#tmntwritefight

[hyacinthstears]

Tmnt Write Fight

prompt from @CheetoChild989

[tmnt-write-fight]

The prompts list? A day early? It's more likely than you think

How lucky are you guys to get moi (that's spanish for me), to post two days in a row!

We've decided to release the prompts list early.

And now for the boring stuff;

The prompt being released early is so you guys can get an idea of which clan you will end up in; either the Foot Clan (BOO!) or the Hamato Clan (YEAH!)

It is not for you to start writing and posting right away. The event will begin on September 1st.

With that said, I hope you're all very excited about this, because I sure am!

PROMPTS

-Mod Peepaw

[morrigan-cotk95]

New Fic for @mackself's prompt for @tmnt-write-fight

Leo getting hurt on his first patrol back after the Invasion and his brothers being extremely protective of him.

Lots of Disaster Twins (because I totally don't have favorites /j) but plenty of Leo with his brothers.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,067

[puzzledcretin]

An Arm Up on the Competition

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @sad-leon)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: ROTTMNT: Leo dealing with post-movie permanent injuries (arm or leg loss, eyesight or heading damage, ect.) and getting comfort and support from his family. Word Count: 1677

Read on AO3

Once upon a time, not too long ago, Casey Jr. told him a story of a great leader. 

This great leader was over seven feet tall, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Everyone looked up to his wit. A joke on the tip of his tongue, no matter the situation. His brother, heh, his brother was a literal fireball. Bouncing around the battlefield. But the great leader was considered a light in the grim, dark future. A beacon of hope that made the daunting task of survival seem doable. Casey even went into great detail about the night that they held karaoke. 

Despite the chaos and fear that ravaged their homes, their families, they had a night where everything was forgotten and they were all able to laugh together. And isn’t that a wild thing to hear? He would have assumed that everything was too serious to have fun. But, you know, when has he ever been right?

And this leader was a great fighter. He took on the Kraang with bared teeth and a fury unlike any others. A determination to correct the mistakes of his past and redeem himself. To forgive himself. It’s a noble enough task. His sword, chipped and worn, was a symbol in and of itself. Wrapped with the masks of his fallen brother, he carried their spirits on with him. 

Oh yeah, and that’s part of it. This leader lost his brothers. Such a thought brought aches and pains through his own heart. Having to continue on without his brothers seemed to be nightmarish. It haunted him, and it wasn’t even his own trauma. But even after losing member after member of his family, the leader just kept on leading. He kept on grinning. He kept on. He seemed to be unstoppable, impenetrable, unshakable-

But there was one key factor that Leo had over this clearly superior leader, and that was his right arm.. Sort of. 

Leo lay on his front, his bed was nearly empty of anything it used to have. Pillows, blankets, even the very few stuffed animals that belonged to him were pulled from the surface and piled up on the beanbag in the corner. His comic books that had once littered his sheets were now neatly stacked over on his desk. 

He was still recovering- He did what that great leader could never do and he beat the Kraang. Leo looked that chewed up wad of gum masquerading as a transformer in the eyes and he grinned. Even as he was broken and battered, he grinned. 

Isn’t that funny?

Of course, that didn’t mean he won without consequences. 

Cracks ran up along his shell. Donnie had scanned over it, and had shown him the x-rays. His brother, bless his heart, had told him that it wasn’t as bad as they expected. With certain courses of treatment, they could repair this damage. But Leo knew better. Hidden under his bed, deep in the back corner, Leo had a small medical textbook. It was meant for humans, so it wasn’t a one to one comparison, but it taught him just how fragile the spine and spinal cord could be. Spinal injuries were a bitch to heal. 

And guess what the shell was?

Leo knew better than to get his hopes up. While he could get better, he would never be the same. Evidence lay within his right arm. 

Yep, that’s right. Leo still had his right arm. He was staring at it, the appendage lay along the mattress beside him. Though, the only reason he knew that was because it was laying right in front of his eyes. Other than that, he couldn’t feel a thing. He couldn’t move it, he couldn’t grasp anything with it. It might as well have been amputated. 

Leo tried to move it many times, his mind telling him that it was moving. But his eyes weren’t liars. 

Luckily, his arm was the only part of him that lost function. The rest of his body was still badly damaged, pain was an inevitability when it came to these types of injuries, but his arm was the worst. 

“Leo!!”

The warm, cheery voice cuts through his own murky silence. Leo lifts his head, angling it upward to see his youngest brother standing in the doorway to his room. Mikey held a small plate in his hands, a small stack of taquitos. The smell of food filled his nostrils and Leo could cry from how hungry he was. 

“I know, I know. I got distracted. But when I came to give you food earlier, you were asleep! Even you preach that rest is important,” Mikey laughed softly as he made his way over to the bed. Hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair, the box turtle pulled it closer in order to plop down on it. 

Mikey wore a smile on his face, seeming to be at peace. But as he sits down, Leo spots it. The unavoidable shaking of Mikey’s arms. His brother was quick to set the plate down, crossing his arms over his thighs in order to lean forward. He’s hiding. 

Leo’s eyes focused on the plate next, and it was nothing special. Everything was clear as day to Leo, however. Mikey, despite his own pains and struggles, brought Leo food. Mikey was forced to take care of his older brother even though he was hurting. 

And Leo couldn’t move his own fucking arm. 

Leo’s eyes actually brimmed with tears this time. He let out a rough laugh, and then he couldn’t stop laughing. The jostling of his chest jabbed pain over and over into his shell. 

“Leo?? H-Hey, that’s not good for your injuries-” Mikey tried, but Leo couldn’t stop. He pressed his cheek into the mattress, his face starting to turn red as he kept laughing. He was barely able to suck in a breath between his own hysterics. 

A hand was laid across the back of his neck, but his mind barely focused on that. Here he was, getting fed fucking taquitos by his younger brother. He knew recovery took months, years even. And yet it was so fucking impossible to imagine himself a week from now, a month from now. How was he supposed to live like this? Who was he supposed to lead when he couldn’t even pull himself up from his own bed? 

He won the battle, he won and banished Kraang to an eternity of absolute nothing. Yet why was he the one given the life sentence! Leo’s eyes opened somewhat, observing his own arm once again. 

He was useless to his family, he was a liability. 

Leo’s eyes latched onto movement beyond his arm, the plate moving up above his head. Voices filled his ears, but he wasn’t able to discern what they were saying. They seemed so far away and so loud, so jumbled together. 

His throat started to ache, his laughter turning hoarse. His eyes fell closed, trying to focus on the wet fabric against his cheek. Carefully, the bed dipped on his left side. A rough, callused hand grabbed onto his left arm, squeezing the appendage carefully and the strong scent of metal filled his nostrils. He recognized this presence. 

“Donnie…” He rasped out, receiving a low hum in response as his twin’s thumb brushed along his skin. The relief it brought him was immeasurable. But then on his right side, the bed dipped again. This time it was more than before, tipping the bed just barely to the side. But a clawed hand came up to wipe away Leo’s tears. 

“We’re here for you, bro.. No matter what..” Raph’s voice cut through the clutter in his head. 

Slowly, Leo opened his eyes to spot his older brother. Bandages were wrapped around his right eye. But he smiled, his little snaggletooth glinting in the low light of his room. On his shell, protected by a blanket, Mikey sat on it. Leo felt his cackling come to an end, replaced instead by the sudden and desperate need for air. 

“You’re okay, Leo! Just take a deep breath!” Mikey called, reaching down to pat Leo’s head. The slider slowly calmed, his ravaged breaths turning into simple inhales and exhales. 

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry…” Leo muttered, but his body relaxed into the hands. The presence of his brothers was more than enough to calm him down. 

“Sorry? What did you do?” Donnie questioned, his tone flat but not devoid of care. 

“I let you down, I let everyone down. I’m not going to be able to lead the team anymore, I can’t even be part of the team. I’m useless..” Leo admitted, his eyebrows pulling together in frustration. 

“Hm.. Are you sure about that?” Donnie sassed back, causing Leo to lift his head just enough to glare at Donnie. 

He was used to bickering, picking, biting. He was used to it. But Donnie was taking it too far. That smug smirk on his stupid, dumb face made his fists clench. 

Mikey giggled on his other side, followed by Raph’s shushing. “Be nice, stop laughing-”

“What is so goddamn funny about me being paralyzed? Likely permanently??” Leo barked out, looking between his brothers. 

The door to his room opened and footsteps followed as April came in with a mug of.. Coffee? Leo looked to her, trying to pull his most pathetic face. But her eyes were wide, a smile coming to her face and he knew he was betrayed once again-

“Look at you! I didn’t realize you could close your fist again!”

Leo froze, his own face turning into a mirror of shock. Slowly, his eyes shifted down to look at his right arm. 

There, laying on the mattress, with no feeling. It was like it wasn’t even there… But his fist was closed. It was shaking, struggling to keep itself from falling open again, but it was moving. 

“Still giving up, fearless leader?” Donnie questioned. 

Leo’s grin grew, wobbly and just as stable as his fist. 

“Not a chance, Dee.”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Indirectly Responsible

For @tmnt-write-fight for @turtle--thoughts @personne-writes @azucar-skull @teainthesnow @pileofpawns @rbtlvr @drebspells2022

Title: Indirectly Responsible Prompt: Donnie not coping as well as he seems with both the aftermath of Good Genes and how that indirectly led to the Foot Mystics being freed; You don’t know, you weren’t there; Bad dream; “There has to be another way”; Recovery; Turtle Pile Fluff; Scars Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 6005  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters:  Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo Warning: NA Summary: The Demon Shredder could strike at any moment. All of New York is under threat. And in April O’Neil’s apartment, one turtle can’t help but think that this whole situation is indirectly his fault.    Notes:  So, looking at the timeline, I don’t think that there’s a way for any of the turtles to know that their theft of the Heart of Tengu would lead to the heralds being freed until deep into season 5, so that’s where I’ve placed this. I also know there wasn’t actually much time between Karai waking up in April’s apartment and the final battle, but, eh, let’s pretend there was. ffn || AO3

____________________________________

Indirectly Responsible

Don tossed and turned, shifting around as he slept on a pallet that April had laid out on her floor for him, moving stiffly, uncomfortably. The lights were out, the apartment dark, and quiet lay like a blanket over the sleeping occupants. Inside April’s bedroom Karai slept, Chaplin choosing to stay with her, both guarding and keeping an eye on his mistress. Casey slept on a cot out in the hallway, where he would be the first alert for any trouble that might come up that way. On her couch curled under a blanket, April slept, but with a bat nearby, just in case. The Ancient One had taken to her recliner, hat pulled down over his face, snoring lightly. Splinter slept on a small nest of pillows, curled up in a more rat-like way than he typically did.

