Chapter Text
Michelangelo woke with the kind of wicked headache usually reserved for nights when he partied too hard and ate way too much sugar. He sat up with a groan, cradling his aching head.
“Did anyone get the name of the bus that hit us?”
The expected snarky response from Raphael didn’t come. Michelangelo’s eyes flew open, and he winced as the low lights sent a fresh spike of pain through his head. Gingerly, he looked around. He was splayed out on the damp concrete of a sewer catwalk, beside a trench of water from the storm drains that marched steadily out to sea. It looked an awful lot like home, but there was something just slightly off about the look of the place, like the feeling you get when you miss a step on the stairs. This was the point where Donatello would start rattling off theories as to where they were—but he wasn’t here. None of his brothers were, and that fact made Michelangelo’s stomach clench like he’d eaten one too many pizzas.
Michelangelo pulled out his turtle comm, and called Leonardo. The comm hissed static, refusing to connect. Knowing the kind of trouble they got into, Donatello had designed the communicators to reach as far as space; Michelangelo was somewhere even beyond that.
Squeaky whispers echoed down the tunnel. Michelangelo sprang upright, hand straying towards the turtle line hooked to his belt.
“Who’s there?”
His question set off another round of hushed squeaks, and then a figure stepped forward, three more crowding behind.
Michelangelo’s jaw dropped. It was four little Master Splinters! Only the rat mutants were obviously still kids, only reaching up to Michelangelo’s waist, their cheeks still chubby with baby fat and their eyes big and wide. Their fur was varying shades of brown, from a dark, rich color to a light tan. They wore identical black gis. The rat at the front wore a blue bandana, and the three behind him wore orange, purple, and red ones.
“Who are you?” The little blue dude squeaked. He was trying to sound intimidating, puffing out his chest and all, but Michelangelo could tell he was super scared. “Tell us what you’re doing here!”
Michelangelo scratched his cheek. “Man, I don’t remember. We were fighting Tin Breath, like usual, and then…”
Shredder had raised up some heavy club looking thing in the air. There was a roar of noise, and Michelangelo felt like he was being stretched out like taffy. Just when his shell was about to split open, he blacked out.
“There was a blue light, and then you appeared.” The purple-banded rat piped up, giving him a narrow look.
“A bad dude sent me here,” Michelangelo summarized. “He split me and my bros up while we were fighting.”
The rat wearing the orange mask bounded forward before he was quickly yanked back into the huddle by the other rats.
“You have brothers? Are they turtles like you? Do they wear orange too?” He asked excitedly. “Do they agree orange is the most tubular color?”
Michelangelo smiled. “Nah. They wear the same colors as your buddies.”
The rats bent towards each other and spoke in rapid fire mutters. Michelangelo shifted in place, waiting for them to finish. Finally the blue-banded one stepped forward, and bowed deeply.
“My name is Sliver. And these are my brothers—Shard, Needle, and Chip.” Sliver pointed at the red, purple, and orange-coded rats, respectively.
“Nice to meet ya. I’m Michelangelo.”
“Our master, he’s like you. He’s been…he’s been very sick lately. We don’t know what’s wrong with him. Maybe you could look at him…?”
Even if Michelangelo had anywhere else to go, there was no chance he could resist such a plea.
“Of course, micro dude.”
“Great idea, Sliver!” Shard elbowed him. “Lead a total stranger right to our secret lair! I don’t know what could possibly go wrong.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Michelangelo held up his hands. “Don’t sweat it. I won’t look, I promise.”
Michelangelo slid his bandana around so it covered his shut eyes. A tiny paw curled tentatively around his finger.
“This way.” The little rat tugged him forward, and Michelangelo followed.
“This is totally tubular!” Chip celebrated. “We’ve never had a guest at the lair before. We have to put out the fancy soap!”
“Chip, we don’t have fancy soap.”
The four rats led Michelangelo around a few bends before they arrived at their lair. The paw around his hand uncurled so Sliver could help his brothers open the entrance. It wasn’t hidden by some high-tech gadget Donatello would’ve dreamed up; instead, he heard the kid rats grunt and the scrape of plywood and sheet metal as it was pushed to the side.
Michelangelo was pulled through the entrance.
“Alright. Now you can look.”
