Chapter Text
Yoshi notices the exact moment Neon wakes up. He sits beside the young boy, a cup of tea on the side table, accompanied by lukewarm water from a kettle that has been scuffed and dented over time. Neon’s arm twitches first, hand sliding up over his plasteron and rubbing his snout. Then, his eyes open, squinting with an unfocused gaze as he tries to take in his surroundings.
Yoshi sits straighter, allowing Neon to familiarize himself with his surroundings, keeping his hands steady on his lap. He remains unmoving as Neon blinks harder, smacking his lips and rolling over, pulling the blue blanket over his head. Yoshi cocks his head, the lump on the bed moving subtly, getting himself into a more comfortable position under Yoshi’s gaze. The rat suppresses a chuckle and places a gentle hand on Neon’s shoulder. Neon stiffens under his touch, poking his head out and squinting in confusion.
“How are you feeling?” Yoshi asks. Neon scans his face, then his gaze travels down his body to the hand that rests on his shoulder. He blinks, once, twice, then turns back to look at Yoshi, frowning.
“Wh’ are you so tall?” Neon slurs out, voice rough. Yoshi’s ear flicks. “Too tall, shink ‘own.”
“Unfortunately, that is something I am unable to do.”
“Yer not tryin’ enou’h.” Neon coughs, grabbing at his throat. Yoshi wastes no time, pouring lukewarm water into a glass and offering it to him. Neon reaches with his stump to the glass, freezing when he sees empty air instead. Yoshi stills, waiting for denial, panic, maybe tears— a normal reaction to realizing that you are down one arm. He holds his breath, thinking of reassurances as Neon continues to stare at the empty space, before the teen groans. Not a devastated groan, but one Yoshi hears from his sons all the time when he orders them to clean their rooms or gives them an extra hour of training.
“Jun’or is gonna kill m’.” He says, grabbing the glass with his correct hand. He gulps it down half-hazardly, water spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yoshi bites his tongue at the reaction and excuses himself to grab his sons.
They were all huddled together in the living area, except for Raphael, but a quick trip to his room solved that issue. When they all enter the medbay, Yoshi belatedly realizes that maybe having so many people around would be overwhelming, and goes to usher them back. His fears become unfounded as Neon leans halfway off the bed, smiling and waving sloppily like they were all good friends that he hasn’t seen in weeks.
“Hiiiiii,” Neon drags out the word, nearly falling off the mattress. Splinter pushes him back, and Neon allows it. “Oh man, ‘ou guys ‘ook so funny— why y’all ‘ook like tha’?”
“Like what?” Raphael is quick to snap back. Neon’s head rocks back and forth before raising a hand to the air, then bringing his palm all the way to the floor. Raphael visibly stiffens infront of him, but doesn’t say anything yet.
“Smol.” Neon waves him off. “‘oo small— sid you eat you’ vegetable’?”
Michelangelo snorts, Raphael glares, and Yoshi keeps his hands on both of them in silent warning.
“You’re injured very badly,” Leonardo steps forward. Neon’s gaze floats over to him. “Do you remember who attacked you?” Neon’s head sways, but he doesn’t respond. “A-are you okay?”
“‘M not ‘kay.” Neon frowns. “‘e didn’ mean’ to, I ‘on’t thin’— where?” He starts to sit up, swallowing a grunt as his body swings over the side of the bed. Splinter moves forward, one hand on the turtle’s shell, and the other infront, a silent guide to push him back to the right position. Neon blinks up at him and goes to move again.
“Please, you’re injured.” Splinter frowns. Neon’s face sours.
“Don’ matter. It was m’ fau’t—I gotta fin’ him, they’re gonna b’ b’ck soon.”
“He’ll be out of it for a while.” Donatello stands by his side, adjusting the IV drip (That Yoshi is NOT going to think about how he got in the first place. While he doesn’t condone thievery, medical supplies were the exception.), lowering the dose slowly.
“I’ve been giving him a steady dose of morphine for the past few days. He burns through it really fast.”
“‘M sorry.” Neon sighs heavily. Donnie frowns at him.
“So, we’re not getting anything right now.” Leonardo sighs, resigned. Donnie shrugs helplessly. “Great. How long until everything is out of him?”
“Couple of hours, maybe faster.”
“...so is this like movie marathon hours or…?” Despite the situation, Michelangelo’s voice is still light, rocking on his heels as he speaks. Donatello frowns, eyes narrowing in a silent threat that has Michelangelo shrink back and quiet down. Splinter’s tail flicks. Those two had been acting odd for the past day. He makes a mental note to check on them later.
