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Chapter Text

Death wore infinite faces.

This was one of the first private lessons Donnie could remember receiving from his father. A newly walking softshell brimming with curious energy was a fickle beast to contain. Unlike his brothers with hard shells, he could squeeze through barriers and into trouble faster than one rat could react.

“While the sewers are our home, they can be a very dangerous place. Especially when you are all alone.” Donnie was settled on Splinter’s lap, feeling his father’s words rumbling within his chest. The tot pressed closer, worrying his beak between his teeth. He could tell Papa was upset, but was struggling with the why.

“I was being careful.” Donnie’s voice was meek and shy with discomfort at being singled out for reprimand. “Really careful. Promise!”

“I do not doubt you were Purple,” Splinter’s hand reached to cup Donnie’s cheek, angling his head upward so his son could see his face. A sad sigh left the rat deflated. “But sometimes, even when we are at our most careful- bad things can happen. You can do everything right and still get hurt. That’s why we need to be together as a family. We watch out for dangers others may not see.”

“I had a map.” Donnie protested with a sniffle. “I knew what I was doing.”

Splinter rubbed careful circles over Donnie’s shell, the scrape of his nails providing a pleasant shiver down his son’s spine. “What if something happened that you could not predict? If you were swept away by water, or fell somewhere you couldn’t get out, or a tunnel collapsed over you? You would have nobody around to call for help.” Splinter held Donnie tighter as he spoke.

“But you always go into the sewers all alone. What if something bad happens and you never come back?” Donnie’s voice was strained after newfound worry constricted his chest.

“Worry not, my son. Despite whatever may happen, I will always find my way home to you.” Splinter whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

“Promise?”

“You have my word.”

Donnie melted against his father’s side despite the whirlwind forming in his mind. Flashes of potential deaths- what he could do to prevent them from ever happening. To him. To his family.

Splinter had been right. This was a danger Donnie couldn’t have ever predicted. Not then. Even now, he was still struggling with how he’d gotten here.

Here, where of all the faces death had chosen to wear for him- wore the face of his biggest brother. His strongest defender. The turtle that made Donnie kill spiders because he couldn’t bear to do it himself.

I forgive you.

Raph’s grip around his spasming throat was ironclad. No amount of desperate scrambling would change that certainty. It was evident that Donnie would find no mercy from his brother. No mercy from his wrathful demeanor or loathful sneer.

Being present in his body only promised pain. So, his mind took wing and escaped the broken cage his reality was housed in. It turned away from cruel fate and desperate terror, rejecting his burning lungs and miserable existence.

Without body, mind and soul were all that remained of Donatello Hamato. They floated in a golden haze, tightly wound together in a weak huddle.

Donnie curled protectively over weak purple embers, shielding it from blistering hate. His brothers may have rejected him mind, body, and soul. He may have failed his father and sister in the process. He may deserve this.

Without a doubt, Donatello was a flawed, dysfunctional excuse of a creature. His existence served no real purpose and maybe the world would be better off without him.

But he was still Donatello Hamato. He would always be Donatello Hamato, as cursed and wretched as he was. That would not be taken from him, no matter how clinging to that identity physically burned.

Calm footsteps rang out from behind him, passing through the raging golden hatred unharmed. Donnie turned, his weary gaze catching sight of a pale green silhouette.

“Wh-“

Something broke for good.

Bloodied feathers were all that remained inside a silver cage with the door hanging off its hinges.

The cat had caught the canary.

Raph’s cloudy eyes cleared.

His hand were frozen, unable to untighten from his little brother’s throat. They were paralyzed in horror, completely still in the silence following a sickening crack. A crack that was replaying on a loop at the forefront of Raph’s mind.

A crack that would wake him from his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Thick, suffocating unease creeped through Raph’s stiff form as he soaked in the uncharacteristic stillness of Donnie’s lab. Without the familiar white noise hum of technology, all Raph could hear was his own breathing.

All Raph could hear was his own breathing.

All Raph could hear was his own breathing.

Air caught in Raph’s throat as a drop of water connected with Donnie’s lax face. A distant part of himself could recognize that he was now the one hyperventilating- but he forced it away. Raph had no right to be gasping for air as if it had been stolen from him.

The quiet was malicious, echoing of mockery. No matter how beautiful or brilliant, hearing birdsong day in and day out made it easy to relegate to the background. It’s chirping was functional. Commonplace. Reliable.

But- no canary meant no protective song. No warning system against poison in its absence.

Another distant part of himself could recognize Mikey screaming in anguish across the lair- but he forced it away. He could only handle one brother-related crisis right now.

He had to fix this.

“D-Donnie?”

Donnie had always been the best at fixing.

All Raph could hear was his own breathing.

“It’s not your fault.”

Raph looked toward the familiar voice, only seeing blurred dark green and purple watercolors through heavy tears. Tissues were pressed into his palm by a smaller hand and Raph hastily wiped the blinding moisture away.

Next to Raph stood a young Donnie. He was looking up at him with a searching expression, innocent and inquisitive. Only a few years past being a tot. Small and fragile and yet overflowing with so much promise. Something precious to be protected at all costs.

“Of course it is. I couldn’t save it.” Raph’s voice came out tiny, reflecting how it sounded back when Donnie was this age. There was a watery waver to it that he couldn’t suppress.

Before them was a small bird laying motionless within a shoebox stuffed with cloth. Instead of replying immediately, Donnie reached over to turn off the heat lamp stationed above the nest and closed its lid. His hands twiddled in front of him after they retreated back, unable to remain still even in the somber moment.

Oh. Raph remembered this. Finding an injured songbird in Central Park during the dead of winter… His first real encounter with death. Its wing had been broken and slashed with deep claw marks, preventing it from flying to safety. All it could do was trill sad chirps, desperate little noises that tugged at his heartstrings.

He wanted to fix it. And Donnie had always been the best at fixing. Up until this moment, Raph had fully thought there was nothing his brilliant little brother couldn’t put back together.

The simple act of closing a box carried such finality. Raph thought he understood what death meant up until that point. He’d been warned of it during safety lectures, seen it played out on TV. Death was a permanent loss. But once the bird was out of sight, hidden by a thin layer of cardboard, it uncovered a stark realization that death was not just the shock of loss, but also the promise of absence.

When Raph had brought the bird home, he knew that he would eventually have to let it go. Birds didn’t belong underground. They needed to see the sky, to fly and soar and sing to the world. But that wasn’t going to happen. It would never happen. Because the bird was just gone. It wouldn’t be doing anything ever again.

“You did your best.” Donnie broached.“Sometimes… things just die. You at least saved it from getting eaten by a cat or something.” He hummed in thought, one hand moving to rub at his chin. “That’s probably what happened. Cats don’t go for the kill right away. They play with their catch until they are ready to end it.” The small softshell swallowed thickly, sporting a small frown.

“Do you think it was scared?” Raph whispered past a sniffle.

“I don’t know.” Donnie shrugged. “But it was warm and comfortable. That seems to be a nice way to die,” he reasoned. “There are worse ways to go.”

“I didn’t want it to die.” Raph sniffled, his vision distorting through a new wave of tears. Small arms wrapped around him with a tight squeeze.

“I know Raphie. Me neither.”

A mass of claws and teeth barreled into Raph’s side, dislodging his hands from Donnie’s neck. Without support, the softshell’s head dropped to the blood soaked floor with a resounding smack.

“What did you do? What did YOU DO?” Leo howled, his words transitioning into an unrestrained screech that resonated with bloodcurdling fury. Raph hissed back reflexively, stumbling back a few feet from the prone form laying on ruined concrete.

A tiny, broken thing that had been yanked away from supposed sanctuary. That had been smacked with unforgiving claws out of the air. That had only been trying to flee with his life. But now the game was over, and what was left sat at the epicenter of shattered technology. An undeniable image of desperate struggle.

This was the work of an apex predator.

When nobody was paying attention, the cat snuck its way underground with a charming Cheshire smile. It brought lurking, shadowy danger to the sewer’s tunnels and they never even realized. And why would they?

The cat wasn’t the problem. The increasingly loud and incessant birdsong was.

This was the result lying at their feet. A trophy left in plain view with no feline in sight to answer for its crime.

“Donnie. Don. Donnie!” Leo’s rapid tone was laced with manic energy, eyes wild and unreadable. His hands, however, were steady with practice as they passed over Donnie’s vital points.

“No, no no no! Dee… please…” Leo’s face crumpled in on itself as he brought Donnie’s head into his lap. Choked sobs shook his shoulders as he leaned over to press their foreheads together. “This isn’t real… this can’t be real…”

Raph stepped forward, moving to kneel next to Leo, only to leap back again as the slider took another swipe at him with blood-caked claws. “Don’t you dare touch him!” His chest was heaving, drawing toxicity deep into his lungs at a concerning rate.

