. How did you wind up in a hell like this? Such suffering you have endured… Or so you thought. I will show you what sssuffering truly means. ” 

This was it. She was going to eat him. Rip apart his body piece by piece. Digest him slowly. 

“ Hold still now, I want this to be clean. ”

What? 

Her grip on his head tightened. The claws of her other hand glinted wickedly. She stooped low, pressing a talon to the side of his head. Leo knew that spot. It was where his curved red stripes started. 

“Such pretty markings. Wonderful guidelines, too.” 

And before Leo could breathe, she jabbed her claw into the side of his face and slowly sliced . 

Her steady hand cut into the outline of the marking, the edge on the inside of his face. She traced her way down the side of his head, through his forehead with practiced precision. She didn’t stop the slow slicing until her finger rested above where the red crossed over Leo’s eye. 

Leo met her slitted scarlet eyes. She stared back, elated. 

“ Beg .” 

Humiliation was the last thing on Leo’s mind. He couldn’t let her dig into his eye sockets. He was too scared to face a loss of vision. Not like Raph. Raph had always been so brave. Leo could never be like him. 

“…p-please…” he wheezed.  

The claw lifted, only to resume its carving directly beneath his Leo’s, curving down and away from his features. 

It was agony, as half of Leo’s face was slowly split open. 

As Viper worked, she spoke. “ I’ve watched you fight, baby blue. Cheeky,” she cut deeper , “arrogant,” deeper, “grinning little pest, ” deeper. 

You wretched little pest . The red eye of the Krang was a traffic light compared to her. 

“ You’ve never lost, have you? You will lose now. You have already lost. ” 

Leo’s countenance was slack with terror. Blood poured down half of his face. His eyes were wide, but everything else had gone limp. He didn’t dare to make an expression: her fingers might slip from their planned path. 

All he could do was attempt to breathe through his nose. Too fast, too shallow. Hyperventilating. The world would have been whirling around him, but her weight kept him pinned. 

Viper switched hands. “ Other side. Don’t struggle now, sssweet baby blue. ” Leo wanted Donnie. He wanted his brothers. He longed for his dad. “ I’m being very careful; It’ll scar along your pretty patterns. The line where red meets green, I’m sure you know it well, you vain little creature. No one else will see it… No one will know it’s there… But you will.” 

Her finger lifted to leave Leo’s other eye intact. “You’ll feel them whenever you try to sssmile.” She was slitting into his cheek now, scales and skin splitting under her claw. “Your laughter will die out when you open your mouth. I hope it hurtsss to move your face. Won’t be so cheeky when your cheeks themselves don’t stretch anymore.” 

Leo’s vision swam. He heard her words– they burned like ice– but his mind had gone entirely blank with horror. And pain. It seemed impossible to register anything else. He was at his limit. 

“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve done this… Why I’m so cruel… Why I’ve chosen to torture the little turtle child who won’t even live much longer. ” 

Viper leaned close. Leo would see his bloody face reflected in her red eyes that gleamed above her grinning fangs.  

“It’s because I wanted to .” 

Viper’s tongue flicked out again as she licked his blood off of her talons. She hummed in bliss at the delicious tang of his blood. 

She slithered off of him. 

Even though her overwhelming weight was gone from his chest, Leo still couldn’t breathe. He remained flat on his shell, petrified, face on fire. 

“ Ssstay down baby blue, ” Viper laughed. 

And then she was gone. 

The crowd was making noise. Leo didn’t hear. There was blood filling his ears. Blood leaking into his eyes. He could feel it, like warm tears gushing down the sides of his face, pooling in a halo beneath his head. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to go home. To close his eyes and find himself somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

Doctor Mouse popped into his field of vision. Leo yearned for his dad. 

A bellhop grabbed his shoulders and lifted him to his feet. Leo immediately collapsed to his knees. He was trembling, vibrating, crumbling to pieces. 

Blood coursed from his face to the ground. It spilled down his front like the waterfall of tears he longed to cry. His scarf was soaked and heavy. 

The bellhop picked him up and carried him instead. 

Someone was calling his name. Screaming it, in fact. Leo looked around like he was underwater. 

Donnie.

Donnie’s face was tearstained and pale. He strained against the chains, trying to run to his brother as cries tore from his throat. Meaningless words fell from his mouth, yells and screams and pleas and threats and promises. Nothing decipherable over the ringing in Leo’s ears (ha. Red eared slider. So very red now). 

All Leo could do was look back. He had nothing to say and even if he’d wanted to speak, he couldn’t. His lips had fused shut. Maybe that was a good thing. He didn’t want to taste his own blood. But his teeth chattered. 

The next thing he knew, he was in a white room, surrounded by mice doctors. He was laid down and felt terror rise. She was going to come back. Claw out his eyes, rip out his teeth, some other evil deed. 

Something cool was pressed to his face. Too cool, too cold, his mask was gone . 

They were trying to stop the bleeding. How much had he lost already? A dangerous amount, judging by how dizzy he was. Enough to paint the dojo floor, most definitely. How he wished he was back in the dojo. That this was simply a bloody nose that got away from him. Raph apologizing profusely for the wayward punch. Raph. Raph was red like her eyes had been, but not red like her eyes. Raph was warm and glowing, like a coal who would never burn him. 

Leo’s face burned as they dabbed liquids on it. Good. She would have given him an infection. He felt infected, nonetheless. Sick. Twisted up inside. Still trying to draw breath through warped, flattened lungs. Was that why he still couldn't breathe right? 

He grimaced at the stinging, then cried out when the pain of the disinfectant was swallowed up in a new wave of suffering. 

His whole face had lit up with prickling agony when he had scrunched it in discomfort. New trails of blood found their way down his face as the bleeding resumed. He wanted to wince again, but distantly knew that that would have only made things worse. Instead, all Leo could do was stare at the ceiling, fighting to keep a neutral expression even as the world throbbed in and out of focus. 

If the slightest expression opened the lacerations all over again… could he ever smile again? Would he ever want to smile again? There was certainly no reason to smile now. 

And then there were those classic red bandages. Slapped onto his face. Of course. Blood, stripes, bandages… merely more crimson coating his countenance… 

The cloth may have been thick, positioned to stop further bleeding, but Leo knew he needed stitches . Even with hastened healing from the mystic ointments and his mutation, the damage would take a long time (too long) to heal. 

The bandages felt wrong on his face. Not like his mask. 

He’d never get that back. 

Through shimmering vision, Leo could see a blurry lavender woman. Big Mama was saying something, inspecting him. 

“...be back in fighting shape soon, I’m sure. A few blood-replenishing spells and he should be fine. Good to know that my bibbily brooches hold up under such pressure.” 

Leo’s head lolled back against the white cot. It probably wasn’t white anymore. They’d plastered him with bandages, but he was still covered in sticky blood. 

Big Mama’s face filled the space above his head. “Pay attention, Astros,” she snapped. 

Oh, was he supposed to be Astros now? Okay. “Y-yes?” Astros mumbled. 

“As I was explifferating, you’ve lost your first fight. I’m impressed it took you so long to lizzy lose. I’m just here to inspect your injuries. I must make sure that you still look dashing enough to make merchandise of.” 

“I d-don’t want to be your mer-merchandise.” He felt clammy. 

“Oh? I recall you making a deal? Remember what you wanted.” 

He had made a deal, hadn’t he? 

But Leo didn’t want anything anymore. Only to stay alive. He had been so sure that Viper was going to eat him. So sure he’d never hug Donnie again. Or see his family. Or the sun. So here, sitting in the white medical room, alive … maybe this was what he wanted. He had survived her, hadn’t he? That was what he wanted. Maybe this was what he had wanted all along. 

Astros squeezed his eyes shut. But it hurt his face. “Yes Big Mama… This… is what I wanted.” And for the first time, he actually meant it. 

He was moving again. Being dragged along spinning stone corridors. Iron hands gripped his sore arms. His knees scraped across the rough stone floor. 

Leo was a kid again, seeing snakes from shadows. Only this time, he knew she was going to do much worse than bite him. 

The screech of a door opening, and then he was tossed. Falling. 

Arms caught him around the middle. Familiar arms. Arms that bore red bandages around the wrists. Like skin had been torn as the arms had desperately tried to pull free of shackles. 

“Leo! Le– oh no. Great Galileo you’re still covered in–” 

“...Dee…?” 

“I’m here, Leo! I’m right here, okay?” 

Leo raised his head. Donnie’s alarmed eyes roved over Leo’s face: the blood, the bandages. Donnie had tear tracks down his own face. Stains on his mask.

“Don… she took my– she took– m-my mask,” Leo’s throat constricted. She’d cut away much more than a simple strip of fabric. With her claws, Viper had cut into his iconic markings, tore into his very expression. So much for the face man. 

Donnie was moving him, dragging him across the floor. Leo couldn’t help him. His limbs weighed too much. Donnie deposited him gently on the patch of tile beneath the shower. 

“I’ll clean you up,” Donnie whispered. Leo hissed when the water hit his many wounds, but it was worth it to be free of the redness of it all. 

“Oh Leo… I thought… I thought…” Leo could barely hear him over the water. “I couldn’t see what she was doing from my position. I thought she was– she was,” he broke off in a weak sob. 

“She wanted to eat my eyeballs,” Leo croaked. 

Donnie froze. His hand flew over his mouth. He shot to his feet, crossing to vomit into the toilet in such a routine way that made Leo guess he’d done that many times since the fight. How long had he been in the medical room? 

“Don?” 

Donnie returned, shaking. He’d grabbed a towel and gently dried Leo off, mindful of his many scrapes. Her scales had been so sharp. He hoisted Leo to his feet, and for the first time since he’d been knocked to the ground, Leo felt like he could stand on his own. Donnie had that effect. Still, Donnie assisted him to his bed. Leo slumped onto it. Donnie crawled in next to him, clutching Leo close. 

“I thought that was it,” Donnie muttered. “Thought that you were going to–” 

“I thought I was about to die too,” Leo said. Tears stung his eyes. His chest constricted. Again. “D-Donnie. She almost– she was going to–” 

“Leonardo, breathe.” 

Donnie laid a gentle hand on Leo’s plastron and guided him through deep breaths. The world stopped spinning quite so much. 

The tears that rolled down his face slid under the bandaging. The salt stung the cuts. That made him want to cry more. Each and every facial expression caused ripples of agony. 

Everything hurt. Everything hurt. His head pounded from being caught between the unforgiving ground and her even less forgiving hand. His chest rattled with each breath. The area around the Spider Brooch was tender, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see hairline fissures spreading from where the legs nestled into his plastron. The entire lower half of his body smarted from where her scales dug deep. And then there was his face – 

He whimpered like a wounded animal. He was a wounded animal. He’d been nothing but prey to her. A wriggling grub caught in much stronger, better talons. 

“Shh shh, stop crying, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Donnie pleaded. Gentle fingers wiped Leo’s tears before they could reach the slashes. 

Leo couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull himself out of those tortuous moments. 

She had been so calm as she tore him apart. The Krang had been blinded by rage as he’d tossed Leo like a rag doll. But Viper? She was as casual as could be. Planned. Purposeful. And her words. Almost like she knew him. 

Donnie pressed a towel to Leo’s face (Leo’s anguished expression had made much more than tears well up). At least the towel and the pressure did more to stop the bleeding than the useless soaked bandages. 

It was over but he couldn’t escape it. Leo closed his eyes only to feel the sting of her claws. The trickle of hot blood, like tears down his face. The pressure on his skull as she pressed him further down into the earth. 

Leo hadn’t stopped trembling. Something inside of him had shattered. 

He thought of his father, his gentle hands on Leo’s face. ‘Baby Blue,’ he’d say, and everything would be okay. 

He thought of Viper, rough scaly claws in Leo’s face. ‘ Baby Blue ,’ she’d said, and nothing would ever be okay again. 

So there, in Donnie’s shaking arms– the one safe place Leo had left– he wept into his twin’s chest. 

Chapter Text

The cruelest trick of all was how routine being horribly injured had become. 

Fight. Get hurt. Win or lose said fight. Doctor Mouse. Sleep it off. Wake up. Pain. Eat. Repeat cycle. Donnie wished it didn’t have to be like that. But it was. 

The one good thing was that Donnie and Leo had gotten better at fighting in recent weeks. He hated to say it, but simply being Tyrian and Astros in the arena worked . 

Of course there were slip ups. Tyrian’s ribs had fractured when he was squeezed by a python. The crack in his plastron had expanded. He and Astros had fought that particular Yokai together, but Astros had remained flat against a wall, shaking the entire time. Donnie didn’t blame him Tyrian did . Or when Astros’s leg had been hanging on by a thread after a hydra head nearly ripped it off, only to be reattached leaving nothing but a scar and also horrible pain. 

But they were getting better. 

In their cell, they no longer entertained each other with Jupiter Jim. Donnie was finding it hard to remember the words. Or the plots. Or the movies themselves. But that wasn’t the most concerning thing in Donnie’s life right now. Not by a long shot. 

Leo didn’t smile anymore. 

Despite the alleged healing ointments, his new scars had healed slowly. Even after weeks, they clearly still hurt whenever Leo moved his face. And if he moved it too much, the deep lacerations split open again. This had led him to become much less chatty. And Donnie hadn’t heard a pun the entire time. 

Of course he was worried (who wouldn’t be), but there was nothing Donnie could do . He knew Leo (the real Leo, his Leo) was still in there– still inside that husk of a turtle, and he did his best to comfort him whenever Leo awoke howling, hands over his face. 

Waking up screaming was nothing new to anyone in the Hamato family. Especially in the months following Shredder. And the invasion. But now it was more a part of their twisted routine than ever. 

Before , Donnie would have over confidently claimed that he could fix this. 

Donnie couldn’t fix anything anymore. 

Donnie didn’t know anything anymore. Except for pain. He knew that well. 

The only one who got things done anymore was Tyrian. And as Donnie soon learned, even Tyrian had his weaknesses. 

The ‘incident’ began as any fight would. 

Tyrian spun his staff, which made the crowd go wild. They seemed to think it was one of his iconic moves. He used to think that the audience was many people that made one collective noise. Now he knew that the audience was one entity. One being. One creature. And it was more bloodthirsty than anyone he’d faced in the arena. 

Crowds screamed for slaughter, cheered at decapitations, whooped at pain. All from their little seats that were situated far far away from any actual violence. 

Tyrian longed for them to know the agony of a cracked plastron, or the helplessness of watching your twin get his face carved like a pumpkin. It was for them he fought, and it was for them he bled. They were the reason that he and Leo broke down in each other's arms every night. 

He hated them. 

Each and every person who laughed at his helplessness against magic, all those who he’d seen sit eagerly forward when Viper was on top of Leo, the crowd that loved them and bought posters and purple and blue masks (now just purple masks). All of them. He hated them all. They didn’t understand . But if their ignorance was what kept them coming back, what kept them funneling their money to Big Mama, and what kept her from simply letting him go , then their ignorance was the true enemy of the arena.  

He’d stopped listening to the announcer’s over the top introductions months ago. It was food for the audience, not a way for Tyrian to judge his opponents. They only stressed him out. Still, it was sometimes difficult to ignore the overzealous announcer’s booming tones. So Tyrian overheard that the opponent he was facing was someone called Heinous Green. 

If the turtle hadn’t been running on an inadequate amount of champion food, a few hours of sleep (at best), and held together by magic ointments and adrenaline, he might have remembered the name from when Splinter had demanded to know how almost all of his sons wound up in Hidden City Jail. Alas, Tyrian did not remember the recounting of his eldest brother’s story. 

Instead, he rolled his eyes, turning to face the hulky figure who lumbered out of the gate. 

Shock ricocheted through him with the force of a bullet. 

Tyrian dropped his staff with a clatter. 

It was Raph. 

Except… it wasn’t Raph. It couldn’t be. 

Blinking hard, Tyrian realized that no, this was not Raph. Merely someone who looked like him. A lot like him.  

Muscled green skin, red tufts on his square little head, crooked snaggletooth, bulky muscles… But Raph had never looked so angry. And Raph wasn’t nearly that massive. And there was no shell in sight. And… and… it just wasn’t quite him. Exactly. 

Tyrian looked back at Leo, chained to the gate. Leo, in a rare display of emotion, gaped at the green figure with the same horror Tyrian felt. 

So what? Tyrian thought shakily. It’s merely some Yokai who resembles my brother to an uncanny level. That doesn’t mean anything. 

Tyrian could still fight this guy. Right. He took a deep breath, snatching up his bo staff. Dropping your weapon in the arena was almost a guarantee of losing. 

He tried to wrangle his focus. 

This wasn’t Raph. Now that Tyrian was closer, he could most certainly tell that this Heinous Green fellow was not Raph at all. Raph looked totally different. 

Raph looked like– he looked like– he– 

Donnie blinked. Hard. He. He couldn’t picture Raph. He couldn’t picture his big brother’s face. All that he could see was the face of this Heinous Green Yokai. 

Not Raph not Raph not Raph not Raph – 

Heinous Green was running towards Donnie (Tyrian had gone), but Donnie could only stare. The ground vibrated but all Donnie could do was gawk. 

What did Raph look like!?! Big! Safe! And… and red? But also green? Specific facial features (the color of his warm eyes, the way his face fell into a smile, the exact spikes on his shell) refused to focus in the softshell’s memory. 

‘Raph’ was simply a blur. A distant turtle that Donnie had once known. Once loved. When had this happened? When had he forgotten? Had he ever truly known? 

Heinous Green’s shadow fell over Donnie. That managed to snap him out of his panicked spiral. 

Just in time, he rolled away from the crushing fists of the Yokai. Not Raph not Raph not Raph–  

The next few minutes consisted of Donnie barely dodging blow after blow with no rhyme or reason. Donnie couldn’t bring Tyrian back. He couldn’t find his rhythm. Massive fists that promised broken bones whooshed uncomfortably close by. The only reason Donnie had thus had lasted so long was because of the way his time in the Nexus had made it reflex to move quickly and avoid death with ease. 

But his time in the Nexus had also taught him that luck always runs out. 

Donnie kept expecting the moves to be Raph’s moves. He subconsciously did not want to seriously injure this fellow. He looked into the almost-familiar face and expected him to go easy. All things that would get him killed. All things he’d never experience again. 

He tripped over his own feet. 

The last thing he saw was a gargantuan fist swinging towards his head. 

His vision crackled and exploded into white stars. 

and    everything       went     

     .   .

      black

.. .                 

        ..                                    …       .             .

                      .                          .      .                       

              ..                       .      .             .

                                      .

.                 .                                                              ..  . .    

… . .    … something cold against his head. …    .  ..      . a purple mask with a dripping, dark stain ..  ..  .  ..  .   . taken from him      no….     he needed that…     he needed that .  ..  .   .  

why? 

.. . 

                            .          .                      

                . .   ..     . .  . 

    .    .                        .               .                 …… 

 . .    ..    ratlike hands, just like Pops’ rubbing something on his head.   . it hurt to be touched       Pops…. Where was he…? Donnie–Tyrian– .   .    he couldn’t remember.   Dad hadn't needed him for anything recently?       made sense.  Why else would anyone talk to Donnie . 

    Donnie!    He was Donnie! He was Don…n…ie…? 

It slipped away from him immediately. 

  .                        .            ..

                                        .                  .       ..                        . 

     .      .  ..    .      he was in someone’s arms. It was dark. A spoonful of food was pressed to his mouth. He chewed. And gagged. 

“ –no no no, you’ve got to keep it down…” 

Maybe it would have been easier to eat if the room would stop bending, warping. 

Another spoonful. He swallowed that one. 

“That’s it… ‘Atta Donnie.” 

 . ..   .   …that was someone important, right? Right. Donnie. That might… have been him. But Tyrian felt….   better. Stronger. Which did he want?     He wasn’t sure. His head hurt. 

                                                              .              . 

         .                         ..       

              .                                   

                                               .    ..  …..        

.      .                                                                                                    .

Donnie was in a dark room. With familiar pink walls. Gentle hands stroked his shell. A muffled voice spoke to him from underwater. 

“...’eo…?” Donnie asked. His vision was blurred. 

“ –nnie! You’re awake!” It was hard to tell, but Astros Leo might have had tears on his cheeks. That was bad. The salt was going to sting his wounds. 

“Don’ cry,” he slurred. 

Leo cried harder. Rude. Now he was just being contradictory. 

“Leo…?” Donnie tried to look around the room but his head weighed more than a metric ton of iridium. 

“I’m here, Donnie.” 

“Leo, where’s Raph? He was… he was just here…” 

Leo froze. He cried harder. Everything went dark again. 

.            . .. 

. ..  …. …… 

. . . . . 

Donnie was still in his bed. Leo was gone. But not gone. Donnie could hear him. 

With a frustrating amount of effort, he turned his head. Leo stood protectively between the open cell door and the bed, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. And he was yelling. 

“ – NOT TAKING HIM! HE CAN’T FIGHT LIKE THIS! HE’LL DIE!!!” 

“...Nardo…?” 

“ –THEN I’LL DO IT! HOWEVER MANY FIGHTS YOU WANNA PUT ME IN, I’LL DO IT. JUST DON’T MAKE HIM FIGHT.” 

And then Leo was gone. And Donnie was alone in the dark. 

“Come back,” he whispered. His head pounded, so he closed his eyes. 

.     .               .. 

Leo was gone for a long time. Or maybe not long at all. Donnie didn’t know. That felt wrong. He used to know everything. But now he didn’t even know where Leo Astros was. Or what Raph looked like. Or Mikey, for that matter. He could see an orange blob, full of life and fire, but couldn’t pin an exact face to it. A bright, open smile and the best hugs, but no exact image. Knowledge of bright eyes, but the shade itself was unknown. Squishy cheeks, but the exact feel of them eluded him.      Hugs.     He missed those.  Everything was garbled. His heart ached more than his skull. Which was saying something, because his skull felt like a badly reassembled jigsaw puzzle. 

.                            .   .         

This time when Donnie woke, he knew where he was. And who he was. 

He was back in Leo’s lap. 

His mask was gone. 

And his head pounded . A pressure behind his eyes. A tightness in his neck and jaw. A horrible ache like a constricting helmet. 

Leo himself looked worse for wear. One arm was in a sling, a notch was gone from his plastron, and the scars on the left of his face had split open again, judging from the red bandages. 

He was still stroking Donnie’s shell. 

“Leo.” 

Leo’s head snapped up. He might have been dozing. “Donnie! You good? How do you feel?” 

“Like my head got caught in a blender. What happened?” 

Leo shuddered, eyes distant. “That guy, Heinous Green, bashed your head in. Cracked skull, one of the worst concussions I’ve ever seen. I thought you were… it looked like you weren’t going to make it for a while. You haven’t been… yourself. Not very lucid.” 

He was supposed to have something snarky to say to that. But with a head filled with TV static, nothing was discernible. “Oh,” he said at last. “How long? Approximately?” 

Leo huffed out a breath. “Days. Maybe a week. Possibly more. First you walked the line between life and death, then when it was clear you would make a full recovery, you used the line between unconsciousness and responsiveness as a jump rope.” 

Why the metaphors? Big words were difficult to understand. Something deep inside of him told him that that was bad and wrong wrong wrong so very wrong . “Oh,” he said again. “I didn’t get any permanent brain damage, right?” 

“Nah. You should have. But Doctor Mouse worked her magic.” Leo the medic. Always telling Donnie how bad things could have been. 

Donnie shuddered. “She’s so creepy.” 

“I know. But we both owe her our lives.” 

“She doesn’t care. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I know.” Leo looked away. “Look, Donnie. I need to apologize.” 

Donnie blinked. It wasn’t Leo’s fault that Tyrian had let his guard down. It wasn’t Leo’s fault that Donnie hadn’t been able to discern his meaningless past from the pressing matter right in front of him. “For what?” 

“I’ve been selfish. Ever since…” he brushed a finger over his facial scars, “ever since I faced her , I– I haven’t been– I was so caught up in– What I’m trying to say is–” 

“You’re forgiven.” 

“No, no, I’ve got to actually apologize first!” 

“What happened to you was traumatizing. Getting your face torn into and then slapped back together by people who didn’t even bother to clean the blood off is horrific, Leo. It’s okay for you to not be normal after that.” 

Leo winced. “Yeah when you put it like that. Look, Donnie. That’s still no excuse. You’re the only thing I have left to fight for. I got so wrapped up in… all that… that I forgot how much we need each other to survive this place. And I’m sorry that it took watching you get your head literally bashed in, and a whole long while of being essentially alone for me to remember that.” 

“It has been rather lonely,” Donnie mumbled, thinking of Leo’s distant deadpan ever since her . “But I get it, okay? You’re forgiven. You don’t even have to owe me a favor. You save my life every day, I think that’s enough.” 

Leo squeezed Donnie closer to him. “I love you, Donton,” he whispered. 

Donnie had never been good at expressing feelings to his family. But this was important. “I love you too, Nardo,” he whispered. Maybe he had sustained brain damage after all. 

In the following days, Donnie did his best to take it easy. However, when slaving away in a battle arena, that wasn’t exactly an option. When he wasn’t fighting– wasn’t Tyrian– Donnie would lay down and think . 

It used to be so easy. Before . Near photographic memory, he had once deduced. Now he struggled to remember anything . 

Donnie tried to sort through his fuzzy memories to recall what exactly had laid him so low. He couldn’t tell what exactly had been real and what hadn’t. But he remembered exactly what Ra– Heinous Green had looked like. 

Right. That’s what had gotten him into this mess. 

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture Raph’s face. He knew this, he knew this. But… now… he couldn’t see it. He could describe Raph’s features, but couldn’t picture the intricateness of them. 

Now, when Donnie tried to look back on his memories of before , sort through them and find his brother, the only face that came to him was that of Heinous Green. He tried for days to remember, but to no avail. 

“Leo,” Donnie said at last in a low voice, nearly a week after he’d regained cognizance, “Leo, I can't picture Raph’s face.” It stung to admit it. 

They’d both been curled in Leo’s bed. Not sleeping, but not saying anything either. Just laying there, reassured by the others’ breathing. The twins didn’t sleep separately anymore. Nightmares were too frequent to justify being on opposite sides of the room. 

“Oh Donnie…” Leo’s voice was thick, like he was holding back tears. “That Green guy– he looked so much like him, didn’t he.” 

“Yeah. Too much. I can’t– I can’t see him anymore.” 

“I have a confession,” Leo choked. He curled tighter. “I forgot what Mikey’s voice sounds like…” 

Donnie blinked. He could hear it in his head. He could hear his battle cry, his little yelps when he was scared, Dr. Delicate Touch yelling at him to go to bed. But the turtle himself (his brother , his baby brother ) had turned mushy in his memory. 

His face was wet. 

“I miss them.” 

“Me too.” 

Of course they both missed their brothers. But in the months they’d been here, neither had actually said it out loud. It had been obvious. 

“I miss Mikey’s food,” Donnie whispered. “The way he bounces around the kitchen and shakes the spices around like maracas.” He couldn’t really picture the kitchen. But he knew the orange whirlwind that owned it. Or… he used to. 

“I miss his paint-stained little hands,” Leo replied softly. “Or the way he pats his plastron like a lil bongo drum.” Even though it was dim, even though they were both curled into themselves, Donnie could still see Leo’s face. Even reserved as the expression was (and pain-filled in more ways than one), wistfulness showed in his wet eyes. 

“I miss his hugs. Clingy and long, but warm.” Donnie had taken them for granted. He hadn’t appreciated them. Now, each and every time he’d tried to disentangle himself from Angelo’s loving hugs felt like another crack in the plastron. Then again, Donnie couldn’t recall it happening many times. How long would it be before he couldn’t recall his baby brother’s hugs at all? 

“I miss Raph’s hugs,” Leo continued in a flat, forcibly emotionless voice. “Remember the way he just kinda envelops you?” 

“I do. I miss perching on his shell. Feeling tall.” 

“I miss April. She’s probably started a new year of school by now.” 

“If I knew how long it had been, I could tell you whether or not she has. She probably has. I miss helping her with her homework. In fact, I miss math in general. Algorithms, equations, division.” Could Donnie even solve equations anymore? He sure couldn’t solve their current problems. 

“I miss how excited you’d be when working on projects, Dee. And how fun Mikey was to draw with. I miss sparring with Raph.” 

“Sparring in general. Fighting for fun instead of… this whole situation.” 

“Using my portals…” Ah, yes. Ninpo. The feeling of a gaping hole where their souls should have been wasn’t even that noticeable anymore, Donnie mused, fiddling with his Spider Brooch. But Leo had continued, “I miss Dad. I’d give anything to watch ‘Scorpion Treadmill’ with him right now.” 

“Sometimes I think I can hear the TV blasting from the other room. It’s probably broken again, the faulty thing. And I’m not there to fix it.” Or maybe it was fine so nobody was bothering to look for Donnie anymore. Maybe that’s why it had taken so long. Without his tech Donnie was nothing. 

If he truly was so broken that he couldn’t fix anything, would they even want him back? 

Leo was in full-on reminiscing mode now. “I miss dinners in front of the TV. Or family dinners in general. Mikey’s cooking.” 

“I definitely miss real food. At this point champion food is impossible to stomach. I miss my flavorless juice.” 

“I miss turtle piles.” 

“Leo… do you think we’ll ever be in another turtle pile again?” 

Leo was silent. “Yes,” he said at last. “Our brothers don’t give up on people. If Mikey could pull me from another dimension, he can find us here.” 

“It’s been months.” Probably. At this point, it honestly felt like years. A lifetime. Maybe it was. Tyrian and Astros’s lifetime. 

“I know. But we still have a ninja’s greatest weapon.” 

Donnie had to think– remember what Leo meant. “Hope?” 

“Exactly. No one can take that away from us, Donnie. Not Big Mama, not Vi– her , not Heinous Green, not Kraken Tom, no one.” 

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut. “We can hope all we want but… I just want to go home.” Even if they wouldn’t take him. 

“I know, Donnie. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Weapons in the Nexus were not permanent things. 

Leo had firsthand experience with swords shattering or being yanked from his hand. And Astros had firsthand experience disarming others with whirlwind speed. 

Weapons were lost or replaced all the time, each cheaper than the last: Crossbows broke, maces shattered, spears snapped, shields buckled, hammers crumbled, whips unraveled, and knives folded like a losing hand of cards.

Hope– a ninja’s greatest weapon– was no different. 

And despite being his alleged greatest weapon, Leo was about to get disarmed. It wasn’t like they were ninja anymore anyway. They were gladiators. Puppets. Empty shells forced to crash into each other like some violent little girl’s dolls. 

Donnie had driven himself crazy trying to track the date. Sometimes it felt like a week, having gone by in a blur. Other times, it felt like an eternity. It was getting harder and harder to remember a time unaccompanied by the dull throb of pain radiating from, well… everywhere. 

Leo had lost track of his and Donnie’s injuries. There were no mirrors, no pictures, and they only put their lamp on its lowest setting. Light was bad. Light meant spotlights. Fighting. The medical room. Pain. Even if total darkness was terrifying, it was still safer in the dark, where Leo didn’t have to look at the full extent of his twin’s injuries. 

Only Astros saw Donnie in bright lights. And only Tyrian looked back. And frankly, they tried not to care. A cage match was no place for sympathy. 

