Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything was burning.

The room. The building. Even his insides. 

But none of it mattered—because something inside him burned hotter, fiercer, consuming him in flames brighter than the fire itself.

Rage.

It eclipsed everything.

All he could hear were the last words that vile, impudent, wretched turtle had said:

“You won't be the last thing we think of when we die—”

His hands clawed at the blade lodged deep in his side. It shredded his palms, but he didn’t care. He would not die at the hands of those worthless. Weak. Insignificant. Children.

“But right here, right now, when you close your eyes and see everything you've built burn around you, you'll know it was all thanks to us.”

He had stopped screaming long ago. The obscenities had run dry, giving way to hoarse mutters and broken breaths. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried—maybe he never had. But now tears streamed down his face, not from sorrow, but from fury. From pain so sharp and constant it had turned to static.

“So with that being said… have fun in hell.”

He let out a raw, guttural screech. The sound ripped through him, clawing its way past the smoke-scorched walls of his throat. It shook his chest. The blade in his grip trembled with his fury.

Before the moment could fully register, his legs buckled. He crashed to the ground, blood-slick palms smacking against the floor. His head nearly hit the tile—but he caught himself, barely. The sword clattered beside him, wet with blood.

The bleeding from his chest and gut had slowed. The wounds were crusted, half-sealed. His implant had taken a hit—bad—but it was still functioning. Not enough to heal him.
Enough to keep him alive.

He could work with that.

He had to think. Fast.

Pain. Rage. Chemicals. His brain thrashed under the weight of all three. Something was wrong—beyond the wounds, beyond the fire. Something worse.

He forced himself up, legs wobbling beneath him. The drug pulsed through his veins, each heartbeat lighting his limbs with flickering energy. He turned to run—then stopped.

Something had caught his eye.

A pair of feet.

The sound of gunshots echoed in his skull—dull, distant, like aftershocks. How many had there been? He’d blacked out after pulling the trigger.

The pool of blood on the floor was undisturbed—a perfect crimson blot, stark against the pale tile.

Against his better judgment, he hauled the body over his shoulder and staggered toward the door. Allen may have been a traitor… but he couldn't just leave him there.

Maybe Allen had been a terrible friend, but that didn't mean he would be. As the mature one, it was up to him to not let a silly grudge get in the way of being a good friend.

He moved faster than he thought possible, covering the distance in half the time it should have taken. The fire licked at the walls, snapping at his skin like hungry fingers. He cursed under his breath. He’d lost his keycard somewhere along the way.
But the door was ajar.

Luck? No. He must have left it like that. Back when he’d stumbled through earlier, reeling from the implant. All he’d managed to do then was leave a bloody handprint on the half-closed door.

There was no time to start the machine, no chance to build a new implant.
He had to settle for the next best thing.

He tore through drawers until he found it—a syringe, already prepped. Probably something Allen had left behind, a paused experiment from before it all went to hell. Without hesitation, he drove the needle into his arm. It wouldn’t work like an implant— not fully —but it would keep him alive.

He flexed his mangled hand. The twisted flesh began to knit itself together—tendons snapping back into place, skin reweaving, bones crunching as it shifted.

It was still wrong. Misshapen. Fingers too long, sharp at the tips. Veins bulging beneath the surface like ropes. But he didn’t see a mutation.

An improvement , he told himself.

Then the thought crept in—quiet, cold, and gripping:

No. You’ve become just like them. A freak.

He gathered everything he could into a metal briefcase—the kind designed for the blood samples—vials, tools, anything remotely valuable. What didn’t fit went into the enact pockets of his lab coat or under his arms.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye: a folder and a notebook.

Allen’s notes.

He hesitated. Then grabbed them, shoving them into the case without a second thought.

He nearly left Allen behind. Why bother? The bastard had betrayed him. But no. He was better than that.

It had just been a disagreement. Creative differences. Allen might’ve let a petty argument ruin years of collaboration, but he wouldn't stoop to that level. He wasn’t that small.

He’s already dead.

He hoisted Allen over his shoulders anyway, wishing he were conscious—at least then he could carry his own damn weight. 

The things he did for a backstabbing coward.

Maybe if you hadn’t killed him, it would be easier.

He knew the room would hold. Metal walls, reinforced door—it was built to survive worse than a fire. The machine would be safe. He just had to seal it, and everything would be fine.

He slammed the door shut and locked it tight.

Heat pressed against him like a living thing, trying to drag him down. Flames licked at the ceiling, spreading fast. Cracks split the walls like glowing veins, webbing outward with every passing second.

A chunk of ceiling crashed past him. He ducked just in time. Then he ran—dodging flame, dodging falling debris, weaving through corridors that seemed to twist and burn around him.

A gust of cool air hit his skin. He skidded to a stop.

A fire escape.

The window was cracked open, and the night air poured in—cold, sharp, and blessedly clean—his escape.

He rushed over, ignoring the sting of broken glass slicing into his palms as he forced the window open. By the time he shoved Allen through it, the wounds were already scabbing. All except his twisted hand. That flesh stayed stubbornly whole, even as the jagged shape tore deeper with every movement.

He dragged Allen down the narrow fire escape. The rusted metal groaned beneath them, slick with fresh rain. Fat drops pattered down from the sky, making every step treacherous.

“Goddamnit, Helen,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Next time, you’re building me a research center from scratch. No more retrofitting decrepit office buildings.”

There isn’t a next time. You’ve screwed yourself. Ruined everything.

After finally reaching the bottom, he barely had a second to breathe. The explosion hit. He covered his head as glass from windows rained down upon him.

He was almost annoyed with himself for letting it get this messy. He’d expected to be halfway across the city before the real damage even started.

Then his head snapped up. The van. The one he’d planned to escape in. The in-house patients should have already been loaded—assuming the intern had followed instructions.

Grunting, he hefted Allen over his shoulder again. Pain shot through his midsection, warm blood soaking through his shirt. He felt lightheaded. Cold. His stomach twisted, like something inside him had shifted out of place.

He staggered toward the alley where the van should’ve been waiting.

The ground shook beneath him. Another explosion. Debris rained down in distant clatters. He braced to run but stopped short at the sound of a door slamming open nearby.

He pressed himself to the wall as the emergency exit burst open. A flood of people spilled out—white lab coats streaked with ash and blood. One figure held the door, waving others through, barking orders. Some collapsed coughing. Others kept running, shoving past fallen bodies without a second glance.

“Holy shit,” someone wheezed, staggering up to the man holding the door. “Where’s Yara? Dr. Noel?”

The door-holder glanced back inside, arm shielding his face from the smoke. “I don’t know. Is everyone out?”

“I don’t see Atticus! Did anyone see if Dr. Mesmer made it?” A woman on the ground pushed herself up, dragging a sooty hand across her face—only to smear it with mud and ash.

“Who cares?” An older man elbowed past a cluster of coughing staff. “This is all their fault anyway!”

“Their fault? Who the hell do you think just saved our asses?” An intern snapped, shoving the man back.

“Oh yeah?” the man barked, pushing harder. “If they hadn’t stirred up all that shit, none of this would’ve happened! Who cares what we’re doing, or why? It’s not our job to ask questions. Now the whole damn project’s a bust!”

From his place in the shadows, Bishop felt a crooked smile creep across his face. Finally—someone talking sense. None of it was his fault. He never would’ve had to do a thing if everyone had just done their jobs… kept their heads down… behaved.

“You’re just as sick as the bastard who started all this!” Another intern shoved the man from behind, voice shaking with fury.

Bishop’s smile vanished, his lips twisting into a scowl. None of it was his fault. No one was supposed to be in the building except a few late-shift interns. Five, at most. A handful of casualties. Necessary sacrifices for the greater good.

But the crowd that had come stumbling out? Fifteen. Maybe more. Scientists. Interns. People who should’ve stayed out of the way.

They did this to themselves.

“Hey! Hey!” An older woman pushed through the crowd, waving her arms. “Everyone, stop! Let’s just get out of here. Does anyone have a phone?”

Heads turned. A few shook silently. No one answered.

She swore under her breath. “Of course. We need to call headquarters and let them know the site’s been compromised.”

“What about Dr. Mesmer? And the others?” The person still holding the door glanced back into the smoke.

“They’ve got keycards. They’ll make it out.”

A murmur rose from the group. “What about the… test subjects?”

Silence.

The woman’s expression hardened. “That’s the agency’s problem.”

The building groaned—deep and guttural. Nervous whispers rippled through the group. A few had already broken away, sprinting down side streets and alleys without looking back.

Bishop clenched his jaw, drew a shaky breath, and shoved off the wall. He staggered toward the alley where the van was supposed to be, Allen still slung over his shoulder.

Then he saw it. A dark shape tucked between two buildings. The van.

He adjusted Allen’s position and limped to the driver’s side window, praying it wasn’t empty and locked.

Through the tinted window, he spotted the intern behind the wheel, staring up at the burning building. His fingers twitched against the steering wheel, posture stiff, completely unaware of the figure limping toward him.

Bishop slammed his hand against the glass. “Hey!”

The intern jumped, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling. His head snapped around, eyes going wide as he saw Bishop.

“Open up!” Bishop shouted, yanking at the door handle. “Before the damn firetrucks show!”

He had cut the suppression systems, silenced the alarms—but the fire had grown too fast. Someone was bound to call it in.

Inside, the intern just stared. His gaze flicked from Bishop’s blood-slicked face to the broken shape of Allen slung over his shoulder… then down to the twisted mess of Bishop’s hand.

Bishop bared his teeth. “I said open the damn door.”

There was a flicker in the boy’s eyes—panic, guilt, resolve—and Bishop knew what was coming a second before it did.

The engine roared.

He barely jumped back in time as the van peeled out of the alley, tires shrieking, rain-slick street swallowing the sound as it vanished down the block. Bishop stood motionless in the alley, chest heaving. Rain slid down his face, seeping into his wounds. Something primal stirred inside him. Dark. Furious. Alive.

The twisted flesh of his hand coiled tighter, bones shifting, like claws sharpening with each throb of rage.

In the distance, sirens screamed.

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t have the luxury of losing control. Not now. He inhaled—deep and deliberate—letting the fire in his gut anchor him.

Then he turned, walking into the shadows until the dark swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

“Wooo-hoo!” Shouts filled the air, swept away by the wind as four shadows leapt from rooftop to rooftop.

“Leo, wait up!” Mikey called, panting as Leo raced ahead, already vaulting onto the next building.

“Maybe you just need to catch up!” Leo shot back with a grin, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the gap between two buildings.

It felt good to run again. Really run. Not because they were being chased. Not with the dread that stopping meant breaking. Not with desperation, or fear, or pain clawing at their heels. Just running—because they could.

“Is that a challenge?” Mikey pushed harder, feet pounding the rooftop as he closed the gap.

Leo launched into the air, the wind catching under him like wings. For a moment, he felt weightless—like time had stretched, the fall a slow-motion drift.

Then gravity took hold.

He hit the next roof with a solid thud. His stomach clenched on impact. For weeks after healing, every landing had come with a jolt of panic—like his ankle might snap. Longer still before he stopped fearing his chest might crack open, split him in two, and leave him in pieces.

He staggered slightly, the memory pulling him sideways. Arms out, he caught himself and pushed forward.

“Ha! I passed you!” Mikey crowed, landing a few feet ahead. “I wi—ah!” His triumph was cut short as he stumbled, arms flailing before toppling backward.

“It wasn’t a race, Mikey,” Donnie said as he landed with far more grace than either of them had. “And don’t fall on that arm again.”

Mikey pushed himself up, propping back on his elbows with an exaggerated sigh. “I fell on it funny once , Dee. It’s not like it’s gonna fall off.”

“Just be glad you didn’t do any permanent damage from all the times you ripped your stitches. I was this close to sewing your mouth shut instead.” Donnie rubbed a hand over his face, exasperated.

“What can I say?” Mikey shrugged. “That’s just how I roll. I’m an active turtle, dude. You can’t expect me to contain all this natural talent.” He waved a hand dramatically up and down his body.

“Falling face-first into the pit and busting your stitches isn’t what I’d call talent ,” Raph added, landing with a heavy thud.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Mikey called, standing up and brushing himself off. “Hard to hear you all the way back there in last place !”

Raph scowled. “For the last time, we’re not racing.”

“You’re only saying that 'cause you’re losing.”

Raph shifted his stance, the smallest grimace flickering across his face. “Maybe I’ve just evolved beyond your juvenile nonsense.”

“Boo!” Mikey groaned. “And quit using big words—you’re starting to sound like Don.”

Leo chuckled as Donnie shot Mikey a sideways glare, then turned his attention back to the skyline.

“Raph’s right,” Leo said. “This isn’t a competition. We’re just out here to test the waters—no pushing it.”

Mikey waved a hand dismissively and wandered to the edge of the roof, crouching low. “Am I the only one whose brush with death made them want to enjoy life?” he said, peering down at the street. “You dudes got trauma and no character development. Tragic.”

Leo chuckled—until something flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned. Raph stood stiffly, his face pinched, eyes squeezed shut like he could will the pain away.

“Raph?” Leo stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Raph blinked, shifting his gaze from Leo to his hands. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He shrugged Leo off—not harshly, but with enough weight to end the conversation.

“Pssst! Guys!” Mikey whisper-yelled from the ledge. “Got something over here!”

The others hurried over, crouching beside him to peer into the alley below.

“What was it?” Donnie leaned in, scanning the alley.

“People?” Raph asked, squinting into the dark.

“I dunno.” Mikey shrugged, eyes tracking movement below. “I heard glass break. Didn’t April say there were break-ins around here?” He glanced at Leo.

“She did,” Leo said, voice low. He looked around, uneasy. “But remember what we promised Master Splinter—we’re not diving back in—”

A loud crash cut him off.

“Yes!” Raph grinned, edging forward until he was practically hanging off the roof. “Finally, some action.”

They all leaned in, breath held. Shadows moved—slow, deliberate. Then one figure stepped into the flickering streetlight… and vanished.

A beat of silence.

Then the rest of the shadows burst into view, sprinting through the alley. A chorus of groans followed.

“Oh man… not the Purple Dragons,” Mikey groaned, flopping onto his back with a dramatic sigh.

“Of course it’s the purple losers,” Raph muttered, standing up. The excitement drained from his face.

Leo exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. “This is good,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “We can handle them—no problem.”

“What are they even doing ?” Donnie squinted down into the alley. They were all lugging overflowing boxes, each one stuffed with what looked like… garbage.

“Seriously?” He added. “Are they stealing trash now?”

“Whatever it is, I can’t wait to watch them trip over it on their way out,” Raph said, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Let’s go.”

One by one, they dropped silently to the ground below. A quiet buzz of energy—half nerves, half thrill—rippled between them as they crept closer.

“What was that?” One of them froze, hand shooting up. The rest of the Purple Dragons stopped in their tracks, eyes on him.

“What was what ?” Hun asked, his grip tightening around the box.

From above, Leo watched, heart thudding. Anxiety crawled up his spine like static. Maybe we’re not ready. They were still flinching at car backfires. Their new gear felt unfamiliar—like someone else’s weapons. Leo’s katanas still felt stiff in his hands, like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

The buzz in his head screamed, wait , pull back , not yet .

He ignored it—and gave the signal.

“Hiya!” Mikey dropped from the fire escape, landing in a crouch atop a flickering streetlamp.

“Jesus!” The Purple Dragons recoiled, stumbling back.

“Now this is the kind of interaction I’ve been missing,” Raph smirked, bumping shoulders with Donnie as they stepped out from the shadows.

“You—but—” Hun stumbled back, confusion twisting into anger. “What the hell are you freaks doing here?”

Leo stepped forward, the buzzing in his head fading as adrenaline kicked in—fast and familiar.

“Aw, did you miss us?” He said with a grin.

Hun sneered, but his grip tightened around the box. “Damn. Thought someone finally finished you off. It was nice while it lasted.”

Leo raised his blades. “Then I guess it’s time for a reminder. We can do this the easy—”

Before he could finish, the Purple Dragons bolted down the street.

“Well,” Leo muttered, lowering his swords. “That was fast.”

“And boring, ” Raph groaned, cracking his knuckles. “It’s more fun when they fight first, run later. ”

“They’re cutting into that alley,” Mikey called, dropping from the streetlamp and pointing after them. “Looks like a dead end.”

“Idiots,” Donnie said flatly, already moving.

The alley wasn’t a trap like Leo hand feared—just a dead end, and the Purple Dragons were scrambling like amateurs, trying to climb a chain-link fence. From there, it followed the usual rhythm: fists flying, sarcastic jabs, bodies hitting pavement. Just another brawl. Until Leo saw the box closer.

Hun was slipping toward the far end of the alley, clutching it tight to his chest. He hadn’t cared what they were stealing—until he caught a glimpse of white fabric.

A sleeve. Burned at the edge. A lab coat.

Something was clipped to the front—a flash of plastic, dull and familiar. A badge.

That badge.

Leo’s breath hitched. The sound it used to make when it unlocked doors echoed in his ears. His heart surged. Before he knew what he was doing, he bolted—sprinting after Hun.

“Leo!” someone shouted behind him. “Wait—!”

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t know how far they’d run—only that his chest burned by the time he caught up. Hun stumbled and fell, the box slipping from his arms. Its contents spilled across the cracked pavement.

Panting, Hun rolled onto his back, eyes wide. He scrambled to get up.

“What’s in the box?” Leo demanded, kicking him onto his side.

“Jesus!” Hun yelped, scooting back. “I don’t know—just medical junk! What’s the big deal?”

Leo yanked the box upright and stared inside. A scorched lab coat. A cracked microscope. Shattered beakers. And—

Clink.

Glass vials rolled inside, knocking against each other.

His breath hitched.

“Aren’t they fancy?”

A sharp, all-too-happy voice sang out in the back of his head. He couldn’t stop the sound from echoing in his skull.

“I got special syringes for you. See? This one is made of orange-tinted glass! They’re color-coded!” 

The vials chimed like teeth on glass. His stomach turned.

His heart was pounding so hard it drowned out his breath. He could feel it in his throat, behind his eyes.

He swallowed, forcing the words out. “Where… where did you get this?”

Leo slammed him back down, foot pressing into Hun’s chest.

“I said—where did you get this?”

Hun grunted, blinking between Leo and the spilled box. His mouth opened, but no words came out—just dumb confusion.

Leo pressed harder. “ Who are you getting it for? Who are you bringing it to?”

“N-no one!” Hun gasped, hands raised. “It’s just—it’s junk, man!”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s junk, why were you so desperate to run?” He grabbed a fistful of Hun’s shirt and yanked him up. “Why do you have his —this stuff?”