Leo, Raph, Mikey and Don all had pallets of quilts scattered around the rest of the apartment, strategically placed. Raph was near the shop stairs, ready for any trouble from that direction. Leo had chosen to sleep under the living room windows, perhaps in defiance of having once been thrown through him.  Mikey stayed near the kitchen, easily able to distinguish between the sounds the appliances made or trouble. Don, for his part, had laid out his pallet near the computer in case an alarm went off.

They had wanted to set up a watch rotation, just in case something happened in the night. However, the Ancient One had insisted that they all sleep. He felt that something was going to happen, soon, that this was the lull before storm, and they all needed to be well-rested for the coming battle. Splinter had trusted his judgment and encouraged everyone to rest while they could.

However, Donatello’s sleep was anything but restful. Dreams—memory fragments?—played through his head, distorted, hard to parse through. Most of what swirled around in his dreams were fragments, small pieces of moments that had no context. They were small enough that, should he remember them when he woke, he wouldn’t be able to glean much from them. Still, they were poignant in is dreams, leaving his mind in turmoil.

His giant, clawed hand around Mikey’s leg. His father’s sad face. Fear and a feeling of needing to get somewhere safe as he ran through the sewers. Being enraged as April held a broom that had just hit him in the face. Rage as Leatherhead and his brothers tried to catch him. Fear as Bishop’s men tried to gun him down. Anger as Leo shot him again and again with tranquilizer darts.

Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, painpainpainpainapain—

These dreams weren’t unusual. He’d been having them off and on for months. They’d started a few weeks after he’d gotten the cure for his second mutation. Don theorized that it was because his body had finally healed to the point that it could begin to process the trauma that he’d gone through. They’d fade out after some time, but then would resurface, usually with accompanying aches, pains, and exhaustions as his body recovered.

He had started to have these dreams again during their training with the Ninja Tribunal, something he attributed to the stress of the environment. The Ancient One had theorized that they were an avenue of mystical attack, with some connection to the situation, and led Don through some meditations to try to deal with them. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much time to focus on that, and the dreams had continued. They grew more frequent, the memories more broken up, and left him with echoed feelings of anxiety, terror, dread, and guilt that he couldn’t shake.

Every so often, though, a more intact memory would come through. It was usually a few minutes of something he’d observed or done when he’d been mutated. Some of them were downright terrifying. Others were just painful. Most of them, though, were enlightening no matter the other emotions accompanying them, and he usually remembered those memories when he woke. Tonight, amidst the fragments that ran throughout Don’s head, an intact memory made its way to the forefront.

He was in pain. He was in so much pain. He hurt. He was terrified. Safe. He needed to get where it was safe. He didn’t know where that was, but he needed it. He’d been trying to get out of this trap for hours, beating, beating, beating on it. But it wouldn’t let him escape.

He was in pain. He was scared. He was tired.

He slumped to the floor of the cage, energy spent for the moment. His captors were just beyond it, talking, although he didn’t understand them.

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

The one addressed shook his head. “There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms?” the third asked. “Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

The big creature shook his head. “It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

Something in the third one’s expression stirred something inside him, but he didn’t understand it, and just continued to watch.

“Then is this the only option?” the furry one asked.

The big one let out a breath and walked to the wall of lights and noises that he was often at. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am afraid that it is, Master Splinter.”

“There ain’t nothing else?” the first one said. “Nothing we can steal or get for you? Yer a smart guy, LH! Or—or what about the Justice Force? They’ve got all kinds of things, right?”

“I asked,” the third one said. “But… there’s no one there that understands all of, well, this,” he said, gesturing to the group.

The first one looked back at the second one. “So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No.” The second one’s voice was strong. “No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all,” the first one said.

“I know,” the second one said. “But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

All eyes traveled over to him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him. There was something there and he didn’t understand it. It made him mad, made him angry, and that gave him a surge of energy. He rose to his feet and roared, pounding on the cage that kept him again and again.

Maybe if he did it enough, if he escaped from this, the pain would finally stop.

The scene slipped back again, although not forgotten, fragments overtaking it, trying to cover it up. Yet no matter how much the fragments tried to cover it up, the scene stayed, pushing its way through them, insisting on staying in Don’s awareness.

Rage at Stockman, who seemed as little more than twigs walking. “There has to be another way!” Pain from things being jabbed in his side from Bishop’s men. “There isn’t one.” Fear as a gas filled the new cage he was in. “Then this is the only option?” Loneliness, loss, as he searched for safety, for his family for safety, not knowing when they found him, that they were who he was looking for. “I’m afraid that it is.” The overwhelming desire to runbreakhidefight all at once. “There’s no other options.”

Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain painpainpainpainpainpain—

“There’s no other way.”

Don woke up with a start. He immediately sat up, ignoring the ache that shot through him, tense, ready to roll out of bed and fight. There were no immediate threats, though, and everyone else seemed to be sleeping. The apartment was quiet, the monitoring systems weren’t going off, and Don couldn’t hear any threats from outside.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

A shudder ran through Don, and he let the battle-readiness fade away, simply sitting there instead as the ache started to settle into his bones. He tried to calm his breathing, focusing instead on those two phrases. Why did they seem so familiar? What had happened around those words? His brow furrowed as he tried to think it through. What had he been dreaming about?

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

“There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms? Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

“It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

“Then is this the only option?”

Right. Right, it had been not a dream but another memory. This time one of his family talking. Talking about him and options. Or, more precisely, what they felt like was their only option. The only way they had to cure him.

“So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No. No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all.”

“I know. But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

Don drew in a big breath, held it, and let it out. The memory was coming back to him, now. He’d seen fragments of it before, but they were all connecting, snapping into place. He’d known his brothers had taken him to Bishop. He’d known they’d negotiated with him for a cure. He’d know that they’d had to go and get something from Karai for Bishop, although he’d had to press hard to get that information out of anyone.

And he knew it was something called The Heart of Tengu. And he knew that it had given Karai control over the Foot Mystics. The same entities that now called themselves the Heralds of the Shredder and had worked to bring about the return of the Tengu Shredder.

Not that any of them had known that until recently.

After she had woken up, and after Chaplin had come to get her, and after they had both decided to stay for at least the night, everyone had settled down to share information. Or, well, that had been the idea. Neither side trusted the other, obviously. Broad strokes were shared, until one, fairly explosive moment when Karai had accused the turtles of bringing the whole disaster about. She’d told them about the Heart of Tengu, then, and how it had kept the Foot Mystics under control. She blamed them for what was happening.

Don had been stunned. He knew that his brothers had stolen something from her for Bishop, to ensure the cure for him. But he hadn’t realized what it was—or just how it had caused this apocalyptic nightmare they were now in.

“This is all your fault!” Karai snapped. “You stole the Heart of Tengu from me! You were the ones that set the Mystics free!”

“We may have stolen it from you, Karai,” Leo said, “but we had nothing to do with setting the Mystics free.”

Karai scoffed. “Then why did you steal it, Leonardo? To control the Mystics? To try to use them against me, only to find them too difficult for you to control?”

Raph growled. “Yer barking up the wrong tree, sister,” he said, and Don could see how he was trying very hard not to grip the handles of his sai, trying not to escalate things.

“It was payment,” Leo said, interrupting anything else that might be said. “We had a need. That was the payment required to ensure the deal.”

Karai spread her hand towards the windows. “And look what that ‘payment’ has cost everyone,” Karai mocked. “Was it worth dooming the world for?” she demanded.

Something sure seemed to settle in each of Don’s brothers and his father, even as Leo spoke again. “Yes. It was, Karai. And I’d do it again. We all would.”

Don took a breath, bringing himself back from that memory, even as the guilt he felt settled into him once more. His hand went to the scar on his leg, all that was left from that infected wound he’d had all those months, and pressed down on it, trying to massage away the shooting pain he was feeling from it. That wound had introduced the outbreak virus into his system, and that wound should have been something he paid more attention to.

The scar was a raised, bumpy thing, about an inch and a half wide, and roughly circular. It made sense, seeing it came from a puncture wound. The initial puncture hadn’t been as big as the scar, but there had been some necrosis around it that had worried Don a little. Fortunately, that, as well as the wound itself, had seemed to heal up with the advent of the cure.

It was a reminder, though. A reminder of what his own inattention and lack of care had cost them. A reminder of the guilt he carried with him. If the pains it sent out into his body from time to time were his only penance, then he had gotten off lightly.

Lightning flashed outside, and Don turned to look out the windows. Everything was so wrong out there. The sky wasn’t right, the trees and the buildings were twisted, warped. Everything outside felt like a mockery of what it should be. The people were terrified. Even the criminals had backed off, everyone hunkering down, waiting for the next thing to happen.

And Don knew it was all because of him.

Don couldn’t stay there anymore. He needed to get up, to move, to go somewhere else. His scar ached, and he felt the pain from it creeping into his bones, aches settling into the stretch marks left on his skin from the transformations. It felt like there was a pressure on his shell that was waiting to snap, and he winced as he got up. As much as he tried to hide it and deny it, he was still recovering from his second mutation. His muscles often had a persistent ache to them, something he felt in his very bones, and he still didn’t have all of his endurance back. Training with the Tribunal hadn’t helped that, and he had often found himself utterly exhausted at the end of a training day.

Honestly, it worried him, and some primal part of himself wanted to give into emotions and panic. Don kept that part in check, trying to remember that it was a traumatic thing that his body was recovering from. He knew that there was still a chance that the aches and pains would fade and eventually he’d be back to normal. However, he also knew that there was a good chance that he’d be living with this the rest of his life. Again, it was a small penance to pay for being the indirect cause of the apocalypse.

Don shook his head. The dreams, the worries of a full recovery, he sat them to the side for a moment and very quietly got up, using the nearby desk for leverage as his body protested the movement. He grabbed his bo—both to have it just in case, and for the extra support it gave him--and on silent feet he made his way towards the spiral staircase that led down into the shop.

Sneaking past Raphael wasn’t an easy thing to do, especially when Don felt as bad as he did at the moment, but it was possible, and Don knew the tricks. He managed not to disturb his brother and landed quietly in the shop with only the barest of a stumble, using his bo for balance. He could see more of the outside through the shop windows, and it turned his stomach, making the guilt settle on him even harder. The pain he was feeling flared up in response, and with a grimace, Don quietly made his way through the shop and to the door that led to the hallway, using his bo as a walking staff.

The staircase was there, and Don could hear Casey snoring on the second-floor landing. Every so quietly, Don made his way to the stairs, going down them instead of going up. He headed into the basement, and down to a room that he was told he ran into when he was mutating.