“We- We gotta take him to the medbay… right Leo?” Raph ventured, extending out a trembling hand. “You gotta let me carry him to the med bay… so we can- so we ca-“

Raph’s other hand snapped up to grab Leo by the torso as he leapt at him, extending his brother to a full arm’s length away. Leo struggled with a violent fervor, claws digging deep gouges in the scales of the snapper’s forearms.

“No! No! No! NO! NO! NO!” Leo wailed. He managed to wriggle from Raph’s grasp, aided by the slick blood coating them both. Donnie’s blood- the fact couldn’t register through the static panic blanketing his thoughts. It was just blood. What kind of leader couldn’t handle a little blood?

(What kind of leader could ki-)

(Shut the fuck up Mind Raph.)

Quick to utilize his freedom, Leo tackled Raph to the ground. Even while being wracked by frenzied sobs, he managed to straddle his shell-shocked brother firmly. The first strike from Leo’s fist lacked enough power to deliver retributional pain, but the second successfully resulted in a crunch within Raph’s nose.

At the sickening noise and burst of fresh blood, Raph shoved Leo away from his chest at full strength. He sat up, struggling to draw in even a single breath of stabilizing air. Instead, his core twisted hard, forcing him to keel forward and expel his stomach’s contents over the floor.

Hiccuped gasps tainted with burning acid shook Raph from within as the room spun on a tilted axis. The snap of bone rang louder in his mind, drowning out everything around him. It made his palms tingle and itch, the memory of lethal force ingrained into their scales.

“Purple!” Two syllables punched through the haze, yelled from somewhere in the hallway. If Raph hadn’t already lost his lunch, the dropping lurch his father’s voice invoked would have pushed him past the line.

“Purple! Why was your brother caught up in one of your contraptions? He’s inconsol-“ Splinter, flanked by a quivering Michelangelo, paused in the lab’s doorway. His eyes grew impossibly wide as he surveyed the scene before him.

“D-Da-“ Leo’s hiccuping voice caught on the latter half of the word, fresh despair dulling the light in his eyes. The slider dropped to his knees and moaned, starting low in his chest before tapering in pitch to a high keen.

Mikey rushed past him with impossible speed, skidding on his kneepads to a stop at Donnie’s side. The box turtle’s wrists and ankles each had three weeping red tracks carved through his skin, which should be raising alarm bells for Raph. But it was hard to focus on anything other than the empty cavern next to his heart. At Splinter’s arrival, Raph’s breathing may have smoothed, but there was an ache in his chest that remained. The void, the absence… the cardboard lid snapping shut.

Raph went to bury his face in his hands, stopping short of contact at the gleam of crimson coating them like a second layer of scales.

Not just any blood. The dissipated panic couldn’t buffer the truth any longer.

Donnie’sbloodDonnie’sbloodDonnie’sblood-Donnie’sbloodDonnie’sbloodDonnie’sblood-Donnie’sbloodDonnie’sbloodDonnie’sblood-Donnie’sbloodDonnie’sbloodDonnie’sblood-

Splinter had been hot on Mikey’s heels, collapsing at Donnie’s other side as if gravity’s force had doubled. His quaking hands reached out to take his unresponsive son’s, pulling the limp appendage to his chest. Not even a whisker twitched as Splinter remained in that position for an impossibly long time.

“Boys. What happened here?” Splinter’s voice was eerily steady. Almost detached, as if standing next to a broken dish and not…

Not…

Raph shattered. Hot tears cascaded down his face as he bawled, saving him from the horrible image of his little brother splayed out unnaturally. Right where Raph had left him. Right where he had begged and pleaded for mercy.

Where he forgave him.

“Something made us, we didn’t mean it! We didn’t mean it, we didn’t! We would never mean it… never ever….” Mikey gasped out in a miserable squeak, his hand hovering a handful of inches away from Donnie’s arm- caught between moving forward and pulling away.

“I see.” Splinter’s emotionless tone struck Raph harder than if he were yelling. Why wasn’t he yelling? He should be furious! Threatening to kick them out! That’s what they deserved for… at least what Raph deserved for what he did.

“And do you still feel as if you are being influenced?” Splinter continued, pulling Donnie’s hand up to his cheek, leaning into it.

“N-n-no…” Mikey started, not looking up as he spoke. “It stopped right after-“

“I broke his neck.” Raph finished in sharp realization. “I broke his neck. I b-broke his neck.” The cat stole the last shred of composure as it shot from the bag. “I broke his neck! I-“

“That’s enough. Stop. I-“ Splinter carefully arranged Donnie’s hand to settle over his cracked plastron. The rat’s eyes were rimmed with carefully contained moisture. “We can speak more later. But for now, I need you boys to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Leo and Mikey must have given some kind of response while Raph nodded his head, because Splinter continued. “Clean up and go to your rooms. Alone. We do not know the extent of what compelled you. It may still be active.”

“But D-D-“ Leo stammered, pushing himself up to move closer to the body.

Donnie’s. Donnie’s body.

“I can handle caring for Donatello.” Splinter cut in, gesturing to the door. “Go. And do not move until I collect you.”

Leo recoiled at Splinter’s words, erratic eyes jumping from Donnie to Splinter in quick succession. His posture tightened for a few beats, but something shifted on his face and all remaining fight withdrew. Without a word, he relented and whipped around to rush away from the scene.

Mikey didn’t take a direct path to the door, instead stumbling toward Raph. The youngest was unsteady, falling into Raph once the snapper met him halfway.

“Raphie…” The soft word hit harder than either of Leo’s fists. What was he supposed to say to that? That it was going to be okay? That Raph would protect him from the hurt that lay heavy over the remainder of their family? He’d lied enough over the last few months.

It was only after Raph had directed Mikey out of the lab and to the doorway of his bedroom that he could speak again. “You and Leo can get cleaned up first. He should uh- look at those.” Raph gestured to Mikey’s still bleeding limbs. “I’ll wait until you guys are done.”

He didn’t wait for a response, unable to put up any form of big brother bravado for much longer. The trek back to his room stretched further with every swaying step. His world was warped and unreadable until cold dread recentered Raphael inside his numb body. He’d turned a corner, and the entrance to Donnie’s lab was now back in view. Smack between him and his own room.

Relying on ninja stealth, Raph crept toward the still open doorway, pausing short of letting the room come into full view. If the tech inside were operating as normal, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear the hapless sobbing inside. Raphael had heard his father cry before. In fact, there were a select few Lou Jitsu movies that guaranteed waterworks.

But never like this.

Splinter’s soul was intertwined with each huff and snivel. What lacked in volume returned lament twofold.

“Oh my baby boy. I’m home.” Splinter paused, letting a handful of sobs pass before continuing. “My Donatello. I am so sorry. I should have listened. But I am here. I’m here.”

A series of teardrops splattered on the ground near Raph’s foot. He leaned closer to the doorway, inch by careful inch.

Splinter had his back to the door. Donnie’s body was no longer on the floor, now cradled in the rat’s lap. The difference in size would typically provide innocent comedy, but Donnie was smaller than memory served. He managed to fit in Splinter’s arms without spilling over the edges.

“I’ve got you. My sweet boy. I’ve come home to you. Let me carry you to rest. Hmm?” Their father hummed, running a hand over Donnie’s forehead. “Sleep now…Papa will clean you up and bring you to bed. One last ti-“ Raph pulled back as Splinter’s words cracked and his crying increased in volume. Full bodied with grief.

Raph slunk back to avoid detection, retreating into the tunnel’s shadows. It didn’t matter what unseen dangers he could encounter deeper within its darkness.

He was the worst of them all.

Chapter Text

To be a Hamato is to be cursed.

This was a lesson Yoshi taught himself amid cherry blossoms leisurely drifting on a carefree breeze. Birdsong danced uninterrupted on the wind’s current while the embrace of dappling sunbeams slowly melted through early spring’s stubborn chill. Even his Jiji was impassive, without a lick of emotion flickering over his stony features.

One moment, he had been in a world with his mother. And the next, she was gone.

Yoshi would never see her again.

For all the good their family had done to protect this world… for all the generations that trained their entire lives to safeguard a better future… was this it? No moment of silence. No condolences. Nothing? Nothing was okay anymore! It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right!

But what little remained of their great and honorable clan could not pause, marching without complaint along a destined path.

If this is what it meant to be a Hamato- Yoshi wanted nothing to do with it.

From that day, Yoshi stopped listening. He focused solely on his physical prowess, disregarding musty scrolls and pointless spiritual training. Why bother learning about the various ancient evils his family locked away when the result always came at the expense of one of their own? With how often life was cast aside for the pursuit of righteousness- it was no wonder the family line had dwindled so close toward the edge of erasure.

