#i am aware that john is maskless

[neorazorhands]

And I stare at the soldiers before me — All my blossoms that have waited to fall

And I walk — And I walk — And I walk — And I walk

Knowing every last one of them is painted in light

As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right.

— Blossoms, The Amazing Devil

horror podcasts (derogatory)

this was actually a school project mind you so somewhere out there, some fanart of two of the most divorced losers that can ever divorce is just there. out in the open. fun stuff.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Who Did This to You?

Title: Who Did This to You? Day: Febuwhump Day 15 Prompt:   Who Did This to You? Fandom:  TMNT 2003, Fast Forward Word Count:   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: Agent John Bishop, Donatello Warning: NA Summary: Bishop is used to knowing exactly what is happening and when it is happening. So, when he catches word that Donatello is in the hospital and that his family brought him there from off-world, he’s irritated that he knows nothing about it. But what he finds out is more shocking than he expected.    Notes: There is something very interesting about writing good-guy Bishop, because there are still bad-guy Bishop bases there, and its interesting to see how they weave together.   ff.net || AO3

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Who Did This to You?

Even though he was the president of the Pan-Galactic Alliance, John Bishop still tried to keep himself aware of what was going on. He was aware of the criminal underworld. He knew of the black market. He paid attention to piracy. However, matters of state often demanded his attention, and he ended up paying more attention to backhanded compliments in interplanetary treaties and diplomatically phrased insults between members of the alliance then he did the illegal activity that was happening.

And then the turtles had arrived.

In hindsight, this explained a lot about the change in behavior and attitude that they had. They had gone missing for a year, and when they came back, something had shifted, although he had never quite been sure what. Now he knew. But, as usual, their mere presence suddenly made things more complicated and more involved than he would have thought possible—had he not known better, that was. Now, he kept his ear to the ground a bit more, never knowing what they might be involved in.

Yet, somehow, he had missed this latest development for at least a week, an oversight that he was going to correct. It was sloppy, and he couldn’t afford to be sloppy, especially not where these four were concerned. President Bishop stalked through the hallways of the hospital, practically stewing at both the situation and at his lack of awareness. It was unacceptable.

So far, all he knew was that Donatello had been captured by an unknown someone, taken to an unknown place, his brothers had gone to rescue him, and he had been injured to the point of needing hospitalization when they recovered him. His sources also told him that, whatever had happened to him, it had left the turtle in need of rehabilitation, and that something had happened to his brain.

Bishop knew that Donatello would be fine, in time. He was fine in the past, which means that he would recover from whatever had happened to him. But the fact that it had happened? And under his watch? That, Bishop was not happy about.

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to Donatello’s room, the door being slightly open and voices coming from within. He just opened it, perhaps a touch too quickly, and scanned the room.

“What happened.” He demanded it instead of asking, as if they were his underlings, and he tried to reign himself in. It was all too easy to fall into familiar patterns with these five.

They reacted to it, tensing up, with Leonardo and Raphael moving in front of Donatello’s bed, Michelangelo moving closer to Donatello, who was maskless and propped up in the bed, and Splinter moving in front of them all.

Bishop took a breath and reigned himself back in. “Apologies. I’m not used to finding things out well after the fact.”

The tension remained for a moment, but when Splinter relaxed a bit, so, too, did the others.

“We did not think to inform you,” Splinter said. “I am sure that you can understand why we did not.”

Considering their past together, Bishop could well understand it. He wasn’t quick to completely trust aliens even after his turn around. “No, it’s understandable,” Bishop agreed.

He watched as Donatello murmured something, and Michelangelo turned to him, as if to calm him, and brought a glass to him. Donatello attempted to take the glass, but his hands were shaky and uncooperative, and Michelangelo had to help him. Bishop frowned at that.

“What I don’t know, is what happened to him,” Bishop said.

“Hey—Donnie’s still here,” Raphael said, an edge to his voice. “Stop talking about him like he ain’t.”

Bishop glanced at Raphael, and then at Donatello. “My apologies,” he said. He stepped a little closer to Donatello. “How are you feeling, Donatello?”

Donatello looked at him and blinked. He opened his mouth, and then stopped for a moment, his lips setting in a thin line for a moment. No one said anything, waiting for him to speak.

“…Better,” the turtle finally said. “I can do more. The re-re-re—”

“Rehab,” Michelangelo said softly.

“…Rehab is helping,” Donatello said. “I can do more, um, things.” He leaned his head back on the pillows again. “…head still hurts,” he said. He paused a moment and squinted at Bishop. “…still piecing mem-mem-mem—”

“Memories,” Michelangelo said.

“…memories together,” Donatello said.

“I see,” Bishop said. The entire exchange was not informative but was concerning, and Bishop glanced over at Splinter again.

“The doctors say that his nervous systems received enough shocks to it, that it is misfiring,” Splinter said. “And that is why he is having trouble. However, he is recovering. Donatello has much improved, and quickly as well. The doctors say that he should recover his physical health, that the stutter should go away, and that most of his memories should return.”

Bishop nodded and swept his eyes over the turtle. From what he could see of him, he looked relatively unharmed, except for some bandages on his temples. So, what had caused the shocks?

Bishop addressed his question to Donatello. “How did this happen?” he asked.

Donatello blinked at him for a moment, and then responded with a simple phrase. “Mind Probe.”

Shock ran through Bishop, and he immediately straightened up. “Mind probe?” he repeated. “Triceriton mind probe?”

Donatello nodded. “Hurt worse than last time.”

