Chapter Text
Donnie had been in a surprising amount of car crashes - or, at least, vehicle related incidents. The average person has three to four accidents in their lifetime. Donnie was an outlier and a mutant who should not have been counted. Cars had tried to run him over, had been thrown at him, he’d been chased down and ran off a bridge, plus caught by a giant mutant whale and crushed. He’d say the worst was getting stuck in a bus that was then yeeted three blocks.
It was a weightless kind of feeling, with the inexplicable pull of gravity somehow more a sense of foreboding than an active force. Plus getting thrown into walls and bars like a plinko machine. Not fun. This was kind of like that; as if someone had thrown him into the washing machine on a rough spin cycle. Luckily, there were no surfaces to slam into, which would be nice if it didn’t also mean he was in the middle of a void of absolute nothingness!
It was all light and glowing and Donnie would think he was dead if there wasn’t something at the end of this long tunnel. Although, instead of light–because everything around him was light and swirling and made his eyes ache–it was dark. He didn’t know if that boded better or worse for him. It didn’t matter as there wasn’t much else he could do as he screamed and fell.
He reached the darkness and suddenly all light was cut off. He couldn’t appreciate or commiserate this as he slammed shell first into a hard surface. He tried to scream but the breath was knocked out of him, so it turned into more of a whimpered gurgle. He could feel the pressure on the fractured cracks left behind from when he last had to put his shell on the line. He didn’t know if he was cracking open again and all he could do was groan and roll over trying to alleviate that crushing weight.
That was too much for his poor body. His head jerked to the side and he threw up in a mixture of pain and the nausea from that bright, weightless void. Donnie tried not to throw up again as he rested his head against the cool concrete, cringing at the warmth of his throw up so close to his face.
The world apparently refused to give him a break as something poked at him. Thankfully his arm and not his shell, but Donnie really thought that was a poor consolation prize.
“Damn dude,” Someone said, poking increasingly incessantly, “You dead?”
“I wish,” Donnie groaned, summoning enough strength to try and push himself up so he didn’t look totally lame in front of this stranger… who he couldn’t even see, why- right. Glasses. “Did anyone film that? I don’t want to be teased.”
“You ate concrete, hard, and you’re still kicking,” A hand thrusted in front of him and Donnie narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on it, “I don’t see what there is to make fun of.”
“I guess, thanks,” Donnie smiled crookedly, taking the hand and getting hoisted up. Between one moment and the next, he was blinking back the stars of pain the movement brought to his shell, all his energy going to staying upright where he was left.
Donnie blinked rapidly, trying to make sense through the pain. It was concentrated around the old cracks but an ache spread through the whole thing, like getting body slammed. Which, Donnie supposed, is technically what happened. He blindly reached around to feel along his shell where he knew the cracks were. There were divots where the original pattern of the carapace was interrupted. It felt a sore under his touch but there were no sharp lines of a reopened crack, just the smooth curve of one already healed.
“These yours?” His attention was brought back and he squinted, trying to concentrate on what the stranger was holding out to him.
“My glasses!” He snatched them up in a second, fumbling from his messed up depth perception.
The world became clear, even if it was still dark and desaturated, but at least he could tell he was in an alleyway now. Actually… Everything was really clear. The lines looked sharper, the bricks of the wall in neat perfect rows that looked flat somehow. What little light was in the alley was uniform and even the colour was… bland, there were no competing hues. He was so busy cataloguing the differences, he didn’t notice the other alley inhabitant studying him just as intently.
“So you’re like… a turtle?” He asked, making Donnie jump and finally take in his rescuer. He had a hockey mask on, decorated like a skull and pushed to one side of his head so the older teen could look down on him with scrutiny, “I guess that makes sense - the guys aren't the only mutants out there, they don’t have a monopoly on the turtle brand.”
“Huh?” Donnie was still busy taking in the guy’s homemade armour and the way rusted nails stuck out of it. Which was really really cool, very apocalypse core.
“Although, it might be identity theft with the whole mask and stick thing,” The teen smirked, leaning against a hockey stick exuding cool confidence, “Gotta ask though, why Donnie? He’s a dweeb.”
“Uh- I am Donnie?” He stammered, not really sure where to land on the scale of being offended.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” The older boy scoffed, although it was teasing and Donnie flushed. Here he was, in front of a cool older teen with a skull mask of all things and he was embarrassing himself.
“Ummm, I don’t mean to be rude since you helped me and you're cool and all, but who are you?” Donnie ran his mouth, begging himself to shut up.