The one kind of light that Leo missed was warm light. Sunlight. Heat lamps. 

He and Donnie (being cold blooded) often used them. But, he and Donnie (being mutants) were able to regulate their temperatures well enough to prevent themselves from becoming lethargic. Still, Leo had to admit that the distant bite of cold was getting more and more unbearable. Probably proof that it was probably autumn, winter, or maybe even spring back home. Did seasons change in the Hidden City? He didn’t see any leaves so… no? 

But the fact remained: it was cold, and their room had no heating. Blankets helped. They didn’t have very many, though. Holding onto each other helped. Their body heat was minimal, however. Hot showers helped. But once the water turned off the cold came back worse than before. 

Still, as long as there was warmth, not all was lost. 

Tyrian lost his match. 

As his unconscious form was dragged past Astros to the medical room, he could see blood coating Tyrian’s head. Again. His broken skull had healed some time ago, but scars remained. The mystic means used to heal his cracked cranium had left a trail of dark fissures across the crest of his head. 

It was a target. 

A weakness. 

An invitation. 

The amount of blows to the exact area of The Punch since then could not have been healthy. But the medical mice always brought him back. And that had to be enough. 

By this point, the twins had caught on to the food situation. If they both won, they each got two bowls of champion food until the next fight. If just one lost, there would be one meal of champion food for them between fights. If they both lost, they didn’t know when the next bowl of food would be pushed into their pink prison. 

If Leo or Astros had been paying attention, he would have noticed how concerningly skinny he and his brother had gotten. 

Astros had a job to do. 

Survive, as always. But also win. If Astros lost, Leo and Donnie would go hungry. And that was something they simply couldn’t afford. 

Luckily for Leo and Donnie, Astros rarely lost. He had to be ruthless. Show no mercy. And work fast. 

Which he did. 

Unfortunately, he was not facing just another faceless opponent who would fall just like everyone else. He was not facing a random opponent who bled just as scarlet as everyone else. Who surrendered when they lost a limb just like everyone else. 

It was a hippo. 

A shockingly familiar, besuited, magical hippo. 

Leo would have been overjoyed at the familiar face. A magic one, no less. It would have reminded him that there was a life– his former life– outside of the Nexus. But not Astros. 

Astros had no life outside of the arena walls. 

He had one singular purpose, one singular focus. What did he want? 

Victory. 

So without bothering to care, he brandished his gleaming (cheap) swords, immediately springing forward in an attack. 

“What are you doing here, Hypno?!” Astros demanded as his swords clashed against the magician’s sharpened metal rings that had been raised in defense not a second too late. Clearly, he’d caught the enemy off guard. 

Hypno squinted. “Blue one? Is that you?” 

‘Baby Blue,’ Viper’s voice cooed. 

“DO NOT call me that!” Astros lunged for another attack, baring his teeth. 

Hypno ducked away. “What is it, uh– Leo, then?” 

As if Leo could win a fight in a place like this. Astros cackled dryly. 

“Wrong again!” 

Hypno looked as dapper as always. A little less lavish, perhaps, but he still wore gloves and a tuxedo . For some reason, this infuriated the turtle. This was a pit of blood, sweat, and stone. Not some fancy little stage for magic shows; Granted, both were events that routinely cut people in half. 

His anger made him sharper, faster. He rained blows down that the hippo barely managed to block. Sleight of hand was no match for Astros. He was made for battle. He was forged for fighting. And he did nothing but fight with forcibly honed skills. 

Hypno never stood a chance. 

“Mate, slow down !” he wheezed, a single strand of slick hair falling from his turban. 

Of course Hypno was overwhelmed, barely keeping blood off of his sickeningly seamless suit. Jarring hit after jarring hit blew the mutant’s way. Astros was a blurring hurricane. A force of nature. A weapon. A wind-up toy with too much spring. A lightning storm who didn’t go easy on anyone .

Hypno couldn’t hope to reach the level of fighting Astros had achieved, but luckily for him, Astros’s swords slid off the metal rings easily. Disarming was going to be tricky. But of course, Astros had information on who he was fighting. He knew Hypno. Well, Leo had. 

Astros let the fight lull. He relented slightly and resorted to circling Hypno menacingly, stalking with paper-light footsteps. The hippo struggled to catch his breath. Astros wasn’t even winded. 

He made his move. 

“It’s been a while, Hypno,” Astros drawled. “Why are you here? You’re no Yokai.” 

Hypno (the fool) threw out his arms and a deck of cards flew from his sleeve. With purple puffs of smoke, the face cards grew in size, growing limbs, twisting to come alive. They surrounded Astros. Once upon a time, Leo would have giggled and jumped up and down at the trick. Now, Astros felt nothing. A slight twinge of annoyance at the fight being drawn out. Just more opponents to take down. 

They’d soon be confetti, just like Foot Soldiers (huh. Foot Soldiers. He’d forgotten about them. And the Foot in general. Leo would have to think about that later.)

“I’m just here to earn some extra coin,” Hypno responded with forced casualty, as if he wasn’t entirely out of his depth. “You know, that cash prize for winning a match? I’m going to start my magician gig back up. Have you heard? I’m going semi-honest now. Didn’t think I’d see you here, though! There are easier, less dodgy ways for someone like yourself to earn money, you know.” 

Astros was busy working his way through the Jack of Hearts, but he still took in every word Hypno said. One had to be observant, of course. 

At the hippo’s confession, Astros could feel the scarred skin of his face stretching as his face contorted with rage. The cuts would probably split open again. It was unlikely for them to ever fully heal, at this rate. Stupid Leo not being able to control his emotions. Stupid Astros for keeping Leo around. Stupid stupid stupid– 

“Oh how dandy. I’m fighting to survive ,” Astros spat, finishing slicing the King of Spades to ribbons. The cards were slow and lacked substance. 

“I won that Battle Nexus Wizbang checkers thing,” Hypno shrugged. “Thought I’d try my hand here.” He sounded nonchalant, but he backed up as Astros tore through more of the card soldiers. 

Astros’s furious gaze snapped onto him. “You could have gotten Tyrian killed !” He stabbed a Seven of Diamonds in the face for emphasis, flicking upwards and ripping the card in two. 

Hypno was backing up, panic showing through his (ineffective) mask of composure. “Wh-who? You mean that purple bloke?” 

With each word, Astros dispatched another card. “Stop. Calling. Us. Colors!” He huffed, standing in a pile of confetti. Not winded (never winded), just angry. 

“Tyrian’s a shade of purple, mate. Obviously. You’re being awfully aggressive. I thought you were the funny one? The pun one? Liked magic?” Hypno waved his hand hopefully and some pitiful sparkles fell from his spotless glove. 

Did he? Maybe Leo had liked magic, but Leo was also weak. Astros pointed the tip of his sword at the magician. 

“I can make you disappear, if you want.” 

“This-this is so wrong. Are you here alone? Is the purp– uhh, what’s his name– Danny with you?” His eyes darted around. It was strange how he seemed to be more interested in talking than fighting . An unnatural thing to see in the ring. 

“Stop trying to distract me! I need to win !” From the stinging in his face, the lacerations had indeed split open. 

“Why?” 

Concern had not been shown his way by another other than his twin in a long time. It was disconcerting. And an exploitable weakness. That was all Astros saw now: ways to get what he wanted. 

“Because if you manage to best me (unlikely), Tyrian and I won't get to eat tonight. But I’m sure your precious cash prize is more important. It’s what you signed up to win, right? What kind of food do the voluntary contestants get, anyway? Surely not champion food, the disgusting muck?” 

Hypno’s eyes roved over Astros, finding injuries that he himself had grown numb to, cracks and scars and bruises, finally landing on the blood trailing down his face like tears. Concern rippled off of him in waves. And in his darting eyes, was that… pity? Disgusting. 

“Mate… Leo… how long have you… been here?” 

Astros resumed circling him, stalking like a shadow. Hypno turned, keeping his eyes on the turtle at all times. Well at least he had some sense. Astros vaguely recalled a time when Hypno was a formidable opponent. How could Leo have ever lost to such a feeble figure in the past? What a hilarious thought now, thinking that a mere magician could do any real damage. Astros knew all about real damage. 

His stomach growled. He thought of Tyrian, being ‘tended’ to by the numerous mice doctors. It was time to finish the fight. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I am going to hurt you. You’ll live. I am going to win. You don’t get your money. Go steal it or something, you key-snatching, invasion-triggering criminal. You get to leave . You will go find the turtles known as Michelangelo and Raphael and you will tell them–” 

Tell them what? 

What singular message did he want to leave with Leo’s– his brothers? What did he want for them? That was easy: freedom; a life free of pain. What did he want for himself? For Tyrian? 

You wanted this , Big Mama’s voice whispered in his head. The head of a champion . 

The words rose to his lips as if he’d always known them. 

“You tell them to Stay. Away. Stay far away from all of this. From Big Mama, from the Hidden City, from New York itself if they have to.”

Floored, Hypno blinked. “Don’t… don’t you want to be saved?”  

His knuckles were white on the hilts of his swords. 

“No.” 

Not by them. Not if that meant they were near Big Mama. He never wanted to put them in danger again. He was no leader. No hero. No ninja. Heck, he wasn’t even Leonardo. 

“‘No’?” Hypno echoed. 

“No. I wanted this.” 

Blood dripped down his face in the tears he would not cry. He was Astros. He didn’t cry.

Hypno reached out a pleading hand. Slow, placating. Some sort of trick? It didn’t matter. It was an opening. 

With striking speed, Astros wound up and hurled his sword at Hypno’s exposed palm. Into Hypno’s palm. 

The white glove was no longer quite so white. 

Hypno bellowed in pain upon registering the entire sword that had sunk itself into and through his entire hand. His screams bordered on hysteria. The drama queen. Astros and Leo had endured much worse without half so much fussing. Doctor Mouse could fix it easily. 

Actually, he didn’t know if one-time contestants qualified for medical treatment. And frankly, he couldn't care less. It did not do to dwell on opponents’ pain. 

Astros had one less sword. Oh well. Weapons were lost all the time in the arena. He’d be provided with a new one the next time he was summoned from the cell below the Nexus. 

It didn’t matter that Hypno had fallen to his knees. His blubbering was inconsequential. The blood flowing from the hand, over Hypno’s suit (spotless no longer) was nothing to even consider. It did not matter that Hypno might lose the hand itself. It was of no importance to Astros whether this would impact Hypno’s magic tricks. 

All that mattered was that he’d won. 

And that there would be food that night. 

So Astros walked away. 

“Stay down, Hypno,” he called over the weeping. “Stay away.” Astros bent the tiniest bit and Leo slipped through. The boy who had loved magic. 

“Stay alive.” 

Donnie returned to their cell unsteady on his feet. But he managed a half smile when Leo proudly displayed their bowls of food. 

Leo hesitated to tell Donnie what Astros had done. What he’d said. 

“Donnie?” 

“Hm?” Donnie was pretty focused on choking down his food and keeping it down. (It wasn’t that it was gross, but… it had been months of eating the same thing for every single meal. To say they were sick of it would be a massive understatement.)

“ …If you could tell our brothers one thing, what would you tell them?” 

Donnie set down his bowl. Before , the genius turtle would have talked through every variable. ‘Is there a time window for this message to get through? How is the message being sent? Is it guaranteed for them to see it? Etc etc.’ Now, he merely pondered for a moment as he chewed his champion food. 

He swallowed it. “Stay safe. Take care of yourself. And each other.” 

Relief flooded over Leo. Donnie would have said basically the same thing. But he had to be sure. 

“Really?” he probed. “No request to be saved? Location, status, nothing?” 

Donnie scoffed (something deep down told Leo that was wrong). “Leonardo. Do not be preposterous. There is no way for them to get us out of here.” 

“I know.” 

“So why do you ask such questions?” 

He hesitated. But he was Leo right now. Not Astros. If he couldn’t talk to Donnie , then there was truly nothing left for him to fight for. 

“I fought Hypno,” he admitted. “Told him to tell them to stay away.” 

Donnie blinked. “Hypno? I’d… forgotten about him. I guess he was laying low after the invasion. He did help instigate it, after all.” Donnie sighed (again, wrong). “But good. I’m glad we both agree that the best thing for our brothers to do is to stay far, far away from this place. However, applying common sense is not their forte, as I recall.” 

“Maybe they’ve changed since we’ve been gone.” 

“I think we all have.” 

They both picked at their food, unwilling to think too hard about the parts of themselves they’d each had to bury. Empathy. Instincts. Jokes. Smiles. Memories. 

Hope. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Donnie said, clearing his throat. “They should move on. There’s not much of their brothers left to save, I’m afraid. They’ll be so disappointed to discover how… broken we are.” 

It wasn’t the words that scared Leo. It was the bored, matter of fact way in which Donnie stated them. Or maybe the most concerning thing of all was that Leo agreed. “Let them mourn who we were. And never have to see who we are now.” 

“Agreed. At least we have not sunk so low as to become killers. That might be the one piece left of ourselves.” 

“Let’s not lose it,” Leo said gravely. 

How dark, how twisted it was to talk about their broken wills with such light and calm tones. But it wasn’t a huge shock or anything, Leo supposed. It would have been surprising to find that either of them still had hope. They weren’t idiots, after all. 

They both crawled into Leo’s bed, facing away from each other. It was no vocal Jupiter Jim reenactment, but it was the most reassuring thing they could offer to one another; simply hearing slow, steady breathing of a twin. So different from the panting of the arena.  

Leo knew they were both lying to themselves. 

The truth was he didn't want to see Mikey and Raph with Spider Brooches in their chests. He didn’t want to see Mikey’s smile dim (as Leo’s had done) or watch the soft parts of Raph be cut away (as Donnie’s had been). He didn’t want to watch them be pushed to their breaking point, and then past it, but still be forced to fight in such a hopeless, broken, shattered state. He didn’t want to see any more of his brothers suffer. 

But he still wanted to see them. 

He wanted to see them so much that it hurt . He wanted to be near them. To hold them. To be held by them. 

He wanted to go home. 

But he knew he never would. 

This wasn’t about what he wanted. 

And even if it was, as Big Mama had put it, he wanted this . 

Chapter Text

Three months. 

Well, two months, three weeks, and one day. 

Too long. 

At this point, Raph wasn’t even sure if his brothers were alive anymore. He didn’t want to believe that they were gone, especially if Mikey couldn’t sense them, but there were no leads. 

And Pops was still reluctant to let his remaining sons leave the Lair for any reason whatsoever. Raph and Mikey left anyway. They’d snuck out a few times before, but had never strayed far. Both were very aware that with no idea of what had taken their brothers, they couldn’t be prepared for what may try to take them as well. 

Still, after Mikey had gotten into yet another shouting match with Pops, Raph knew that they needed to get out. For just a little bit. 

Mikey never used to do that. It was Donnie who would yell at Dad. And Leo who would fight with Raph. But they were gone. 

Raph tried not to think about that as he and Mikey walked through the subway tunnels. A slower mode of transport than the rooftops, but safer for the time being. 

Mikey stuck close, which didn’t bother Raph in the slightest. In fact, in the past three months (two months and three weeks), Mikey had rarely left his sight. Fortunately, that kept Raph from getting weird upon thinking that all of his brothers were missing. Unfortunately, it meant that Raph got a firsthand look at the slow deterioration of his brother. 

For one, Mikey hadn’t really done any art recently. Mostly because he hadn’t been in his room since his powers had gone haywire when he’d claimed to try to find Leo and Donnie’s ninpos’. Months later, it was still an utter mess (well, more than usual). Broken paints had dried out long ago, notebook pages were probably bent entirely out of shape, markers were leaking onto the floor. But Mikey didn’t seem to care. He’d lost inspiration for art anyway. While this was good for his hands (which had fully healed again; he just needed compression gloves some of the time), it was very bad from Raph’s perspective. 

Instead of dealing with his room, Mikey slept in Raph’s. Again, Raph was on board with this because being away from his baby brother was panic-inducing at this point. If he didn’t know exactly where Mikey was he started to worry about his last remaining little brother disappearing into the night too. So if that meant he had to share part of his bed, that was perfectly okay. It wasn’t like either of them slept much anyway. 

Raph was so busy watching over Mikey that he hadn’t paid attention to the way he himself was breaking down. Spending hours in the dojo, training until his fists bled, dusting Leo and Donnie’s rooms over and over and over again. Dr. Delicate Touch would tell him those were absolutely terrible coping skills, ya turkey. Mikey, on the other hand, just vacuumed while Raph dusted. 

Overprotective as their father had become, they needed this. Bundling up in their thick sweatshirts to protect against the chill of late Autumn. Getting out of the Lair. Getting pizza. 

Getting away from the reminder of the holes punched in their family and the gaps left behind. 

They emerged from the tunnels and walked quickly through the streets to get to the hidden entrance. Raph checked over their shoulders the whole way. They’d both brought weapons. 

The familiar warm light of Run of the Mill washed over them upon slipping through the graffitied wall. Raph breathed a small sigh of relief– Until a very angry skull popped into his field of vision, making him jump. Had his hands not been deep within the pocket of his hoodie, he probably would have accidentally punched the yelling figure before realizing it was Hueso. 

“ Oi! You owe me, turtles! ” 

Raph blinked, still trying to process what was happening. “Huh? Raph doesn’t–” 

“ Pepino ! He did a prank call on me those months ago! Ordered a pizza five minutes to closing and then never came to get it! You thought I’d forget, huh? Well I do not! I will not be made a mockery of!” He started ranting in rapid Spanish that neither Mikey nor Raph could make heads or tails of. 

Mikey burst into tears. He did that a lot. It hurt worse every time. 

Hueso hesitated, confused at the reaction. 

Raph patted Mikey’s shoulder comfortingly. “Uh, Senior Hueso sir, we apologize for our brother’s failure to pick up his pizza. It wasn’t… it wasn’t his fault.” 

“Oh? Were you all in on this prank ?!” Senior Hueso raised his boney fist, shaking it in Mikey’s face (he couldn’t reach Raph’s). 

Mikey shook his head, his crying increasing in volume. 

Meanwhile, Raph was racking his brains. Had they forgotten to tell Hueso that his favorite customer had been turtlenapped? It hadn’t really crossed his mind. He cleared his throat, looking down at the skeleton’s shined shoes. It was difficult to see the look on people’s faces when they found out the news. 

“He’s, uh. Leo’s missin’.” Raph muttered. 

“It’s my fault, Senior Hueso!” Mikey wailed. “I told him to bring me b-back something but he-he was gone before he could– and then–” Mikey’s sobs increased in volume. His knees buckled. 

Raph caught him before he fell to the floor. “Hey, hey, it’s not your fault, big man. We’ve been over this.” He wrapped him in a hug, muffling his cries. 

Hueso blinked. “Missing?” he repeated. 

“Donnie too,” Raph said. 

Mikey’s cries were attracting a lot of attention. It made Raph uncomfortable to have so many strangers be looking at them. Possible kidnappers. In fact, he hadn’t been in an actual crowd of people since the invasion. So many eyes it felt like a pressure on his shell. 

Hueso must have noticed because an odd expression crossed the bone man’s face. With little shoo shoo- ing motions he ushered them into his office. Once he closed the door behind them, he turned to face the brothers. “Are you two okay? Is this why I have not seen you for months?” 

“Sorry,” Raph mumbled. He didn’t really have an answer. Contacting Hueso was Leo’s thing. Had been Leo’s thing. Stop thinkin’ in past tense.  

“Can we just get a pizza? We can… we can pay for the one Leo never came to get. Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“Right, right.” Hueso left, shooting worried glances over his boney shoulder. 

Mikey sniffled, not making eye contact with Raph. Raph didn’t want to embarrass him, but he still rubbed the top of his shell through the sweatshirt in calming circles. “It’s okay, Mike. It’s okay.” Mikey nodded, not really listening. 

Yet another reason why Raph was worried about his brother. A shell of his former happy, bouncy self. 

Hueso returned with a large box of pizza. Despite not having skin, he looked to have aged years in the few minutes he’d been gone. “On the house. When you find pepino … tell him I’ve missed him. I’ll keep an eye out.” 

Raph nodded, his throat too tight to speak. 

Distant beeping chirped throughout the Lair. It took Raph a few minutes of bamboozled searching to find the source of the sound. 

An alarm from Donnie’s lab. An alert on one of his many screens (one of the ones that Mikey had not damaged in a fit of rage) indicated a break in of some sort. 

Oh. Right. Crime is a thing. Raph had forgotten. 

While the Hamato family had been recovering from the Krang, they hadn’t gone out to fight crime. But honestly, crime itself had been way down since the invasion. Had it really been seven months? 

Raph checked the notification from Donnie’s alarm. Apparently, there had been multiple break ins at a jewelry store for the past three nights. At the exact same time each night. Raph knew enough about crime to know when someone was trying to get attention. What kind of attention, as well as what kind of intentions , he didn’t know. But it was something to do, at least. Raph hadn’t trained until he’d dropped to the dojo floor for nothing. 

“Mikey!” Raph called (though he knew he wasn’t far. Mikey was never far, lately). “We’ve got a situation. Let’s go.” 

After fervent promises to their father to keep him updated on their location, and then sprinting down the tunnels so he couldn’t catch them, Raph and Mikey were finally able to go. 

The crime scene itself was within walking distance from the Lair, so there was no need to take the Turtle Tank. Not that they could have, anyway. Donnie hadn’t fully fixed it yet. He’d tried several times, but being inside it had made him panicky. It made sense; he and Mikey had almost been crushed in it. 

 The streets were slick and shiny from sleet when they emerged onto the streets and found themselves in front of the store. Raph wished they’d brought their hoodies again. Late fall in New York wasn’t exactly reptile-friendly. 

It didn’t look like there had been a break in. In fact, other than the wailing alarm, the premises looked untouched. Not even a broken window. Police were obviously complacent due to the low crime rates since the invasion. 

Raph’s attention, however, was quickly drawn to the figure sitting at a little cafe across from the store itself. He sat at a table under an umbrella to shield him from the precipitation. 

“Took your sweet time, I see,” Hypno huffed, slurping his tea. 

“Hypno? What are you doin’ here?” 

“Would you join me? Getting your attention is like trying to find parking in this city.” 

“We have a family email, you know,” Mikey said flatly. “Why does no one remember this?” 

“Yes well, the internet in Warren’s and my apartment is spotty, and the magic of wifi is something I personally struggle with.” 

“Who?” 

Hypno sighed. “Worm guy? No? All right then. Are you going to pull up a chair? You’re getting awfully wet and you’ll want to sit down for this.” 

Raph exchanged a look with Mikey, who shrugged. Why not. They might as well visit with a villain. It was better than the fight they’d been expecting. They still approached rather cautiously. The metal chairs screeched against the concrete and Raph’s creaked pitifully, but it held. 

Hypno looked as dapper as ever, save for one hand, which was wrapped in copious bandages. “What did you do to your hand, Hypno?” Raph asked with a hint of concern. As an older brother he was always concerned about everyone. It was a problem. 

The magician shot him a reproachful look. He set his tea down, finally giving his full attention to the turtles sitting across from him. “ I didn’t do anything to it. Your brother stabbed it clean through.” 

There was a beat of silence, save for the dripping of melted sleet. 

Then the boys exploded with questions. 

“What?” Mikey squeaked. 

“You’ve seen him? Both of them? Where? Are they okay?” 

“Was it Leo or Donnie? Are they together?” 

“When did this happen? Did they say anythin’? Did you say anythin’?” 

“And he hurt you? Why? Did you hurt him?”

Hypno held out his one working hand. “Okay, okay, slow down, mates! I’m just here to deliver a message from Leo. No, I didn’t see the purple one, but from what he said I don’t think they’ve been separated.” 

Raph’s heart was pounding. Hypno had talked to Leo. Leo was alive . Donnie was alive . They were together . Hope ignited in his chest, sparking a fire fed by longing for his family to be whole. 

Hypno winced at their eager expressions. “He, uhh. He said you should stay away.” 

The patter of precipitation on the umbrella increased. 

Raph blinked, unable to comprehend what the hippo had just said. 

“…what?” 

Hypno looked into his teacup, not wanting to meet their eyes. “He said to leave. Get out of New York if you have to.” 

“Why?” Mikey demanded. His scarred hands shook where they clenched on the table. 

Raph clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing. There had to be an explanation. A reasonable explanation. But his mind had already started spiraling down the many horrible paths he’d been working so hard to avoid falling down the past three months. They had been brainwashed. Tortured. Hurt. Captured. Experimented on. Broken. Something horrible, terrible, awful, had happened to them–

“Okay, okay, it appears some exposition is in order. Allow me to start from the beginning!” Hypno said, holding up a hand in surrender. “I signed up for a fight in the Battle Nexus to earn some extra–” 

“ The Battle Nexus ?!” Raph shot to his feet, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the umbrella. “Is that where they are? Let’s go!” 

“Wait!” Hypno stood too. “Yes, that’s where they are. And from the looks of Leo, they’ve been there a long time. But didn’t you hear him? He doesn't want–” 

Mikey tugged at Raph’s wrist wrapping. “But Raph, wouldn’t we know if they had been fighting in the Nexus for three months ? That would have to create some buzz, right? Sunita and Draxum both said that they haven’t seen them in the Hidden City…” 

Mikey had a point. Raph turned to Hypno, suspicious. “Yeah. Why should we believe you? In fact, why should we believe that any message you have from Leo is true?”

Hypno sat back down, gesturing for Raph to do the same. “I… admit that I have no proof, other than this affront on my hand! We might have to amputate it, actually, but that’s not the point! The point is I have nothing to gain by lying to you! In fact, I warrant that you have heard of them. They go by battle names, now. Astros and Terry-an, or something. And Big Mama markets them as tortoises. Sells little toys that don’t even look like them. Trinkets and gift shot sort of things” 

“Wait…” Astros and Tyrian sounded vaguely familiar. 

Mikey’s eyes widened in realization. He slammed his fist down on the table so hard that Hypno’s teacup rattled. “ She lied to us !” 

Now Raph remembered. Back in the first week of the twins’ disappearance Pops had talked to Big Mama. She’d said she hadn’t seen their brothers. She’d seen… “Tyrian” and “Astros”. The horrible realization crashed over Raph. He felt sick to his stomach. They’d been so close this whole time. Had no one doubted Big Mama? Had no one watched a single Battle Nexus match to check what her prized champions actually looked like?! 

Mikey, meanwhile, had shot to his feet and was raving about the arachnid. He spouted off words that made Raph glad it was night, and there were no young children around. His spots were glowing– 

“Woah, woah, hey there, big man! You gotta calm dow–” 

“ I will not calm down !” Mikey screeched. “ I can’t believe Dad trusted her to tell the truth about anything! I can’t believe this ! We have to go get them right now! We know where they are, let’s go!” 

Once again, Hypno got to his feet too. “Weren’t you listening to me? He doesn’t want to be saved!” 

“Yes he does,” Raph said immediately. “Big Mama is the queen of manipulation. She’s probably done somethin’ to him.” 

“Uh, it was pretty clear she’d done something to him, Mate. The cracked shell, barely healing scars, and abundance of bloody bandages kinda gave that away.” 

Mikey stopped glowing as if a switch had been shut off. “He’s hurt?” he whispered. His head swiveled to Raph with alarm. “He’s hurt!” 

The sleet had turned to silent snow. 

Hypno looked away again. “Look. The kid is… different. There was something wrong with him. I’ve never seen him so angry or serious or aggressive . He broke my wrist to win. And he didn’t even clap at my magic tricks.” 

Raph and Mikey glanced at each other. Deep, sharp worry that had rooted itself in Raph’s chest when he’d learned of his brothers’ disappearance. Over the last three months, it had grown, a twisting vine with thorns of panic that slowly constricted his lungs more and more every day. Now, as Hypno described things about his brother that were so very wrong, Raph could feel the horrible thorns dig deep into his heart. 

Mikey reached out and squeezed Raph’s hand, grounding him in the moment. “We just need to save him. Get him and Donnie out of there.” 

“Mates… Don’t you think you ought to listen to his message? He got the chance to say something to you and the only thing he says is ‘Go away’? Not, ‘I’m in the Battle Nexus, please save me’, not, ‘I love you, I miss you’? Just a firm insistence that you don’t come for him? Don’t you think that means something?” 

“It means that we need to go save him!” Mikey insisted. 

Hypno winced. “I guess I can’t stop you. If you want to go get captured in that godforsaken arena then be my guest. I’ll just say one thing: don’t be surprised when your brother… isn’t quite your brother anymore.” He rubbed at his wrapped-up hand. 

“Thanks for the cryptic warning,” Mikey called. He and Raph were already jogging away through the swirling snow. “But we’re going to the Hidden City! We’ve got family to save!” 

How had Sunita and Draxum not caught on? Posters of blue and purple silhouettes were plastered all over the city! No, faces were never actually shown, but come on! Purple and blue, Donnie and Leo, Tyrian and Astros. Not exactly the most complicated connection to make. 

And that was coming from Raph . 

The arena itself sold ‘tortoise’ merch. Dolls, figurines, posters, ‘signed’ booklets, cheap necklaces, t-shirts, even blue and purple bandanas. Except, the bandana bin had a giant DISCONTINUED sign over the top. Raph didn’t like the uneasy feeling that gave him. 

Independent as Mikey wanted to be, Raph didn’t let go of him the whole time. Something about being in a crowd of people again (two times in one week since the invasion over half a year ago) made him feel claustrophobic. He didn’t want to get separated from Mikey. Especially since these were people who paid to watch his brothers fight, apparently. Before , Mikey could have complained. Now, he clutched Raph’s hand with surprising strength. 

They didn’t buy any of the merch. 

But they did need to buy tickets. As they had journeyed through the Hidden City, the brothers had determined that they needed to see their missing brothers with their very own eyes before they did anything extreme, like smashing their way into Big Mama’s office and shaking her violently until she gave Donnie and Leo back. Which meant they needed to see the fights. 

Some posters said that Astros and Tyrian would be part of that night’s program. Donnie had always been the money guy, with questionably obtained and somehow endless tides of cash. Raph and Mikey didn’t have any of that. But they did have ninja skills. 

Mikey mustered all of his powers of stealth to sneak over to a nearby fountain. He discreetly plucked out all the coins he could get his hands on from the bottom of the water. The box turtle skipped back to Raph with fingers full of rusted coins. 

The ticket taker, an exhausted looking bat Yokai, didn’t bat an eye (aha, Leo would have been proud) at two turtles paying for entry with nothing but fistfulls of sopping wet coins. He just shrugged and handed them tickets. 

“You know your bandanas are the wrong colors,” he droned. “They’re supposed to be blue and purple. Also they don’t have bandanas anymore.” 

“Uhhhh Raph’s colorblind,” Raph lied, panicking. He and Mikey scurried away before the bat could ask any more questions. 

Not the best start. But honestly, they’d had worse interactions. 

Raph and Mikey had never actually been in the Battle Nexus arena. They’d gotten close to the gateway when they’d first met Big Mama and she’d wanted them to be her “bumbling arena clowns,” if Raph’s memory served correct. But actually being in the arena was something different. 