“Okay! Okay!” Hun sputtered, breath hitching. “There’s more like it—scattered all over. Some building burned down, and people looted it. Now there’s some sketchy people out there who’ll pay a ton for anything that came from the place. I don’t know why. I swear.”

Leo held him there a moment longer, heart hammering. Then, slowly, he lowered him back to the ground.

“Go.” He stepped away, scooping up the box.

Hun didn’t wait. He scrambled to his feet and took off into the night without looking back.

Leo sighed and crouched beside the box, careful not to look directly into it. He picked up the shards of broken glass scattered across the pavement, placing them back inside with deliberate care.

Then he stood, scanning the dimly lit street. He had no clue where he was. Donnie hadn’t finished building the new T-Phones yet, so he had no way to call for backup. But they all had trackers. Someone would find him if he was too lost.

“This street looks kinda familiar…” he muttered, starting to walk back the way he came. His pace slowed. “Actually, it looks really…”

He stopped.

His gaze drifted up the side of the building to his left. Something about it prickled at the back of his mind. He turned slowly to the right—and staggered back, breath catching.

He knew where he was.

He was sure he was standing right where it had happened—where the building had burned, where everything went wrong. But the ruin was gone.

No rubble. No scorch marks. No police tape or construction crews. Just a clean, tall building standing in silence like nothing had ever happened.

His heart thudded in his ears. He blinked, once, twice, waiting for the memory to catch up to what he saw.

It didn’t.

And then he saw the sign.

It glowed above the building, pulsing green and purple against the dark sky— The Testudines Institute.

The words echoed in his head:

“They called themselves The Testudines Institute. Their website said they were some kind of freelance health clinic or something. We weren’t buying any of that. As far as we could tell, it hadn’t existed until five months ago.”

He staggered back a step. The building shouldn't be there. Not clean. Not glowing. Not new. Not advertising itself like nothing had ever happened.

They’d abandoned the project. Surely they had. They had to. And even if they hadn’t...

Bishop couldn’t still be involved... right?

His breath caught. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. “Then why…”

“Leo!” 

The voices hit him like a spotlight. He snapped his head around to the sound of voices calling out.

They couldn’t see it. Not when they were finally starting to heal. He would not let old wounds be ripped open.

He clutched the box tighter and bolted down the street, trying to intercept them—trying to block their view.

“Leo!” Raph burst out of a nearby alley, worry hard in his voice. “Are you okay?”

He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He tried to smile, but his lungs burned and the lie felt brittle.

Raph didn’t buy it. He grabbed Leo by the shoulders, rough and firm. “ Don’t do that! You can’t just take off like that!”

“I was going after Hun,” Leo said, setting the box down with more force than he meant to. “He was getting away.”

“Then maybe yell something like ‘Hey, he’s getting away’ next time.” Raph thumped him on the arm.

“ Leeeeeooooooo! ” Mikey barreled out of the alley with two boxes in hand. He dropped them carelessly and slammed into him, hugging him so hard he nearly knocked him over.

“Mikey—what—?” Leo’s arms hovered awkwardly as he tried to catch his balance.

“You vanished! That’s what!” Mikey snapped, shoving him as he let go. “Don’t do that again, dude!”

“Mikey, careful with those boxes , ” Donnie called out, appearing with one of his own. He knelt to gather the ones Mikey had dumped. “Some of this stuff might still be—”

“It’s just junk, Dee.” Mikey picked up a box and gave it a shake. “Nothing but crusty old lab trash.”

“Actually…” Leo took the box back from him and passed it to Raph. “I want to give these to April. There’s something I need her and Casey to look into.”

“Oh, sure,” Raph grunted, taking the box. “We’re great friends—just dropping off a pile of medical garbage at her place.”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Leo said quickly, motioning them toward the alley. “But we should hurry—we promised Master Splinter we’d be home soon.”

The others began moving, voices fading into the quiet hum of city noise.

Leo paused.

He turned back toward the street. The building still loomed behind them, lights flickering like they were blinking. Watching. His stomach twisted. A creeping cold licked at his spine.

He couldn’t see anything in the shadows, but he couldn’t shake the feeling—

Something was watching them.

Chapter Text

The visit to April’s had been brief. They’d dropped in, given her the rundown about the boxes, and Leo had asked if she and Casey could dig into who was buying the supplies. And when he was sure his brothers couldn’t hear, he tried to tell her about everything he’d seen, but it had been a brief conversation.

Still, the night clung to him like static. When April had seen what was in the box, she gave him a look—part pity, part fear.

He’d met her eyes with a look of his own. A silent warning: Don’t say anything.

Because there was one small—okay, not small—detail that made everything worse. A detail he hadn’t shared. One April would absolutely rip into him for.

He hadn’t told his brothers what he knew.

He hadn’t told them there was a chance—however slim—that Bishop might still be alive.

He knew it was wrong. The guilt was a slow burn in his chest. But over time, it had dulled. Almost felt justified. Because if they knew—if they even suspected—they’d never stop looking over their shoulders. Never truly feel safe.

Bishop would still have a piece of them. His shadow would hang over every breath they took. And somehow, even with him gone, those claws still hadn’t let go.

Leo refused to give Bishop any more power. So he kept the truth to himself.

He didn’t tell his brothers what Casey had found. His katana, deliberately placed. The files, laid out like someone wanted them to be found. Like bait.

He was just relieved April hadn’t said anything.

But the guilt didn’t care. It pressed against his skull like a pounding storm, relentless and cold. In his gut, fear twisted with it, a nauseating swirl that made his breaths come short and sharp.

“Hey, Leo—slow down,” Raph’s voice echoed behind him.

Leo halted, the dark tunnels rushing back into focus like a slap.

“Yeah, chill,” Mikey added, pushing himself up onto his shoulders with a grin. “We’ve been running all night. Time for a breather, bro.”

The urge to snap clawed at Leo’s throat. Anxiety churned in his stomach, rising hot and fast, nearly spilling out as a shout. There was no time to slow down. Bishop was always two steps ahead—maybe even more. Even dead ( hopefully dead ), the bastard felt closer than ever, like he was still pulling strings from the shadows.

He bit down on the sharp words balancing on the edge of his tongue. If he panicked, they would too. And since he’d lied—

I didn’t lie, he told himself. I just didn’t tell them everything.

That was different. Wasn’t it?

They didn’t need to worry. Not unless he gave them a reason.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was going that fast,” he muttered, forcing his voice calm. He glanced over his shoulder. Donnie lagged behind, silent most of the night, and the sight twisted Leo’s gut even tighter “You good, Donnie?”

Donnie looked up, startled, like he hadn’t realized anyone was speaking. “Huh? Yeah. I’m fine.” The words were soft. Flat.

Raph snorted. “Liar.”

“What do we tell Master Splinter?” Donnie asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Leo gave a short, nervous laugh. “Tell him what?”

Donnie’s tone sharpened. “About the boxes. Come on, Leo. You know exactly what I mean. That stuff came from Bishop’s lab. And now someone— something —is trying to buy it all up. You don’t think that’s more than just ‘weird’?”

“Of course it’s suspicious,” Leo snapped, quicker than he meant to. “But we don’t need to… look, there’s no point in worrying him over something that might be nothing.”

Raph and Mikey exchanged a glance—just a flicker, but enough to say they weren’t convinced.

“But what if it is something?” Mikey said quietly, eyes scanning the shadows.

Raph laid a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “Then we tell him.” His gaze locked onto Leo. “Right?”

Leo hesitated, drawing in a slow breath before giving a tight nod. “Right. We’ll tell him. If it becomes something.” He looked around the group. “So, we’re in agreement?”

Donnie gave a reluctant nod. “We don’t say anything. For now.”

Raph and Mikey followed suit, though their nods carried less certainty—more concern.

The walk back home was tense at first, but with every step closer, the mood began to lift. By the time they reached the entrance, his brothers were laughing behind him—loud, easy, almost like normal.

Leo smiled, one hand resting on the wall as he turned to glance back at them.

Then he froze.

A faint sound—just a shuffle, fast and wrong—cut through the air. His head snapped forward, body tensing without thought.

The smile vanished.

Their father stepped around the corner.

Splinter’s face was pale, drawn tight, fear flickering in his eyes. Not the kind born from sudden panic—it was older. It had been waiting, coiled inside him, gnawing at him through the night. He looked... unmoored. Like he hadn’t been pacing for minutes, but drifting for days.

Then, when he saw them, something shifted. His gaze settled, pupils refocusing, grounding himself in the moment. As if confirming they were real.

“Where have you been? Are you okay?” The words came out too fast, too sharp-edged.

Leo instinctively stepped back, the weight of his father’s worry slamming into him like a wave. “We’re fine. What’s going on?”

Behind him, the laughter cut off instantly. The others stilled, that familiar hush falling over them—one they hadn’t heard in a long time. Not fear. Readiness. Ready to run. Fight. 

“You were—I thought…” Splinter rubbed his face, eyes flicking around like the right words were just out of reach. “You were late.”

Leo glanced at his brothers. Raph’s brow was furrowed, tense. Donnie gave a small, uncertain shrug.

“We’re only five minutes late,” Leo said, his voice careful. “We stopped by April’s.”

His chest tightened. Every explanation he’d considered shriveled on his tongue. Nothing felt adequate. What words could possibly justify making their father look so—so vulnerable?

“I’m sorry,” he said, quieter. “I didn’t think we’d be gone that long. I didn’t think—”

The words tangled in his throat, tripping over each other. Useless.

He should have watched the time. He should have known better. They’d stayed out too long, and if something had happened... if even one of them had—

They weren’t ready.

He wasn’t ready.

How could he pretend to lead when he still carried the weight of every mistake like a blade in his back? How did he think he could still be a good leader after—after—

Splinter exhaled, unsteady. “I… overreacted,” he said, voice thinning. “I apologize. I thought it was later. It just… felt longer.”

And in his eyes—tired, wide—Leo saw it. Their absence had stretched across something deeper than hours. In the few they were gone, Splinter looked like he’d waited another three months without them.

“Did you boys have fun?” Splinter asked, trying to mask his exhaustion with a smile.

“We had loads of fun!” Mikey jumped in, stepping forward like a spotlight found him. “I beat everyone in a race.”

Raph and Donnie groaned in unison.

“It wasn’t a race,” Raph said, rolling his eyes as he gave Mikey a shove. “And even if it was, Leo won.”

“Nope.” Mikey held up a finger like he was presenting solid evidence. “I passed him.”

Donnie chimed in, raising his own finger. “Technically, Leo landed on the roof first. And since no finish line was ever established, we can reasonably deduce that the roof was the endpoint.”

“Yeah,” Raph added, smirking. “And who made you the ref, Mikey? For all we know, the race is still going.”

“Boo! You guys suck the fun out of everything.” Mikey stuck out his tongue and gave them both an exaggerated thumbs down.

Leo felt something ease in his chest as Splinter let out a soft, tired chuckle.

Crisis averted. No one panicking. No one trapped in a collapsing room. No bullets. No blades sinking into flesh. Through flesh. No blood. No voices echoing off walls, again and again and—

“Yoo-hoo, Earth to Leo.” A knuckle rapped lightly against the side of his head.

“Huh?” He blinked, stepping back slightly.

Raph raised a brow. “I asked if you wanted to come watch some TV.”

Leo opened his mouth to say no. But then he hesitated.

That’s exactly what Bishop would’ve wanted—for the fear to take hold. To isolate them. To drive them into separate corners, all alone with their own darkness.

He managed a small smile and bumped fists with Raph. “Yeah. Sure.”

The weight eased just a little more. Until he saw Donnie, already slipping into his lab, head down, eyes locked on some unseen problem. And his chest tightened again.

Donnie hissed as sparks snapped at his fingers. He jerked back, nearly toppling out of his chair, teeth clenched.

“Shoot.”

He shook out his hand, glaring down at the tangled mess that was supposed to be a T-phone. Wires frayed, casing askew—it was junk, and he knew it. His focus was shot.

Again.

He’d thought the fog had finally lifted. The dense, choking haze that had settled in his mind since they got back. For weeks, it had dragged at him, numbing his thoughts, tightening around his chest until it felt like something inside him was trying to claw its way out.

He dropped his head into his hands, staring down through his fingers at the wreckage on the table.

“I’m never gonna finish these at this rate,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion prickling behind them.

Leaning back in his chair, he let his head dangle over the edge, eyes half-lidded.

Then—something caught his eye.

He stood and crossed the lab to the far corner. It was is personal graveyard of failed ideas. Scraps. Abandoned prototypes. Projects he couldn’t finish. Projects he couldn’t stand to finish. Or stand to look at after the fact.

And there it was—the latest addition: the box Leo had brought back.

He hadn’t touched it much. Leo had told him to leave it alone until he showed them something. Donnie had tried to respect that. Barely.

Okay, maybe he’d peeked once or twice. Just to remind himself what was inside.

But even when Leo had taken them to the lab—the place he wanted to take them—something had felt... off. He was fidgety. Quiet. Dodging questions. Flinching at shadows. Like there was something more. Something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.

So Donnie had waited, hoping Leo would open up. Hoping that maybe it would make sense of whatever was buried in that box.

He still couldn’t shake how fast Leo had gotten rid of the other boxes—the ones they’d handed over to April. Yeah, it was mostly junk, but useful junk. Stuff they could’ve analyzed. Studied. Used. But Leo had hardly even glanced at them.

It hadn’t felt like he was trying to let go of bad memories. But more like… it felt like hiding something. Like he was trying to get rid of evidence by passing along the boxes. And Donnie hated that it didn’t sit right. He thought he could trust Leo again. Even after all the stunts he pulled.

With a quiet exhale, he lifted the box, wincing as the surrounding clutter rattled and clanked in protest. He cleared a spot on his worktable, setting it down carefully. Inside, glass vials shifted—soft clinks echoing like warning bells. 

He’d almost forgotten about those. The blood. Their blood.

It was late. Or maybe early. The sun was probably up, and he knew he should’ve been asleep hours ago. But his mind wouldn’t settle.

He pulled out the files, spreading them across the table with methodical precision. Page by page. Each one warped, some water-stained. A small, battered notebook came next—pages curled from overuse. He set it aside.

Then—the vials.

He picked one up, holding it to the light. The blood clung to the inside of the glass, sluggish and dark, like it was trying to claw its way out.

He stared too long. Then carefully, he set it back. Like it might explode if he breathed too hard.

Instead, he reached for the USBs. There were a few of them, plain and unmarked. For all he knew, they were junk—just things Casey and April had scraped out of the rubble.

He scanned the room, eyes landing on an old computer leaning against a stack of boxes. He’d meant to strip it for parts, but... if the drives held anything dangerous, better to wreck something already halfway broken.

He yawned, sleep tugging at the edges of his mind.

Now’s not the time to crash.

He squinted up at the ceiling, trying to guess the time—early morning? Midday? It didn’t matter too much. Since Bishop had wrecked half their tech, they'd been relying on one of April’s old phones to stay in touch. Maybe he’d call her depending on the time. Not for anything important—just to hear someone else’s voice. To feel like he wasn’t unraveling alone.

Too much time spent digging into Bishop’s leftovers, and the fog always came back. Thick. Suffocating. And he couldn’t talk to his family about it—especially not Leo. April would just steer the conversation into a therapy session, and as for Casey... yeah, no thanks.

He exhaled heavily and set the half-dead computer down where the box had been.

Maybe he’d poke his head out, see if anyone was still awake. If not, he’d make coffee. Strong. Enough to keep the shadows out of his head and his hands moving.

It was going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

“Night, Leo,” Raph called, leaning out of his doorway as Leo disappeared down the hall. He waited—watching, listening—until he heard the soft click of Leo’s door closing.

Only then did he slip back inside and shut his own door with a quiet thud.

He grunted, wrapping his arms around his middle as a sharp, familiar pain stabbed through him. A hiss slipped from between clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and sank to his knees, the motion stiff and awkward.

Everything hurt.

He wasn’t even sure which part was the worst anymore—his ankle had been killing him for three days straight, and the night's so-called “race,” as Mikey kept calling it, had only made things worse. He’d lagged behind the whole night.

And the others had definitely noticed.

He slammed his fist against the floor. Not hard—but hard enough to feel it. Hard enough to vent something. He stayed there, shoulders heaving, trying to catch his breath.

It had been getting harder to keep up.

And harder to hide it.

At first, he’d told himself it was just side effects—leftover crap from whatever cocktail of pills he’d swallowed before everything went to hell at the lab. He figured it would wear off eventually.

But it didn’t.

He was starting to worry he’d done real damage. There were still days it felt like something corrosive was eating him from the inside out—slow, steady, poisoning him.

For weeks after they got back, he could barely eat. Food turned his stomach. Even water sometimes felt like too much. It had improved—somewhat—but on the worst days, he still couldn’t keep a meal down.

What the hell did I do to myself?

It had just been one stupid decision. One foggy, desperate choice. He hadn’t even meant to take so many of the damn things. 

It shouldn’t have been this bad.

And yet his body wouldn’t cooperate. His muscles ached like they were splintering apart. Every attempt to train ended the same: stumbling, falling, failing. No progress. Just pain.

He kept trying. But his body kept giving out.

And the more he pushed, the more it felt like he was breaking.

But Raph wasn’t going to let Bishop win. Not again. He could break, bend, splinter into pieces—but he’d tape himself back together if he had to. He wasn’t weak. Bishop hadn’t broken him.

It wouldn’t happen again.

He pushed himself off the floor with a grunt, pain lancing through his ankle like fire. White-hot heat flared behind his eyes. It felt like his body was coming apart—bit by bit, muscle by muscle.

He’d slipped sometime during the fight and hit his knee hard. Which sucked since his ankle already throbbed. 

Still, he forced himself onto the bed, moving slowly, jaw tight against the pain. His insides twisted, a ballooning dread filling his chest like it might burst and choke him out.

He checked, and a large bruise had bloomed across his knee. He bit the inside of his mouth as he tried to touch it. His entire left leg was essentially shot.

In a few hours, he’d get up and train. Not in the dojo—he couldn’t risk waking anyone. And he’d die before letting someone walk in and see him struggling like he had lately.

No. He’d sneak into the tunnels. He’d train until his body gave out, or until he got it right.

Then he’d come back, pretend he’d been asleep, and wait for the others to wake up.

He would not let Bishop be the thing that broke him. 

Mikey blinked, slow and uncertain, trying to reorient himself. The world around him wavered—blurred at the edges, soft and unfocused. The air itself seemed to ripple, like a disturbed reflection in water. Everything shimmered, but not with dreamlike beauty. It shimmered like something broken. Cracked.

