Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

April is four years old and Mom says she ain’t getting a little brother or sister, no matter how many times she asks. But she’s about to go to preschool, Mom says, and she’ll be able to make all the friends she wants there, so many she’ll forget about her lack of siblings.

April is so excited. The night before she hunches under the covers of her racecar bed with a flashlight instead of sleeping in it, whispering excitedly to her Red Fox plushie about all the adventures they’ll go on with their new friends. The next morning, she still isn’t sleepy. She’s so stoked that Mom has to hold onto her hand to keep her from bouncing so high she meets up with Jupiter Jim in outer space. She barely hears Mom telling her to have fun and be good before she’s scrambling to meet the other kids, who are playing with some knockoff Hot Wheels.

“Hi, I’m April! Wanna be friends? Wanna play space adventures?” The kids do not have time to respond, because she gets the coolest idea. “Oh! What if there are aliens and they’ve turned off all the gravity?” April snatches the Warm Wagon from one of the kids’ hands and shows them what that’s supposed to look like. “ ‘ Oh no, we’re driving through the air now! What do we do? Eeek—SMASH.” April knocks over the bright orange car track with her arm but pretends it’s the car that did it. “Oh no, we’ve crashed! Who will save us?”

The kids just stare at her, agog. Then one bursts into tears and runs to the other side of the classroom, and the other gives her a mean look. “You’re so weird.”

April falters. “But-but I thought we were gonna play?”

“Yeah, but not with you.”

The other kid gets up and walks away to tattle on her to the teacher. From then on, the other kids in class interact with her like she’s an alien, keeping far away and looking a little scared when she comes close. When April tries to play with them, they run off screeching.

April makes no friends that day. Or the next. Or the next. By the time the year is over, she’s begging Mom not to send her to kindergarten. Being home playing on her own is so much better than playing alone when everyone else around you plays together.

“Next year will be better, baby girl,” Mom says while gently touching April’s cheek. “You’ll see. You’ll make so many friends.”

She doesn’t, and the year after is much the same. So is the one after that, and the one after that. After a while, April gets good at folding her personality down until it fits into the background of wherever she is. It’s a complicated origami that involves learning to swallow her tongue, and she doesn’t like it, but it’s safer than being rejected over and over again.

After all, you can’t shun someone for not fitting in if you never notice they exist.

April is ten years old and she’s just heard a strange noise.

Mom is working late and doesn’t know when she’ll be home, so technically April’s alone in the apartment. She’s under strict instructions not to answer the phone or the door when she’s home alone, but… the strange noise was followed by kids’ laughter. They sound like they’re having so much fun.

April looks at the landline phone on the kitchen counter, at the homework she’s procrastinating on in favor of some comic books she picked up on her way home from school, at the commercials currently playing on the television. She chews on the inside of her cheek.

She shouldn’t go check it out. Mom says she has to lay low when she’s home alone.

There’s the noise again, and this time April recognizes it as a basketball. The kids in her building don’t usually play on this court because it’s like a million years old and the asphalt is all cracked and bad to run on. They play at the better one a couple of blocks away.

More laughter. The kids in her building don’t let her play with them, but if these were those kids, they’d be somewhere else, so these must be new people. They could let her play with them for a little while before they realize she’s weird and kick her out.

Her stomach twists into pretzels. Maybe.

April makes a noise like a strangled rubber chicken and stamps her foot. “No! You’re April O’Neil, you’re not a weenie!”

Off goes the TV as she stamps into her sneakers and shrugs on her jacket. She makes sure the apartment is locked when she leaves, just like Mom taught her, and then she’s jogging towards the basketball court. She can hear several boys razzing and encouraging each other above the sound of the basketball bouncing off the rusted rim.

“Hey, can I play with you?” she calls before she loses her nerve. She rounds the corner—

And sees four honest-to-Jupiter-Jim aliens staring back at her, wide-eyed. They’ve got green skin and shells. Yeah, the sky is nighttime dark, but it’s New York City, and there are lights everywhere. There’s no mistaking what she’s seeing.

The basketball bounces away, unattended, as April gawps and the four aliens gawp right back. They’re unintentionally ordered from tallest to shortest, have diehard color schemes, and the tallest of them has actual spikes.

Is this for real?

No, actually. April wants—needs—to know.

“Y’all real aliens?”

The third tallest—whose color seems to be purple. How do they decide who gets what?—scoffs in such a relatable manner that April kinda wants to rub her eyes and do a double take. “Mutants, thank you very much.” Then he mutters, almost to himself, “Aliens. The nerve of some humans.”

That effectively shatters the standoff as three of the green guys all turn on one another and start bickering.

“I thought you said nobody came here!”

“Nobody does!”

“Oh, sweet Newtonian physics, Dad is gonna ground us so bad for getting caught by a human, we won’t be allowed on the surface again until I’m in college!”

The smallest of them, decked out in orange gear, leaves the others to their squabbling and chases down the basketball. With a toothy grin, he says “Catch!”

April does and, for lack of any other ideas, aims for the hoop. There isn’t a net, but she would have cleared it anyway. She’s been known to shoot a hoop or two when Mom tells her to go outside to play.

“What are you doing,” Purple says. It doesn’t really sound like a question.

“Alright, nice one!” shouts Orange with a supportive fist pump. He’s already running for the ball again.

“I’ll say,” says the second tallest one. His color is apparently blue. He lifts his chin as he studies her. (Is it still called a chin if you’re a mutant? Actual question, April is so curious.) “Betcha can’t do that again.”

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

Is that a challenge? Who does this blue mutant guy think he is? “Betcha I can,” is out of April’s mouth before she’s thought twice about it. She holds out her arm. “Pass me the ball.”

Orange does. He has only three fingers on each hand. Neat.

April easily makes the shot a second time, then grins smugly and crosses her arms as Orange and the spikey one in red make noises like this an actual basketball game. “Now you try.”

Blue does with no trouble. He then pretends to kiss his non-existent bicep muscles. “Nice try, human, but you’re gonna have to do a little bit better than that to get Leon to sweat.”

“Oh, whatever. You make one lucky shot and suddenly you’re the best? Puh-lease.”

“Okay, so we’re just telling her our names now? Guys, Dad said we’re not supposed to interact with humans!”

“My Mom says I’m not supposed to be outside right now,” says April. She’s chased down the ball and got it propped up on her hip. “But I am.”

That’s when she notices that all the boys have turned to the tall red kid with the spikes. He hums thoughtfully, revealing a snaggletooth. “If we’re not supposed to be playing with humans, and you’re not supposed to be outside playing with anyone—then two negatives make a positive, right? So this is fine!”

“That’s literally not how anything works,” Purple says flatly.

But he’s been overridden by Orange and Blue, who are both nodding and making sounds of agreement. Seeing this, Purple lets out a loud and highly theatrical sigh and crosses his arms. “If we get in trouble, I’m telling Dad I objected.”

He still joins in when they break into teams and play a couple of games, and he even looks like he’s having a good time. It’s the most fun April’s had in—well, forever, and she doesn’t want it to end. It’s only when she hears Mom calling for her, voice raw with panic, that she realizes how long she’s been out here.

“Oops—hey, uh, I… think I gotta go.” April passes the ball to Red, who she now knows as Raph. She’s learned everyone’s names by this point.

“Ooh.” Mikey’s eyes have gone wide, and he speaks in a theater whisper. “Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know. But, uh.” She swallows, scuffs her sneaker on the cracked asphalt, and then works up the nerve to ask, “Wanna play again sometime?”

Her entire body goes warm with relief when she’s met by a chorus of “Yeah!”

“April, where are you? April!”

Mom sounds really, really scared. April can’t stay away any longer without feeling like the world’s worst daughter. With a wave at the boys, she scoops up her jacket and runs to Mom, right into her arms. Mom sobs in relief as she drops to her knees and hugs April so tightly it’s hard to breathe, but it’s really good. April hugs her back just as hard.

“April! Where have you been? We have talked about this, you are in so much—”

“Mom, I made friends!”

Mom stops. Her eyes seem shinier than usual in the city lights. “You-you did?”

April nods. “I know I wasn’t supposed to go out, but I heard them playing and I just thought—”

Mom hugs her again. There’s a tremble in her shoulders that April doesn’t understand, but she’s pretty sure she’s just dodged getting grounded. “I’m so glad, baby girl. I’m so glad.”

If Mikey is anything, he’s the little brother April never had. He’s five years younger than her, and at age seven he is all up in her business, the nosey little twerp.

“What’s middle school like?” he asks for, like, the 87^th time. He’s climbed up Raph’s shell and perched comfortably on his shoulder, chin in his hands as he peers forward like he thinks he’ll somehow be able to see the homework April is (failing) to work on through the computer screen. April can see dark, cold concrete and rebar behind the couch, along with a few tapestries to make the place seem friendlier. She told Mom that the boys live in Brooklyn, which is why they’re not in the Bronx all the time, and also because it’s easier than the truth, which is that they’re mutant turtles living with their mutant rat dad in the sewers under New York City.

But April’s not allowed to go to friends’ houses in other Burroughs on school nights, so she and the boys are making do by hanging out via a webcam setup that Donnie rigged together.

“Sucky.” April holds up her workbook for proof, but Mikey just tilts his head to the side like the whole thing’s written in hieroglyphics. “Every teacher thinks I’ve got nothing better to do than work on their stupid favorite subject. Who cares about the water cycle? We live in a city! You see any forests around here?”

“Excuse you, Central Park is the biggest green space in a major metropolitan city within the US.”

“Yeah, but I don’t live next to Central Park, Dee. Remember?”

“And, furthermore, the water cycle impacts every living being because we all need water to survive, regardless of whether we live in a concrete or actual jungle.”

“He’s got a point,” Raph says, but April can tell his attention is split between being the supportive big brother and the brother that’s currently playing video games. The controller keeps jerking into view as he tries to bodily react to whatever’s happening on the platformer.

“Okay, fine, maybe that was a bad example—but you can’t tell me I’ll be using algebra outside of school.”

Donatello’s head has only partially been in frame throughout this conversation, as he is currently bent over a TV tray table as he works on… something. Whatever it is kid geniuses do for funsies. After April’s algebra remark, his head pops up with a scandalized gasp. “Bite your tongue, O’Neil. algebra is the fundamental—”

“No biting, Purple,” comes Splinter’s tired voice from somewhere off to the side.