“Perhaps we should allow our guest to rest.” His sons look back to Splinter, hesitance, and stubbornness in their features. It reminds him of his youth, but Yoshi keeps himself strong. Their guest tries to rise again, and Splinter gently, but forcefully, pushes him back down.
“I gotta fin’ ‘im,” Neon protests again. Splinter turns his gaze sharply, staring at Neon like he does his sons. The turtle shrinks back, pouting.
“You are injured, disoriented, and dehydrated. You are to rest until you get the all clear.” Neon rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fight back, throwing himself onto his pillow with a heavy thump and a bigger pout.
“Thi’ some bullsh’t.”
With a click of his tongue and a reminder of language, Splinter ushers his sons out quietly. They follow without much fuss, reconvening in the living room, sitting on the sofas in a half-circle. Splinter stays on his feet, hands clasped together under his robes, standing behind them. He watches their movements, focusing on Raphael when he speaks first.
“What now?” His angriest son scratches at his neck where bandages once were. The scales were off-colored, taking on a murky yellow that was hard to see unless you were truly looking for it. After their fight with Othello, his other sons had received injuries, but the more superficial ones were mostly gone, with only faint bruises and scabbing scales holding memories. Leonardo was the only exception; the bite on his arm was deeper than initially thought, although his son insisted that it did not hurt and that he was okay.
“We wait,” Donatello answers unhelpfully. Raphael’s scowl deepens with a curl of his lip. Leonardo drums his fingers on his arm.
“Mikey,” His youngest son perks up at the mention of his name. “Casey called you, right? When we found Othello.”
“Oh, yeah, he did!" Michelangelo’s explanation is quick, with hesitation on parts where he was more focused on fighting Othello than listening to Casey. Yoshi gets the general idea—a bodega full of Kraang remains, papers with notes, and writing on the wall that Casey was convinced was “black magic” or “alien language.” Leonardo hums when Michelangelo finishes, thoughts swirling in his mind. Splinter can see the slight crease to his brows, and the way his back stands a little too straight underneath that heavy shell. His sons carry a heavy burden, one that Splinter regrets placing on their backs. Still, he swallows his doubts and fears and speaks next.
“You should investigate, my sons.” They all turn to him with varying degrees of surprise and shock. Splinter doesn’t blame them and continues on.“This world is dangerous, but I have no doubt that you can overcome your challenges. I can keep an eye on both our guests."
“But, Master Splinter—"
Splinter holds up a hand, silencing Leonardo. “Do not worry about me, my son." He turns to Donatello. "You had made extras of that serum, correct?” His son hesitates, then nods. “Then I will be fine."
“Sensei—” Splinter shakes his head and holds his hand up again. His sons shift and shuffle together, not quite complacent, but listening with rapt attention. He sighs heavily and clasps his hands together underneath his robe, running his fingers on his knuckles in a way he hopes is not noticeable.
“Please,” Splinter tries not to beg, but it’s hard to speak around the lump in his throat. “Just go before I change my mind.”
-.-
The trip over to the location Casey had mentioned was silent. Each step was silent but heavy, with an occasional roll here and a dive there. Raph lands on the next rooftop with ease, sparing a glance back to his younger brothers as they land, but continuing on the journey to the mysterious bodega.
His brothers weren’t speaking, a jarring experience compared to what he’s used to. He can hear their breathing, see the slump of their shoulders, and a swirl of hesitance and determination in their eyes. When they got back to their lair after the fight with Othello, they had filled him in on the necessities— including the fact that Mikey was roped into Othello’s bullshit. And doesn’t that just make Raph’s blood boil.
They slide to a stop on the next jump, across the street from the address Casey sent. The self-proclaimed hero was below, leaning against the wall of the building, his head on a swivel as he kept an eye out for them or any threats that dared to come his way. Leo sharply whistles, and Casey’s head snaps up, watching as they climb down.
“Took you guys long enough,” Casey scoffs. Raph scowls, and Casey grimaces at the bandages on their bodies, and the green-yellow bruises that have yet to fully heal. “Damn, did all of you get hit by a bus or something?”
“I wish,” Leo says.
“It would be easier.” Donnie sighs next.