The room felt grey. Not colorless exactly—there were hues, shifting and crawling across his vision—but it all seemed drained, like someone had painted over fear with a thin coat of light.

He didn’t know where he was. But something deeper than memory told him he’d been there before. Fear had carved it into him.

His skin prickled. A voice beneath the surface screamed at him to run. Not a voice he could hear—just a knowing. Urgent. Instinctual. He had to leave, to escape the itching dread clawing through him. It was like a hive of bees had erupted in his chest, furious and directionless.

He stood up. Had he been sitting?

The world pitched sideways. The grey melted, shifted—became something else entirely—until his feet found solid ground again. But his stomach rebelled, and the bees screamed louder, stinging his insides, trying to rip free. As desperate to escape as he was.

A thud. Loud and soft at once, like a body falling far away. It rocked the ground beneath him—but somehow, he felt nothing.

He turned toward the sound, his vision tilting, lagging behind his movement. The room swam, then settled. Something dark lay slumped on the floor. Still. Too still.

He held his breath. Waiting for it to move. It didn’t.

Another thud.

He spun around, too fast, not waiting for the world to catch up. The floor twisted under him. His stomach knotted—angry bees clawing at his insides, screaming for him to stop. Another figure. Sprawled out. Unmoving.

Then—another thud.

This time, he expected it. He turned more slowly, almost dreading what he’d see. A third dark shape. Crumpled. Lifeless.

His head swam. His knees wobbled. He shut his eyes to make the world stop spinning. It didn’t.

He tried to run. But something touched the back of his head. Not hard—just enough to stop him. Cold. Metal.

His breath caught. His body froze.

It was like a hand pressing him down, holding him in place—not with force, but with the weight of inevitability.

“Don’t move.”

The voice was broken—uncanny. It slithered around him, cold and wrong, crawling into his ears and down to his gut. It stirred the bees. Agitated them. They buzzed louder, crashing into his ribs, swarming his thoughts. Drowning everything else out.

They wanted out. He wanted out.

The cold, solid thing pressed harder against his skull. The voice kept speaking, but the words warped and bled together—meaningless, sharp sounds.

Then a hand. Around his throat. Not squeezing—just there. Lingering. Like it was waiting. Still, he couldn’t breathe.

The bees screamed. Roared.

Out. Out. Out.

They didn’t care how. They just needed it to stop.

Pull it. Just pull it.

His teeth clenched. His jaw ached. The voice coiled tighter, wrapping around him like a snake made of sound. Why wouldn’t it just finish it? Why was it toying with him?

The buzzing. The thrumming. The aching. The stinging. It had to end.

There was only one way to quiet the storm.

He wanted to crack his skull open. Let the swarm inside him finally escape—burst free, just like they wanted. Then, maybe, he’d have the silence he needed to breathe.

The cold metal pulled away from his head. But there was no relief. The bees kept buzzing, louder now, clawing at the walls of his mind. He wanted to turn around. To scream at the voice—beg it to leave or—

“Just do it!”

Something sharp jabbed the side of his neck. It sank deep. He gasped.

His knees buckled. He dropped.

He couldn’t move. But he saw feet—black boots—approaching. Heard them. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then—white light. Blinding. Burning. His skin flared.

“Ah!”

He bolted upright in bed.

Panting. Clutching his neck where the sting still echoed.

His room swam into focus—messy, lived-in. Not grey. Not hollow. Not that place.

The chaos in his head quieted. Not gone, but dulled.

“Another dream,” he groaned.

He wished he could tell when they were coming. The dreams. They hit without warning—always the same, more or less. But every time he landed back inside one, he forgot none of it was real.

Even after a few minutes, his chest still wouldn’t settle. Breath hitching.

He swung his legs out of bed and shuffled to the door. The hallway air met him—musty and stale, but better. Easier. He could breathe.

His stomach growled—not with bees, just plain hunger.

He rubbed the back of his head, fingers brushing the phantom memory of cold metal. A sigh slipped out. The dream had shaken him, but more than anything, it just pissed him off.

He padded to the end of the hall—then stopped. A sound. Sharp. Quick.

“Hello…?” he called softly.

Something moved. A shadow froze.

“Mikey?” A voice whispered.

He squinted, stepping closer, trying to make out the figure.

“Jeez, Mike,” Raph exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “You scared me.”

“Raph? What are you doing up?” Mikey stumbled forward into the dark.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

Raph twitched, eyes flicking toward the exit. “Yeah… something like that.”

Mikey’s gaze narrowed. “Were you going somewhere?”

His skin prickled. The hive stirred—uneasy, not loud yet, but awake.

“No,” Raph answered too quickly.

Mikey didn’t push. “Yeah? I was just heading to the kitchen.” He paused. “So you’re just... standing out here because…?”

“I needed some air,” Raph muttered, folding his arms and nudging the ground with his foot.

Mikey raised an eyebrow. The lie hung in the air, but he let it float. “Right. Well… you heading back to bed?”

Raph hesitated. “No.”

“Good,” Mikey said through a yawn. “Mind if I hang with you a bit? Don’t think sleep’s coming back anytime soon.”

Raph studied him, then nodded. “Yeah, alright. You okay?” He took a step closer.

No , Mikey thought.

“I’m fine,” he said with a half-scoff, brushing off the concern. “C’mon. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Raph cracked a small smile. “As long as you follow an actual godforsaken recipe this time.”

In the kitchen, Mikey was halfway through another stack of waffles, watching impatiently as batter hissed and bubbled out the sides of the waffle maker—one of the best things April had ever given them. He’d lost count of how many he’d made already. But the rhythm, the smell, the warmth—it was kind of therapeutic.

“You know you don’t need that much batter, right?” Raph leaned against the counter, biting into another waffle. “Pretty sure we’re good.” He nodded toward the two overflowing plates beside him.

“Think of it as meal prep,” Mikey said, flipping the waffle maker open with a grin.

A voice cut in. “Okay, what’s going on in here?”

They both turned. Donnie stood in the doorway, blinking blearily, coffee mug in one hand, the whole pot in the other.

“Hey, Don.” Mikey smiled and spooned in more batter. “What’s with… all that?”

Donnie glanced down at his hands, as if surprised to find the evidence. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get some work in.” He set the pot on the counter, then squinted at the waffles. “And... what are you doing?”

Mikey held up a fresh stack, grinning. “Waffles!”

Raph raised his own, deadpan. “Waffles.”

“Alright,” Donnie said slowly. “Well... I just came to grab some coffee before I, uh, start working.”

“I’m gonna pretend that pot isn’t still full of coffee, that this room doesn’t smell like a barista exploded in it, and that you haven’t been up all night and just go with it,” Mikey said, pointing his spoon at Donnie and flicking a dot of batter at him. “Instead, I offer you a sacred gift.” He held out a plate. “Waffles?”

Donnie gave him a look—mildly annoyed, mostly tired. But after a beat, a smile cracked through. He sighed and took the plate. “Yeah, alright. Waffles.”

Mikey grinned and held up a waffle like a toast. “To waffles.”

Raph snorted and lazily lifted his own. “This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever done—and I know weird shit.” He tapped his waffle to Mikey’s. “To waffles.”

Mikey turned to Donnie, eyes wide in anticipation. Smile wider.

Donnie rolled his eyes but raised his plate. “To waffles,” he muttered, the deadpan barely hiding the smile tugging at his mouth.

Chapter Text

Raph rubbed his eyes, trying not to wake Mikey. Of the two, Mikey had picked the far less comfortable way to sleep—folded over the counter, face-down, one arm draped over his head, snoring like a motor. Unfortunately, he was right next to Raph, and even the slightest sound made his face scrunch up in protest.

Donnie wasn’t fully asleep either. He kept nodding off over a notebook, blinking slowly, reading a few lines before drifting again.

Raph shifted, wincing as his ankle twisted awkwardly. He'd climbed up on the counter before Mikey had fully passed out, and his leg throbbed from the long stretch of awkward sitting. His knee creaked as he straightened it, then gently lowered it back down.

Mikey had caught him earlier, on his way to train. At first, Raph was annoyed—he needed that time. Without it, he’d keep falling behind. He was planning to wait until Mikey nodded off again before sneaking away.

But then he saw his brother up close—too pale, eyes glazed but strangely alert, hands shaking, breath coming too fast.

He couldn’t walk away after that.

Neither of them would’ve gotten any sleep anyway.

Besides, a short break from training wouldn’t set him back too much. Hopefully.

Raph looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Mikey stirred beside him, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself upright. Donnie’s head snapped up from his notebook, blinking as he looked around.

“Whoa. What’s going on in here?” Leo stood in the doorway, blinking in sleepy confusion. “Did I sleep in or something?”

“Nope. We’re just up early,” Mikey said, swaying a little as he yawned.

“Super early,” Raph added, rubbing the back of his neck.

Leo took in the scene: empty mixing bowls, way too many spills, a leaning tower of waffles, and the overworked waffle iron still smoking faintly on the counter.

“Whoa. What’d I miss?” Leo rubbed his neck and casually peeled a waffle off the wall.

“Waffles,” Donnie said, lifting a heavily stacked plate like it explained everything.

“Waffles,” Mikey echoed, thrusting a plate into Leo’s hands with a proud grin.

Leo glanced at Raph like he could decipher the madness for him. 

Raph just shrugged and smirked. “Waffles.”

“...Right.” Leo accepted the plate like it might bite him. “Has April said anything yet? About the stuff?” He turned to Donnie.

Donnie blinked, like he’d just surfaced from underwater. “Huh? Oh—uh, let me check.” He tucked the notebook under his arm and shuffled off.

Raph lowered himself from the counter, trying not to show how much it hurt. The moment his foot touched the floor, pain shot up his ankle, then into his knee—sharp, hot, and sudden. It spiked behind his eyes like a burst of white noise, leaving him dizzy for a second.

His mind crackled with too many things at once. First, the sharp pain pulsing up his leg. Second, the deep, familiar ache buried in his bones. And third—the low, persistent buzz of irritation aimed squarely at Leo.

Leo hadn’t explained the plan. Not fully. And he could tell he was holding something back. There was a twitchy, restless energy in him—like he was bracing for a punch no one else could see. The others noticed it too. No one said anything, but they felt it.

“Are we going out again?” Mikey started to collect the scattered half-eaten waffles.

Leo bit his lip and nudged a piece of waffle around his plate. “Well… let’s see what she finds first.”

Donnie reappeared, holding up a cracked phone. “April says she might have a lead. She and Case want to meet later to go over it.”

“Alright. Let me know where,” Leo said, setting his barely-touched plate aside.

Donnie grimaced, jabbing at the screen. “Every time I use this thing, I get closer to losing my mind. I need to finish the T-phones before this thing gives out completely. Or I break it.”

Mikey snorted as he stuffed cold waffles into a plastic bag without the slightest care for order.

“I’ve got a sinking feeling we’ll be eating waffles for days,” Raph muttered, tossing a stray one toward him.

“Don’t act like you’re not thrilled,” Mikey shot back, catching it with a grin.

Raph groaned but held onto his smile. At least Mikey had gotten some sleep. Skipping training didn’t weigh on him as heavily knowing his brother had finally crashed. It would’ve felt worse sneaking out while Mikey was still awake.

He still hated training so far from the lair—but better that than waking everyone up.

“Hey, Leo,” he said, trying not to limp as he walked over. “Everything good?”

“Me? Yeah, of course.” Leo’s voice wavered slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Raph narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been acting… off.”

“Off?” Leo let out a short laugh. “I’m just tired. Last night was our first real patrol in weeks. It was a lot.” He gave a casual shrug, but it didn’t land.

“You seemed a little shaken after,” Raph pressed.

“I said it’s nothing, alright?” Leo’s tone sharpened. “I’m gonna check if Donnie’s heard from April again.”

Raph crossed his arms, watching Leo walk off—not quite stomping, but close enough. 

Mikey shot him a nervous glance as he grabbed Leo’s unfinished plate, and somehow, that only made his irritation flare hotter.

Leo was holding something back. It clung to every word he said, tightening the air between them, setting his teeth on edge.

He hoped it was nothing serious. He needed it to be nothing serious.

Because Leo wouldn’t keep something dangerous to himself.

…Right?

Donnie was desperate to do anything but walk. His fingers twitched, his hands restless—begging for something to do. For the first time since they’d returned, all he wanted was to be working.

Second only to that was the urge to dive back into the notebook. He was nearly halfway through. It had been Mesmer’s—his notes on them, his thoughts. The deeper he read, the more he saw Mesmer's thinking evolve, shifting page by page. Like watching a key slowly turn in a lock, until everything clicked into place. He witnessed Bishop’s descent into madness unfold in real time.

He wanted to dig into the other materials too—the folders, the samples, the USB drives. He needed to go through all of it.

The thought filled him with anxiety, but also a low, steady excitement. His wildly misplaced enthusiasm was the only thing stopping him from shoving the box back into the corner and walking away for good.

“April!” Leo’s voice snapped Donnie out of his thoughts and away from his jittery hands. He turned to see Leo knocking on her window.

“Hey, dudes.” Donnie turned again at the sound of a voice behind him. Casey was climbing up onto the fire escape.

“Hey, Case,” Raph said, raising a hand from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Case!” Mikey barreled past Donnie, nearly knocking Casey over as he threw his arms around him. “It’s been too loooong ,” he whined, dramatically. “Do you know how bored I’ve been? I’ve only had these dudes to talk to.” He gestured at the others with theatrical despair.

“Ahem.” April cleared her throat as she pushed open the window, raising a brow.

“Oh, yeah—and April, I guess.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

“It’s only been three days, Mike,” Casey grunted, prying the clingy turtle off him.

“Like I said: too long ,” Mikey replied, adding heavy emphasis to each word.

“Hey, guys,” April said, climbing out and shutting the window behind her. “It’s a little cramped out here. Let’s head to the roof.” She tucked her laptop under one arm and handed a box to Donnie.

Donnie set the box down as he reached the roof. He glanced inside: a lab coat, notebooks, vials, a syringe.

Something stirred—soft, like distant alarm bells. A cold sensation crept from the back of his neck and pooled in his stomach. That old, familiar unease rose again from where it had settled deep in his bones.

“You okay, Donnie?” April’s voice cut in. Too close.

“Huh?” His head snapped up. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

That look crossed her face. The one that always meant she didn’t believe him and that she wanted to pry.

“You just seemed… off,” she said. “Didn’t say much last night. I figured you’d be more interested in all this science junk.” She nudged the box with her foot.

“It’s mostly junk. Didn't feel like it needed my attention.”

April looked from the box back to him, eyebrows raised. “Right... well, this junk is causing quite a stir right now.”

She turned to Leo as the others climbed up onto the roof.

“I did what you asked, Leo. Looked into who’s been asking around about this stuff. Found a few sketchy chat rooms—people saying someone’s paying big money for anything that survived the fire. Everything from important stuff like notes and chemicals, to little things like pencils and beakers.”

“Why?” Raph asked, frowning. “Someone just wants their research?”

“Or,” Donnie said, his voice quieter, “someone wants to erase every trace of them.”

He looked at Leo—who bit his lip and looked away. Guilty.

“That’s what I was wondering,” April said, opening her laptop. “At first, I thought someone was just trying to erase every trace of the place—but when I went looking...” She sat down, resting the laptop on her knees.

The others gathered around and Donnie's heart dropped.

That building.

He’d never seen the outside. Three months locked behind pristine white walls—and not once had he seen the exterior. Maybe for a second. Right before it collapsed in flames.

But he recognized the surrounding buildings. Of course he did. That night was carved into his memory. It played on a loop whenever things got too quiet.

But the image on the screen wasn’t rubble. It wasn’t an empty lot.

It was a fully intact building.

“Is that... the place I think it is?” Casey asked, voice barely steady.

“It is,” April said, clicking on a link.

A colorful page opened:

The Testudines Institute.

“I thought the site was gone,” Casey muttered. “The whole place was scrubbed off the face of the earth when we went back looking for it.”

“What is it?” Mikey asked.

“This was Bishop’s cover while you guys were…” April hesitated. “They posed as a freelance health clinic. Offered experimental treatments, new drugs—asked for volunteers.” She sat back. “I wanted to sign up, just to get inside. But Casey thought it was a bad idea.”

“And I stand by that,” Casey said firmly.

Memories swirled in Donnie’s head, fragments pulling together like static on a screen.

“So that’s where he got them from,” he muttered.

“Huh?” April and Casey turned toward him.

“The machine,” Donnie said quietly. “The one that started all of this.” He looked down at his hands, his muscles twitching with phantom memories. “He had test subjects. Volunteers. Patients. I don’t know what he thought of them. Just parts for the process, maybe.”

His voice faded. “That’s why he had to keep rebuilding it.”

Again. And again. And again.

He’d never really thought about where the volunteers came from. Hadn’t cared.

The machine had a purpose. It was meant to do something—create, transform, succeed. But it kept failing. It came back to him broken, over and over.

And every failure… what did that mean for those people?

When he started messing with the machines—just trying to get under Bishop’s skin…what had that meant for those people.

“…onnie? Donnie!”

He blinked and looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Jeez, dude,” Casey sighed, pulling his hand back from Donnie’s shoulder. “You totally spaced out.”

“Sorry… yeah. What were you saying about Bishop’s cover? What kind of volunteers was he using?”

April scrolled further down the site. “Anyone, really. I checked one of the intake forms—they didn’t turn people away. There were checkboxes for asthma, allergies, heart conditions, migraines, eczema… even cancer. Said they were offering experimental treatments.”

“So basically, he was targeting desperate people,” Raph growled. “A free miracle cure, if you were willing to put up with his psycho garbage.”

“I still can’t believe you almost signed up for that whack job’s experiment,” Mikey said, shaking his head.

“Yeah… I’m starting to think I dodged a bullet,” April muttered. She glanced at her screen, then at Leo. Her tone shifted. “Can you all give us a minute? Leo, a word.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

She handed the laptop to Donnie as she stood. “You can check it out if you want. A lot of it’s been changed.”

Donnie sat down with the laptop, eyes trailing after April as she pulled Leo to the far side of the roof. He should have been worried about that—but his focus snapped back to the screen in front of him.

“The Testudines Institute, huh?” Raph said, leaning over his shoulder.

“A little too on the nose, if you ask me,” Donnie muttered, scrolling. “Here’s their mission statement.”

Here at The Testudines Institute, we are committed to facilitating adaptive outcomes through specialized methodologies. Our freelance operatives—comprised of multidisciplinary professionals—engage in targeted initiatives that prioritize patient-specific efficacy, resilience, and long-term stabilization. Our work champions persistence, calculated innovation, and, above all, results. We bring results to our patients when the conventional systems fails them.

