#Leo seems a little OOC but this is from a stranger's POV

[mad4turtles]

~misinformed~

(A ROTTMNT One-Shot)

In which an upset outsider doesn't have all the facts. Donnie intervenes.

(outsider POV. my first time writing in this style :D)

---

Your first mistake is thinking it'd be funny.

The mutant turtles—the Hamato's, your friends' supply—have been coming by Run of the Mill for about two years. Every time they show up, something happens, so much so that anyone not living under a rock knows who they are by word of mouth alone. Some of Hueso's newest customers come to see what spectacle the morons make of themselves this time. 

The normally straight-laced, no-nonsense bone man doesn't seem to mind. He'll roll his eyes and sigh whenever the Blue one loudly struts in like he owns the place, but he hasn't turned them away since that one time the purple one tried to flip a table and failed.

It's as if the owner has a soft spot for the freaks. You can't imagine why. Not when chaos follows them at every turn, dragging others into it against their will.

Like that time with the Shredder beast that tore up the surface. You could care less about the humans, but you almost felt bad for them once the turtles got involved.

And then there was the invasion.

You were on your way to class when rubble started raining from above. Tendrils of pink, slime-coated tentacles seeped through the cracks of the only barrier between the human world and yours. And you're a big freaking guy, a bull yokai that towers over most of your peers, and you were cowering in a corner until the shaking stopped, and the world went quiet after what felt like years.

You learn later that the fabled Krang had been released from their prison dimension by a group of human cultists called the Foot Clan. The turtles were right in the middle of it.

Some thanked the turtles for cancelling the apocalypse, saving the world in a feat of bravery and selflessness. Others, like yourself, who'd heard from the eyes and ears above ground about how the Foot Clan had released the Krang, wanted to wring their necks.

So when, after two months of no-shows, the Blue one shows up alone wearing an oversized blue hoodie, a brace on his left knee and that stupid grin, approaching the counter with a barely-there limp in his step, you and your friends grin.

Your second mistake is leaving your table.

You wait until Hueso leaves to get his order to approach the boy and tap him on the shoulder. He turns and cranes his neck to meet your eyes, smirk firmly in place as he leans against the counter. “Can I help you?” he asks.

You snort, folding your muscular arms. “You're one of those turtle guys, right?”

Blue raises an eye ridge at you like you're the stupid one, gesturing to himself with a wave of his arm. “I mean, I am a turtle, so...”

You fight to keep your grin. “Yeah. I heard you guys were a big help during that crazy shit with the Krang. Terrible stuff, that was. A miracle you made it out.”

The kid's face twitches in an odd way you've never seen before his grin comes back up like shutters on a door. “Yeah, you could say that,” he says, inspecting his nails. “We're basically legends now, my bros and I. I go by many names, Neon Leon, Nardo, The World's Greatest Ninja--but you can call me Leo, my good man. Need me to sign your napkin for ya? Your face, your shirt—?”

The audacity of this kid. You admit you feel more than a little satisfied when you slap one hand down on the counter, making him jump as you loom over him. 

“Sure. You're a hero, alright,” you sneer, drawing up to your full height as the kid bumps the back of his shell against the counter. “But I heard that you and your 'bros' were the morons who let those Foot freaks set the Krang loose in the first place. Ain't that right?”

You watch as the kid goes ridged, eyes wide, the smile wiped clean off his face. Finally. “How—I mean, I—I, uh—”

“What? Got nothing to say?” 

You feel eyes on you from other patrons, your friends chuckling from your table, watching the smug idiot under you start to sweat. 

“How about I help you? You can start with, I don't know, an apology. How many humans do you think lost their lives up there, hm? I don't give a shit either way, but since you're out here boasting about being their 'hero', I'd say that's a pretty big deal. Or what about the Yokai down here who thought they'd lose everything when the rubble fell and destroyed homes and businesses? You ever think about them while you were up acting like some big-shot playing pretend?” You chuckle. “Must've hurt like a bitch when reality slapped you in the face.” 