The teachings of the Hamato created warriors. Not survivors.

Lou Jitsu was a survivor. He hit the ground running after cutting ties with fate and leaving Japan for the complete unknown. When J- his grandfather showed more resistance to Lou’s departure than his own daughter walking to her death, it only sweetened the citrus tart tang of undiluted independence. Lemons turned lemonade.

Being close to people only promised heartbreak. But to be admired from afar by the masses? That was a validation rush he could chase without the binds of destiny looming behind like a disappointed shadow. Surrendering to the whirlwind success of Lou Jitsu granted many untroubled years of relaxed living. He shrugged off responsibility and its consequences like a spent cocoon, draped in bright, confident colors as he soared on the wings of unadulterated free will.

It was inevitable that Lou would fly directly into the web of an apex predator. He’d spent years thinking he found safety. With the worst of his life behind him, there was no reason to stay on guard. No convoluted ancestral mission. No burden of duty or threat of death. Lou grew so blind to danger that he looked it in the face and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

First, silken thread stole him from the surface world. Then purple vines tore him from his humanity. 

But in the process, he had gained so, so much. 

Everything Lou Jitsu once represented splintered at the sight of his whole world, reevaluated entirely, resting in his cupped hands.

To be a Hamato is to be cursed.

Splinter was a father. The moment these tiny, fragile children became his blood, running was no longer an option. He had to make sure these souls would never bear the tragedy and sacrifice tied to his family history. The less they knew- the better. He wanted them to have a childhood. Nothing would steal the light of innocence from their eyes if they remained hidden and together as a family.

Luckily, living in the shadows was well within a master ninja’s skillset.

Time once again brought a false sense of security. Draxum’s life work was stone and ash. Big Mama knew a man that no longer existed. And he had such good boys. They typically found a way to work things out amongst themselves. Splinter always thought he at least did that right. Building a family that watched out for each other; a family that would never be torn between love and duty. 

Even when one of the great evils that haunted the Hamato line reassembled and returned to power, his boys defied expectations through their love, understanding, and trust in each other. He’d never been prouder.

He had such good boys. How could this have happened?  

Splinter never thought there would be another moment in his life that hurt the way losing his mother hurt. A life-altering pain that stained every move forward.

He understood now that the only thing worse was a life-altering pain that additionally stained every step you’d ever taken. If Splinter knew that this was the future he had been running toward, he’d never have abandoned the path expected of him. No question asked.

If he could turn back- toward what was supposed to be his burden, his mission, his legacy- he’d happily dedicate his life to the family business. He wouldn’t duck fate. He would stand tall and play his role with a showman’s smile. Anything to keep him from this moment.

Because curses always took their due. It was only a matter of when.

Splinter’s hands shook as he tucked his son into bed, quaking under the knowledge Donatello would not wake come morning. Red-spotted bandages were soon covered by layers of blankets, hiding enough that one could almost pretend the teenager was resting peacefully after a late night pursuing his passions.

Nothing was okay anymore. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

As much as Splinter wanted to stand still or turn back, it was not an option. His other sons depended on him. Moving forward while knowing that once again his family would never be complete was agony, but falling apart was not a luxury he would afford himself.

It was time for a phone call.

“Oh, thank God- Splintz! We’ve needed to talk since like, yesterday.” April was out of bed and across her room in a flash, reacting the moment her phone buzzed awake. The floodgates of worry opened, and rapids of frothing thoughts burst from her mouth unfiltered.

“I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the vibe too but like, something is off with Donnie. He came over the other night looking awful-“ 

“April-“

“-like AWFUL awful. And he was- God he was freaked out. I tried to have him stay but before I could get anything out of him he disappeared and-“ 

“Please-“

“-he hasn’t been answering his phone and-” 

“I need you to-” 

“-I’ve been worried out of my MIND, so please tell me you’ve seen him sometime over the last few-“

“April!”

The stream of words evaporated on April’s tongue at the heated edge to Splinter’s voice. It was tense and broken. Far from the boisterous, confident aura that the rat wore like a flashy jumpsuit. Her lips stayed parted, frozen in stomach churning apprehension. 

A few ragged breaths filtered over the phone’s speaker before Splinter continued, voice strained as it fought against the thickness weighing against his words. “I… April, I’m sorry for that. But something’s happened. S-Something that shouldn’t be discussed over the phone.” 

April’s cell slipped from her fingers as sharp numbness spiked her chest and rippled through the rest of her body. Splinter continued to speak as she quickly followed suit, knees thudding hard into her bedroom rug. “Does Draxum still live above you?”

“Yeah.” The syllable slipped through without a thought. It was delivered from her brain and spoken by her vocal cords, but the reaction didn’t feel like April’s own. Not while her consciousness was constructing ad hoc defenses against the creeping viscous tar of dread.

“I don’t think- I… talking to him… I have things I must do right now. But you are both needed for this conversation. In person. Can you bring him to the Lair as soon as possible? He will fight me on it. But he won’t fight you… as hard.” Splinter rasped. 

“Drax? What does-“ 

“I will answer any questions you have when you get here. I swear.”

April pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, taking a handful of steadying breaths through her nose. It was hard not to jump to the deepest, darkest conclusions with how desperate Splinter was talking. He sounded like someone di-

No. April refused to spiral into that sort of thinking.

“Alright, give me twenty and I’ll be there, dragging Draxum kickin’ and screamin’ if I hafta. Just hang in there, okay?” 

“Come in through the garage,” Splinter interjected before April could hang up. “Only the garage. It… just trust me.” His breath caught mid-sentence, dragging haggard and haunted as he continued. “I will meet you there.”

It was snowing in November the first time April left her bedroom window to meet her best friend. Which admittedly- had not been the game plan. For all she knew, nobody was waiting for her as she tucked fleece pajama bottoms into weather-proof boots and slung a telescope over her shoulder.

As early as grade school, April understood she’d be enjoying many of her interests alone. There would be nobody to rank news anchors with, or debate conspiracies, or simply watch the sky for hidden, faraway marvels.

Undeterred by the weather, she was driven to catch at least a partial view of that night’s show. It was rare enough to see everyday stars over New York. But a star shower? That was worth the risk of a mild cold and/or potential disappointment.

April’s chosen viewing spot atop the apartment’s roof was caked with ice, thanks to freezing rains preceding the snow. That alone would prevent any sane person from venturing into wet, cold, and dark.  But the ultimate tried-and-true law of friendship is that weird attracts weird. Red thread already defined her destination- a nearby park with a selection of open basketball courts.

Under a sky full of streaking stars and moderate cloud coverage, the quiet snap of a snow-hidden twig introduced April to one heavily bundled and startled Donatello Hamato.

“I should go.” His first words were muffled by a red cable-knit scarf covering the lower half of his face. “I didn’t mean to bother…” The boy’s voice tapered off and inquisitive eyes lit up the instant he realized what April was doing, taking curious steps forward. They glittered with enough stars to rival the night sky as they zeroed in on the telescope.

“Can I watch too?” led to “Can we meet again tomorrow?” And then the next night. And the next. Over the course of a few weeks, April learned about nebulae and galaxies, star clusters and black holes.

“The center is called a singularity. A point where pressure is so extreme that nothing, not even light can escape. But to get there, you have to pass the event horizon. A point of no return. Anything entering that darkness will never know light again.”

“How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“If you are close to crossing that point and need to stop?”

“It’s not a defined barrier. Your only real way of knowing is to try and go back. And hope that you still can.”

Before April knew Donnie’s face, she knew he had three brothers and a father. Raph cried at the end of sappy movies about dogs. Mikey was the undisputed king of hide and seek. Leo was easily bribed with chocolate ice cream. Papá could make soup out of anything.

“Are you ever going to let me meet them?”

“I want to. But I don’t want to risk being grounded from the- uh… from coming here. And I kinda like this. I enjoy my family, but I share everything with them, and they HAVE to like me. But you don’t have to. And yet you do anyways.”

“Gasp- are you sharing an emotion with me? I thought you had rules against that.”

“I have never had an emotion in my ENTIRE life. You can’t prove anything.”

Before April knew Donnie’s smile, she knew his hopes, dreams, and fears.

“Do you ever think about what dying feels like?”

“Wow- already the angst-ening hour? Is this another beachball conversation?”

“Forlorn sigh. Different topic then. I want to hear more about the science fair! Do you have an idea for your project? If not, I think I could offer a suggestion. Or five.”