April snickers at Donnie’s larger-than-life show of annoyance, quickly followed by supportive giggles from Mikey. “Dad, that is absolutely not—”

“Aaand that’s your last life! My turn.” Without waiting for Raph to agree, Leo dives into view from behind the couch, elbows his big brother out of the way, and snatches the control out of his hands. Raph just shrugs. Everyone knows better than to get between Leo and whatever he wants when he acts like this.

Mikey takes advantage of this brief lull in action to ask April, “So what classes do you like?”

April lets out a breath and leans on her hand. He’s asked this before, too, at least 50 times. She doesn’t know what’s so interesting. “English is okay, I guess? Teach gives pretty fun prompts, anyway. And PE’s fun.”

Mikey nods, tutting in agreement. “Do you like taking the subway? Is it fun?”

“Not really, bud, it’s just kinda how I get around. Sorry.”

There is an understanding nod, but then Mikey thinks of something, and April knows what’s coming the moment the little maniac grins and squishes his own cheeks together. “Do you like-like someone? Hmm?”

This earns a chorus of groans and ews from the other boys. April agrees—this is what she means by Mikey being all up in her business these days.

And, so, okay. Annaliese Tinkerton is super cool and cute, and DeShawn Taylor is too, but neither of them even know April exists and she isn’t about to say any of that to her little brother. TMI to the max.

April is saved from having to answer when Mikey clambers further up Raph’s shell, accidentally kneeing him in the back of the head. Raph lets out an “oof!” and plucks his brother off with one hand. Mikey lands on the couch next to him with an offended whine.

“Hey, I was getting comfy!”

“Yeah, but Raph wasn’t.”

Mikey starts pouting (he’s a bit short to be fully in frame, but April knows big baby turtle eyes when she sees them). “But now I can’t see April!”

That’s when Mom ducks her head into April’s room. April immediately minimizes the webcam window and goes to a previous Google search she’d been doing about the water cycle.

“I thought I heard voices. Hi, boys!”

There’s a chorus of “Hi, Mrs. O’Neil,” from the minimized window.

“Ms. O’Neil, boys. I’m not married.” Mom leans over April’s shoulder, curious at what she’s scrolling through. “Oh, the good ol’ water cycle. Have fun with that.”

“Oh, so much fun. Can’t even stand how much fun I’m having.”

“No you’re not. You just told me school’s sucky!”

“Michael, even I could tell she was being sarcastic.”

Mom snorts in laughter. “Well, I’ll leave you all to your super fun homework. And boys, tell your dad I said you’re always welcome to come visit on the weekends. We could make it a pizza party.”

“Pizza party, yay!” is Mikey’s immediate response. “Thanks, Ms. O!”

Mom leaves the room with a wave and a smile. April hears the TV turn on in the living room.

April brings the webcam screen back up. She and Raph exchange a look through the camera. This isn’t the first time Mom’s offered, but there will be no pizza parties at April’s apartment. After two years April’s really not sure how to break it to Mom that her best friends aren’t human; all she knows is it’ll be a Big Deal when she does.

Besides, said best friends are under strict orders not to get caught wandering around ‘topside’ by humans other than April. They’re mutant turtles, for petes sake. It’s not like they can just blend into a crowd.

Before anyone can change the subject, Mikey jumps up onto the couch cushion. “Hey, what if your mom and our dad got married, April? Wouldn’t that be so cool? Then you’d be our sister for real!”

Something heavy falls into the pit of April’s stomach. For real. Yeah.

Mikey is the little brother she’s never had, but not in a way that counts.

April is fifteen and Raph is fourteen and they’ve just discovered how awesome wrestling is. Leo botched a trick on his skateboard and knocked into the satellite dish setup Donnie’s been playing around with, accidentally switched channels away from Jupiter Jim reruns. Whatever Leo broke, it was pretty bad, because Donnie’s having trouble switching the channel back.

At first everyone complains loudly, their voices echoing off the cavernous walls of subterranean New York, because even though they’ve all seen season 4 episode 9 like a hundred times it’s a good dang episode and they were all excited for the cliffhanger reveal that Red Fox was being controlled by hostile mushroom aliens at the end.

And sure, they could get up and do other things. Mikey says he found this really sick graffiti art while exploring the tunnels the other day, and he wants April to come see it. Leo’s always down to do skating or basketball or some other sporty activity. But they’d all been piled on the creaky couch watching Jupiter Jim (well, except Leo and his skateboard). Kinda hard to work up the effort to go for a walk when you’re that comfy, if you ask April.

Mikey rolls to his feet. “I’m hungry—anyone else wanna eat?” he says to a predictable cluster of “yeahs.” He’s ten now, and he’s discovered an intense love for cooking, which is great for the rest of them, because they’re all worse in the kitchen than he is.

Leo slumps over the arm of the couch, arms thrown pathetically over April’s lap. “How am I supposed to practice my rad tricks without something cool playing in the background?”

April props her elbow on his shell and leans into it with a long sigh as she stretches her legs out alongside Raph’s, both of them gazing at screen resignedly. Might as well watch… whatever this is until Donnie can bring Jim and Red Fox back. Nothing else seems appealing right now.

It doesn’t take Leo long before he wanders off, complaining that he wants better entertainment. Mikey’s still clanking around in the kitchen, and Donnie’s muttering under his breath as he pulls the augmented cable box apart to try and figure out what Leo did to it. It’s just Raph and April who are still paying attention.

A couple commercial breaks later, Raph says, “Wait, is this guy talking about a nefarious plot that he’s been planning for the last two seasons?”

April scoffs and jostles her knee against his. “What? No, crazy, there’s no—well, dang, now that you mention it, he might be.”

It doesn’t take more than that for April and Raph to be completely sucked in. Wrestling isn’t all breakaway furniture and latex costumes, there’s deep lore!

“I can’t believe the Manhattan Matador would do that to Ghostbear. I just can’t!” April decries an hour later, talking around big bites of the enchiladas Mikey threw together. (Actually, it’s really good. Kudos to you, Mike.) “Ghostbear’s long-lost twin brother is in the hospital. This has got to be a bigger play by Chainmaster.”

Raph looks at her like she’s lost her dang mind. “What are you talkin’ about? This ain’t got nothing to do with Chainmaster. The Manhattan Matador did this to knock Ghostbear off his game so she can get a shot at the champion belt!”

“How could she have planned it, when her best friend was becoming a heel right before her eyes? She was a little busy, Raphael!”

“Don. Donnie. ‘Tellinator. Best bro in the history of bros. Please tell me you’ve got the dish fixed,” Leo says as he wanders back around, enticed by the smell of chicken, peppers, and cheese. He steps over where Mikey’s casually sprawled out on the floor with his own plate, ignoring the TV in favor of watching the lore argument happening above his head.

“I would love to do that, ‘Nardo, I really would. But I have no idea what in great granddaddy Pythagoras’ name you did to it.”

“Hey, you can’t change the channel now!”

“Yeah, Dee, do you not see that we’re invested in what’s happening to Ghostbear?”

“Did you two not hear what I just said? I literally just—” he’s interrupted when the most recent set of commercials finishes up, immediately causing April and Raph to zero in on the screen again. “Oh, goody, it’s time for more of the Ladders and Chairs Smackdown Showdown. That’s definitely what I’m looking forward to.”

“Shh, Donnie, Manhattan Matador’s about to tell us her big plan.”

“Which is to stop her best friend from becoming a heel!” April insists. “That’s all she’s doing!”

That’s when Splinter, sniffing loudly, follows his nose into the room and comes to a stop in front of the TV. It’s not a big TV, so his fuzzy butt is blocking everything. “Is that food I smell?”

“Yeah! I made it myself, Daddy—wanna try?” Mikey doesn’t wait for Splinter to answer before bouncing up and offering him a bite.

Raph and April are hanging over the arms of the couch in their effort to crane around the rat man and catch Manhattan’s monologue, but it’s not working. Somehow, despite his shortness, Splinter’s tail or big fluffy behind keep getting in the way, even as he chews and hums approvingly.

“Pops, could you scootch over?”

“Splints, c’mon!”

“Orange, that’s quite—wait a minute.” Splinter’s eyes narrow at April and Raph. “Orange, are you telling me you were using knives and the oven alone, without any supervision?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s how I made this?”

“When there are two teenagers who claim they do not need an adult around because, and I quote ‘we are so super responsible, the most responsible almost-adults you ever saw’? Tell me, Mikey, did they help you at all?”

Donatello starts snickering as April and Raph finally catch on to what Splints is trying to say and shrink sheepishly into the couch cushions.

Mikey, whether he realizes it or not, seals their fate when he tells Splinter, “Nope! They were watching wrestling, but I was hungry, so I just did everything myself.”

Raph and April exchange nervous and guilty looks.

“Pops, this ain’t what it looks like.”

“Aren’t y’all ninjas? What’s a couple of sharp knives between ninjas, amirite?”

“Purple.”

Still snickering, Donnie cuts the power to the TV. “Oops, would you look at that? My hand slipped.”

Splinter makes April and Raph do the training montage from Lou Jitsu’s second movie Hottest Soup in Town as punishment for letting the ten-year-old play in the kitchen unsupervised. When April points out that the montage isn’t exactly what you’d call bubble-boy safe either, Splinter pretends he doesn’t hear her.

Just as well, because Raph is openly enjoying this ‘punishment’, and—aw, hell, so’s April. She didn’t see her day ending with learning how to kick a wooden board in two while Leo rides literal circles around them on his skateboard and Mikey and Donnie call out unhelpful advice from the sidelines, but it isn’t a bad way for things to go down.

Later, she and Raph find out what Manhattan Matador had been planning for Ghostbear by looking it up online. What they read has them both howling in disbelief.

“Neither of us were right? Are you kidding me?” April’s already scrolling through the comments to see how everyone else in the fandom reacted. Raph is reading them from over the top of her head.

“There must be something we missed. Or maybe there’s another twist?”

“We’re definitely gonna have to watch a rerun, because this is some bullshi—” oops, almost swore in front of Mikey “—bologna nonsense!”

Either way, they’re committed fans now. Also committed to becoming better babysitters so they never have to miss the premier of another special again, but that’s just part of the bargain.

