Chapter Text
“Those fish are so wet- d’OOF-”
While Donnie is thankful for the metaphorical sock that had been stuffed in Leo’s mouth — and as favorable to violence as they are — they wish the attacker had done it a little less aggressively and with a little less brain damage. A concussed Leo is a confused Leo, and a confused Leo is a chatty Leo.
It really doesn’t help that their twin had been attempting to make that same joke for years during any and every fish or water-based adventure.
The fish in question (he’d called himself Xever), having taken the slider out with a hurled trashbag, focuses his attention on Mikey and Donnie, leaving the largest of the family for his companion-maybe-boyfriend — a very tall, very sharp, dog-adjacent yōkai.
Raph snarls right back, shoving the dog off of him with noticeable effort. “Who sent ya?!”
As if the answer isn’t obvious. Big Mama had been slowly ramping up her crimes, starting with some simple shoplifting, progressing to ordering her assistants to just flat-out maul and kidnap humans. Why is she doing this? Who knows? But Leo had suggested it had something to do with the Shredder’s recent capture, and Donnie is definitely not liking the prospect of what she could do with that.
They have enough on their plate with Piebald’s return from college and oh yeah, the Shredder. He may be locked away with Big Mama, but the problem is that he’s locked away by Big Mama, wearing her collar. If she can control him…
Donnie hits the ground with a thud, plastron scraping uncomfortably against the pavement. Turtle Brain smelling Fish Fish Fish, he rolls over and bites. Hard.
Their brothers may disagree with their more painful methods of attack and defense, but if it works, it works, and work it does.
Xever attempts to reel back, but the fin caught in Donnie’s teeth is doing him decidedly zero favors, the action only resulting in the turtle being hauled to their feet as well.
Gasping, Mikey shouts something akin to “let go!” with a few words Raph does not appreciate thrown in the mix. They oblige and the fish yōkai lets out a bizarre gurgle, one not too dissimilar from the noises Piebald likes to make. And, regarding the softshell with a new apprehension, he turns to Mikey, metal legs whirring as he spins around and leaps.
A two-on-four fight, and the turtles are still getting their shells handed to them. It’s honestly embarrassing, but not all that surprising, seeing that Big Mama had sent out her fourth-strongest servants; yōkai on par with Gus. Logistically, it makes complete sense for them to fail.
Raph, noticing this, puts as much distance between himself and the dog Xexer had called Rahzar and yells, “DONNIE! IN CASE OF EMERGENCY…”
Oooh this is going to be fun! A maniacal grin splits their face in two. “BREAK GLASS, DADDY’O!”
They power up the collapsible hammer at the end of their bō, spinning themself, and thus the hammer, around and around and around to gain as much momentum as possible before leaping forward, slamming into the biggest window they can reach.
The glass shatters, initial deadening crash nothing in comparison to the blare of what sounds like every alarm in the city. Lights turn on, humans rush to watch, New York City is alive in the dead of night.
The yōkais’ eyes widen, and before anyone gets the chance to spot them, Rahzar scoops Xever into a fireman's carry and books it. The turtles are soon to follow, ducking into the nearest entrance to the sewers, leaving the approaching onlookers with nothing but the rattling manhole cap.
Only in the sewers does Raph turn to address them. “Donnie, what was that?”
Donnie cocks their head and shrugs. They’d just followed orders. “You told me to break the glass.”
“I’s an expression!” The snapper blinks incredulously. “It means to… to make a scene! Or tah break into somewhere you normally wouldn’t!”
They cross their arms, bō clenched in a white-knuckled grip. “Then why would you say to break the glass? Just tell me to cause a scene.”
An arm sneaks around their shoulders, ōdachi close enough to their face to be regarded with caution. “Hermano, I’m with Ellie on this one — breaking glass sounds so much cooler than just ‘making a scene’.”
The familiar bickering fades to a mere background noise as the four make the walk back to the lair. The sloshed around their feet perfectly punctuates their snips and jabs at each other. Splinter would have told them to stop fighting, but he’d been an only child. He wouldn’t get it.
Flopping down to the floor of the medbay, the turtles take a breath before getting up to actually treat themselves.
Leo is up first — albeit, wobbly — and the first to start looking over his siblings. He quickly deems Raph fine, nothing beyond a few surface scrapes and some bruising. Donnie is declared fine as well “outside of that messed up face! What did they do?!” (This comment earns the slider a quick nip to the fingers), and while Mikey needs an arm wrapped after aggravating an old injury, it’s nothing serious.
Leo, on the other hand…
There must have been a pretty strong brick in that bag to actually hurt the slider’s thick skull, because he tests for a concussion and fails in a fantastic manner.
Standing on two feet, eyes closed, is fine. One foot is what causes him to topple over and into a supply cabinet and start claiming that they need to start prepping for the Shredder’s return.
So he gets benched.
“What!?” He points a shaky, blue-painted claw at Raph, who just crosses his arms and stares the slider down. “You can’t bench the faceman! You need me!”
He pouts as his older brother lifts him like one might a disgruntled cat and carries him bridal-style to his room. “Leo, you’re the medic. You know the drill.”
“The only drill I care about is that big, beautiful one Donnie won’t show me…”
Their conversation gets quieter and quieter as the two leave Mikey and Donnie to their own devices. Something that has never proved to be a bad idea.
The younger frowns as they begin their walk to the TV room. “Do you think Big Mama’ll send someone even stronger next time?”
“Don’t be silly, Michael; that wouldn’t make sense. If Xever and Rahzar can beat us, sending more powerful followers would be a waste of resources.”
Mikey sighs, nodding as he falls at the foot of Splinter's chair. They have a couch, but why use it when they have the floor? Donnie snatches the remote before their little brother can even consider it, screen flickering to life, harsh blue light a stark contrast to the warm yellow and orange of their lamps.
“Wha- HEY! It’s Leo’s turn!”
“Why yes, my brethren, but our dear, turtley sibling is currently incapacitated, HENCE, the turn is mine.”
Muttering something about selling Donnie to Chef Swaggart and skipping their turn to watch the pig make suppon nabe, Mikey relents, slumping halfway into his shell. The softshell pointedly ignores the other’s antics, grinning over Mikey’s groan as the screen floods the room with the crazed cries of the audience and the violent visuals of the Battle Nexus.