Don paused in the doorway, leaning on his bo and looking around. He wasn’t sure how Kirby’s room had survived the fire and explosion of April’s building, but somehow it had. Kirby’s bed and drawing table were still in there and Don listlessly made his way around the room, his bo quietly tapping on the floor. He looked at the little trinkets and such that had belonged to the man. He’d apparently had no family to come collect the things, and April, not knowing what to do with them, had put them back. She’d intended to clean the room out and rent it again, but with all of them in her life, she never had. Don was kind of glad for that now.

He heavily sat down on the bed, not feeling like staying standing any longer, and reached over to pick up a half-geode that was sitting on the nightstand. He could see where the fire had scorched the outside of the rock, but the crystals inside were undamaged. He gently ran his finger over them, wishing that he knew the significance of this to Kirby. He’d never gotten the chance to know Kirby that well. It had been a meeting, an adventure, and a tragedy.

Something else he was responsible for.

“Don?” Don looked up to see Leo standing in the doorway to the room. He was looking at Don with a mix of curiosity and concern, clearly assessing him. He frowned when he saw Don’s bo propped against the bed in easy reach. “Are you okay?”

Don shrugged and turned the geode over in his hand.

“Just thinking,” he said. “I’m aching a little, too.”

Leo frowned sympathetically, and moved further into the room, coming to sit beside Don. “I can understand that. Anything I can do?”

Don let out a small, half-amused noise. “Not unless you can rewind time and keep me from getting the wound to begin with.”

Leo’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “If I could do that, I would have done that to begin with.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

Don frowned as the memory resurfaced, complimenting Leo’s words.

Leo, of course, took notice, and his smile faded away, too. “What is it?” he asked.

Don looked down at the rough outer surface of the geode, running his thumb on it. “…Was it really the only way?” he asked quietly.

He felt Leo stiffen a little at his side. “Don, what do you—”

“The amulet,” Don said. “I—I had another dream tonight. Another memory. I was inside the cage LH and I built. You were all outside it, and Raph was saying that there had to be another way other than taking me to Bishop to get the cure. But you and LH didn’t seem to think that there was.”

Leo was still. “I remember that conversation,” he said, his voice muted, but firm.

Don swallowed, feeling emotions welling up in him. He rotated the geode in his hand, keeping the rough side up, letting his fingers scrape along it. “Was it the only way, Leo?” he asked. “Was it truly? I understand why you did it. I’m not saying that. But look what it cost us. The Tribunal. Our friends, the other acolytes. Parts of New York City. It could cost us not just the city, but so much more. Getting that amulet to save me might have doomed the world.” He was staring firmly at the rock now. “I’m not worth the world, Leo. I’m not worth all of those peopl—”

Suddenly Leo’s hands were on his shoulders, and his brother was roughly forcing Don to face him. Startled, Don dropped the geode and looked up. Leo’s face was set, grim, and yet full of barely contained emotion.

“Donatello, I never want to hear you say that again,” he said firmly, fiercely. “You are worth it.”

Don’s own mouth settled into a grim line, the startlement fading. “Am I?” he said. “To you, to our family, yes, I am. But if you compare my life to the lives of everyone else, then no, I’m not.” He gently but firmly moved himself out of Leo’s grasp on his shoulders and leaned down to pick up the geode, wincing as he did. “In the grand scheme of things, my life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s.” He turned the geode up, looking at the crystals. “There had to be another way to get me back.”

“There wasn’t.” Leo’s voice was firm, sure.

“There would have been, in time,” Don said. He grabbed his bo and used it to help him stand up, moving across the room to put the geode down on a shelf.

Leo stayed where he was and shook his head. “There was no other option,” he repeated, his voice rising a little bit.

“The options weren’t fully explored. I’ve seen the notes and I—” Don started.

Leo suddenly leapt to his feet, fire in his eyes. “You don’t know! You weren’t there!” he said forcefully, his voice raising even more.

Don turned to look at him, and Leo backtracked, reigning himself back in.

“I mean, of course you were there,” he said, his voice a little quieter. He ran a hand across his head, frustration in the movement. “But you weren’t—you weren’t you,” he said. “It was like I said to Raph and Mikey once. I kept looking to you to ask what we were going to do but… you weren’t there.” He looked at Don, with pleading eyes. “You’ve got to understand, Don. We explored everything as best we could. There was no other way.”

Don took a breath in, turning to stare at the geode for a moment. Its crystals caught the little light in the room and reflected it. “Then it’s my fault,” Don said quietly.

Leo stared at him a moment, confused. “What?”

“Then it’s my fault,” Don said turning back around. He leaned on his bo. “You’re right. I wasn’t there. I was… I was a raging, mindless beast who didn’t understand anything that was happening.” His jaw tightened a little. “I didn’t know anyone or anything. I didn’t even understand when I was safe. All I knew was pain and rage. I wasn’t there.”

“Don, I—” Leo started, but Don shook his head and cut his brother off.

“I wasn’t there before that, though.” He looked Leo in the eye. “I saw Leatherhead’s notes. He noted the point in my own notes when I became unreliable. I was too sick, too far gone with the virus to accurately interpret the data anymore. I wasn’t ever going to be able to find a cure, because I was already ‘not there.’ By the time we got back from the past, my reasoning was too far gone.”

Leo was silent, the analysis evidently taking him by surprise. Don forged ahead, reaching to run his fingers over the geode again.

“I never was going to find a cure,” he said firmly. “And it was my fault for not taking the wound seriously to begin with.” Don’s voice began to pitch up a little. “And I only got the wound because I froze up and Raph had to push me out of the way. If I had just moved, or if I had taken the wound more seriously, then I wouldn’t have double mutated,” the words spilled out of his mouth, falling quicker and quicker, his grip on his bo tightening. “If I hadn’t double mutated, then all of you wouldn’t have gone to Bishop for a cure. He wouldn’t have instructed you steal the Heart of Tengu. The Foot Mystics would have never gotten free. They wouldn’t have been able to kill the Tribunal and our friends. The Demon Shredder wouldn’t have been revived. And the fate of the world wouldn’t be hanging in the balance!”

Don whirled back to face Leo, who had been silent, watching as Don laid out his reasoning, grasping his bo with both hands now. “So, you see, Leo, this is all my fault! The world could end, we could all die, and it’s all my fault because I didn’t move out of the way of an enemy in time!”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Leo looked at Don and frowned. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “It is all your fault.”

Don wavered where he stood. “What?”

“It is your fault,” Leo said. “You’re right. If you hadn’t gotten that wound, then none of this would have happened.”

Don hadn’t been expecting Leo to say that, and he stared at his brother, his mouth hanging slightly open. The words stung. They hurt, even though Don knew they were true, and he tightened his grip on his bo again.

Leo wasn’t finished though. “But I’ll say it again. You don’t know. You weren’t there.” Leo took a step towards Don. “Your notes may not have been reliable towards the end, but they were better and more extensive than anything Bishop or Stockman had.”

“But… they made the cure…” Don said, confused.

“Yeah, they did,” Leo said. “From your notes.” Leo sighed and put his hands on Don’s shoulders, both comforting and supporting Don. “They lied to us, Don. They said they had a cure when they didn’t. Master Splinter and Leatherhead told us about it later, but it was too late by that point. You were closer to a cure than they were. They just had better resources and equipment to finish what you started.”

“They—what?” Don stared at his brother, trying to process this new information.

Leo nodded. “Leatherhead said that the only reason your notes were as well-researched and extensive was because you were testing yourself. Don’t you see, Don?” Leo asked.

Don stared at his brother, waiting for Leo to explain.

“Because you got that sting, you started your studies and research long before Bishop or Stockman even knew there was a problem. You had the most complete and accurate information available. Because you double mutated, your research went to Bishop and Stockman, and they were able to make a cure. Without you, without your research, without that sting, the city would still be suffering from mutated creatures.”

Leo gave Don’s shoulders a squeeze. “Yes, we stole the Heart of Tengu as payment, but it was because Bishop lied to us about what he could do. Not to mention, Bishop started the whole mess to begin with, with his fake invasion.” He gave Don a tight smile. “You didn’t bring about the danger we’re in now. Bishop did, by trying to build a fake danger, and then by lying to us.”

Don stared at Leo, blinking as his brain processed the information. “…Oh.” He could feel himself trembling just slightly. He shook his head. “But—still. You stole the Heart of Tengu to save me.” He glanced at the doorway, as if he could see outside through it. “I still feel responsible.”

Leo shook his head again, and adjusted his grip, leading Don back to the bed and sitting them both down. He shifted again, sliding an arm along Don’s shoulders to pull him in. “You’re not. Besides…” Leo hesitated. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… it feels like this was always supposed to be us? I think… I think that even if it hadn’t been to save you, then something would have happened to the Heart of Tengu anyway, and we’d be in a similar position.”

Don eyed Leo skeptically for a moment, but then relented. Leo had always had a sense about these things, even more so since he returned from the Ancient One. It had seemed to sharpen, somehow, during their training with the Tribunal.

“If you’re sure, Leo,” Don said, slumping a bit against his brother, tired and aching.

“If Leo’s sure about what?”

Mikey’s sleepy voice interrupted, and Mikey poked his head around the door. Raph was right there with him, moving to stand in the doorway, eyes moving over the pair, clearly assessing the situation.

“If I’m sure that Don’s not responsible for everything that’s happened,” Leo said.

“He ain’t,” Raph said bluntly.

“Ohhh,” Mikey said. “This is because of the Heart of Tengu thing, isn’t it?”

Don shot a Mikey a startled look. “How did you—”

“How did I know?” Mikey said, coming into the room and plopping himself down on the other side of Don. “You mean, how did I know that one of the two turtles with a huge guilt complex was totally and absolutely going to take what happened and blame himself?” Mikey grinned. “Come on, Donnie, gimme a little credit.”

“I don’t say this often, but Mikey’s right,” Raph said. He strode forward and poked Don in the forehead, before taking his bo from him and setting it to the side. “You’ve been overthinkin’ everythin’ durin’ your recovery. Wasn’t hard to figure you’d take what Little Miss Shredder said to heart.”

Don frowned and looked down at his leg again. His hand traced over his scar, wincing a little as he did. “I guess. It’s just—”

“Nope, no ‘it’s just’,” Mikey said. “Whatever Leo said, he was right.”

“It ain’t your fault, Don,” Raph said, his voice quiet. “It never was.”

Don sighed, his hands rubbing at the stretch marks on his thighs. “It still feels like it is.”

“Well, no matter if it feels like it or not, it isn’t,” Leo said.

Don looked up at his brothers, giving them a weak smile. “It’ll take some time for me to internalize that,” he said.

Raph made a shooing motion, obviously trying to encourage Don to lie down. “Yeah, well, while you’re working on that, we can work on you,” he said. “Yer hurting right now, aren’t you?”