The TV’s out for the next few days. It’s just as well, because April spends most of that time deep diving through the wiki, learning everything she can about the characters and the plots of the last few seasons. It bugs her that she read the situation so wrong; she wants to know the full story and context so next time she can put the puzzle pieces together properly.

The next time she and Raph get together, April tells him everything she’s found out while he takes extensive notes. They then spend the next several hours discussing the details of character arcs as well as the overarching plot concerning a suspicious corporate takeover of the wrestling agency. They argue over plot threads until they’ve agreed on the established canon (with a couple of exceptions, but that’s only because Raph’s still wrong about Manhattan Matadore; she is so much more nuanced than he gives her credit for). By the time the next episode airs, they are ready for it.

“Ugh, wrestling again?” Leo groans, already clambering to his feet. “What is so cool about a bunch of fake fights and cheesy costumes, anyway?”

“Because it’s not about the fights or the costumes—”

“Hey, I like the fights and the costumes.”

“Okay, Raph’s right, they’re a lot of fun—anyway, it’s also about the story! The intrigue! The minute details of every fighter’s personal lore! Wrestling goes hard, Leo. You’d know if you gave it a chance.”

“Nah, I’m out,” Leo says dismissively. “Have fun, nerds. Let me know if you wanna watch some Lou Jitsu later!”

“He don’t know what he’s missing,” Raph says with a shake of his head as they settle back to watch this week’s episode.

“He definitely doesn’t—oh well, more for us!” April holds up her hand and they fist-bump as the theme music begins to play.

April is sixteen years old and crouched in the supply closet of the art classroom in the high school she’s been attending for the better part of three years. At this point she knows every nook and cranny of this school—which also means knowing exactly where she needs to be to get the information she’s looking for.

The art room supply closet shares a wall with the teacher’s lounge, and teachers tell each other things after the final bell rings. Things such as, “If you got Morrigan and Obunto in the same class, don’t let them use the hall passes at the same time. They’re in a ‘secret relationship’ and they will be far too absorbed in each other to come back.” Or such details as, “Have you received inappropriate messages from Johan over Instagram, or is it just me?” Or how about, “Smith tried to tell me that having a birthday hangover was a reasonable excuse for missing class—the kid is fifteen. Why is he hungover, and why is he so proud of it?”

Most of this is stuff April’s already sussed out on her own, but hearing it from the teachers in an unbiased setting is how she confirms she’s right.

Her phone buzzes in her hand with the arrival of a text from Leo. ‘im already here where u at’

‘Hang tight. Got some good stuff today.’

‘!!! oh shit im so ready’

April grins as she shoves her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. She was wrapping up here anyway, and with basically nobody in the halls at this hour it’s easy peasy to waltz out of the classroom like she owns the place.

Well, until she accidentally knocks one of the metal chairs to the scuffed linoleum with a clumsy swing of her backpack. The screech and crash are ungodly loud—and because the art room is next to the teacher’s lounge, there’s no way they didn’t hear it.

“Shit, shit, shit!” April leaves the chair and peels out of the classroom as fast as her legs will carry her. She hears the confusion and mobilization of the high school faculty and the clunk of the latch as the lounge opens just as she skids around a corner—

—and gets unceremoniously yanked into another classroom. She nearly shrieks, but that’s when a three-fingered hand clamps down over her mouth. “Shh, do you want to get caught?” Leo hisses at her.

He pulls her flat against the wall in the door’s blind spot as a confused teacher peers through the slotted window. “I don’t see anything. This is very weird. Maybe it was a cat?”

“When has a cat ever broken into the school?” says a second teacher skeptically. “No way, it had to be a student. Let’s keep looking—and someone call campus security.”

April tears Leo’s hand off her mouth as the footsteps lead away from their hiding spot. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Heard a commotion and used my supremely rad ninja skills to sneak into the school and save you from discovery. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Splinter’s begun formally training the boys in the way of the ninja and Leonardo has not been able to stop showing off what a natural he is at it. April’s been hearing him brag like this for month.

“Leo, if we get caught I’m not the big green guy who’s gonna cause a media sensation!”

“Still saved you.”

“Yes, you saved me, thank you very much—”

“Why, April, you’re so welcome! It’s so nice to be appreciated—”

“Now how are we supposed to get you out without being seen in broad daylight, Mr. Ninja Genius?”

“Easy, we’ll use this.”

“Leo, we’re on the second floor, and that window is—”

He hefts the pane open with nary an issue and hops up onto the sill. “You coming?”

April should have guessed. She glances back at the classroom door and the faint voices she can hear down the hall. No going that way, especially if Leo’s coming with. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Warm, humid wind rustles her curls as she sticks her head out the window. It’s a bright day in late spring, and the smell of exhaust and sun-baked garbage greets her nose. Good old New York City.

She glances down. Good thing she’s not afraid of heights.

“Here, give me your bag.” Leo hooks it to the belt lashed across his shell but moves as though the weight is barely anything to him at all. He hauls himself onto the school’s flat roof and rolls behind a wheezing HVAC unit so there’s no way anyone can spot them from the ground level. Without her backpack weighing her down, April has little trouble joining him.

They sag against each other, giggling breathlessly from the adrenaline of nearly being caught.

“I still can’t believe you snuck into my school!” They’re probably fine now, but April keeps her voice down, just in case a teacher doubles back and sticks their head out the window. 

Leo scoffs, tossing the loose tails from his blue facemask over his shoulder. “Wasn’t only this time. I’ve been shadowing you for a while, and I’m such a great ninja you’ve never noticed.”

April stares. “Girl, what?”

“Don’t make it weird! I’ve just been using you and your school to hone my incredibly awesome ninja skills! It’s totally not weird.” It, in fact, totally is weird. But before April can say so Leo’s jostling her. “So, spill! What’d you find out?”

April hums. “Oh, so you’re an amazing ninja when you’ve been spying on me for weeks, but not such a good ninja that you can’t find all the hot goss for yourself? That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Okay, fine, I just did it today and before the last time we hung out, happy?” There are splotches of color forming around the red markings on his cheeks. It’s not really what her friend’s saying that softens April up, but what he’s trying to tell her between the lines.

Ever since April started high school, Leonardo’s gobbled up every scrap of gossip she’s told him and his brothers. He’s not like Donnie, he doesn’t care about the academics, but he’s the textbook definition of ‘extroverted jock’ and living hidden away in the sewers doesn’t give him the socialization he craves. April has an insatiable curiosity and she’d be snooping around like this anyway, but the fact Leo’s just as invested as she is ups the stakes and makes the thrill of discovery even more fun.

But yeah, maybe April pays a little more attention than she would normally, so she’s always got something to share when Leo asks. It’s not his fault New York isn’t ready to embrace a mutant teenaged turtle undergoing ninja training.

“For now, I guess.” April bumps him with her shoulder so he knows she’s joking, and then she makes herself comfortable on the rooftop. “Alright, so I’ve got some updates on the worst kept secret relationship of all time…”

It’s funny that Leo doesn’t care for wrestling, because in April’s mind the top-tier drama she’s dishing right now is basically the same thing. The lives of her classmates impact her about as much as the betrayals that happen on the wrestling mat. It’s different for Leo, though, because these people are real.

“What the—okay, am I missing something? Why the hell would you tell a teacher you’re hungover?”

“That’s the thing, there’s no good reason unless it’s all a giant cry for help.”

“Or attention.”

“Or attention,” April agrees.

“Which do you think it is?”

April shakes her head. “No idea. I haven’t found evidence one way or the other.”

“Oh, c’mon, O’Neil. Make an educated guess.”

“I can’t! It could go either way—I’d need to dig in more and figure out his motivations first.”

Leo groans. “This is gossip, not the New York Times! Just—” He’s interrupted by cheering and laughter coming from the far side of the roof. That’s got his snout wrinkling in confusion. “I thought everyone was supposed to be gone by now?”

“There are some sportsball teams that practice after school, but they’re usually out by the gym.” April jumps to her feet and scoops up her backpack, gestures for Leo to join her in investigating what’s up. They squat on the edge of the roof, peering over the weird little half-wall at the group of teenagers walking up from the soccer field.

As soon as April recognizes one of the boys in the group, she squeaks and ducks out of sight, yanking on Leo’s arm.

“Get down, get down!”

“Why? It’s not like they’re gonna look—okay, getting down now.” Leo recognizes the signs soon as he’s hunched down to her level. “Oh, is one of those guys the guy? The vice-principal’s kid?”

April nods. Her face feels like it’s a hundred and fifty degrees. “The one with the braids. He must be meeting up with his mom after soccer practice.”

Leo quickly peeks over the half-wall again. “Oh, he is cute—for you. Cute for you.” He clears his throat, and then he’s pushing her. “You gotta go talk to him!”

“Absolutely not! Besides, how am I supposed to go talk to him when he’s surrounded by friends and I’m trapped here on the roof?”

“See you later, man! Text me!”

“Hey, we playing Fortnite tonight?”

“Tell Mrs. Watson I say hi!”

April curses as Leo gestures towards the departing teenagers. “See, perfect opportunity.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact I’m on the roof, Leo. How am I supposed to make getting down here look natural?”

Leo grins, and the next thing April knows she’s standing flat-footed on the concrete sidewalk while he makes himself scarce with her backpack.

“For the record,” she hisses over her shoulder. “I hate it when you do that!”

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweater. It’s from Leo. ‘do it scaredycat.’

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

Too late.

April clutches her phone until the protective hardcase creaks. She knows her eyes are too wide, and she’s gaping like a fish. Say something! She is April O’Neil, she can do this, she can talk to her crush! “H-hi—err, I mean, what’s—hey. Hi. Hi, Darrell Watson.”

Spectacular. April can’t wait to receive an Oscar nomination for that stellar performance.

Darrell is immediately put off. “Uh, you already know my full name. That’s… uh. I’ve never met you before in my life. How do you know my name?”

They’ve been in the same grade since freshman year, but he still has no idea who the hell she is. Cool. Really super.

Damn it, why does he have to have such gorgeous brown eyes with such beautiful long lashes?

April feels herself shrinking. Her wrist flaps back and forth as she tries to gesture in a cool, blasé way. “Ah, we—I go to school… here. I-I go to this school.”

Darrell blinks. “Right. But that doesn’t explain—have we met before?”