The audience was massive, and the seats stretched back dozens, maybe hundreds of rows. The top was open, but too many spotlights (which must have been blinding ) blazed down into the ring. The ring itself was sunk far down, but not so far that they couldn’t see. 

The program that Mikey had nabbed said that Tyrian and Astros were the last round of the night. Mikey and Raph were going to have to sit through several fights first. 

It was barbaric. 

Raph did not like the audience around him at all . For one, they were so loud that it made his head pound. For two, they were vicious and violence-loving. When two green lizard Yokai repeatedly stabbed a magic-wielding witch to death, the Yokai around Raph and Mikey actually laughed . 

“Raph,” Mikey whispered in Raph’s ear between fights as a cleanup crew mopped the blood up. “Do you think they’ve… killed anyone?” 

Of course he’d been thinking the same things but… the idea of Leo and Donnie being killers didn’t sit right with him. Raph didn’t know how to feel. “Raph hopes not, Mikey.” 

It made him worry. What had his brothers been forced to do to survive in this place? The fights he’d already sat through had done nothing but prove that fighters needed to be rather ruthless to win. 

For all of Donnie’s monologues about how the only thing keeping him from becoming a supervillain was his morning coffee, Raph knew that his ‘emotionless bad boy image’ was just that: an image. A mirage. Donnie cared deeply. He could never be a bad person. And while Leo may have been a master strategist and an even better manipulator, he wasn’t some pitiless liar. He had his moments of seriousness, but Leo would not stoop to taking a life. Would he? 

An announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium, announcing some hawk Yokai named something like Terrifying Tony. He flew around the stadium with his sweeping wings. Raph’s vision wasn’t what it used to be, but he thought he could see that some of his feathers appeared to be dipped in metal. Weapons, maybe? 

“ Aaaand in the other corner, the crowd favorite champions, shell-wearing warriors of survival, the gladiators that take hit after hit after hit but always live to fight another day, the twins of the Battle Nexus, it’s Tyrian and Astrooooooos !!!” 

If the crowd had gone nuts before, they were practically in a frenzy now, as two figures strode into the arena. 

Mikey grabbed his arm and pointed. “Raph, look ! 

It was difficult to make out from so far away, but Raph knew his brothers anywhere. “LEO! DONNIE!” 

“There’s no chance they can hear us!” Mikey yelled over the crowd. 

“Mikey, hop on,” Raph insisted, standing up. Mikey clambered onto Raph’s shell. As soon as he was securely in place, Raph squeezed through their aisle to the stairs. He sprinted down them three at a time, yelling his brothers’ names all the while. 

They reached the front row of seats and Raph leaned over the railing as far as he possibly could. Mikey waved his arms and yelled their names. The turtles in the arena didn’t look up. 

Leo and Donnie were locked in combat with the Tony hawk fellow. Raph was taken aback by their fighting. They moved faster than he’d ever known them to, with much more power behind their blows. But even as Raph watched, he could tell that their fighting style itself was different from when he’d trained alongside them. Leo looked for openings, taking advantage of the hawk’s bandaged leg. Leo’s attacks were harsh, lacking all the flair he loved so dearly. Meanwhile, Donnie was equally as driven, using his bo staff with powerful precision. There was no tech for him to rely on, but he made up for it with the sheer force of his bo’s blows. And so in tune… like a mind meld but with instincts instead; the Hamato Household sometimes called it Twin Sense. 

Despite the circumstance, Raph couldn’t help but feel pride. It welled in his chest like the tide. His baby brothers were not just some punching bags. 

The swelling of pride receded slightly when Leo lifted into the air by a claw, spun around, and flung into the stone wall with a horrible crunch . He slumped to the floor directly across the arena from where Raph and Mikey stood. 

Immediately, Donnie was there, twirling his staff in defense, standing protectively in front of his twin. Even from a distance, Raph saw that Donnie’s (maskless, un-eyebrowed) face was twisted in rage. 

“On three, we yell Leo and Donnie’s full names, got it?” Mikey said. 

“Gotcha. One… two…” 

“ LEONARDO!!!! DONATELLO!!!! ” 

Leo’s head snapped up. He looked around, searching the crowd. Raph could tell when he saw them; his whole posture straightened like an electric charge had run through him. 

In a heartbeat, Leo was on his feet. He shouted something to Donnie. Donnie feigned forward, getting the Yokai’s attention, then dashed to the left. Leo skirted to the right, then ran in a limping sprint towards where Raph and Mikey were waving their arms. 

Even as Leo approached, Raph could tell he looked different. What had looked like an abundance of red ribbons were actually looking more and more like copious amounts of blood soaked bandages. And Leo looked… painfully skinny and somehow more muscled at the same time. That couldn’t have been healthy. And finally, even from a distance, Raph could tell that there was something wrong with the way Leo moved his face. Stiffly, almost hesitantly. Even if it was staring in grinning incredulity now, something was different. 

Leo skidded to a halt just a few feet from the edge of the slick rock wall. 

“Raph? Mikey?” He sounded wrong. Rougher. 

Still, Raph wanted to cry at hearing his brother’s voice again, strained though it was. 

He couldn’t believe this was real. Leo, standing in front of them, seeing them, talking to them. Raph couldn’t speak at the overwhelming of emotions. 

“Yes! Leo! We’re here!” Mikey was shaking Raph’s shoulders back and forth in his excitement. 

Leo blinked rapidly. “Raph! Mikey! I can’t believe– wait, what are you doing here?” His face clouded over, changing from disbelief to elation to fury in a matter of seconds. Honestly it was rather terrifying to see such rage in his brother’s eyes. “ What are you doing here?!”  

“We’re here to save you, obviously!” Mikey grinned, apparently unphased by Leo’s barred teeth. 

“No. You can’t be here. You need to leave right now . Before she gets you too.” He looked around, as if Big Mama herself would suddenly rise from the shadows. “She can twist anything you say. Anything. Tyrian and I… we can’t. She’s tracking us,” He gestured to his plastron where a glowing stone surrounded by… inlaid metal spikes?! It looked like it went through his plastron. The very thought made Raph’s chest hurt. 

Leo continued in that same flat but furious tone, “We can’t go. But you can! You have to! Get out of here; don’t come back.” 

Raph could hardly focus on the words Leo was rambling. He was too busy focusing on how differently he spoke . Desperate. Unpracticed. Harsh. So different from the lofty Leo he’d known. 

But then the words themselves sunk in. He wanted to… be abandoned ? 

“Leo– no!”

“Leo! Come with us! Come home!” 

“No. No no no you don’t want me back. You want Leo back. I’m… not Leo.” He winced, tensing up as he admitted it. 

“What are you talkin’ about, yes you are!” Frankly, Raph was getting tired of this arguing. Leo and Donnie were coming home and that was final. He gripped the railing so hard it might have dented. Good. He was starting to really hate everything associated with this place. 

“NO! I’m Astros! Leo was soft, he was weak!” Leo’s eyes flashed dangerously. “He died. Got crushed under the coils of a snake named Viper. Sliced apart. Shattered to pieces. He’s dead. You have to leave. You can’t let her catch you.” Mikey opened his mouth to argue further but Leo was full-out yelling now. “ENOUGH! I won’t lose another brother to that spider.”  

Raph could feel Mikey shaking, holding back tears as he sat on his shoulders. “But Donnie’s right there ! He’s not gone!” 

The red eared slider snorted. “That’s not Donnie any more than I am Leo. Trust me. But you…” a look of desperation flickered across Leo’s face, “you can still be Raph. You can still be Mikey. You won’t be if she catches you. So go. NOW.”

“Leo, we just found you!” Raph yelled. “We can’t just… leave you two.” 

“You won’t. You’re leaving Astros and Tyrian. Don’t try to save us. I wanted this. You have to trust me. Get out of here, run far, far away and make sure she doesn’t follow you. Don’t come anywhere near this place again , do you hear me? That’s an order.” 

Raph gripped the railing. This was all falling apart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Twenty feet away– less, maybe– and he’d never felt so separated. Leo and Donnie were supposed to come home . They’d finally, finally found their brothers and now… they didn’t even want to be saved? All those months of searching and worry and nightmares and stress and breaking down and drifting apart… and Leo just wanted to stay ? 

No. 

That wasn’t Leo. That wasn’t like Leo at all! 

None of this felt real. The anger on his brother’s face felt so wrong. So foreign. Raph had never seen him so mad– but Mikey and Donnie had. 

(In the days following the invasion, Mikey and Donnie had filled Raph in on what had happened when he was Krangified. He remembered their shuddering looks at how Leo had been right after Raph was left. “We had to hold him back from Casey,” Mikey whispered. “I’ve never seen him so furious.”)

Raph didn’t understand. 

Why was he mad now? Why was he yelling? Insisting to be left behind? 

A distant voice that sounded strangely like Leo’s echoed in Raph’s murky memory. You didn’t yell because you were mad. You yelled because you were scared . The words sometimes echoed in his mind, but he never knew where exactly he first heard them. 

Now, looking at Leo, Raph finally knew. 

Looking past the set face, the flashing sword, the wrath that shone through every line of the way Leo held himself… Raph saw fear. Darting eyes, scanning the crowd. Glances back at Donnie. Trembling hands. Desperation. 

But why? 

He was about to be saved ! This was a time for elation, not fear ! Unless Leo knew otherwise… Who was Raph kidding. Of course Leo probably knew otherwise. If escape were so easy as to vault a railing and run, Leo and Donnie would have been home by day one. 

Leon had asked Raph time and time again to trust him . Trust that he knew what he was doing, trust that he knew more than he let on, trust that he was thinking of something. 

Raph had to trust that Leo had his reasons for wanting them to leave. 

So why was it so difficult?  

Leo’s eyes widened as he caught sight of someone in the crowd. “They’re here. GO!”

Raph looked around, but all he could see were some bellhops making their way towards the turtles. He looked from them (buff, plush purple suits) to Leo (skinny and shaking, just out of arm's reach), to Donnie (still locked in fierce combat with the hawk). 

“NO!” Mikey yelled. He gripped Raph’s shell. 

“MICHELANGELO I’M GIVING YOU A DIRECT ORDER! I–” he steeled himself, “I never want to see you two again. Are we clear?” 

Mikey’s face twisted. “Not happening. We’re choosing to disobey your order!” 

Leo’s expression fell into an impassive mask with alarming speed. “Then I’ll make the choice for you.” He turned away. With one look over his shoulder, Leo’s calm facade broke for a second, beseeching eyes seeking Raph’s. “Keep them safe.” 

And then Leo ran back into the fight. 

Raph stood rooted to the spot, facing the most difficult decision he’d ever had to make. He couldn’t just leave them. But the bellhops were getting closer. He and Mikey would be outnumbered. They’d be captured, hurt, or worse. He had to take care of Mikey… He had to think of Pops, and how much it would destroy him to have all of his sons go missing. He had to think of April, who was trying to balance homework and jobs and taking care of the borderline catatonic Hamato family. He thought of Draxum, who was devoting so many resources to searching already that he was in danger of losing his lunch lady job. He thought of months and months of fruitless searching. He thought of the portal closing, Leo lost, cut off forever, taken somewhere where Raph couldn’t save him. Raph. Raph the big brother. The protector. 

He had to save who he could. 

He had to trust his brother. 

If the twins did not want to be saved… he could not save them. 

He’d keep Mikey safe.  

Raph grabbed onto Mikey’s leg, ensuring that the littlest turtle wouldn’t do something stupid. With one last, apologetic look at Leo and Donnie’s fighting forms, he turned. 

Raph ran. 

“No no Raph what are you doing ?!” Mikey cried. 

But Raph wasn’t listening. He was running. 

Up the stairs, up the bleachers, out of the arena. 

Mikey wiggled, writhed, squirmed, tried to break free, screaming all the while. He screamed to go back go back go back go back now now now please Raph he have to go back for our brothers please Raphie please we were so close Raphie please ! 

I know, Raph thought. I know . He couldn’t say it. He was too busy getting as far away as his legs would carry them. 

Running away. 

Through the streets of the hidden city, Yokai and storefronts whizzed past them. The crowds parted as the large turtle and his wailing shoulder adornment blazed past them. Maybe they were blurring from speed. Most likely they were blurring from tears. 

They hadn’t wanted to come back. They hadn’t wanted to be saved. 

But that just couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. It had to be a lie. A trick.

It was so hard to trust that Leo was just looking out for them.  

He didn’t know how long he ran. All he knew was that he had a massive stitch in his side and he couldn’t breathe anymore. He was out of running shape, apparently. Finally Raph stopped in a tunnel that presumably lead to the surface. The only sounds left were distant dripping, Raph’s huffing, and Mikey’s soft cries. So different from the roar of the arena. 

Raph slowed to a halt and fell to his knees. Mikey broke free and jumped down in front of him. 

‘Scary’ was not usually a word to describe the youngest Hamato. But with glowing spots, bared teeth, and murderous eyes, even Raph had to reassess what it meant to be on Mikey’s bad side. 

Mikey’s hands shot out and he gave Raph a hard shove in the chest. “HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!?!” Mikey exploded. “YOU LEFT THEM!” 

Raph winced. “Mikey…” 

“NO! WE SEARCH FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS AND WE FINALLY FIND THEM ONLY TO LEAVE THEM IN THAT ARENA?! YOU SAW WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE THERE! YOU SAW HOW HURT THEY LOOKED! THEY’RE STARVING, RAPH! AND YOU FREAKING LEFT THEM THERE TO ROT !” 

He needed to make him understand . “Mikey I had to.” 

“NO! NO YOU DIDN’T! SO WHAT IF WE’D BEEN CAPTURED! WE’D AT LEAST HAVE BEEN WITH THEM!” 

“Mikey listen to me–” 

“I WILL NOT! YOU RAN AWAY! YOU– YOU COWARD !!!” 

It was like a slap to the face. Raph rose to his feet, towering over Mikey. “What did you call me,” he said. His voice was soft, but it hid a hard edge. 

Unperturbed, Mikey jabbed his accusatory finger towards Raph’s scowling face. “YOU’RE A COWARD!!! AFRAID TO FACE THAT ARENA? OR AFRAID TO FACE WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR BROTHERS? AFRAID THAT THEY’RE GONE LIKE LEO SAID? COWARD!!!!” 

Now, Raphael was no Doctor Feelings, but he even knew that Mikey’s stress and heightened emotions were causing him to say things he didn’t mean. 

However. 

Raph was also stressed. His emotions had also been through the wringer and back again in the space of only a few hours. Raph was also sleep deprived. Raph was also teetering at breaking point. Raph was also sick and tired or losing. Mikey was not the only one who had just had his family ripped from him again. 

Ordinarily, Raph would have refrained and not let his emotions get the best of him. He was the biggest and eldest brother; he was constantly setting an example. 

Now, however, was not one of those times. 

Coward ? 

Anger overwhelmed him like a swirling storm cloud. 

Raph’s ninpo cracked at his hands. He took a step forward, his shadow falling over his baby brother. 

“You callin’ me a coward? Me? Me ? ME who is just tryin’ to keep our family together? Me ? If I’m a coward, then you’re selfish .” He thrust a large finger towards Mikey’s plastron for emphasis. 

Something between them– perhaps the delicate balance that had existed between them for the past three months, binding them together through grief– snapped. 

Mikey staggered back, looking more enraged than hurt. 

But Raph plowed on, letting words spill out into the air like toxic fumes. “Think about what our loss would do to Dad, Mike! To April! To all the folks who have been workin’ their tails off to find them for the past three months . Didja ever think about them, huh? Didja ever think that maybe we had to lose because we need to live to fight another day? Didja ever think that if we’d pulled Leo out that he might not be able to help Donnie? How’d we save Donnie, huh? You’re all set to abandon him ? Leave him alone just so you can have your blue brother back? Selfish!” 

Mikey’s eyes flashed orange. “YOU LEFT BOTH OF THEM!” 

Living with Leo, Raph had learned not to rise to the bait. Especially after the invasion, when they’d both gotten better at avoiding arguments. But he didn’t live with Leo anymore. “I’M KEEPIN’ THIS FAMILY TOGETHER, MICHELANGELO! I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR JOB!” 

“I THOUGHT YOURS WAS TO PROTECT US!” 

“I PROTECTED YOU ! DRAGGED YOU AWAY FROM THOSE BELLHOPS!” 

“FROM OUR BROTHERS!” 

“THINK, MICHELANGELO, WHAT WAS YOUR PLAN? DID YOU EVEN HAVE ONE? HOW THE HECK WERE YOU GOIN’ TO GET THOSE TRACKERS OFF OF THEM BEFORE BIG MAMA ROUNDED UP ALL OF US, HUH? HOW WERE WE GONNA GET THEM OUT OF THERE WITH ALL THOSE CROWDS IN THE WAY, HUH? HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO SAVE THEM IF THEY DIDN’T WANT TO BE SAVED!!!” 

“WE SAVE THEM ANYWAY BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT FAMILY DOES!” Mikey’s spots glowed like the stove under a boiling pot. 

“YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I DID TO YOU BY PULLING US OUT OF THERE!” 

“YOU’RE A COWARD!” 

“AND ALL YOU THINK ABOUT IS YOURSELF! YOUR CHILDISH NOTION THAT EVERYTHING’S GONNA WORK OUT COULD’A GOTTEN US KILLED. THIS IS THE REAL WORLD, MIKEY, IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY! YOU THINK I WAS SCARED OF SOME GOONS? I’D LOVE TO BASH SOME HEADS. I’LL BASH ALL OF THEIR HEADS. I’LL TAKE EM ALL OUT RIGHT NOW!” Raph’s rage reached its peak. Even filled with fury, he possessed the deep-rooted fear of hurting his brothers. Raph pivoted and punched the wall as hard as he could. 

The concrete cracked. 

The jolt of pain snapped him out of it. His knuckles oozed blood. Heavy breathing from both brothers echoed through the tunnel. 

Raph’s fist unclenched as he stared at the new crater in the wall. Fury was draining away, giving into exhaustion. The anger had burned up. All that was left was a charred, blackened, aching heart. 

But not for Mikey. Scrambling over his shock he tried to ignite the fight again. “SO WHY DIDN’T YOU?” 

Raph couldn’t look his way. “Just stop, Mikey.” 

“WHY?! YOU SAID YOU WANTED A FIGHT! NOW YOU AREN’T EVEN GONNA FIGHT ME? COWA–” 

“Stop yellin’,” Raph rumbled. “You’re not mad. You’re scared.” 

You didn’t yell because you were mad, you yelled because you were scared . 

Mikey sucked in a breath, his spots switching off like a burned out lightbulb. He brought his hands up to cover his face. 

Silence echoed in the tunnel. It seemed much louder than their yelling. 

“I’m both,” Mikey mumbled at last. “I’m mad. At you. And Leo. And Donnie. And Dad. And Big Mama. Mostly at Big Mama, I guess. And… and you’re right, Raph.” He raised his head, eyes sparkling with tears.  “I am scared as well. We left them. We turned our backs on them. We gave up on them. Leo never gave up on us, Raph. How can we give up on him?”

The air still felt charged. The space between the brothers was jagged with words said and thought. But they could fix this… later. When their brothers were home. Everything would be better then. 

Raph sighed. “We’re not. We won’t give up. We just… we just need a plan, okay? We know where they are now, Mike. We can keep an eye on them. We just need a plan to get them out.” 

The tears finally spilled down Mikey’s cheeks. He was staring at his feet. Raph couldn’t tell how much he was listening. “Do you think that’s why Leo yelled?” he said at last. “He wasn’t mad that we came for him… he was… he was scared of the same thing happening to us.” 

“Yeah,” Raph sighed. “And that’s why– that’s why I ran. Mikey, I’m sorry –” 

Mikey held up a hand. The scars looked so pale against his green skin. “Don’t. I’m still mad at you. Even if you’re right. We need a plan. So let’s go home and make one.” He turned on his heel and marched off down the tunnel. 

It had been an impossible choice. One that cost him all of his brothers. But he’d get Donnie and Leo back. And then Mikey would forgive him. 

Once again, Raph shouldered the burden of his whole family.

Chapter Text

Tyrian was not one to speak during his fights. The only times he spoke were when he strategized alongside Astros. Communication in battle was important. Other than that, Tyrian incapacitated combatants in unnerving silence. He didn’t even cry out when he was injured. He was a Battle Nexus champion, ‘Lou Jitsu approved’. As if he, Tyrian, would show weakness in the arena. 

Out of the arena was different. He wasn’t Tyrian then. He was Donatello. He was weak. Curled up and babbling about his rapidly dwindling memories to Leo, allowing Leo to do the same. 

But now was no time for weakness. Now was a time for Tyrian. 

It was also time for his third fight in a row. 

“You can’t do this to him,” Astros growled, tugging at the clinking chains. “He’s fought enough.” 

“I can do it,” Tyrian gasped, still winded from the last witch. He needed to prove himself. He’d been winning less fights ever since the Heinous Green Incident. Why he needed to prove himself to the ruthless crowd, he wasn’t sure. He actually didn’t quite remember. But he knew that he and Astros wanted this. And it didn’t matter how exhausted he was, how unfair the fight may be, Tyrian was going to win. 

He had no other option. Raph and Mikey wouldn’t come back for them. It had been… perhaps a week since they’d tried to foolishly extract the twins. Perhaps less, perhaps more. Tyrian just wished he’d seen them. That might have stopped their blurred, unfocused, forgotten faces from haunting him. 

He walked back into the ring with his head held high. Ready to face his new opponents. 

He and Astros were kept separate from the other contestants, but even they knew the reputation of Alpha and Omega. Two lizard Yokai, sister and brother, with toxic green scales. Plumed basilisks, if Tyrian remembered his reptiles right. 

The crested heads and cornflower blue spots on their scales were rather iconic in nature, and more so within the Battle Nexus. 

“Greetings,” one chirped. The girl, Alpha. She brandished curved twin daggers. 

Tyrian said nothing, merely lowered into a fighting stance. 

“Too proud to say hi?” the other sneered. The boy, Omega. Strapped with throwing knives from swishing tail to skinny shoulders

Still, Tyrian did not respond. He wanted this done quickly. Facing two at once was not going to be easy. Especially the two of them, specifically. Their names were based off of the beginning and ending letters of the Greek alphabet because, to quote the announcer’s overzealous spiel, “ they’re the first and last thing you’ll ever see” .

Tyrian knew them to be swift and cruel. The audience may have compared them to him and Astros, but these reptiles loved killing. They made quick work of it. He would not let himself be just another victory for them to tally. 

Despite this firm resolution, Tyrian’s odds of getting out mark-free dwindled with each glint of their knives in the spotlights. 

“ FIGHT !” 

Tyrian blinked, and they were gone. 

Another thing about plumed basilisks: they were impossibly fast. 

Alpha appeared next to him, jabbing a dagger into his side, right between his plastron and battleshell. Pain blossomed up his ribs, but he did not cry out. The knife had not pierced skin, but it still took out a chunk of his carapace. 

Tyrian swung his bo staff at her head, but she dodged with such swiftness that for a wild moment, Tyrian thought she was an illusion. 

Alpha already stood ten feet away. 

Wait. Where is Ome ga – A knife whooshed past Tyrian’s head in an answer. If his ears protruded as humans’ did, he would have lost his. He whipped his head around to see Omega crouching a ways behind him, wide mouth split into a grin. 

Tyrian blinked, and again, they were gone. 

Random facts slid through his mind: Plumed basilisks were so nimble that they appeared to walk on water itself. Apparently being Yokai, they could also move so fast that Tyrian’s tired eyes couldn’t quite track them. 

He caught a faint movement of dust being thrown up from the rocks and a gust of moving wind before Alpha crouched before him. Her yellow eyes flashed as she sprung to stab at his neck. Tyrian stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding getting his throat slashed. The slightest sting across his windpipe told him that he didn’t avoid everything. If he didn’t move more quickly, he wouldn’t get lucky next time. 

“You think you’re so great,” Alpha laughed, tossing her blades and catching them midair. “But honestly, is that the best you’ve got?” 

On pure instinct, Tyrian ducked. One of Omega’s knives zipped over his head. 

Alpha leaned to avoid the deadly projectile as though it were a piece of garbage blowing in the wind. “Impressive reaction,” she grinned. “This will be fun.” 

And so it went. 

The lizards moved with impossible speed, darting far away from the range of Tyrian’s staff. Their pattern of attack became clear: Alpha darted in as a distraction, using close quarters to deal precise damage that Tyrian barely managed to elude each time. Then Omega would throw a knife from some new angle, hoping to take Tyrian out from afar. Alpha was easy enough to deal with. It was simply a matter of evasion. But Omega was random. Flashes of metal whizzed past Tyrian’s head too many times to count. The only reason he had not yet crashed to the ground with a blade sunk into his skull was his lightning quick reaction time. And even then, he wasn’t always lucky enough to avoid them. 

Tyrian hissed in pain as one of Omega’s many knives slashed his cheek. Immediately, blood welled up. That one’s gonna scar, he thought grimly. 

The lizard laughed at Tyrian’s pain. “Finally! Look Alpha, it can make noise. Not the strong and silent type anymore.” 

It?

Alpha skidded to a halt, solidifying from the green blur she’d been before. “I wouldn’t say ‘strong’ exactly,” she cackled. “Everyone knows it’s the weaker of the two.” 

Weak?

Omega giggled, swishing a new knife idly. “Yeah, why'd you even choose to fight on your own? Against us?  Overconfident idiot.” 

Were they trying to rile him up? Because unfortunately for them, it was succeeding. 

Tyrian hissed again, darting forward with speed that obviously surprised the lizards. For the first time since the fight began, he was on the offensive. 

Alpha was closer (she was always close), so she was whom Tyrian focused his temper towards. His bo staff whipped towards her cocked head in a streak of dull metal. 

Of course she ducked. But as she popped back up, she grabbed the end of his staff. Alpha’s long-fingered hands clamped around the cylindrical weapon. Her unnaturally wide, blue-lipped mouth split open into a grin. 

“Oooof, bad plan. Didn’t think that one through, did you?” 

Donnie would have thought that through. Tyrian was here to get results.  

Tyrian yanked back, but she held fast. He shoved it forward, but her thin scaly arms were much stronger than they appeared. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the second green blur. Tyrian readied himself for a knife thrown his way. Instead, the lizard advanced. A second too late, Tyrian realized what was happening. He desperately tried to pull his weapon (his only weapon his dull weapon his useless weapon his cheap weapon his insufficient weapon his weak weak weak weak stupid weapon) back. 

Omega jumped, his foot striking the very middle of the firmly held bo staff. 

Metal stick vs Lizard’s foot. Physics made it clear which one would win. 

But Big Mama spared every expense on weaponry. 

The cheap metal snapped. 

Physics (who had already failed Tyrian today) betrayed the turtle yet again as he went careening backwards, still clutching half of his staff. His head smacked against the stone floor. 

In a daze, Tyrian looked down at the remains of his weapon. He held about two feet of it. The broken end had splintered into shrapnel. From the long spikes on that end in particular, it now looked like a fork made by a person who had never seen a fork in their entire life and was going solely based on concept. 

At least it’s sharp now,  Tyrian thought distantly. 

He paid dearly for allowing himself to become distracted as Alpha sprang towards him, brandishing her daggers. The blade arched down, but Tyrian flinched, changing his positioning instinctively. The blow bounced off one of the straps of Tyrian’s battleshell. It clanged concerningly. 

Alpha growled, rubbing her jarred wrist. “Armor like that thing is cheating! I say if you’re so physically weak that you need protection, then you shouldn’t have even entered the fights!” 

Tyrian was on his feet in an instant. Her ignorance regarding how things worked for Tyrian and Astros was getting on his nerves. He was so done with this fight. 

But finishing it was going to be the hard part. There were two of them, they possessed speed to the point where it literally made them hard to see, and they had knives.  He looked down at the abomination to silverware in his white-knuckled hands. 

Why. 

Why. 

Anger exploded in his chest. 

Why did this have to happen to him? Why did he have to be here? Why couldn’t he be back in the cell with Leo? Why was he forced to fight again and again and again and again and again and again and again only to gain nothing . There was no Grand Prize for him! There was no Grand Prize for Astros . There was only pain and suffering and loss and cold and hunger and stupid freaking unknowns . 

But these lizards? Who had chosen to be here? Who fought and killed and won because they wanted to? These lizards who relished the spotlight, who adored the crowd, who didn’t know true suffering?  

They were going to beat him. Kill him. 

No. 

Tyrian shoved down his emotions as he had many times before on many occasions. Something something ‘Bad Boy Image’ something something. He couldn’t be overwhelmed by anger now. If he killed them, then he was no better than they were. That’s what Atomic Lass always said. Or was it Atomic Lad? He didn’t rememb– enough! Tyrian was going to win, and he was going to live to see Leo again, and he was going to Stay. Calm. 

Alpha was still monologuing about how her and her brother’s plumed basilisk genetics made them the ultimate warriors. 

Scoff. She had no idea to whom she was speaking. 

Omega was running laps around the ring, soaking in the crowd’s praise at the way he could kick up whole clouds of dust. Mindless turkeys. 

At least they were both distracted. Perfect for Tyrian. He zipped forward with all the speed and remnants of stealth he still possessed, skirting around Alpha. 

With all his strength, Tyrian jabbed the remains of his staff through the Yokai’s tail, pinning it to the rocky floor. She shrieked at the unexpected pain, but Tyrian was already moving again. 

He snatched up the other half of the staff (discarded where Alpha had triumphantly dropped it). It was longer than the other one and just as spiked. Tyrian turned back to the struggling figure. 

In the same motion as breaking a bottle over someone’s head, Tyrian whacked the cheap metal against Alpha’s cranium. Her yellow eyes rolled upwards and she toppled forward to faceplant onto the arena floor. 

Finally, a small victory. Tyrian allowed hope to bloom in his chest, but it was drowned out by a shck and the immediate explosion of agony in his plastron. A very specific spot in his plastron. 

In slow motion, Tyrian looked down to see one of Omega’s throwing knives. Lodged. Directly into the crack in the turtle’s plastron. 

And then another dug into his calf. And top of his thigh. And into the shoulder of the arm holding the stick. Thwack– and the hilt of one cracked against his skull. 

Stunned and riddled with suffering, Tyrian crumpled. 

A shadow fell over him and spiny green feet appeared in Tyrian’s blurred vision. Omega’s foot shot out, kicking him in the chest. The force knocked the wind out of Tyrian and freed the knife, causing blood to well between cracks. Tyrian clutched his uninjured arm around himself, gasping for air. 

“You thought it’d be that easy?” Omega breathed. Bending down, his scaly face filled Tyrian’s line of sight. Reptilian. As Viper’s had been. “You really thought you could beat us? Us?! Battle Nexus champions?! I am a winner. You are a loser. You’re nothing. You’re slow and dumb. Why do you even bother?” 

Omega pointed yet another knife at Tyrian’s face. “Who do you think you are?” 

Who do you think you are? 

Who did he think he was? 

Was he Tyrian? Was he Donatello? Was he a Hamato? A ninja? A hero? A genius? A puppet? Fighter? Empty shell of all of those things? A broken husk who existed only because he had yet to die? 

Lines blurred. Already fuzzy memories fizzled out, leaking through Tyrian’s fingers like the blood from his chest. 