Don grimaced. “It’s… never really left,” he admitted. “It’s just worse tonight.”

Raph let out a huff of frustration. “Don. You’re suppose to tell us these things.” He looked over at Mikey and Leo. “You two know what to do.”

“Right-o!” Mikey said, and practically tacked Don to the bed.

“Hey—what--!” Don protested.

“Nuh-uh,” Mikey said, draping himself over Don’s shell like some sort of starfish. He put his head right on top of Don’s. “You said that heat makes your shell feel better, so I’m about to be your own personal heater!”

“You’re too heavy to be a heater,” Don grumbled, trying to get comfortable under Mikey’s weight.

“I’ve got his legs, you get his arms?” Raph said to Leo.

“Sounds good to me,” Leo said.

“Guys, you don’t have to do this,” Don protested. “It’ll fade back to a tolerable level eventually.”

“Hm, I dunno, bro. Eventually sounds like it’ll take to long, especially when we can do something about it now,” Mikey said. He booped the back of Don’s head with his snout. “Come on, Don. Let us help you.”

Don sighed and relented. He was well and firmly trapped, as his brothers started to massage his limbs, trying to help with the pain he was feeling. Mikey’s heat on his shell helped, too, although he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. Slowly, Don started to relax as the massages and heat started to help the bone-deep aches he was feeling.

“You’re still recovering,” Leo said to him, softly, as he worked. “Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Let us take care of you. Because while you might not think you’re worth the world, to us you are.”

Somewhere above Don, Mikey snorted. “That was one of the cheesiest things you’ve ever said, Leo,” he cackled.

Don heard the thwap of Mikey being hit. “Shut it, chucklehead,” Raph said. “It might be cheesy, but it’s true.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Mikey protested. “Just that it was cheesy.”

Don chuckled quietly at the interactions and decided to stop protesting his brothers’ actions. He let them do for him, and then, when they all somehow curled and squished and fit on the bed, the bedframe miraculously holding under their weight, he didn’t protest, but instead let himself be cocooned within his brothers’ warmth and love. They talked, softly, about stupid things, silly things, and wishes and dreams, until one by one, they all fell asleep with each other, feeling safe and secure in a way that none of them had in far too long.

Don wasn’t sure he’d ever completely recover from his second mutation. He had a feeling that the aches and pains would come and go, becoming something he would deal with the rest of his life. He still felt guilty for what was happening, too, feeling indirectly responsible for the current state of the city. But right now, at this moment? He let himself trust in his brothers’ words, and refocused his mind on them, instead of his guilt.

And this time as Don slept, not a single dream or memory disturbed him.

It was hours later when two figures silently crept to the doorway of the room, looking in on the sleeping pile of turtles that was on the bed. Arms and legs were intertwined together, making it hard to tell who was sleeping on who and where one turtle began and another ended.

“You see?” the Ancient One said, very softly. “I told you—they needed this night. Their bond is strengthened. Donatello’s spirit is a peace, cutting off that avenue of attack. This bonding will only serve them well in the coming battle.”

Splinter looked over his sons, too many emotions running through him for him to properly express any of them. “It will,” he agreed instead. “I can only hope that it will keep them safe.”

For a moment, Splinter hesitated, and then he stole out of the room, returning moments later with a couple of large blankets. The Ancient One blinked at him.

“How are you going to cover them up? They are all tangled,” he asked, although he moved forward to help Splinter unfold the blankets.

“As I did when they were mere babies. I will cover the whole pile,” Splinter explained. “Creating a ‘shell’ for them to seek comfort in.”

“Ah.” The Ancient One nodded, and helped Splinter cover the sleeping pile of turtles, smiling to himself when he saw how Splinter took the time to adjust a limb here and there, and press his nose to each of his sons’ heads.

The two slowly left the room then, leaving the turtles alone to finish sleeping throughout the night. In the morning, battle would come, the Ancient One was sure, and for that, the four would need to be bonded strongly. But tonight, their bonds had been strengthened. He just hoped that it would be enough.

But for four turtles who were sleeping in a pile, under blankets put over them by their father, nothing could feel more safe and secure in that moment.

[sad-leon]

Name: Wren/Leon

~●○°●○°●○~ Likes: Angst/Whump with a Happy Ending, Familial Support, Hurt/Comfort, Leo-centric stuff, Giving the turles Autism and/or other disabilities

Squicks: Romance, Sad Ending and Major Character Death, Gore, Horror, Pure Fluff (i like a little bit of angst at the very least), First/Second Person POV, Tickling, Vomit, CSA/SA Content and References ^^^ if you're curious about any of that because of something you want to include, then feel free to ask me or have a mod ask me if you wish for it to remain a surprise

Favorite Iteration(s): Rise

~●○°●○°●○~ Prompt #1 - ROTTMNT: Leo dealing with post-movie permanent injuries (arm or leg loss, eyesight or heading damage, ect.) and getting comfort and support from his family. Prompt #2 - ROTTMNT: Leo at any point in time realizing he needs glasses. He either tries to read and someone points it out, or he starts getting a lot of migraines until he tries on glasses for whatever reason and suddenly everything is clear. Prompt #3 - 2012: Leo being unable to will away his knee pain and relying on his family for support. Prompt #4 - ROTTMT: Leo should get thrown through a window considering a lot of his other iterations have <3 Prompt #5 - 2003: Leo and Usagi a QPR (Queer Platonic Relatonship <- NOT romantic) where Usagi offers support to Leo after Leo's really depressive and lonely arc ~●○°●○°●○~

[lavadragon365]

TMNT Write Fight attack!

My first TMNT write fight attack for @tmnt-write-fight for @mackself

CW: Panic attack

I hope you guys like it! I worked hard on it <3

[13runningsomething]

Chain of Events

@tmnt-write-fight Attack For @turtle--thoughts

Based on their prompt:

TMNT 2003, Donnie not coping as well as he seems with both the aftermath of Good Genes and how that indirectly led to the Foot Mystics being freed (bonus if Hurt/Comfort ensues)

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Word Count: 4021

Donatello liked to think of himself as the most sensible among his family. His scientific mind was easily capable of putting logic first in any given scenario, and dealing with any emotional fallout after the fact. He knows this quirk has more or less become a skill in the last couple years, given all the wild adventures he and his brothers have found themselves on, adventures that often compounded on top of each other with hardly any breathing room in between. That’s the old saying, isn’t it? Out of the frying pan and into the fryer?

That was probably the best description he had for the events of the last couple months. First it was some mutant monsters, courtesy of Bishop’s outbreak, then a persistent cold that refused to break, which naturally culminated in a seemingly blackout weekend that started in April’s apartment and ended at Area 51 of all places, after which Donnie was told he’d actually transformed into a raging monster himself. Huh…

The downtime after that was consequently spent resting by order of his family, and trying in vain to remember any of it for himself. Though he had noticed some small changes in that time, his logical mind concluded that he would just take longer to heal. He was the only mutant affected by the outbreak, after all. His recovery was bound to be different, right?

Weeks that felt agonizingly slow in the moment became far too brief when they were whisked away to Japan to train with the Ninja Tribunal, and informed of the looming threat of the Shredder Tengu and his Foot Mystics. None of them could afford to rest with the world at stake, and it meant everyone was essentially teetering between deep exhaustion and tense anxiety. The lighter moments were few and far between, and even those had been tainted by the deaths of their new friends and the Tribunal at the hands of the Mystics.

Those stupid Mystics.

Their most recent encounter with them was still at the forefront of Donatello’s mind. How could it not be? Considering they’d managed to resurrect their master from his grave and nearly put Karai in one of her own…

And they dropped the bombshell that’s been rattling Don’s head all night.

You are the ones who sealed her fate.

Without you we could never have freed the Shredder,

For it was you that freed us.

When you took that crystal on behalf of Agent Bishop,

You set a chain of events in motion that led to—

Everything that was currently going wrong in their lives.

He couldn’t dodge quickly enough. He couldn’t recognize his cold for what it really was. He couldn't be there to help Leatherhead, which left Bishop and Stockman as their only other option.

And they still couldn’t entirely fix him.

Don had made it into the bathroom earlier to wash up and prepare for another day of waiting to see what might happen, but having the revelation from the Mystics intruding his every thought has also managed to bring up issues he thought he’d set aside.

Like the fact that his nails are still tougher and sharper.

It isn’t by much, no where near as bad as his brothers had described from his temporarily monstrous state, but they still weren’t back to normal. Donnie tried to cut them just before they’d been Shanghaied (as Mikey put it), only to nearly break the clippers with how much extra effort it took. Even the scissors struggled with the job. If that wasn’t enough, it seemed his nails would only grow back into the same pointed shape, regardless of how flat he cut them.

Don couldn’t really convince himself that it was just in his head either, that it was some anxious response his brain manufactured if his nails got too long, because while they took a month or so to grow back, the scarring was always there.

He didn’t have to be a genius to understand why. He went from being 5’2” and 180 pounds to over seven feet tall and double his weight in a matter of seconds. He knew there’d be stretch marks, and considering how fast the “cure” took effect, he’s surprised he didn’t have more. Donnie wasn’t necessarily bothered by them cosmetically, but the fact that they were always there served as a constant reminder that their weekend at Bishop’s was real, and not just some wild story his brothers had made up to freak him out.

Don’s also not entirely unconvinced that his temporary growth spurt may have affected his actual growth, too. He and his brothers had only just turned eighteen, and he was sure they were bound to grow at least once more, mutated status not withstanding. In the weeks since his recovery though, he’s noticed himself looking down at his brothers more and more, which just felt wrong. They’ve been the same height for so many years, and being next to the youngest among the four, he didn’t expect his growth spurt to happen first. Rationally, he knew it was possible, but a deep part of his brain kept whispering that it wasn’t probable.

Unless there was something helping it along.

With this whispering in the back of his mind, Donnie began checking every drawer and cabinet in April’s bathroom for a tape measure. He rustled desperately through all of them, knowing he could’ve been quieter and more respectful of their host’s space, but his anxiety was taking on a mind of its own. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, and let the tape unroll until it was just touching the floor. Don moved in front of the mirror, holding the tape upright in one hand and pinching it off with the other where it met the top of his head. He slowly brought it down to see—

5’6”

—He really wasn’t imaging things, huh?

His infection had left him permanently scarred, permanently changed, and may now lead to the end of the world—

Nope! Nuh uh. Don was not going to hop on that little train of thought right now. Shredder and the Mystics were out somewhere, plotting their next move. Karai has yet to wake up, let alone recover from all her injuries, and they all needed to focus on understanding these new “Dragon-forms” of theirs before they could even think of using them in battle again. Donnie took a moment to breath, to find his center, and move all the spiralling fears to the back burner. There’d be plenty of time to deal with them when the world wasn’t at stake.