Multiple times, all well before The Crush and all equally unmemorable.

He’s kinda sweaty from soccer practice. It’s hot—not like, temperature-wise. But attractive. He’s… god, he’s so cute, this isn’t fair.

“Yeah—but no. But yes? Um.” April holds her phone behind her back and turns the screen on and off, trying to signal to Leo that now would be a great time for a rescue.

“Uh-huh,” Darrell says slowly. He reaches for the door leading into the main school building. “I’m gonna go now, okay?”

That’s cool. Honestly, April’s just gonna stand here until she’s turned into a crater by a rogue meteor crashing through the stratosphere. That could definitely happen, right?

She’s saved from the humiliation of being caught cemented into place by her own social anxiety when her crush turns away and Leo whisks her out of sight. By the time Darrell looks back over his shoulder, April’s long gone. She’s behind a shrub with her head between her knees, trying to remember what it’s like to breathe.

Leo kneels next to her, hands hovering like he’s not sure if she would be okay with being touched. April tips over until she’s leaning against his plastron, lets out a sigh when he hugs her, even finds the brainpower to twist around and hug back. “Oh, god, that sucked so bad,” she says into the warm, leathery chest she’s leaning against. “Why is having normal conversations with humans so hard?””

“I could answer that, but I don’t know if you count anymore,” Leo mutters as he props his chin on the top of her head.

“Oh, shut up.” She whaps his side, but his plastron makes it a moot gesture. Leo just giggles like she’s tickled him.

After a minute or two, she pulls herself back together. She is April O’Neil; she’s not going to let an awkward conversation with a cute boy drag her down. “Okay, enough of that,” she says as she leans back. “I vote comic books, blasting music until our brains mosh in our skulls, and a snack—what say you, Leo?”

He grins and gives her shoulder a squeeze as his arms fall back to his sides. “Make the snack a pizza and you’ve got my vote.”

April’s just turned seventeen and it’s the last few weeks of junior year.

“You’d think the teachers would let up and just let us cruise to summer vacation, but no,” she complains to Donnie as she heaves her horrendously heavy backpack onto the workbench in his lab and starts digging through it. “They pulled a bait and switch, can you believe that? I thought we were going to the planetarium because it’d be fun, but now they want us all to do projects on it!”

“Woe be unto any teacher who assigns April O’Neil a project,” Donnie deadpans. He’s not looking at her—rather, he’s sitting in a rolling office chair in front of his supercomputer and giving her backpack the evil eye for desecrating his favorite surface in the entire lair.

“That’s what I’m saying! I didn’t sign up for a special space project, I signed up for a fun day at the planetarium. Oh, I got you a souvenir, by the way.” Having extracted it, April moves her backpack to the floor and presents Donatello with his gift: a genuine, As-Seen-On-TV certified Moon Rock™.

At first her friend is delighted, but his expression quickly morphs into a scowl as he examines the galaxy background and bright bubble letters on the packaging. “What in Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s name is this monstrosity you’ve just handed me?”

April’s shoulders are already shuddering with suppressed laughter. “It’s a Moon Rock™, Dee. Isn’t it cool? I thought you’d like it.”

His eyes flick to her shoulders, and then back to the souvenir. April swears she can see the cogs turning in his genius brain as he slowly puts two and two together and realizes this is all a joke. Oh, the souvenir is real, all right—April’s got the receipt to prove it—but she’s been bringing Donnie the hokiest science-adjacent commercial crap she can find for as long as she can remember. At first it was a harmless prank; Donnie’s rants about bad science and how bad it is are objectively funny. Now it’s tradition, something April does on autopilot, and it's happened enough times that Donatello’s figured out how to use it as a platform to share his most obscure knowledge and interests.

That, and he clearly enjoys tearing down bad science for its own sake. Win-win, as far as April’s concerned.

“I can tell you right now this isn’t from the moon—but okay, since you seem to be under the impression that it is, I’ll humor you.” Donnie knocks his goggles down over his eyes with an exaggerated flick of his finger. There’s a sound like a picture being taken as he examines the Moon Rock™. Then he spins towards his computer and hits a few buttons. A screen pops up to display a schematic of the Moon Rock™ and an illustration of the rock’s elemental composition pops up alongside it. He pushes his goggles back onto his forehead and holds up the souvenir. “This is basalt. It’s one of the most common minerals on the planet. Particulates suggest it’s from Montana, not the Moon. This is basically snake-oil. Tell me, did they also promise it would prevent disease and align your chakras?”

April doesn’t trust herself to speak, she just gestures at the packaging again.

“ ‘ Soothing extraterrestrial energy to brighten up any room’?” Donnie drops the Moon Rock™ as if it’s burned him. It clatters harmlessly to the floor. “I’ve never read anything more offensive in my life, and I’ve read the fanfiction Mikey wrote during this year’s rat flu.”

“Okay, but hear me out.” At Donnie’s expression she barrels on despite the giggles in her voice, because if she doesn’t he most definitely will. “This is As Seen On TV. We all saw the moon landing on TV. The connection is indisputable, Dee—ergo, this must be real science.”

“Outraged gasp. You did not just equate this badly marketed basalt to the stupendous feat of science and engineering that made the moon landing possible. The TV lies to you, April.”

“But if the TV lies to me, then did it also lie about the moon landing? Pick a side, bud. You can’t have it both ways.”

This earns her an extremely detailed lecture on the moon landing and all the ‘exquisite, beautiful science’ that went into it, as well as several facts about how they filmed and transmitted Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s trip out there. There are even visual aids. Since it’s information about actual science and not a rant about bad science, it’s not especially funny, but it is interesting, though the nitty gritty details go right over her head. Even taking that into account, April swears she learns more from Donnie than her teachers.

They eventually move on to techy something-or-other and brainstorming school projects, respectively. When that happens, the Moon Rock™ is deposited onto The Shelf of Shame with all the other pseudo-science souvenirs April’s brought back over the years. Donnie’s got quite the collection, at this point.

April’s phone buzzes, offering welcome relief from the lack of progress she’s making on the brainstorming front.

Donnie’s sent her a link through Dysfunction. Weird, considering he’s in the same room and hasn’t mentioned wanting her to see anything, but okay.

10 reasons why you should question the moon landing, by journalist Matthias Matterson.

“Why is he submitting this as an investigative article when it’s clearly opinion? Why does he always put things in numbered lists when he doesn’t have to? Who is this article even for?” April huffs and tosses her phone to the side. “Damn it, Donatello, you know I hate this guy!”

“But he writes in your favorite publication, and you love everything they release,” says Donnie innocently. “Ergo, this must be one of your favorite authors. Isn’t that how your logic works?”

He cackles as April huffs. This, too, is tradition between them. Dee knows that sending crappy articles will inevitably get a rise out of her, but he’s not normally able to find one that matches the souvenirs. Objectively, this is a good find—not that she will ever say so.

“I hope you took psychic damage when you went looking for moon landing truthers.”

“Not nearly as much as Matthias Matterson inflicts on you. Unlike you, I know he’s trying to be inflammatory.”

“Hey, I know that too! Dude says on number four that the moon landing’s fake because you can’t see the American flag moving, which is shite, because there isn’t wind on the moon, so of course it isn’t moving. If he’d done any amount of research about what the moon is like instead of trolling, he’d know that.”

“You didn’t know that until I told you about it sixteen minutes ago.” Donnie’s smug as he gestures expansively, leaning back in his chair. “But who could blame you for basking in my brilliance until you absorbed some useful information? Would that more people would; the world would be a substantially better place.”

“Oh, really? I seem to remember you texting me that your brothers were driving you crazy when you did that experiment to make them just like you.”

“Indignant sputter! That was one time.” There’s a pause as, April assumes, Donatello reflects upon his mistakes. But no, he just mutters, “The program would have worked perfectly if I’d had time to upload a patch.”

“That’s not what Leo says.”

“You and I both know Leonardo is an unreliable narrator at best, so nice try.” He casts a skeptical glance to her notebook with all the scratched-out ideas. “Figured out a planetarium-inspired project yet?”

April groans and pushes the offending notebook away. “No—I don’t suppose you wanna do it for me?”

Donnie perks up. “Really?”

Donnie’s always been envious that she could go to school. It’s kind of heartbreaking that even homework is exciting to him, especially in contrast to how much April complains about it. It’s unfair that she could have this opportunity and barely be scraping by when Donnie would be making the most of every moment.

And then probably graduate early because, you know, genius. But that’s not the point.

“No, Dee, that was supposed to be a joke,” she says gently. “I’m not making you do my homework for me.”

“Oh.”

He is. He’s wilting because she told him she wouldn’t let him do her homework for her. What kind of sick guilt trip is this? It’s even worse than Mikey’s sad baby turtle eyes.

April sighs. “Okay, you’ve clearly got an idea. Is it something we could work on together?”

That is, apparently, all she needs to say. April is immediately swept up in a whirlwind of schematics and excited techno-jabber. The finer details are completely beyond her, but the gist is they’ll be making a model of the Milky Way that will simulate the sun’s inevitable explosion into a super nova, and the explosion will be represented by fun and interactive mixed berry-flavored foam (that bit was April’s idea). She leaves the lair that day with her head spinning from the calculations Donnie rattled off as he worked out the proportions and scale of their model, but otherwise she’s feeling good about the situation.

Only to be greeted after school the next day by a Mikey covered in purple foam because Donatello’s only gone and finished the entire damn thing without her.

“Hey, April! Oh, you’re gonna be stoked, this solar system thingy is so cool! Wanna taste the foam? My recipe.”

April does taste the foam, and it is very good. She thanks Mikey for giving the model a test run, and then rounds on his purple-clad and conspicuously foam-free brother. “Donnie, we were supposed to work on this together!”

“Did I not incorporate your edible foam idea into the design? Your input is, in fact, abundantly visible.”

“And delicious!”

“And delicious. Good point, ‘Angelo.”

April rubs at her eyes. Pushing her point will get her nowhere. What’s done is done, so how to move forward in a more collaborative way? “Okay, okay—Donnie, give me the rundown on how to operate this thing. I need to know all the ins and outs in case someone asks questions about how I suddenly got so good at this during my presentation.”