For everything April learned about Donnie, she taught just as much. About her mom and dad both working nights but still making time to eat dinner together before leaving with ‘I love yous’. About being really invested in the ongoing soap opera rivalries between late night news channels. About wanting siblings. Or at least a pet. Not a dog or a cat. Something different. About New York! What a town!

And everything about trash wizards.

The memory of what caused one to chase her through a subway station that December was lost. It was useless information, precursing a more important moment dog eared within April’s mind.

When April tripped and ate concrete, it should have ended there. Instead, a metal rod flashed out of the shadows, taking the trash wizard out at its knees. Blurred purple and green followed suit, pulling April to her feet and grabbing her fallen backpack before streaking into a sprint. April didn’t focus on the number of fingers belonging to the hand clasped around her own. Nor its emerald complexion. She was too hung up on the fact Donnie was here. During the day.

“Wha-“

“Questions later!” Donnie hissed, slinging April’s bag over his shoulder. The trash wizard was back on its feet with shocking swiftness, waving the rake it was using as a staff around, face red with indignant rage as it pursued the fleeing duo.

Donnie led April to the surface, weaving through the crowd with surprising dexterity. Yet the wizard stayed on their heels- from sidewalk to crosswalk, and all the way to a brick wall set between them and escape. Donnie gave April an impressive boost and she pulled him the rest of the way, up and over the top. The abrupt sound of ripping fabric followed them to the ground, making April cringe.

The wizard’s rake managed to score a series of long, parallel tears in her backpack and completely stole away Donnie’s scarf before he cleared the wall. He landed in a sprawl over top April, leaving them almost nose to nose.

Nose to... snout?

Donnie’s eyes grew wide with panic and his mouth gaped open, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. He scrambled off her and shot to his feet, stumbling back a few paces. April pushed herself up, brushing off her jacket and pants.

“Too bad about the bag- but it’s a good thing it was covering your back, cuz yikes. You ‘kay?” Donnie slid the unassuming armor from his shoulder, quivering visibly as he observed the damage. He glanced back at April, radiating unease despite his blank expression.

“If you are alright, we should book it before that jerk finds a way over.” April continued, turning to leave. Donnie darted in front of her, befuddled exasperation breaking through his shock.

“Do you really have nothing to say about… this entire situation?” he asked in disbelief, wiggling his fingers next to his exposed face.

Oh- April had questions. But Donnie hadn’t expected this entire situation and was clearly uncomfortable by the surprise reveal. All the insanely cool details could wait… for now. “Nope. Cuz you’re my friend. You have my back, I have yours. That’s how it works.”

“Yeah- friend.” Donnie echoed, holding onto the word for a moment longer. Something akin to the sound of a dog’s tail wagging under a blanket started up behind him as they left. Returning to the park near April’s apartment took a while, but Donnie stuck by her side the entire way with his hood drawn tight.

“I should go. It’s probably been too long. I didn’t even tell anyone what I was do-“ Donnie’s voice faded to a whisper before jumping back to full volume,  “Oh Crisp Cinnamon Crunch Muffins!!! I didn’t even tell anyone what I was doing!” Donnie shifted from foot to foot, pulling his hands to his chest to wring together. His eyes met hers for a moment. “I promise- double promise- we’ll talk later! Normal time and place! Bye!”

Then he was gone, before April could even form a thank you.

“I should go.”

The last words April heard from her friend before he disappeared through the window. There had been no way of knowing, of course. For all she knew, he was out there somewhere, waiting for her to come meet him amid November snow.

In a sense he was. At the end of severed red string. In the center of the singularity.

“There was an incident with my boys,” Splinter started with, regarding his visitors with a morose expression. Ears set flat, tail limp against the floor. “ I came home and found them distressed. They claim that something had compelled them to… harm Donatello. And that the effect only stopped…” Splinter’s voice broke and he ran a hand over his face to stay composed. “He was already gone before I returned.”

Draxum’s voice rumbled in response, but April couldn’t identify his words through the static building within her head. She didn’t even bother stepping back. The gravity of the moment holding her in place was evidence she had no escape from the pressure twisting at her lungs. This was her unassailable reality. There was no use denying, even if it all felt like a cruel, endless nightmare.

“I want to see him.”

Splinter’s breath hitched. “April- I don’t think-“

“I want to see him.” Her voice wobbled, tight with nauseating need.

Splinter said nothing for a beat before breathing out a relenting sigh. “On the condition that you close your eyes in the halls. Do not open them before I say so.” April complied, keeping her eyes shut while Splinter led the way through the tunnels to Donnie’s room.

The scene that greeted April as she opened her eyes was almost familiar. Donnie’s face poking out of a nest of blankets. But his skin was dull, face too lax. Even in sleep, Donnie always looked deep in thought- dreams full of blueprints, elemental tables, and flashing code. He also shifted around the most, undeterred by the restraint of a hard shell. At current, the bundle didn’t stir. No fidgeting. No repeating rise and fall to sync her unsteady breathing to.

April moved closer until she was at Donnie’s side. Her eyes watered from a combination of overexposure and emotion, having not blinked once since reopening. She forced them to endure further, unable to look away for even a flickering moment. One hand snapped up to cup against her mouth, holding back a choking noise that crackled at the back of her throat without permission. The other reached to smooth over Dee’s maskless forehead. It gradually traveled down his face to rest on his shoulder, her tracing touch whispering remorseful apologies over chilled scales. There were dark, mottled bruises forming a ring around his neck, which prompted an invisible hand to crush around her own airway. April grabbed the edge of one blanket-

“April, wait-“

-and pulled it down, past Donnie’s shoulder. She startled at his mid-back, eyes locking on the expanse of bandages wrapped around his entire torso and right arm. Their spotty streaks of red told volumes, plaguing April’s imagination with every what-if scenario that followed her over the last couple weeks.

They were supposed to just be anxious thoughts, constrained to the darkest corners of her brain. Because there was no world where her brothers would be so meticulously cruel to anyone, let alone family. Just questioning the devotion they had toward one another was as sacrilegious as doubting her own (if not more).

Nothing about this made any logical sense.

Which made sense.

A world without Donnie was a world without logic.

April went shock stiff and stopped breathing, lungs collapsing under the buckling weight of grief, guilt, and guarded emotion. When rapid darkness threatened to close in on her vision, she succumbed to its embrace without a fight.

(Did Donnie go down fighting?)

After the shock of seeing Donnie unprompted during the day, each minute that he didn’t appear past their typical meet time weighed harder on her lungs. Had something happened? April had no way to contact her friend to make sure he was coming. Or even if he was okay. All she had was his promise, repeating in her head like a mantra while she sat on a bench adjacent to the basketball courts.

“Oh wow! So, you areeee real.” A mischievous voice rang out from behind her. April whirled around. Upon first scan of the other court, there was nothing out of place. Until her eyes panned higher, where a blue-clad, light green boy around Donnie’s size perched atop one headboard, feet kicking as they dangled off the edge. “Donnie blows at lying, but he’s impossible when it comes to hiding things. Dee having a secret surface friendship?  Sooo not on my bingo card for the New Year.” The boy sent a long, trilling whistle through the silent night air.

April grinned, relief relaxing the tension that had built during her wait. Donnie did mention at one point that Leo moved at his own pace, unbothered by the concept of punctuality. Figures. With how often her friend talked about his twin, it was satisfying to finally see the other side of the coin for the first time.

“You’re late... Nardo.” April snarked, tone playful and teasing. “Where’s Dee?”

The boy barked out a laugh, dropping down to land a few yards away from April. Now closer, she could see his entire body buzzing with untamed excitement, tail wagging behind him. He didn’t bundle up like Donnie, only wearing a hoodie and basketball shorts.

“You’ll have to forgive me…” Leo began, drawing the sentence out as he grew closer to April, eyes darting over her form in fascination. “I had to be careful. Dad is a bit more… on guard after grounding Donnie for sneaking out. Brother dearest sent me to tell you why he couldn’t come, cuz he truussssts me the most. Just thought you should know that detail in case he failed to mention it. Leo- by the way!” April fought to keep up with Leo’s rapid fire explanation, staring at the hand that shot out to meet hers.

“April.” She accepted his hand, shaking it.

“Awesome to meet you April.” The hallmark grin sharpened. “I hope you know you have two more ‘if you hurt him, we hurt you’ talks on YOUR New Year's bingo card.”

“Oh, naturally.” April tightened her grip. “But I hope you know there’s nothing you can throw at me that I can’t handle.”

From smell alone, April could tell she’d woken in the med bay. The acrid sharp scent of chemical cleaner was strong… too strong. Something had been cleaned well and cleaned recently.

Donnie motionless, held together by thick lines of bandages.