Michelangelo fixed his bandana. His heart twinged with empathy. The little dudes’ place was just kind of…sad looking. A single lamp with a flickering, dim bulb illuminated the place. The air was chilly and damp, and Michelangelo spotted mold creeping along the walls. There were two blankets rolled around posts as makeshift training dummies, as well as an assortment of sticks and knives as practice weapons. A few toys were collected near a bed of hay, where the rats must’ve slept, piled all together like Michelangelo and the other turtles used to do when they were little tykes.
It hadn’t been easy for Michelangelo’s family, either, in the earlier days. He remembered the many nights he went to bed with an aching stomach from too little food. They’d been too young to leave the lair on their own, forcing Master Splinter to scavenge aboveground alone for all five of them. His hunts weren’t always very fruitful, despite his best attempts.
“Master Giotto is this way.” Needle pulled Michelangelo towards the tunnel that led to a second room.
“Whoa…”
The rats’ master was an aged turtle, older than Master Splinter. His face was lined with age, and his green arms spotted. As they entered the room he stirred from his nest of thin blankets. Tired green eyes cracked open.
“You’re returned, my rats.”
“Master Giotto.” Needle pushed at the turtle’s broad arm ineffectively. “Don’t move too much. Michelangelo is going to help you.”
“Another…mutant turtle? How…can this be?” Master Giotto coughed, the sound wet and hacking. Sliver helped him sip from a small pail of rainwater.
Four sets of beady black eyes turned up at Michelangelo, begging him to fix this. Michelangelo gulped. No pressure, now.
He thought of what Donatello did whenever one of them was sick. Usually he gave them a full body scan with one of his machines. Michelangelo would just have to do it the old-fashioned way. He pressed the flat of his hand to the old turtle’s head. Whoof. Master Giotto was so hot you could fry an egg on him.
“How long’s he been like this?” Michelangelo asked, as he peeled away the blankets to get a better look at him.
“Almost a week,” said Sliver, as he fiddled nervously with the blue tails of his mask.
Michelangelo didn’t find any cuts or scrapes on his front that could’ve gotten infected. But when he checked the turtle master’s shell, the issue became very apparent.
“Oh, major bummer.”
“What is it?” Needle squeaked. The four brothers crowded close to get a better look.
“Your sensei has some gnarly shell rot. Right there, see? It’s all inflamed.” Michelangelo pointed to the infected area on the turtle’s shell, careful not to actually touch it.
Chip looked near tears. “Is Sensei going to die?”
“Of course not!” Shard said quickly. He then turned to look up at Michelangelo. “Right?”
“Right.” Michelangelo nodded firmly, and all four rats slumped visibly with relief. “Do you have a heat lamp?”
The three rats turned to Needle. The purple rat’s ears drooped. “No…we just have the one light.”
“That’s alright. We can get one from the dump. Humans are always chucking out mondo cool stuff.”
“The dump? You mean…on the surface?”
Sliver’s eyes were wide. “We’ve never been to the surface. Sensei is the only one that knows where the dump is.”
Shard shifted guiltily. “Actually, I know.”
“Shard! Master Giotto always says the surface is dangerous!”
“No one saw me! Even if they did, rats are all over the city anyway!”
“How many rats wear bandanas and gis?”
“Would you two knock it off?” Needle interjected. “The important thing is we know how to get to the dump. So let’s find that lamp for Master Giotto.”
The rats nodded, determined.
The old turtle shook his head wearily. “No…you mustn’t…too dangerous.”
Michelangelo took Giotto’s hand in his. He squeezed it lightly, as if he could transfer some of his own energy and strength to the other turtle that way. He needed to reassure him. But how? What would Leonardo say?
Michelangelo squared his shoulders and adopted a serious tone. “Don’t worry. I swear on my honor I won’t let anything happen to them.”
Master Giotto searched his face for a moment. He must’ve found what he was looking for, because he gave a tired nod of approval.
“Very well. Thank you, Michelangelo.”
“No problemo. Us turtles gotta stick together.”
Once the rats bid their master goodbye, Shard took point, leading them through the twisting, nearly identical sewer tunnels.
“So how did Giotto become your master?” Michelangelo asked.
Sliver perked up a little. “Master Giotto used to be the pet turtle of Hamato Yoshi, a wise and powerful ninja. His father had bought Master Giotto for him when he was a boy. Master’s tank was set up in the dojo, so he always watched Master Yoshi as he trained. He tried to mimic his movements, but it was difficult on all fours. Still, Master Giotto observed, learning much about the art of ninjutsu.”