Mikey squinted at the screen. “It’s so… wordy.”

“It’s so bullshit, ” Raph added. “They just threw in a bunch of medical jargon and hoped no one would question it. I’ve got a better one: Here at the Bullshit Institute, we use the blood of innocent teenagers to make the world a worse place. ”

Donnie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a low buzz running through them. His insides twisted. The deeper he looked, the worse the feeling got—like falling, slow and steady, with no bottom.

He found the site menu and scanned through the options. “Is this what you and April were talking about?”

He clicked on a tab labeled Volunteer Applications.

The Testudines Institute is currently enrolling select individuals for participation in a series of ongoing clinical assessments and adaptive biomedical trials. These studies focus on the development of next-generation therapeutic modalities, some of which are not yet available through conventional healthcare channels.

Ideal candidates possess a high tolerance for ambiguity and a willingness to contribute to research that may benefit populations beyond traditional reach.

Participation is strictly confidential. All procedures are conducted under the oversight of our internal ethics review committee and doctors.

Outcomes may vary. Informed consent is flexible. Contacts MUST be signed

Casey wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“What does that even mean?” Raph leaned in closer, squinting at the screen.

“But wait,” Mikey leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Why are they still taking patients? Why are they even still running? ” He glanced at the others. “Wasn’t the whole thing based on our blood? And what about that machine?”

Donnie’s chest tightened. The anxiety coiled up, sharp and fast.

Mikey was right.

How could the operation be running… without them ? Without Bishop ?

“Maybe they’re just running normal medical trials?” Casey offered with a shrug.

Everyone turned to look at him, unconvinced.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Stupid idea. But maybe they’ve still got some of the stuff they made from your blood. Maybe they’re trying to get results from that.”

“But I doubt they can do much without the machine,” Donnie said, still scrolling. “Last I saw, it was mangled beyond repair.”

The site was vague—frustratingly so. No clear names, no real information. Just polished language meant to sound reassuring and say nothing at all.

He frowned. “Why didn’t you and April tell us about this earlier?”

“What?” Casey blinked. “I thought—” He glanced toward April and Leo across the rooftop, then back. “I guess… we forgot to mention it,” he said, with a weak chuckle. “Didn’t seem that important, since everything was supposed to be wiped.” His tone was off. Too stiff.

Donnie’s eyes flicked back toward April and Leo, a cold thread of suspicion tugging at his gut.

What is going on?

He opened his mouth to speak—and right on cue, April’s voice rang out across the rooftop, sharp and stern, disbelief cutting through the air like a blade.

“LEONARDO HAMATO!”

Chapter Text

April dragged him to the far side of the roof. Her expression flickered—caught somewhere between confusion and annoyance—before settling into a guilt-inducing blend of both.

“Either your brothers are dealing with some serious memory loss, or something else is going on.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“I-I don’t know what you mean…” he said, voice thinning into uncertainty.

“Drop it, Leo.” Her tone sharpened, making his spine stiffen. “Why did everyone look so confused back there?”

He turned away, shoulders rising in a weak shrug. “Aren’t we all a little thrown off?” He forced a shaky smile. “The site being back up… the whole building being there again—it’s a lot.” He exhaled, the weight of it all pressing down on him again.

April's expression softened. She reached out, catching his hand before it could make its way to his chest. The gesture stopped him cold. But the tenderness in her eyes quickly hardened, and the look she gave him dropped like a stone in his gut.

“Yes… all of this is a lot. But they didn’t even seem to know what the website was!” Her voice dropped into a harsh whisper, sharp with disbelief. “You did tell them about it, right?” She crossed her arms.

“It didn’t seem important.” He looked away, guilt coiling tight in his chest.

“Leo, ” she hissed.

“He was gone! I didn’t think they needed to know about a site that didn’t exist anymore!” He threw his hands up, frustration cracking through his voice.

April tapped a finger against her arm, scanning the rooftop like she was searching for the right words—gentler ones.

“You’re right,” she said finally. “It wasn’t fair to dump all that on you and expect you to pass it straight on. And I’ll even ignore the fact that you insisted on being the one to break the news to them in the first place. I should have known that would be a lot on you.”

“I didn’t want them worrying about something that wasn’t even a problem anymore.” He tapped a finger against his chest, silently counting his breaths.

“I get it,” she said, holding up her hands. “But after finding that box in the rubble and your… well, I doubt an old website would've rattled them much. I can imagine they didn't take the whole part about your sword well, so maybe leaving out the website was smart.”

He bit his lip and turned away. A knot of guilt twisted in his gut.

“Leo…” she drew his name out, slow and suspicious. “Why do you look like that? Leo, what did you do?”

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, angling his body away from her.

“Leo,” she said again, voice rising, “what didn’t you do?” Her eyebrow arched, sharp and expectant.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The truth poured out of him before he could stop it. Words tumbling out of him like a waterfall of guilt. Until—

“LEONARDO HAMATO!”

Leo cringed as April shouted his name. She stood rigid, hands on her hips, the exact annoyed expression he’d been dreading etched across her face.

“April… calm down.” He extended a tentative hand.

She inhaled slowly, controlled. “I am calm, ” she said, voice low and sharp. “But what the heck is wrong with you?”

Leo pressed his lips together and averted his eyes.

This wasn’t how he’d planned to tell her. Not that he had a great plan. He hadn’t really had a plan on how to try and explain that he’d sort of not entirely lied to his brothers. So he hadn’t told his brothers that Bishop might still be alive. So what? No one had seen him. No one had heard from him. No signs. Nothing concrete.

“Leo, they need to know,” April said, her tone firm and unforgiving.

“I know…” he muttered. “I just thought… if he is gone, then why make everyone panic? We’d be living with that shadow over us, always looking over our shoulders.”

She took a slow breath, like she was trying to compose herself.

“Leo. My dear, irritating, aggravating friend. I love you—you’re a great brother, a solid leader, and one of the best people I know. I know you always have the team’s best interests at heart. And even above that, your family’s well-being. But this—”she jabbed a finger at him “—this is not the best course of action!”

He winced. “I was going to bring it up… soon.”

“Were you going to bring it up before or after everything blew up in our faces?” She crossed her arms tightly.

Leo kept his mouth shut. Smart move.

“We don’t even know there’s still a threat out there,” he tried, gesturing vaguely out over the city. “There could be nothing.”

“Leo,” April said calmly, dangerously. “Your katana was sticking out of a pile of smoking rubble.” She punctuated each word with a sharp smack of her fist into her palm.

“Maybe it was… I don’t know, a polite construction worker. Or one of the interns. Or another scientist,” he offered with a helpless shrug.

“You left the sword protruding from a man’s chest!”

He winced again—more from the memory than her tone.

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry. That’s not how I meant to say it. But do you see what I’m saying? Please, Leo, just tell me you’re the slightest bit concerned?”

“I am. I—” He stopped. Nothing he could say would make what he'd done sound any more reasonable to her.

She lowered her head, trying to catch his eyes as he stared at the ground. “Leo,” she said quietly, “with everything we found… you realize Bishop could be behind this, right?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

He wrapped his arms around himself, as if he could hold himself together by force. He felt like he might split in two. “I know,” he sighed. “It crossed my mind the second I saw the building. I was going to tell you—it’s just… I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t know how.”

April rubbed a hand over her face. “Trust me, I get that. But, Leo, you have to tell them.”

“I will,” he said quickly. “I will, April. But—can’t it wait? They just had a bomb dropped on them. I can’t pile this on right now.”

April glanced toward the others, then back to him, arms crossed tightly. “Fine. What’s tonight—Saturday?” She took a breath. “You have one week—a little over one week—to tell them. You have until next Sunday. If you don’t, I will.”

He opened his mouth to talk but she held up her hand.

She stepped closer, grabbing his arms. “And you have to promise—you’ll all be extra careful.” Her voice was stern, but he caught the tremble beneath it. “Promise me, Leo.”

“I promise,” Leo said, nodding.

“Good. I’ll be checking in every night. Every night. And if I don’t hear back, I’m assuming the worst and barging in—unannounced, loud, and incredibly annoying.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, okay, I get it.” Slowly his smile faded. “Do I… have to tell everyone about Bishop?”

April blinked, confused—then he saw the realization dawn. She rubbed her face, clearly torn.

“Don’t… don’t tell Splinter. Not yet,” she said at last, exhaling like the decision hurt to say out loud. “Unless something happens, or I find out more. I just… I can’t put him through that again.”

Leo wrung his hands, nodding slowly. He wasn’t sure what felt worse—keeping their father in the dark, or making him relive his worst nightmare. The team could handle it. But Master Splinter…

“Speaking of,” he said, clearing his throat. “He didn’t do so well last night when we got back. I don’t want us out too late tonight. We should head back home.”

April didn’t look too pleased with how quickly Leo tried to get everyone off the roof. Probably because she knew exactly why—he didn’t want to talk about Bishop anymore.

“Hey,” Donnie said, jogging to catch up. He adjusted the box April had given them in his arms. “Everything okay back there?”

“Oh, uh—yeah.” Leo picked up his pace, trying to outrun the conversation.

“You sure? We just found out a lot, and I’d get it if you weren’t feel—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped.

He froze, eyes wide, and immediately raised a hand to his mouth. Donnie stopped too, blinking at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice low. “Sorry, Don.”

“I get it,” Donnie said with a shrug, eyes dropping to the box in his arms. “It’s a lot. But honestly, better we find this out now than when it’s too late.”

He glanced up at him—and something in his expression made Leo’s stomach tighten.

Does he know?

Leo tried to shake off the chill crawling down his spine. “So… what’s in the box April gave you?” He asked, resuming his pace, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Some of the stuff we pulled last night,” Donnie said, falling in step. “Mostly notebooks, a few vials, and a lab coat. Casey said they’re trying to track down the buyer. If we figure out who’s behind it, maybe we’ll get some real answers.”

Leo exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. “I thought we’d be done with this by now.”

Donnie’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Dirt like Bishop takes a while to wash off.”

Leo gave a humorless laugh. “And he leaves one hell of a stain.”

His hand drifted absently to his chest.

He didn’t mean to touch it—but his fingers found the scar anyway, tracing its familiar, unwelcome path. The staples were gone. No more to count like misbegotten worry beads. He missed them, in a twisted way. At least they gave him something to do besides feeling the carved path left behind.

He hated looking at it. The slight discoloration, the shape still carved too neatly, like someone had signed their name into him. He hated looking at it. But his hand kept going back—up, down, counting ghosts.

Maybe Bishop had a point about their DNA. Donnie said a wound like that—jagged but also surgical—should’ve taken a year, maybe two, to heal. But he'd been nearly fully healed in a month.

He wished it had taken longer. So he could have kept it wrapped up and hidden away. He didn’t want to see it. Wear it. Carry it.

He didn’t even notice they were back in the alley until Donnie passed in front of him, setting the box down.

“Raph, can you help me get this down?”

Leo blinked. His finger was still curled around his chest. It felt like his ears had been ringing, and sound was only just now fading back in.

He didn’t know what to do. Where to stand. How to help. That same helplessness—cold and familiar—slid over him like a weight. The same numb feeling he’d drowned in back at the lab, and had then settled dormant in his bones, waiting to be shaken loose.

“Okay, hand it down once I’m on the ladder. And be careful,” Donnie called.

Raph rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

Leo was still frozen, stuck somewhere between moving and not, when a sudden thud behind him snapped him out of it.

He turned to see Mikey flat on the ground, limbs splayed dramatically as he groaned, “Oof…”

“Ow…” Mikey rubbed the back of his head, already pushing himself upright.

Leo opened his mouth to ask if he was okay—and then tell him to be more careful—but then he saw it. The Blood.

And just like that, his mind spun out.

Chapter Text

Mikey had been forcing the smile all night. He had to keep things light, even as it felt like the whole world was pressing down on them, trying to smother every breath.

His skin still buzzed with anxiety, stretched too tight over his bones, like his entire body was crawling beneath his skin.

Bishop’s lab was up and running again. That place. Those people.

He didn’t know how to feel. A part of him was almost—almost—glad it hadn’t been completely destroyed. Despite the weeks lost inside those sterile walls, they’d become oddly familiar, even comforting. When the lab was gone, it had left a strange emptiness inside him, a hollow stitched together by misplaced emotions and unsaid certainties. In some twisted way, it had felt like home.

If he admitted to anyone how much he missed those pristine white walls, they’d look at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. He had to be.

He kept chatting lightly with Raph the whole walk back, filling the space with harmless words. Steering clear of the unsaid conversations floating above them all. Anything to avoid the creeping silence. Silence gave his thoughts too much room to breathe. And when that happened, the fears always found a way to grow.

“Raph, can you help me get this down?” Donnie called from the other side of the alley.

“Sure thing.” Raph walked past Mikey.

Mikey stayed at the mouth of the alley, his mind ringing in the sudden quiet. A few feet ahead, Leo stood frozen. His face was hidden, but something about the way he stood—too still, too stiff—felt wrong, like he was locked in a trance.

“Leo, you good?” Mikey took a cautious step forward—and that’s when it happened.

His momentum betrayed him. One foot caught as the rest of him kept moving. Something—cold and fast—snaked around his ankle. Pain stabbed through his leg, sharp and blinding before sinking in deep.

He gasped. The world spun sideways. The ground rushed up.

CRACK!

His chest slammed into the asphalt, his chin narrowly missing a brutal collision. His knees struck the pavement with a sickening crunch even through his knee pads. The sharp pain in his leg flared hot and bright, then settled into a heavy, throbbing ache.

“Oof,” he exhaled sharply, struggling to catch his breath.

He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from whatever had grabbed him, but his ankle was free—nothing there. As gravity settled back over him, he braced his hands against the ground and tried to push himself up.

“Ow…” he groaned, feeling his arms and legs buzz with that familiar sting of landing too hard.

Rubbing his head, he squinted through one eye as he sat up. Leo was standing in front of him, wearing a faintly annoyed expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but his lips clamped shut just as quickly. His face went pale.

“Mikey! What happened?” Leo suddenly dropped to his side, voice tight with concern.

Mikey shifted, trying to push himself up onto his knees, but Leo’s hand shot out and pinned him gently by the shoulder.

“I think I just tripped, relax, dude,” Mikey said, trying to lighten the mood.

Leo didn’t respond. His hands trembled slightly, his eyes locked onto something behind Mikey—something he couldn’t see.

Mikey propped himself up and turned to see what had tripped him. The trash people left behind in the city was confusing at best, concerning at worst. He really wasn’t looking forward to discovering which piece of disturbing street junk had made him eat asphalt.

He followed Leo’s gaze, trying to see what had drained the color from his face. His stomach flipped when he spotted the blood. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make his gut twist.

A cut ran along his ankle—the kind that looked worse than it proably was. It barely hurt, more of a dull, throbbing pulse than sharp pain. But between him kicking to free his leg and the fall itself, the blood had smeared all over his foot and leg, making it look much nastier than it was.

His head snapped back to Leo, who was still crouching rigid.

“Leo, Leo—hey, it’s okay.” Mikey let out a nervous chuckle, gently pushing Leo’s hands away. He pulled himself upright, shifting until he could sit with his leg stretched out. “See? Just a scratch.” 

Well—not exactly just a scratch. But he doubted Leo would care about technicalities while locked in his current spiral.

“What happened?” Raph asked, standing up from where he’d been crouched by the manhole.

“Nothing,” Mikey said, forcing a smile into his voice. “I just tripped.”

“Donnie!” Leo finally spoke, whipping his head around.

Donnie popped up, glancing over. “Huh? What?”

“Don’t listen to him, Donnie—he’s crazy!” Mikey called out, voice loud and overly dramatic. “It’s just a scratch!”

“That’s a little more than a scratch,” Raph muttered as he stepped closer, eyeing Mikey’s ankle.

“But it’s not like my foot’s gonna fall off.” He tugged his leg away as Leo reached for it again. “Seriously, it’s fine. You’re just freaked out. Take a breath, dude.” He pushed himself to his feet, trying not to wobble. “Then you’ll see—it’s nothing.”

He caught Raph and Donnie exchanging a look, but couldn’t tell whether it was for his sake or Leo’s.

“Look, really—it’s fine. I just fell.” Mikey reached down, offering his hand to Leo. “This is just one of those... uh, what did April call them?”

“Trauma response,” Donnie supplied.

“Yeah, that. Trauma a whatever.” Mikey pulled Leo up and brushed off his legs.

“I don’t have trauma with people slipping. It’s not a response,” Leo said through gritted teeth. “Something just… feels off.”

“Alright, but maybe you can admit that you were—” Mikey paused, gesturing toward Donnie.

“Triggered,” Donnie supplied without missing a beat.

“Triggered by the blood?” Mikey finished.

Leo didn’t answer. He just crossed his arms, jaw tight.

“Come on, dude,” Mikey said gently, placing a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “If you keep freaking out, then Dad’s gonna freak out too.”

Leo’s face twitched. He exhaled, shoulders dropping just slightly. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just… concerned you hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine, really. See?” He held out his leg. “Just a little blood.”

Leo grimaced. “Donnie, will you—”

“Don’t worry, Leo, I’ll check him out,” Donnie cut in.

“See? All better.” Mikey clapped his hands, forcing a smile.

As they started heading back down, though, something inside him hummed—a feeling he couldn’t quite place. Not fear exactly. More like... foreboding. Like something deep in his gut had sparked awake and was quietly screaming at him to run.
Run from what? He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to make Leo any more anxious, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back. His eyes swept over the emptiness. Nothing there—but still, he felt it. Like something unseen was watching him, trying to hold him in place. A chill crept down his spine.

He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling. A storm was coming.

Chapter Text

Donnie’s hands still itched for something to do. He wanted to dive back into the notebook, crack open the new papers, tinker, read—anything that let his mind wander and latch onto something.

But Mikey came first. At least getting him inside was still something to do .

He ushered Mikey toward the lab as fast as he could manage. The last thing they needed was their father spiraling. If Splinter panicked and benched them, they could lose the thin lead they were barely holding onto. He wasn’t sure what would be worse. Finally getting answers, despite how much they wouldn’t like them. Or letting their one chance at closure slip through their fingers, leaving them forever trailed by a shadow.

He didn’t even know exactly what they were looking for. He just needed proof . Something. Anything that told him Bishop wasn’t still out there.

They were nearly in the clear—Mikey halfway into the lab—when he heard it: a panicked, “What happened?”

So close. Leo had been distracting their father just long enough.