There's a light tremble in the kid's hands as he tries and fails to muster a smile that falls hilariously flat. “L-Look—look, man,” he stammers, looking away and clutching his wrist with the other hand, subtly trying to skirt around you away from the counter. “It was—I messed up, I know that, and I—”

You don't let him finish. You don't care for his excuses. Instead, you shove him in the chest hard enough that he topples gracelessly to the floor in a heap. Your friends laugh a little louder, and you almost join in. This is their supposed hero?

“Then you got a lotta nerve showing up here like you didn't nearly start the apocalypse, buddy.” You snort again, sending his mask tails flying as he shuts his eyes against your breath. You lean down, lowering your voice into a growl for his ears alone.

“I speak for a lot of us when I say we're sick and tired of you freaks barging in here. We were fine until you showed up, acting like you belong. You ain't even true Yokai—word is you're a bunch of lab accidents that mad bastard Draxum cooked up. You weren't wanted then, and you're sure as hell aren't welcome now, so you'd best be on your way and not show your sorry shell around here again, you freaking pest—”

You have just enough time to watch Blue's eyes snap wide open, haunted and unseeing before a voice stops you cold.

“Hey.”

You lean back and turn around. The Purple one with the fake shell is stomping the distance between you, a look in his eyes that almost makes you think twice. Almost.

Beneath you, Blue is shaking. “D-Don,” he forces out in a choked voice. “You-you're meant to wait out—”

Purple walks right past you, not even looking at you, and kneels beside Blue, taking him by the shoulders, eyes roaming him up and down. “Are you alright? Are you injured?”

Blue looks at you briefly before looking away, utterly cowed. “'m fine.”

“You certainly do not look fine, seeing as you're on the floor, and my scanners picked up an abnormal heart rate increase. Was this fine gentleman responsible or am I misreading the situation again—?”

“Just drop it, Don. Tio's comin' back with our orders soon, so we'll split.”

You watch as Purple's drawn eyebrows (seriously, who does that?) furrow as he helps Blue to his feet. “Don't you wanna talk to Hueso? He hasn't seen you since your rehab started—”

“I know,” Blue snaps, looks like he regrets it, then hangs his head again, staring at the hand holding his wrist. You notice a blue cast under the drooping hoodie sleeve. “I know. But I just. I wanna go home. Okay?”

Purple stares.

You huff. “Better listen to your 'bro', here,” you say. “It's probably the first good idea he's had.”

Your last mistake is opening your mouth.

Purple turns very slowly and finally looks up at you. His expression is blank, unreadable, and even with all your height and strength, you admit it's slightly unsettling.

“I'm sorry,” Purple says, “who the hell are you?”

Behind him, Blue tentatively reaches for his hand and tugs it, whispering frantically—“It's not worth it, Dee, come on, don't make a scene, it's fine—”

Purple whirls on Blue. You can't see the face he's making, but it silences Blue instantly, his eyes wide. Your friends suddenly start whispering harshly at you to back up. 

You ignore them, crossing your arms again so your muscles bulge. “Just a resident of the city your friend here nearly destroyed,” you say, riding the high of putting one more smug asshole in his place. It's high time he learned it.

Purple turns around again. He doesn't blink. “Is that so?” he asks.

“Donnie, please—“

“Nardo, I am invoking my rights as the eldest twin to silence you while I have a civil conversation with this good gentleman slash bull-guy,” Purple says in a clipped tone. He slips his hand from Blue's and steps forward until he's toe to hoof with you. He barely reaches your chest, and you almost laugh. “Would you care to elaborate on what you were talking to my brother about?”

You're more than happy to. “Just giving some friendly advice. You all talk a big game, but there's a thing called growing up and taking responsibility. Sooner or later, you'll have to put your toys away and realize real life isn't a game. You don't play hero and expect praise or thanks when things don't go how they do in your video games. That's how little pests like him get—”

Between one breath and the next, Purple grabs the edge of an unoccupied table, ripping it off its hinges and slamming you in the face.