When he finally felt fit enough to leave, he reached for the doorknob and flicked off the light—

Red…

His eyes… were red!

Don yelped, backing away from the shocking sight until his shell collided with the wall, staring in abject horror at the glowing orbs reflected in the mirror.

He knew they were his. Despite the almost complete darkness of the bathroom, he could still see himself in the mirror clear as day.

His normal self.

Donnie takes careful steps back toward the mirror, reaching for the light switch hesitantly.

When he flicks it on again, everything seems fine. His irises are invisible beneath the white membranes, and opening those reveals their natural hazel colour.

When he flicks the light off, the burning red returns.

On again, nothing.

Off again, bloody crimson.

He continues toggling the light switch as his brain struggles to make sense of this new quirk of his. The reflection staring back at him was clear, despite the minimal lighting in the small room, the only source other than the main light being a small emergency bulb plugged in just above the vanity. He couldn’t recall at the moment if his night vision’s been any better in the last several weeks, but he figures a hulking turtle monster would probably need it for killing hunting its prey. He hadn’t had much opportunity to catch a glimpse of his own reflection while they were training in Japan (nor did he want to, given the state of his scars). If his family and friends ever noticed anything in the low candlelight they were often surrounded by, surely they would’ve brought it up with him, meaning they hadn’t seen it, which meant it wasn’t as bad as he thought and he could probably forget about it until—

“Donnie!”

The interruption, coupled with a hand snatching his own away from the light switch, startles Donatello out of the spiral. He catches Leonardo’s eyes in the mirror, gazing back at him and full of worry.

 “You trying to round up April’s electricity bill or something?” The elder speaks with a soft chuckle, but they can both tell it’s forced. The concerned stare never drops.

“No, I…” If they haven’t brought it up, that means they haven’t noticed… “It just stopped working for a minute. All good now.”

“Really?” Leo squints at him, “I was sure I could see the light flickering from down the hall.”

“… I must’ve had the wrong switch then,” Donnie tries. “It was the fan that wasn’t working.” He toggles the other switch to prove his point. “And now it’s working fine! Sorry about that, Leo.”

Donnie really tries to get past his big brother, but a hand catches his upper arm before he can make the doorjamb.

“Don, look at me.”

He refuses at first, keeping his gaze locked on the tile floor. He doesn’t want Leo to notice.

“Please…”

It’s the desperation that breaks him, so Don slowly looks up.

He’s definitely shorter than me now.

“What’s going on with you?”

Leo speaks so gently, so patiently, like he was afraid of scaring off a wild animal, and Don finally let’s everything boil over.

“It’s my fault.”

He doesn’t know when he started crying, or when standing became such a chore, but Leo catches him before he can fall, and lowers them both down against the vanity.

“Talk to me,” Leo pleads, as he pulls him into a side hug and rubs his upper arm comfortingly. “What do you think is your fault?”

“Everything,” Donnie breathes out. “The Mystics were set loose because you guys had to save me, because I couldn’t move fast enough. Everyone that they’ve hurt, that The Shredder hurts, it’s on me!”

“Don—”

“And I thought I could ignore it. If I could focus on fixing everything and saving the world, I could worry about the why and how later. But my scars, my body… it’s always gonna be different and it’s always gonna be proof of just how bad I—”

“Donnie.” Leo grabs him by both shoulders, turning to face him head-on. “Listen to me, and listen well. This is not your fault.”

He wants to protest, but Leo presses on. “None of us knew what the Mystics really were when we stole the crystal. And I don’t think we would’ve even considered the possibility of another Shredder before Splinter and the Ancient One first talked about him. You might be a genius, Don, but as good as you are at preparing for the future, you can’t predict it. I promise, it’s nothing we would ever hold against you, so there’s no need to hold it against yourself.”

As nice as it was to hear, Donnie’s still not convinced. “You heard what the Mystics said, though. This nightmare wouldn’t even be possible if I hadn’t gotten infected in the first place.”

Leonardo’s expression softens, but the determination doesn’t go away. “You can’t take what the Mystics say to heart. They’d say anything to distract us if it made defeating us easier. Besides, the day you were infected, it could’ve easily been one of us instead. We all make mistakes sometimes, and no matter how good or bad they work out, we just gotta move forward and learn from them, not spend time dwelling on them.”

“It’s harder when your mistake could bring about the end of the world, though.” Donnie draws further into himself, and Leo can feel the argument becoming lost. He thinks for a moment, drawing on anything that might truly make Donnie believe him.

“…If you really need someone to blame for this, then it would be my fault.”

Donnie’s face shoots up like a rocket. “No. What— why would you even say that?”

“Because we were the ones who stole the crystal,” Leo puts simply. “You had no say in the decision at the time, and since I’m the leader, the responsibility falls to me.”

“Leo, that doesn’t make any sense, even by your own logic,” Donnie argues emphatically. “You didn’t know about Shredder and the Mystics either, and you were still doing it to save me.”

“The responsibility doesn’t solely fall on you, Don—”

“But it doesn’t fall on you either! I thought you already got that through your head when you were with the Ancient One!”

They’re both surprised by the outburst, and Donnie feels like he’s sinned somehow. None of them really talked about Leo’s guilt complex after his trip abroad unless they really needed to, and Don’s just gone and used it against him like it was nothing.

He was just making things worse.

“Leo, I—"

“No, Don, it’s okay.” Despite what Donnie believes, he does in fact look okay. “You guys don’t need to walk on eggshells around me anymore. I know I still have things to work through, and I am, but that’s not why I would be responsible for all of this.”

“Leo, you’re not—”

“It’s because I would do it all over again, knowing the Mystics would be set free, knowing the Shredder would be set free, as long as we got you back.”

The silence in the bathroom is heavy. Donnie is too stunned to speak for a moment, and what comes out is ripe with disbelief. “How… how could you say that? How can you even justify that? I’m one person, one mutant. I’m not…” He feels like he’s gonna start crying again.

“You are to us,” Leo pleads, gripping his shoulders tightly. His face takes on a faraway look before he continues. “I don’t know if you remember, but you would’ve died without a cure.”

Donnie remembers. Leatherhead gave him a complete rundown of what had happened as soon as he was coherent enough to receive it. “Leatherhead was the one who found it, though.”

“Yeah,” Leo confirms, “and he admits that without Bishop’s lab resources, he doesn't know if you would’ve received it in time.”

Donnie hunches uncomfortably. He can’t really argue with that.

Leo turns back to him, looking earnestly at him. “We can’t survive without you, Don. If saving the world means losing you forever, I don’t think I could live with making that call, and I know Raph and Mikey couldn’t either. You’re too important to us, and I need you to see that.”

He says it like a confession, and for a brief moment, Donnie is struck by an image of his brother thirty years older, more haggard and world-wearier than he could ever believe, blinded by combat, but still no less of a warrior.

He realizes for the first time that things could’ve been even worse than they already were. His logical mind starts firing again, and he wonders just how long the Mystics have been looking for a way to break free of their prison. If it hadn’t been Bishop, would it have been someone else? Would his brothers have been left to fight them off without him, or with a monstrous version of him who couldn’t support them the same way he could now?

Would they have already fallen apart before they had the chance?

That alternate future was already a frightening enough nightmare for Donatello. The idea that it could have easily come to fruition in his own dimension, and so soon too, was paralyzing. Thinking about this, he supposes he’s grateful that it hadn’t been worse. The fact that he and his brothers were all here, together, meant that they had a better chance of succeeding, just as they had there. The future may be unpredictable, but in his case, it at least set a precedent.

The reminder of his monstrous potential does derail his relief, however, as Donnie takes in the marks he can see from his position on the floor. He musters his courage, but still worries what kind of answer he’ll get when he finally asks the question that’s been plaguing his head for months. “Even if I came back from Bishop’s different? Or… wrong?”

Leonardo feels the shift in his brother’s anxieties, and follows it just as quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Donatello, I swear.” He gives Donnie a once over. “Your scars, they don’t cause you pain, do they?”

Don shakes his head.

“Then the way I see it, they’re proof that you survived. Proof that you’re strong enough to get through whatever life throws in front of you. It’s nothing you need to hide, and it’s certainly nothing you need to be ashamed of.”

Leo massages his left shoulder as he says this, and Donnie can picture the chunk missing from the shell on his back. He knows his brother is speaking from experience, and supposes he can be grateful that most of his deep muscle pain had subsided during his recovery.

“What about my eyes?” He asks.

Leo tilts his head at him. “What about them?”

Donnie slips out of his brother’s hold, standing to face the mirror again. Leo quickly follows suite, glancing between his brother and their reflections. Don looks him in the eye one last time before he shuts the light off again.

As expected, his irises glow bright red beneath their membranes.

“Oh, wow.”

Donnie turns toward his brother’s reflection anxiously.

He looks back reassuringly. “It’s not bad, I promise. Just surprised me a little.”

Don’s not sure he believes that. “Have you guys really not noticed?”

Leo shrugs. “Our membranes glow under certain lights too, don’t they? It could just be this one that’s setting it off.” He points to the orange-tinted emergency light.

Donnie supposes that’s possible, but the fact that it’s visible even beneath the protective membrane concerns him. “What if it becomes a problem on missions? Or it gets worse?”

“Then we’ll deal with it if it happens,” Leo asserts. “You don’t know that it ever will, Don.”

You can’t predict the future, he recalls.

Donnie chooses not to tell him about his nails, given how they might fall into that same state of limbo, but from where they stand in front of the mirror, the other change is made glaringly obvious.

“I’m taller than you guys now,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” Donnie faces him, now slightly annoyed. “I know you’ve at least had to notice that.”

Leo shrugs again, seeming somewhat guilty. “Maybe a little.”

Despite the apprehension, Don’s surprised to see no discomfort in his brother’s expression. “And that doesn’t upset you?”

“Should it?”

Donnie scoffs. “We’ve been the same size our entire lives, Leo. It doesn’t bother you that you need to look up at me now?”

“Well,” he thinks, “it would probably bug me more if you were rubbing it in my face all the time.” He finishes with a chuckle.

Donnie frowns. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Leo makes sure to give Donnie his most sincere expression. “Look, for all the things the four of us have in common, we still have our differences. I don’t expect that to change as we get older, and I’m sure you know that it won’t.”

Donnie thinks for a moment. He’s never really investigated their mutations all that much, aside from what’s required for medical treatment and general upkeep. Though they were all originally exposed to the same ooze, that couldn’t guarantee they’d all be affected the same way, or how they’d be affected in the long term. They were still just teenagers, after all. They could potentially have years left to grow before they stopped.