“Michelangelo.” Splinter rushed over, worry etched deep into his face.

Donnie almost winced. He felt guilty for trying to sneak the injury past him—almost.

“What happened?” Their father cupped Mikey’s face, tilting it gently side to side as if checking for damage he couldn’t see.

He hated the fear in his father’s eyes—so uncharacteristic, so raw. Lately, it felt like even breathing wrong could set him off into a spiral.

“Oh, this?” Mikey glanced down at his bleeding ankle like he was just noticing it. “I tripped.” He flashed a grin, casual, effortless.

Donnie exhaled. Mikey was selling it better than he’d expected. If only Leo could pull off the same ease. His anxiety, tangled with their father’s, was creeping over Donnie like a net, heavy and suffocating.

“Doing what?” Splinter still hadn’t let go of Mikey’s face.

“Uh… walking?” Mikey shrugged. “We were heading home, and I tripped over some garbage. Just me being clumsy.” He laughed, light and hollow.

Donnie watched his father’s shoulders finally relax—and felt his own do the same. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Are you okay?” Splinter asked, though his eyes said he wanted to ask more.

“Of course,” Mikey said, grinning. “I’d have to be pretty lame to let a tiny scratch take me out.” He laughed, gently prying Splinter’s hands from his face.

“You should be more careful,” their father sighed, voice soft but heavy with worry.

Donnie caught the flicker across Mikey’s face—a twitch, barely there—but his little brother just nodded and laughed along, playing the part like a pro.

“Yeah, I know. Donnie was just about to help patch me up.” He nudged Donnie’s side with a little more force than necessary, a quiet: Hurry up.

“Oh—yeah. Let’s take care of that.” Donnie steered him toward the lab, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. He flashed it at their father one last time before closing the door behind them.

Leo was still outside, throwing together some half-hearted reassurances as the door shut.

Inside, Mikey was already perched on an old stool, staring at the floor. Not directly at his ankle—but Donnie would bet anything that’s exactly where his thoughts were.

It’s just a scratch, he reminded himself. We shouldn’t be so... on edge about this. He let out a quiet sigh.

Grabbing the first-aid kit, he knelt by Mikey’s foot. That’s when he noticed it—a slight tremble in Mikey’s hand as he dabbed around the cut with a rag. It wasn’t even bleeding much. Clean slice. Nothing serious.

Then why does it feel that way….

“Mikey,” Donnie said, nudging his good leg.

“Huh?” Mikey’s head jerked up, eyes unfocused, then dropped again. “Yeah, Don?”

“I’m gonna clean the cut now. You know the drill—I tell you it won’t hurt, but we both know that’s a lie.” He tore open an alcohol pad and gently wiped around the wound.

Mikey scrunched up his face. “Is this the part where I yell ‘ow’ and you say I’m being overdramatic?”

Donnie scoffed, then pressed a little harder with the pad. “It’s really not that bad.” He pulled the pad away to inspect the area. “Actually, it’s pretty clean cut.”

Mikey groaned and tipped his head back. “Please don’t tell me that was your attempt at a pun. We can’t all be the funny one, Dee.”

Donnie rolled his eyes and reached for a bandage. “I have half a mind to give you stitches for that.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mikey said, narrowing his eyes. “Besides, if I walk out of here with stitches, it’ll only freak Leo out—and you don’t want that mess on your hands.”

“I’m not the one who hurt himself walking, ” Donnie replied, dryly.

Mikey’s hands twitched. “I wasn’t being stupid or anything,” he muttered.

A twinge of guilt twisted in Donnie’s gut. “I didn’t say you were. Honestly, I didn’t see anything either. I mean, yeah, the street’s a dump—but nothing that looked sharp enough to do this.”

Mikey let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Thank you! I knew it wasn’t my fault.”

“Hold still.” Donnie pressed his hands lightly to Mikey’s leg as he started applying smaller bandages to the cuts and scrapes on both legs. “Could it have been the dumpster? Maybe you hit your leg on the corner when you fell?”

“Maybe...” Mikey swung his uninjured leg lazily. “But it felt more like my foot got tangled in something. Or like something ... I dunno. And I don’t think the cut came from the fall. It was more like... I fell because of the cut.” He shrugged. “But what do I know?”

Donnie paused, eyes lifting to Mikey’s face, his mind already running.

“Sooooo, what did April give you to look at?” Mikey asked, swinging both legs and nearly kicking him.

He leaned back just in time. “Just some more junk,” he muttered, shrugging. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say yet.

Mikey’s tone shifted, sharper now. “It’s not just junk. I know it’s from Bishop’s lab. And I know it matters.”

Donnie rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but his chest tightened. “Well, obviously. I just mean... It’s Bishop’s junk. ”

“You and Leo are terrible at hiding things,” Mikey said, standing up.

Donnie sighed and stood too, knees cracking slightly as he rose. “Leo? I don’t think either of us are really trying to hide anything.”

His eyes drifted to the notebook lying open on his workspace. Truth was, he did think Leo was holding something back. Or maybe just shielding them from how worried he really was.

Mikey scoffed. “Please.” He rolled his eyes. “Leo’s been a nervous wreck. You’ve been buried in... something. And I know you two aren’t on the same page—because I’ve seen the way you look at him. That look you always give us.”

Donnie frowned. “What look?”

“You know— that look. The analyzing, annoying, science-face look.” Mikey gestured vaguely at him. “It means you're trying to figure something out. And when you aim it at one of us, we can tell.”

“I do not have a look,” Donnie said, scoffing. “Maybe you’re just paranoid.”

Mikey gave him a look of his own, not even bothering to respond to that one.

“And I’m not hiding anything,” Donnie added quickly. “Go ahead—look through the box. No secrets. Just a bunch of random junk.”

“Yeah,” Mikey muttered as he slid off the stool, “and I’m just a normal turtle.”

He leaned over the box, shifting through the contents with a clatter of glass. “How did any of this even survive? There’s so much glass in here.”

“They probably stored the smaller stuff in reinforced cases or compartments,” Donnie said, rummaging through the box. He pulled out a vial and held it up to the light.

“Is it weird this junk gives me the creeps?” Mikey asked, cringing. “I know it’s just… stuff. But it’s creepy. I mean—this was there. Bishop could’ve touched it.”

Donnie froze, his grip on the vial loosening slightly as a chill crawled up his spine. Mikey was right. All of it probably had been Bishop’s. Except maybe the lab coat and the ID tag—neither had a name, just a plain keycard with a barcode. Probably a spare. That’s why it looked so untouched.

“Anyway…” Mikey let the last piece of glass clink back into the box. “You probably want me out of your nonexistent hair.” He shrugged and stepped back. “I’ll let you science it up.”

At first, Donnie didn’t say anything. He really didn’t need distractions. The lab was his space—especially after Bishop. And Mikey? He was the most likely to knock something over just by existing.

But... aside from going out or when April and Casey visited, none of them had really hung out since coming back. April had tried to break them out of their hermit shells, but she’d only been so successful.

Maybe having someone there wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it’d keep him from disappearing too far into his own head.

Mikey could definitely provide background noise. And even if he had no clue what Donnie was talking about, he’d still kind of listen. Anything was better than the silence that was starting to eat at him.

“You want to help me organize some of this?” Donnie asked casually, eyes still on the box as he dug through it.

“Huh?” Mikey looked up, surprised.

“I need to clear space for a new project. And all this Bishop stuff’s been getting in the way. Plus…” He held up a cracked vial. “Cardboard isn’t exactly ideal for storing glass.”

He pretended not to notice the way Mikey’s face lit up.

“Sure!” Mikey said quickly. “I mean—I guess I can sacrifice my valuable time for science.”

Donnie rolled his eyes and crossed the room to grab the second box. “Just don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.”

Raph stared at his door. The walls felt like they were closing in, pressing tighter with every second. If he looked long enough, he could swear they moved. Breathing walls. Suffocating walls.

He just had to wait for everyone to fall asleep, then he could go out and train. 

His body ached—heavy, sluggish, like every muscle had turned to lead. Not just his legs. All of him. He was getting soft, lazy. He just needed to move. That would spark his energy back. He was sure of it.

And moving would shut his brain up. It was spinning, overloaded with everything they’d learned about Bishop’s place.

There was something wrong. Off. Not just the fact that Bishop's operation was up and running again—but the way everyone was acting.

Leo? Weird. On edge. 

April? Pissed about something she wasn’t saying. 

Donnie? Had something that seemed to be eating away at all his thoughts. 

Mikey? Well... he was just Mikey.

It felt like a storm cloud hanging over all of them, heavy, waiting to break.

Raph pushed to his feet, the silence pressing in harder than the walls ever could. He couldn’t sit still a second longer. Surely everyone was asleep. Or at least distracted enough not to notice him leaving.

He crept down the hallway, each step sending a dull twist through his leg. Every muscle felt like it was knotting up, but he ignored it. Pain didn’t matter. Sitting still hurt worse.

He thought he was home free—almost to the exit—when he spotted a shape hunched in the dark.

“Raph?” The shape shifted, voice low and groggy. “What are you doing up?” Mikey rubbed at his eyes, blinking blearily.

Raph let out a quiet huff. “Could ask you the same thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a sense of deja-vu.”

Mikey shrugged, rubbing his face with both hands, stifling a yawn. “Didn’t feel like sleeping yet.” His voice was soft, frayed at the edges. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah.” Raph crossed the room and dropped down beside him with a quiet grunt. “What’s keeping you up?”

Mikey’s hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers twisting together like they had a mind of their own. His shoulders curled in slightly, the usual easy grin replaced with something tighter, strained.

“I think we both know why we can’t sleep,” he muttered. “And I think we both know no one really wants to talk about it.” He forced a lopsided smile, eyes flicking to Raph’s face.

Raph looked away, scowling faintly. His shot at sneaking out to train? Gone with Mikey awake. But maybe Mikey wouldn’t care if he just walked out. Or maybe, if he pushed the right buttons, he could convince him to go back to his room.

“But something tells me the reason you’re up isn’t the same reason I’m up.” Mikey’s gaze dipped to Raph’s leg, lingering. “How’s the leg?”

Raph blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? What’re you talking about?” He tried not to bristle, but it crept in anyway.

“I saw you slam it the other night,” Mikey said, voice low, almost careful. “And you’ve been favoring your right leg all day.” His chin tilted toward Raph’s other leg, sharp and quiet as an observation.

“Oh.” Raph exhaled, brushing it off with a shrug. “Minor thing.”

“Didn’t look too minor.” Mikey’s eyes didn’t leave his knee, like he was trying to make it confess. “You kept shifting your weight. Winced every time you stepped wrong.”

Raph rolled his eyes. “You sound like Don’s creepy diagnostics mixed with Leo’s scolding.” He smirked faintly. “But seriously—it’s fine. Should’ve iced it, yeah, but it’s just sore.”

Mikey didn’t look convinced, but his mouth stayed shut, fingers twitching against his leg.

Raph’s gaze dropped to Mikey’s foot, returning the scrutiny. “How’s yours?”

Mikey stared at it, like he forgot it was there. “Just a scratch,” he said after a beat. “More annoying than painful. Honestly, wiping out like an idiot hurt worse than the cut.” He lifted his leg slightly in demonstration, the corner of his mouth quirking—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Raph looked at his wrapped-up ankle and the small cuts on his leg. “It keeping you up?”

Mikey shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor—but not his foot. “Nah… Don asked if I wanted to help him sort through some of the leftover lab stuff.” His fingers twitched against his knee. “Kinda left me… jittery after.”

The quiet stretched between them, heavy but something he was starting to get familiar with.

Then—

“Do you think Leo and Donnie are hiding something?” The words slipped out of Raph before he could stop them, pushed loose by the silence pressing down on his chest.

Mikey didn’t look surprised. Like he’d been waiting for someone to ask the question and all he had to do was find the right words for the answer. He just sat there, turning the question over, eyes distant. “Yeah,” he said finally. “But… I don’t think either of them knows what the other’s hiding.”

Raph let his head tip back, staring at the ceiling, at nothing. The feeling was still there—that sense of a storm creeping in, just outside, waiting for the right moment to hit.

“Think it’s worse than they’re letting on?” His voice was low, like saying it louder might shake something awake.

Mikey glanced over, quiet for a second before tilting his head back too. His voice barely broke the silence. “I hope not.”

Chapter Text

Bishop had found an abandoned warehouse a few blocks away from his lab… or what had been his lab. It was completely empty, save for a few old crates and a staircase he found leading underground. The room below wasn’t large, but if he sealed off the stairs, no one would find him. He doubted the agency was looking for him— yet —but it never hurt to be cautious.

As soon as he settled in, he had to work fast. Even beneath layers of concrete and steel, he could still faintly hear the sirens. The wreckage would be crawling with people, which meant soon the agency would take over the scene. By some miracle, the lone bulb overhead still worked, casting pale light over the dusty space.

He tossed his gear onto a battered table. The room was cluttered with fold-up tables and stacks of old chairs. He laid Mesmer out on one as carefully—and quickly—as he could manage.

Warm blood still trickled from his stomach, strangely comforting in the cold. He shivered, willing the wound to heal faster. He needed strength. He needed to know if the turtles had escaped the blaze—or if they’d been caught in it.

No. They had to have gotten out. They always did—slippery little pests. Still, he’d have to go back. Salvage what he could before the cleanup teams erased every trace.

Something shifted at the edge of his vision. He whipped around, hand flying to a gun that wasn’t there.

His shoulders dropped as he exhaled. Mesmer’s arm had slipped off the table, fingers dangling lifelessly. Bishop stared at him, irritation rising like bile. This was Allen’s fault. All of it.

He needed something—anything—to cover him. A blanket, a tarp. Something to cover that damn body.

He could still fix things. He just needed time. A moment to think. A plan. Anything but that look on Allen’s face—eyes still open, glassy and accusing.

He couldn’t even do the polite thing and close his eyes before…

Bishop turned away, pressing both palms against the counter. His stomach throbbed with pain, sharp and relentless. He just needed a second. Just one.

A breath.

Then he’d fix everything.

“Damn it!” He cursed as the ground gave way beneath him, sending him sliding down the ashy mound.

He’d known the fire might trigger a collapse, but not like what he’d found. The entire building was a sooty, smoldering ruin. He didn’t have long before the place was crawling with agents. The firefighters had cleared out—probably called off by someone way above their pay grade.

Gritting his teeth, he reached into a crumbling pile as something shiny caught the light. A vial—miraculously unbroken. Relief flared. He’d salvaged more than he expected. He’d brought the briefcase with him, not bothering to empty it out beforehand. He didn’t have the luxury of sorting it. But it was filled with junk he had no problem dumping if he needed more room.

“Son of a—” His foot slipped, sending him tumbling down a steep slope. He hit the ground hard, groaning as he pushed himself up and slammed his fist down in frustration.

“What a useless waste of spa—”

He froze.

His eyes locked onto something just ahead.

A sharp jolt ran through his chest and gut, twisting deep. One hand bunched his shirt, squeezing hard until the pain dulled. The thought clawed its way in anyway.

Fear.

No— not fear , he told himself. He wasn’t afraid. Not of it . Not of them.

Lying just an arm’s length away, dented but mostly intact—except for the wide gash down its middle—was a filing cabinet.

That cabinet.

He pushed himself upright, looming over the wretched thing. The gash in his abdomen burned, a deep, pulsing throb—like his body itself was growling at it. He planted his foot on the cabinet and shoved hard, tipping it onto its side. The motion did nothing to ease the anger bubbling in his chest.

He snarled, something wild and ragged clawing its way up from the pit of his gut.

“Gah!” He raised his foot, ready to kick again—

Then froze.

Movement.

Voices.

“April,” a young voice whined, “how much longer do we have to dig through this mess? It’s ruining my clothes.”

A second voice, sharper: “Our friends practically came back from the dead, and you’re worried about your wardrobe? We barely started.”

“I know,” the first voice said, softer. “But… I don’t want to be gone too long. We promised one of us would always stay back with them. What if they wake up?”

The words clicked into place. The voices washed over his mind, unlocking memories.

Bishop’s breath caught. The voices weren’t familiar—but something about them burrowed under his skin. He crept closer, peering around a twisted beam of metal rising from the debris.

And there they were.

Fiery red. Jet black.

Them.

Those damn kids.

The ones who started the downward spiral. The ones who had circled his lab like vultures, always watching, always meddling. The ones who made his staff anxious. Made their work slip. Made him slip.

Probably the reason the turtles managed to disappear so quickly after the fire. Because God knows they were always lurking nearby.

He clenched his fist, something dark biting at his stomach. If only he had his gun. He could hit those turtles where it hurt. He would break them apart piece by piece, starting with the ones who messed it all up.

Maybe he could still try and take them on. He might be able to take out one.

No… they could have their own weapons. 

His foot slipped as he tried to hide again. He cursed under his breath, afraid they’d heard him. As he looked down he saw something shiny catch the light. 

A shiver shot down his spine, making his body freeze.

Fuck.

He knew what it was even buried under the clutter. He knew what that damn thing was. That … that thing admittedly set his teeth on edge. His breath became shallow, stomach lurching as an invisible blade twisted through his flesh.

“Hey, Red, I think I found something over here!” The closest voice called out again.

He had to leave, he couldn’t let his plans be foiled again. But right before he started to go he looked down at the blade buried in the rubble, then down at his case, then at the cabinet. And an idea slowly formed in his head. 

Maybe he couldn’t destroy them with brute force.

But sanity? That was something he could dismantle.

Piece by piece.

He’d stayed behind just long enough to make sure the kids found the little scene he’d staged. They’d report back to the turtles—he was certain of it. The thought made his skin tingle. He could already feel himself getting under their shells. Every time he pictured their reaction, that smirk crept back across his face.

Almost worth the vials of blood he’d left behind. Almost. That would get under their skin. Seeing their blood, taunting them from inside glass prisons... it would be like twisting a knife into them with his own two hands.

Still… he could have used it.

Without his implant, he needed something to keep whatever was coursing through him stable. The wound in his gut and chest had a nasty habit of tearing open again.

And then there was the other issue…

He stood at the counter in his makeshift lab, tucked into a corner of the basement. Using what blood remained and a few of the stolen vials, he’d managed to keep himself alive. Barely. He still felt like he was dying—just at a crawl instead of a sprint. He’d need more blood soon. But that was tomorrow’s problem.

He held up the vial he was working on. The contents had turned a strange, murky violet. Not what he was used to. But the batch was far more concentrated. He needed it that way.

“Yes…” he murmured. “This might work.”

He turned and crossed into one of the side rooms. Judging by the layout, the basement had once been a break area—folding tables, a counter with a sink, even a deep freezer.