The inside of the bodega was gross, covered with dust, shattered glass, and the beginnings of mold. It was colder than it had any right to be, Raph suspecting that it was somehow colder inside than it was out. Casey tells them to ignore everything, leading them further back and opening the warped Employees Only door with a slight struggle.
“Whoa.”
Whoa is right.
The walls were covered from head to toe in papers— gum wrappers, magazines, cardboard, it didn’t seem to end. It’s a collage of materials that were all written on in an assortment of pens, markers, and crayons. Raph’s head swirls as he tries to follow a single line of numbers and symbols, traveling from the wall to the ceiling, across the room, and landing somewhere on the floor. There was a chair knocked over beside a pile of broken TVs and scrap metal, and a bed that smelled like death. Blood was on the bare mattress, a bright pink that drew their attention immediately, and half of a Kraang on the ground, mid-decomposing.
But that doesn’t compare to the middle of the room. It’s a machine, big and arched, made of various metals welded and screwed together like a mechanical Frankenstein. There's a panel to the side, although it was bent at a weird angle, as if something had kicked it in anger. Raph purses his lips, trying to find the words for whatever this thing is.
“Hey, that’s Othello’s wagon!” Mikey cries out after a beat. The wagon was shoved into another corner beside boxes of expired food, still carrying metals waiting to be used.
“What? How can you tell?” Leo questions. Mikey drags it closer to all of them, gesturing to a large gash on the side that ruins the red paint.
“I remember this scratch! It reminded me of the one on Raph’s chest.” Instinctively, Raph rubs the chip on his plasteron, as Mikey looks absolutely pleased with himself.
“That doesn’t mean it’s his!” Raph snaps back. Behind them, Donnie takes a sharp breath.
“It’s Othello’s.” Donnie stares hard at the wall, eyes darting across the room to another string of numbers. “This is his handwriting.” The reminder of their ‘guest’ sends prickles up Raph’s spine, scowling at his younger brother, although he doesn’t see, too focused on the walls around them.
He doesn’t say anything, stepping gently over soot, wires, and scrap following equation after equation, mouth moving silently as he reads everything. They all watch, with Donnie eventually being led to the machine in the center, staring intently at it.
“Donnie?”
Donnie waits a beat. “Othello’s smart.” His eyes sweep over the room again, narrowing at certain parts. “Sad to say, maybe he’s too smart.”
Raph is dreading the answer. Luckily, Leo asks the question.
“What do you mean?”
Donnie is slow to answer; either he didn’t believe what he was seeing, or maybe he was trying to find a way to put it into words. Raph’s eye tracks a rat in the corner of the room, scampering along the wall and diving into a crack. He keeps the grimace off his face, listening intently as Donnie starts back up again.
“It’s a gateway. I don’t know where to, but Othello was obviously trying to go somewhere.”
Raph thinks of the night he last saw the teen before all of this. His tone, how his shoulders stayed haunched, and the way he looked over his shoulder for something that wasn’t there. Raph bites the inside of his cheek, something that feels like burning realization pooling in the bottom of his gut.
“Where would he even go?”
“I just said—” Donnie starts, tone frustrated. He takes a deep breath, rubs his temples, and continues. “Somewhere, obviously.” Raph tries to scoff, but it comes off more like a sputter.
“Then why didn't he go yet? What's he waiting for?” Donnie shrugs. Raph clicks his tongue.
“Maybe it had something to do with his…” Leo hesitates, eyes flickering to Casey. “Condition.”
Casey’s eyes narrow underneath his mask. “Condition?” The word is dripping with a silent accusation that makes the scales on Raph's neck crawl. Mikey pushes him back, keeping one hand light on his bicep.
“So you remember that spooky turtle with the purple shell?” Mikey keeps his tone light, watching Casey nod. “Well, we found them!”
“What?!”
“Mikey!” The rest of them say simultaneously. Mikey doesn’t let this deter him and keeps on talking.
“They’re like possessed or something?” Raph punches his arm, finding satisfaction when he flinches. “What? What’d I say?”
“Possessed?” Casey repeats. “Seriously? We have to fight ghosts now?”
“Don’t listen to him, he’s not possessed.” Donnie frowns, face scrunched up. “Probably not— more like he’s battling instincts and biology.”
“And he made all this?” Even behind the mask, Raph can sense his own confusion and hesitation about the whole situation. His brother nods, allowing the teen to gather his thoughts. “Is that why he was stealing stuff?”