“Besides,” Leo continues, “having your growth spurt first doesn’t mean much when it’s only a few inches. Mikey could very well be looking down at you by next week.”

The mental image is like a jump scare. After recovering from the shock, Donnie shoves him by the shoulder. “Why would you say that?” He laughs it off before he can think about it too hard, laughter that Leo immediately joins in on. They eventually go back to sitting on the bathroom floor as it tapers off.

The silence that follows is a lot more comfortable than it had been before. As they catch their breath, Donnie can feel that at least a few of his anxieties have simmered down for the time being.

Leo wraps and arm around Don’s shoulders, squeezing him slightly. “Regardless of who ends up being the tallest, or how tall any of us get, just remember that we’ll always be brothers, so we’ll be dealing with it together.”

Donnie smiles up at him. “I know.”

“And we’ll do the same with the Tengu Shredder,” Leo remarks, smiling back at Don. “Right?”

Donnie’s a little surprised by the return to their original conversation.

He doesn’t answer fast enough, apparently, because Leo leans in and repeats, “Am I right?”

After everything they’ve talked about, every argument proposed and rebuked, Donnie finds he can’t really disagree with him right now. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Leo replies cooly. “I am still the oldest, after all.”

Donnie knocks into his side, feeling fond exasperation for just how cheesy his big brother can be when he’s trying to cheer them up.

The sound of footsteps makes them both look to the door, where Raphael appears a second later. He switches the main light on, blinking like he’s still half asleep. He peers for someone at eye level before his gaze drops to the turtles huddled together on the floor. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing.” “Impromptu sibling hug.”

Raph pinches between his eyes. He’s definitely just woken up. “One at a time, please.”

“Just get down here,” Leo exclaims.

The two seem to have one of their silent conversations before the red-clad turtle complies. “Fine, if no one else cares that this is a bathroom, I guess.” He takes a seat beside Donnie, looking them both over unsubtly.

He must find something that tips him off to Don’s prior distress, because Raph looks at him a bit softer now. “Seriously, you all good, bro?”

Donnie glances back at Leo for a moment, who has a knowing smile on his face. It makes him more confident that everything will in fact turn out okay. “Yeah,” he turns to Raph, smiling. “I think I will be.”

Raph smiles back at him, joining the hug and squeezing him tightly.

He’s about to complain about the air his lungs are losing when Mikey appears in the doorway, surprising all but him.

“Woah woah woah! You’re doing a group hug without me?”

“Mikey, don’t—”

Raph’s protests fall on deaf ears as the youngest leaps at the huddle, crushing the air out of all of them when he lands.

“Thanks for that, Mikey,” Leo squeaks out.

“No problem,” Mikey replies as he moves into a more comfortable sitting position. “Every team needs their star player, right? And no one gives better hugs than this guy.”

He proves his point by wrapping his arms tightly around Donnie, who’s now trying to figure out how Mikey knew they were in there for him. He stops thinking about it when the others join in from either side, instead focusing on the warmth, belonging, and love he feels being at the center of the turtle pile.

“Not that I wanna cut this short, but I’d still like to brush my teeth sometime today,” Raph teases.

They all laugh at the complaint, but manage to stay huddled on the floor for an extra fifteen minutes. If the lighter moments were gonna be few and far between right now, they might as well savour every second of them.

[letsdeweythis]

Name: Timber

~●○°●○°●○~ Likes: Whump, hurt/comfort, angst, injury, fluff, family feels, silly shenanigans, happy endings. Leo is my favorite character, so if you're looking for a specific turtle to use for one of my prompts, I encourage you to pick him ;] Squicks: Hurt/no comfort, ships involving the turtles, non-tmnt crossovers, OC additions as major characters, unhappy endings, major character death.

Favorite Iteration(s): Rise all the way!

~●○°●○°●○~ Prompt #1 - In the Rise! episode "The Purple Game," it takes Donnie just a little bit longer to escape the lair after the Purple Dragons reveal themselves. How does the story change? Prompt #2 - Rise! Leo is thrown off a roof again; this time, Draxum is the one who saves him. Prompt #3 - One of the Rise! turtles has been hit with a mystic curse, and April is the only one who can fix it. Prompt #4 - Rise! Splinter and April go on a father-daughter outing. Prompt #5 - One of the Rise! turtles accidentally calls Raph dad. ~●○°●○°●○~

Excited to see how all of this turns out! Remember to take breaks, be creative, and have fun!

[sapphocracy]

Name: Mech (It/She)

~●○°●○°●○~ Likes: Hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, family/friend dynamics, DISABILITY REP (especially fibromyalgia and semiverbal and mid-support needs autism!), insecurity Squicks: Romance (i'm romance-repulsed), bad parent splinter/bad sibling turtles, hurt no comfort, some heavy angst topics idk it depends on a lot of factors, you can dm me about it! Also any form of restraints or confinement, any depiction of therapy Favorite Iteration(s): MM/Tales, Rise, 2003

~●○°●○°●○~ Prompt #1 - MM/Tales Raph is autistic and very overwhelmed by a sudden routine change at school, Leo helps him regulate Prompt #2 - 2003 Raph and Don are left to their own devices on a mission and get to bond by blowing stuff up Prompt #3 - Rise Casey is struggling to adapt to her new life away from evil, and Mikey is happy to help her learn Prompt #4 - Anything about 2003 Leo and Karai's rocky friendship, their dynamic is so everything to me Prompt #5 - (Rise, MM/Tales, or 2003) Donnie struggles with chronic fatigue and brain fog and wants to try and work through it anyway, Raph or Leo encourages him to get some rest instead ~●○°●○°●○~

[arhintess]

Which TMNT Write Fight fics were your favorite to write/read?

Well, I was only able to write two fics for the TMNT Write Fight, but of those two, I think No One Can Escape Death was my favorite to write.

And I'm still reading a bunch of the other fics, so I don't have a favorite quite yet. But I did really like Awaiting Your Arrival(With Simple Survival)

[hyacinthstears]

Sketching something for a tmntwritefight fic I'm writing while watching commentary videos

@cheetochild989 👀

thanks for the prompt... you have given me to much power.

[tmnt-write-fight]

FINAL RESULTS

Heya guys! It's your favorite blueberry flavored son of a bitch here! SO! After running all the numbers and double triple checking, I'm here to bring you all the FINAL POINT TOTALS from tmnt write fight! Among a grand total of 70,403 points...

Hamato Clan with a whopping 31,201 points and 113 prompts filled And then the Foot Clan, with 39,201 points and 98 prompts filled An unbelievable upset! The Foot has overtaken the Hamatos by a grand margin, their plan of taking things slow and making longer fics paying off big time! Congratulations to all of our Foot Clan writers! Not only that, collectively, you all wrote a total of 500,929 words!! To put that in perspective, the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy is 481,103 words, and you all wrote more than that in the span of a month. Pretty impressive stuff! Thank you all again for participating, this was an amazing event with a way bigger turnout than we expected! We don't want to confirm anything quite yet, but we are hoping to do another one of these at some point (though likely a different month next year) and keep this a regular event for the community! With that, we're hoping to (maybe) release a survey at some point soon for people to share feedback and help decide how this event looks moving forwards. Until then, keep writing ninjas!

[morrigan-cotk95]

New fic for @lasanya539 for the @tmnt-write-fight event!

The prompt was: Rise Disaster Twins angst, post Donnie's Gifts. How does Leo react to having been given a literal shock collar that stops what he says as a gift?

Hope you guys enjoy!!!

[puzzledcretin]

Mystic Mojo

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @eyesoftheholder)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: (Post ROTMNT movie) An exploration into Mikey’s mystic powers and the possibilities that come with it. Word Count: 2,376

Read On AO3

The sun was still high up in the sky, though it was angled toward the west. In an hour or two, it would be beyond the horizon and out of reach. For now, the golden glow cascaded among the blades of grass. 

It was warm here. Wherever here was. 

Among the tall blades of grass, some just as tall as the young turtle as he sat amongst them, were flowers. Sprinkled in clusters, wild flowers blotted the green all around him. An array of reds that faded into purples that faded into blues. Spread out as far as the eye could see. The flowers stood out, ranging from the smallest buds to the largest petals. None of them seemed to be particularly the same species, all unique, all different. 

Fox tail ferns disrupted the usual monotony around him, along with bushes and clusters of wheat. 

Despite the warmth radiating down on him, it smelled like rain. It smelled fresh, like life itself was bursting forth from the buried roots of the Earth. It flourished through the plants, dancing around in the wind. The wind itself sang a song, calling out to everything that was graced with its presence. Brushing against every surface as a reminder of  “I am here, I am here,”

So was he, wasn’t he? Here in this field. Away from everything that ever bothered him. 

He sucked a deep breath in, taking the wind into his heart. Nothing more than a brief detour, bringing life in just to breathe out a part of himself. It joins the wind, flying away into the sky and melding with the dust and leaves that tumbled along the breeze.

His gaze turns downwards, away from the unyielding rays of the sun. 

Stones and pebbles, clusters of dirt, maybe some bugs that were on their way home from a long day of.. Being bugs. But instead of your usual ground activity, there were glowing orange cracks in the Earth. They shined, almost as bright as the sun itself. And it wasn’t stagnant. It shimmered, it shifted. Much like the wind, it danced along to its own song.

His hands came down to touch it, but as he did, those glowing orange cracks suddenly burst up along his arms. They flared, angry and dangerous. The deep lines buried themselves deep into his flesh. Pain followed, sharp pains as his skin was ripped apart before his very eyes. Flakes broke off from the edges, burning up into ashes as they rose up into the air around him. 

The particles floated around him, they almost looked beautiful. Like thousands of fireflies, they circled his head. His eyes widened. With some effort, the turtle tried to pull his arms away from the ground. The urge to touch these small particles- pieces of himself- was just too much to ignore. But, his hands were gone. Merged into the same energy that burned the ground. 

The embers around him grew brighter and brighter, heat searing his skin. Then, before he could gather his bearings and figure out what was happening, the embers shot out in every direction. Their range was impressive, falling down into the blades of grass to hide from view.

Like sparks among dry brush, there was no way to stop the eruption of flames that occurred in that beautiful field. And the flames weren’t small, they towered up amongst the grass. It tore apart every blade, every petal, every leaf and threw them all up into the air to mix their ashes with the cascade of debris. Thick, dark gray clouds covered the sky. The warmth of the sun was blocked out, replacing everything with the cruel heat of the flames. Smoke filled his lungs in an instant, suffocated him with unrelenting plumes as the flames consumed the wildlife around him. 

“Wait- Wait, stop! Stop it!” 

His words echoed back to him, bouncing around his fiery chamber. They loomed over him, repeating over and over.