He approached it, listening to the soft hum of machinery. It still amazed him that he’d gotten it running.

He lifted the lid. Cold air rushed up, brushing his face. The pale figure inside met him with a wide, blank stare.

“Time to see what this can do.”

Nothing. 

He still had nothing.

He was running out of blood—and out of formulas. Whatever was inside him was eating him alive. He was dying.

He could drop what he was doing. He couldn’t risk waisting so much of the blood on his stupid little side project. He could stop trying to... but no. He was too close. He just needed more blood. Not a lot. Just a little.

And fate, for once, had been kind. It wasn’t hard to track the turtles once they started going out again. Eventually, they even stopped bringing their human chaperones out with them.

As much as he wanted revenge, he wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t take them all at once. And even one on his own was a risk—they almost never split up. He’d almost had Leonardo the other night—if only the bastard hadn’t moved so fast. He’d hoped those idiots they were fighting might land a hit, maybe draw a little blood for him. No such luck.

If only he had a gun. He could take one out from a distance. Hell, if he’d had a gun from the start, they’d all be his by now.

But sneaking in the shadows would have to hold him over. He was getting tired of the small ways he'd been using to get the blood he needed. Small scratches here and there. Barely being able to draw enough blood he needed. He'd almost been caught before, he'd been too forceful with the cut. But if he worked fast enough... tonight would be the last time he would need to get blood.

He would have to make a bigger cut, one they'd definitely notice. One they probably wouldn't shrug off as a small scratch or accidental bump. He almost dropped the plan. All his hard work would go to waste if he messed up.

Then—his moment came.

He knew where they usually ended their patrol. All he had to do was wait. 

Tucked behind a trash can, half-buried in discarded junk, he lay flat on his stomach. The uneven ground bit into his side, grinding against his wound. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain. 

His fingers twitched around the knife in his hand.

And then it was better than he could’ve hoped for. The others had their backs turned, fumbling with something heavy—distracted. And Michelangelo was right there. Right in front of him.

“Leo, you good?” Mikey called, starting to move.

Bishop made his move. One hand clamped around the turtle’s ankle, yanking him off-balance. The other hand struck fast—knife flashing. He slashed deep. Quick and clean.

Before Michelangelo could even hit the ground, Bishop had already pulled back. Blood shimmered on the blade. A few drops spattered across his fingers. He scraped the blood off the blade into an empty vial. He watched the drops slowly roll down the side.

Perfect.

His eyes kept slipping shut—sleep tugging at him. He’d been awake for hours. But he couldn’t rest. Not yet. Not until he knew it had worked.

He turned the vial in his fingers, holding it up to the light. Waiting. Watching. Still the same dull green. He wasn't sure if tweaking Allen's old formula had worked.

His heart sank.

He wanted to smash it right then and there. All that work—wasted. All that time. All for what? Nothing.

He clenched his jaw. All that effort, just to help that worthless, impotent, backstabbing—

The color shifted.

His breath caught. A tired smile crept onto his face. He’d done it. He just needed to make sure it worked.

Moving quickly, he filled a syringe, flicked it once, then pressed it into cold, unyielding skin. His fingers left pale marks where they had gripped. The needle slid in. When he pulled it out, there wasn’t even a bead of blood on the skin.

Not a good sign...

He stepped back and let the syringe fall to the table with a clatter.

Suddenly, his mind was swarming with every way it could fail. That voice was back—the one that never really left. Crawling through his skull. Tightening around his thoughts until it was the only thing he could hear.

You really think you can fix this? This is your fault. You're not saving anyone. You just want to shake off the guilt. Think this'll make it disappear? This shame will never leave. You should be drowning in it. Choking on it. Letting it smother you.

He turned away, bracing himself against the counter. His breath came in ragged bursts. The room was too hot, the walls too close. Pain flared in his gut. The gash had mostly scabbed, but it still burned—like it was bleeding all over again.

He clutched at his chest. His heart thundered. Too fast. Too hard. Strange . He wasn’t used to this kind of panic.

He needed to break something. Rip something. Tear it all apart just to quiet that voice.

He growled low in his throat, fingers curling into his shirt until the fabric tore. It didn’t help. The burning didn’t stop. And still, the voice pressed in:

What makes you think this changes anything? You think it erases what you did? He’ll still hate you. You still ki—

Something moved. Behind him.

A breath. A soft gasp.

Then another. Louder.

The body on the table twitched—jerked. Its back arched violently, limbs stiff and shaking. It choked on air, eyes rolling back. Then, with a ragged cry, it sat upright, clutching its chest, panting hard.

He froze. Shock turned to wonder. Then to a smile. A real one. A twisted one.

“It worked,” he breathed.

He stepped forward slowly, the smile stretching across his face. “Hello… Allen.”

Chapter Text

Mikey tapped his foot impatiently, leaning against the tunnel wall. A week underground had smothered him. The air felt heavy, thick with concrete and silence, pressing in until his thoughts felt too big for his skull. He was crawling out of his skin.

Okay— maybe he was being dramatic. Casey had convinced his dad to let him walk the tunnels for a couple hours. But still . Underground was underground. And Casey? The boy had flitted around him like a nervous hummingbird the whole time.

Ever since Mikey’s so-called “fall” (if you could even call it that), Casey spent the whole walk hovering, fussing, and fretting like Mikey was going to collapse at any second.

Which— fine —was kind of endearing. In small doses. But he was starting to get sick of the sympathy and the worry. Maybe another time, he’d accept the pity. Right now, he just wanted to move. He’d never been more desperate for people to care less about him.

“Okay, yeah. Thanks, April. We’ll head there now,” Leo said, tossing the flimsy phone back to Donnie as they stepped out of the lair.

Mikey straightened, pushing off the wall. “So? Can we go now?” He bounced on his heels like he might take off running either way.

Leo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “April talked Master Splinter into it. She set up a drop—says whoever’s been buying back the stolen supplies agreed to meet. We drop off the box, watch from nearby.”

“Splinter only agreed because this might be our best shot at figuring out who’s behind it,” Raph added, his voice low. “If it’s really… to see if this is trouble or not.”

“Yes! Finally! ” Mikey punched the air.

“Well, since you’re so excited,” Raph said, shoving the box into Mikey’s arms, “you can carry this.”

“Oh, you know…” Mikey took a quick step back. “Owww. My foot hurts too much for that.” He grabbed at his ankle, where only a single band-aid remained from his fall,

Donnie rolled his eyes as he brushed past. “Then I guess you’re staying home.”

“What? Nooo. ” Mikey whined. The idea of another night inside, surrounded by the same stale air and endless walls, made his skin crawl.

Lately, the only thing keeping him sane was staying up late with Raph. Every time he jolted awake from some weird dream—or couldn’t fall asleep at all—Raph would either already be awake or wander in soon after.

Raph never said much. But Mikey could tell his mind was always somewhere else, eyeing the exit like it owed him something. And maybe Raph wanted space, wanted him gone. But Mikey couldn’t make himself leave. It was selfish, sure. But having someone else awake made the nights less unbearable.

“If you’re still not feeling well, you should stay,” Leo said, lingering behind him with concern. “You might’ve fractured something when you fell. I told you—if your leg starts hurting, you have to tell us.”

“I’m fine, Leo.” Mikey waved him off. “If I’d wiped out like that a year ago, you guys would’ve laughed and not let me live it down for like a week. But now I’m apparently a puppy with cancer.”

“For the record,” Raph said as he passed, hand raised, “I did laugh. On the inside. Still kinda funny.”

“Same,” Donnie added without looking back, raising his hand in deadpan agreement.

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Wow. The brotherly love—it’s overwhelming.” He stuck his tongue out at both before turning to Leo again. “See? They don’t care. You’re the only one freaking out.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Unless… you know something we don’t?”

Leo’s face twitched. Just slightly. But Mikey caught it.

“Just kidding, jeez,” Mikey said slowly. “Look—I was clumsy. I tripped over trash. The city’s a mess, and I fell. That’s it. So relax.”

Leo scowled, fingers absently picking at the scar on his plastron.

“Come on, Leo—it’s Saturday. Lighten up!” Mikey bumped into him with a grin, casually nudging his hand away. “Human teenagers love Saturdays. Let’s embrace the spirit!”

That only seemed to darken Leo’s mood. “ Saturday, ” he muttered like the word had personally wronged him.

“Can we please pick up the pace?” Donnie called from halfway down the tunnel, already several steps ahead.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Mikey spun on his heel and jogged to catch up.

April had managed to reach someone online—supposedly the person behind the strange buybacks of the stolen supplies. They’d agreed to a swap: the box gets dropped off, the buyer picks it up, leaves the cash behind. Clean, anonymous, easy.

Or it could be a trap. But it was the only lead they had.

The plan was simple: drop the package and watch from a distance. With any luck, the buyer wouldn’t be hiding their face. If it was Bishop, great—they’d finally have proof. If not… well, there was a reason they were only giving up one box. They might need to run the plan more than once.

Above ground, Mikey moved down the sidewalk, the box clutched to his chest. He scanned the block, eyes searching for the drop-off point—a rusted green bench near a busted payphone. Somewhere in the stretch of cracked concrete and flickering streetlights, their buyer was waiting, probably watching.

“So remind me again why I’m the one dropping this thing off?” Mikey hissed under his breath.

“You make the best sacrifice,” Raph’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Raph!” Leo snapped.

Raph sighed—loud and unrepentant. “Because you haven’t done anything useful tonight.”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Right. And remind me again why you had time to make us new comms, Dee, but we still don’t have T-phones?”

“Because,” Donnie’s voice blared, way too loud, “I already had the comms and T-phones take time. Now shut up and walk ten more feet.”

Mikey scoffed and took exaggerated, dramatic steps, eyes scanning the street. “There!” he whispered. “They said a bench with a purple sticker on it, right?”

“And graffiti on the front right leg,” Leo confirmed.

“This is New York— everything has graffiti.” Mikey crouched down to check. “It’s gonna be, like, a thousand tags.”

“It’s graffiti of… something I’d rather not describe,” Leo said, his voice trailing off with regret.

Mikey’s mouth quirked into a grin as he read it. “Nice,” he muttered. “How tasteful.”

“Okay, place the box on the bench,” Donnie instructed.

Mikey set it down like it might explode, then stepped back with his hands up. “’Kay. It’s down.”

His eyes flicked around the street. Someone had to be watching—no way it was just a drop-and-go.

“Now walk away,” Leo said. “Back to the alley by the stop sign. I’m on top of the bank, Raph’s near the laundromat, Donnie’s across from the deli. If something goes sideways, call it and run toward one of us first.”

Mikey squinted up toward the rooftops, but couldn’t spot Leo or Donnie anywhere. Good. Hopefully that meant no one else could either.

“Aye-aye, Captain,” he muttered, giving a small salute toward where he thought Leo was. Then he spun on his heel and strolled casually down the street.

He slipped into a narrow alley a few yards from the bench—just far enough to stay hidden, close enough to keep watch.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Less than ten minutes passed before Leo’s voice buzzed in his ear. “I see someone.”

A pause.

“Donnie, you got eyes?”

“Sure do. Looks like they’re wearing a cloak or something.”

“I feel like that outfit draws more attention,” Raph chimed in. “Why not a hoodie? Or, I don’t know, a hat?”

Another pause.

“Then again,” Raph added, “this is New York. City’s seen weirder.”

Mikey leaned out from behind the wall, careful not to make a sound. A shadowy figure moved toward the bench, the oversized hood swallowing their features.

“They look… small,” Mikey whispered. “Not, like, tiny , but… I dunno. Not Bishop-sized.”

“Wow. Thanks for the precision,” Raph deadpanned.

“I mean it,” Mikey said, still watching. “They don’t move like him.”

Bishop wasn’t exactly muscular, but he wasn’t a skinny man either. The figure approaching the bench looked smaller, even swallowed up in the big coat, their frame looked different.

The figure reached the bench, pausing for a moment as if listening to the night. Mikey held his breath.

Relief slowly seeped into his chest. If it wasn’t Bishop, then maybe the risk was lower than they thought.

But then…

Who the hell was it?

He leaned out farther, squinting hard to see beneath the hood—

Then the figure’s head snapped up, eyes locking with his. They clutched the package tight to their chest.

Mikey froze. He knew that face.

“Hey! I know you!” He gasped, peeling out of the alley just as the figure turned and bolted.

“Mikey!” Donnie barked over the comms. “What are you doing?!”

“Great job, airhead—you scared 'em off!” Raph’s voice followed, loud and breathless. He was probably already in pursuit.

“Oh, come on!” Mikey huffed, feet pounding the pavement. “Like they didn’t already see me walk into that alley! They had to have been watching before I even set the thing down. You think we were the only ones who decided to stay and watch the deal?”

“Mikey!” Leo’s voice called out—he couldn’t tell if it was through the comms or from somewhere nearby.

He took a sharp corner and nearly wiped out. His bad foot skidded, scraping across the concrete as he used the wall to steady himself.

The figure was still ahead, darting down another alley. They kept turning—left, then right, then left again—leading him deeper into a twisting maze of side streets.

It could be a trap.

“Wait!” Mikey called out. “I just wanna ta—whoa!”

He ducked just in time as a laundry line snapped toward him. A damp T-shirt slapped across his face, and a rogue clothespin clipped his cheek.

“Gah—seriously?” He muttered, swiping at his face.

When he looked up, he caught just a glimpse of the cloak whipping around another corner.

“Hey!” Mikey shouted, taking off after the figure. “I just want to—”

He skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into a wall.

“...talk,” he finished breathlessly.

The alley ended in a dead end. The figure was gone.

Mikey bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Sweat dripped down his face as he wiped it away. Running never used to take so much out of him.

“Mikey?” Leo’s voice rang out as he slid into view, eyes scanning the alley.

“Here,” Mikey wheezed, lifting one hand.

Leo sighed, talking into the comms. “Found him. Head back to the drop-spot.”

Leo rushed over. “Thank shell.” He grabbed Mikey by the shoulders and helped him stand upright, then immediately started turning him side to side, checking for injuries. “Are you okay?” He reached up, tilting Mikey’s face to look him over.

“Yeah... I’m okay,” Mikey panted, chest burning with every breath.

“Good,” Leo said—and then shoved him. “What the shell were you thinking?! You could’ve run right into a trap! What if Bishop had been here?!”

A flicker of irritation crossed Mikey’s face. “Well, he wasn’t. And that wasn’t Bishop. I wouldn’t have gone charging in if I thought it was him.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Leo snapped. “You don’t just chase random people like that!”

“He wasn’t random,” Mikey said, a small smile creeping in as he tried to ease the tension. “I recognized him. One of the interns. From the lab.”

Leo blinked. His breathing slowed. “What?”

“Yeah!” Mikey nodded quickly. “It was—uh—oh man, what was his name?” His brow furrowed. He used to know them all—names, faces, schedules. They’d been his only real constant for months.

“Ah... Ah-tu... Atticus! ” He clapped his hands, triumphant.

Leo froze. His eyes widened, gaze drifting toward the wall at the end of the alley. “Atticus?” He echoed.

“Yeah! Remember? When we escaped—he was there!” Mikey turned toward the dead-end wall, eyes scanning every crack and shadow, like maybe he was still there, just hiding. “If we could just find him, he’d be willing to talk. He can tell us what’s been going on.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t have chased him!” Leo snapped, grabbing Mikey’s wrist. “He worked for Bishop! He could still be working for him!”

Mikey’s eyes dropped to Leo’s hand, then back up to his face. His expression hardened. “Bishop’s dead,” he said flatly.

Leo flinched.

“He’s been dead. I know Donnie and Raph still question it because they weren’t there—but I was. You were. You killed him. He’s dead.”

Leo’s grip tightened.

“Just because someone rebooted his lab, just because one guy who used to work for him shows up—doesn’t mean Bishop’s magically alive again.”

Leo’s breathing grew shallow. His eyes weren’t focused anymore—he was staring straight through the pavement, miles away. He opened his mouth. “We don’t… we can never know for sure if he’s dead.”

Mikey tugged at his wrist again, but Leo’s grip didn’t loosen. It had gone rigid. Iron-clad.

“Casey and April found your katana in the rubble.” Mikey’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “If they found that —there had to be something of him around. It had been in him.”

A cold feeling washed over him. Dark. Heavy. Like the ground beneath them wasn’t as solid as it had seemed.

Leo said nothing.

“Leo…” Mikey’s voice softened, cautious. He looked down at the hand on his wrist. The grip had slackened.

It just hung there, like Leo wasn’t even aware of it anymore.

“I—I was going to tell you guys,” Leo blurted out. “But we were doing so well. We could go outside again. We weren’t scared anymore. I just wanted to wait until after tonight—after we knew for sure—I swear! ” He smiled, but it was all wrong. Stretched. Panicked. His grip tightened around Mikey’s wrist. “I was going to tell you about what they found. The filing cabinet. The box. The—”

“What about that stuff?” Mikey asked, his voice quieter. He looked up slowly. “What... about that stuff, Leo?”

Leo froze. His whole body locked up like it had been struck.

“I—w-what I meant was—my katana—it was—”

“Where did they find it?” Mikey stepped in, pulse hammering. “How did they find it?”

Leo took a shaky step back.

“It was just... there,” he mumbled. “Laid out. M-my sword was in the ground. The filing cabinet was upright, like he had never been…” Leo swallowed. “Right where I had... had…”

He went pale.

Above them, the clouds rumbled, the sky somehow growing darker. Mikey thought, bitterly amused, Guess the sky’s got a flair for the dramatic.

He finally yanked his arm free. “Then all the more reason to go after Atticus. If he’s working for Bishop, then we know he’s still alive. If Bishop’s still alive—”

“No!” Leo reached for him again, but Mikey jerked out of reach. He paused, looking up at the sky. “It’s going to start raining. We should find Raph and Donnie and go home.”

Mikey’s chest heaved. “Fine,” he huffed. “We’ll just have April set up another meet.”

“No.” Leo’s voice was hard. “No more meets. No more chasing leads.”

“What?” Mikey stepped forward. “He’s our only tie to Bishop.”

“That’s why we have to cut it off. ” Leo managed to grab Mikey’s arm. “We’re going home.”

Mikey fumed. He sucked in a sharp breath, chest swelling with a heat he hadn’t felt in a long time—anger.

“I’m not letting you keep us in the dark!” He snapped. “This affects all of us. We have a right to know—”

“I’m not letting you put us in danger! ” Leo spun around, voice like a crack of thunder.

Mikey froze. His heart slammed against his ribs. That wasn’t what he meant. That wasn’t what he was trying to do. He would never try to put them in danger.