The world goes white for a moment, a ringing in your ears. Warmth leaks down your lip and clogs your nose, and one of your horns feels worryingly loose. The ringing fades, and you realize the restaurant is silent. 

You blink once, twice, and on the third blink, you see Purple standing over you with a chair lifted above his head by the legs. His face is murderous. 

“Wait—!”

Purple brings the chair down on you with enough force to rattle the bones in your arms as you shield your bleeding face. He swings again, hitting your shoulder. He swings again at your knee, again at your head. Heedless of your cries or the shouts from the wait staff, the chair comes down again and again and again and again, each time a little harder, until the chair finally explodes in a shower of splinters.

You're an aching mess of bruises curled up on the floor, arms over your head like a child. You dare to peek, and Purple is panting hard, a single chair leg in his vice-like grip. Behind him, Blue stares with impossibly wide eyes.

Then Purple raises his head to pierce you with a glare. He stomps a foot on your side, and a pixelated wave of purple energy swirls around his arm, turning the chair leg into a glowing staff that he thrusts under your chin, right against your throat. You don't dare to move an inch even as breathing becomes difficult.

“You seem grossly misinformed, so allow me to do what is typical of my generation and educate you,” he says, his dead monotone belying the bloodlust in his gaze as he holds yours tighter than the staff in his hands. “My brother is sixteen. He is sixteen, and he made a mistake. One he would not have made had he known, had any of us known, what was at stake. But we didn't. He didn't, and he nearly died trying to make things right. Think about that for a second. My sixteen-year-old twin brother nearly killed himself to right a wrong and save not just New York or the Hidden City, but the whole freaking world.”

The tip of the bo presses harder against your neck. You splutter, fighting for breath.

“And you,” Purple hisses, “have no right to judge him. But alas, you were, as stated previously, grossly misinformed. So I will let you off with a warning.”

He leans in close enough that you can see the sparks of purple flashing in his golden eyes like lightning, and you're as stiff as a rabbit under the claws of a hawk. “If you ever come near my brother again—if you even look at him funny, you or your peanut gallery over there, I will hunt you down and reduce you to atoms. And I'll take your stupid freaking horns and hang them on my wall, or use them as mugs, as that seems to be popular with D&D fans. Either way, you will cease to exist, and no one will miss you when you're gone. Are we clear?”

You nod as best as you can, not trusting your voice—it's gotten you in enough trouble—and Purple finally takes the pressure off your neck, removing his foot from your side. You gasp greedily for air, sitting up on your elbows and rubbing your throat, your body throbbing.

Purple has already turned back to Blue, and Hueso's chosen now of all times to come running out, followed closely by one of the servers, a harried-looking dragon yokai. He takes one look at the room, one look at you, before whirling on Purple, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that you couldn't understand if you tried. Purple wraps an arm around Blue and replies, also in Spanish, in that same dead monotone. Hueso looks at Blue, and something softens in his expression.

Only for it to harden again when he turns to you, bleeding from the face, still on the floor and littered with bruises and splinters of wood. Your friends finally get off their asses and help you up just in time for Hueso to march over and give you all the tongue-lashing of your lives for harassing young customers. You almost fire back, but Purple is watching you. You see your death in his flashing eyes and shut your mouth.

You're escorted out with a warning of a lifetime ban, utterly cowed under the stares of the patrons and the resentful glares of servers as you walk out the door. You feel Purple's eyes on you the whole time, and only when the mystic door swings shut can you breathe again.

You didn't think anything would scare you more than the Krang had, though you never actually saw them. But Purple's threat looms over your head and echoes in your ears, and you wonder.

You don't go back to Run of the Mill again.

---

Thanks for reading <3 Feel free to send requests :3