It takes several days for her to feel comfortable enough with the knowledge to do her first mock presentations to the Mad Dogs and Splinter, and another day for Donnie to supply the Mad Dogs and Splinter with index cards of pre-prepared questions that they have solemnly swear to read exactly as they are written because the first round was unhelpful chaos.

By the time actual presentation day arrives, April is more prepared than she’s ever been. She is going to crush this.

Okay, so she stumbles while carrying the heavy model to the front of the classroom and nearly drops the thing, and there is a suspicious clunk, but she saves it at the last minute! No harm, no foul.

There are a couple of giggles from the class at her lack of coordination, but that’s okay. She can do this.  April O’Neil isn’t scared of a presentation she’s already done at least a dozen times.

Her hands tremble as she brings up her talking points on the same crinkled index cards she’s been using for practice. “This is a presentation about the end of the universe—ah, I mean the galaxy. J-just the galaxy, the universe is gonna be fine. Um.” Deep breaths. She can do this, just like how she practiced. “But first, let’s talk about how the Milky Way operates…”

Once she gets into the swing of things, her confidence bubbles up, and the presentation goes well.

“Super novas can expand across light years in mere seconds, and when our sun explodes, the Earth won’t stand a chance. Let’s see this in action, shall we?” April presses the button to release the edible foam.

Nothing happens.

“Heh, whoops. Let me just try that again.” She checks that the power switch is in the correct position (it is) and presses the release again.

Nothing happens.

Oh no, did she break something when she stumbled?  Donnie didn’t show her what to do when the release gets jammed, what is she supposed to do?

“Haha—um. This isn’t supposed to… not happen.” Her classmates start murmuring and laughing softly. April’s suddenly drenched in sweat. She clears her throat and presses the button extra firmly this time. “Let’s see this in action, shall we?”

There’s supposed to be a pop as the pressurized cannister releases, and the model gets consumed by the foam it’s holding. Every time she’s tested it, the foam’s reach hasn’t exceeded the footprint of the model solar system.

This time, the entire classroom is covered in pressurized, mixed-berry goop. The desks, the windows, the teacher, her classmates, and it doesn’t stop. It’s a sprinkler, splatting wave after wave of foam onto her shrieking peers. April is absolutely doused from head to toe in the stuff; it’s going to be a nightmare to wash out of her curls.

“Don’t worry!” says April as absolute bedlam erupts all around her. “It’s edible!”

Shockingly, that doesn’t calm anyone down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She reaches over to turn the model off, but somehow Donnie himself is already there, crouched behind the model. He grabs her hand to keep her from messing with the switches anymore and pops open a heretofore invisible control panel on the back of the model. With a couple of taps, the mechanism powers down.

In a blink, he’s gone. If April wasn’t looking at the newly revealed control panel, she would never have believed her eyes.

“O’Neil, what did you do?”

“Oh, god, it’s staining everything!”

Now that the sprinkler’s stopped, people are streaming out of the classroom, leaving sticky purple trails on their way to the bathrooms to try and scrub down. None of them stay to hear her mumbled apologies, and nobody goes to investigate as she closes the classroom door.

“Donnie?” A part of her is convinced she hallucinated him earlier. Why would he risk exposing himself by breaking into a classroom full of humans?

April is at once horrified and relieved when a mutant turtle head pokes out from behind the door of the supply closet. Upon seeing the coast is clear, Donnie reveals what is, quite possibly, the worst disguise known she’s ever seen.

It’s an oversized sweater with the hood drawn up. That’s it. No pants, no shoes, nothing to cover up the green of his skin. Just hoodie.

His person is also completely foam-free. How did he manage that, when he’d just been right in the thick of it?

“You—shouldn’t—be—here!” April accents each word with a wet slap to his hoodie-covered arms and battle shell. She’s not putting any real force behind it; the most she’s doing is transferring some of the foam from her person to the hoodie, but she thinks it communicates her displeasure well enough.

“Hey—what—hey, quit it!” Glaring, Donnie catches her wrists to stop her from schlucking more berry foam onto him. “Is case you forgot, I just helped you.”

“I would’ve figured it out, like I always do—Dee, you were this close to getting caught.” April pulls her hands back and gestures to the purple slime trail leading out of the classroom. “If one of my classmates had spotted you, what then?”

It doesn’t take much to surmise that her genius friend hadn’t thought that far. At first April just thinks he’s not going to answer, because that would mean admitting he’s wrong. He’s not looking her in the eye.

Then, “You’ve never asked me to build you anything before.”

At first April just stares, flummoxed. Why is Donnie saying it like it’s some big admission, and what does it have to do with the fact she’s covered in goop? “Alright, normally I’m better at following, but I’m going to need you to explain.”

There’s a jerky gesture to the model solar system, a rolling of the shoulders. A huff of breath. When Donatello speaks, there’s a somewhat mechanical quality to it, an unconscious signal that he’s hitting the range of what he can comfortably express. “It was important to me to make sure the build worked for you, because you’ve never asked me to make you something before, and it meant a lot that you did. I didn’t… consider the risks when I snuck in. All I knew was I could fix things.”

Not considering the risks isn’t like him. He’s admitting to an impulsivity April didn’t realize he possessed—and all because of a school project?

April knows Donnie enjoys inventing gadgets and doodads. She’s also aware that Splints and the rest of the Mad Dogs are constantly throwing requests his way. Honestly, she’s always figured Donnie did it out a sense of obligation, a chore he fulfilled because he had the skills and he loved his family. It never occurred to her that this was Donatello’s way of showing he cared.

Damn it, now she feels like shite for yelling at him.

“So.” Donnie’s looking at the defunct Milky Way model and the mess in the classroom. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his newly stained hoodie. “You probably won’t let me help with any more school projects.”

April grins wryly and flicks some more foam off her hand. “Nah, I will. My reputation at this school was shot to hell before this anyway, some crazy elaborate projects here and there ain’t gonna make it worse.”

She’s known Donnie since she was ten, but this is the first time she’s seen him smile like a thousand-watt lightbulb.

Chapter Text

As a proud New York City native who’s never been anywhere else, April feels a little guilty about how much she likes Hidden City. Its bright colorful lights make her think of Times Square if it adapted a mutant-punk aesthetic, streets follow radial patterns instead of grids, there are day/night cycles despite the sun never reaching down this far, and its inhabitants are so different from New York that they loop around to being two sides of the same coin.

But being the only human in a world of yokai is uncomfortable. It’s not because the yokai look different—April’s best friends are mutants; she’s got nothing to say about how anyone’s shaped—it’s because April doesn’t look like the yokai. Each conversation with someone new requires proof that she’s chill before the yokai relax, and it’s exhausting. The Mad Dogs are welcomed with open arms while April lags behind.

Up top, it’s the opposite. April blends in as long as she doesn’t open her mouth. Of all the places she’s been, the lair feels the most like home, but even that’s not a perfect fit. She’s not a mutant turtle with a mutant rat dad, she’s not a ninja. For as much as she loves her friends and Splints, and as good as they are to her, there is always a separation; April’s not one of them.

No matter where she goes, she can’t win.

April is eighteen years old and in her senior year of high school when she meets Sunita. The girl is a breath of fresh air, friendly and sweet. April gets giddy when conversation with her comes so easily—that’s never happened before, especially not with someone this pretty.

Aaand Sunita’s a yokai in a magic cloaking broach. Yeah. In hindsight, April should have seen that twist coming.

Alright, so April’s new friend isn’t human—she is, however, enrolled in the same school, and they are in the same classes. This translates to sitting next to one another during lunchtime and doing homework together after classes end for the day. It translates to inside jokes about teachers and classmates topside as well as visiting while Sunita helps at her uncle’s pizza parlor downside. By complete accident, their friendship becomes the closest thing to compromise between their two worlds: complete symbiosis.

When April asks what drove Sunita to go topside at all, the yokai shrugs her goopy neon shoulders. “I’ve always wanted to see what it was like. You know that animated movie about the mermaid who doesn’t know what forks are?”

April snorts loudly. “I love how that’s the part that stands out most to you.”

“It begs a lot of questions! What the heck’s this girl eating her food with, if not a fork?”

“She’s underwater, right? Gravity’s a bit weird down there. Forks are great when you need to stabby-stab something that’s not floating away, but I dunno how helpful it would be when it is.”

“Still doesn’t answer what she’s eating and how. Feels like the floaty thing is a problem no matter what—anyway.” She rolls her luminous eyes when April snickers. “Fork stuff aside. That was basically me.”

“You fell in love with a prince you saved from a shipwreck? Damn, that’s intense.”

“No, I just—wanted to see how the other half lived, I guess. Hidden City gets small when you’ve been here your whole life.”

As someone who’s never left Manhattan (Hidden City’s technically still Manhattan, right? Just deeper underground?), April cannot relate. Still, all teasing aside, she admires Sunita’s bravery more than the other will ever know. “I don’t know if I could’ve worked up the nerve to do what you did, ‘Nita. It totally could’ve backfired.”

It almost did, but April doesn’t say that. They both remember how things went down Sunita’s first day in school.

“But it didn’t. Instead, I met you!” Sunita nudges her. Despite the appearance of her yokai form, she’s not sticky to the touch. Rather, she’s warm and pliable, like one of those silicone hot water bottles Mom uses whenever she’s got cramps. The feel of her is soothing.

They share a soft smile. There’s a warmth bubbling between them that has nothing to do with temperature, and it’s nerve-wracking, but also weirdly not.

April doesn’t know who leans forward first. Their first kiss is short, broken by bashful giggles, but no less wonderful for that.

“Not too weird?” April can’t help asking. She hopes Sunita realizes she’s not talking about the whole human-yokai thing, but—well, the whole April thing.

Thankfully, ‘Nita seems to get it. Her smile is gentle as she leans in for another kiss, her boldness causing the air to catch in both of their throats. Afterwards, she touches April’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Not at all.”

The next several months are a series of increasingly intimate lessons. She and Sunita are each other’s firsts, and they teach each other so many things. April learns about the importance of communication, and that the solution to clinginess is not forced distance and silence but respecting that they can’t and shouldn’t do everything together. She learns how to say no when she needs to, and how not to take offense when her partner does the same. She learns how to balance friendships with a romantic relationship.

April learns that loving someone is the easy part. It’s accepting their love in return that’s hardest. But they figure it out together, and April loves Sunita’s passion and kindness. She really, really does.