Shard took over the explanation as he paused to study the fork in the road. “Then, eight years ago, some goons broke into Yoshi’s apartment, and burned it down. Master Giotto escaped out the window, but fell down a storm drain.”
Chip bounced on his heels. “I wanna tell the next part! We were four squeakin’ adorable baby rats living in the subway tunnels. We were playing and one day heard this big crash! We thought maybe it was food, since humans throw wrappers and stuff on the train tracks when they’re finished. But when we got there, we found a turtle on its back, covered in glowing green ooze! When we tried to pull him out, the goop got on us too!”
“The ooze changed us into what we are now: mutants.” Needle looked Michelangelo up and down. “Something similar, I imagine, happened to you.”
“You dudes are blowing my mind right now,” said Michelangelo. Was there yet another world out there where four boys got mutated along with their pet rat? Or they were all dudettes instead of dudes? Or a universe where turtles ruled, and four pet monkeys were mutated into humans? The sheer amount of possible combinations of rats, humans, and turtles was making his head spin.
“We’re here,” Shard announced, pointing up to a manhole cover above them.
“Are you sure?” asked Chip.
“Sure I’m sure.”
“Well you don’t sound sure.”
“When I say I’m sure, I’m sure!”
“I thought you were Shard, not sure.”
Shard pounced on Chip, who went down with a high-pitched squeal. They tussled on the ground, and Sliver let out a very Leonardo-esque big brother sigh.
“I’ll go first,” said Michelangelo. “Just stay close to me, comprende? Like white on rice. No matter how shiny something is.”
He waited until all of the rats met his eyes and nodded. Michelangelo climbed the ladder, tiny rat feet pattering up the rungs behind him. He lifted the manhole cover a crack and peered out.
It was light out, maybe around midday, which was sort of a problem when he didn’t have a handy trench coat or other disguise to sneak around in. The sky itself was a soft lavender, not the pale blue he was expecting, another small shuffle to the left of normal.
The dump was just across the street. The road itself wasn’t too busy, the occasional car rumbling past, hardly any people walking around. They’d still have to stick to the shadows, but it was doable.
Michelangelo slid the manhole cover to the side and climbed out. After a moment, the rats cautiously crept out as well. Their noses twitched cutely as they took in the new scents.
“This is the surface,” Needle breathed. “Everything is so…big!”
Chip pumped his fist. “Totally tubular!”
Michelangelo beckoned them over, and the four rats lined up, slotting themselves right behind him. They were more like ducklings than rats.
“Okay, on my signal, we cross the road, capeesh?” Michelangelo waited until it was clear, then charged forward. “Cowabunga!”
“Cowabunga!” the rats chirped back as they all scampered after him.
Unlike Master Splinter, the young rat mutants preferred to run on all fours. Maybe because they were young, or they started out as rats, not humans. Michelangelo and his bros had been changed by the mutation in such a way that walking on all fours just wasn’t practical.
The front gate of the dump was locked up tight with a heavy lock and chain, but the fence looked manageable enough, no barbed wire poking above the chain link fence. Michelangelo jumped on top of a nearby mailbox, then used the added height to jump right over the fence, adding an extra flip for style.
The rats’ eyes practically sparkled.
“I wanna try!” Chip turned towards the mailbox, but Needle wrapped his tail around his middle and pulled him back.
“We go under,” Sliver said, pointing to where the fence had curled up a bit at the bottom. Chip pouted.
The rats wriggled under the fence, joining Michelangelo on the other side. Sliver neatened his mussed fur as he stood up, then smoothed down Chip’s ruffled fur, to the little rat’s chagrin.
“Right on. Now, we’re looking for red bulbs. They’ll probably be around other science-y stuff. Like this big.” Michelangelo made a rough estimate with his fingers.
They began picking their way through the dump. A few minutes into their exploration, Michelangelo found an old gym bag. He brushed the crusted mud (he sure hoped it was mud) off of it and slung it over his shoulder, to carry back any finds.
The rats were smaller, more flexible, and used that to their advantage. They wiggled their way through piles of junk that Michelangelo would’ve sent toppling over if he’d tried to climb them.