“The one and only Casey Jones,” He boasted, “But if you wanted to imitate any vigilante, I wouldn’t mind you coming after my style, it’s way better than Donnie’s.”
“Again, I am Donnie- wait did you say vigilante?!” A thousand and one comics flashed through his mind, story lines and costumes letting his imagination run wild and try to match Casey up to one. Maybe the Punisher? He was cool like him - had Casey ever killed anyone?(definitely), “I’m a vigilante too you know- or I guess a hero?- unless you think vigilantes are cooler then definitely that!”
“Vigilante, huh?” Casey said, and yep vigilante, Donnie was definitely that now, “You know, I’m on a super secret mission to save New York myself - the guys didn’t want to help me but maybe you're cool?”
“I’m cool!” Donnie’s voice cracked, badly , “Cool, yes,” He tried for a deeper voice, he sounded like Leo’s bad Batman impression, “I’m very cool.”
“Follow me, and take this,” Casey tossed him something before sauntering down the alley. Donnie caught it; it looked like an earpiece, like the kind spies had!
“So cool!” He grinned, having to stumble through an awkward run-walk to catch up with Casey, “So like, um, dude what are we doing, fighting mutants? The government? Those TCRI creeps?”
“Better,” Casey grinned, flashing his gap tooth, “We’re going after the mob, specifically that fucker Don Vizioso !”
Donnie didn’t know that mobster but like shell he was going to admit that in front of the others.
“Awesome, so like what's the sitch?” Donnie cringed, kicking himself, idiot idiot .
“I’m gonna sneak in and figure out what they’re up to,” Casey strolled without a care, hands behind his head as he explained, “But I need eyes outside in case something goes south–as unlikely as that is to happen because Casey Jones is awesome–but that's where you come in!”
“I’m going to be your guy in the chair!?” Donnie squeed, Casey grinned at him.
“That's right, you also need to hold onto this,” he whipped his mask off, resting it on Donnie’s head as he scrambled to not drop it, “Think you can handle that?”
“Yes!” He looked up at Casey with stars in his eyes, clutching the mask close.
Casy laughed as Donnie tried to keep up with him, firing a million questions per minute. In the back of his mind, Donnie remembered to spare a shred of thought for his brothers. Did they get caught up in the weird vortex too? Oh well, it probably just spat them out somewhere else in New York, Donnie was sure they would be fine.
---
Mikey was not fine. He was not fine at all. Neither was the table underneath him that now had two legs broken from him falling on top of it. He groaned, trying to shake off the ringing in his ears - long enough to take note of the metallic clthnik surrounding him.
“Is that one of those turtles people’ve been going on about?”
“Smaller than I thought it’d be.”
“Doesn't seem that tough.”
Someone kicked the thinner part on the side of his shell, making Mikey yelp. He tried to curl around and protect himself when something cold pressed into his head, making him freeze up.
“It’s alive,” a gruff voice said, “Lock it up, maybe I’ll have mutie for dinner later.”
Mikey whined as he was roughly grabbed and shoved around. He couldn't fight back as discombobulated as he was. Even if he could, he didn’t think it was a good idea as, in the few flashes where he phased back into awareness, he saw guns and grins.
He got shoved into a metal crate, the type you would put a large dog in. Mikey took advantage of not being shoved around anymore to try and clear his head. As he faded back in, he could make out a restaurant of some kind, it had rich colours and clean tablecloths. The kind of place that looked fancy but probably wasn't actually fancy because they had spent all their money trying to make it look that way.
There were guys lounging around the tables, chatting or playing cards. The table Mikey had broken was cleared out and replaced. In the centre of it all was a large man tearing through food with a spittle running down his chin. Mikey was locked up next to him. Which meant stray bits of half chewed food flew out of his mouth hitting the turtle.
“Eyauck,” Mikey cringed, closing his eye so the sausage mash didn’t fly into it, “Didn’t your mama ever teach you to chew with your mouth closed?”
Cold eyes full of fury swung onto him, pinning him down in a way that screamed danger. Oooo-k, so apparently humour wasn’t a good icebreaker here.
“Erm, sorry I-”
The mobster put his foot up on the top edge of the cage, right where Mikey’s face was. Then kicked, the force of it making the cage roll over, jangling Mikey around like he was in a can. He hissed in pain, his head knocking around which was just great for his already pounding headache and ringing ears.
“What's a Mutie like you even know about family, or decency,” The man sneered in the same gravely voice that threatened to eat him for dinner, “Ya nothin but a bunch of monsters messin with Don Vizioso’s streets.”