Which it why she feels so blindsided when, eight months later, Sunita sits her down and says she wants to break up.

“W-what?” April’s voice is a droplet of water shivering on the underside of a ledge.

Sunita’s smile is sad as she reaches across the table in her uncle’s pizzeria and holds April’s hand. “I care about you, and I always will. But I think.” She falters, sadness crossing her face, then takes a breath and steels herself. “I think we both know you’re looking for something a little closer to home.”

No, they both most definitely do not know. What is she talking about?

“I… I…”

April watches numbly as her now-ex-girlfriend gives her hand one last pat and then lets go. “I really hope we can stay friends.”

“But-but I don’t know…”

“I understand. You can think about it, if you need time. Just text me if you decide you want to, okay?”

Just like that, it’s over. Sunita offers one last sad smile as she scoots out of the booth and goes back to work, leaving April alone with a pizza she thought she’d ordered for two and her first broken heart.

April only shares her body with Karai Hamato for about twenty-four hours, but it completely changes her life.

Karai upgrades April in a way she didn’t know she needed. For the first time in her life, April is confident and useful. The fact she has no human friends and can’t hold down a job and her mother gives her sad looks when she thinks April’s not paying attention doesn’t hurt, because it doesn’t matter. For twenty-four amazing hours, April’s knows who she is and what she’s capable of, and she is extraordinary.

Then Karai joins the Hamato ancestors to finally rest, and April realizes none of that great stuff had truly been hers.

You have always been one of us. It made so much sense then, with Karai in her head, encouraging her, making her special. But it stopped being true the moment Karai disappeared.

April isn’t extraordinary. She got possessed and stole a dead woman’s mystical ninja powers for a day—big whoop. She is no less of a phony and a coward now that Karai’s gone. She’s still too chickenshit to tell her mom she was even a part of Shredder’s defeat, let alone introduce her best friends. Karai’s blessings had only ever been temporary; at her core, this is who and what April actually is—and, whether Karai meant to or not, she proved it with devastating clarity.

What is that, if not a sign that April was never worthy of her kindness to begin with?

“Okay, Dee, I’ve got a weird question for you,” April asks one evening as the five of them are playing video games in the new and improved lair, which is an abandoned subway station. Specifically, they’re all participating in a Smash Bros tournament. Right now it’s Raph and Leo duking it out as Donkey Kong and Kirby, respectively. Mikey’s got winner, and April’s next after that.

“This should be good,” Leo mutters. He snickers when April jostles him, though sadly it doesn’t break his concentration.

For his part, Donatello doesn’t look up from his bracer, which he is slowly upgrading to be a supercomputer in its own right. “Define ‘weird’.”

“Non sequitur to the current conversation?”

Another tap into the bracer. “You may proceed.”

“I wonder what this will be about,” says Mikey, propping his chin on his hands like he’s expecting a good show. He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish when April shoots him a suspicious look.

Oh, that little punk. She thought she’d caught him peeking over her shoulder when she was on her phone a few weeks ago. He’s been failing to act normally ever since.

“Hypothetically,” she continues warily. “If I already applied to a university that I know I won’t get in to, could you hack the system and tweak my application until I met the prerequisites? Like smoothing out how many jobs I’ve had, and changing my extracurriculars from Aiding Mutant Vigilantes to uh, I don’t know—yearbook, or something?”

“Such a specific hypothetical,” tuts Leo the same moment that Donkey Kong throws something to knock Kirby off the battle platform. “Aw.”

“That’ll teach you not to pay attention to Raph.”

“Hypothetically, yes.” Suddenly Donnie’s tone becomes far more mechanical, like a bad torrent of his own voice. “But one must first consider the gray-moral ethics of this matter. Should I do something simply because I can?”

Mikey’s aghast. Raph looks pained. Leo’s biting back laughter.

“What the—” April lurches to look at what he’s got pulled up on his bracer. “Are you reading off a script?”

“Yes.”

“I wrote it because it’s hard for Donnie to play along with these kinds of things,” Mikey explains. “Acting is an art and a skill for a reason.”

“Except he didn’t capture my voice in any of my lines. I love doing things just because I can!”

Oh, sweet lord, she has so many questions. “Is this an intervention? Dee, why are you going along with a script if you don’t like it? Why is there a script at all?”

“Hold on, I’ve got something for this.” Donatello taps through what April can only assume is a draft of the script he’s been consulting this entire time. He clears his throat and intones, “I am simply trying to ensure that you are asking this for the right reasons. Insert good examples such as: I heard that Sunita is applying to study at Columbia, are you suddenly interested in this because of her? Like, does April care because she’s trying to make her ex jealous or something, or does she just want to go to school. Just riff off that and you’ll be good, Donnie. Happy face emoji, sparkling heart emoji.”

“Now you’re reading the notes along with the lines?” cries Mikey in horror.

Leonardo pauses the video game as he bursts into laughter. “He sounds like Shelldon with a hangover!”

Raph leans down towards his purple-clad brother. “Donnie, you don’t need to do it in that voice, you can just speak normally.”

“I am speaking normally.”

“No, but when you read your lines.”

“Yeah, I know. I am reading them normally.”

“You’re not though,” Leo gasps, wiping tears from his eyes. “When have you ever talked like this?”

“Okay, no more scripts, no more subterfuge,” April declares, swiping the whole pretext of this conversation away with her hands. “Real talk: I realized too late in the game that I wanted to go into journalism, Eastlaird has a good program and is easy to get to from my apartment, and on paper it doesn’t look like I’m a good candidate. I know I can do a good job once I’m there, but if I don’t get help, I’ll never have the chance. This has nothing to do with my ex or her situation at Columbia.”

“She got in, though,” Donnie says.

“What the—did you just hack into Columbia and snoop on Sunita’s application while I was talking?”

“Yes.” There’s a decisive tap on the bracer’s screen. “You’re also already accepted to Eastlaird.”

“It’s official, you’re never getting looped into schemes like this again,” Leo groans. “How can you have an actual script and still be so bad at this?”

“Donnie, you didn’t even let us get to the teary, heartfelt conclusion!”

“I don’t do teary and heartfelt.”

“The script specifically said you didn’t have to be the one doing that!” Mikey sniffles. “It was going to be beautiful.”

“Wait, Dee,” April realizes. “You said ‘already’—they’d made a decision about me before you got into the system? You didn’t need to change anything?”

“Comments say your essay won them over, so this whole discussion was moot.” Donnie closes his bracer, annoyed. “And to think I could’ve been playing Smash Bros this entire time. Mistakes were made, gentlemen. Mistakes were made.”

April scarcely hears his complaints, or the bickering that bubbles up in response. In fact, she sits there in a daze until Raph bumps her arm with the controller and it’s time for her to face Mikey in the Smash Bros semi-finals. Then all her giddiness and disbelief erupt in a battle cry of “April O’Neil!”

The world is ending.

No, it literally is. If you ask Casey Jones, this is how it starts.

April’s been subsisting off adrenaline and protein bars for the last forty-eight hours. She’s slept fitfully, if at all, and her deodorant’s long since given up the ghost. Yet here she is, swinging her mystically enhanced baseball bat at Krang zombies in a desperate attempt to claw the odds back to even.

She’s losing. Her friends are losing. New York City is losing. At least one Burrough’s been completely wiped off the map, and she’s sprinting past subway cars that have been upended and crumpled like toys under the boot of the Krang’s might.

Still, April somehow hears it when her phone rings. She lets out a strangled laugh to see Mom’s photo on caller ID. “Hey, mama.”

“Oh, thank god. April, baby girl, are you okay? Are you safe?”

No and no. But that’s not what Mom needs to hear right now. “Yeah, mama, I’m safe. I’m hunkered down in my closet.” She pauses as some new devastation takes root about a block away. Judging by the way the asphalt jerks and heaves beneath her feet, it’s another collapsing building. “Sorry, it’s really loud over here. But I’m okay.”

“You have water, and a flashlight, and some non-perishable food, right?”

April lets out a weak laugh at the juxtaposition between what Mom thinks she’s up to and what she’s actually doing. How did everything go so wrong? “I do, I do. What about you? Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay. A few of us are hunkered in Tom and Genie’s basement apartment. You remember them, they used to babysit you sometimes? Feels like a bomb shelter in here.” Mom lets out a short laugh of her own. “I guess it kind of is. Oh, baby girl, I wish I could bring you over here and protect you. I hate the thought of you holed up in a closet all alone.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.” There’s a beep as her phone announces 5% battery. Time’s up. “Listen, mama, my phone’s dying, so I’m shutting it down to conserve power. I’ll text you when I can, okay? Say hi to Tom and Genie for me, and be safe. I love you.”

April shoves her phone into her pocket and chances a glance up at the eldritch horror floating above her head before she and her trusty baseball bat get back to work. Her best friends are up there somewhere, fighting like hell to save them all. She’s a teeny speck in the growing crater of New York City, but she’s going to do all she can to buy them the time they need to pull it off.

By the time April returns the Shell Hog is nearly dead. The final mark on the fuel gage is flickering as she rolls the cycle into its charging station. There’s small army of bots putting the lair back together all around her. April has to dodge and weave around them as she heaves four reusable bags from the Hog’s storage compartments over her shoulders and staggers onwards.

The bots are making remarkable progress, but the lair’s still more rubble than home, and probably will be for a while.

She doesn’t miss how many times the bots scanned her to verify her identity as she was driving in, either, but she won’t bring that up. She can’t blame her friends for becoming insular when they’re at their most vulnerable; it’s the most turtley thing about them.

“Hey, whoa, you need a hand with that?” Casey Jones (Jr., apparently? April still hasn’t wrapped her mind around that one) hustles to her side and takes two of the bags from her. He nearly drops them in surprise at the weight. “What did you get?”

“Groceries for seven, my dude. And I had to go to New Jersey not to get completely price gouged.”

He blinks, then grins. “Oh, right, New Jersey’s still a thing, and we all hate it for some reason. I got you, I’m catching on.” Casey’s the only one who doesn’t seem to feel like he’s been run over by a bus—he’s giddy because the Krang are gone and they all survived, and as far as he’s concerned the rest is small potatoes.

Part of April gets it; the rest of her wishes he’d do more to bite back his glee. Maybe they won, technically, but it doesn’t feel like it.