“I’m trying to help us,” he said, but his voice cracked. A sharp pain pressed behind his eyes.

God, was he really about to cry? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid—

“You’re done with this,” Leo said, firm. “We’re going home. You’re off patrol until I say otherwise. And I know Splinter will back me.”

Mikey let out a breathless, disbelieving scoff. “Are you grounding me? I’m not five!”

“I don’t care,” Leo snapped. “It’s for your safety.”

He yanked Mikey’s arm again, but Mikey resisted, heels digging into the concrete.

Okay… yeah, maybe he was acting like a five-year-old. But he couldn’t let the lead slip away. It was the only one they had.

“Leo,” he laughed, bitter and breathless, “you can’t just lock me up.”

“I can ,” Leo shot back. “And I will —if I think you’ll do something reckless. I’m not letting you run off and try to lure out Bishop. Or worse.”

And then Mikey said it—

“Then you're just like him. ”

He ripped his arm away, stumbling back a step. 

Silence. The words echoed in the alley like a slap. He stood there, breathing hard, heart plummeting as he realized what he’d said. He froze. His mouth opened like he might take it back—but it was too late. The silence between them stretched long and heavy. The faint rumble of thunder rolled overhead, but even the city seemed to hold its breath.

Leo’s face cracked for the briefest moment, vulnerability flashing in his eyes. Mikey reached out, mouth opening without words. His anger—once a roaring flame—dissolved, replaced by a cold, tight squeeze in his chest.

Leo wasn’t angry. He looked terrified. He’d always just been terrified.

“Leo—I didn’t—I’m sorry—I just…” Mikey’s voice faltered. He swallowed hard and then shook his head. “Forget it.”

He turned away. His hand dropped limply to his side, curling into a fist he didn’t notice. He was still mad at him. But he still felt awful for what he’d said. He didn’t know what he felt anymore. Only that his face was seconds from breaking.

“Let’s just find Raph and Donnie.” His breath came out ragged. A raindrop fell on his arm, cold and sudden. His throat tightened so much it hurt as he forced the words out. “Let’s just go home…”

Chapter Text

Raph bounded across the rooftops, trying to keep an eye on the dark figure darting through the streets below. He’d forgotten how good it felt to run. For the first time in days, his leg wasn’t bothering him. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but the pain was fading—and for the first time in a while, he felt alive .

He hadn’t even trained all week, yet somehow he felt faster. Stronger.

The figure suddenly cut a sharp turn and disappeared into an alleyway. He cursed under his breath as Mikey skidded into the alley and followed without hesitation.

“Dammit, Mike,” he growled. “Leo—”

“I know,” Leo cut in.

Raph watched as Leo came to a stop at the alley’s edge. “I’ll go after them. You two try to cut them off up ahead.”

Raph glanced across the street. Donnie was a few buildings ahead.

“I just lost visuals,” Donnie called. “They turned right, then left—it’s a maze in there, Leo.”

“I’ll be careful,” Leo replied with a quick nod before vanishing into the alley.

Donnie looked back at Raph, gave a sharp nod, then sprinted off again.

Raph trailed behind Donnie, scanning the alleys for any sign of movement. He wasn’t sure if the silence from the others was a good thing or a bad one. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice Donnie had stopped.

“Whoa!” He skid to a stop, arms windmilling to keep his balance. “Jeez, Don! Where’d you come from? Weren’t you just—” He glanced across the street, confused.

“Didn’t you hear Leo?” Donnie asked between breaths.

“Uh... no?” Raph blinked. Had Leo called over comms? Had he really spaced out that badly?

“Leo caught up with Mikey. Looks like they lost the guy.”

“Damn.” Raph kicked the roof, letting out a breathless huff of frustration.

“Come on. We’re heading back to the drop,” Donnie said, already walking past him and motioning for Raph to follow.

Raph fell in step behind him, trying not to breathe so hard as he caught his breath. “Any idea what that was all about?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the alley behind them.

“What what was about?” Donnie replied, not slowing down.

“Didn’t you hear Mikey before he took off? He recognized the guy… gal? Whoever it was.”

Donnie paused mid-step, just for a second, before picking up his pace again. “Well, it obviously wasn’t Bishop. Mikey wouldn’t have gone after them if he thought they were dangerous—or if he thought it was... him.” He trailed off.

Raph stopped and crossed his arms. “ Mikey wouldn’t run headfirst into a possibly dangerous situation without thinking it through? Are we talking about the same turtle?”

Donnie scoffed, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Fair point. But I’d hope that if he really thought it was dangerous, he’d at least give us a heads-up. So I’m choosing to stay positive.”

Raph didn’t even dignify that with a response.

“Fine,” Donnie sighed. “I’m staying slightly less pessimistic.”

“Oh, shoot!” Raph suddenly froze as they dropped back down into the alley he’d been watching from earlier.

“What?” Donnie looked around, his stance sharpening.

“We never saw what they dropped.” Raph bolted toward the bench. “We all just started sprinting after them, but before Mikey made his move—they left something behind.”

They hurried over, but the bench was empty. Raph crouched, scanning the ground. “I mean, the whole point of this deal was supposed to be a swap, right?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said. “April said the buyer agreed on five hundred.”

“Dollars?” Raph looked up at him. “Jeez. Didn’t think anyone would want a box of trash that bad.” He brushed his hand along the ground near the pay phone. “Ah-ha!” He held up an envelope.

“Is it the money?” Donnie asked, leaning over to look as Raph stood.

Raph opened it and flipped through the contents. “Holy crap—it is.” A thick stack of twenties stared back at them.

Donnie let out a slow breath. “Good. If they brought the money, then it probably wasn’t a trap. And they likely had no idea who we were.”

“Should we have April set up another meet?”

Donnie shook his head. “Let’s wait. She’ll have to contact them as someone else—there’s no way they’ll agree to meet with us again after all this.”

“Damn it, Mikey.” Raph tilted his head back and sighed.

A single raindrop plopped onto his forehead. The sky above was dark and churning, heavy with storm clouds. The air buzzed with tension—like static humming just beneath the surface.

“Looks like we’re in for one hell of a storm,” Donnie murmured, glancing up. “I hope Leo and Mikey hurry up. I don’t wanna get stuck in this.”

As if on cue, a soft thump sounded behind them. Leo landed silently from the rooftop to the ground.

“Finally,” Raph muttered. “What’s up? Did we lose them?”

Leo didn’t answer right away. He looked annoyed, but his hands were trembling.

“When I caught up with Mikey, the guy was already gone,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s... a long story.”

“Speaking of,” Donnie cut in, stepping forward, “where is Mikey?”

Leo froze. His eyes stayed locked on the rooftop for a second too long—then suddenly darted around, scanning.

“He... he’s not here already?”

Raph felt a chill creep down his spine. A cold knot tightened in his chest. “No... he’s not behind you?”

He stepped past Leo, eyes sweeping the alley below... then the rooftops above.

There was no sign of Mikey.

Leo spun around, panic in his eyes. “He was in front of me. He went ahead—I thought he was just avoiding me. We had a fight.” His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. His hands trembled.

Raph felt the cold in his chest spread, sinking into his stomach, coiling tight around his lungs, leaking like ice into his veins. He grabbed Leo by the shoulders, trying not to shake him. “Why were you fighting?”

Leo blinked, as if snapping out of it. “He wanted to chase the guy. I told him it wasn’t safe, but... he didn’t want to lose the lead.”

“Then—” Donnie stepped forward, his voice calm in a way that only made things worse “—he probably went after him. He’s probably just looking for him.”

Leo drew in a slow breath. Raph unconsciously mirrored him, trying to stay grounded.

“You think so?” Leo asked, rubbing his hands together and pressing them to his chest.

“I’m sure of it.” Donnie placed a steady hand on Leo’s shoulder as Raph let go.

“Mikey?” Donnie called into the comms. “Mikey, where are you?”

Silence.

All three of them held their breath.

Nothing.

“Mikey!” Leo shouted. “Mikey, this isn’t funny! I told you not to follow him—get back here now!”

Raph tried to ignore the nervous crack in Leo’s voice on that last word. “We should split up. Go look for him.”

Leo practically whined, “What? No—we can’t split up!”

Donnie’s face hardened. “I think we should, Leo...” He hesitated, biting his lip. “But let’s stay close. At least close enough to hear each other. And we check in every minute. Okay?”

Leo looked like he wanted to say no. Instead, he mumbled, “Okay.”

Raph exhaled sharply, his body tense. He tapped his fists against his legs, trying to keep the rising adrenaline under control.

Mikey was just being stupid. He’d ditched them to try and prove a point to Leo. He was probably fine. Probably just ignoring them.

“Raph, take the right side of the street. Donnie, take the left.” Leo had straightened up, shrugging off Donnie’s hand. “Stay on the rooftops while I comb the ground.” He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “If I call your names, you answer. If I don’t hear from you every other minute, I’ll come looking for you myself.”

His grip tightened slightly before he let go.

Raph nodded, and Donnie did the same.

“And whoever finds Mikey first,” Leo added with a weary sigh, rubbing his face, “knock some sense into him before dragging him back.”

Despite the creeping worry tightening in his gut, Raph cracked a small smile.

It was going to be fine. They’d find Mikey, go home, and it would all be fine.

It had to be fine.

“Mikey!” Raph called out, his voice echoing down the empty street. He’d circled back to the spot where he and Donnie had regrouped earlier, hoping Mikey might’ve turned back and they would’ve crossed paths.

“Mikey!” Leo’s voice called from deeper in the maze of alleys—where Mikey had disappeared.

“Mikey, I swear to God, when I find you...” Raph muttered, rubbing his face. That uneasy feeling was no longer creeping—it was settling in, heavy in his chest.

He was starting to get genuinely worried.

His skin crawled with static. A slow numbness had crept over his limbs, the buzzing in his nerves falling into rhythm with the adrenaline surging through his veins.

“Mikey... where the fuck are you?” He growled, teeth clenched.

“Raph?” Leo’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. I’m here.” He exhaled hard, realizing he’d completely zoned out.

“Guys, I got a text from April,” Donnie cut in over the comms. “She says she has an update.”

“Is Mikey with her?” Leo asked, too quickly.

“I don’t know. She wants to call. Let’s meet back at the spot.”

Raph’s heart stopped. “But Mikey—”

“—Could be with April,” Donnie finished. “Or waiting at the bench. Or back home. These comms aren’t great—the range is short. If Mikey lost signal, he'd try to go somewhere we could find him.

Raph scowled. There was still too much ground to cover.

“Fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, turning back the way he came.

By the time he reached the meeting spot, Leo was already pacing, shoulders tight, while Donnie stood stiffly, arms crossed.

“Well?” Raph asked, more sharply than he meant to. “April said she had news. What are we waiting for?”

Donnie narrowed his eyes. “We were waiting for you .”

“Don’t wait! Now’s not the time to wait!” Raph’s voice rose before he could stop it.

Donnie didn’t respond—he just let out a frustrated breath and lifted the flimsy-looking phone to his ear. The silence that followed was taut, every second stretching longer than it should.

“April? Yeah, what’s the news?” Donnie finally said.

Leo immediately moved in closer, eyes flicking between Donnie and the phone. “Ask if Mikey’s with her,” he urged, pushing nearer. “Put it on speaker,” he added, sharp and impatient.

Donnie pulled back slightly, holding up a hand to quiet him. With an irritated sigh, he tapped the screen and held the phone out.

“—just wanted to know if we got the envelope,” April’s voice crackled from the speaker.

“What?” Leo leaned in, talking too loudly. “April, what was that?”

“I got a message from the buyer.”

Raph felt his whole body tense. A message? When?

“They said they received the package and wanted to confirm if you got the money they promised.”

Raph’s eyes darted to the envelope he’d carelessly tossed back on the bench. He’d completely forgotten about it in all the chaos. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “We got it.”

“I’m assuming everything went smoothly,” April continued. “She didn’t sound suspicious.”

Leo flinched—hard. The sudden movement made both Raph and Donnie turn toward him. His face had gone pale, eyes locked on the phone.

“ She? ” He repeated, voice hollow.

“Uh, yeah,” April replied, her voice growing uneasy. “She called. First time I’ve heard her voice. She thanked me for the sale, then hung up.”

Leo swallowed, clearing his throat. “The buyer…” he said slowly. “Mikey told me he recognized him —from Bishop’s lab.”

“What?” Donnie nearly dropped the phone.

Raph felt something inside him ignite—panic, anger, dread—it was all blending together.

He recognized him from Bishop’s lab, and that wasn’t the first thing Leo told them? Mikey had run off after someone connected to Bishop, and Leo had kept it to himself?

Oh, he was so going to kill Mikey once they found him.

How could he go and do something that stupid?

“They were?” April’s voice jumped an octave, tinged with panic. “Wait—how did Mikey even know ? Did you guys get a good look at the buyer?”

Leo didn’t answer. His face had gone blank, eyes staring somewhere far away.

“Leo!” Raph barked, but Leo suddenly snapped back to the moment.

“April,” he said sharply, practically yanking the phone from Donnie’s hand, “is Mikey with you?”

“Mikey? No. Why would he be?” April’s voice tightened, suspicious now.

Raph watched Leo’s knuckles go white around the phone—then suddenly loosen. The phone nearly slipped from his grasp.

Raph reached out, gently prying it away from him. “We think Mikey went after the buyer on his own,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “He and Leo had a fight... and Leo hasn’t seen him since. We’ve been looking, but… we can’t find him.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then—

“ WHAT?! ” April’s voice cracked as it overloaded the phone speaker. “How long has he been missing? What happened with the buyer? Why the hell would Mikey go alone?!”

There was a frantic scramble of movement on her end. “I’m coming to help. Where are you guys?”

Before Raph could answer, Donnie snatched the phone from his hand—too fast for him to react.

“April, don’t. It’s about to storm.” Donnie turned off speaker mode and pressed the phone to his ear, stepping away from the others. “We’re gonna have to stop soon,” he muttered quietly into the receiver.

Raph looked up. He’d completely forgotten about the heavy clouds overhead. The sky had been rumbling all night, but he hadn’t been paying attention.

If it starts raining... how much longer can we even search for Mikey?

Splinter would start to worry. More than worry.

Fuck…

Oh god. We’re going to have to go back without Mikey.

They’d have to walk into the lair and explain why they didn’t have him. That they lost him.

And it was the first day in weeks that Raph had finally felt good. Like he could run the whole city without falling apart. Like his body was finally working again. The first day in weeks that he needed to run, to be fast, ready—and he couldn’t . The first day in weeks he finally wasn’t useless. And suddenly he was all over again. He was healed. Stronger. Ready to actually help. And now some stupid clouds were going to shut it all down?

Why hadn’t Leo told them about the buyer? Hell—if Raph had known it was someone tied to Bishop, he would’ve backed Mikey going after them.

If Mikey was right... did that mean Bishop was still out there, pulling strings? Or worse—was there a new Bishop 2.0 they had to worry about? Bishop hadn’t worked alone. He was backed by money. By power. What was stopping that same organization from coming after them again?

“Leo—” Raph turned, ready to snap. Ready to tear into him.

But he couldn’t.

Leo stood frozen, staring at the ground—no, through it. His fists were clenched tight, knuckles white, arms trembling. He looked like he was about to throw up. His eyes squeezed shut and he started to sway slightly.

Raph could hear his breathing. Shallow inhale. Too long a pause. A slow, shaky exhale.

Raph wanted to be furious. To yell. To blame him. But he couldn’t. Because he felt the exact same way.

He took a step forward, fists still clenched—shaking, just like Leo’s.

“Leo?”

Chapter Text

What had he done?

Leo was frozen in place. The thoughts came too fast, tripping over each other, crushing him. His body felt weightless, but heavy, too heavy to move. Like his legs might give out at any second.

How had he lost Mikey? He’d been right there—just ahead. Leo had only hung back a minute, maybe less. Just giving him space. That was all.

When had he seen him last? On the way back? No. No, the alley. It had to be the alley.

Had Mikey called out? Anything? What if he’d screamed—and Leo hadn’t heard?

No. No, no, no, nonono—

He swayed, dizzy. His chest locked up. Had he even taken a breath? The air caught in his throat, strangled by the tidal wave inside his skull. Voices clashed, shouted, louder, sharper, all of them talking at once.

“—eo? Leo? Leo!”

Hands shook him. The smallest movement threatened to send his stomach lurching. He wrenched away, desperate for the world to stop spinning.

“Leo, for the love of god, open your eyes.” Raph’s voice cut sideways through the fog.

His eyes snapped open. When had they closed? The last thing he remembered was staring at the ground—cracks blurring, twisting, fading into black. He jerked his gaze upward. White sparks burst across his vision as his eyes struggled to adjust.

Raph loomed in front of him, breath shallow and uneven. Behind him, Donnie stood half-turned, phone pressed close, one hand clamped over the speaker.

A raindrop struck his skin. Then another. The sky was about to split wide open, ready to drown the last fragile thread of hope still holding him together.

“Leo!” Raph grabbed him again, shaking.

He jerked back. “What?” His breath hitched.

Raph bristled. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You spaced out on us!”

“Sorry, my brain’s a little occupied right now!” The words came sharper than he meant. He didn’t have the right to snap, not after everything. His chest tightened. His fault. All of it. He never should’ve let Mikey go ahead. Never should’ve agreed to the swap. Never—

“Throwing a pity party isn’t gonna help us find Mikey.” The edge in Raph’s voice dulled.

Mikey. The name hit like a punch. Leo flinched. He was reacting like something horrible had already happened. No. No, Mikey’s fine. He’s fine. We just don’t know where he is. That’s all. Nothing bad’s happened. Not yet.

“But what if—we don’t—What if it really is—but—Bishop—” Leo stammered, his hands flailing uselessly.

“Bishop wouldn’t kill him.” Donnie’s voice was steady as he stepped past Raph, but the steadiness made Leo’s stomach drop. “If Bishop’s involved, he wouldn’t kill him.”

Leo could hear the unsaid yet hanging heavy in the air.

Raph went stiff at Donnie’s words. “Dee’s got a point. If Bishop—and we don’t even know it’s him—”

I do, Leo thought grimly. It has to be...

“—had Mikey, he wouldn’t just… kill him.” Raph faltered, jaw tightening as the weight of his own words landed. “He’d keep him somewhere. Taunt us. Some other fucked-up thing.”

True. If Bishop killed him, he’d leave the body. The thought burned through Leo, bitter and sharp. Not out of respect. Not kindness. Just to make us hurt more.

He shivered, stomach knotting.