It only took a heavy moment for April’s stomach to tighten at the invasive thought. Hot tears flowed past the brim and streaked down her cheeks: ugly, unrestrained, and full-bodied. In tandem, she jolted up to bury her face in her hands, crying until the sharp pulse behind her eyes dulled to a lingering ache.

Nothing was okay. No matter how the physical, emotional, and mental release helped April center herself back in her body. The weight of grief remained, ever-present and overbearing. An irreparable, root-deep damage done to her soul- stinging straight to the nerve.

April leaned into it. Even if the loss felt unbearable, it had to be acknowledged.

Donnie was dead, no matter how she acted. And April’s brilliant, steadfast loyal little brother deserved to be mourned for who he was, not for the circumstances surrounding his death. There was no point in thinking of all the thing she could have done. It’s not like anyone could go back in time and rewrite the ending.

(She still didn’t even know where the story started.)

“April?”

The force of April jolting off her cot almost toppled it to the floor. Dazed, she cast a blurry squint at the (still closed) medbay door, locking on the voice’s source. Her gaze remained unbroken from a hazy green visitor stationed next to the opening, right arm shooting out to swipe her (cracked? damnit…) glasses from the bedside table. Taking a composing breath, she slid them on.

Leo stood trembling; tail tucked tight. He was maskless, showing off red-rimmed eyes that seemed to stare through her, haunted pupils searching the dark room. They darted with increasing frantic energy until snapping to an abrupt halt once it was evident he wouldn’t find what he sought. Twin black holes drug back to April, carrying new weight.

“Are you real?” The question rattled at the end, leaving his words with an uneven lilt. A mirthless laugh covered up whatever noise that tried to escape Leo’s chest, but it dropped to the floor, flat. “No- you weren’t here before. And Draxum… Da- Splinter wouldn’t call him for help with anything. He wouldn’t- would he?” The next burst of laughter failed to suppress a choppy sob.

“And even if he would- there is no way- no WAY we could- not to anybody.” Soft scatching drew April’s attention to Leo’s hands, immediately regretting the reaction at the sight of dried blood coating Leo’s right forearm like an elbow-length glove. His left hand was flaking it away, nails scoring raised lines up and down the scales.

“Heya, Leo… why don’t we get you cleaned up, kay? Then we can talk some. Sound like a plan?” April ventured, taking a careful step toward the turtle. Leo mirrored her movement, shrinking back to maintain the same distance between them.

“Leave it! It’s fine- because none of this is real.” The corner of Leo’s beak quirked up into a split-second snarl. April could hear the hiss of panting breath through grit teeth; sporadic, rushed, and uneven. “Maybe I could screw up this royally. But Raph? Mikey? Not even in bizarro world.”

Leo paused scratching to rub hard at his eyes. They were brimming with full-capacity tears, only kept in place by water tension working overtime. “And who could trust someone that much? Huh? Nobody should! Nobody! So why?” The words took a sharp upswing in volume, bouncing around the small space in a swarm of vocalized anguish. “I need to wake up. All I need to do is wake up.” He hiccupped miserably. “Please… April. Wake me up?”

April’s breath hitched. “Leo, honey. I’m sorry. I’m real. This is real.” She took another step and Leo lurched back again, barely maintaining his balance. Tears breached stubborn containment, flowing steadily from Leo’s face to splatter in scattered patterns on the floor.

“You’re lying! Don’t lie to me!” Each syllable grew louder than the last and Leo’s right arm reached behind him to grasp for something out of April’s sight.

(The med bay doors were still closed. April never heard them open.)

“I just need to wake up!” Leo’s sword was as stained as his arm, its normally gleaming blade reduced to a dull russet in the low lighting. “If I make myself wake up,” he panted, keeping the blade’s punishing edge facing inward. His tremoring had devolved to full-bodied shakes, making the weapon sway from side to side, up and down. “Then I can- I can… I need to see him.”

It took a heartbeat’s delay for April to realize she was shaking just as hard. Conflicting details and disconnected threads only confirmed this was a logicless world. The Leonardo in front of her would never hurt Donnie. There wasn’t a motive that could have changed that. But he had. Confusion couldn’t explain away the blood. (or the body.)

Before April could dive further into the endless supply of who, what, when, why, howhowhowhowhow, a sense of absolute calm settled over her mind, reminiscent of familiar hands resting on her shoulders. They spoke of forgiveness, of the passing of a torch. A reminder of one inalienable promise and a precious second chance. There was no way to save Donnie. April let that vital crimson thread slip from her grasp. But in this moment, April knew with what was left of her soul that Donnie would want her to find out what happened.

Her friend was gone, but there were still ways to have his back.

Find the threat (take a baseball bat to it). Prevent this from ever happening again. Continue to live for one another.

Even through the hard parts.

Especially through the hard parts.

April sprang forward with blind urgency.  Leo startled, eyes jumping from the incoming teen to his sword. He cast it aside as if it burned, just as April collided with his plastron. Her arms latched on, crushing him close enough to her chest to allow her chin to rest on one of his shoulders.

“I saw him.”

Leo went ridged in her arms, frozen in place by the three words.

“I don’t know what happened yet… but I’m still so sorry.”

“He trusted me.” Leo turned deadweight without warning, taking April to the ground with him. She clung on, maintaining her iron grip on the slider as they went.

“I know.”

“He respected me.” The whisper rasped against April’s ear like a poorly kept secret.

“I know.”

“He loved me.” Leo’s voice spun into sobs and his arms broke from his side to grip the back of April’s shirt, twisting the fabric sharply between his fingers. “He loved me!”

The medbay door screeched open, and April looked up to meet the faces of Draxum and Splinter. A number of emotions bounced across Splinter’s features at the scene before him, before coming to a pleading rest.

“Blue… it’s just a few questions. Draxum is here to-”

“He’s tried to kill us! I don’t trust him.” Leo hissed, now clinging to April much harder than she could him, stealing away a piece of her breath. “What does he get out of this, huh? Do we really think Baron Draxum can just do something out of the goodness of his heart? How do we know he wasn’t a part of this!”

“Because I have tried to kill you before,” Draxum said simply, offering an aloof shrug. “If I could have done this, wouldn’t I have done so? Certainly, before having my life force drained by traitorous armor and resorting to live in a society I once loathed?”  

Leo made no attempt to answer. Or move.

“Would it make it easier if I was there?” April pressed, putting a hand on his cheek to redirect his attention back to her. “You’d be telling me. Draxum would just happen to be there too.” Leo pulled back enough to watch her face, eye ridges pinched together. “Tell me what happened, Leo. Please?”

Leo sniffled. “It’s bad April. So… so so bad.”

April wriggled out of Leo’s grasp, pushing herself to her feet and offering her little brother a hand.

“Leonardo. Shouldn’t you know by now? There is still nothing you can throw at me that I can’t handle.”

“…wasn’t bad at first…”

“…nobody was actin’ like nothin’ was any different…”

“…but little by little…”

“…pranks went too far…”

“…someone to blame when things went wrong…”

“…it stopped being a joke…”

“…I was taken seriously…”

“…everyone was actually listening to me…”

“…finally felt good about myself…”

“…I didn’t say anything when I realized…”

“…I should have fought it off…”

“…but I wasn’t enough…”

“…I wasn’t in the room but I felt it…”

“…snapped…”

“…he was cold and didn’t have a pulse…”

…and everything became clear.”

output=$(date+11/29/19)

if [ -e labratory03.mp4 ]; then
  echo "File was found!"
else
  echo "File not found"
  ffmpeg -i rtsp://admin: [email protected]:554/stream1 -c copy -c:a aac -y /home/home/currentfeed/scripts/$output.mp4
fi

[Live Recording…]

“-consistent despite separate questioning. A period of escalation leading up to fatal force.” Draxum’s voice carried a methodical lilt. He was leaning against the one worktable still upright in Donatello’s lab, analyzing the goggles he’d rescued from the cluttered floor. “Any number of common spells could have killed Donatello outright if that was the goal. This was a deliberate punishment. Intentional, personal, and cruel.” He paused, humming in intrigue.

“…fascinating use of a signaling stone…”

“You’re returning those immediately after you are finished. Understood?” Splinter huffed, tail lashing with unchecked nerves. He had his back pointedly turned on a white sheet laying in the center of the floor. Impact cracks in the concrete branched from underneath the hasty cover like searching roots.

“Your son angered someone powerful. If my current theory is correct, proficient enough to pull something of this level off again if precautions aren’t taken. The only real way to prevent another accident of this nature would be to eliminate the threat. Permanently.”  Satisfied with his tinkering, Draxum put the goggles to his eyes, scanning the area. His scowl grew deeper with each pass.

“The day we spent with Michaelangelo in the Hidden City… was it Donatello that entered Witch Town?”