Michelangelo located a first aid kit, still wrapped tight in plastic. Even if the medicine was expired, the kit probably also had rolls of gauze and bandages they could use.
The rats darted up to Michelangelo, depositing all manner of small trinkets into his hands. Needle brought tools—tweezers and plyers and a screwdriver with a half-melted handle. Shard found loose change, and Michelangelo noticed the presidential profiles on the nickels and dimes were different than the ones back home. Chip sidled up to Michelangelo from behind, trying to sneak a few battered toys into the bag. Sliver or Leonardo might’ve forbidden non-essentials, but Michelangelo just gave him an encouraging smile, opening the zipper wider for him. Chip’s nervous frown was quickly replaced by a beaming grin as he dropped the toys inside.
“Guys! Guys! Over here!”
Sliver trotted up to the group, fur dirt-streaked, ropey tail lashing about with excitement.
“I think I found one.”
Sliver led them to the moldy skeleton of a reptile tank, half its sides busted out. A lamp was cinched into the upper corner of the tank by some clamps. Michelangelo carefully pried it out. The bulb itself was still intact, but they’d still need to test it to make sure it worked. Michelangelo folded a hand towel around the bulb before gently stowing it in the bag.
“We should grab a few spares if we can find them, and some lamps.”
“There could be more in this area. We should—”
They all froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone was coming.
Michelangelo’s eyes pin ponged around the scrapyard, searching for a hiding spot. His gaze snagged on the rusty carcass of an old school bus. He swept two of the still petrified rats into his arms, and the other two were quick to scrabble up his back, clinging to his shoulders like frightened, furry parrots. Michelangelo ducked inside the school bus just as a security guard rounded the corner.
The guard scanned the area, a frown settled on his face. Chip inched up towards a broken window to peek out, but was quickly dragged down again by three protective brothers.
A radio crackled and beeped. “Negative. All clear. Must’ve been some rats.”
Even after the security guard’s footfalls faded away again, they remained crouched in the shadowed guts of the school bus for a few more minutes. Eventually, Michelangelo gave the signal to leave the bus. The rats were subdued after the scare of a close call, moving more quietly than before and sticking close together.
They picked around the area where they’d found the first heat lamp bulb, with great success: they found an entire case full of what appeared to be unused bulbs. Only a couple in the stack were broken, the rest more than enough for what they needed and then some. They had what they’d came for—and the gym bag was getting a bit heavy now, besides—so it was time for them to return to the lair.
The rats were gloomy as Michelangelo slid the manhole cover back into place, the outside world shut out once again. Michelangelo knew if they were anything like his bros, once Master Giotto was better it’d be impossible to stop them from sneaking topside again to explore.
As they headed back to the lair, Chip excitedly went over everything they’d seen on the surface. An unfamiliar feeling stirred in Michelangelo’s chest as he watched them, a fond, protective affection. He understood Master Splinter more than ever before.
“—want a pair too!” Chip elbowed Needle. “You can make them for me, right? Right?!”
“I don’t think they make sunglasses in rat sizes.”
“But what if—”
A large, distant splash echoed over the high walls of the sewer. Michelangelo jerked to a stop. Shard and Chip bumped into him.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear wha—”
An enormous white alligator, the length of two Michelangelos put end to end and twice as wide, surfaced from the depths of the sewer water. The rats shrieked in surprise.
“Whoa! It’s Leatherhead’s gnarly cousin!”
“This is the furthest thing from tubular!” Chip squeaked, clinging tight to Shard.
Sliver drew out a knife, which Michelangelo doubted could so much as chip the alligator’s leathery hide.
“Stay away from my brothers!” Sliver howled, and charged towards the alligator.
“Sliver! You cheesehead, what are you doing?” Shard tried to run after him, but was weighed down by Chip, who was still clutching him around the middle.
Leonardo had the same bizarro instinct to die on just about any hill for honor and protecting others. Shell, he’d die on any speed bump.
“Must be something in that blue bandana,” Michelangelo mused. He set down the bag of supplies. “Stay here. I’ll get your bro.”
The alligator lunged out of the water, massive jaws opening wide for a rat snack. Sliver darted to the side, and the gator’s jaws clamped shut on empty air. It let out a frustrated snarl, and heaved itself out of the sewer, cornering Sliver against the wall. Sliver swiped out with his knife, but he barely raised a scratch on the alligator’s alabaster scales. All he did was make the animal even angrier. Sliver’s ears pinned back against his head, as the kid abruptly realized the mess he’d gotten himself into.