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

The cracks along his arms crawled higher and higher. He looked down, watching the trenches engulf more and more of his skin. It ate him, throwing up embers. The embers flew through the flames. He didn’t know where they were going. But beyond these walls, he wondered how much of the field survived. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks. Trails tracked along his face, innocent expressions of fear and remorse that stood contrast to the world around him. He choked on the smoke, his body bending forward as the golden glow attacked his shoulders. He coughed, trying to force it back out. 

Slowly, heat built up in his throat. A wretched burn worked its way up to his mouth, it settled on his tongue and ate away at the saliva that accumulated there. 

His lip trembled, the last barrier between him and whatever lies beneath. 

For the first time since he entered this hell, he wished he could go home. He craved the soft, pillowy feeling of being surrounded by his family. Lines ran deep into his body, searing him from the inside out. But he grit his teeth, clamps down.

Silently, he begged for forgiveness. 

The world wouldn’t know, and he believes they would never know, that this was his fault. He was going to burn up and disappear, destroying everything in his wake. 

And yet, and yet. All he could imagine was his brothers. His sister. His fathers. He hoped they were safe, far away from all of this. He could imagine them now, laughing in the lair. They were oblivious, they were having fun. He could imagine what they’d say. 

“I wonder where he is.”

“I wonder if he’s coming home soon.”“I wonder if he’ll bring home pizza.”

A grin cracked at his lips. The stretch of his lips split the flesh. Beneath it, the same orange glow that corrupted the rest of his body. He clamped down with his jaw, breathing through his nose as the cracks started to spread across his face. 

He couldn’t hold on, he wasn’t strong enough.

“I’m sorry..”

The cracks exploded across his body as he finally let go. Flames rushed along the dry grass in order to join their origin once again. He screamed as he gave in, his body pulling apart at the seams. 

Mikey woke up with a choked gasp. He coughed, rolling onto his side in his hammock in an attempt to clear his throat from the spit that attacked him. 

He pushed himself up. Trembles raked through his body, the aftershocks of the earthquake that rocked his very core. His hand moved up to lay against his plastron. With the hard plate between him and his heart, he couldn’t feel his heart racing with his hand. But he could hear the pounding in his ears. 

That dream felt too realistic, phantoms of all the burns prickled around his body. His eyes flickered down to his hands, expecting to see the eerie orange glow. But all he saw were the light colored scars that still haunted him. But that was it, he was safe. 

Mikey fell back into his hammock, looking up at the ceiling of his room. He tracked the bright colors that formed circles and spirals. He let out a slow breath, his lungs deflating in his body. 

He laid there for an hour. His mind was slowly reeling with the memories of a dream that were burned in. Usually, dreams would fade away. No shackles to hold you in a single place, no trap to keep you stuck in bed. But this was fresh and powerful. 

Eventually, Mikey pulled himself up to his feet. 

The young turtle had a lot he wanted to get done today, especially after Leo came back with some new canvases. They were unused, but not completely clean. Spatters and stains along the bright white fabric. It was imperfect, but Mikey could see the inspiration.

So, the teen was set about getting all his other tasks done. He buried himself in what he had to do. He had originally planned on making something small like cereal for breakfast, but it felt too fast. A full meal was in order then, pancakes and bacon and juice and toast and scrambled eggs. 

Then, he took his focus onto the dishes. Donnie had built a dishwasher, he could be using it, but instead he took to hand washing them. And well, it would be rude to just leave them drying on the counter, so he dried them too. Then, since the job was already two thirds of the way done, he put the dishes away too. 

Mikey was on his way back to his room when Raph pulled him aside and asked if he were interested in sparring at all. How could he say no to that? Clearly, he couldn’t. He focused on the fight intently, filling his head on which strike or duck he was going to do next. It was almost a blur, what happened. 

In fact, a lot of it was a blur. 

Yes, Mikey knew he did things. He knew he made breakfast, he knew he had washed and put away all the dishes, he knew he had sparred with Raph. 

And yet, if you had asked him any specifics, he would draw blanks. His mind was busy. 

So, despite his brother's calls to join him in the living room to play games, Mikey found himself walking to the small corridor where he kept most of his art supplies. It used to all be in his room, but when they were cleaning up the lair after the Kraang’s failed invasion, Mikey had moved a lot of it to what he called his studio. 

He had outgrown the space, he had claimed. He was a blossoming artist who needed to spread his wings. 

As he walked into his space, the familiar scent of disinfectant and paint filled his nostrils. The walls had been cleaned recently and his paints were all scattered about. His acrylics, his pastels, and his oils. Mikey moved to sit in the center of the room. He gathered up some nearby supplies and stared down at his blank canvas. 

With a deep breath, he got to work. Recently, he has been working with a lot of abstract concepts. Colors in broad strokes across a canvas, pushing expression into nothing and everything all at the same time. One of his last paintings was a real whirlwind of color. He chose greens, blues, reds, purples, and oranges. All sharp lines, all bouncing along the surface, but aimed down towards the cluster of pink and gray at the bottom. 

Mikey proudly hung that one up on the wall, he had named it To Rise Above. 

This painting, however, was proving to be rather difficult. Mikey let his heart guide his hands, reds and oranges and yellows force themselves onto the page. Sharp angles that erupt from soft curves, contradictions in forms. There was chaos erupting on this canvas, all surrounding a little black blob in the middle with two glowing orange eyes. 

Mikey paused as he took a step back to process what he saw. 

Just like his dream, he was surrounded by fire. 

His hearing tunneled, his eyes unfocused. He dropped his brush to the floor, the orange paint splattered lazily against the concrete. 

“I see,”

Mikey jerked himself back to reality, turning his gaze up behind him to catch Draxum standing behind him. The goat man had his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, eyebrows drawn tight together but his focus was on the canvas. 

“Tell me, Michelangelo, what does this depict.” Draxum asked, using his foot to lightly push Mikey’s paint palette out of the way before slowly sinking to sit criss cross beside him. 

“It..” Mikey’s expression tightened for a moment. His dream  had been a vision of terror, it felt too real to be just a dream. It almost felt like a calling, a promise of what was in store for him. 

A purple clawed hand came to rest on his shoulder, his thumb brushing against the tension that laid beneath the surface. 

“I had a dream last night.. That I did this..” Mikey spoke softly, letting the canvas drop to the ground. His head fell into his hands, smearing colors against his face. “I guess it’s just sticking with me… I remember how it felt and it.. That energy felt a lot like when I used my mystic mojo to open up that portal,”

He shook his head, laughing softly, “But that’s stupid, why would I feel like that? I can make portals, portals shouldn’t make fires like that,”

Draxum hummed in response, “No, they shouldn’t,” He responded, pulling his hands into his lap, “Meditate with me, Michelangelo,”

Mikey looked up at Draxum for a moment, watched as the elder closed his eyes and straightened his posture. The young turtle followed suit, folding his hands over his lap as he felt his eyes close. 

“You have very powerful abilities, Michelangelo. Very unpredictable abilities. I’m sure they scare you, do they not?” Draxum questioned. 

Mikey stayed silent for a long moment, before nodding stiffly, “It hurt.. A lot. Making that portal.” Mikey’s fingers brushed against one of the old scars, “I don’t want to hurt anyone else, not like that. But I don’t know how..” 

Silence grows between them. Mikey wonders if he’s said something wrong. Is there a chance he said something wrong? Surely so. He was a monster for even considering that he would have the ability to hurt someone. He was going to destroy the world-

“I know. Strong abilities are a blessing, but they can only become that with extensive training. With exercises that hone your energy into something productive, not destructive. You have nothing to fear, Michelangelo. You just need a helping hand.” Draxum responded, “I know, I had fears of my own once.”

Draxum’s hand fell back onto Mikey’s shoulder, lightly tugging the turtle to face him. Mikey opened his eyes to find his more recent father figure offering a reassuring smile that looked just.. So out of place. Mikey managed a smile of his own in response.

“You’re going to be extraordinary, Michelangelo. Just have confidence,”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Unexpected Patient

For @tmnt-write-fight for @dandylovesturtles

Title: Unexpected Patient Prompt: Outsider POV of anyone getting rescued by the turtles  Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2855  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: OC (Samantha Craik, Peter Craik), Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Casey Jones Warning: NA Summary: Samantha Craik did not expect for a stop at a corner store on her way home from her shift at the hospital to put her in life-threatening danger, but it did. She also didn’t expect for the life-threatening danger to put a new patient in her lap, but, well, it was, apparently, a night of unexpected things. Notes: Sam is a character I’ve had around in some form since I was 13, and Peter since my early 20s. I have fun sticking her in fics here and there. This isn’t their first appearance in TMNT fics, as I lent the both of them out to some friends in the late 2000s for their Fast Forward fics. Unfortunately, those are long lost, which is a shame, really. Back up your favorite fics, y’all! ff.net || AO3

___________________________________-

Unexpected Patient

Samantha Craik cursed in her head. She’d have cursed out loud, except she was positive that saying anything out loud right now was not a good idea. Normally this wouldn’t have stopped the fiery red-head, but there were children in this store and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt on account of her temper. Her blood boiled as these punks pushed through the store, demanding money from people and stealing from the shelves. Stars, Peter was gonna kill her. She should have just gone on to the subway station after her shift at the hospital ended and made do with whatever food they had there instead of stopping for a quick snack.

One of the gang members brandished a knife at her. “Hey—gimmie your money.”

Sam glared at him, but reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. He swiped it from her, opening it, and then frowning. “This is it?” he said.

“If you think I had money, do you think I’d be working at this hospital?” she shot back at him jabbing a finger towards the hospital’s crest that was on her lab coat. “I’m barely out of residency! I’ve still got loans to pay off!”

“Tch.” The punk looked at her disdainfully. “I’ll make more money hocking this wallet then what you have in it.”

“Well pardon me for being poor!”

The punk gestured with his knife. “Get over there with the others!”

Sam made her way over to the other customers, one of the punks taking a moment to look at her. Sam narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, she recognized him. He was a Purple Dragon, and he’d been in and out of her ER a few times. Several of these guys had. And yet, here they were, doing the same crap that got them in her ER to begin with.

“Hey—you got that money yet?” the guy called out, clearly their leader.

“Yeah. Getting the last of it now,” a green-haired punk called out.

The leader nodded and turned back to look at them. There weren’t many people in the store. Sam hadn’t expected there to be, not this late. There was the cashier, a teenager who looked far too stoned to properly see the danger everyone was in; a man who appeared to be in his late sixties, leaning heavily on a cane in a way that told Sam he probably was going to need a knee replacement soon; a young immigrant woman and her two children, none of which seemed to understand much English, but clearly understood the gestures with the guns and knives; and her, a thirty-year-old doctor, straight off of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift that had turned into a fifteen hour one instead, because sometimes that’s just how it was.