“I wouldn’t hope Mr Vizioso would accept an apology?” Mikey tried to give a charming smile that always worked when Dad was mad at him. It only made the mobster look more red and angry, like a plumped up tomato ready to burst.
“ I don’t , boys.”
Another heavy foot crashed into his prison, making it tip over again, knocking Mikey around like his brain in his skull. He landed awkwardly on his neck, aching shell digging into the bottom bars. The cage rattled as someone else kicked it away and Mikey was tumbling in the opposite direction, face squishing into the bars and superimposing a grid pattern on his snout.
“Can’t we talk about this!?” Mikeys voice went high like Donnie’s, “One messy eater to another?!”
This time the cage was kicked against the leg of a table, making him ping pong between his back and front. Mikey groaned, gripping at the bars in front of him to try and get some stability.
“Being a messy eater is fine–not that you are one–,” He shivered as gangsters closed in around him, leering down with wicked grins. He caught a glimpse of Don Vizioso going back to eating, completely unphased by begging, “No, no, of course not, this is clearly a sensitive topic for you!”
He was kicked over, onto the cage front. Mikey yelped as his fingers poking through the bars got crushed underneath it. The cage skidded along the carpeted floor, taking the scales on his knuckles with it. The laughter behind him cut off while he tried to pry his fingers from under where they were wedged between the bars and the floor.
“Oww, ow,” Mikey whimpered as he tried to flex his fingers. He could, which he was pretty sure meant they were not broken - but on the other hand, ow.
He expected to be thrown around again but it was weirdly still and silent from what he could tell through his ringing ears. Blinking past his teary vision, sharp metal shoes came into focus. With his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, Mikey slowly craned his neck up and up, trying to get a look at the figure looming over him. They were all sharp lines and deadly looking spikes and their eyes, gleaming out through his helmet, portrayed nothing but cold calculated fury .
Mikey gulped, trying to back up as much as the cramped cage would allow him, cowering like a cornered mutt.
“Shredder. So nice of you to drop by,” Don Vizioso’s slimy voice slithered through the room, getting those cold eyes off Mikey for a moment that let the turtle suck in a desperate breath, “As you can see, you're not the only uninvited guest we’ve had this evening.”
The man, Shredder, flicked his eyes back over Mikey before looking at the men behind him - or, Mikey should clarify, mutants behind him. Usually he would be a lot more thrilled to find more of their kind, but Mikey got the feeling this was more of a Superfly situation. One which he didn’t think he’d be making it out on the other side with new cousins.
“Isn't this one of them turtles ya always chasing after?” Don Vizioso brought the attention back to himself, speaking through a mouthful like some sort of powerplay Mikey could see going horribly wrong. Playing around with power didn’t matter when this new guy clearly had it. “Gotta say, it wasn’t all that hard to catch and cage up.”
“You’re mistaken. This is not one of Hamato Yoshi’s students,” That look landed on him, pinning him down with an intensity that made Mikey’s muscles lock up so he couldn't do more than shake, “Nothing but a pathetic runt.”
“Are you sure boss? He’s a turtle and got the whole mask thing going on,'' One of the mutants, a fish of some kind with robot limbs like Wingnut, leaned in close, scrutinising Mikey. There wasn’t much the teen could do, he had nowhere left to back up more.
“It is possible Hamato Yoshi has been hiding more students from you, to train in secret,” The tiger mutant said.
Which was really cool because tigers were awesome. Also not cool because he was really freaking scary. He looked down on Mikey but didn’t lean in close, remaining standing straight at Shredder's side. The man did little more than hum in acknowledgement of what the mutant was saying. It was enough for Mikey to know he didn’t want anything to do with this Hamato guy.
“Don't-don't look at me! I have no idea who that is- I was just hanging out doing my homework–,” They were in the living room. Dad had taken over cooking, chasing Mikey and Mondo away with a spoon. Wingnut was trying to help him and Raph with maths. Leo and Donnie were already done and playing games on the tv– “Then a bright flash and whoosh I’m here! Please, I’m not-”
“Silence. I’m not here to hear your blathering,” Mikey snapped his mouth shut real quick, teeth clacking together. Shredder glared at him a moment more as if the look could dissect him, he didn’t like how that particular look reminded him of the scary milking lady. Shredder’s gaze lifted from him to focus back on Don Vizioso, “I am here to see you kneel before me or lie at my feet without a head.”