Who even was he anymore? What did he stand for? What was the point of any of this anymore? 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t knOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KNOW HE DIDN’T KN– 

Sharp pain slashed across Tyrian’s snout. He could see the thin gash already welling with blood on the edges of his vision. Omega repositioned the now-bloody knife to point at Tyrian’s face again. 

“Hey Tyrian, are you even listening to me!?” he demanded. 

Tyrian looked up into the twisted face. Garish goldish eyes, unsightly wide mouth, pompous crest on head, look of supremacy. 

Tyrian hated him. 

Not two minutes ago, Tyrian had promised himself to end the fight his way. But this was the Battle Nexus. Absolutely nothing was consistent. 

Not even Tyrian. 

In that moment, all at once, every heartache that Tyrian carried– every single thing he missed about home , every malnourished night, every unfair fight, every injustice, every scratch and scrape and stab wound , every head injury, every single bit of pain and despair and loss and unknown welled up inside of Tyrian’s chest. He hovered on the edge– thin as a blade– between despair and fury. 

He tipped. 

And fell. 

And drowned.

Wrath like he had never known overwhelmed Tyrian’s every fiber. He was filled with fire that was longing to scorch the being in front of him. 

Tyrian’s hand shot out, making to disarm the knife currently pointed at his face. Omega, surprised, made to stab the turtle’s face, finish the fight permanently, but he never got the chance. Tryian had grabbed his wrist and twisted. It snapped. Omega shrieked and dropped the knife. 

Tyrian let it hit the ground. 

Instead, he grabbed the other bloody knife; the one formerly stabbed into his plastron. His fingers tightened around its hilt. 

“Uh huh, whatcha gonna do with that?” Omega scoffed. His voice was strained with pain as he cradled his broken wrist, but his smug look remained as he stood over the still-kneeling Tyrian. “Let’s leave the sharp weapons to the real Nexus champions.” 

“You want a champion?” Tyrian hissed in a low, almost guttural voice. Anyone with sense would have run at the tone and the wicked glint in his eye to match the knife. “I’ll show you what a real champion does to insignificant idiots like you.” 

Omega was fast. But Tyrian’s fury made him faster. 

He jabbed upwards, stabbing the knife directly into the lizard’s gut. 

Omega let out an “uff,” of surprise, but Tyrian wasn’t done. He shoved deeper and deeper through scale and muscle until only the hilt was left. 

It wasn’t enough. 

He would make this Yokai suffer. This boy who got enough food and got to go home after each fight and wanted to fight wanted to be here wanted glory and praise and violence and fame and money and every other horrible vain thing that this place offered. 

Omega wanted the Nexus? Tyrian would give him the Nexus.

He would give Omega what the Nexus truly meant. 

He would give Omega a pathetic death. 

Tyrian braced both hands on the hilt and pushed upwards, rising with the blade. 

Green scales split apart, hot blood gushed over Tyrian. He didn’t care. If his own brother had to bleed, so did this brother. His knife meant the resistance of ribs. Bones were no match for Tyrian’s frenzied strength. With the sickening cracking of shattering ribs, Tyrian wrenched the knife upwards through Omega’s scaley chest. He left a gouged trail like a necktie of blood. 

Only when he had reached the collarbone did Tyrian look into the pale face of Omega. Such a contrast from the haughty one he’d borne not thirty seconds ago. “Oh, is this not what you wanted?”

Omega’s eyes bulged in horror, dilated in terror. A trickle of red had spilled from his blue lips and down his chin. 

“Me neither,” Tyrian spat. 

He jerked the knife out and the lizard dropped. Blood spread over the ground like an infection. It lapped at Tyrian’s toes. 

He looked down at the slain enemy at his feet. Fury still bubbled in his lungs. Loathing for everything and everyone grew inside of him, jabbing at his veins like thorns running through them instead of blood. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go home . He wanted to tear this whole place apart, burn it down, and bury it forever. He wanted every single member of the audience dead at his feet. Their bodies would pile up in the middle of the Nexus. Their blood would create a river, one gushing and strong enough to sweep away this whole city. 

He was shaking. 

He was snapped out of his spiral by Alpha’s scream of despair, echoing over the uproar of the crowd. 

She ran to her brother, kneeling next to him, shaking him, calling his name. Pathetic. He would not wake. Tyrian had made sure of it. 

Alpha seemed to realize that, for her head snapped up, face twisted in pain and rage. “ I’ll kill you! ” she screamed. She lunged over her brother’s body towards Tyrian. 

She was sloppy. Tryian reacted instinctively. With the hand still (somehow) holding his broken bo staff, he plunged it into her wide eye. The very prongs she had helped create pierced the film of her shiny, round, no longer yellow eyeball. 

Before Alpha even had time to react, Tyrian forced it further into her skull. She dropped, strewn over Omega’s corpse, remaining eye forever widened. 

Tyrian stood over them, bloody knife in bloody hand. 

They looked like discarded dolls. More broken playthings of the Battle Nexus. Puppets with sliced strings. 

Tyrian found himself breathing heavily. Shaking. Gulping. But he could not get enough air. There was not any air, in fact. His breath hitched and wheezed as he looked down at the motionless bodies of Alpha and Omega. 

Corpses. 

Lifeless. 

Lifeless. 

Lifeless.  

Lifeless. 

Lifeless?!

And it was Tyrian’s fault. 

Everything rushed back to him, focused, sharpened. 

He registered the pain first. Blood on his cheek, across the bridge of his nose. His stabbed torso. His punctured shoulder and leg. He felt like a pincushion. 

Then the noise rushed in. Bellows from the crowd, that awful creature, so loud that it shook the floor. The announcer, elated, yowling something. Spotlights dancing with joy. Big Mama herself, looking down with a delighted grin. 

Tyrian became very aware that Astros was at his back. Astros, who had seen the whole thing. Astros, to whom he had promised he wouldn’t do this. Tyrian… couldn’t face him. He couldn’t face him after that. They had one rule, one thing, one piece of themselves left. And now… 

Had Tyrian longed for home so badly that he’d destroyed the one part of himself that could return to it? 

Was that why he couldn’t breathe? Because he’d strangled the last good part of himself? Because he’d choked out all the light he had left?

He looked down at the bodies again. Green. Like his brothers. For a mad second, he saw Mikey and Raph there. Himself and Astros. These were siblings. There were someone’s family.  Friends. These were Yokai who’d had lives, family, homes. All things Tyrian had wanted. And now he’d destroyed theirs… and his own. 

He scrambled backwards, but his legs were weak and the stone was slick with blood. He slipped, slamming into the ground. His vision popped with lights. Not my head again … he thought disjointedly. 

There, laying on the ground just like the people he’d killed killed killed killed he’d killed them he could see the open top of the arena. Above it was New York. Above it was home. Above it was a place where he would never be welcomed again. 

Finally finally finally finally, flat on his back, he could gasp in a breath. With it, he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He curled into a ball, still screaming, chest and shoulder and leg protesting. He didn’t care that the audience was watching, he’d never cared that the audience was watching, that’s why he’d never never never never killed anyone. 

Tyrian put his hands over his mouth, maybe to stop the screaming, maybe to keep the breath in; he was suffocating .

His hands were wet. And red. 

Blood in his mouth–

He gagged. He rolled to his hands and knees and vomited onto the bloody arena floor. 

Once his throat was clear again, he resumed his wails of anguish. It felt like he’d been the one sliced open, he’d been the one stabbed in the face, he’d been the one to do it. His insides were ripping themselves apart in guilt. In shame. In horror. 

What had he done. 

Maybe if he screamed enough he’d get this horrible feeling out of him. Off of him. Away from him. 

What had he done . 

His hands were bloody, but for once it was not his blood. It wasn’t even Astros’s blood. How could he ever get it off of him? 

WHAT HAD HE DONE . 

Lou Jitsu never killed people. Jupiter Jim killed people. Raph never killed people. Mikey never, April never, Leo never, Astros never, Donnie never killed people . Was this it? Was this the truest, surest sign that he wasn’t Donnie anymore? That he could never get Donnie back? Was Donnie lying dead in the pile of bodies as well? 

Tyrian whipped his head around to check. All he saw were two limp, torn apart, dead lizards. He vomited again. 

Bellhops were dragging Tyrian away even as he continued his screaming. His throat burned. His insides burned. Writhed. They squeezed so tightly that he may never be able to uncurl himself again. 

They passed where Astros was chained. 

He stood frozen, rooted to the spot, staring at Tyrian. 

His slack gaze burned.  

Tyrian squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so so sorry I’m sorry I don’t know what happened I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean for this to happen I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry this is my fault this is all my fault I’m sorry I can’t stop this I can’t stop I can’t stop screaming I can’t stop crying I can’t I can’t I can’t I won’t I’m sorry I can’t BREATHE I’M SORRRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SO SO SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY – 

“Oh there’s no need to be sorry, Tyrian-boo. You were wonderific!” 

Tyrian’s eyes snapped open. Everything was blurry. Even dim light made his head throb. His face was wet. With more blood, no doubt , he thought. His mouth was still moving, maybe sound was spilling out of it. Maybe he was just mouthing at this point. 

Big Mama was talking. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you. My audience was actually bimbily betting on Astros snitty snapping first. Oh well, this will just generate more publicity.” 

Tyrian whimpered, face twisting at Big Mama’s horrible voice. His cheek and nose stung at the movement. Was this how Leo’s face had felt after Viper– Viper. He was just like her now. No. No no no no no no he couldn’t he couldn’t how would he ever face ( face ) Leo again?! He opened his mouth to shriek at the agony of his insides when something was stuffed into it. 

He choked on the– was it cloth? A handkerchief? 

Big Mama patted him on the head (ow ow ow). “Be quiet now, purple-boo. Mama is talking.” 

Tyrian didn’t know where exactly he was. The only thing that existed to him was Big Mama standing in front of him, the bellhop at his back, and the soft ground where he currently curled. Carpet? Was he in Big Mama’s office? When had he gotten here? 

“I want you to know, Tyrian, that I’m proud of you. You’ve done a splendiferous job in my arena, especially today.” 

Validation?

The praise felt better than warm blankets. 

Wait no, that was wrong– 

“I think that it’s high time you leave those pesky little squabbles alone and move on to the zibbletanious matches!” 

What? 

“Tournaments, my dear Tyrian. Tournaments! Main events, wondiferoso wizbangs!” 

What? 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Big Mama’s hand shot out and grabbed Tyrian’s jaw, forcing his face upwards. Her long nails dug into his cheeks. Had her expression always been so cold? So greedy? “Listen to me, Tyrian. You are a killer now. And there is no going back from that. So why don’t you middly make the most of it and embrace it?” 

Tyrian tried to shake his head but her grip was too strong for his exhausted muscles to break free of. His hands gripped at the carpet. They were sticky with blood. 

“How did it feel?” she purred. “Taking their lives? Exhilarating, wasn’t it?” 

No!

…Yes. 

It had been. He had been unstoppable, a master of life and death. It was so very wrong.  

He made a pained noise deep in his ripped-up throat. 

“Get used to it, Tyrian-boo. You’re going to have to kill again and again and agibbly-gan!” 

Tyrian gagged, but the handkerchief was still in his mouth. Big Mama’s nails were going to break skin soon. 

“Don’t be difficult with me, now. You will kill and you will like it. My adorbling audience sure does. Now be a good boy and get out of my sight. You’re staining the carpet.” She threw him to the ground with bone-jarring force. 

And Tyrian was dragged away, somehow feeling even worse. 

Doctor Mouse could slap a bandage on any injury and call it good. She could rub in some mystic ointment and the wound would heal faster. She could mend broken bones and reattach dangling limbs. But she never gave anything for the pain. 

And indeed, pain did throb from essentially everywhere as Tyrain was hauled to the cell. But even the semi-healed stab wound to his chest was nothing, nothing compared to the torment in his head. 

What was he even going to say to Leo? How could he say anything? How how how how how how how– 

The door screeched open and Tyrian was tossed inside. He hit hard floor. It was freezing cold. 

No one rushed to his side. No one cried out for him. Nothing. 

Tyrian braced his shaking arms against the floor and raised his head. 

Leo stood in the middle of the room. Stone still. Staring down at him. 

The light was dim; it was impossible to see his face. Tyrian didn’t want to see his face. He let his head drop back down. 

A sob tore from his already shredded throat. And then another. And another. Tyrian couldn’t stop. The sobs racked his whole body, and he shuddered on the ground. Again, he couldn’t breathe as he curled into an even tighter ball. He knew this would happen. Leo could never forgive him for such a deed. No one could ever forgive him for this.  

The chill of the floor faded away. All that mattered to Tyrian– all he could feel– was the guilt. The horror. The shame. The feeling of utter wrongness that had enveloped his whole soul. 

There was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing but a murderer. 

Murderer. 

His sobs bordered on screams. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. It was a loop in his head that would never go away. It would never stop because he would always be sorry, he would always have done this he would always– 

Ice cold water splashed onto him, jarring him from his thoughts, pulling him out of the loop. 

Tyrian’s eyes snapped open. The noise in his throat died out. 

He was curled at the bottom of the shower. And judging from the way he was entirely wet, all of his armor– even his battleshell– was gone. 

Leo knelt before him, his mouth in a thin line. Expression unreadable. He wouldn’t meet Tyrian’s eyes. 

Yet another sob bubbled up. 

Leo reached up and the frigid water changed to something blissfully warm. 

Tyrian curled tighter. He was so scared. Leo was going to yell. Or scream. Or hit him. Or never ever speak to him again. Maybe… maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Tyrian didn’t want to talk about what had happened. He didn’t want to talk about anything. Ever. 

Luckily(?) Leo didn’t appear to be in the mood for talking either. He merely held Tyrian up as warm water washed over the softshell. He looked down at the red water swirling over the tile. 

So. Much. Red. 

Blood washed off of him, staining the tile, spiraling down the drain. 

It wasn’t even his blood. 

Tyrian could feel bones snapping under his hands, the thick blood of someone else gushing out onto himself. 

He threw up again. Leo washed that away too. 

His gentle hands (more gentle than Tyrian deserved) scrubbed as hard as they dared. Leo gingerly washed the remaining blood out of the plastron cracks. He erased the red from Tyrian’s legs. 

Leo grasped Tyrian’s hands, where the worst of the bloodstains were. In silence, he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. He scrubbed red out from every groove, every knuckle, each and every line of Tyrian’s trembling hands. From the tips of Tyrian’s fingernails up to his elbows, Leo meticulously cleaned. 

He inspected his twin for any remaining blood he may have missed. Then finally, finally, he looked at Tyrian’s face. There was no horror. No revulsion. Just… concern. Deep, deep worry. Leo was always too good for Donnie. And he was much, much too good for Tyrian.

The spray from the showerhead wasn’t the only water streaming down Tyrian’s face as he ducked his head away. His choking sobs had abated, but tears remained. 

He opened his mouth. He needed to apologize. He needed to tell Leo how sorry he was. How horrified he was with himself. How much he hated what had happened. He needed to tell him that he didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean any of this. But the only thing that came out was yet another pitiful cry. 

The water shut off. 

Leo’s expression was suddenly colder than the air of the cell. Still, he dried Tyrian off with one of the towels. Once he was fully dry, Leo stood up and walked to his bed. He laid down and turned away. Even in the semi-lit room, Tyrian could see the cracks on his shell. 

So there Tyrian sat. Curled in the bottom of their shower. Wrapped in a damp towel. Shattered to pieces. 

A pitiful attempt at saying Leo’s name died in Tyrian’s throat. His voice was mangled. 

No response. 

This was worse than being screamed at. 

“I’m sorry,” Tyrian croaked. He couldn’t say anything else before the tears overwhelmed him again. That didn’t stop him from trying. “I’m– I’m so sorry. I– Leo…” 

Tyrian needed Leo to look at him. He attempted to stand, but crumpled back to the floor. He simply couldn’t support himself anymore. He was so tired but– but he needed Leo to see– he had to understand that he didn’t want this. 

You did want this, an awful, evil voice whispered in his head. You wanted to kill them. You wanted to make them suffer.  

“No… no I didn’t wa-nt this. I sw-ear. I– I–” 

“I know.” 

Leo was at Tyrian’s side, wrapping his arms around him in an instant. Apparently he couldn’t put on the aloof act any longer. He buried his face into Tyrian’s neck. His eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to feel.” 

Tyrian slowly but surely wrapped his arms around his twin, clutching to him like the only thing keeping him from drowning. Maybe he was. “ I’m sorry.”  

“I know. Donnie… I know. If it wasn’t you who snapped first… it would have been me. This was bound to happen to one of us eventually.” 

“You should hate me–” 

“I don’t.” 

“You shouldn’t forgive me–” 

“But I do.” 

“I had to–” 

“I understand.” 

“I’ m a murderer–”  

“She made you. It’s not your fault.” 

And that’s how it went. Tyrian babbling the truth of the horrible things he’d done while Leo tried to somehow deny it. He didn’t understand. But… but he did understand. He was the only one who did. The only one who could. But still, there was nothing he could say. No words to make the overwhelming guilt go away. No words of true comfort to offer. Leo just held him tighter, almost like he knew. Of course Leo knew. Leo understood. Leo, who wasn’t going to leave him. Leo, his twin, his only hope, the only one who could understand what he’d done. 

Leo… who would fold, letting Astros win any day now. 

And then he’d be a murderer too. 

Tyrian gagged. Leo assisted him to the toilet. 

All through the night, Tyrian curled in Leo’s lap as he rubbed his shell and offered hollow, useless words of commiseration. Tyrian couldn’t stop crying and crying and crying and crying and sobbing and sobbing and weeping and bawling.  

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their bodies. He saw Leo and Donnie’s bodies. He saw Raph and Mikey’s bodies. 

Raph and Mikey. 

Raph who’d once cried when he stepped on a ladybug. Mikey who still wept over Gram Gram late at night when he thought no one could hear. They would never forgive him. Not for this. He couldn’t go home. He could never go home and face them face what he’d done face their horrified disgusted disappointed upset terrible terrible faces. 

He could never go home. 

They would hate him. 

At one point he must have somehow said it out loud because Leo spoke at last, in a drained voice. “Donnie… I would rather have a brother who’s… been forced to do things that he’s not proud of… than have no brother at all. And I’m sure Mike and Raph will feel the same way. Okay?” 

Tyrian just shook his head because no they would never forgive him.  

They might forgive Donnie. 

But he was not Donnie anymore. And they wouldn’t take this version of him back. 

His mask was gone. His honor was gone. His tech was gone. His memories were gone. His knowledge, his mind, his mind his mind his mind his brain the only thing he was good for was gone . HE was GONE. 

And somehow… he couldn’t really bring himself to care about that. It was a simple thing, to lose oneself. Easier than misplacing a screwdriver. There was just… nothing left of himself to really care about himself. Who he used to be.  

Tyrian dreamt of the Snake from 'Jack the Rabbit', that childhood book of his. It congratulated him with a smooth, measured voice before slithering away. 

I don’t want to be the bad guy! Tyrian insisted, chasing after it. He tripped over the bodies of Alpha and Omega. 

Too late, the Snake said, pointing with its tail. 

Tyrian looked down at the body of Donatello. 

Brilliant. 

Broken. 

Buried. 

Leave it. What’s one more death to you? What’s a thousand more deaths to you? As long as you and your brother live, does it really matter who else dies?  

He tried to protest, but the Snake didn’t hear him. It was too busy doing what it needed to in order to survive. Snake suggested that Tyrian do the same. It coiled itself up; an endless circle, exactly like a clock. 

Tyrian awoke to Leo Astros shaking him awake to eat. Donatello stayed asleep. 

Tyrian kept the food down with no problem. He couldn’t afford to focus on what he’d done. Just what he needed to do. 

A few days blur later, Big Mama put him in her tournament, just like she’s promised. It was nonstop. The only way to win and move on to the next bracket was to kill your opponent. Brutally. Horribly. 

And each time, Tyrian won.

Until he faced the dragon.

Chapter Text

“Donnnnnnieeeeeeeeeeee,” Leo groaned. “Come play with me!” 

Behind his glasses, Donnie’s eyes stayed glued to his book. He’d been happily reading the entirety of Dune for the past three hours and wasn’t happy to be interrupted. Pops had been surprised when his six-year-old son had come home from the library (he was very sneaky) clutching a book that weighed more than he did. But he’d shrugged it off and returned to his TV show. 

“Dooooooooonnnnnnnnnnniiiiiiiieeeeeeeee…” 

Donnie closed his book with a snap (after memorizing the page number of course. Bookmarks were for the weak, he claimed). “What.” 

“I’m booooored. I wanna play Knight and Princess!” 

“Why can’t you play that with Raph? He loves princesses.” Donnie sassily crossed his arms. 

Leo sighed. His purple twin didn’t understand that Raph was busy doing boring stuff. Like cleaning his room. Lame. Leo hated cleaning his room. He needed to see all of his stuff or he didn’t remember it was there! Mikey understood. That’s why Mikey dumped out his crayons all the time. He needed to see allll of the colors before picking the right one. 

“No, it’s gotta be you!” Leo crossed his arms to mirror Donnie. “You’re a fun princess to save.” 

“Scoff. I don’t want to just sit there while you make a fool of yourself.” 

Leo mustered all of his powers of logic. “But you’re already just sitting here! You can sit there reading your boring nerd book on top of the dragon. It’s gliterally the same thing.” 

“Literally.” 

“Yeah that’s what I said. Come on Don, please?” 

Donnie’s lips scrunched up in the way that Leo knew meant he was trying to come up with a better argument. Finally, he slid off of his bed (he had the bottom bunk, Leo had the top. Donnie said it was because he stored his books under his bed, but Leo knew it was because he was afraid of falling and something happening to his soft shell).

Leo bounded forward and grabbed Donnie’s hand, dragging him out of their room, through the Lair, and into the tunnels beyond towards the dragon. 

The ‘dragon’ was an old grate-covered pipe a little ways away from the entrance of their home. The pipe was so big that Raph (the very large seven-year-old) could have easily crawled through it, but he of course didn’t want to. All manner of sewer muck had collected inside of it, leaking out and hanging down to vaguely resemble dragon teeth. And besides, he couldn’t have gotten very far. It jerked up in the shape of a big staircase (with only two steps) before disappearing into the ceiling. Leo had started calling it “the dragon” and invented a new game to play with it. 

He would be a brave knight (“because swords are cool! Swords are my thing!” Leo insisted). One of his brothers would perch right in the crook of where the pipe curved like a giant L shape. The bottom one, not the higher one. Usually Raph, because Donnie didn’t like going near the slimy pipe, and Mikey wouldn’t sit still long enough (Leo had lost video game privilege for a week for the new bump on his baby brother’s head when he’d slipped off the smooth metal). Leo would then bravely ‘attack’ the pipe, poking a stick between the grate holes, wacking at the hanging gunk, saying very brave things like “I’ll save you!” and “I can be your champion!” and “Fear not, for I am turtlehearted!”

 “Lionhearted,” Donnie corrected from where he lounged in the lower crook of the pipe. 

“But I’m a turtle. Not a lion.” 

“But that’s not the phrase!” 

“Shut-up-I’m-braver-than-a-lion-I’m-trying-to-rescue-you,” Leo insisted, swishing his stick for emphasis. 

Donnie humphed and stood up. And then paled. Leo had helped him up onto the pipe. If he jumped off now, he’d land in a puddle of something icky. So instead of getting off, he reached his little hands up, grabbing onto where the pipe curved into the second L shape. With uncoordinated wriggling movements, he managed to hoist himself up another level. 

“Hey what are ya doing, Donton?!” 

“You want to save me?” Donnie panted. “You’ve got to work for it!” 

Leo saluted with his stick, wincing as it bonked him in the head. 

He redoubled his efforts to slay the mighty dragon that had captured his brother. With a few more pokes and dramatic “Ha! Hyah! Wabam! Take that! Smack! Pow! Zap!” ‘s, he declared the dragon almost defeated. 

He wound up and delivered one final wack to the side of the pipe. The resounding clang echoed through the tunnels. Apparently, Leo hit it harder than he thought, because the whole pipe rattled. 

Donnie yelped as it shuddered dangerously. His soft purple hoodie was too silky, and he slipped sideways. With scrabbling little fingers and toes he desperately tried to stay on the pipe. 

“Help!” he squeaked. 

He was wayyy high up! So high that not even Pops could have reached him! Leo couldn’t stop his vivid imagination from imagining Donnie falling all the way down and landing on his sensitive shell. He was scared to fall out of a bunk bed– this was worse! 

“Donnie!” Leo dropped his stick and ran forward (jumping over the piles of grossness) until he was underneath Donnie’s flailing legs. “Donnie, I’m here!” 

Donnie chirped in distress. Leo knew that his big huge smart brain was trying to think of a solution, but even Leo knew about gravity; Donnie was going to fall. But Leo couldn’t say that! 

“Leo! Leo do something!”  

And it clicked. Leo had to be a hero! He puffed out his chest, the word on it (RAD) expanding. “I”LL SAVE YOU!” Leo yelled. “Let go! I’ll catch you!” 

“That’s– oof– not going to work! Go get Dad!” 

There was no time to get Dad! He was probably napping anyway, and wouldn't want to be bothered. 

“I promise to catch you. I promise, Dee!” 

Whether Donnie let go because he trusted Leo, or whether he let go because he simply couldn’t hold on anymore, Donnie let go. Time slowed down as he fell through the air. Leo opened his arms wide, ready to catch him… 

And Donnie crashed onto Leo’s head. 

“Toldja I gotcha,” Leo groaned with his face smushed under Donnie’s tangled feet. 

He managed to wiggle out from under Donnie, ready to gloat about how he’d saved the purple princess from the dragon– when he saw Donnie’s face. Or at least, the tiny sliver of it that he could see underneath his sleeves. 

Donnie rapidly rubbed his long sleeves over his eyes, which pushed his glasses up. He tried to muffle his soft sob, but Leo could feel him shaking. 

“Donnie?” 

He just shook his head, biting down on his quivering lip. 

Leo hugged him. Tightly. Donnie melted into it. 

“‘M s-sorry I squished you,” Donnie mumbled. 

“Hey, that’s okay! Sometimes saver people get hurt. Like Jupiter Jim when he pushed Red Fox out of the way of those falling boulders in ‘Jupiter Jim and Falling Boulder Canyons of Planet Rocky, part II’!”

“Y-yeah,” Donnie hiccuped. He stared at the wall before muttering, “Thanks.” 

Leo couldn’t help but grin as proudly as a gap-toothed six-year-old possibly could. “Of course, twinnie! I’ll always save you from the dragon.” 

Donnie managed a sniffling chuckle. “Yes. I am liberated from the clutches of the draconic fiend.” 

Leo blinked. “You what?” 

“Nevermind,” Donnie sighed. Like Leo wouldn’t understand. It was like he was talking to a four-year-old. Hey! Leo wasn’t four! He was six! And a half! 

Leo stuck out his tongue. “I betch’a wanna go back to your nerd book now, huh?” He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“No,” Donnie said. “I want to read a different book. Maybe one about… knights.” 

Beaming, Leo recognized Donnie’s way of attempting to connect with him instantly. “Okay!” He hopped up, helped Dee over the gross patches, and they dashed back into the Lair, dreaming of dragons. 

Subterranean in nature the Hidden City may have been, but seasons still changed. The air had chilled, making the cold-blooded turtles much slower. 

It was the surest sign that life was moving on outside of the arena. Without them. 

Astros could tell, even before the mouth-like Nexus entrance came into view, that this fight was going to be different. 

Granted, it was the first fight since Tyrian had killed the lizard siblings, so something was bound to feel off. Different. 

But something felt wrong. 

Buzzing in the air, tingling across Astros’s unmasked face, chills that seeped up and down and inside the cracks of his shell. A heavy weight, hoisted up by a creaking rope. 

Poised like a clock on the verge of beginning its countdown. 

As always, the air was thick with roaring crowds. But today they felt different. More expectant than usual. Ever eager for carnage. 

And when the bellhops handed Tyrian his metal bo staff, Astros saw the near-imperceptible shake in his fingers. The softshell sensed it too. 

Astros’s chest constricted like it was wrapped in a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. Something was about to happen. Something different. Something unexpected. And whatever was going to happen would not be good. 

The walkie talkie bleeped, and Big Mama’s cheery voice poured out of it. “Turtle-boos! Today is a very spifferistic day! It’s my classic Battle Bracket Bangwizz.”

She paused, as if waiting for one of them to sassily say, The what now?  

But Astros simply did not do quips. And Tyrian was a turtle of little words. 

The arachnid continued, slightly disappointed at the lack of banter. “The Tournament! A wimbly wonderful competition to see which of my champions is the best. Bets are already pouring in over who will wizzie win! Because of his positively wicked performance three days ago, Tyrian-ie gets to enter, and I will say there are quite a few bets on him… Win or lose, I don’t know, but there’s certainly a lot of gold circulating.” She giggled, like there was nothing better in the whole world. Maybe to her, there wasn’t. To Astros there was nothing good even left in the world, what with Tyrian admitting to have finally snuffed out Donnie not that Astros fully belived him.

“Rules? Ah yes, of course, I’m so glad you asked.” Neither of them had asked. “Fight dirty and put on some extravagant executions! Oh and also I should tell you that each fight is to the death and out of all the champions in the bimbling brackets only one will survive: the winning one. Alrightly, toodle-loo!” Her voice clicked off. 

Whiplash wasn’t the least common thing to experience in the Battle Nexus. Still, Astros was feeling too stunned to string many coherent thoughts together. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t know what. 

There was no point in arguing, even if it was over his brother’s life. 

“Blue one,” one of the bellhops barked. Astros flinched, red eyes darting across his mind’s eye. “Big Mama has requested your presence in her booth.” His hand shot out to clamp around Astros’s arm. Wow, everything ached. Ouch. 

Wait… But that meant– 

Astros looked around with wide eyes at his twin. “Tyrian–” 

Tyrian’s jaw locked into a hard, terrified look. None of the crushing remorse he’d been wracked with the previous nights seemed to be leaking into his expression now. He looked ready. To kill. Again. 

“I’ll win,” he said shortly. 

Well that was that. If Tyrian said he would do something, then Astros fully expected him to do just that. Or at least he made himself believe that (he was getting quite good at telling himself what he was supposed to think). 

So Astros did not doubt his brother. Leo would have. Leo would have had a panic attack right then and there. Astros just nodded. He trusted Tyrian to uphold his word no matter what. A promise was a promise, much less flexible than a deal.  

“I’ll see you when you win, then.” 

Tyrian hesitated. “You know out there I’m left with no other option but to ki–” 

“I don’t care.” And Astros meant it. If they both lived past tomorrow, they could talk about trivial things like ‘honor’ and ‘morals’. But now was not a time for that. “As long as you’re alive.” 

Astros never heard Tyrian’s response. The bellhop had started walking, dragging him away. And Astros was much too bruised to resist. 

Rounding a corner, he left Tyrian’s sight. A deep-rooted panic– that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before– begged for him to go back. But there was nothing Astros could do. Such silly feelings of foreboding probably meant nothing. Did he trust his twin or not? He did. 

He didn’t look back. 