“Last time?” Bishop asked, incredulous. “This happened to you before? When?”

“When, um,” Don’s brow furrowed. “Invasion. In our time,” he said.

“It happened when he was captured by the Triceritons back in our time, when they invaded. Same day as when we met you, actually,” Leonardo said. “From what I understand, though, Don managed to short it out before if finished.”

“And he had no ill effects then?” Bishop pressed.

“He had a migraine for three days and was a little slower at things, at least for him,” Raph said. “He had scars at his temples and forgot a few things.” He narrowed his eyes at Bishop again. “Why?”

Bishop let out a breath. He had vastly underestimated the resilience of these four, and particularly of Donatello. How much damage had been done then? How much now? How much more could he have done if he didn’t have brain damage from that probe? And he had to have at least some brain damage from it. No one escaped the Triceriton Mind Probe unscathed.

“The Triceriton Mind Probe is considered one of the worst torture devices in the galaxies. It’s banned in most of them, including this one, and the Pan-Galactic Alliance, specifically,” Bishop said. “The device sits on the head and sends nano filaments into the brain that activate the memory cells and transmit that data back to the device. This often overstimulates the brain cells and damages them. If the victim survives the process, they’re usually left with extensive brain damage, often becoming little more than a vegetable. It’s also said to be incredibly painful.”

Everyone in the room looked horrified, except Donatello, who just looked thoughtful. “Y-yeah,” he said into the quiet that filled the room. “…’most as bad as my second mu-mu-mu—”

“Mutation,” Michelangelo murmured.

“…mutation,” Donatello finished.

“The fact that you were coherent at all after the first time is, quite frankly, a miracle,” Bishop said.

Donatello shook his head. “It didn’t finish the first t-t-t—”

“Time,” Michelangelo filled in.

“—time. M-Master Splinter sh-shorted it out,” Donatello said.

Bishop looked over at the old rat. “I wasn’t aware that you had been onboard the Tribase at that time.”

“I wasn’t,” Splinter said. “I was in our home, meditating to find my sons. I felt Donatello call out to me and reached out to join my mind with his. I guided him, and together we shorted out the device. As soon as that happened, I lost contact with him until I came to rescue my sons from you,” he explained.

“Hm,” Bishop’s brow creased as he thought. “And you say after that, Donatello suffered from an intense migraine?”

“Yes,” Splinter said. “And, for a time, what we suspect were small seizures, although we did not know it then. He would stare blankly and remember nothing of it afterwards.”

“He also lost some memories,” Michelangelo said. “Mostly of early things, from when we were kids, but still.”

Bishop nodded. “The memory loss is to be expected. I wouldn’t be too surprised by the seizures, either. But still, the fact Donatello was able to function as well as he did even after a partial session is… impressive. The fact that he’s doing as well as he is now after a full session with the Mind Probe is, quite frankly, miraculous.”

“M-m-more powerful,” Donatello said.

Bishop’s attention snapped to the injured turtle. “What?” he said, his voice low.

“M-m-more powerful,” he repeated. “The doctors s-s-said it—it—it—”

Donatello suddenly looked pained, and Bishop could see a tremble start up in him. Raphael moved towards his side, reaching out to him.

“Easy, bro, just breathe through it,” he said. “It’ll be over in a few moments.”

“The doctors said that the reason he’s affected so much physically is because this Mind Probe was more powerful than the average one,” Leonardo said. “Mentally…” Leo grimaced, looking at his brother as the attack passed and Raphael and Michelangelo leaned him back. “The doctors say that there is a lot of damage. They can repair a lot of it, but some of it might be permanent.” He looked over at his brother again, his brow furrowing. “We don’t know what this means for him long-term.”

Bishop did. Or, at least, he partially did. He knew that the Donatello he faced in the past was more than back to full strength, in both body and mind, and perhaps even more formidable than the one that he had known before they came to the future. He didn’t know how he got there from this.

Time paradoxes gave him the worst headaches.

“Has he been given cognitive tests?” Bishop asked.

Splinter nodded. “They have given us the results. He is above average; however, he is no where near where we know he can be,” the old rat said, passing the results over to Bishop.

Bishop looked at them. This was… far below where Donatello should be functioning. Yes, he was, for an average person, functioning well. But Bishop knew that Donatello was far from average. Flipping through the chart, he saw that it held other information about Donatello’s condition. His anger burned as he saw all of the damage that Donatello’s nervous system had suffered, how he had been absolutely unresponsive when he was brought in, how he had fought for his improvement.

Bishop sat the chart down. He would not allow this. He would not allow someone who would use these methods in his jurisdiction. He would not allow someone so brutal to exist when he could make sure they didn’t.

Donatello was still awake, Raphael and Michelangelo still fussing over him.

“Donatello,” Bishop called out. “I need to know. Who did this to you?”

Donatello looked up at him, still trembling, still breathing hard, but meeting his eyes. “B-b-boss Zu..Zukko,” he said without hesitation.

Bishop nodded. “You won’t have to worry about him again,” he said, and turned to walk out of the room. Yet he paused just before the door. “Oh. And work hard, Donatello. I’m positive that if you do, you’ll recover just fine.”

With that less-than-cryptic message, Bishop left the hospital room.  He was still seething, but this time, at least, he had a target. This time he knew where he could aim his ire. Boss Zukko and his entire organization were going down, as was anyone associated with him.

And then he’d set Stockman on the problem of restoring Donatello.

It was the least either of them could do.

But first? Boss Zukko would learn what it meant to use devices such as those in Bishop’s Alliance.