“Did you just say New Jersey?” Leo calls from the makeshift med bay, which is just a couple of dividers placed around a bed and some monitors of his vitals. The stubborn idiot tries to sit up, fighting against Raph’s restraining hand on his shoulder, and then immediately hisses in agony and clutches at his cracked plastron. “I—heh, ow—I’d rather be back in the prison dimension than eat anything from Jersey!”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but the humor doesn’t hit when he’s lucky to be alive at all. Leo’s been making shitty remarks like that ever since his brothers rescued him.

April looks to Raph, who gives a small shake of his head to let her know it’s best not to engage. Good, she thinks as she hefts her bags onto the kitchen counter, because she didn’t have anything witty to come back with anyway.

“Hey April, I thought I heard you.” Mikey helps Casey with unpacking the bags. His arms are covered with spiderwebbing lines that catch the light like they’ve been inlaid with mica powder. They’re not cracks, like Leo’s got—at least, not physically. Their shimmer fades a little more with each passing day, but April can see them becoming a subtle network of stretchmarks, visible proof that it takes more than being a conduit of overwhelming power to break him.

“Did you get the cup noodles I wanted?” Splinter demands as he hobbles up to inspect the groceries. His face is a tight mask of discomfort and cantankerousness. Since he’s the oldest one here, he’s trying to take charge and be the adult.

Hard to do when the act of walking to the kitchen has you panting and clutching at the counter for support.

Mikey immediately drops everything to herd Splinter back to his favorite armchair. He and Raph have been tag-teaming Leo and Splinter care, switching off every day or so, and Mikey’s clearly on Splinter duty. “No, Dad, Daddy—you go lay down, and I’ll get you the noodles.”

At first Splinter protests, but when his youngest easily overpowers him he compensates by turning into something harsh and impossible to please. “I want them extra hot this time, Orange. No more of this lukewarm nonsense!”

“I will, I promise, just please lay down and get some rest.” Mikey looks like he wants to cry, though whether it’s from Splint’s attitude or the discomfort of seeing his father in such a state April can’t say.

“Don’t do it, Dad, they’re Jersey noodles—that’s a fate worse than death.” Leo’s chuckle is all gallows humor. “I would know.”

Not for the first time, April pinches herself. Nothing changes. Everything is still wrong and broken.

Her eyes burn. She wishes Karai were here. Karai would know what to do, how to make everyone feel like things would be okay.

April shouldn’t have let her go. She should have made Karai take her body instead. Objectively, of the two of them, April’s not the most useful. What is she even doing here?

If anyone calls after April when she turns on heel and walks away, if they notice her at all, then she isn’t aware of it. She suffers another ID-scan before the reinforced doors of Donatello’s lab hiss open, but the lab’s soundproofing seems to have mostly survived, so it is blessedly quiet in here. Just the hum of machines and the clicking of a keyboard, lit only by security feeds and power lights. April sinks to the floor next to a blinking server cabinet, her head on her knees, and tries to find the confidence Karai took from her when she left.

If Donnie thinks anything of what she’s doing, he doesn’t mention it. Other than, she assumes, granting her entry into the lab, he’s not acknowledged her at all. That’s fine, honestly. April doesn’t want to be acknowledged right now.

She doesn’t know how long she stays curled up there. Long enough for her butt to go numb and her hips to cramp up. She startles when her phone vibrates with a Dysfunction notification.

‘Ancient alien doomsday device?’ is the title of the article Donnie’s just sent her. It heavily features an interview with one of the ancient alien guys from the History Channel.

“What,” April breaths in disbelief as she scrolls. “Okay, first of all, who greenlit this garbage? And secondly, why are you platforming conspiracies about ancient aliens—”

Another notification. This one speculates ‘Martian attack on New York? Experts say it’s more likely than you think.’

“Oh, come on! Where are you even finding this stuff?” April pushes herself to her feet and stumps over to Donnie’s desk on pins and needles as the blood rushes back to her feet. She stops when he flinches away from her sudden closeness, and then immediately feels bad. While Donnie’s not big on being touched at the best of times, he’s usually tolerant of it from close friends and family. Since whatever happened in the Technodrome, though, he’s been staunchly touch-repulsed. Nobody’s had the emotional capacity to explain it to April, and the lack of context is maddening, but she’s doing her best not to take any of it personally.

Karai would have known what to do, how to help in a way that’s not desperately scrabbling for the status quo.

“Sidenote,” April says to distract them both. She also takes a step back so there’s more space between them, and notes that Don’s breathing easier for it. “Since when did you get the Wi-Fi up and running again?”

Donnie doesn’t look away from the computer screen. The blue light glints off the mechanical arms extending from his battle shell. He’s using one to operate the mouse while he keeps his hands firmly on the keyboard. Anything else he needs—flicking security switches, adjusting dials, tilting the screen displaying Leonardo’s vitals subtly away from April—is handled by another mechanical arm.

“About an hour ago. Took a while to remote into my backup solar setup and repair the router,” he says. “Stupid coast guard kept shooting down my drones, which is extremely rude, because materials are not easy to come by right now, and now I have to send in another drone to pick up the parts from the ones they shot down. I can think of no greater insult than forcing a genius to turn his own inventions into salvage through no fault of his own.”

For the first time in days, April feels herself smile. Donnie’s indignation, delivered in his usual deadpan, is so refreshingly normal. It’s like taking her first breath after swimming from one side of a deep, dark pool to the other.

“Have you seen this one? ‘Potential terrorist attack by China or Russia’—it’s causing a massive diplomatic incident.” Donnie doesn’t say it aloud, but he’s highlighted that the article was written by the worst journalist in the world, Matthias Matterson.

April rolls her eyes so hard she’s shocked her whole body doesn’t roll with her. “Is it bad I’d hoped he lost everything, quit his job, and moved upstate to start an apple orchard?”

Is she overselling her reactions? Definitely.

“Quaint.” Something on the security cameras catches his eye, but after viewing whatever it was from a few different angles he concludes it was a false alarm and leaves the feed alone. “Only a true New Yorker would suggest a life in the country as a punishment for their archrival.”

“He is not my archrival.” April juts out her hip and crosses her arms. “Calling him that gives him way too much credit.”

This isn’t what Karai would have done. But Karai isn’t here. It’s just April, imperfect and overwhelmed, and April needs a few minutes to shit on Matthias Matterson with her best friend like nothing else is wrong, or she’s going to fall apart.

“On second thought,” Donnie muses. “He also doesn’t know you exist. Para-social much?”

She’s not the only one who seems to need this, though. It’s apparent in the way he keeps bringing up bogus articles, how he keeps playing along. That’s more reassuring than Dee will ever know.

“Uh! Excuse you! I’m not the one who’s constantly looking him up, though, am I?”

Maybe the world didn’t end, but things are still pretty bleak. They’re all doing their best with what they have.

“Knowing smirk. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

April lets out a theatrical groan, and her friend cracks the barest hint of a smile. It makes her feel like there are things she can do right for the people she cares about after all.

Chapter Text

April is nineteen years old and classes at Eastlaird are finally being conducted in person again. The reconstructed campus still has that new school smell, like particle board and fresh paint. There are no coffee stains on the chairs in the lecture halls (yet), and the computers in the library are shiny and process things at lightning speeds.

It wasn’t until she did two semesters online that April realized she preferred the communal experience of learning in a classroom. Walking to her first in-person lecture in more than a year, April’s reflecting on what Sunita said about finding something closer to home. It’s true she’s still not great at talking to other humans.

The communal experience of learning together would probably be a bit more—well, communal if she had some friends in her program.

A guy drops into the seat next to her with a funny sounding sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am so happy to be here. If there was going to be another virtual semester, I would have thrown my laptop out the window.”

April glances around, but nope, it doesn’t seem like he’s talking to anyone else. Alright, O’Neil, now’s your chance. “I was just thinking the same thing, myself. Misery loves its company, amirite?”

The guy laughs, and not just in that humoring kind of way. “That’s what I’m saying! Cool glasses, by the way. I like the red.”

April blinks and adjusts the same cat’s-eye frames she’s been wearing since high school. “Thanks. I, uh, like your… shoes.”

Actually, they legit are some great kicks. April’s a big fan of neon pink.

He laughs again and introduces himself as Quintrell, or Quin for short. When April introduces herself in kind, she can see where the smile lines at the corners of his eyes will form one day; it’s charming.

Quin’s a fellow New Yorker, but he’s from Albany and that gives him an alien perspective on the city. He says Manhattan is overwhelming and he misses the trees from back home, but he loves that he doesn’t need a car and relishes that he can buy a hot dog at any hour of the day. By the end of their second lecture together, he’s asking if April wants to join him and his roommates for some beer and board games (and, okay, probably some weed too).

April is stunned, and her stomach is doing summersaults. How is it so easy to make friends now when it never was before?

“Yeah, okay,” she says with a slow spreading smile. “Sounds like fun.”

Quin’s roommates are cool. They introduce her to all the friends and significant others who have also gathered in their cramped little apartment. April plays Risk in a team with two other people while they all get giggly drunk, and she takes her first bong rip to a series of supportive whistles and thumps on her back when she inevitably starts coughing.

As she’s riding the subway home at half-past midnight, she calls Leo. “Dude, you’re never gonna believe it.” She doesn’t wait for him to make his groggy reply when she cups a hand around her mouth and whispers, “I got a cute boy’s number and tried The Weeds at his house.”

Leo’s suddenly a lot less groggy. “What? No, you didn’t. You would have texted hours ago if that were true.”

“It is true. I tried The Weeds at a cute guy’s house today.”

“Okay, first of all, I know you keep saying weed like that to get me to react, and I’m not falling for it because I’m not Mikey, and secondly: details, now.”

April tells him all about it. She’s not drunk anymore, but she’s still a little fizzy, and it makes her talk for most of the ride, but Leo listens just as raptly as he did when she was dishing the hot goss back in high school.

“Ugh, you get to have all the fun,” he complains.

“Vigilante ninja who’s literally going on adventures all the time says what now?”

“Not the same, April. Not even close.” After a beat, though, Leo softens. “But seriously, it’s good you’re hanging with some humans. I know we’re still your number ones—”

“Yup, that’s exactly how tiered lists work. Brothers one through one one one, then my fifth favorite—”

“Fine, I’m your number—wait, who’s the fifth one?”