Subconsciously, the clock began to tick……… tick……… tick………

Leo had been in Big Mama’s booth before. Of course then, he’d been draped in a jumpsuit, lounging on her couch, and been served tea by her butler. 

Astros was draped in battle scars, didn’t know the meaning of ‘lounging’ anymore, and would have gladly killed for a warm drink of anything. 

He stood stock still at attention. Big Mama patted the plush couch beside her. “Astro-boo! How mefflistic to see you! Come, sit. I figure you’d better enjoy watching the fights from a real seat, instead of being chained down there, so…–” 

Click. Astros’s wrist cuffs had been connected to the railing on the edge of Big Mama’s box. The chains were long enough to allow him to sit on the couch, but short enough to keep him from trying anything funny (funny? Imagine laughing at anything…). 

“...instead you’ll be chained up here!” Big Mama tittered. She was obviously having the time of her life. “Oh look,” she squealed, “the first fighters are up!” 

For the first time, Astros had a view of the full arena. The actual ring looked so simplistic from up here. Just a large pit in the rocks where idiots brawled their little hearts (and all manner of innards) out. You couldn’t even see the bloodstains. 

But Astros knew what it was like down there. Rough rocks under his bare feet. The stink of sweat and death that hung like humidity in the still air. 

His attention turned to the dreaded crowd. 

Tonight, the audience was packed. Not a single empty seat. Bleachers had filled up, row to row to row to row, with all manner of Yokai. Bloodthirsty beasts hungry for the promise of violence. Were they all betting? How many of them had bet on Tyrian? How many of them had bet against him? How many had bet on his death? The thought did not sit right with Astros. Nothing about this sat right with Astros. Astros couldn’t even sit right with Astros. He perched on the edge of the couch, ready for flight. Though, with the chains attached to the railing there really wasn’t anywhere for him to go. 

The announcer (Astros had expected to see him in the box, but the source of the voice was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was simply that: a voice) blabbered off a meaningless tirade about the Battle Bracket Bangwizz, listing off over a dozen contestants in the running. Tyrian was one of them. 

Donnie was the math guy, Donnie would have known Tyrian’s exact odds of winning. But the odds of Donatello making an appearance were slim to none. Tyrian would just have to fight with everything he had and hope that would carry him enough to keep him alive. 

Astros hated how he had been trained to think this way. 

Like a pet. 

When Tyrian walked into the ring, he looked so small. Too small. When had he gotten so skinny? How did his battleshell even fit anymore? It looked dangerously loose, even from a distance. 

The fight was over quickly, by Battle Nexus standards. Perhaps ten minutes of exchanged blows (and only one slice to Tyrian’s arm) before Tyrian turned the crocodile Yokai’s own battle ax on him, finishing the fight with decapitation. 

Tick…… tick…… tick……

The same sick feeling that had permeated through Astros’s stomach as he’d watched his brother kill Omega and Alpha returned. Even from up in the Spider Booth, he could see the hard, empty look in Tyrian’s eyes. 

At least it wasn’t a look of enjoyment. Still, the cold, distant rage was almost worse than any manic grin. 

Astros missed Donnie. 

Tyrian walked out of the ring (hopefully he’d get his arm patched up), and two more combatants entered, launching into a bloody battle. Astros found it hard to keep his focus. He wasn’t fighting and Tyrian wasn’t currently fighting. At the moment, he had no purpose. No use. No self. 

He kept sliding into oblivion (as one does). Static fuzz filling his head. Stray thoughts scampered in, waved at him, and scampered away before his mind could register a cohesive thought. But he did register a dull throb of pain from everywhere. Everywhere. Ow. And he sensed a distinct ariness in his head where memories, emotions, opinions, ideas, and thoughts should be. 

Nothing. 

Big Mama seemed disappointed. She kept glancing over at him, looking for a reaction to the more gruesome endings. Astros sometimes blinked. But he didn’t look away. He didn’t gag. He didn’t cheer. His fingers (once so wiggly) didn’t even twitch in his lap. He watched, feeling nothing now that his brother wasn’t fighting. 

“Isn’t it glorious?” she prodded at last. “The splattering of blood? The warriors ripped limb from limbity limb? Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Astros sat up like he’d been electrified. “Yes,” he rasped. “This is what I wanted.” And it was. He told himself. 

I wanted this, he thought as a centipede Yokai was torn apart by one of the Evil Six. 

I wanted this , he thought when a porcupine Yokai filled a witch with quills until she dropped. 

I wanted this , he thought when a masked warrior ferociously destroyed the member of the Evil Six. 

I wanted this , he thought when Terrible Tony hawk died in a charred ball of flame from a gigantic spikey dragon. 

I wanted this , he thought when a crafty lemur killed a hoglike Yokai with his own sickle. 

I wanted this , he thought when Tyrian snapped the neck of that very lemur. 

And he believed it. 

Tick… tick… tick… 

The fights wore on. Astros wished he could say he was entertained. He was not. The only time he reacted to anything was when Tyrian was fighting. Tyrian, being brilliant and talented and made for war, progressed through the rounds, with few slip ups. But as he fought more and more often, it became clear to Astros that he was tiring. 

This was driven home by the near fatal mistake when Tyrian did not manage to evade all of the quills shot his way by the porcupine Yokai. 

Minutes later, Tyrian got close enough to stab him to death with those very quills. 

Crafty. He was made for war, after all. 

Would Draxum be proud? Disappointed at their losses? Would he even care? Why did Astros even care about what Barry thought? 

Semi-finals arrived. 

With the majority of the fighters in the brackets eliminated, it left four remaining contestants. 

The other opponents worried Astros. There was a dragon that had obliterated all of her other opponents instantly. There was a mysterious masked fighter who was brutal and offered slow, yet dazzling deaths. There was what looked to be an unholy mix between a mosquito and a spider. And then there was Tyrian. 

He watched the masked warrior spar with the spiquito. Big Mama felt the need to chatter. “The mask is for effect, dear.” 

He didn’t respond. She continued anyway. 

“My most brutal warriors earn masks. It hides their identity from the rest of the Hidden City, so they never know who the worst killers are and if they’re walking among them. It’s one of my more wondiffering publicity methods, if I do say so. Eliminates the need to hold back. If Tyrian wins, he’ll have killed enough to earn that title. He’ll get a mask of his own! Isn’t that what you both want? Your masks bibbly back?” 

It is what I want. This is what I want. Astros was even starting to believe it. 

Big Mama’s point was proven as the crowd rose in a cacophony of approval. The spiquito had been ‘squished’, for lack of a better word. The masked figure raised their arms in triumph, basking in the glory of murder, apparently. 

On second thought, Astros didn’t believe it.   

Janitors shuffled into the ring, mopping up the gooey mess; the tournament continued. The announcer did his job, announcing (imagine that) that Tyrian would be facing the dragon Mordica. 

Astros thought back to when they were six and Donnie had fallen off the pipe. 

His mind flashed over to when they were thirteen, and had tried playing Dungeons & Dragons. It had ended in disaster, to put it lightly. On the rare occasions the brothers cleaned the Lair, they sometimes found dice hiding in far flung corners. Donnie’s ostentatious flipping of the table had been impressive, if nothing else. How cruel it was that Astros could remember that, but not a single other detail about his old home. 

This particular dragon looked nothing like the ones in Leo’s knight books or the illustrations in the D&D Handbook. 

Mordica was not an elegant dragon. She was less magnificently muscled, and more bulbous like a bad balloon animal. Or maybe a lumpy sock puppet. Still, she was much bigger than Tyrian. Standing at full height, her head would have been level with the first few rows of the arena bleachers. Her scales were a dull gray, the color of wet concrete. Slick, interlocking scales made an impenetrable coat of steel-looking armor. Her black, curved horns twisted over her head. Faded gold spikes ran from the tip of her snout, down the back of her lumpy neck, between her crumpled wings (like dirty tissue paper), and down to the tip of her wickedly sharp tail. 

Had Astros not seen her decimate everyone in her path with little to no effort, he would have underestimated her. 

She wielded no weapon– only her natural ones. Curved, glinting talons– as long as Tyrian’s arm– adorned each of Mordica’s four feet. Her mouth of bristling teeth was stained red. And she breathed fire. 

Tyrian had a stick (tick… tick…). 

Astros had to admit that his apprehension grew the more he looked at Mordica. Her golden eyes glittered with excitement. Well of course, Astros thought ruefully. It’s not every day she gets to face an underfed, injured, sleep deprived, mentally unstable softshell turtle with no real weapon. She thinks this is going to be easy. 

But Astros knew Tyrian. Tyrian had never let anyone get off easily in his life. He was fast, he was nimble, and most of all, he had nothing to lose. 

The fight started off well, in Astros’s opinion. 

Tyrian used his speed to maneuver around the legs of the dragon, searching for weaknesses. He jabbed his stick behind her bulging knees, expertly finding pressure points. Mordica’s legs kept buckling, offsetting her balance as she attempted to swipe at Tyrian.  

Astros couldn’t help but be proud of his twin. 

“Little nuisance,” Big Mama crooned affectionately. “This is why you two are my champions.” 

It was a little harder to feel proud after that comment. 

Tyrian continued his dangerous game of darting, weaving, and poking. Mordica unfurled her wings, flapping wildly to keep her on her feet. Frustration building, she stamped all of her legs, trying to squish the pesky turtle underfoot. But Tyrian simply circumvented Mordica’s every move. He was much too fast for her. 

He was also too smart. It was a good plan: wear her down, aggravate her so she’s sloppy, stay under her so she can’t use her fire breath. Whatever he said about his mental state, deep down, Tyrian was still a genius. At least when it came to winning impossible battles. 

But time is the maddest genius of all. 

The ticking sped up like a panicked heartbeat. 

Furious, Mordica decided that she’d had enough. With a growl that vibrated the seats, she flicked her front leg, swatting Tyrian away like an annoying bug. It was a testament to her casual strength how far he flew forwards. 

He was flung to the ground, skidding on his plastron (cracked plastron, delicate plastron, brooched plastron, painful plastron). 

His violet battleshell, as battered as Tyrian himself, drew every eye. Juxtaposed with the dull stones of the Battle Nexus floor, it was a glaring target. 

Mordica’s tail flicked with pleasure. 

Tick tick tick tick tick– 

The dragon reared up onto her hind legs, sinister claws gleaming in the spotlights. Her victorious expression was horribly familiar. Talons, rough scales, and a black cloak slithered across Astros’s mind. Before he fully registered what he was doing, Astros shot up and rushed to the railing, hands gripping it tightly. 

His desperate yell was swallowed up in the noise of the crowd that chanted for Tyrian’s– his twin’s death. 

Mordica, just as much of a performer as anyone in the Nexus, complied eagerly. Blazing belligerently, the claws arched through the air. 

Tick– 

Down down down the deadly talons traveled. 

Tick– 

They struck true. 

Tick–

Mordica’s long, sharp, razor-like claws sunk deep into the metal of the battleshell– through the metal of the battleshell. Into the real shell– the soft shell– below. 

As easily as brushing a snowflake from her nose, she yanked off Tyrian’s last defense. 

The weak alloy never stood a chance. 

In a flash of purple and a spray of crimson droplets, the battleshell was ripped away. It went bouncing across the arena, splintering into pieces as it went. 

As one, the crowd leaned forward to see Tyrian’s exposed, leathery shell for the first time. 

Tick tick tick tick–

For one single, trembling second, the earth shuddered on its axis. The world stopped, as Tyrian– Donnie lay with his back exposed, in the shadow of unforgiving talons poised for violence. 

A thousand memories ricocheted through Astros’s mind. Accidents as tots that ended with colorful band aids speckling across his back. Donnie’s nightmares that sent him scurrying to Leo in the middle of the night. Each and every battleshell prototype he’d ever ranted to Leo about. The day he’d proudly displayed his very first battleshell. Leo slowly stitching up the slashes from Shredder as Donnie sulked. The horror under his bandages following the invasion. Every time his brothers had truthfully insisted that Donnie was just as strong– just as capable– just as good a fighter as they were. Donnie pleading that he needed to keep his battleshell in the arena or he’d be dead within the first fight. 

In an instant all of those memories, all of those moments, every single was turned on its head. Viewed in its true form. Those moments– every moment– had been nothing more than the slow tickings of a cruel clock. 

Time was the maddest genius of all. 

The audience exploded into bloodthirsty cheers, chanting in a steady rhythm for death. Tyrian’s death. The dragon complied. 

Mordica’s claws swiped down. 

Tick– 

They borrowed themselves into Tyrian’s shell. 

Tick– 

Mordica tore into him in the same motion as a dog readying to bury a bone in the ground. 

Tick– 

Red bloomed against green. 

Tickticktickticktickticktick–

Tyrian was screaming, Astros was certain of it. But over the frenzied crowd, Big Mama’s delighted giggles, and the ticking Astros couldn’t hear. 

He snapped out of his trance, very aware of the dragon digging deeper, very aware of the organs so close to the surface of the soft shell, so very away of Tyrian’s delicate spinal column. Very aware of time running out. 

He had to do something. 

Something. 

Anything. 

Everything. 

He refused to just watch his twin get ripped apart. 

He refused to let the clock finish its manic ticking. 

Astros wrapped the excess chain around his hands, grasping it firmly. 

He tugged and heaved and wrenched and did everything he could think of to free himself. He’d never yanked on anything so hard in his life. Desperation rose like blood in his lungs as he wrapped his arms around the chains and pulled with everything he had. 

Too late, Big Mama turned her attention to him. “Astros! Put those down! Sit down! Sit down!”  

But Astros would not. He kept yanking and twisting and pulling, reminded absurdly of Donnie’s stubborn baby tooth that would not budge. 

The shackles cut into his wrists, and he could feel them stinging as skin was torn. It didn’t matter. Was this how Donnie had felt when Viper had been on top of Leo? Had he been filled with the same horror, the same desperation, the same sheer terror that was now overwhelming Astros? 

Ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick– 

Down in the ring, blood splattered the ground with every one of Mordica’s relishing swipes. 

The railing was creaking. Big Mama’s booth was not meant to hold a prisoner. And even if it was, Astros was no ordinary prisoner. He was a weapon. Designed for war. Designed for battle. Trained to never let his brothers down. And right now, Tyrian needed him more than ever before. 

Tickticktickticktick– 

The twins screamed simultaneously. In the same instant, two somethings snapped. A hand railing. And down down down in the arena, a spine. 

Astros stumbled backwards as the railing splintered, his long chains now attached to nothing but his shaking hands. 

“Grab him!” Big Mama shrieked. 

It was too late. 

Astros launched himself over the railing, hurtling towards the Yokai crowd, trailing chains all the way. He landed on top of some creature’s head, but it didn’t matter because he’d already taken off. 

He leapt from head to head, broad shoulder to broad shoulder. Jumping and dashing over the crowd. Like Lou Jitsu traversing over airborne rubble. Faces blurred under his feet as he got closer and closer to the edge of the pit. He never stopped to care. The crowd had always been faceless to him. 

His eyes were fixed on the limp figure hanging from the dragon’s mouth.

With one final leap, he launched off of a giraffe Yokai’s long neck and arched into the arena. He roared, making Mordica’s head swing around. 

As he fell past her eye level, he flung out his arm with careful calculation. The chain whipped out towards her face. He fell too fast to see what damage he’d done, but from the shriek of pain, he knew he’d struck true. He had no time to revel, however, as the ground immediately came up to meet him. 

Astros rolled, shell smarting awfully at the impact, but Astros didn’t care. He had one singular focus, and that was the floppy figure falling from the dragon’s unclamped mouth. 

Ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick– 

He sprinted, forcing himself to be faster, to just get to him.  

Once again, Astros’s brother landed on top of him after falling from the dragon. 

Astros shimmied out from under Tyrian, gasping for breath. His whole body ached. But at least he had broken his twin’s fall. He turned to face him and finally, finally caught sight of Tyrian’s shell– 

…or rather… he caught sight of the gory carnage that had replaced where Tyrian’s shell used to be. 

Tickticktick–

Astros’s hand flew to cover his mouth. 

Tickticktick–

Deep deep deep claw marks crosshatched over his whole back. All were jagged. Deep deep deep bite marks, looking like drilled holes. And So. Much. Blood. If it hadn’t been gushing out of Tyrian’s entire back, Astros had a horrible feeling that he would have seen bone. 

Tyrian whimpered. 

Astros gasped, floored that his twin was still alive conscious. 

“…’eo…” he croaked. 

Blind panic was edging at the corners of Astros’s vision. So much red. So much blood. Tyrian was going to– he was going to– 

Tickticktickti– NO. Not on my watch. 

He didn’t know exactly how to move him, but Astros knew he needed to anyway. He slid his arms under the unnaturally still turtle. Tyrian shuddered, groaning something. 

Every ounce of medical knowledge that lingered in his mind told him that moving Tyrian like this would make it worse. Every ounce of love he had for his twin, however, told him to get him to safety. 

It wasn’t a choice. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astros’s voice was hoarse, “I know it hurts, I know I shouldn’t be holding you this way. But we’ve got to get you help. You need help.” 

He stood on trembling legs, forcing them to be strong. And then he sprinted towards the entrance tunnel. 

Distantly, Astros registered how light Tyrian was. Too skinny, too bloodless. Thin as the hands of a clock. 

Tyrian cried out with each jarring step. His face screwed up in agony. 

Blood made his brother slick in Astros’s arms, but he refused to let go until they reached the mouth of the tunnel. He fell to his knees, gently gently gently oh so very very gently lowering Tyrian to the ground, cradling his head in his lap. 

“…’eo…” Tyrian croaked again. 

“Tyrian?” 

“…L-Leo?” his eyes were cloudy. 

“I’m here! I’m right here!” 

But there was no spark of recognition in Tyrian’s dull eyes. In fact, they slid right over Astros. “Where’s Leo?” he murmured. “L-Leo!” He tried to raise his voice, but his body was wracked with wet coughs. 

Tick– 

Blood splattered onto his plastron. 

Tick– 

Tyrian’s torso shuddered, but his legs were entirely still. 

Tick– 

Like he couldn’t move them at all. 

Tick–

“Tyrian.” The name was purple poison on his lips. 

Tick–

“Tyri–” no no no he needed to get through to him! “Donnie. Donnie I’m here, it’s me!” Astros’s hands trembled as he gingerly grabbed the sides of Donnie’s head, trying to make him look at him, see that he was right there! 

Finally, finally finally Donnie’s vision focused on Astros’s face. He weakly raised a limp hand. Astros clasped it in his own. 

“…f-find Leo…” 

It was a knife to the gut. 

Astros’s heart sank. He was supposed to be Leo, wasn’t he. But he wasn’t Leo. And Donnie knew that. Had he lost so much of who he used to be that even Donnie– his own twin, his other half, his partner in crime, his best friend, couldn’t even see him as Leo anymore? 

He tried once more. 

“Donnie, it’s me!” 

“…t-tell Leo that… tell hi-m–” 

Rough hands seized Astros’s shoulders and dragged him backwards. Donnie’s unsupported head slumped to the floor, expression flickering. 

“NO!” he yelled, twisting away. But whoever had grasped him held fast. “NO NO NO NO LET ME GO! LET ME GO! HE NEEDS HELP, LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT HIM, YOU HAVE TO HELP HIM!!!” Astros screamed the words louder than he’d ever screamed in his life. 

As he was dragged away, he could see Donnie’s lips moving, see them muttering a message for him – a message meant for Leo–  

Ticktickticktick– 

Doctor Mouse appeared next to Donnie. 

“HELP HIM! PLEASE!” Astros howled, tears welling in his eyes. 

She could save him. She had to. She’d work her magic and Donnie would be fine. They’d be back in that little pink cell in a few hours. Both of them. And then Donnie could tell him– Donnie could tell him everything. But she could save him. She was going to save him, right? Because that’s what she did? She brought people back from the brink, right? Right?! Right?!  

Astros tried to claw his way back to Donnie. He needed to be with him right now. He couldn’t let him face this alone! He bit down on the hands holding him, but their grasps would not relinquish the turtle. 

Tick tick tick– 

The bellhops blocked his way, firm grips preventing him from getting any closer. 

Tick. Tick. Tick–

“Donnie!” he cried out, one final time. 

Tick.   Tick.   Tick– 

Donnie’s head turned towards the cry in slow motion, lolling on the ground. Even with his dark green skin (barely visible under so much blood), even sitting in the shadow of the entrance tunnel, he was unnaturally pale. 

Tick.       Tick.       Tick– 

His chest heaved a final time, with a horribly final, hacking breath. Blood burbled down his chin. His eyes were unfocused. 

TICK.         TICK.         TICK.

Donatello’s eyes slid shut. 

        s         i        l       e       n      c        e 

Astros’s world shattered into a billion tiny pieces. 

He screamed. 

Shock crashed over him like an entire mountain. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Blurred bellhops dragged his frozen figure further away. 

He caught a glimpse of Doctor Mouse dragging Donnie’s limp, unmoving, bloody form away. Slowly. Without her usual bustle. Like she didn’t see the point in hurrying. 

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no he couldn’t be gone he couldn’t be gone he wasn’t gone he was just unconscious he wasn’t gone he wasn’t couldn’t no no no no Donnie Donnie Tyrian Donnie Tyrian no no no Donnie Donnie it was Donnie it was Donnie who was dea– no no he wasn’t dead he was unconscious he’d be fine they’d be fine they’D BOTH BE FINE. HE WASN’T DEAD. NOT YET. HE HAD JUST PASSED OUT. THEY COULD SAVE HIM. THEY WOULD SAVE HIM. THEY HAD TO. 

Astros was given was final shove backwards. He slammed into the ground, flat on his back. Immediately, he scrambled back up again. He needed to get to Tyrian. Needed to be there for him because he wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Let me go!” he yelled. 

“This is a tournament , you buffoon. Someone has to win. Finish the fight,” Big Mama’s voice echoed coldly from the walkie talkie. 

Astros tried to say that No, this wasn’t his fight! He needed to be with Donnie when he woke up because he would wake up. He was positive. 

“Finish the fight.” 

“Donnie…” Astros pleaded. He couldn’t be dead. 

“Who?” Big Mama sneered. She hung up. 

Mordica stamped her huge legs on the ground. Her talons were streaked with Donnie’s blood. 

The dragon’s roar made the ground vibrate, but it didn’t matter to him as Astros turned to face her. 

His world had already shattered.

Chapter Text

Even from across the arena, Astros could feel the heat across his face as the dragon Mordica released a flurry of flames into the air. 

Distantly, he missed the sun. What he would have given for just a hint of warmth. 

With Donnie gone (not dead not dead not dead just taken away he was being healed right that very second because he was not dead not dead not dead not dead not dead), no weapon other than the long chains still attached to his wrists, aches and cuts and scrapes from launching himself into the arena (and whatever other injuries he’d tallied up recently), his seemingly perpetually empty stomach clenching in unease, and Donnie’s blood cooling against his scales, Astros stood near the solid wall of the arena. 

He’d never felt smaller. 

Mordica towered over Astros, thick smoke trailing from her flared nostrils. She glared at him with one golden eye. The other was a bloody mess, torn up by a whipping chain. So Astros’s freefalling, haphazard aim had indeed struck true… Good. Blood poured down half of her face, mixing with the blood of his brother that dripped from her jaw and that pooled around her talons. 

Rage rippled red in the corners of Astros’s vision. He would avenge his twin brother. He cared about nothing else. He didn’t care that this was a dragon, with teeth and claws and fire. He didn’t care about any of his injuries, didn’t care about the chill in his barely mended bones, or about his empty stomach, or even his lack of a proper weapon. 

He yearned for revenge. 

His wordless yell mixed with the dragon’s roar. 

Astros charged at her, propelled by nothing but burning wrath. With focus sharpened into a laser-fine point, he whirled between her legs like a tornado, whipping his chains around him all the while. Scales split, red streaks appearing around him. But he didn’t stop there. He ran all the way through her legs, grabbing onto her sharp-tipped tail. 

He climbed. 

Latching on, Astros traveled from spike to spike. The dirty gold spine was unyielding and slippery under his bloody fingers, but Astros would not be thrown off. 

He ascended, moving slowly but surely as she thrashed and beat her wings. Even being bucked violently from side to side, he steadily trudged over the curve of her back. The sharp tips opened gashes across his hands and arms where he held on, but it was nothing to the constant pain he was used to experiencing. He would not be deterred. 

Every muscle shook from the full body effort of holding on, but every one of those muscles had one singular focus: Mordica’s long neck, whipping to and fro. 

Astros made it to the base of her neck. If he had wrapped his arms around it, his fingers would have brushed each other. But fingers would not be enough. 

Chains would. 

Astros swung his shackles around one at a time, catching them when the ends came back to him, effectively wrapping around her throat. 

He pulled. 

Immediately, Mordica’s claws came up, scrabbling at the chains, trying to find his position. Astros nestled next to her spikes, hidden from the reach of claws. Claws that were still dripping with Donnie’s blood. 

Astros thought of Donnie, pinned against Big Mama’s office wall by his throat, turning the same purple as his mask. He thought of the bruises there that had been swept away by magic ointments within days. He thought of all the injuries– injustices– done to them both in their lifetime here. All the wounds healed like they didn’t matter– would never matter. Nothing was constant, nothing was permanent, nothing nothing nothing nothing. Astros longed to do something permanent– something that would last. Something that would forever remind this dragon of all she had taken from him.  

If that meant strangling her like Donnie had been strangled an eternity ago… then Astros would do it eagerly. 

He tightened the noose. 

Her throat became hot, and suddenly the dragon was spewing fire in all directions. The audience screamed as flames shot their way. But from his position, Astros was untouchable. 

Mordica thrashed in desperation, but Astros merely tightened his metal links. If he was to be bound by metal, then so was she. His wrists, her breath. 

This dragon was Donnie’s to topple. Donnie’s to fell. But Astros would gladly take over the job. 

Mordica’s knees buckled. He did not let go. 

His hands were turning white and numb from pulling so hard. The shackles cut into his wrists. His shoulders ached. But vengeance burned away the longing to let go. Burned away like Leo himself. Burned away like any semblance of mercy. Burned away like everything that had ever mattered to him. 

She collapsed, convulsing. Astros couldn’t see, but her remaining eye must have been popping, her face turning colors. 

Mordica gave out one final shudder, before finally going still. 

Astros stood there a long time. He had to be sure that she would never get up again.  

He had slain the dragon. 

Just like he’d always wanted. 

This was what he wanted. 

Wasn’t it? 

His heart thudded through his head. His chest heaved. His whole body ached. He felt nothing. 

When the crowd burst into noise, it was different this time. Not the cheers he was accustomed to. Something far more outraged. He screamed back at them, cracking his chains like whips. 

Astros slid off the dragon’s gray neck (so much like that pipe, all those lifetimes ago). He ran towards the entrance for the second time that night, eager to get to his brother. Doctor Mouse should have had him stabilized by now! 

A line of bellhops blocked his path. “Let me through!” he snarled. 

“You’re not going anywhere!” 

Big Mama’s voice came not from the walkie talkies, but from her booth itself. 

She leaned over the remains of the railing, rage twisting her features into a snarl, voice echoing through the round arena. “You beat the dragon, now you fight my champion for the final victory!” 

The crowd rose up in a wave of noise. 

Big Mama spread her arms, gesturing to them. “Putting the crowd in a floozy does not bode well for you, Astros.” 

“Then don’t make me fight!” Astros bellowed back. 

What remained of the railing fractured under Big Mama’s perfectly manicured grip. “ You should have thought of that before you charged into the ring and forced a victory upon yourself!” she screamed. “ You’ve ruined the whole tizzy tournament! You will fight my champion and you will not survive!”   

“ Let me see my brother!”

“ He’s dead, you idiot!” she shrieked. 

“ON WITH THE SHOW!” the announcer’s voice boomed. 

Astros grit his teeth. How dare she. 

Tyrian was stronger than that. Donnie was stronger than that. He’d feel it if he died, wouldn’t he? Or… or was that same thing that had kept Donnie from recognizing him as ‘Leo’ also blocking his ‘twin sense’ from detecting the gaping loss? Come to think of it, when was the last time his ‘twin sense’ had warned him of anything? But what about his ninpo! His ninpo… that had been suppressed into nothing. 

Astros wanted to break down. Donton… his twin… 

No. 

Donnie wasn’t dead. Not yet. How could Big Mama know such a thing? She was just assuming that a wound like that had been fatal. 

Astros was going to fight her champion. He’d win. And then he’d be at his brother’s bedside within the hour. 

He was a killer now. What was it to him to kill another killer? Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

No one even bothered to remove the dragon’s corpse from the arena. She, like everyone else who fought and died, was meaningless. 

The masked figure strode out. He sported two gleaming sickles. Curved like the markings on Astros’s face. Now that he was closer, Astros recognised the mask as a red and white kabuki mask, twisted into an expression of rage. His cloak was like Viper’s: black and ragged, fluid as a shadow, hiding death within the folds. 

“You should not be here, Astros.” the Yokai said. His voice was a deep growl. 

Astros merely whirled his chains. They had always been Mikey’s thing, but hopefully Astros remembered enough to use them to keep himself alive. And win. 

The sickles flashed towards him, and the fight began. 

‘Brutal’ was one word for it. 

‘Freeing’ was another. 

For the first time, Astros fought without holding back. Unclouded by fear or rage or honor, redemption, sacrifice (all meaningless). 

He was a weapon of war, a herald of mass destruction, a blade ready for death– whether experiencing it or dolling it out upon others. 

His chains swung around him, clashing against the sickles every time. 

But his opponent was a seasoned killer. The Yokai was a blur, a shadow, a wisp of smoke. Nothing but a mask to betray his intent. 

The two of them stayed locked in the flurry of blows for what very well may have been hours, until a sickle suddenly came up out of nowhere, slicing against Astros’s plastron. 

Pain flared up along his entire left side and he stumbled back, vision swimming. The turtle looked down to see a deep gash carved into his front, stretching nearly the whole length of it. The motion had not been deep enough to slice all the way through, but still enough to hurt.  

Distracted, he didn’t see the other sickle swing down by his legs, the dulled inner curve yanking his feet out from under him. Astros slammed into the ground. 

But before the Yokai could do anything to him, he’d sprung to his feet again. This would not be a repeat of Viper. 

Their deadly dance resumed. 

The Yokai’s skill and Astros’s anger made them evenly matched. But anger, like any other resource, is exhaustible. 

All it took was one slip up for Astros’s chains to somehow become tangled with each other. It had been a single miscalculation, but it completely nullified his weapon. 

A hand shot out, locking around Astros’s throat. He wasn’t able to move away in time. Was this karma for strangling the dragon? 

He was hoisted into the air, a sharp blade held to his neck. 

“I offer you the mercy of being with Tyrian again,” the Yokai mocked with that guttural voice. 

The sickle flashed towards his exposed throat, but Astros was quicker. His hand shot out, catching the blade mid air. Almost snakelike. However, unlike when Viper had done it, Astros’ hand dripped with red. His palm stung upon meeting the slim silver. Still, it was effective. 

He twisted, jerking the blade from the ‘champion’s’ grasp. 

Twirling it to rest its hilt within his stinging palm, he poised it over the Yokai’s face. 

“His name is Donatello, actually.” 

The sickle arched downwards, stabbing though the kabuki mask; the force cracked it. 