Maybe her mother was right, and she should see about transferring to one of the hospitals in the richer areas of the city.

“Hey!” a punk from outside came running in the door. “The nut with the hockey mask is coming! And you know what that means.”

The leader cursed, and Sam found herself really hoping that the kids didn’t understand English.

“I was hoping not to deal with any green freaks tonight. Alright—bag up what we’ve got and let’s get out of here.” He looked at the group. “And just for good measure—”

He leveled the gun at the old man, and Sam realized just what he was about to do. She moved, shoving his arm up. Was it the smartest thing she could have done? No. Was it what she did anyway? Yeah.

“Leave him alone, you fracking jerk!”

The shot missed, pinging on the light fixture instead, and the man growled and tried to shake her off. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Sam threw herself into fighting him, something that she wasn’t completely useless in. But she was no fighter, and it didn’t take long for the punks to have her pinned to the ground, the gun on her.

“Let go of me you fricking punk!” she snarled, still fighting.

“Since you’re so eager,” the leader said, and she could see him aiming the gun at her out of the corner of her eye, “then you can be the example.”

Oh yeah. If she made it through this, her husband was definitely going to kill her.

Still, she growled and struggled, not willing to just give up and give in.

And then the door slammed open, and something burst in.

“It’s the freaks!” someone shouted, and the gun was suddenly off of her and fixated on something else, going off as a fight broke out.

Sam wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew an opportunity when she saw it. Despite the grip the man that was still holding her had on her long hair, Sam twisted in his grasp, kicked him right in his junk, and then twisted her head to bite the hand that still had her shoulder. The man let out a gasp, and Sam rolled, not getting to her feet, but scrambling back and away from things.

The woman with her children were cowering, and Sam looked them over, trying to find any sort of cultural distinguisher on them. She knew a few words in different languages, and she hoped she guessed the right one.

“Go!” she said, her accent terrible, and pointed towards the storeroom door. The woman’s eyes lit up in understanding, and she grabbed her kids’ hands, speaking rapidly to them and tugging them with her. They all moved like they had escaped violent situations before, but Sam didn’t have time to spare more than an observation about that.

The stoned teenager must have had more sense than she thought, because he was gone, and the old man, seeing where the woman had gone, was already following along. Good. Then it was just her.

And then, suddenly she found herself being yanked backwards by her hair, a strong hand pulling her by her long braid. She had the presence of mind to try to twist around, her hair long enough to give her that freedom, but it didn’t work, and she realized that the leader of the punks had her as he pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her neck. She struggled, insults pouring from her lips as she did, but she stopped when the gun was put to her head once more.

“No one move, or the lady doctor here gets it,” he said.

Sam twitched in his arms and growled. “Glad to know me saving your scummy life means something. Next time I’ll give it the attention it’s worth!”

“You,” he said, “don’t say nothing either.”

Sam growled again but switched her attention to looking at who else the punk was addressing. Her eyes widened as she took in who—or what—was in front of her. Four green figures, turtles, all wielding some sort of weapons, and a tall, dark-haired man in a hockey mask with a hockey stick in his hands.

Somehow, he looked the most out of place out of all of them.

Sam had heard rumors of the turtle men before. She’d not put much stock into the stories at first. All sorts of crazies came into the ER, especially at night, and some strung out druggie or beat up punk talking about karate turtles just made her double check their toxicology report. You never knew when there was a bad batch on the street.

But the stories persisted, and she heard them from other places as well. She still hadn’t quite put her faith in those stories. It all seemed like some sort of gimmick to her. But now that the proof was in front of her, well, she couldn’t help but conclude that maybe she should have paid a bit more attention to those rumors.

“Let her go,” the one with the blue mask said. “She’s an innocent.”

“If she hadn’t of interfered, we’d have been gone before you four freaks got—wait, why are there only three of you,” the leader snarled.

And that was when everything went even more wrong than it had so far.

The Dragon went to move his gun from her head to point at one of the turtle men. Sam took the opportunity to jerk her head forward to bite the arm that held her in place and reached back to grab him in a very personal way and twist. At the same time, something came flying out of the air and embedded itself in the Dragon’s hand. A turtle-man leapt forward and tackled her down and out of the way. And at the same time, the gun went off.

The Dragon howled in pain, there was a shout of pain from the opposite direction, and someone screaming “Donnie!” A thud came from the direction of the Dragon, a clack from the direction of the turtle men, and the turtle man that had tackled her out of the way and had somehow kept from squishing her, came up on his feet, setting her on hers before he rushed over towards the turtle Sam could now see being supported by the man, his red mask tails streaking out behind him.

“What the he—” Sam said, mostly to herself as she took in the scenes in front of her.

The turtle with the blue mask stood over the downed Dragon. The man was clearly bleeding out, and Sam was more than a little certain that there was nothing do to save him. A turtle man with an orange mask was hurrying from the direction of the counter towards the other two turtles and the man. The man was lowering a purple-masked turtle to the ground, clearly supporting him.

Well, it seemed pretty clear what she needed to do.

Shaking off her shock and falling back into her professional mindset, Sam hurried forward.

“Move,” she said bluntly, watching as they settled the purple-masked one—Donnie, she presumed—on the ground, the orange-masked one using his lap as a pillow for the other. She could hear the blue-masked one’s footsteps behind her.

The red-masked one whirled on her, clearly upset, his strange, pronged weapons held in his hands. “Look, sister—” he started.

Sam was having none of it. “I said, move!” she snapped at him. “I’m a doctor, I can help! Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Let her see Don, Raph,” Leo said. “She might can help him where we can’t.”

Raph seemed to want to resist for a moment, but he stepped back and Sam moved next to the injured turtle.

“It’s not too bad,” Donnie was saying through grit teeth. His hands were already at his thigh, trying to tie a tourniquet around it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, reaching into her scrub pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves. She pushed her long braid behind her shoulders, pulled the gloves on, and got to work.

“Donnie, right?” said as she worked.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright. And the rest of you?”

“I’m Mikey,” the orange-masked one said.

“Leo,” the blue-masked one offered.

“Raph,” the one with the red mask said.

“Casey,” the only other human said.

“Alright. I’m Dr. Samantha Craik. I work in the hospital down the road,” she said. She looked up at Donnie. “I’m going to take good care of you, alright? But I’m gonna need some information. I’m not familiar with turtles, much less whatever you are.”

Don chuckled a little, but then stopped when it hurt. “I’ll see what I can do, Doc,” he said, clearly trying to breathe through the pain.

Sam just nodded. “I’m assuming you don’t want to go to the hospital?” she said.

“No.” The answer came quick and sure from Leo, and Sam nodded.

“Alright. In that case, here’s what I need.”

The store had the most of the things she needed and Donnie’s bag helpfully provided the rest. Donnie had gotten lucky. The bullet hadn’t hit anything important, and it was fairly clean in-and-out wound. Ideally, she’s have hopped him up on painkillers, taken some scans, put him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and gotten him some blood, but none of that was possible at the moment.

Instead, she snapped out orders to the other turtle-men, sterilized things as best she could, and got to work, cursing the Purple Dragons with every spare breath she had.

“Idiotic low-life—hold his leg still—punks who can’t figure out that—keep that pressure!—that all they’re gonna have is a short and—this is gonna hurt, Donnie—violent life where no one will ever want to remember them—you’re doing good—and they’ll either—almost done with this side—die young or rot in prison—”

“I kinda like you,” Raph said to her.

“I’ll add that to my resume,” she shot back immediately, not even thinking about it. Mikey laughed, but it seemed to ease the turtles and their human friend a bit.

Finally, she sat back, putting things away and stripping off her gloves. “There,” she said. She looked over at Leo, as he seemed the most responsible of the bunch. “He needs to stay off of it. I don’t know if you have access to antibiotics, but those can’t hurt. Keep it clean and wrapped. Those stitches will have to be taken out, so—”

“We can handle that,” Leo said. “We’ve done it before.”

“Although it’s usually Donnie doing this kind of stuff,” Mikey said.

“I’ll… be able to do it… by then…” Donnie said, his face still pinched in pain.

Sam nodded. “Fine.” She hesitated. “If you need anything, come find me. Something tells me you don’t have a lot of medical access.” She looked around and picked up a discarded piece of cardboard and pulled a pen out of her pocket. “Here. That’s my number. Call me. Or come to the hospital and ask for me, or Peter Craik—my husband,” she said at Leo’s look.

He took the number and tucked it into his belt, even as Raph was kneeling in front of Donnie, shell to him as Mikey and Casey helped Don sit up. In the distance sirens sounded.

“We will,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Craik. But for now, we have to go. Raph?”

“Good to go,” Raph said, standing up with Donnie clinging to his shell.

“See ya, doc!” Mikey said with a wave.

The four of them headed out the back, but Casey hesitated for a moment. “Ya good, Doc?”

Sam sighed. “Well, someone has to stay behind and explain this—and something tells me that you shouldn’t be here anymore than them.”

“Heh. Maybe,” Casey said. “Seriously, though, thanks Doc.” He headed out the back as well, following behind, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the store with a dead Purple Dragon and several that were tied up—although she had no idea when that had happened.

She sighed and sat down on the floor as the sirens got closer. This was going to be a mess.

Sam was right. It was a mess. She had to explain over and over again that some vigilantes had come in and saved them, that one had gotten wounded, and that she had done her best to treat him, as per her oath, but that, no, she didn’t know what they looked like under their masks and that, no, she had no idea who they were or where they had gone. By the time it was all over with and the police accepted her statement, the sun was up, and her husband was waiting on her.

“Sam!” he said, rushing towards her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired, my hair is a mess, I had my life threatened, I had to do field medicine, and I’ve not slept in nearly twenty-four hours,” she snapped. “What do you think?”

Peter just grinned at her. “I think that, if you’re snapping like that at me, that you’re probably alright. Let’s get out of here.”

The two left the police station, and headed home, Peter holding Sam’s hand. They were quiet for a moment, and then, softly, Peter murmured to her.

“So, are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment. “…when we get home,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” he asked, not condemning, but clearly curious.

“Because sometimes, ‘do no harm’ is more than just the patient’s body,” Sam said irritably.

Peter laughed. “And that’s why I love you,” he said.

“Because I take my oath seriously?” Sam demanded, shooting him a look.

Peter grinned at her. “Because when you’ve decided something’s your duty, nothing can stop you—especially if it’s for the good of your patients.”

Sam harumphed, but he wasn’t wrong, she reflected. And as they walked down the street and down into the subway station she should have entered into last night, Sam wondered if she’d ever see those particular patients again.

After all, a good doctor always followed up.