With a practiced hand, Michelangelo lassoed his turtle line around the alligator’s mouth. He pulled, forcing the animal’s jaws shut. He clambered on top of the alligator and used the turtle line as makeshift reins, pulling the gator away from Sliver. The white alligator twisted, trying to buck him off, but Michelangelo clamped his thighs on its sides and held on.
“Too bad for you, this isn’t my first rodeo! Yeehaw!”
He guided the gator towards a crumbled wall in the opposite direction of his four charges. They clambered towards the wall. Just before they collided, Michelangelo sprang off the alligator’s back, unwinding his turtle line as he did. The alligator slammed into the wall head-first and slumped down, dazed.
Michelangelo jogged back over to the rats, looking them over for any injury.
“You dudes alright?”
They gawked up at Michelangelo like he was the coolest thing since jellybean pizza.
“Totally tubular!”
“Chip, that’ll never catch on.”
“Was that a grappling hook? I want a grappling hook!”
The alligator growled lowly, and Michelangelo quickly ushered the rats away.
“Come on, your sensei is waiting for us!”
Michelangelo had earned not just their admiration, but their trust. Shard didn’t insist on blindfolding Michelangelo again once they approached the lair, and instead he helped them heave open their front “door”.
Master Giotto and Needle had rigged up a basic electrical system in the lair, so they were able to plug in one of the scavenged lamps. They cheered when the heat bulb worked, casting Master Giotto’s room in a warm red glow.
Michelangelo showed Needle how to scrape off the rotted, flaking bits of his master’s shell. Once that was finished, they dried him off, and set the basking lamp directly overhead. It wasn’t an automatic fix, but already the old turtle seemed to breathe a bit easier. In time, he’d be alright. Master Giotto mustered a grateful smile towards Michelangelo before he drifted back to sleep.
“We’ve done all we can,” said Michelangelo, once they returned to the den. “Now we get to celebrate a successful mission. What do you want on your pizza?”
The rats looked at each other, then back up at Michelangelo.
“Pizza?” they asked.
Michelangelo’s jaw dropped. “No. No way. Don’t tell me…you’ve never had pizza?!”
The knowledge struck him like a thunderbolt: this was why he’d been brought here. It was up to Michelangelo to enlighten these micro dudes and bring them out of the dinner dark ages.
He instructed the rats to wait in the lair while he fetched some cheesy goodness topside. The kids were exhausted from the long day, and didn’t protest, or try to sneak out with him.
Because this was New York, or, at least, something like it, it wasn’t long before Michelangelo spotted his target: a pizza delivery scooter, loaded up with three boxes. They were hot and fresh, and as Michelangelo snuck closer he took a big whiff of the ambrosial smell. He swiped the boxes, and left the change Shard had scrounged up on the scooter seat.
With an impressive amount of willpower, Michelangelo resisted eating even a single slice before he returned to the lair.
“Feast your eyes: your first pizza!”
With a flourish, Michelangelo opened the top pizza box. The delectable smell of pepperoni pizza wafted into the air. The rats sniffed, whiskers twitching with interest. They each took a piece, the slices comically large in their tiny paws. Michelangelo watched with bated breath as they took their first bites.
There was a pause as the rats soaked in the cheesy, greasy deliciousness, and then they devoured their slices in a blink. They licked every last crumb from their claws before grabbing seconds.
“So?” Michelangelo prompted between bites. “Pretty rad, huh?”
“You are very wise, Michelangelo.”
“Must be a turtle thing,” Shard cracked.
Michelangelo’s half-eaten slice suddenly slipped from his hand. Weird. He tried to pick it up, but his hand phased right through the crust. He started at his flickering, translucent fingers in wonder. Something was tugging at him, right in his core. It felt familiar, like—Donatello? Michelangelo relaxed into it. Donatello had found a way to fix everything and take him home.
Michelangelo waved goodbye.
“Looks like I’m going home. Take care, micro dudes!”
The rats talked over each other, shouting their praise and thanks for everything he’d done.
There was a puff of displaced air, and Michelangelo was gone.
The rats looked at each other, then simultaneously dove for Michelangelo’s unfinished pizza slice.