When Astros pulled it out, the blade was bloody. 

The fingers around his neck slackened. Astros landed on his feet, but the figure crumpled. 

Dead. 

“Yokai of all ages, Astros! YOUR NEW CHAMPION OF THE BATTLE NEXUS!!” 

All he’d ever wanted was to be a champion, hadn’t he? Now he had it. 

So why did he feel so hollow inside? 

As he was showered with confetti, the audience jeered in displeasure. They booed and hissed and even tried to throw things at him. Astros didn’t heed them. He started into the distance, gaze unfocused. Trying to sense Donnie. He felt nothing. He was so focused, so desperate to find anything– a hint, a flicker, any kind of indication whatsoever– that he didn’t even realize that he was being led away. 

Where is Donnie? Astros thought desperately. Why can’t I sense him? He’s got to simply be unconscious, right? If Doctor Mouse could fix his bashed-in skull after the Heinous Green Incident, then surely she can– she can fix a shell? And–and possibly punctured organs. And blood loss. So much blood loss. And… how it didn’t seem like his legs were moving at all…

Donnie’s grimacing face flashed in Astros’s mind. Donnie had been in so much pain. He’d been so scared. He thought he’d been alone. But he hadn’t. Astros had been right there! He didn’t want Astros, the slider realized dejectedly. He wanted Leo. But Leo couldn’t be there. Could Leo ever be here again? Astros had just killed two opponents. How could he still be Leo after that? 

Guilt roiled in his gut, but it was almost completely overshadowed by crushing anxiety over his brother. What if– what if Donnie was actually– what if he was really and truly– 

Smack! 

Astros blinked back to himself with the side of his face stinging. He was in a tunnel of some sort. Unfamiliar, dark, and so cold that his shallow breath plumed in front of him. 

The spider queen herself was leaning against the stony wall, face obscured in shadows. Her hand was still raised from when she had slapped him. 

Seriously? 

He’d felt so much worse. Did she really think a slap was going to do anything? But Astros supposed it had been a good way to get his attention. 

Big Mama was very smart, after all. 

Maybe even smarter than–

“Donnie. Where’s–” 

“Do you have any idea,” she said in a low voice, “what you have cost me.” 

Astros recalled her rage in the ring. “No–” 

She lounged against the wall, but there was tension in every tailored line of her poised form. “My customers bet on those fights. They bet on who would win, who would lose, and how those things would unfold. Out of forty-three thousand, nine hundred and sixty-four Yokai in the stadium, and the two thousand six hundred and seventeen in my lounge, not a single one bet on you entering the fight. Because that’s not how it’s supposed to happen.”  

“Tyrian needed me.” 

“And I needed to profit off of those birrity bimbily bikkly bets!!!” She advanced into the low light, face warped with wrath. 

As she continued to stalk forward, the bellhops kicked behind his knee (his forever weakened knee) and Astros buckled to the greenish stone. 

He would have fought back. He should have fought back. But now that he was out of immediate danger, his adrenaline was so very gone. Every single ache and pain and terrible feeling ebbed through his whole body. 

Why did it still hurt so much? 

Shouldn’t he be used to agony by now? 

When her purple shoe shot up and kicked him in the chest, he let gravity pull him backwards, laying flat on the frigid stone. It was almost soothing to his many, many bruises. 

Big Mama planted her high-heeled foot in his chest. Astros’s so very recently cracked plastron protested at the pressure. 

The weight made a thousand faces flash in front of his vision. 

Big Mama. 

Viper. 

Krang. 

Donatello. 

Donnie, grinning like an idiot after having won a sparring session with Leo. Helping him up with his stick, excitedly chattering at his victory. Leo vowing to never admit he’d thrown the match on purpose. 

What he would give to spar with his brother just one more time. 

“Where’s D– where’s Tyrian?” he whispered. His thin voice echoed through the tunnel. Where was he? “I need to see him.” 

Big Mama’s face loomed over him. Twisted in rage he so rarely saw from her. Her eyes were flat and cold. No pity, not a hint of sympathy, no chance of compassion. 

The air was still with the absence of the ticking clock. 

“He’s dead.” 

Astros’ chest hitched. “N-no. He’s not.” 

“My medics alerted me the moment his heart stopped.” 

Astros’s vision blurred. The whole world slid sideways. He couldn’t breathe. He’d been denying it for two chapters now, but actually hearing the words– 

“He’s not…” 

“I assure you, he is. And even if he had survived the blood loss, failing organs, and overall mizzy mutilation, he would be no use to either of us. His spine was snapped. I have no use for a pimsly partially paralyzed fighter.” 

“Dead?” 

Her shoe dug deeper into his chest. “Yes, imbecile, keep up! You’re a solo act from now on.” 

The tears that had been burning in his eyes ever since the dragon had torn off the battleshell built up on Astros’s eyes. He couldn’t let them break free. He wasn’t weak like that. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t weak, he wasn’t weak, he wasn’t Leo– 

He wasn’t Leo. 

And Donnie had known that. 

As he died. 

Died. 

The tears broke free. 

Warm. Like blood. On his face. 

Again. 

Warm. Like blood. On his hands. 

Donnie’s blood. 

Warm. Like hugs. That he would never. 

Never. 

Never feel again. 

“Where is he now?” Astros croaked. He needed to see. He needed to be sure… 

“His body has already been cremated. Thrown with the rest of the corpses into an oven. His sizzly sizziling flesh is probably already heating showers across the Nexus.” 

Astros’s stomach dropped. He gagged. Was that why the showers were always so warm? 

He shook his head. Maybe if he denied it enough it would be true. “He’s not gone. He’s– he’s not!” 

Impassive, she looked down at him. “Hmm do you not have that, that twin thing you do? Can you not sense it?” 

Of course. Big Mama was very smart. Astros reached out one last time… and was met with nothing. A steep drop off into nothingness. 

But surely, Hamato Ghosts! If it was true, if Donnie had joined the ancestors… then… then… But even if he had, Astros had no way to feel it. No way to contact him. To him, Donnie was gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone… 

Gone. 

Dead. 

Donatello was dead. 

Astros screamed again, thrashing on the cold ground. Cold like a dead body. Donnie’s dead body. 

The pressure was gone. A bellhop roughly pulled him off the stone. 

“Well, now that you only need a room for one… I figured you’d enjoy this one.” Big Mama’s grin held more fury than her eyes. 

(Donnie was dead, how was she not upset? How could anyone ever feel a glimmer of happiness again when it was so irrefutably gone from the world? How could Astros ever function again?)

Astros looked around to see a solid metal door. Another bellhop opened it. 

The room inside was pitch black. A blast of frigid air hit his scales. 

“Wait–” Astros pleaded. Tears still streamed down the sides of Astros’s face, the endless flow unable to be stemmed.

“I’d save your water, Astros. You’ve only got a bucket until your next fight.” 

Alarm bells should have been going off in Astros’s head. He should be realizing that something terrible was about to happen. But something beyond terrible had just happened. He didn’t care about wasting water through tears, he cared about the reason for the tears. 

I never got to say goodbye. 

“Remember,” Big Mama said cheerily, her cold eyes locked with Astros’s wide, wet ones, “you wanted this.” 

They tossed him unceremoniously into the cell. 

He crumpled against the frigid, stony floor. 

“Wait!” 

With a note of utter finality, the door clanged shut. 

There was no light. No lamp, no window, no glow. 

Utter darkness. 

Astros was totally alone. 

In the dark. 

And his twin–

His best friend–

His other half–

The only person he’d had left in the whole world–

His whole world–

Donnie. 

was 

dead. 

Chapter Text

]Astros screamed until his voice was gone. There was no one to hear the shrieks of agony. The room didn’t even echo; his grief died as it left his lips, not even granted the grace of lingering. 

When his voice had entirely forsaken him, Astros turned his attention to the walls. The texture, anyway. He couldn’t see. 

Slick stone, from the feel of it. Circular in shape, so there wasn’t even a corner for Astros to curl up in. He clawed at the stolid stone walls. Shoved with his whole body. He punched and kicked, every blow more jarring than the last. 

Panting, he slid down the wall, knee more painful than ever. He didn’t know if he had it in him to stand up ever again. 

With no light, he took stock of his injuries through touch alone. The slice to his plastron was a shallow divot, but it ached. His wrists stung from the tug of the chains still clamped around them. He was covered in scrapes which, thanks to his naturally enhanced healing abilities, were already smoothing out. It didn’t lessen the feeling, though. He felt like he’d pulled every single muscle in his body. Which was probably the case. The incredibly painful case. 

But all of those injuries, all the pain he could possibly have felt physically, was nothing, nothing, compared to the agony of the knowledge of what– whom he’d lost. 

Donnie was dead. 

Astros’s nerves were frayed, his bones were hollow, his innards had constricted into a tight wad of pain. His head buzzed with too many memories and not enough thoughts to sort them out. 

They were three, and Donnie had thrown his Jupiter Jim action figure in anger when Mikey wouldn't play their game the right way. Even then, he knew that his brother was tired, not mad. So Leo gave him his blue blanket so that he would sleep. 

It was so cold. How was Astros supposed to fall asleep? Did he even want more nightmares to claim him? 

They were six, and Donnie had sprained an a nkle skateboarding. Leo saw how much pain he was in, but couldn't make it stop. He didn’t want Donnie to hurt. 

He must have been in so much pain when he died… it must have been pure torture. Was he happy to have gone? Maybe he wasn’t in any pain anymore. 

They were eight. Donnie got burned when he’d used the soldering iron for the first time. Leo carefully applied the right creams before proudly bandaging him up. Donnie flashed a smile, and Leo had gone to bed with a grin on his face. 

Gone were the days where Astros thought being the team medic was a simple, satisfying job. 

They were eleven, and Donnie didn’t tell anyone about the fever. He just collapsed on his way from the dinner table. After he’d woken up, surrounded by disapproving family members, he’d gotten such a talking to. 

That had been the first taste of Donnie not bringing up his injuries to his family. That had been the age where he’d apparently decided that he should only fix things because that was his only worth. Now, all Astros wanted was to see his brother again. That was it. 

They were fourteen, and Leo tried to fit more medical supplies in his pouches. If they were going out and being ‘heroes’ all the time, he needed to be ready for worse and worse injuries. 

He had no idea how bad things could get for his brothers. For Donnie. 

They were fifteen. Leo silently stitched up Donnie’s shell. Donnie sulked, feeling the chink in his armor more prominently than ever. Leo reassured him that it was okay, at least his battleshell had held against Shreddy as well as it did! That, apparently, had not been what Donnie wanted to hear. 

His battleshell had held when it was important. It had always protected him. It was as much a part of Donnie as his legs! But it had failed him. His legs had failed him too. 

They were seventeen. Leo asked Donnie if he wanted to fly a spaceship. For months afterwards, Donnie’s shell healed from the deep grooves and gooey mess it had been yanked out of. 

It was Leo’s fault. He’d asked his brother to do it. He hadn’t known… he hadn’t known. 

He was ?? and Donnie was lying in his lap, head wrapped in bandages– the handiwork of Heinous Green. Leo could do nothing to help. He could only think of his older brother, and how much he’d let him down. He could only think of all the times he’d eased his brothers’ pain, only to fail when Donnie needed him the most. 

He was ?? and Donnie was dead. Astros hadn’t been able to save him. Astros hadn’t even been able to offer him comfort in his final moments. All he’d done was make Donnie think that Leo had abandoned him. 

Maybe he had. 

Leo had abandoned Astros, after all. 

Why should he care to get him back if there was no twin for him to match with? 

Why should the world continue to turn, why should fights continue to happen, why should blood continue to be spilt if Donatello was not around to be a part of any of it. 

How could a world with no Donnie simply keep moving forward? 

Astros couldn’t move forward. He wasn’t part of the world anymore. The trees and sky and sun were all memories to him. Long forgotten. Blurry. 

The only thing that had mattered to him was his twin. And now… now there was no twin. Half of a twin. Half of a person. Half of a life. Half of the world was gone. 

If Astros could have seen anything, the cell would have been spinning. 

Unbalanced. 

Unsteadied. 

Missing half of everything. 

The pain in his chest was too much. He put a hand to his heart, wishing he could just get it to turn off feeling. Just for a little bit. Just long enough to catch his breath. 

His fingers brushed the Spider Brooch. 

The brooch, dug into his chest, permanently affixed to him. Cutting off his ninpo. 

Ninpo.

The key to contacting his dead family. 

The horrible thing was keeping him from reaching out to Donnie. It was the reason he was so utterly and entirely alone. 

He needed to get it off. 

He didn’t care how much of himself he had to rip out along with it, he would get the evil thing off of him out of him away from him. 

Scrabbling, wrenching, prying with all his might, and it still wouldn’t budge. He could feel irritated skin smarting as he tugged. It was attached too firmly. All of his mad struggle, and it hadn’t moved an inch. For all Astros knew, it had fused to him at this point, skin growing over it, shell hardening to make room for the permanent feature. 

He screamed in frustration, pulling with every muscle in his body. 

Astros clawed until his fingers were numb and wet with his own blood. 

The Spider Brooch sat, undisturbed. 

Astros let himself fall back against the wall. Like everything else he’d tried to do here, his struggle was meaningless. 

There was no difference between having his eyes open or closed. The darkness was the same. 

After hours days years it seemed that Astros’s brain craved stimulation. Unfortunately for him, it made its own. 

Ghostly images flashes before his eyes. They weren’t real, they couldn’t be real, but to Astros they looked and sounded and real as anything else in this house of lies. 

There was a lot of red. 

Viper’s eyes, circling and circling and circling. 

Krang, bearing down on him, calling him weak and wretched, and pathetic. And he was right. 

Raph, just sitting there, looking at him. “How could you have let him die? I thought you cared about us!” He wouldn’t listen to Astros’s desperate attempts to defend himself. 

Donnie, dripping with blood, calling out for Leo. Astros had tried to run to him, grab him, tell him to just look at me! but he never did. He was searching for someone who was long dead. 

Just like dead Donton himself. 

Astros saw Mikey, sobbing over the loss of his brothers. Raging at the world until he burnt himself out completely. 

He saw April and Splinter and Raph and Mikey together, asking him where Donnie was. They didn’t know yet. How was he supposed to explain– how was he supposed to tell them. How could they ever forgive him for getting his brother killed? 

Because that’s what he had done. 

It was all Astros’s fault. 

If he hadn’t dragged Donnie out to go skateboarding in the first place, none of this would have happened. 

Why had he ever wanted this? 

Astros’s whole body shook with sobs. 

The new cell was so cold. He was shivering. His bloody fingers were losing feeling. 

He was going to die in here, wasn’t he? 

Die like Donnie had. Believing he was all alone. 

He was alone. 

The spotlights of the arena had never felt so welcoming. Not only was it marginally warmer, but it was blissfully bright. In the arena, things were exactly what they seemed. Opponents were opponents, and that was that. Just another body to tear through, another weapon to avoid, another fight to win. 

Stupid contestants in the stupid arena were one of the reasons Donnie was dead. Astros had so many emotions and a perfect way to channel them: 

Violence. 

He grew to love the arena. To want to be there, pouring out his rage, his grief, his guilt, his horror, his loneliness upon something else. It was the one place he did not feel helpless. And alone. 

There was no such thing as a nonlethal fight anymore. 

Swords in hands, chains swirling at his wrists, he was a killing machine, mowing down whoever stood before him. They never lasted very long. He couldn’t remember a single one of their faces. 

Everything blurred around him. All that mattered was the satisfactory red that would grace the ground to indicate the victory. He won round after round, propelled by nothing but anger. He was the most unstoppable force to ever grace the planet. He cared for nothing and no one. 

Except for one. 

But other than that, other than the blistering void of loss that whirled, propelled by burning wrath, nothing else mattered. 

The concept of “day” “night” or any other measure of time for that matter, had become entirely meaningless. 

Astros only knew pain. 

He would be dragged out of the dark to fight. And for those few hours, oh, the glory! The triumph! The bliss! But the fights would inevitably end (always by his own hand). He’d be tossed back into the dark with no medical treatment whatsoever. In the darkness, he’d wait. Sometimes, on good days, there was a bowl of champion food! He ate for fuel and fuel alone. A growling, squeezing, hollow stomach was just another distraction to ignore. Like the pain that echoed throughout his broken body. Or the constant smell of blood caked on his scales. Or the mind games that his brain was so very fond of. 

Viper slithered around him, always just out of reach, hissing the most horrible of things. “They gave your brother’s body to me… it was ssso very delicious…”  

There was no toilet. Astros vomited into a putrid bucket. 

Some days, the things he saw and heard were worse. 

Like when the Krang stood over him, beating him over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, laughing at him, mocking him. Sometimes, Astros thought he was back in the prison dimension. 

The dark, the freezing air, the sense of being in a void with nothing. 

Maybe he was back in the prison dimension. 

Perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps he was awake. Perhaps he had died there. Perhaps all the time in the Nexus had simply been his brain providing him with entertainment in the brief seconds before he died. His brain enjoyed making him suffer enough that Astros wouldn’t put it past his mind to do something like that. 

But no, he wasn’t in the prison dimension. Fights in the arena proved that. If it hadn’t been real, he wouldn’t be feeling such rage, would he? 

Too many emotions and nothing to do but wallow in them. 

However, as Astros had been forced to relearn again and again and again and again and again and again in the Nexus… nothing was permanent. 

Even anger, bright and hot and consuming it may be, is not a flame that burns forever. 

And as Astros stood before a huge rhino Yokai, he understood. He did not feel the fury that would overwhelm him and propel him to victory. He did not feel the itch to do something in his fingers. He did not feel the longing to swirl his chains (still bound to his raw wrists) and drain the life from yet another faceless victim. He did not feel anything. 

Wrath did not spark up in his stomach, filling the void inside of him. He was no master of emotions. He was no master of life and death. He was no master of anything. 

Astros fell to his knees. 

He was exhausted. 

How long had he been fighting already? Years, surely. Malice, the weapon that had served him so well, had finally dulled. Like the explosive firework it had been, his rage had fizzled out into nothing. Drained away, like blood from a terrified face. 

He wanted to go… well, ‘home’ was out of the question. He could never go back there. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. It sure wasn’t this. 

Astros didn’t want to fight. 

Not anymore. 

Beating the rhino Yokai would have taken Astros three minutes, tops. Instead, the rhino took advantage of his slumped opponent and instead pummeled Astros for a good fifteen. As Astros’s puffy eyes slid shut, he hoped Donnie would understand. 

He woke in blackness once more. Frigid air against his scales told him he was back in his cell. The horrid ache throughout his entire body told him that medical assistance was simply a luxury he no longer had access to. Even if his injuries were near critical. A simple red bandage would have been out of the question. It would appear that Big Mama had grown too tired of him to preserve his body much longer. 

Astros was empty. Depleted. 

But at least it felt better than burning rage. 

The voices that so often plagued his mind were silent that night. He missed them. It was so lonely with only his own screams, mingled with no one. 

Again he was brought into the ring and again, Astros knelt down and refused the fight. And again, he was beaten until he was unconscious. Maybe one of the opponents would kill him. Would he try to stop it from happening? Was he strong enough to stop it from happening? 

He never got the chance to find out. 

An unknown number of fights later– maybe three, maybe six, somewhere in the middle– Astros found himself dragged before Big Mama. 

He saw her differently now. She was not as put together as she appeared. She was as much a master of acting as Leo had been. Maybe she was better. Of the two, only one still breathed. 

“So…” she began, examining her nails. Astros didn’t feel inclined to listen. He stared at the ruddy carpet. Even the dim colors of the arachnid’s office felt too bright for his glassy eyes. “So… you’re aiming to make me give you the Lou Jitsu treatment, are you?” 

…Who? 

Ohhh. That was right. 

Lou Jitsu. 

Leo’s father had done this. He’d refused to fight in the Nexus after all his time of being the champion. Like father like son, he supposed. What did his dad look like, again? Not like Lou Jitsu the action star… different. Fuzzier. 

Big Mama was talking. “–unlike him, you won’t get any special treatment!” 

‘Special treatment’... what exactly was that supposed to entail? An extra bowl of champion food? His stomach cramped at the thought, too empty to even growl. 

Astros, void of everything: food, hope, anger, strength, desire, looked into Big Mama’s eyes. Perhaps she saw the nothingness behind them, for she faltered. The tiniest chink in her lavender facade. The slightest bend; a sliver through which she undoubtedly overlaid the turtle she used to know with the husk that stood before her now. 

Astros took a breath ready to say the words he wished he’d said so very long ago: 

“I’m done fighting for you, Big Mama. I’m done.” 

His voice was different. Perhaps from being used only to scream. Perhaps from dehydration. Either way, it was much more ragged. 

And maybe she felt something, deep in her frozen-over heart. But if she did, it didn’t survive for long out on the icy tundra. Her cool curtain of shimmering detachment fell down once more, and she was nothing but a greedy ringmaster. 

“You don’t want to fight for me anymore, Astros?” 

“No. I don’t.” 

She grinned, looked more sharklike than spiderlike. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say such piffle. You do want to fight for me. You always have.” 

“No. I never did. I’m not going to fight for you. For you, or for anyone. I’d rather die in a fight than live as your prisoner.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. Not for emphasis, but because he needed to be sure he could still utter anything. 

Big Mama rolled her eyes behind her glasses. She crossed to admire one of the many framed pictures hanging from her wall. “Do you know why I run the Nexus, Astros?” 

He said nothing, suddenly unsure of what she was getting at. Big Mama loved to talk, but she rarely did so without reason. 

“You have your hinkie-doo mystic Hamato clan for a family legacy. This arena is mine.” 

Leo would have killed to learn Big Mama’s backstory. 

Astros killed every day and had no desire to know such trivial things. 

Big Mama continued anyway. “Eons before the first human city even bloomed with fire, my family was running the Yokai entertainment capital of the world. A noble clan, seeking only to entertain. And what better way to do that than pitting Yokai against Yokai, and watching the cardiddly carnage unfold?” 

She ran her dainty fingers over a spotless golden picture frame. Astros couldn't see the picture clearly, but it looked like some sort of spider-like relative. 

“Ah, yes. Glorious, arena-centric blood sports. Those silly little Romans got the idea from us Yokai, you know. We used to be found all over the world… and my family ran the very hub, the very center, the very nexus of it all. My great grandlepap used to tell me such fuddy-duddy stories of the ghastly fights before my time. Great Granddaddy Long Legs, they called him.” 

At this, she paused, almost like she was expecting something from Astros. A pun perhaps? 

How foolish of her to think that there was any humor left. 

“He wove tales that could twist a web into a tizzy, oh my!” She laughed her tinkling little laugh with no humor. “He taught me everything I know. Seated at his many feet, I learned the most valuable lessons. How to be a business woman. How to never take no for an answer. How to dehumanize the fighters to the point where they're so broken that they'll so everything I need them to. How to maximize profits in making the most crowd-pleasing fights imaginable.” 

Two lizards and a turtle. A turtle and someone who looked eerily similar to his older brother. 

A turtle versus a dragon. 

“How to match up fights to unlock the full wrath of my fighters…” 

Astros flashed back to all the times he and Tyrian had been forced into multiple fights in a row, match after match after match. Slowly but surely being worn down until one of them inevitably snapped. 

"How to make personas, teams, duos of fighters that the audience pays to see separately or together." 

The Evil Six. Alpha and Omega. Tyrian and Astros.

“How to put my feelings– or any hints of pity or compassion or rannygazoo regret– aside for the good of the Nexus…” 

They were just dolls to her. With no feelings or purpose outside of entertainment. She didn’t care. 

Just like everything else, it was further proof that everything in the Nexus amounted to nothing. Nothing at all. 

Big Mama continued. “I learned exactly how to get what I want, and I’ve been doing it for longer than you could comprehend, darling.” 

She had been trained for this. 

Like how she’d trained Astros to survive. 

The spider turned back to Astros, her glittering mask of detachment much more evident than before. Underneath her facade was someone simply trying to make her family proud. She was just as constrained to the arena as he was. 

But it was not the same. 

Big Mama relished her role. Astros abhorred his. 

Big Mama was prim and proper. Astros was coated in blood that was not his own. 

Big Mama should have had bloody hands. Astros was the glove that kept her clean. 

Big Mama was vicious and cruel. And Astros… missed his twin. 

She stepped closer to him. Astros could see some sort of reflection in her glasses. He looked tired. 

And done. 

Big Mama, on the other hand, looked upon the fly trapped in her web. She grinned with fangs ready-made for injecting venom. 

“If you think,” she hissed, “that you know more about my arena than I do– if you believe that you can somehow bamboozle me at my own game– if you, for a second, think that I care about what you truly want– well. Then you’re not the killer I so carefully made you to be.”

Astros stepped back. 

He couldn't help himself. She was better than him. Maybe she wasn't always, but she'd broken him down too thoroughly for him to stand a chance anymore. And they both knew it. 

She stepped forward, jabbing a sharp fingernail towards him. “You’re sloppy. You forget the loopholes. You take everything at face value, face man. You are nothing more than a broken boy who failed to keep his spark alive. If the things like ‘love’ or ‘honor’ or ‘revenge’ won’t keep you burning then I shall light a fire out of a much more permanent fuel. You will feel fear. And it will break you.” 

Astros had been trapped in the prison dimension. He had strangled a dragon. He had taken down six apes at once. He had stared Viper in the face. 

Big Mama was scarier. 

“You’re good, Astros. But I assure you, I’m better. And I promise you, you will want to fight in my arena.”  

Astros merely looked at her, concealing his trepidation. The foreboding feeling pulsing through his empty stomach didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to win again. He gathered all his resolve (for Donnie’s sake). 

“I’ve made my decision.” 

Her hand dropped to her side. “Take him away.” 

Astros was grabbed and dragged out of the office. Out of the light. Out of the vivid colors. Out of her dangerous gaze. 

As the elevator door slid closed, Astros wondered how many other unwilling participants she’d delt with. He wondered how many of them had stayed strong. He wondered if he’d be able to. 

He wondered all the way back to his cell, through the twisting corridors and chilly air. But he’d come to a decision: however Big Mama was going to torture him, he would not break. He owned his family that much. 

He owned Donnie that much. 

She wanted a killer for her arena to cheer on, or perhaps band against. He would not be that player in the cruel play she directed. He would not. 

They threw him back into his cell of shadows. He got up slowly, dusting off his knees. 

The door slammed shut, darkness overwhelming the room once more. 

He sighed, guessing that he should probably attempt to sleep. Big Mama was either playing the long game with him or preparing a torture chamber. Or maybe not. Why should he trust anything out of her mouth, especially threats? Knowing her, Astros might be alone for a very long time. 

Familiar scarlet eyes watched him from the corner. 

Astros sighed, used to the mind games and hallucinations by now. He rubbed his tired eyes. What was next, thinking he saw Mikey disintegrating into a thousand pieces? Casey berating him for losing his brothers, just like he had in the future? April glaring at him, never saying a word? Maybe he was losing it faster than he thought. 

The faintest scratch of slithering over stone set him on edge. When he opened his eyelids again– 

A pair of crimson eyes glowed mere inches from his. 

Before a scream could even escape his mouth, a rough, impossibly strong hand wrapped around his throat. And then– oh then he knew–

Astros felt the tips of the long claws of her other hand stroke his face. Her talons skated over his cheeks, admiring her own handiwork. 

Whatever torture his own brain had put him through had never actually… touched him. He felt the pain of blows, but actual strikes never came. 

This was– 

This was– 

She was– 

She was real. 

Sheer panic ripped through him, choking him tighter than the hand at his neck. 

It was her. The creature of his nightmares. There was no mistaking it. Iron grip. Claws brushing on his face. He knew her voice and her luminescent red red red red red eyes better than he knew anything else. He’d dreamt this a thousand times. Only now, ohhh now it was so much worse. Because it was real. Astros had nowhere to run. 

Trapped.

Blinded– save for the faint glow from ruby eyes that shown with glee. 

Weaponless.  

Defenseless. 

Helpless. 

Frozen. 

Terrified.

“Sssso good to see you again, Baby Blue,” Viper breathed. 

She smelled like death.

Chapter Text

“April!” Donnie skirted around the corner, hoodie sleeves flapping as he skittered towards her. “Come hither, I must show you my latest creation!” 

Leo looked up from the projector screen. “No can do, Twinnie. April is engaged in combat with meee.” 

“Not for long!” April cackled, taking advantage of Leo’s distraction. She rapidly pressed a combo of buttons and Leo’s character exploded. Game Over, flashed across the screen. “Ha! Take that, Mr. I-am-the-champion-of-level-seventeen!” 

“No fair,” Leo pouted. “You have more fingers.” 

“Technically,” Donnie began, “the amount of fingers should be a hindrance to human hands because I modified the controllers to be accommodating to those of us only possessing three digits.” 

Leo blinked, not a thought behind his eyes. “Huh?” 

“You lost to someone at a disadvantage,” April crowed. 

Even at ten years old, Leo could still pout like someone half his age. “Fine. Whatever. Go see Donnie’s boring nerd thing.” 

“Don’t want another round?” April taunted, shaking the video game controller. 

“No. I’m gonna practice so that I can destroy you next time.” 

April gracefully jumped off the beanbag and stretched her arms above her head. “Uh huh, that’s what you said last time.” She turned her attention to Donnie, who was tapping his foot impatiently. “So what didja want ta show me?” 

He grinned. “Follow me.” And he scampered back the way he’d come. 

Laughing, April followed his fluttering sleeves into Donnie’s brand new lab. 

It was only a few months old, but the room was slowly filling with tech. Projects, materials, and purple lights were already spilling over surfaces, marking the lab as Donnie’s own personal room. 

One of his work tables was covered with a purple blanket. He waited for her to be properly positioned before he dramatically whipped it off, revealing a familiar purple shape. 

“Is that one of your battleshells?” 

Donnie’s face broke into a devious grin. “Not quite. It’s a prototype in a new line of battleshells. I have my normal one that simply protects my shell, but there are so many more possibilities! You shall soon see my vision. Allow me to demonstrate.” 

Like a reptile shedding its skin, he wiggled out of his hoodie and stuffed it into April's hands. “Hold that.” He turned and put the new shell over his leathery soft one with practiced precision. April noticed that it was a little bulkier than his normal battleshell. She really hoped he’d made that jetpack he’d been drawing up plans for when they’d watched ‘Jupiter Jim VS the Evil Jetback Brigade’ a few weeks ago. 

Finally, he stood with his hands on his hips, eyes dancing with excitement. “What I’m about to demonstrate is the pinnacle of modern technology! April, throw my hoodie as hard as you can! In that direction, if you please.” 

Amused, April shrugged and obeyed, tossing the ball of fabric to her right. 

Immediately, something silver flashed towards it. 

The blackberry blur was snatched out of the air. Shiney crablike claws deposited the fabric back into her startled hands. April blinked, trying to take in the strange sight before her. 

Long, thin, metal arms protruded out of the back of Donnie’s new shell. He looked a little bit like a stick bug. Long, thick, almost awkward joints. 

“Behold!” Donnie grinned. “My new brand new, never before been seen… spidershell! Open-parenthesis trademark Genius Built close-parenthesis!” The arms waggled for emphasis, jazz hands style. 