“Stealing, dumpster-diving, recycling. Anything he could get his hands on.” Donnie nods. “Although…” His hand slides into his shell, pulling out a round purple hemisphere with grooves and scratches. If Raph didn’t know any better, he would say that Donnie pulled out a little turtle shell. Actually, Raph doesn’t know any better so—
“What the heck is that?” He asks at the same time as Mikey lets out a surprised ‘Dude!’
“Where’d you get that?” Leo asks. “It looks familiar.”
“It should,” Donnie holds it up under the low light. “Othello was wearing it when we fought him.”
“You grabbed it?!” Mikey’s voice rises, not quite shouting, but close enough to Raph’s ears that makes him throw a punch.
“What even is that?” Casey reaches over to either grab or look, but Donnie holds it tighter, taking a step back and twisting his body away from view. Casey makes another lunge, and Donnie kicks him in the shin.
“This is how he disguised himself,” Donnie says over Casey’s hiss of pain. He keeps his tone flat, walking over Casey’s hunched form and giving them a view. Compared to the rest of Othello’s hideout, it was sleek and clean, practically shining like a diamond. Donnie’s fingers trace the grooves. “Although I’m not sure of the technology just yet.”
“He didn’t tell me much.” Mikey offers up. “But he said it only worked on him.”
Donnie hums in consideration, flipping the brooch again. “A special way of activating it, maybe?” He unclasps the buckles and, with a single hand, places it on his wrist. Raph stares as he twists his wrist, looking for a switch, button, something, when a sharp, distinct click echoes in the room.
Then fire consumes Donnie.
They all scream, because of course they do. It’s loud and bright, encompassing his brother from head to toe in blue flames that seemingly come from nowhere. Mikey screams the loudest, Casey scrambles back, and Raph grabs his sai.
Then it dies down, and they’re all left staring at Donnie(?). He’s tall, with his bo-staff on his back, but that’s where the similarities end. His brother transformed into a human, with five fingers and a nose, locced hair reaching mid-shoulder, tied back with a purple ribbon. Donnie blinks, staring down at his hands.
“Huh.” He says.
“Huh?? HUH?? You turn into a human, and all you have to say is HUH?” Raph demands incredulously. Donnie shrinks back for a second, then gestures to his full body again.
“What do you want me to say? I already knew Othello used this as a disguise— I just didn’t think it would work on me!”
“DUDE!” Mikey’s fast, making a direct beeline to Donnie’s wrist. Donnie doesn’t stand a chance; his disguise drops almost instantaneously when Mikey manages to pry the device off his wrist. He slaps it on his own with a flourish, squeezing the metal and waiting for something to happen. Nothing does, despite his best efforts.
“Give it back!” Donnie snaps, reaching over, but Mikey huddles in on himself, using one arm to keep Donnie at bay. Raph can’t help it, and from the other side steals the brooch off Mikey’s wrist. He whines when he notices, but doesn’t do anything when Raph tries it on next. Nothing happens.
“That’s so sick.” Casey breathes. He reaches for it next. “If I wear it, will I look like a mutant?”
“It’s dangerous.” Leo corrects. He snatches the brooch next, keeping it within closed fists. “We don’t know how it works at all! What if this is what made Othello crazy in the first place?”
“That’s just he has Kraang in him.” Mikey corrects.
“What if this has Kraang in it? Did you think about that?” Leo snaps back. “We came here to look for clues, not play around with potentially dangerous stuff.”
“This room is like four feet, there’s nothing to search anyway.”
“Then we can be quick about it and go home faster. Do you really want to leave Master Splinter alone?”
Master Splinter could handle himself, Raph knows logically. Raph also knows that he doesn’t want to leave Master Splinter with Othello longer than he has to. So, Raph juts his chin, scowls, and shoulder checks the eldest as he checks the other side of the room. His brothers and Casey do the same, even checking the front of the store for anything else they could have missed.
When they turn up with nothing substantial, they turn to leave for their home. Casey tags along, saying something about “protection,” although he and his brothers don’t need the extra help.
April is there when they get back, sitting next to Master Splinter, furthest away from Neon, in a quiet conversation that Raph can’t make the words out of. She smiles when she sees them, and Neon sticks his one arm up in greeting. His eyes are still cloudy, but they're better than they were earlier.
Othello is still asleep in the next room.
That thought sticks in the back of Raph’s head as they go about the rest of their daily routine. Dinner, training, watching shows— all he could think about was Othello locked away, not even three rooms down.
Raph keeps his sai with him all night.