“Why should I?” Don Vizioso scoffed, and either he was really strong or really stupid. Probably stupid. Mikey had fought gangsters before. Them and this Shredder guy weren’t in the same game much less on the same level - he basically had boss music playing around him, “I don’t care how many freaks you’ve got standing behind you, this is my territory.”
“Are you as ignorant and foolish as you seem?” Shredder strode forward, cape glancing against Mikey's cage as he scrambled to stay as far away from the man as his prison allowed. It didn’t make any logical sense–if he wanted to hurt Mikey, the turtle was a sitting duck–but his instincts didn’t care about things like logic right now. Although, it was an instant relief of pressure to have Shredders attention off him, “I control the Asian gangs through Hun, the South American gangs through Xever, and the Russian mob through Steranko, this city belongs to the Foot.”
“Really? Foot ? that's what you're settling with?” Mikey blurted out. Speaking of foot, he clearly had one in his mouth “... Is this a kink thing for you- it’s just, uh, you had the whole ‘kneeling at your feet’ metaphor and umm… I’ll shut up.”
He shrunk under the collective glares of the room. The only one that wasn’t glaring was a teenager, probably older than him, in a bus boy uniform. He was hanging behind some of the tables, holding wine and shaking with the effort not to laugh. Mikey offered a weak smile, it fell flat.
A snap cracked over the room like a gunshot. Evidently he wasn’t the only one frightened as several mobsters flinched towards their guns. He hoped a war wasn’t about to break out. Mikey did not feel like being a literal fish in a barrel in this situation.
The snap was heard again and this time everyone's attention focused on Don Vizioso but no one moved one way or another. Vizioso cast a glare over his shoulder to the bus boy who jerked to attention. Stumbling towards the table, his hands shook as he poured the wine.
“Fine. I’ll play ball - you’ve got my backing,” Don Vizioso waved the kid off as he took a long sip from his glass. Slowly lowering it to glare up at Shredder, “Now wadd’yu want?”
“Information, and resources,” Shredder said, not rising to the bait of disrespect. Mikey couldn't tell well from the back of his helmet but his head was tilted slightly towards the bus boy as he tried to clear the table of grease smeared dishes, “I hear you’ve got an oncoming shipment.”
“Yeah some real nasty shit, coming in tonight to the docks on my side of town, we-”
The boy was grabbed and in a split second slammed into the table with a sickening thud Mieky could empathise all too well with. The kid’s eyes went wide and terrified, looking up at Shredder as the man leaned in.
“Who are you, spy, ” He sneered in the teen’s face as the kid grasped desperately at the hand around his collar, those deadly looking spikes so close to his neck.
“What? Spy, no, no, I’m just a simple bus boy!” He shrieked, voice going high, probably higher than it’s been since he was younger than Mikey.
The Shredder kept glaring and, after being under that scrutiny himself, Mikey honestly gave props to the teen for staying conscious. No one was standing in to defend him. Mikey gripped at the bars, a growing sense of dread that he was about to witness something horrific unfold in front of him.
The Shredder huffed, throwing the boy aside roughly. He fell against a table, which creaked with the impact, but he still tried to back up more, putting as much distance between himself and his assailant as possible. Yet Shredder merely stood, their back turned dismissively.
“Fine, never show your face to me again, or it will be the last time.”
The kid nodded with a gulp and heeded the warning. Pushing himself up, stumbling with panic-induced incoordination, he made a break for the door. He spared a look at Mikey as he ran by. The turtle looking out at him pleadingly, fingers rubbed raw, clinging against the bars. He looked apologetic but didn’t stop to help and Mikey honestly couldn’t blame him.
“You,” He flinched at Shredder’s commanding voice but he was pointing over Mikey’s cage to the fish mutant, “Take Rahzar and retrieve the shipment, Tigerclaw you take this one to Stockman, he may prove useful in developing a cure.”
“Yes Master Shredder,” They said in tandem.
Fishguy left with no fanfare. Shredder remained looming over Don Vizioso, probably for some further demands of what he expected from the mobster going forward. Mikey couldn't afford to spare the guy any sympathy. He yelped as his cage was picked up with one hand, clawed fingers coming way too close for comfort as the turtle flattened himself against the bottom trying to get away. He was all crushed up like a pretzel anyway but it was the best he could do.
Mikey got carried out of the restaurant. Bikes were parked outside with… ninjas? They had to be ninjas. Tigerclaw didn’t acknowledge this, loading up Mikey on one of the bigger bikes and strapping the cage down in a decidedly not OSHA compliant manner.