Without waiting for a response, he launched into a detailed explanation of all it could do. From holding extra items to giving Mikey headpats, he listed hundreds of possibilities. And then he began walking her through the complex inner mechanics. How the arms retracted, how he got them to do exactly what he wanted, the methods he used to strengthen the metal. While he talked, the metal arms gestured for him. It was fascinating to watch as they twisted to and fro, up and down, back and forth. 

Captivated, April eagerly sat and listened to his presentation. 

Two hours and twenty-two minutes later, Donnie finally said, “–and that, my good lady, is everything to know about the spidershell. Open-parenthesis trademark close-parenthesis.” He bowed. 

His shell’s metal hands applauded: April’s cue that it was over. 

 She clapped wildly, sliding off of the worktable where she’d been sitting as he monologued. “Donnie! That’s so cool!” 

He puffed up at the praise, arms of the spidershell resting on his hips dramatically. “Why thank you, dearest April. Any specific feedback is greatly appreciated.” 

“Well,” April began, noting the eager look in his eyes, “I think it’s super epic. I know you worked really hard on this and I’m proud of you! The design is great– very sleek and well-made. Honestly I think it’s the coolest thing you’ve ever made!” 

Donnie waved his hand, looking strangely disappointed. “You’re merely saying that because you’re my friend. I require information on what I can improve upon. Something off about the hands? Or maybe conceptually? Or a different shade of purple? That’s it– I knew I should have gone with Amethyst Sheen–” 

“Donnie, it’s perfect,” April insisted. “You know me, when have I ever not been brutally honest with you?” 

Donnie winced. “I do remember your first critiques of my eyebrows…” 

She barked a laugh. “I still think they’re silly. But they’ve gotten a lot better as you’ve settled on what shape to make them.” 

“One day they’re going to be an iconic trait of my character, April. The show would not be the same without them.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. So you really think that it’s a good design?” 

“Yes. I do.” 

He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Good, because I’m really really proud of it.” He beamed, finally allowing himself to relax.  

“Hey Donnie? For the record, I think the spidershell itself is cool. But you, the turtle who made it, are super duper extra cool– and not just ‘cause you made it.” 

Donnie blinked, taken aback. He looked almost shocked, not exactly knowing how to process the compliment. His words came out all in one jumble. “Nervous-shuffle-why-thank-you-April-that’s-really-very-nice-of-you-to-say-you’re-super-amazing-can-we-be-best-friends-for-ever-and-ever?” 

April gave him a light punch on the arm. “You’re already my best friend, Dee. Of course!” 

His eyes shown even brighter than when she’d praised him. “Me? But– Mikey– and Raph– and Leo–” 

“Don’t know me like you do. They’re my little bros! But you’re my brother and my bestie. I thought you knew.” 

Suddenly, Donnie’s arms (his real ones and the ones on the spidershell) wrapped around her in a tight hug. “Thanks,” he mumbled into her jacket. 

April realized then, that Donnie craved the validation of others, even at ten years old. And right then and there, within the embrace of brilliantly made metal arms and an even more brilliant kid, she made a promise to herself. April O’Neil vowed that no matter how hard she teased, no matter how frustrating it may be, no matter what obstacles their friendship encountered, she was always going to be there for her best friend. 

Cool battleshell or no cool battleshell. 

The last time April saw Donnie was two days before he was kidnapped. The last time she’d really hung out with him was two weeks prior to that. 

It had just been a regular night out. They’d had their fill of takeout Greek food, nearly gotten into a fistfight over a video game, done April’s homework, and April had disclosed all the details of the latest journalism story she’d been working on. 

But something felt off. 

Of course, something had been off about Donnie ever since the invasion. Same with his brothers. No one was ‘normal’ about anything anymore. 

Heck, a month previously Leo had told a particularly bad pun that left everyone groaning, except for Raph. Raph’s eyes had filled with tears and he’d buried his face in his hands. When questioned about what was wrong, he just muttered “I’m so glad you’re alive, Leo.” No one had really known how to respond to that. 

But tonight something was extra off. 

“Okay Dee, what’s going on? Spill.” 

Donnie had sighed, pretending to ruffle through the remains of April’s biology homework. 

He mumbled something. 

“Say again?” 

“I tried to wear my Spidershell today,” he whispered. 

April blinked. She knew his back was pretty messed up from the Krang, but he’d been all cleared to wear a battleshell again for a month. She’d seen him wear it. In fact, he seemed to be wearing it more to help with the phantom sensations of the Technodome. He hadn’t had any problems with the battleshell. 

Before she could ask further, he continued anyway. 

“It was just– something about the arms. The metallic flashing. It– I couldn’t–” Donnie cut off. He drew his knees up to his chest. 

His jaw worked as he stared at the homework like it had personally offended him. (which was totally wrong. Homework offended everyone else but Donnie and homework was a match made in heaven)

“The alloy reminded me too much of the– of the Krang,” he managed. 

Ah. Of course. 

“Oh Donnie–” 

“Don’t. Look, I know that we were all traumatized. I know that we all have different triggers and stuff. I know. I just– April I made that. It’s mine. But today… Wearing it was– I’m not good with feelings. Terrifying? Unsettling? Not good? Like solving a Rubix Cube only to discover you missed–” 

April’s hand hovered in a silent question. He nodded. She placed a comforting hand on his knee. 

“Hey, Dee. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” Donnie whispered. “I shouldn’t be scared of something I made when I was ten. I shouldn’t be scared of what I made.” 

“You didn’t like feeling out of control,” April summarized. She knew him well enough to deduce that much, at least. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I hated it.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“No it’s not. It’s like my invention betrayed me. Like it failed me.” 

The hidden feelings buried beneath the words– so subtle that April would have missed them had she not known Donnie better than anyone else– were made clear. 

Donnie, frustrating though it was, was convinced that his greatest value was his inventions. The things that he created. So the idea of one of his precious creations being unusable to him was certifiable torture. 

“You know that one problem with something isn't a reason to go off the deep end, right? Of course you do. Donnie, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re more than your creations. You mean more to me, more to your family, because of who you are, not what you do.” 

He hummed in response. 

April tightened her grip on his knee. “Donatello. You are the most valuable thing you can offer. All that other stuff you do– the stuff you make and fix and whatever– is just an added bonus. I’ve told you this before, but I will tell you it again and again every day for the rest of your life until you actually believe me, okay?” 

Donnie sniffed. He ducked his face away, not wanting her to see the chink in his ‘emotionless bad boy image’. 

He needn’t have bothered; she knew he was a softie. 

“Thanks.” He mustered a small smile.  

From him, that was enough. “Anytime, Dee. You’re my best friend. I’ll be here for you no matter what. Battleshell or no battleshell.” 

“Thank you April. And… I’m here for you too.” 

“I know. That’s one of the reasons you’re my best friend.” 

Over four months had passed since then. 

Battleshell or no battleshell. 

April couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene replaying on the crystal ball in Raph’s hands. 

Battleshell or no battleshell. 

Donnie’s battleshell ripped off. Donnie, torn apart by towering talons. Donnie, dragged away into a dark tunnel. 

Leo screaming. 

Battleshell or no battleshell. 

Donnie, dead. 

Over the over the fight replayed. Loopy lavender script flashed across the sphere’s surface, blaring the same message over and over and over and over again: ‘ Beloved Battle Nexus Champion Tyrian dead– brother causes fight interruptions for the first time in history.’ 

No battleshell. 

That’s what had done it. 

April’s world had fallen apart. This simply couldn’t be happening. Of course she’d feared something like this would happen. The boys had been missing for four months. She’d been avoiding spiraling down the worst-case scenarios at all costs. 

But now, the nightmarish scene was unfolding before her eyes. Again and again, she saw Donnie’s bloody, still form. Again and again, she saw Leo’s agonized, horrified expression. 

Her boys. Her brothers. Her best friends. 

She was interrupted from her grief-filled thoughts by a thunk. 

Raph’s numb fingers had dropped the ball. 

It bounced, rolling away, all the while playing the same loop. Over and over and over and over again, Leo failed to get close to Donnie before it was too late. 

Too late. 

They were too late. 

April staggered back. She blinked hard, trying to ground herself in the room. The projector room of the Lair. The Lair. The Lair. The Lair with far too few people in it, but too many people right at the moment. She took stock of the others. 

Raph, staring at the empty space in his hands where the crystal ball– his brothers’ images– had been just moments before. 

Mikey, turned away, hands pressed over his face. 

Draxum, standing apart, face set and pale. Determined to remain detached. 

Splinter. 

Collapsed to the floor in grief. 

It was shockingly quiet. The only noises were Raph’s increasingly quickening breaths, Mikey’s muffled whimpers, and Splinter’s soft sobs. And the ringing in April’s ears. 

It was all so wrong. Everything was so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to save them. Both of them. 

April glanced over to the whiteboard in the corner. It was packed with random ideas of how to get in and out of the Nexus. How to save Leo and Donnie. Useless, dead end, fruitless, meaningless plans. 

They were too late. 

She couldn’t process it. She couldn’t think. She could only stare around the room with wide eyes. They burned, yearning to cry. She’d kept herself composed so well for four months. April was the one buying groceries, April was the one offering comfort, April was the one who forced them all to sleep and eat and take care of themselves. Should she not have forced them all to take breaks? Would Donnie and Leo be home if she hadn’t intervened? 

Would Donnie still be alive? 

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” 

April’s head snapped up, guilt reaching a boiling point. But Mikey had not whirled on her. 

He was pointing an accusatory finger… at Raph. 

April remembered. They’d told her all about their experience in the arena audience those weeks ago. Leo’s desperate yells. The way Raph had run away. She’d seen Mikey’s subtle anger the past few weeks. The passive-aggressive comments. The snide remarks. The deep sadness that hid behind anger like a scared child. 

And now, Mikey’s fury was boiling over. His loud voice ( he never used to yell like this, April reflected) cut through the thick grief in the air. 

“YOU LEFT THEM THERE AND NOW DONNIE’S– DONNIE’S–” 

“Do not finish that sentence.” It was Baron Draxum, of all people, who spoke in a tight whisper. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear it. Perhaps he knew it would decimate everyone if Mikey said it. 

Apparently Mikey wanted them to feel as broken as he did. Rage flashed across his face. April felt a terrible sense of foreboding. Like seeing a delicate glass instrument slowly fall through the air… ready to shatter. 

Sparks flew out of his jabbing finger as Mikey directed all of his emotions at Raph. 

“IT’S YOUR FAULT DONNIE’S DEAD!” 

The whole room drew in a painful breath. 

Dead. 

Raph’s whole body shook with a sob. “I know,” he choked. “Mikey I’m– I’m so–” 

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Mikey screamed. It was evident that he wanted Raph to get mad too. Clear that he wanted to yell back and forth until the incapacitating feelings were gone. “YOU DON’T GET TO STAND THERE–” 

“Mikey,” April said in the firmest voice she could muster. 

She saw where this was going. She’d seen Raph blame himself for leaving them every day for weeks, and Mikey had not been helping. If Mikey continued to speak without thinking, he wasn’t going to break Raph. Well… break him even more. 

“–BE SORRY WHEN MY BROTHER IS GONE! YOU ABANDONED THEM YOU COWARD!” 

“Mikey, stop!” 

“–LITERALLY LEFT THEM FOR DEAD!

“MICHELANGELO, SHUT UP!” April roared. 

Everyone’s head snapped onto her. 

April held her ground. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let this family destroy itself. Too late, a horrible little voice that sounded far too similar to the Krang Sister’s whispered. Much too late for that. 

Mikey blinked, evidently thrown off by April’s outburst. But almost immediately, he let his grief take over once more. His yelling was directed at a receptive target now. 

His face darkened but his irises glowed orange. “DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT HE DID?! IT’S ALL RAPH’S FA–” 

“I said shut up!” April flung herself at him. Before he could react, April wrapped her arms around her baby brother. 

Mikey faltered at the tight hug. 

The world hung suspended, still echoing with Mikey’s wrathful words. 

But in April’s familiar arms, his breath stuttered. Before anyone knew what was happening his yells were replaced by horrible sobs. April could feel him shaking as he clung to her. 

“Stop saying things you don’t mean,” she whispered. “You’re going to hurt someone.” 

He buried his face in her green jacket to stifle his wails of anguish. 

Yelling and crying weren’t really that different, April realized. Rage and despair were such overwhelming twin (twins–) emotions that stemmed from true loss. Really, who expected anything else? 

April gripped Mikey back, trying not to think about how she hadn’t hugged Donnie in months. And never would again. Her eyes burned with tears but she couldn’t afford to cry. This family needed her. And she needed to be strong. For them. The way forward was clear. The only thing she could do right now was to keep them together. Maybe that would keep her from breaking. 

The next bit was a blur. 

Mikey relinquished her only to retreat into his shell. Inconsolable sobs echoed from the darkness. April moved him to a beanbag and draped a blanket over him. 

She took Raph by the hand and sat him down, assuring him that this was not his fault.  

“Y-yes it is,” he choked, tears falling fast and thick. “Mike’s right. If I hadn’t– I coulda’– I shoulda’–” 

“No. It’s not. Mikey doesn’t mean it. The only person who is to blame here is Big Mama. And I promise that we’ll make her pay, Raph. I promise.” 

At that, Raph dissolved into further tears. April hugged him as best she could, but then hurried off to prevent herself from succumbing to tears as well. Stay strong stay strong stay strong, O’Neil. 

Draxum still stood off to the side. 

“Barry?” 

He jolted, looking around. “Ah. Human.” 

“You okay?” 

“I am fine. I am… disappointed at the loss of my creation. That is all. Nothing more.” His puffy (yet dry) eyes told an entirely different story. 

She patted his arm lightly. “It’s okay to feel sad. Take some time to grieve, okay?” 

Oh the hypocrisy. Telling others to do things she denied herself. Donnie would have been proud. 

Donnie. 

She shook her head, trying to rid it of yet another spiral into misery. April took a deep breath. 

One more to attend to. 

When the portal to the Prison Dimension had closed, April had been with Splinter. She’d seen him sink to the ground in pure heartbreak, regret aging his face hundreds of years. She’d done her best to console him, but who was she to comfort a father who’d just lost his son? 

Now, it was Donnie who was gone instead of Leo. And Splinter was curled in the same ball of anguish. His bent body racked with regretful tears. 

April crouched and placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “Hey Splints… Armchair? Or your room?” He just shook his head. Wow, so helpful. 

“O’Neil.” April looked up to see Draxum standing over them. “I will move him to the chair. In my experience as a lunch lady, I have found that beverages served above room temperature are often comforting to sniveling children.” 

April blinked, trying to catch up with what he was saying. “I’ll… make hot chocolate, then.” 

She patted Mikey’s shell as she left and rubbed Raph’s shoulder softly. “I’ll be back in a sec, okay?” His head jerked in acknowledgement. 

It hurt to see them like this. Then again, the whole situation was painful. 

April hurried to the kitchen. Doing something– even something as simple as dumping hot cocoa packets into milk and microwaving the mugs– was enough of a distraction. It gave her something to do. She ignored the plethora of purple mugs. She would not be reduced to shambles by a mug, of all things. 

As she put the milk back, she realized there was hardly any food left in the fridge. My fault, she realized. She’d forgotten to get groceries for them. Not that anyone had much of an appetite right then. But still, she had told herself that she would not let them starve. She’d been getting their groceries since the twins had gone missing. With everyone in the Lair either searching or paralyzed by anxiety over the missing siblings, April had found that it was the least she could do. 

Hot chocolate wasn’t enough to distract her just yet. Maybe she’d go get them something. 

When she returned to the living room, she was relieved that at least no one was yelling at each other. But the stillness of the air made her skin crawl. Raph’s gaze an empty shell. Mikey a literal motionless shell. Splinter now curled in his armchair. Draxum standing behind it, intensely tinkering with glowstick-like little tools. The motion made her think of Donnie. Her stomach tightened. 

April made her rounds, handing mugs to each of them. When she passed one to Raph, she realized with a jolt how unnervingly icy his scales were. More than usual, at least. 

“Raph are you cold?” she whispered, feeling like she couldn’t disturb the blanket of heavy grief that draped over the room. 

He tilted his head like he was just noticing it. Then nodded. “Raph’s fine though,” he muttered. April retrieved a blanket for him anyway. 

Chilly temperatures were unusual. Yes, it was the dead of winter. But the Lair hadn’t had any problems with heating since… well since Donnie learned how to fix them all those years ago. 

For over a decade, Donnie’s expertise had kept them warm in the winter. 

Donnie had kept them insulated. 

Donnie was the reason his brothers never went into brumation. 

Donnie was the reason none of them dreaded the winter, and actually enjoyed their snow days together. 

It was all up to Donnie. 

Now that she looked back, every major function of the Lair had been up to Donnie. April wondered why she’d never asked him if he needed any help maintaining literally everything. 

She’d never get to ask him. 

Now, in a new Lair that had only the basics of protections against the brutal New York winters… The heating system was not winter-ready. And it might be broken. 

And there was no Donnie to fix it. 

There would never be Donnie to fix it. 

April’s vision blurred with unshed tears. The whole room swayed. She needed to leave the Lair before she shattered. 

But she couldn’t move. She stood in the middle of the room, looking at them all. Her family. What was left of them, at least. Her chest was constricting, tightening around her broken heart. 

“I’m– I’m gonna get us some groceries. Don’t–” she glanced at Mikey. Don’t what? Don’t tear us apart further, please? Don’t drive Raph into a vegetative state of guilt? Don’t be the reason none of us can sleep? Don’t run off and do something stupid? “Just… take care of each other right now, okay?” 

No response. 

She took that as a yes. 

She trotted out of their sight before breaking into a full-out sprint. Yet April only made it all of five steps out of the Lair before her knees gave out. 

She slid to the ground, the enormity of everything finally sinking in. 

Donnie was dead. 

Her heart felt like it was constricting, compressing within her, squeezed into oblivion. For the first time, she understood why it was called a rib cage. Trapped inside of her, making her feel the horrible loss of her best friend. 

Moments piled up in her head, drowning her in a wave of bittersweetness. 

The sun glinting off of the brand new Turtle Tank was nowhere near as bright as Donnie’s grin when he’d presented it to her. Donnie’s jabbering voice, jogging circles around even her most competent science teacher. Donnie picking up her calls even when it was the literal middle of the night. Donnie dropping everything to help her with the most last-minute project possible. The softness of his hands rubbing circles on her back when she’d allowed herself to process everything of the invasion, sobbing into Mayhem’s fur. 

He was, without a doubt, the best friend she’d ever had. 

Her best friend. 

How was she supposed to just live with that? How was she supposed to move on? How was she supposed to make a connection like that ever again when he knew everything about her, meant everything to her, and did everything with her? 

April didn’t want to let him go. She just wanted things to go back to the way they were before. 

But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever– could ever– be the same without him. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to think about any of that at the moment. Because she couldn’t muster any coherent thoughts. 

All she could do was surrender to her emotions and sob on the cold ground. 

And feel more alone than she ever had. 

Anatawa Hitorijanai. 

April. You are not alone. 

April looked around the abandoned tunnel. 

Not abandoned. You are Hamato. 

“Karai?” she croaked. 

No. Karai is with what we think is Donatello. 

That was not comforting. “What do you mean?” 

His soul… his ninpo… They may have been partially destroyed. I do not know. I am not there at the moment. But I trust that things will work out, even if I do not yet understand how.

April didn’t want to think about the possibility of Donnie’s essence being destroyed. But the voice was so comforting. She wanted to trust it. Its inflections were strangely familiar, too. “If you’re not Karai, who are you?” 

You have not met me. I am Yoshi’s mother. I have always been here. I have much practice with comforting this family when they feel alone. Leonardo may not be able to feel it, but he is not alone either. 

“Why are you here with me, then? The guys back there– Raph and Mike and Splints–” 

They have each other, though Michelangelo may not realize it. You are here thinking you are alone. I will not allow my family to languish in their despair. Listen to me: You are not alone. The boys are not alone. Pick yourself up, April O’Neil. You have things to do. 

Before she even registered it, April was on his feet, dusting her knees off. She blinked. “How’d you do that?” 

I am here to support. I’ve supported you. 

“Will you stay?” 

Always. But you will not be able to hear me. 

April took a deep breath, ready to face the cold, harsh New York streets. And the even harsher reality of her new life without her best friend. “Okay. Thank you, by the way.” 

Thank you. For taking care of our family. No go, April O’Neil. Our family needs us to stay strong. 

Walking the streets of New York unaware of your surroundings is not the smartest move. In fact, it’s probably one of the dumbest ones. 

Yet there April was, walking on pure autopilot, lost in thought and laden with grocery bags and a brand new space heater under her arm. Tear tracks were still visible on her otherwise blank face. 

She hardly remembered the shopping trip itself, staggering through the store, ready to give up and collapse again. But the impression of a soft hand on her shoulder kept her upright. April had immersed herself in helping the Hamatos. Her mind was still clouded with grief, but she was bolstered by action to help. 

Dr. Feelings would say she was distracting herself. April would tell Dr. Feelings to stick that attitude somewhere that Raph would disapprove of. Then again, Mikey was in no shape to be himself at the moment, let alone one of his many personas. 

Sometime when she’d been pursuing the section of granola, April had realized that the hollow feeling in her stomach was not just grief. She was actually shockingly hungry. 

She was positive that none of the boys had an appetite, but April had become well-practiced in forcing them to eat the past couple months. Missing brothers, dead brother, yes, those were devastating. But everyone’s body still needed fuel. 

The chances of Mikey making something for them were slim to none. April sighed. Pizza sounded like something she could choke down. Hueso’s was a safe bet. She didn’t enjoy his more exotic pizzas (memories of slices topped with wriggling creatures still made her gag) but something simple would be a good choice. 

Shifting the groceries to one hand so she could access her phone and place an order was a struggle. But April was Master Splinter’s favorite student: she knew a thing or two about balance and agility. 

April didn’t have Hueso’s personal number (so she couldn’t annoy him like Leo did), but she could call the store. She ordered something big enough for the family, and two more of the same to last a few days. 

It wouldn’t be ready for a bit, but she was within walking distance, her arms were starting to hurt from the plastic digging into her inner elbows, and it was near freezing outside. 

Upon entering Run of the Mill, April froze. 

Purple and blue streamers hung from the ceiling. Tiny bursts of everlasting fireworks shimmered in the air, spelling words in a language April couldn’t read. Her vision tunneled. They’re just colors, right? Yeah! She shouldn’t let them get to her. She couldn’t– she couldn’t– she couldn’t breathe– 

April barely had time to realize that a pair of bellhops were mere feet in front of her, before a hand clamped around her arm and she was yanked behind a pillar. By some miracle she didn’t drop any of the groceries. 

She blinked, trying to make her focus return back to normal. 

An old cat Yokai crouched in front of her, hands out in a gesture of placation. 

“What–” 

“Shhhhh!” she hissed. One of her ears twitched, and April picked up the voices. 

April recognized one as Señor Hueso. The others, she didn’t know. But they sounded vaguely British, like Big Mama. Judging from the glance she’d gotten, they were probably her bellhops. 

The skeleton man was talking. “–told you before and I’ll tell you again! I do not make death traps.” 

“Why is it called the Maze of Death, then?” asked the bear bellhop. 

The labyrinth that had almost gotten the guys killed? What did Big Mama want with– 

Oh. 

Oh. 

April’s hands curled into fists. The pieces of her broken heart made great kindling for the fire of rage that lit in her stomach. It burned through the haze of grief draped over the world. Colors and shapes and people and ideas became sharp and crisp. 

The urgency to rescue Leo redoubled. She would not lose another little brother. 

All this happened in an instant. April heard Hueso say, “Oi! It hasn’t actually killed anyone! Legally, at least.” 

The fox Yokai cleared his throat. “Big Mama will compensate you, I can assure you–” 

Donnie was the genius. Leo was the master strategist. Raph was the planner. Mikey was the flair. 

April O’Neil had taught them everything she knew. 

Maze. Hueso. Death traps. Traps. Arena. Leo. 

Pieces of a plan were assembling in her mind. Gears clicked into place. Darkened pathways lit up like airplane runways. Punctured plans inflated once more. Wispy ideas coalesced into something as solid as the pillar April’s back pressed against. 

After a month of devising ways to break in and out of the Nexus, the family had been no closer to a perfect solution. Too risky, too many unknowns. 

Until right now. 

April shed the groceries like a skin, shooting to her feet, propelled by the movement of her mind’s whirring. 

The cat Yokai hurriedly motioned for her to sit back down, but April couldn’t. Still mostly hidden, she poked her head out so Hueso could see her. The bellhops had their backs turned. April waved her arm, trying to get Hueso’s attention. 

“I will not be bribed, bellhop! I do not accept tips. Cease your talk. Tell your precious master that I won’t build her a death maze for ‘champions’ to fight in. End of story. And while you’re at it, tell her she’s a–” 

Finally, he noticed April. 

He gaped. 

The bellhops noticed and turned, following his gaze. April moved too fast for them to see her, out of sight once more. 

“What was that?” growled the bear. 

“Only me!” squeaked the cat Yokai, slinking forward. “Señor Hueso clearly needs to consult with his business partner before he does anything. Let us step into your office, hm?”

Hueso, recognizing a hint when he saw one, nodded at once. “Si, I must talk with Silkie here. Gentlemen,” he placed very special emphasis on the word, “would you please sit and uh enjoy some garlic knots while you wait? Gracias.”  

As he showed them to a table, April took advantage of the bellhops’ turned backs. She gathered the groceries and bolted for where the cat Yokai held the door to Hueso’s office. 

“That was foolish,” she hissed. “We’re trying to avoid suspicion here, human! How did you even find this place?” 

April’s brain was buzzing with too many thoughts to really process anything anymore. But she managed to wrangle her brain into a semi-straight train of thought. “Hi I’m April O’Neil I’m a friend of Hueso’s I came here for pizza for my family because our brother just died,” she blurted. “Who are you?” 

She blinked. “Silkie. I’m working with Hueso to advocate for the freedom of Astros and Ty– well, just Astros now, I guess.” Her green eyes flicked downward. April suddenly realized how old this hairless cat Yokai was. Or maybe the wrinkles were from the lack of fur. And then the words themselves sunk in. 

“Huh? You’re trying to–” 

Silkie puffed up, defensive. “Those turtles are being downright abused in Big Mama’s arena. Someone needs to hold her accountable for her actions.” 

“The blue and purple streamers–” 

“Were to show support to the champions. We believe that those two were being held against their will. Tyrian’s death last night was only further proof of the horrific events taking place in the arena. Evidence shows–” 

“You’re preachin’ to the choir, lady,” April interrupted. “Those turtles are my brothers. Leo and Donnie. And you’re right. They were kidnapped and forced to fight. And now Donnie’s… Your campaign is a little late.” 

Silkie sighed. “I know. The Battle Nexus so popular that we’re having a hard time getting people to listen to us. People love watching Tyrian and Astros fight. And apparently Witch Town is throwing a party to celebrate the events of the other night.” 

The recently lit flames in her stomach burned hotter. April grit her teeth. “They are, are they?” 

Who knew Witch Town had a stake in this. Speaking of stakes in things– 

“Uh, no offense Silkie, but why do you care about any of this?” 

Blush crept into Silkie’s pink cheeks. “I was quite the Lou Jitsu fan back in the day. I went to every one of his battles. And a year or so ago, he came back to fight another one! It made me wonder why he even left in the first place. And the more I looked into it, the stranger it seemed. I uncovered the truth: Big Mama’s Battle Nexus is inhumane and has kidnapped Yokai (and a human) for the sake of our entertainment! And then last month Hueso told me that those turtles were his friends who had gone missing and I knew she must have forced them to fight too… What poor creatures…” 

April felt a warmth in her chest unrelated to the fire of fury in her gut. She’d forgotten that genuine compassion existed. Maybe things weren’t as dark as they seemed. 

Bang! 

Hueso burst into the room, slamming the door behind him. His boney finger found April. “¿¡¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?!? What are you doing here? Right now?” 

“I ordered pizza,” April said blankly. 

“So you, a human– Pepino’s human– show up at the same time as two of Big Mama’s goons do by complete happenstance, ey?” 

“Yes! And Hueso, you gotta make them that maze.” 

“WHAT?!” both Hueso and Silkie cried. 

“Human,” Hueso started. “You do realize that they want me to fill it with death traps?” 

“Yep.” 

“And that Pepino is most likely going to be fighting?” 

“That’s the hope!” 

“But,” Silkie began, wrinkled brow wrinkling further, “I thought he was your brother?” 

“Ahh, she has been driven mad by grief,” Hueso sighed. “I was so saddened to hear of the purple one’s fate. Pepino would not shut up about him. It was clear he loved his brother very much.” 

“I– thank you,” April said, caught off guard. “And to hear that you’re trying to free him? That’s seriously great, man.” 

“Why thank you. So you see why I’m against building a Maze of Death for him to fight in!” 

April took a deep breath. When she said her plan out loud it was either going to make perfect sense or be revealed as utter gobbledygook. “That maze is the key to getting Leo out of there. It’s our way in, and it opens the door for our way out.” 

She explained her plan, still in its rough draft phase. When she’d finished, Hueso and Silkie stared in silence. 

“It’s risky,” Silkie started. “But it may be one of the only things we can do.” 

“But… I do not want my maze to be in the hands of the likes of Big Mama. She will do unspeakable evils with it. Speakable evils, too.” 

“I know. But if you’re building it, then you can add some… bonus features to keep her from abusing it. Look, if your campaign to free the turtles were to morph into one focused on exposing the evils of the Nexus itself… you may be able to solve all your problems. The evidence against Big Mama is there, people just need to see it!” 

“Yes, but–” 

“Look, Bone Man, I’m not losing any more brothers to that monster. You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to tell those bellhops that you’ll do it. You’ll ask them for a list of who’s fighting so that you can fit the traps to the contestants, and so that we know for sure that Leo will be there. You’ll build what I’ve asked you to build into the walls. You’ll tell me the exact date and time that the maze will be moved into the Nexus. And you won’t tell anyone about this because Big Mama has people everywhere. Understand?” 

Hueso surveyed her for a long moment. “You really are Pepino’s sister. You have the same fire.” 

For the first time in months, April smiled. “Taught him everything he knows.” 

April burst into the Lair’s kitchen, tossed all the grocery bags into the fridge, frisbeed the pizza onto a table, and dumped the space heater on the floor. 

“EVERYBODY GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!” she bellowed. 

A few moments of silence. Then the patter of feet. The Hamato family scurried into the kitchen. 

“What is it?” Draxum demanded. “What has happened?” 

April was already wheeling their planning board into the room. With her jacket sleeve she hurriedly erased all of their previous plans. 

“Hey!” Mikey croaked, voice weak from crying. “We needed those.” 

“No you don’t!” April sang. “Grab a chair and some pizza, you all need to hear this!” But when she turned around, none of them had moved from the doorway. 

Splinter looked older than she’d ever seen him as he stepped forward. “April,” he began. “We’re all going to process this differently. We need to take some time to mourn. We shall–” 

“Nope! We can mourn Donnie once Leo’s back home! Now sit down because y’all are going to want to hear this.” 