[Exit]

output=$(date+11/28/19)

if [ -e labratory03.mp4 ]; then
  echo "File was found!"
else
  echo "File not found"
  ffmpeg -i rtsp://admin: [email protected]:554/stream1 -c copy -c:a aac -y /home/home/securitylog/scripts/$output.mp4
fi

<timefield> 10:31:27PM

Donnie flew through the laboratory doors, clutching a gushing hole in his shoulder…

“Even if you know who could have done this, you cannot tell them. They are living through an unexpected, unthinkable hurt- so they will latch onto the first thing that can possibly make them feel anything else. Some paths are better taken after time and reflection. They do not need more regrets so soon.”  

Draxum realistically had no business sitting at this table. Not when mere months ago he’d been actively trying to (kill) destroy everyone sitting around it. Acting as Baron, any price was worth paying to better protect yokai-kind. There was no bandwidth to spare for exceptions or regrets.

Could he have followed through, knowing this was the outcome of removing just one player from the board? A haggard old rat held together by necessity, a frazzle-haired girl built of hastily chiseled calm, a snapping turtle sat at distance from the others, a mute slider glaring daggers at his right hand, and a poorly bandaged box turtle sniffling miserably and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Would it have left him feeling this hollow?

Or would he look upon this as a display of righteous justice? An example of what it meant to defy him or turn against his cause. Proof he was correct and revolutionary.

(Yes, said the icy shame burning through his core.)

So what right did he have to sit at this table, unpunished for irredeemable crimes against mystics, nature, and the common good? Turning over a new page didn’t erase his fair number of powerful, vengeful enemies. Surely he was more deserving of retribution than an overambitious child. A young, promising mind that caught on to a scholar’s most important lesson far sooner than Draxum- by many decades.

“Clinging to a false hypothesis doesn’t change the result.” Said the lone turtle sat in his living room. “Particularly after peer review. Otherwise, you end up turning worms into the unholy love child of science and mystics to make a point, get banned from one borough twice in one day, get arrested… and April STILL ends up with a B- science fair project. Nobody wins!”

“That does not explain why you were knocking on my window at 4:30 in the morning.” Draxum huffed, sitting across from the purple turtle and setting two mugs between them. He kept PIZZA FRIDAYS and placed the one patterned with bright orange suns closer to his uninvited guest.

“You work at 5:30, and you commute thirty minutes. Or should be- if you take the same route as April.” The reply was matter-of-fact and paired with a dismissive hand gesture. “What I have to ask should not take long. You’ll still manage your routine as normal.”

Draxum cocked an eyebrow, but cut any lingering questions loose. He didn’t have time to engage in idle chatter without reason. The last time he was late for breakfast, Sloppy Joseph ventured out to find his own. “I am reformed. Not patient.”

“Train me.” The turtle blurt out, abandoning any further fanfare. His hands clenched tight in his lap as he stared up into Draxum’s face. Determination radiated from resolute, wide-blown eyes. Nothing new there. His creations were stubborn, willful, and constantly evolving. What set Draxum aback was the trust.

It was not the first time he’d made baffling note of his acceptance by this collection of once enemies. Forgiveness was ingrained in Michelangelo’s nature. The red one and the rat were swayed after witnessing proof of his new behaviors. He did not yet have such opportunities with the blue and purple ones. So there were no plausible reasons why they shouldn’t still hate him. (The blue one certainly did. He was constantly assured of that).

“You offered to train us before. So… I want you to train me.” The boy repeated, breathing in deeply. “Mystics are a part of our lives now whether I like it or not. I’ve observed how they have helped and hurt us firsthand. So it’s about time I get serious about learning everything I’ve been ignoring until now. I need to get better. I need to be better.” Pause, quick inhale, continue. “Woefully, there is no way to teach myself through the surface’s internet and I haven’t found an in with the Hidden City’s quite yet. So- that leaves you. A formerly warring warrior scientist.”

“Me? Certainly, there are options… far more suitable. The Mystic Library has a wide selection of texts on any topic, historic or contemporary.” Draxum deflected. He stared into his coffee, reeling over the fact that it was now, at his lowest and most pathetic, that he was being approached for his supposed wisdom. He’d lost at the hands of naïve children and was still clawing his way back from being powerless- what did he even have to offer as a mentor beyond established failure and probable resentment?

“Yes. You. What’s with the disconnect? Our history? Pish-posh and flim-flam. The work surpasses any personal grievance. Our history doesn’t change the fact you excelled as a scientist and mystics user.” His (curious) creation picked up his mug, swirling the liquid inside for a few rotations .”You are a scientist who understands the mystic arts. Considering our creation must be taboo enough to yokai society that you were one of their most wanted… that combination is not something I’m going to find elsewhere.”

It was Draxum’s turn to rotate his coffee around in thought. Without a conduit weapon, teaching someone from the absolute ground up was tedious, taxing on the mind, spirit, and body. Having no concrete idea of the turtle’s aptitude or ability, it was hard to discern whether this would lead to success or disappointment for the boy.

Draxum did not have a great history of betting on dark horses.

However, saying no would present a poor image, undoing any progress toward a non-lethal relationship with another of his creations. One who was all but literally extending an olive branch from one great mind to another. (What would it be like, having a lab partner?) One hand put his mug down, while the other stretched toward some loose paper and a wayward pen. Filtering through his memories, Draxum scribbled down a well-rounded list of texts on basic and intermediate mystic lessons and slid it across the table.

“I’ll consider taking you on as an apprentice-“

“More of a peer-to-peer relationship really, you teach me something, I teach you something kinda deal-“

Draxum huffed and the teen returned to silence. “I need to assess your ability to comprehend certain principles and foundational concepts. Read these within the next two weeks and return with a written explanation of what you learned.”

“Are you really assigning me a book report?” A genuine grin spread across the turtle’s face. “Will it be," he took in a sharp breath, "...graded?”

"Sure.” Draxum pinched the bridge of his nose, questioning what he’d brought upon himself.

A giddy series of chirps rumbled from the teen as he jumped to his feet, tail swishing unfettered behind him. “My first real chance of earning an A? For myself? This is going to be the A-est report that has ever existed. Mark my MLA formatted words, Baron!”  The grin curled higher, shifting toward manic glee.

“Yeah, yeah. Please depart my home without blowing it up this time.” Draxum hummed, lifting a hand and sweeping his fingers toward the window. His mind was already on other things shortly after his creation slipped back into the early morning.

Two weeks came and went. Draxum couldn’t help but feel he’d forgotten something but continued on without much concern. If it was important, he’d remember later.

A clawed foot delivered a sharp kick to his shin under the table, followed by a disgruntled throat clearing. Every tired eye in the room was turned his way- full of expectation. Right. There was no use delaying the task at hand.

“I know you have questions. But please refrain while I go over my findings.” Draxum began, clasping his hands behind his back. “Thanks to your cooperation, I have come to a series of conclusions. Positive and negative.”

“Good news?” Michaelangelo croaked, eyes snapping to focus on Draxum at the first sign of reassurance.

“You three were under a curse targeting your brother-“

“… not good news…” mused the box turtle under his breath.

“-but are not any longer. That is the news.” Draxum huffed. Teenagers and their interrupting. He tapped at the open folder displaying his notes before him to recapture the room’s full attention. “Based on your testimonies and my personal observations of the scene, the curse’s conditions were met and its magic dispelled. I can confirm that the nature of the magic used cannot be cast at distance. Unless you come into contact with the original source of the curse again, your minds are your own.”

“Why Donnie?” Raphael’s voice barely traveled the length of the room. “And why like that? Why use us?”

“The question isn’t why. It doesn’t matter why.” Leonardo interjected like venom, gripping the table’s edge tight enough for his claws to dig grooves in the old wood. “It’s who. We need to find whoever did this and keep them from doing it ever again.”

“Again- I was getting there.” Draxum caught April giving him an analytical, knowing look. Like she already expected what he was going to say. “The being that did this has both the power and advanced knowledge to create a long-lasting curse of this level.” Splinter shifted beside him, but Draxum managed to avoid the next kick intended for his shin. “But I cannot say for certain the source of who ordered the curse or why.”

April’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t raise a comment.

“Which leads me to my second conclusion.” Draxum braced himself for the inevitable outrage over his and Splinter’s plan for how to move forward. “Because we have no idea where you were cursed, be it Hidden City or surface, we have to assume our enemy can strike anywhere in New York, at any time. And being that none of you have a formal understanding of mystics and cannot protect your minds from attack, it’s best to have you three elsewhere until you can. Somewhere you cannot possibly chance upon the caster without them intentionally seeking you out and revealing themself.”