Or maybe he’s waiting. Letting us stew. Breaking us before he even lays a hand on Mikey.

The thought hollowed him out. The awful realization hit—he almost hoped they’d just find a body. At least then it would be over. If Bishop had him alive… who knew what that twisted bastard might do?

Shut up, ​​he snarled inwardly. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. He pressed the thought down hard. We don’t know it’s Bishop. We don’t know anything. He really could be gone for good.

His heart plummeted into his stomach. Raindrops splattered across his skin—cold, suffocating. The chill didn’t wake him; it dragged him further under.

He couldn’t do anything. Nothing. Mikey was gone. Just like that. No trail. No start. He hadn’t stopped Atticus. He couldn’t stop Bishop. And what if it wasn’t even Bishop? What if it was someone else—a threat he didn’t even know how to handle?

He didn’t even know if he’d failed yet. How could he, when they didn’t know where Mikey was—if he was safe, if he was already—

No. Mikey just went after Atticus. That’s all. Atticus wouldn’t hurt him. 

…Right?

He’s fine. He’s fine. He caught up with Atticus. They’re talking. Just talking. He’s getting answers. Atticus is telling him Bishop’s not involved. He’s not. Mikey’s probably being told not to worry. He’s safe.

The rain came harder, splattering dark blooms across the concrete. Each drop struck like a foreboding drumbeat, louder and louder, until the sound was everywhere—relentless, pounding, filling his head and drowning out everything else.

He jerked away as a hand clamped onto his arm. Raph—squinting through the rain, shielding his face.

“Leo, come on. We gotta go.” His grip tightened. “Master Splinter’s already gotta be worried sick.”

The words slammed into him. They left him winded, shell-shocked, catatonic. His chest seized, his pulse roaring in his head. A fresh wave of panic surged, thoughts swarming, too fast to hold.

He hadn’t thought that far. He’d been so sure they’d find Mikey. He hadn’t let himself imagine otherwise.

Leo’s mouth worked soundlessly before the words scraped out. “What… what do I tell him?”

“ We tell him,” Donnie said quickly, stepping in. “ All of us. What Mikey did. What he chose to do and what we chose to do. It’s not your fault.”

But it is.

“Yeah.” Raph’s voice cut in, gruff but gentler. “I thought we left all that ‘I’m the leader, it’s all on me’ crap back at the lab.”

Leo scowled, jaw tightening—but the guilt still twisted, sharp and deep.

The rain came down in sheets now, drenching them to the bone. Every sound was drowned out in the downpour. Searching any longer would be useless. Pointless.

“...Okay.” The word scraped out of him, thin and reluctant. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

Raph let out a sharp breath, relief slipping through as he clapped a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I really wasn’t in the mood to haul your stubborn ass back.”

Donnie was already moving, head down against the rain, like he would’ve left with or without Leo’s say-so. “Who knows—maybe Mikey’s already at home. Got turned around, decided to head back before the storm hit.”

Leo caught the tightness in his brother’s voice, the way the words came too fast. Donnie didn’t believe it. Not for a second. But Leo appreciated the lie all the same.

The walk home felt cruelly short. Even dragging his feet, even wishing for more time, the lair loomed before them in what felt like a heartbeat. The air was colder—or maybe that was just him. He told himself Mikey would be waiting. He repeated it like a prayer. But the lie was thin, fraying before he even crossed the threshold.

Inside, the air was still. Empty. The sight hit like a fist to his ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

A shuffle. Leo’s shoulders tensed, bracing.

“You’re back.” Splinter appeared in the hall, moving faster than usual, relief spilling out of him in a shaky sigh. One hand pressed briefly to his chest as though steadying his heart. “Thank goodness…” he murmured, words Leo couldn’t quite catch.

That look of relief cut deeper than anger ever could. It twisted sharp and cold in Leo’s stomach.

“What happened? Why are you back so late?” Splinter tried for sternness, but his eyes betrayed him—they were too soft, too raw to carry it.

Leo stood frozen, time stretching thin. Splinter’s gaze swept over them once. Twice. Each pass more urgent than the last. Searching. Counting.

“Where…” His voice broke, clipped and disbelieving. “…Where is Michelangelo?”

Leo’s fists clenched at his sides as he forced the words out. “He—we… we had to chase the buyer. Mikey went after him. Alone.” He risked a glance up, and instantly wished he hadn’t. “We… we don’t know where he is.”

Splinter’s face barely moved, but his eyes betrayed him—widening, then narrowing, fighting to hold still.

“We would’ve kept looking, but—” The words tumbled out too fast. “It was raining, too dark—we couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear us, and if he went out of range of the comms then—then who knows how far he—” Leo’s voice cracked. He heard himself rambling and couldn’t stop.

Splinter opened his mouth as though to speak—

But footsteps pounded behind them.

Leo spun, adrenaline flaring so hard his vision blurred. Mikey?

“Guys!” April skidded into the lair, dripping rain, wringing water from her hair.

Leo’s heart dropped. Donnie and Raph rushed toward her, but his feet stayed rooted, heavy as stone.

“April, I thought I told you to stay put.” Donnie’s voice was equal parts relief and irritation.

“You said stay out of the storm. You said not to help in the rain—so I’m not. I’m helping here.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

“I—fair enough.” Donnie rubbed the back of his neck, too drained to argue.

“Anything on Mikey? I called Casey, but he hasn’t seen him. Or heard from him—not that Mikey could reach him.” She ran a hand through her hair.

“Dammit,” Donnie muttered. “If I’d just fixed the phones, he could’ve called. We could’ve called him.”

“Hey. Not on you, Don.” April laid a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s right, Donnie.” Leo stepped forward, finally shaking off the frozen shock. “If I hadn’t—”

“And this isn’t on you either,” April cut him off.

“What did we say about reverting back to your annoying leaderness?” Raph nudged him, offering a weak smile.

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” April held up a hand. “Look, we just need to calm down and come up with a game pla—” Her head snapped sideways, holding her hand up higher.

“What?” Leo tensed, eyes darting to her.

The tap-tap-tap of fast footsteps hit first. Leo didn’t let himself hope. Heart sinking, he braced for disappointment. And he was right. It wasn’t Mikey.

“Guys!” Casey skidded into the lair, rain dripping off him, barely slowing as he closed the distance. “What happened? April called—said there was a chase—Mikey’s gone?”

“Casey—” April stepped forward, hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged her off, eyes locking on the turtles. On Leo. “What the hell happened?”

Leo’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t place the expression on Casey’s face. Angry? Afraid? Confused? All three at once?

“Where’s Mikey? How did you lose him?” Casey jabbed the words like knives.

“We didn’t lose him,” Raph snapped, bristling in return.

“Well, he sure as hell isn’t here!” Casey spread his arms, frustration blazing. “You were supposed to stick together. How do you just… lose sight of him?”

“He went after the buyer on his own.” April stepped between Casey and the others, shoulders squared.

“And you didn’t go after him? Did he somehow leave you all in the dust, or were you just not paying attention?” Casey’s voice rose, sharp and frantic.

“Hey!” Raph lunged forward, and Leo caught his arm.

“He chased after the buyer because he recognized them from Bishop’s lab,” Leo said, guiding Raph back. “I caught up with him. We got into a fight. He agreed not to keep chasing the lead… I—I shouldn’t have believed him. He was only out of my sight for a couple seconds. I… I was just trying to give him space.”

Splinter’s gaze weighed on him, heavy and silent. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. He tried to ignore it.

Casey’s eyes swept over his face. Slowly, the tension softened. “I… I’m sorry, Leo. I wasn’t trying to—I was just—” He ran a hand over his face, sighing. “God… I can’t believe this is happening again.”

Leo felt the twist of guilt tighten in his stomach. It was his fault. He was dragging everyone back into their worst nightmare. Had he made the right call, stopping Mikey from following Atticus? But if he hadn’t—if he had let Mikey go—maybe they’d all be in the same mess anyway. Why couldn’t he just make the right choices? What had he done? What had he done? What had he—

A hand pressed to his shoulder. Not iron-clad, but grounding. Enough to pull him back from the spiral.

He turned. Splinter. Not angry. Not upset. Not even confused. Just… tired. A flicker of panic danced behind his eyes, carefully held in check.

Leo opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say? Sorry? Sorry —too small. Too weak. It couldn’t cover the wound he’d carved into their lives.

“I am just glad the rest of you are safe.” Splinter’s voice was clipped, tense, but steady. “Things could have been worse. They weren’t. All of you acted fast, stayed alert, did your best.” His eyes were serious, holding something back—exhaustion, fear, grief—but the words carried weight. “All we can do now… is wait.”

Chapter Text

Wait.

The word echoed, drilling into Donnie’s skull until it was all he could hear. Wait for what? Mikey? Bishop? Some new nightmare to rear its ugly head?

Yeah, right.

Donnie didn’t do waiting. Call him crazy, but sitting around while Mikey was out there—who knows where, with who knows who, doing who knows what—wasn’t an option. Too many unknowns. Too many who’s. And Donnie hated unknowns. He hated not knowing.

He’d slipped away to his lab while Leo launched into another blow-by-blow retelling of the mission. Donnie didn’t need the recap; he’d been there. As for whatever happened between Leo and Mikey… well, unless Leo was holding back something that could help them find their brother, Donnie didn’t care.

He sighed, dropped into his chair, and shoved himself across the room until he bumped against the desk. His eyes lingered on his empty coffee mug. He wanted a refill, but the thought of stepping back into the emotional circus outside—April’s prompting eyes trying to draw him back in, Casey’s still pissed-off expression, the inevitable play-by-play of every horrible moment—made him stay put.

He glanced at the T-phone on his desk, wires spilling out, screen pried loose. The only one he hadn’t finished.

If he’d just finished them before the mission, they could have called Mikey. Traced him. Mikey could have called them. One completed project, and they wouldn't be here. Why hadn’t he pushed through? Why had he let himself stop? Lazy. Weak.

Donnie dragged his hands over his face, trying to smother the voice gnawing at him. No. No time for pity. No room for guilt. He’d slipped away for a reason. He had to stay sharp.

He clicked through his computer files until he found it. A red dot blinked on the screen. Once. Twice. Again. Relentless. He inhaled, held the breath, let it out slowly.

The dot pulsed. Time stretched. The lair was quiet, but too quiet. He waited until April’s and Casey’s voices faded, until he was sure they had left, until the others had settled into the kind of silence that meant staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.

Finally, Donnie eased to his feet and poked his head out. Empty room. Empty shadows. The coast was clear.

He edged toward the exit, holding his breath. Every step felt heavier. Leaving without a word was wrong—especially with Mikey missing—but if he asked, they’d never let him go. And worse than being stopped was giving them hope he wasn’t sure he could deliver.

“Don?”

His stomach dropped. He was so close. He had almost made it.

He froze, forcing himself to turn slowly, trying not to look like he’d been caught red-handed. “Uh… hey, Raph?” He squinted into the shadows.

Raph pushed off the wall, arms folded, suspicion written all over him. “Thought you died or somethin’. You snuck off and never came back.”

Donnie gave a strained shrug. “Yeah, well… didn’t exactly feel like sitting through Leo’s pity party again. You know how it goes—five minutes in and we’re all trading guilt until somebody cracks, the April’s going off another therapy session.”

Raph snorted, a laugh with no humor in it. “Guess you’re not wrong. Still—Leo dropped an atomic bomb while you were hiding out.”

Donnie’s eyes flicked back to the exit. His jaw tightened. He could go. He should go. But his feet shifted toward Raph instead. “Oh yeah? What kind of bomb?”

Raph gave another short, empty laugh, the kind that sounded more tired than amused. “Turns out that fight Leo and Mikey had wasn’t just about chasing the buyer. Mikey pushed so hard because… all that junk April and Case pulled from the wreckage of the lab? It was planted. Left there for them.”

Donnie’s stomach dropped. His face hardened. “Left how?”

“Left like—Leo’s katana jammed in the ground, all the gear laid out neat, like some kind of cryptic warning.” Raph shook his head, scowling. “Too damn perfect to be an accident.”

Donnie’s jaw tightened, fists curling at his sides. He’d thought it was strange. Too clean. Too preserved. And now it made sense—Leo had been hiding something. He had seen it. Damit. He should have pushed.

“They all knew. Casey. April. Leo.” Raph’s voice roughened as he glanced down the hall, shoulders bunching. “Hard not to feel pissed, y’know? I don’t know what burned worse—finding out they lied, or realizing they don’t think we can handle the truth. Like we’re glass. Like we’d just shatter.” He crossed his arms so tightly his knuckles whitened, one finger digging into his forearm. “We’re not broken.”

Donnie watched him, the words hanging heavy between them.

He sucked in a breath like he could breathe in the tension. “So do they even know if it was Bishop? Could’ve been someone else. An intern. Another scientist. Maybe even…” Donnie hesitated, lips twisting. “…an offering?”

Raph snorted. “What, like a peace treaty? Or a warning?”

Donnie rubbed his face. “I’m hoping the first. Maybe it was their way of saying, ‘This is it. The last of it.’”

“Yeah. No.” Raph’s voice was flat, dismissive.

A low sound rumbled in Donnie’s throat, a tired grumble as a headache started to form. He leaned back against the desk. “What’s got you up anyway? Not that any of us are getting much sleep.”

Raph pushed off the wall with a shrug. “Habit, I guess.”

“Habit?” Donnie echoed.

“Yeah… I’ve just been up, doing whatever.” His shoulders lifted, then dropped again. “Usually Mike’d be out here, too. Feels weird without him bugging me.”

Donnie studied him, noting the way Raph’s arms locked across his chest, the stiffness in his frame. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “He’ll be fine.”

“You—we can’t know that,” Raph huffed. “Mikey’s reckless. Always chasing the good in people, like he can rip the smallest bit of positivity out of them with his own bare hands. I know he wouldn’t trust Bishop, but if he crossed paths with that Atticus kid…”

“Raph.” Donnie cut in, firm. “You know Mikey’s stronger than we give him credit for. He can handle himself. And the way that kid bolted? Whatever’s going on, I don’t think they want anything to do with us this time around.” He stepped closer, laying a hand on Raph’s shoulder.

Raph’s jaw worked. “Yeah, but if Mikey’s not with the kid… then where the hell is he?”

Donnie’s breath caught. The silence stretched. He could feel the spiral waiting to drag him under. A dozen things pressed at the back of his throat—He’ll be okay. He’s safe. He’s fine. Lies he couldn’t make himself say.

Instead, he squeezed Raph’s shoulder. “We’ll find him.”

Not: he’ll be okay. Not: he’ll be safe. Just: we’ll find him. Just the one truth he could convince himself of. Because they would.

After a little less than an hour, Raph finally crashed and fell asleep. Donnie had tried to nudge him toward his room, but Raph refused, stubborn as always. Probably figured Donnie was planning something. He was right.

The sewers swallowed his footsteps, but to Donnie’s ears every step sounded like a drumbeat, too loud, too sharp. His skin prickled. His thoughts crawled, fraying at the edges. He’d convinced himself he was handling it—holding the panic at bay long enough to think clearly. But the dam was cracking.

He clung to all the facts he knew like a lifeline. Mikey had seen Atticus. Mikey—for whatever reason—trusted him enough to go after him. That meant Atticus wasn’t a threat. Probably. And Bishop—Bishop had to be dead. That was the equation. The only way it was balanced.

But then Raph’s words came back.

Bishop could be alive. No—worse. He probably was alive.

The thought clawed through him, tearing holes in the logic, unraveling every neat explanation he’d built. None of it added up anymore. None of it made sense. Because if Bishop was alive… then all bets were off.

His pace quickened, fists knotting tight at his sides.

Calm down. He had to calm down.

Bishop had already stolen his mind once—stripped away his logic, his control, everything that made him steady. And now, even from nowhere, even from shadows and memory, the bastard still managed to crawl under his skin.

“Damn it…” Donnie muttered, dragging a hand down his face. He couldn’t let himself spiral. Not over Bishop.

Mikey. He had to stay locked on Mikey. Not the shadows, not the maybe’s, not the ghosts. Just Mikey. Find Mikey.

He hauled himself up onto the surface. Rain slicked his shell, the storm reduced to a gray drizzle, but the sky still sagged heavy with thunder, waiting to break again.

“You’d better be holed up in some abandoned building or something, Mikey,” he muttered, voice low, almost swallowed by the distant rumble.

Before the mission, he’d at least had the foresight to double-check every comm’s tracker. They weren’t useful in the field, but from his computer, he could ping them. Crude, imprecise at best—but better than nothing.

Mikey’s signal hadn’t budged in three hours.

Three hours.

That left two possibilities: either Mikey was holed up somewhere, hiding, or waiting out the storm. Or the comm was there… and Mikey wasn’t.

There was a third possibility. One he refused to name. One he couldn’t afford to let in. A reason why Mikey’s tracker wouldn’t be moving—why he wouldn’t be moving.

Except—

There was another tracker. One his brothers didn’t know about. One he’d slipped in without permission. And—it wasn't exactly ethical. He told himself it was for their safety. For peace of mind. For moments exactly like this.

After Bishop, he felt like he had a pretty valid excuse for doing it, too.

Mikey couldn’t lose this tracker. Not without losing his left arm. Or having it cut out of him.

But that tracker—the one that couldn’t be lost—had gone silent, too. Dead in the same place as the comm.

Two trackers. No movement. Three hours.

Donnie’s stomach turned. Logic frayed. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

He glanced up at the street signs. Close. Almost there.

It wasn’t that far away from where they’d been searching. It was only a street or so away. What had Mikey been doing? Chasing Atticus? Or pulled off-course—by something? By someone?

Donnie checked each alley as he passed, shoulders tensing before every glance. Shadows, movement, anything.

Then—

“Mikey?”

A shape slumped in the dark. For one heartbeat, his chest lurched; he thought it might be him—it had to be. Sprawled out. Small. Still.

But no. Just trash. Boxes and bags knocked over, piled awkwardly. Something had disturbed them. Recently.

Donnie stepped closer, cautious. His foot splashed in the thin film of water coating the street, the sound sharp, too loud in the heavy silence. Every drip, every echo pressed in around him.

What was he doing? This had been a terrible idea. A trap waiting to snap. No one knew where he was. What if something happened? What if Bishop—

There.

A flash of something small, broken.

The comm. Wires splayed, plastic cracked, half-submerged in a puddle. Crushed. By a foot, probably.

He bent closer, water soaking his fingers as he lifted it slightly, inspecting the damage. A sign. A clue. Something.

But the alley was empty. Cold. Dark. There was no sign of anything else. And most importantly, no Mikey. 

So then…

“Where are you, Mikey?”