Perhaps they saw the glint in her eyes. Perhaps they knew that April wouldn’t ask them to move on so quickly unless she had a reason. A really really (two really’s) good reason. 

Cautiously, they each pulled up a chair. 

“Now listen up,” April said, uncapping a red marker, “we’re only going to have a small window of time to find him in the maze before she realizes we’re there. That’s why as soon as Hueso gets me a copy of the map, I need you all to start memorizing.” 

Blank stares. 

“April, what are you talking about?” Raph finally asked. 

“I’ve got a plan to save Leo. And it better work, because it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

Chapter Text

It was not a question. 

Anything of him– Leo or Astros– that had remained was gone. 

His blood had pooled and dried long before his consciousness returned. 

The last thing he remembered was– was her– and the pain. And the sheer, overwhelming terror. Just the thought of Viper made the turtle start hyperventilating again. Lack of oxygen must have eventually taken its toll, because evidently, he had passed out. Or maybe that was from blood loss. 

Maybe both, from the way he felt sick and dizzy. And too weak to move. 

Or maybe too petrified. 

He didn’t dare open his eyes, but even if he had, there would have been nothing to see in the dark. 

Even so, no eyes were needed to tell the damage Viper had done to him. The rattling agony in his chest with each breath informed him of at least one broken rib. His face burned in the familiar fire following being sliced open. Again. No moving his face anymore, he guessed. Not that he had anything to make facial expressions over anyway. But this time, Viper had gone further. 

With infrared vision (because of course she could see in the dark), Viper had been able to behold her prey clearly. She had been delighted to discover that he had other markings. 

Just before he’d passed out, he recalled her jubilant cackles followed by a stinging explosion on his left arm.  

And Donnie distantly calling out to him in his mind. Torture and hallucinations. 

Now, he laid flat on his back, spread out on the ground like roadkill. The yellow curves (probably yellow no longer) on his arms and legs throbbed from being torn into. His whole body ached from clenching in terror. His head pounded. His throat burned from screaming screaming screaming screaming. His shallow, rapid breaths were more ragged than his split scales. 

Cold seeped into his veins. Distantly, he realized that the only reason he’d avoided bleeding to death had been the slowed heart rate that low temperatures instilled in him. But even then, it obviously had its disadvantages. 

He stared into the darkness, feeling sticky dried blood cover his aching limbs. He couldn’t muster coherent thought. He could only feel horror pumping through his ruptured veins, cementing in his broken bones, and crawling under his shredded skin. 

He thought of nothing. 

Was nothing. 

Was no one. 

Not Astros. 

Not Leo. 

Nothing at all. 

He was merely a tangle of agony and loss. 

And terror. 

She was going to come back any minute. And then she’d kill him, surely. There was no cruelty left for her to inflict. His body had failed him. She couldn’t possibly take that away further, could she? 

He would never know how long he laid there, in pitch darkness. Filled with too much fear to even tremble. Time was as meaningless as his name had been. As inconsequential as his life before. Was there even a before? Or has his past died with the so-called Leo? 

All he knew was that he was alone in the darkness for a very long time. 

Light spilled in when the door opened. 

Dim though it was, it burned through his eyelids. He peeled them open. He would have winced at the light, but that would have been a foolish thing to do. So he didn’t. 

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was too cold, too drained, too hurt, too terrified to even twitch. 

A mousy face filled his vision. Familiar. But wrong. 

Her tiny hands tried to get him to sit up. They were so very warm. The faintest memory of warm hands rubbing his head echoed in his distant consciousness. Someone important had once loved him. 

Once. 

Now he was much too broken to be loved. 

He was moving. Being dragged through blurry corridors. Into an elevator. Out of an elevator. Dumped onto a carpet. The air there was blissfully warm. That alone gave him the desire to move, even slightly. 

So with more effort than it had ever taken him, he raised his head. 

A woman stood over him. She wore purple. But the wrong kind of purple. Purple used to be safe. But not now. Not when she wore it. 

“So Astros, have you given thought to our conversation from earlier?” 

Astros. 

That’s right, he was Astros. That sounded right. 

Conversation? 

In a blink, Astros slid back to himself. He knew who he was, and where we was. He was Astros, her precious puppet meant only for fighting. And he was in Big Mama’s office once again. And Big Mama herself was talking to him. 

Slowly, so very slowly, Astros fought to sit up. Every single muscle protested. Viper’s barely-healed lacerations to his limbs split open again. But not his face. He was very careful to not move a muscle in his face. 

After far too long, he finally made it to a kneeling position, gripping at the soft carpet with shaky hands. Blood trailed down his arms and trickled between his fingers. He didn’t mean to stain the carpet. 

“I have,” he rasped. His voice was gone from his desperate yelps for relief. Only one person had heard them, and she had merely laughed. Astros was actually mildly shocked he could still speak. 

“So have I. And I have determined that if you do not wish to fiddly fight for me, then you don’t have to. If you’d rather be back in your cell with Viper, then–” 

Pure panic spiked through Astros’s entire form. 

“NO!” Astros’s voice cracked. 

“No, no, if it’s what you really want–” 

Astros flung himself forward (his ribs cried out in agony, but he couldn’t have cared less). His weak fingers scrabbled at the tips of Big Mama’s pointed shoes. He looked up at her with desperation. “No no no no please–  please don’t– don’t s-send me– back to– to–” 

The office spun. He couldn't get enough air. 

Astros’s face twisted, stinging as freshly opened wounds mixed with tears. He didn’t know how to speak anymore. Didn’t know how to express what he wanted. What he truly and deeply wanted. 

“W-want to fight. I need to fight. For you. Please please please please let me – let me into the arena, please, Big Mama! Don’t send me b-back to her.”

“Oh?”

“I want to fight for you. Please, I need to fight for you.” 

His throat, constricting with tears, wouldn’t let him say anything else. He couldn’t go back there. He couldn’t go back to her. He couldn’t. 

She looked down with mild amusement. “You really want to?” 

Once upon a time, Leo would have known exactly what to say. 

But this was now. 

Leo was dead

Astros had no words. All he could do was blubber and beg. 

“Yes! Want to be your champion. I’ll fight for you, I’ll kill for you, per-form for you, I’ll do everything you want. I swear I’ll do everything right.” He sobbed, desperate lungs heaving without drawing enough breath. “Don’t send me back.”  

“You’ll behave?” 

“ Yes! I promise promise promise I’ll do whatever you want. Please!” 

He bowed his head to the carpet; the fibers stung his wounded face. He gripped her shoes with shaking fingers. 

“Hm, I’m really not sure if you’re serious…” 

Astros howled at her feet. Tears and blood and spit ran down his face, his pitiful begging reduced to snivels. 

“This is what I want.” 

“Come again?” 

“This. Is. What. I. Want.” 

It was not a question. 

Big Mama stepped back, out of his bloody grip. He whimpered, his reaching hands clutching at nothing. 

“Well that’s good to hear. I’m so glad you’ve finally come to that conclusion. Now prove it.” She nodded to the bellhops. 

They grabbed him by the shoulders, hoisting him up. Astros hissed at the pressure against his cuts. They ignored him. 

Dr. Mouse was there in a flash. She held up a bottle to his lips. Astros drank the dark liquid greedily, then gagged at the bitter salt. His throat was on fire. 

“It will take a bit for the potion to replenish your lost blood, but you’ll be in tippy top shape in no time. Toodle-loo, turtle-boo!” 

Sputtering and hacking, Astros was led away. 

Astros could barely stand, let alone walk. His wounded legs protested with every movement. Normal breath was long forgotten as he coughed and gasped and wheezed. He was still dizzy from blood loss that had yet to be completely waved away. The world around him swam. Unbalanced. Unsteady. And so very painful. 

But he was not being sent back to Viper. 

So he was happy. 

Or at least, as happy as he could possibly be. 

After all, ‘happiness’ was a long forgotten luxury that he no longer remembered. 

He’d been happy when he was free. 

He’d been happy when Donnie was alive. 

He’d been happy before Viper. 

Before Big Mama. 

Before the arena. 

Before the fights. 

Before the killing. 

Before. 

Before. 

Before. 

Before it all went so wrong. 

Well no longer. No longer would things be so wrong. Because Astros wanted to fight. His whole soul yearned for violence. For the satisfying spray of red. For the stain across the stones. He wanted to win. 

Win he did. 

It was not a question. 

Again and again and again. He did not remember any of the fights. Just blurs of motion. Stings of pain. Exhaustion deep in his weary, broken bones. 

At some point, Big Mama gave him a kabuki mask. He was a consistent killer in her arena now. It was tradition that he wear such a thing. Masks were important to him. Or at least they used to be. Now, it made him feel like less of a person then ever. 

He missed soft blue, conforming to his face shape. Marking him as part of a group. Now he was alone. Distinctly different behind the unyielding material of white and red. 

The mask did nothing for his performance. He was neither more or less deadly. Astros brandished his new weapons (chains), got results, and got the crowd to cheer so that Viper would never lay her dirty claws on his face again. 

He fought. He won. 

In the darkness, he passed out. 

In the frigid shadows, he shivered. 

In the silence, Donnie sometimes screamed out to him. 

In the arena, he bled victoriously. 

In his dreams, he dreamt only of more food for his regularly empty stomach. 

It was clear that Big Mama had tired of him. There was nothing left to her that he could offer. With no value, he was nothing. 

Life had no meaning. 

It was nothing. 

It was not a question. 

He was nothing. 

“Astros.” 

Nothing at all. 

“Astros!” 

He blinked slowly, becoming aware of his surroundings. He was not in the arena. Not in his cell. Not even in Big Mama’s office. He was in her booth, overlooking the ring. He looked down to see a teacup in his hands, brimming with untouched liquid. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat couldn’t muster a voice.

Why was he here? Was it because he had felt himself slowing down in the last few fights from his slight fever and resulting chills? He suspected an infection in his bloodstream. Viper’s fault, no doubt. 

The arachnid sighed. “See, this is the problem. The fact of the matter is: you’re not useful to me anymore.” 

He stared at her. Uncomprehending. 

“You’re boring. You don’t fight with Tyrian (for obvious reasons), so the package deal appeal is lost on the crowd. Believe me, I regret putting him in that troublesome tournament in the first place. But the crowd demanded it, so I complied.” 

That’s right. He used to have a twin. That’s why everything felt so hollow. But Tyrian didn’t sound right. Muted purple flashed across his mind. Everything in his memory was muted nowadays. Nowanights? The concept of time was slippery. 

Big Mama continued. “You wear your spiffing little kabuki mask, so your official identity is just as nullified. You’re too good at what you do. Fights are over too quickly, and always in the same bafflegabingly brutish manner. To put it simply, turtle, you are nothing to me anymore.” 

Well Astros already knew that. Hadn’t he been nothing the whole time? He didn’t matter. And as far as he knew, he had never mattered to anyone. 

Except for his twin. 

“So this begs the question, what to do with you? I considered handing you over to Viper–” 

Panic exploded in Astros’s chest. His face and arms and legs suddenly felt like glowing spotlights, targets for violence. The teacup rattled in his hands. He shook his head, face slackening in preparation for claws to dig into it. No no no no no no please not again not again no no–

“–but I decided against it. Instead, I’ve come to a solution. Astros, tonight will be your last fight.” 

What? What was that supposed to mean?

“I simply do not need you. And as I recall, we had a deal: I would let you go when you’d earned me enough money. Well, I have enough from you. Thank you for your service. You’ve been the jewel of the arena for months now, but we are tired of you. Your time in the spotlight is over.” 

This couldn’t be real. How could this possibly be real? He waited for the twist, the trick, the last minute curveball. But she merely raised her eyebrows at him over her spectacles. 

“H-how?” he managed to say. His voice crackled. Unrecognizable. 

“Tonight is a very special show. I call it, ‘Big Mama’s Legendary Labyrinth Lollapalooza’. Your situation is simple: there will be two teams of fighters in the maze. Red and Blue. You will be on the red one. For this fight, you shall be known as Crimson.” 

What was it with Big Mama and unnecessary color names? Astros… Tyrian… and now Crimson? 

Just need orange to complete the set, he thought. Then caught himself. 

Orange? 

Orange and red and purple and blue. 

There used to be four, before there were two. And now there was one. How many people had he lost? Had the orange and red ones also died in the arena? 

Where were they? Where were Orange and Red? What were their names? Red… red… Ra… Raph! RAPH! Raph Raph Raph Raphael how could he have forgotten his older brother? Raph! 

And Orange… hm… Orange… Or-mano? Hermano? Wait no, that meant brother. Spanish for brother. Spanish… Miguel? Michael… Mikey… MIKEY! Mikey! His baby brother! Mikey Mikey Mikey Mikey Michelangelo! Mikey and his razz-ma-tazz. 

Mikey and Raph and Raph and Mikey and Leo and Donnie. Brothers. Four of them. What had happened to them? Where was he? Why was he here with Big Mama? How long had it been? Astros no LEO’S thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper. But somehow slightly clearer than they had been before. He was not alone. 

You are not alone. 

You are not alone. 

He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t– 

Big Mama backhanded him. 

Pain blossomed across his cheek as Astros’s head was jerked to the side. 

She shook her wrist out, gazing at him coldly. “Pay attention! Listen to me, idiot! I offer you a way out and this is how you repay me? I’m trying to explain things to you.” 

In an instant, it was gone. Names and faces and colors slid away from him like seconds tick tick tick tick tick ticking away. He slid into vague nothingness once more. 

Compared to the regular pain Astros felt, the slap was nothing. His face throbbed, that was all. But he chose to listen in anyway. 

She humph' ed, before continuing. “As I was saying, you are Crimson, the leader of the red team. The leader of the blue team, we shall call Void. They are a shapeshifter. And I’m certain they’ll put up quite the fight. They’re a killer like yourself, you see, and you stand in the way of the title of reigning champion. Thus, either they kill you, end of story, or you win, and you go free.” 

The slap had caused the cuts to open; he was more focused on the warm trickle of blood down his face than the name of an opponent. But the moment Big Mama said– 

“Free?” 

“Free, home, back to that little lair of yours. I’ll uphold our deal: I will not come after you ever again. I will leave you and your entire family alone. No more turtles for me. If you win this fight, you can go home.” 

Home? Home? 

Bitterness pulsed through his empty stomach. He remembered the days when all he’d wanted was to go home. 

He’d had Donnie with him then. And Donnie now was dead. 

Astros couldn’t go home. 

Not without him. 

He didn’t even know where– or what– home was anymore! He had nothing. Was nothing. He’d told his family to abandon him. And then proceeded to get Donnie killed. They could never take him back. 

“You’re welcome,” Big Mama sang. 

He would win the fight, of course. But… home? 

“No…” he said slowly. 

“No? You’re refusing my generous offer?” 

Astros looked into her face. He couldn’t read her expression. Or her motives. He had a hunch he was being manipulated. But he had nothing left to recognize it. 

“No,” he repeated. “I don’t want to go home. I want to keep fighting.” He jerked a head towards the arena. “I wanted this.” 

She flashed her sharp white teeth. A victorious grin. 

Astros realized distantly that he was too easy to play. Too easy to twist. Too easy to be felled. Too late, he had realized. He had fallen into her trap long ago. He was stuck in this spider’s web, wrapped up in every string attached. Bound and trapped and immobilized in her expertly woven plan. 

He was much too late. 

He had always been too late. 

He clenched his fists. Crack. Oh. He’d forgotten about the teacup. Warm liquid– much thinner than blood– spilled onto his fingers. He set the cracked cup on a little table next to him. Big Mama had never intended for him to drink it. 

She ignored his motions as she waved a dismissive hand. “Well I’m honored that this is what you finally want, Astros. Good for you! Your vacuous disposition has proven that I’ve molded you perfectly! Still, you’ll be fighting for your life no matter what. And, because this is a special fight, I have something for you.” 

She pulled out a new red and white kabuki mask. Different from the regular one he’d been wearing in recent fights. This one was personalized. Painted to look like his stripes (his face ached). And this mask was different from any others Astros had seen: two jewels were set in the eyeholes, glowing a deep red. 

Astros flinched. 

“For you, my champion.” 

He did not want to bear red eyes. 

He did not want to be on the red team. 

Red was dangerous. 

Red was death. 

Red was pain. 

Red was the scarred targets slashed across his face, Viper’s luminous eyes, Krang bearing down on him. Donnie’s dripping blood, Raph’s disappointment. 

Astros did not want to be red. 

But Astros wanted to fight. 

And he was a champion. 

It was not a question. 

Slowly, he reached out and held the mask in his hands. They did not tremble. 

Astros pressed the mask onto his face. 

He looked upon the world through red eyes. 

The labyrinth was vaguely familiar, Astros realized as he slinked through yet another left turn. He had faint memories of wanting to prove himself in a similar situation. Frustration. 

If I die in this maze–

He wouldn’t die. Not yet. He’d come too far. 

I will haunt you– 

He was already haunted by everything he’d done. Everything he’d lost. 

For the rest of your life. 

He wondered how long that would even be. 

This match was different. Of course it was different than anything else Astros had faced in the arena, but something in the air was off. A slight buzzing. A broken clock with hands twitching, anxious hands. 

As he traversed deeper into the heart of the maze, he came across yet another divulging path and realized he’d lost his sense of direction. Astros didn’t know where exactly he was. 

Thick, massive walls towered from the arena floor to the eye level of the first row of seats. The Yokai audience (packed to the very brim) could hardly see the action, so gigantic screens had been set up to provide them with new views. The footage was also being broadcast not only to Big Mama’s sports lounge, but to every crystal ball network in the Hidden City. Billboards and magical street signs and every available surface seemed to be alight with ‘Big Mama’s Legendary Labyrinth Lollapalooza’. 

Ironic that the show with the biggest audience was the most silent for Astros. The walls blocked out much of the cheering, and the ever-dreaded arena lights were snuffed out in the shadows of the wooden structure. 

It was oddly freeing. 

For the first time in an eternity, Astros’s head felt clear. Well, clearer. The palpable feeling of something big about to happen hung heavily in the air. 

Astros was no longer swept up in the riptide of ravaging violence. He felt as if he had some control over what he did. The illusion of choice the maze provided was doing something, at least. Picking a path out between walls of roughly carved wood felt so much better than fighting. 

Especially since as far as the game went, he just had to wander around, looking for five total figures in blue masks. And eliminate them. 

Simple. 

He’d done so to two blue players so far. He’d become quite adept at using his chains as weapons to flick, whip, or strangle. His raw wrists had grown numb to the shackles over time, as no one had bothered to take them off since Donnie died. 

He stumbled over a motionless figure in a blue mask. So his fellow red teammates (he missed being on a team it ached it ached it ached deep under his ribs) were not entirely useless. Good to know. Three down, two to go. 

It was almost too easy. 

But of course, it wasn’t that easy. Astros was still limping from when he’d been surprised by a blast of fire from the walls. The burn wasn’t serious, but it was an inconvenience. 

(At least he was on his feet. The infection he most definitely had was threatening to tip him into a real fever. And allllll of his other injuries were still very much there, despite his naturally fast healing.) 

As for spikes, strangling vines, a giant rolling boulder, and false tiles, he’d dealt with those with ease. The traps were… shockingly easy. And several times Astros had crept through an area that looked like it should have had traps, but nothing went off. Strange. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that someone had rigged the maze in his favor. But that was impossible. No one did Astros favors. Least of all labyrinths. 

The charge in the air reached a breaking point. Astros wondered if the buzzing was in his ears or his brain. 

Awareness zipped up his shell. 

If he had hair, it would have stood up on end. Astros sensed, rather than felt, a presence behind him. He ducked. A knife sailed over his head, embedding itself in the wooden wall of the maze. 

Astros whirled, cracking his chains. 

A blobby, shifting mass stared back. 

It looked vaguely humanoid, similar to Astros’s own height and build, save for the swirling limbs. Like a doll made out of ink in a tornado. 

Only two things stood solid on the shifting shape: a gleaming dagger in its roiling hand, and its mask. Patterned like a blue kabuki mask, it was placed over where a face should be, similar to Astros’s. Blazing blue eyes juxtaposed against the shadows of the looming labyrinth. 

The very air around them seemed to sizzle with energy. 

Even as a blob, the figure was poised to kill. Astros knew this would be a fight for Big Mama’s history book. 

He wasn’t in the mood to make smalltalk. The shapeshifter didn’t appear to be either. 

The world seemed to hold its breath. Silent. Still. 

Save for a distant 

    tick…

             tick…

                      tick…

     That echoed in the space between them. 

Counting down. 

With the clink of chains and the glint of a dagger, they launched themselves at each other. 

Astros had fought many battles. He’d won most of them. 

He had never had a fight like this. 

Void threw itself at him with unmatched ferocity. Speed and agility that no blobby composite should possess blocked Astros at every blow. 

It seemed that Void knew Astros’s next move, parried every whip of the chains, took advantage of every blind spot. Yet strangely, Astros knew Void’s style as well. He found himself shattering their stances, getting just close enough to do real damage, but never managing to hit home. 

With whirls and spins, ducks and dodges, slashes and swipes, they created a storm of fighting. 

Propelled by the thought of freedom, of the sky, of the fresh air on his scales, Astros fought with more ferocity than he ever had before. Yet he couldn’t land a single hit. Perhaps because the undulating limbs were difficult to distinguish. He shifted his focus to aim for the one solid part he could see: the cobalt mask. Flat. Impassive. Taunting. 

Void moved as if running on pure rage. Powerful, decisive jabs came at Astros from every direction. 

Specter and shadow. 

Solid slashes against breezing blows. 

But as the whirl of of violence raged around them, Astros could feel himself slowing. He hadn’t had a fight go on this long in… well he had no idea, but it had been a while. The shapeshifter may have been slowing as well. It was difficult to tell what with the mask and seething figure. 

Astros’s recently fractured rib wasn’t making this any easier. He wheezed and gasped at every flash of the knife towards his mask. 

Briefly, he wondered why his opponent only aimed for the mask and not for the clearly wounded biceps, thighs, or plastron.  Then again, it was a shapeshifter. Perhaps it did not understand the concept of solid limbs? 

Astros’s analysis was cut short as the walls began to rumble. Astros glanced to the side just in time to see a huge panel of wood sliding to block off the path. 

The maze was changing. 

His calculations were swift. Astros dashed forward, spun, and kicked the shapeshifter in the chest area. He was shocked when his foot connected with a hard surface. Void crashed backwards. Astros slid through the gap in the narrowly closing wall. 

It was lucky he had become so skinny, or else he would not have fit. 

With a distant boom, the new thick wall fell into place. It acted as a barrier between him and Void. 

Astros collapsed against the nearest wall, choking for air. Unlike his last kabuki mask, this one was difficult to breathe under. Like it was… sealed?  Of course his last fight wasn’t going to be an easy one. How very typical. Why was he even surprised anymore? 

His limbs ached. Blood oozed down them– not from damage via Void, but from Viper’s gashes that seemed like they’d never fully close. 

Astros flexed his wrists, surveying his chains. Not for the first time, he missed his swords. Even if Big Mama used cheap metal. Something sharp would have been great against any opponent. Was this how Tyrian had felt facing the dragon with nothing but a bo staff? 

Darkness flashed in the corner of Astros’s vision. A shift in the shadows on the ground. He tensed, and glanced up. Behind his mask, his jaw actually dropped. 

He had expected another trap. What he had not expected was Void perched on the top of the wall. 

Glowing eyes fixed on him like lasers.  Its knife gleamed in the spotlights. 

You’ve gotta be kidding me. 

Astros was a fighter. He was a Battle Nexus champion. He was a killer. He had nothing to lose. He felt no fear. His fear was reserved for one person only, and she was nowhere near. 

But this shapeshifter was clearly insane. They made him uneasy. 

Void had scaled the labyrinth wall with nothing but a dagger to get to Astros. Like it had some sort of vendetta against him. 

Void jabbed the knife into the wall and slid down it, carving a line in its wake. 

Nope. 

Astros may not have been very mentally sound at the moment, and he may have wanted to fight, but even he knew when to run. 

He dashed further into the maze, taking as many left turns as he possibly could to shake the inky mass off of his tail. Traps activated, but Astros avoided the blow darts, spiked pit, and quicksand with ease. Couldn’t the creator of the maze have been just a little more creative? 

Not that Astros was complaining. His burned leg still stung with the speed of his sprinting. 

After taking one particular long running leap to avoid a trapdoor, Astros glanced back. 

His stomach dropped to see the shapeshifter hot on his tail. In the same motion Astros had taken, it also took a running start to vault over the trap. 

For one mad moment it looked like an exact shadow of Astros himself. 

Astros had had enough. His chains came up to meet the knife pointed at his face. 

“What did I even do to you?” Astros demanded, voice crackling like dry straw. 

“You killed my brother.”

That voice… familiar… but impossible. Just hearing it was a blow behind the ribs. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. 

It’s a shapeshifter, Astros reminded himself. Whatever it says or does is not real. 

“I’ve killed lots of Yokai,” Astros shrugged. “Help me narrow it down?” 

Void yelled in rage and threw itself at Astros. 

The flurry of fighting continued. Knife against chains, sparks flying where the weapons screeched against each other.  Again and again, they circled each other, brandishing their metal. 

It was impossible to gain an upper hand. The dark mass fought like Astros’s own shadow, but with twice the venom. 

It was strange. 

For a shapeshifter, Void never actually changed into something solid to help it fight. On top of that, it kept more or less the same height and figure the whole time. It was just the blackened, blurry outline that remained nebulous. 

And of course, the very solid blue mask with azure eyes. Impassive. Unchanging. 

A target. 

At last, Astros’s chains struck home. 

CRACK! 

They whipped across Void’s blue kabuki mask with such force that it cracked, falling down down down with two hollow clatters. 

Unbidden, Astros’s eyes followed their descent. Inlaid in the eyeholes weren’t jewels at all. They were brooches. 

Cloaking brooches. 

Immediately, the figure sharpened. In an instant, the inky obscurity had fallen away, suffusing color into sharp, angular, familiar, vaguely rectangular limbs. 

One color in particular, in fact. 

Astros froze. 

Void lashed its– his green foot out, hooked it behind Astros’s knee (weak knee weak knee so very weak damaged stupid knee). Astros crashed to the hard arena floor. 

His opponent bore down on him. 

Astros scrambled back, away from what had to be a trick. What couldn’t be real. It’s impossible. I saw it happen. I saw him die. It’s a shapeshifter it’s a shapeshifter it’s just a shapeshifter he’s dead he’s gone it’s not real–

He’d had this nightmare before. Any second he was going to wake up alone in total darkness. He didn’t want to be alone. He never had. 

He didn’t want to fight him. He never had.  

The back of his shell collided with the wall. 

With constricting chest aching and heavy heart pounding, all Astros could do was stare at the advancing figure (stalking towards him as smooth and measured as the strokes of a clock). 

Unmasked, his face (he knew that face he knew it better than his own) was contorted with rage. But even murderous, hollow, haunted eyes carried the absolute distinctness of belonging to– belonging to– 

A shapeshifter could never be so exact. 

A shapeshifter would not make Astros’s twin sense clang like a gong in his gut for the first time in months. 

A shapeshifter would not make clocks long stopped start ticking again. 

Ticking as fast as Astros’s racing heart. 

Because there was no way this was real. 

Astros had seen him die. 

Or… or did I just see his dying form be dragged away?  

And for the first time in eternity, Astros felt his heart lighten, aglow with… with hope. 

Hope. 

Hope, buried in the graveyard of all Astros had lost. Leonardo. His twin. Honor. Family. Freedom. Safety. Sunlight. Happiness. Hope. 

Yet there, in the shadows of the labyrinth, staring at the tip of a knife pointed at his face, hope sparked. Not as a clashing weapon sparks, but as lightning sparks. Exhilarating, Overwhelming. Powerful. 

Hope was no longer a weapon to wield, easily snapped, shattered, or replaced. Something for his trembling hands to cling to.

Hope was his greatest weapon. A familiar weight. An extension of himself. A reassurance. 

Hope was the tick of a long-stopped clock. Constant. Steady. 

Tick. 

And hope– 

Tick. 

had returned– 

Tick. 

to him–

Tick. 

at last. 

Hope was a roaring fire. Warming his frozen lungs enough to draw breath. Softening his jaw enough to form a single word. 

The most important word of his life. 

“Donnie.” 

It was not a question. 

Chapter Text

Tyrian was dead. He was certain of it. 

Then why did everything still hurt so much? 

Well, not everything. 

He couldn't feel his legs. 

And while that should have been incredibly concerning, Tyrian couldn't really focus on that. Because everything else was agony. Like his shell. His shell had been ripped apart more viciously than it ever had and he could tell. 

On top of that, the blood loss was making his head spin more ferociously than a turbine. 

As the world slid away, he vaguely recalled someone calling his name. Or calling someone else’s name. Ah, yes. 

Leo. 

Tyrian needed Leo. 

He needed to tell him… tell him… he was too light headed to remember right then. 

But Leo was nowhere to be found. Tyrian’s blurry vision couldn’t find a hint of blue anywhere. There had been a person. Someone who’d carried him and held him and cradled his pounding head more gently than he deserved. 

Had that been Leo? He didn’t know. He didn’t remember. All he could focus on was the pure pain that laced through his whole upper body. 

Which was why it was without question that he was dead. Or at least in the process of dying. Why did dying take so long? 

No one could be in that much pain– have lost that much blood– be that utterly and completely torn to shreds– and still be alive. 

Yet as Tyrian was dragged into darkness, he saw no light to go towards. Didn’t fizzle out into nothing. Didn’t even see any Hamato ancestors. 

It felt like his essence (his soul, probably) was trying to tear free of his agony-riddled body. Like it was trying to float up and up and up and away. But it didn’t. Tyrian stayed rooted inside of his body. He could feel parts of it, but in a disconnected sort of way. Like there was something keeping him from leaving, but it still wouldn't let him settle back into himself. Death was weird. 

This was wrong. It was so wrong. Deeply wrong. 

He was trapped. And terrified. And alone. 

So very alone. 

“Anatawa Hitorijanai.” 

What? 

“Donatello. You are not alone.” 

That voice. He knew that voice. 

Suddenly his dim, blurry vision split. He could see shifting shadows that his deteriorating eyes failed to distinguish. But he could also see a transparent figure kneeling next to him. She was greenish and flickering. And so very familiar. 

He knew her, he knew her, he knew her, he was supposed to know her, he knew her– she was she was she was family and he knew her because she was family    she was his family but he didn’t know her     he was supposed to know her he didn’t remember anything he didn’t know what– 

“Peace, Donatello. Your mind is in turmoil. Your soul flickers. Hold on, Donnie. Can you do that?” 

Donnie. That’s right! He was Donnie, not Tyrian. That made sense. Until it didn’t. Eh, it didn’t matter. Either way, he was dead. 

“You are not dead, Donatello. You are hovering somewhere between death and life.” Her thin hand reached out and hovered over his shoulder. The ache of his spine receded slightly. 

“But I feel dead.” 

That was strange. His voice seemed to echo from inside his chest. But sound didn’t work like that. Yet moving his mouth was nigh impossible and gathering together actual thoughts to attempt a mind meld took too much energy. 

“You are speaking through your ninpo, my child. It is difficult for me to contact you, but it is imperative that I am here now.”