“Wait- you want us to leave town? Just straight up get out of Dodge? You can’t just put us on the sidelines!” Leonardo protested, exploding from his chair. “We can’t just turn tail and let the monster that did this to Donnie get away with it! If we leave, they win!”

“And who exactly wins if the, may I say again, advanced and powerful mystery assailant places you under another curse because your mind remains unprotected?” Draxum retorted.

Leonardo recoiled as if he’d been struck, before taking an offensive step forward. A hand grasped his wrist before he could start his second stride to launch over the table. April gradually pulled him back down into his seat, where Leonardo crossed his arms and panned an assessing look around the table, lingering longer on his brothers.

“And what about Donnie? We can’t just leave him, we have to do... the- his-” Leonardo froze, warring emotions cracking sentences as his breathing and the corners of his mouth quivered in tandem. “We need to… y’know. We need to find a place...”

“That’s already been arranged, my blue boy.” Splinter’s voice was stronger than Draxum had heard it all night. A strength that promised to take care of everything, prompting an undiscernible look from Raphael. “Somewhere safe, away from New York.”

“But not too far- right?” Leonardo rasped, looking at Splinter like he could hang the moon. The moment only lasted a few beats before realization crossed the slider’s features and his gaze immediately averted away from the rat.

“No, not too far. And we’ll be able to visit. I already called and explained the situation. We leave tonight. Draxum will portal us. All you have to do is pack a bag.” Splinter promises were fleece, each sentence layering over the last.

“And then what?” Raphael questioned from the corner.

“We pay our respects,” Draxum replied, glancing at a crumpled, 12pt font, double-spaced document he’d tucked into his folder while evidence hunting.

Hamato Donatello

Goat Professor / Alternative Authority Figure

The Fundamentals of the Mystic Arts

15 August 2019

Exploring the Alchemical Laws of Exchange – Without Losing an Arm, Leg, or Soul

Letting go of his life’s work had been demoralizing down to the core of Draxum’s identity. He’d given everything to protect the society he cherished. The time, the energy, the love. All dedicated to alchemy and his experiments and his mutants. The work was his life. How could he ever abandon something he gave his life to?

But his work was also why he would never deserve his seat at the table of second chances. It was built for someone else, both too large and too small, and creaking dangerously under the weight of lost opportunity.

He scribbled a red A+ in the paper’s top margin.

The dead couldn’t forgive. But Draxum would still hold up his end of the bargain. He’d do better. Be better. Continue Donatello’s work as a professional courtesy from one scientist to another.

“After that- we begin your training.”

If constructing a list of things that still tempted Draxum to take fire to all of humanity, email PTO requests should not be placed as high as they were. And finding a substitute lunch director at this time of year? Impossible! Food prep and inventory were not matters of life or death (that is... if they stayed out of his personal cabinets). It was a wonder the humans hadn’t already started tearing each other apart over such nonsense. He couldn’t pre-plan an emergency!

The lower floor of Todd’s small but quaint (and surprisingly fair smelling) home was quiet, apart from the soft clickclackclick of his hooves pacing over cheap kitchen linoleum while thumbs furiously taptaptap-ed on his cell device. Their gracious host had prepared rooms before their arrival, allowing the group to transition from customary welcome lemonade to retiring away and feigning sleep until morning with relative ease. (The capybara’s thoughtfulness was a curious result of mutation. He should have used it more to his advantage during the League of Mutants. A shame.) There was nothing more to be done at this time, so even enforcing fake rest would be the only beneficial use of these early morning hours.

…for the children at least.

In contrast, Draxum needed to use every pocket of time available to prepare for the future. Lesson plans. Research into Witch Town’s patron goddess. Source protective sigils and talismans. Build a viable path stone by stone toward safety and survival.  When he was done with his new students, nothing could hope to reach into their minds without fierce retaliation.

They wouldn’t just be warriors. They’d be survivors.

He’d ensure that. Because while he respected Splinter’s wish to keep the origin of their curse from the turtles, he also knew that vengeance was a strong motivator. Nothing would stop these young, impulsive kids from seeking out trouble they did not have the means to face. Natural aptitude only goes so far. So he’d provide them with the actual tools for success, ever they need it.

Creaking wood caused Draxum’s ears to perk, honing in on the not-so-subtle noise of a late-night straggler. Light-footed, but not as an active attempt to pass undetected.

“Can I help you, Michelangelo?” He asked the open air, the footsteps pausing with a sharper creak. Enough silence passed for Draxum to open his mouth to speak again, but the steps resumed before he had a chance. It didn’t take long for the youngest turtle to step into view of the kitchen doorway, looking smaller in the dimmed lighting.

Even if this result was seen as a just punishment for whatever crimes Donatello had committed in Witch Town, how was it just to bring true goodness into the crossfire? A helping hand Draxum had failed to turn into a weapon, being unwittingly warped into one that had been used so expertly to take its target apart piece by brutal piece.

Then cast aside, confused and conflicted. There was no greater good doing something like this could serve.

“H-hey Barry. I didn’t know you were up.” The fizzy energy typically bubbling throughout the box turtle’s tone was flat. He kept his hands out of Draxum’s view, clasped behind his shell.

“I’m tending to a few necessary matters before I turn in myself.” Draxum bluffed, giving the newcomer an analytical once over. The bandages around Michelangelo’s ankles were sagging and unevenly wrapped. “I was just about to make a pot of tea to wind back down. I’ll make enough for two.” Draxum turned back toward the kitchen, clicking on the stove and placing a kettle shaped like a stretching dog onto the burner.  

“While we wait for the water, you’re going to show me your arms.” The alchemist stated, leaving no room for debate as he turned back around with a stern expression. That’s all it took for guilt to flash over Michelangelo’s features as his arms crept into view. The bandages were sloppy, as if done one-handed. The ends hung rough-edged and loose.

“I was about to rewrap them…”

“And also did the first application, correct me if I’m wrong?” Draxum sighed, taking both outstretched hands and giving a squeeze. Both to ground the turtle and to test for any reaction to pain. Michelangelo squeezed back, unable to restrain a sniffle. Draxum led him to the counter, directing the teen to hop up to sit on its surface as he made a short journey to the bathroom to collect a first aid kit.

Placing the kit on the counter, Draxum prepared a few supplies before removing the old bandages. The wounds were decently clean and surprisingly not still bleeding with how deep the punctures went. If kept dry and well covered, it would heal with minimal scarring. “And why, in the name of the Titan, did you not turn to anyone for assistance? You are the only one with noteworthy injuries.”

“-Leo never came to the bathroom to clean up. After. And neither did Raph. So I uh- I did my best.” The boy laughed, shrugging miserably. “How can I expect them to take care of me right now after everything?”

Draxum didn’t look up from his task, flowing through the process of cleaning the surrounding skin, sanitizing the lacerations, and wrapping new bandages with careful, practiced hands. “Do you plan to take care of them in the upcoming days?”

Michelangelo shifted from side to side. “Well- yeah. But they always worry-“ his breath caught, “-worried about me and Donnie more for being the ‘little ones’,” There was a wince as his hands rose for finger quotes. “All three of us did bad things. I don’t need to be babied.”

“When you found me, a powerless enemy you could have left to wither to deserved nothing- would you call your aid babying?” Draxum posed, already halfway through fixing the dressing on his ankles. “I wouldn’t.”

The conversation tapered into quiet throughout the rest of Draxum’s work. He packed up the kit and snapped it closed before returning his attention to curling steam. The next silence severing words caught him off-guard as he moved the kettle off the heat and opened a cabinet to search for mugs.

“I want you to train me.”

Rocking against nauseating Déjà vu, Draxum cocked an eyebrow at Michaelangelo and placed two mugs on the kitchen table. He kept the lemon patterned, placing pixelated music notes before the turtle. Glimmering wetness padded the corners of nostalgic eyes as the boy lifted his mug as if it were crystal.

“I am training you.” Draxum ventured, tracing the rim of his mug with a finger. 

“Yes, but also no. Yes to all the mind stuff. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Michelangelo replied, fingers tapping over the table’s edge. “I told you… before, I knew when Donnie was gone without even being there. I felt something rip away from reach. Out of touch. But it didn’t feel like it was gone gone. Not destroyed. Just not… here.”

The alchemist shoved down his fascination over Michelangelo’s explanation, forcing his curiosities to remain on task. (Perhaps the child’s intuition wasn’t just a matter of empathic connection).

“Is there a way- mystic mojo wise- to talk to people that aren’t uh... here anymore?”

The lightness of Draxum’s initial interest sank with his core into thick, murky uncertainty. Communing with the dead was tricky business if there wasn’t a spiritual connection already established. Only inherited techniques were regarded as stable, and such means were either heavily protected generation by generation or had died out before being passed along.