“Wait here for Master Shredder,” Tigerclaw barked out the order to the ninja milling around. They didn't give any indication that they heard the mutant and Tigerclaw didn't wait for one as he tore off down the road.
The wind was chilly, especially at high motorcycle speeds. It was dark out, but even with the dim streetlights Mikey could tell the city looked… weird . It was wrong and different, setting him on edge in an all new way. With everything going on, Mikey felt like he was fraying at every edge. He promised he wouldn't complain about Mrs Smith's unfair homework again if he could go back to it, he wanted to go home now.
“I don’t suppose hearing my tragic backstory would convince you to let me go?” Mikey sniffled, trying to speak loud enough for Tigerclaw to hear as they roared down the road.
“Shut your mouth kid,” The mutant growled, low and threatening, making something deep in Mikey’s psyche curl up, “If you know what’s good for you.”
The phantom burn of electricity zinged through him. Shut up. Don’t speak. Anything you say will be met with that zapping convulsing pain. Worse when you hear your brothers crying out in pain next to you for something you said. Best to stay silent.
He kept his mouth shut, curling in on himself as the bike came to a stop. He jostled around as the cage was hoisted up on the mutant's shoulder but didn't say a word as he was brought inside. Hopefully someone will see this. Then again, they’d once crashed a car near a highway and got surrounded by armed vehicles and no one thought to give them a second glance. Thanks New York.
The halls of the building he was brought into was a mix between modern and weirdly traditional, but the final room he was brought into was definitely modern bordering on that sort of sci-fi look, with experiments and documents thrown around the room haphazardly. And intimidating looking machines that, if Mikey had to guess from his experience with evil labs, were used for milking.
Along one wall of the room was a glass enclosure. Mikey squinted into its hidden nooks and crannies as they passed. He screamed as something lunged at him with a hissing growl, hitting the glass head first, long teeth outstretched and at the ready.
“Enough, you embarrass yourself Karai.” Tigerclaw banged against the glass.
The mutant inside hissed, long body coiling around itself for striking or defence Mikey didn’t know. They looked cornered: scared.
“Stockman,” Tigerclaw growled out, a faint buzzing was heard in the far corner of the lab, “Master Shredder sent something your way,”
Mikey’s cage was dropped with little ceremony. His skull got knocked around again, and his head lulled to the side in a daze, bars pressing in, making his headache worse. By the time his head got screwed back on, large reflective eyes were looking down on him. The kind that stole his breath away and made him curl in on himself as a learned fear not an ingrained one.
“A turtle! But this one is different,” The mutant backed up, flying around as if needing to study Mikey from every angle…. And ok, he was a lot smaller and moved around with a zappy nervousness not the swagger Superfly did, but something about him still made Mikey super uneasy, almost queasy, “Not like the other pezztzzz.”
“Are you a fly, do you know Superfly?” Mikey asked, skipping over the pests' dig. That was one of Dad’s trigger words; they could swear all they liked and get off easy but that one was strictly forbidden, “Are you one of Baxter Stockman’s kids?”
“I am Baxzzzter Stockman,” The fly mutant buzzed irritably.
Wasn’t Baxter Stockman meant to be dead? That's what Superfly had said. Did he get mutated instead?
Mikey didn't have long to dwell on it before he was being yanked out of the cage. He kicked out wildly, trying to get free but Tigerclaw didn’t budge as he was brought over to a table and strapped down.
“Wait wait wait, what are you doing?” His breath started coming out faster as he pulled at the straps that only got tighter around him.
“Master Shredder wants samples,” Mikey froze, staring up at the mutants with wide eyes.
“Does that mean…”
“Yes,” Not Stockman sounded smug, buzzing over him with a syringe.
“You’re going to milk me?!”
“.... what?”
“No, no, no, I’ve been milked before, it is not fun!” Mikey started thrashing, the binds on his wrists and ankles dug in but didn’t give.
“You’ve what .”
“You can’t milk a reptile,” Baxter Stockman buzzed, looking between Mikey and Tigerclaw, “They don’t have nipplezzzz.”
“Tell that to the last lady that milked me!”
“Again, what ?” Tigerclaw asked, Mikey went to answer him but he growled instead. The orange turtle finched expecting an accompanying shock, “ Don’t answer that. Stockman, get to work.”
“Yezzz,” Stockman flew closer, needle in hand.
Mikey tried to wiggle away from it. He was stuck fast, this time all by himself. Where were his brothers? Did they know where he was? Would they come? What if they were caught too? When the needle pressed through his skin, Mikey bit his cheek and tried to keep down the scream.