It was one thing to tune into the flow of mystics throughout nature with one’s sixth sense- it was another to try and pry at its edges to peek at the other side.

Upon Draxum’s hesitation, Michelangelo threw his hands in the air with a grumble. “Now you’re babying me! Please Barry… if there is something there it can’t be as bad as not knowing.” He glanced at his mug, “If there is a chance to say anything, I’ll do what it takes.”

And then there was that look again. The stubborn trust and headstrong hope, familiar despite the twist of desperation. Draxum knew the look of someone ready to shake the devil’s hand in the name of achievement. It still lingered at the edges of every mirror he passed.

“Most attempts to speak with the dead result in transitioning over to the other side. Though... I suppose that makes all attempts successful.” Draxum mused, tone drifting before snapping back to focus, “But unwise. Especially at the level you boys currently occupy. But before you be-cry further babying, I would not try this myself. Even at peak performance.” He finished bluntly.

Fickle reluctance manifested in relentless fidgeting from the box turtle, fingers tapping without rhythm against gradually cooling ceramic. Echoed ticking formed an eerie melody throughout the bottom floor, clocks from each room saying their piece in a synchronized dance of off-time, yet on-beat notes.

“After Donnie caught me, he apologized.” The words were weary, holding more than they led on. Draxum didn’t reply but kept his attention locked on Michelangelo. “And at the time… I didn’t want to forgive him. I just kept hoping that Leo and Raph would finish it and then come get me.” Salt water flowed, contaminating the turtle’s tea with steady drip after drop.

“Cursed and uncursed… I was stuck. The only thing I could do was listen.” The words grew stronger, firm with resolve forged in fire. “If I can’t… fix this… then teach me everything else.”

Draxum hummed in faux contemplation, having already known his answer. “I won’t go easy on you.” He outstretched his mug.

Mikey hid something dark behind a wry smile and hazy twilight shadows. He lifted his cup, clinking it against Draxum’s.

“When can we start?”

Todd had a workshop away from the house and the main puppy campus. It was cozy and well-used, with a carpet of sawdust perfuming the air and stacks of projects lining the worktables pressed against each wall. There were influences of Donnie in the barest sense if one knew where to look, providing a strong framework for Todd’s personal embellishments. The space was loved and lived in, which could have been a comfort to Splinter, had the center table not held a freshly worked coffin.

The coffin he’d lay his child to rest in.

There had been nothing tangible at his mother’s ceremony. Nothing to anchor down a young boy’s hopes that against all odds, the missing piece of his life would just walk right through the doors unscathed and victorious.

There would be no pretending this time. No buffer of misguided imagination to soften the stark reality that his family would step into tomorrow.

He needed to become well acquainted with this new weight. Familiarize himself with the icy, shocking cold with one plunge, so he could be at the bottom of the pool’s stairs to bring his boys in gradually.

Starting, apparently, with footsteps approaching from the outside that were light-footed- as an attempt to pass through the night undetected. Splinter shuffled over to the workshop door, using his tail to open the latch. It swung inward, revealing a sheepish Raphael inches from entering. The snapping turtle startled, cringing back a step and grabbing his tail like a security blanket in his surprise.

“Pops?” He squeaked, frozen to the spot. “I uh- I needed air and uh- oh.” Raph developed a faraway gaze once zeroing in on the room’s centerpiece. “How?" he whispered in awe.

“How indeed.” Splinter mused, stepping aside to let his son in. He anticipated questions, hoping only that his ability to answer would grant solace in one form or another. “Todd is a curious character. Kind, but curious. Your brothers discovered a sound friend.”

Growing close to the box, Splinter ran a hand over the freshly glossed surface. Raphael stayed closer to the door, swaying on his feet before leaning into one of the tables.

“Did you know they did all this? The house… the park… everything?” Splinter asked, cocking his head back to look into his eldest’s face. He forced himself to appear interested, but not searching, as he looked over Raph’s features. Unfocused pupils. Disorientation. When had his boisterous baby boy started looking so… tired? A young Atlas, upholding his duty of propping the sky on his shoulders lest it crush everything below.

A single laugh rattled out of Raph’s ribcage. “Yeah. They were out here for days. Didn’t send anything other than a text. Raph had half a mind ta’ have Leo portal over to drag ‘em home. Just disappearing into the woods with a stranger? All while the Spine-bre…” The snapper immediately clammed up, jaw clicking shut hard enough to be heard in the enclosed space.

“Days, huh?” Splinter jumped back in, trying to pinpoint what his son was about to say before his words halted. Looking at Raphael was like looking at his own grief in the mirror. Unbridled regret leading the charge, kicking up dusty, lung-clogging shame along the way.

Their steps were stained with the same red ink, forward and back. (They were both burying a child tomorrow.)

“Yeah. They didn’t tell you?” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I suppose not.” An apology, not an answer.

A sigh rumbled in Raph’s chest and Splinter could sense his attention shifting back toward the wood elephant behind him.

“Oh, my Red Angel. What troubles brought you all the way out here tonight?” Splinter asked, moving to take one of Raph’s hands with both of his own. The muscles within jumped, almost recoiling from the touch upon contact. His son didn’t move to speak at first, exhaustion-addled eyes cast down at Splinter with reserved doubt.

The lack of faith threatened to drown Splinter, but he stayed afloat. If he sank, they both would. Loss was an endurance sport. There would be no succumbing to the first tempting wave threatening to take them under.

Something in Raph’s composure gave, and he sank to his knees in front of Splinter so they could be on a level field, face to face. “Pops- I don’t know what to do tomorrow.” He admitted, serious as a confession. “We’ve uh… the only funerals we’ve seen have been on TV. And a lot of them end with the hero not actually being dead. Back before you can think ta' miss ‘em.”

His free hand pulled his tail closer, tracing up and down the scales, line by line. “So I don’t know what to do… and Leo and Mikey won’t. And they’ll look to me and I won’t have a plan and when Raph needs a plan he normally would ask-“ Raph’s words rolled over atop each other, building a snowball’s momentum.

“Like I told Blue, we’ve got it taken care of my boy. All you have to do is be there.”

The hand in his tensed and Raph bit at his lower beak, snaggle tooth pressing into the scales. “Should I be? After… what I did?”

Saltwater crashed over Splinter’s head, burning as it flowed up his nose and stung his eyes. “Oh son- of course you should. That was never a question. I want all my boys there. Okay?” He reasoned, swallowing down the swirling potion of concerned reactions flashing through his mind. (How out of practice at this was he?)

“You’re sure?” Raph whimpered, the tip of his tail twitching rapidly. He rubbed at the furious red lines scored over his forearms. “Even if Raph didn’t really… want to do that, everyone knows I did.” If Splinter’s heart hadn’t already been shattered, the misery in his son’s tone would have crushed it further.

“Again. It was never a question.” Splinter promised, hugging the snapper’s hand to his chest, holding tight to prevent the possibility of this boy being taken from him too. “None of what happened was okay or right. It was the furthest thing from fair or good. Not because it was something you did. But because it was something done to you too.” Raph began to tremble, no longer able to withhold his vulnerability.

“It makes me furious. And devastated. There is so much to feel over this new lack in our lives. But it mostly makes me wish I could hold you all in my hands one more time and never let you go.” Splinter pulled back a margin, parting his arms wide in invitation. Without warning, the rat was pulled into a swift, full-bodied hug that forced him off his feet. And for the first time in... far too long, he leaned into the pressure of his eldest giving in and leaning on him.

One arm around him tightened a few degrees and caused his lower back to crackle, each pop sounding off like a series of shots in the small workshop. Splinter went lax at the rapid release of tension, only for it to recoil just as tight as the arms around him dropped immediately.

“Pops! Oh no no no. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… sorry sorry sorry…” Raph gasped, choking on his words, mouth gaping in horror. His words dissolved into panting growing, indescernable beyond two words Splinter could snag onto in the cacophony. Sewer Monster.

Bad. This was bad.

“Red! Hey- I’m okay. Really okay actually!” Splinter pleaded, trying to maintain his grip on the panicked turtle’s hand. Not a lie. That had aligned his spine like a wonder. But that didn’t matter in the light of Raph’s eyes going stark white, void of anything beyond concentrated fear. Contact was wrenched away, disappearing with his son as the massive turtle didn’t even bother with the door- smashing through on his way out into the night.

Splinter scrabbled to his feet and past the broken frame, the elevated beating of his heart thrumming from his ears to his toes. Urgency grabbed at his now empty hands, slotting in with a familiar grip that prompted him forward with the urgent need to fix this fix this fix this.

At the same time, the house in his peripherals had light flooding from every window, but Splinter only had eyes for the surrounding forest as one thought clawed at his soul.

FIND RAPH!