“Casey Jr. or Splints, depending on the day.”

“Makes sense to me. Anyway, so even though I’m your number one best friend and the rest of the fam rounds out your top five, I am, genuinely…” April catches the change in his tone from sincere to joking the instant before he says, “Glad there are so many sad sacks competing to round out your top ten, for when we’re not around and you need to settle for second best.”

The gigglesnort that comes out of April is a surprise. She knew he’d say something goofy, but that wasn’t the turn she’d been expecting. “Yeah,” she says with a smile. “Me too.”

It takes a few weeks for April to ease into the notion that she’s not being punked. Suddenly she’s in study groups and getting invited to parties. When she jokes, people laugh, and she earns a reputation for being ‘retro’ because the only media references she knows are from the 80’s.

It’s like she’s body-snatched someone else’s life. April keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does.

Something has changed (she’s changed?) and, whatever it is, it means she’s no longer the social pariah who has to avoid drawing attention to herself. There’s a heady rush that comes with this newfound sense of belonging. It washes warm over the scars left by too many years of going it alone in school.

“Oh, baby girl, I’m so happy for you,” Mom says when April gushes to her in the kitchen of their apartment. “I know fitting in at school’s been hard, but I’m glad you never gave up.”

“Yeah, I am too, Mom.”

It’s a feeling she plans to keep.

April’s only just gotten home from the last lecture of the day when her phone starts blowing up.

“Hey Donnie, what’s up?”

“Mikey and I are eighty-seven seconds out from your apartment, and we’re coming in hot.”

Then he hangs up.

April curses and darts to the window by the fire escape to throw it open. She then makes the mistake of sticking her head out the window and looking curiously around, but of course she doesn’t see them until Mikey’s yelping, “April, move!”

She leaps out of the way just in time for Mikey to swing in through her window like motherfucking Spiderman, swiftly followed by the buzz of Donnie flying in with his battle shell. In a blink, the window is snapped shut and the blinds are drawn.

“Did they see us?” asks Mikey, peering anxiously over Donnie’s forearm as he consults the flipped-up screen on his bracer.

There is a tense pause before the bracer is clicked shut. “Negative.” Mikey slumps onto her couch with a dramatic sigh of relief, even as Donnie scowls over at April. “I gave you ample time to get out of the way. I told you we were coming in hot! What gives?”

“What gives?” April squawks. “Y’all are clearly on the run—and from what?”

“Oh, it’s just Raph and Leo. DonDon’s helping me figure out the extremely awesome timelord powers Casey says I’ve got, but they think it’s dangerous for some reason.” A sliver of orange streetlight cutting between the still shifting blinds picks out the subtle sheen of the stretchmarks on Mikey’s arms when he makes a placating gesture.

April nods to said stretchmarks. “Isn’t it dangerous, though?”

“It will only become more dangerous the longer we don’t understand it.” Donatello pats a pouch that’s hanging from his belt. “I brought a first aid kit if anyone gets hurt.”

“One you know how to use?”

“No. But if things get bad, we’ll just let Leo and Raph catch up, they both know how—speaking of.” Donnie’s consulting the screen on his bracer again. “They’re on the move, ‘Angelo.”

Mikey hops to his feet and shakes out his arms like he’s a wrestler about to jump onto the mat. “I’m ready!”

He drops into a low, solid stance and holds his hands in the air like they’re cupping an invisible basketball. He groans in effort, face scrunching with concentration. “I can feel it, it’s almost there—I think I need some help,” he grunts. “C’mere and put your hands on my shoulders.”

April looks to Donnie, silently asking if he knows what’s happening, but Donnie’s not paying attention. He’s still got one eye trained on his bracer, where she can very clearly see blue and red dots moving closer to their current location—he’s also cooperating with Mikey’s request, though, marching up and clapping his other hand on his little brother’s shoulder, so April does too.

She realizes what Mikey’s asking for as soon as she’s in place. “Uh, guys, I don’t think I’ve got ninpo anymore.”

“Of course you’ve got ninpo. I’ve seen you use it.”

“Yeah, but was that before or after your five-hundred-year-old gram-gram used my body as a timeshare, Dee?”

“It’s still not enough,” Mikey gasps, still straining. April can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “You need to hold hands and close the circle.”

“Why? Raph and I didn’t need to do that last time, and that was enough to pull Leo out of the prison dimension.”

“Because I said I needed you to, Donald! Do you want me to do the super cool timelord stuff or not?”

“Obviously I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be here—but you’ll want to put your shoes on and grabs your keys, April. Leo’s started portaling around the neighborhood; it won’t take him long to check here.”

This time April doesn’t ask questions, she just jams her keys into her pocket and her feet into her sneakers.

“April, no, you broke the circle!”

“One last try, Mikey, and then we’ve gotta move.”

“I need you to complete the circle!” Mikey drags her back to where Donnie’s still consulting the computer on his wrist and manually smashes their palms together. “Like this!”

There’s sweat trickling down the side of his face. “Mikey, you sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard?” asks April with worry.

“I won’t as long as you hold hands!”

“Too late, Leonardo’s on us in 30 seconds.” Donnie’s pulling back the blinds on the window and heaving it open. “Let’s move, people!”

The old rusty fire escape creaks loudly from the indignity of doing its job. As soon as April’s pulled the window shut, Donnie’s mechanical arms have scooped her up by the armpits as the mechanisms on his battle shell make them airborne. Mikey’s making his own way by leaping between rooftops, fire escapes, and even the occasional windowsill, doing all kinds of showy flips and tricks between landings.

“Here comes Raph!” Mikey shouts—and sure enough, April can hear the pounding of the large mutant’s footsteps from twenty-five feet in the air. Then she sees him, pointing and saying something into his wrist communicator (to Leo, one assumes).

“Oh shit he looks mad!”

“Answer, but be casual,” Donnie says the instant before her phone rings again.

It’s Leo, of course. “Hey, April, you seen Donnie and Miguel around? I’ve been looking for them.”

“You know, I saw them earlier, but they said something about being on the run from you and Raph and dipped?” Technically, it isn’t a lie.

“They’re doing something stupid and dangerous and we’re trying to stop them from getting hurt.”

“Gotcha. Well, if they stop by my place again, I’ll let them know you were asking.”

There’s a hard sigh. “Yeah, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way. Talk to you soon, April.”

He hangs up, and there’s barely enough time for Donnie to swear and holler “Incoming!” before Leo’s portaling into the middle of the goddamn air right in front of them.

“I knew you were in on this!”

“Man, I ain’t gonna snitch on the guy keeping me from hitting terminal velocity!”

Speaking of which, there’s a brief pause as Leo loses altitude and has to portal himself higher up again.

“’Nardo, I told you I brought a first aid kit,” says Donnie, annoyed.

“A first aid kit isn’t going to cut it if things go wrong!”

That’s when April hears Mikey laughing. She’d been so preoccupied with Leo that she’d completely lost track of Mikey and Raph.

Well, she needn’t have worried, because Raph’s giant red projection has just come barreling at them all in an effort to snatch the giggling and much more agile Mikey out of the air.

“Hold on, this will be rough,” is all the warning she gets from Donnie before he spirals out of Raph’s way. Mikey uses Leo as a springboard, strategically sending him to crash into their eldest brother as he propels himself in the opposite direction. The result is Raph and Leo colliding mid-air and having to do damage control to keep from hitting the ground in an unsafe manner, which gives the rest of them just enough time to escape.

Adrenaline burns hot in April’s lungs as Donnie drops her to her feet several blocks away, and she cackles when Mikey lands neatly next to her. They’re in the business district long after sunset; it’s as much of a ghost town as New York City becomes, and almost no chance they’ll be seen by anyone from Eastlaird who might know April.

“We have a few minutes, tops,” Donnie says, eyes still glued to his bracer.

“Hey, have you seen Casey yet?” asks Mikey, looking around.

“Negative, but he doesn’t have ninpo, and he’s moving on foot. I think it’s safe to say we’ve probably shaken him for the time being. Leon’s the one we need to watch out for.”

“Are you talking about lil’ ol’ me?” says Leo from directly behind them.

“Holy shit, how did you—?” April starts to ask, but then she uses her brain. “Nevermind. Portal powers are way too OP, case closed.”

“Yeah, basically.” He smirks, the tails of his mask blowing back from his head in an extremely cool way, though April herself feels no wind.

The telltale pounding announces that Raph is not far behind. “MIKEY!”

“Okay, change of plans: every man for himself!” Donnie grasps April’s forearm and swings her ahead of him to give her a head start. She doesn’t protest or take the time to say thanks, she just breaks into a sprint, Don right on her heels.

“Wait for me!” cries Mikey. His legs are shorter than theirs, though—and, nimble as he is, he’s quickly outmaneuvered by Leo’s portals and Raph’s enormity.

April doesn’t look back when she hears Mikey’s pathetic “Nooo—now they’ll never discover their bond! They almost held hands!” as he’s rounded up by his elder siblings, and she also doesn’t slow down. Michelangelo’s going to be fine (honestly, he might even be more fine now than if he and Donnie were able to finish their experiments) but with adrenaline snapping and crackling in her veins it feels like she’s abandoned him to be devoured by zombies.

She still really doesn’t get the whole hand-holding fixation, either, but honestly that’s not top of mind right now.

She and Donatello run like hell down several city blocks before they feel safe enough to slow down. That’s when they hear the telltale sound of another portal zipping open.

April reacts first, yanking Donnie into the nearest ally. Mechanical arms spring from his battle shell and swiftly position a crate and several bags of trash to block them from view.

“What, you think I’d just let you two punks get off scot-free?” Leo calls. He’s absolutely relishing this cat and mouse nonsense, the bastard. If this were wrestling, this would be the first step on his path to becoming a heel. Nobody has this much fun playing manhunt without wanting to explore further.

April and Donnie wait, breathless and clutching each other’s arms, as Leo stumps around for a few minutes, and then huffs.

“Weird, I could’ve sworn they went this way…” he mutters as he steps through another portal.

They exchange a look and silently agree that this is a trap, so they stay put. Leo does one more fakeout, and then—when he sounds genuinely frustrated—they deem it safe to come out of hiding.

Only to see Casey Jones standing casually at the mouth of the alley. He watches one come out from behind their makeshift shelter, then the other, and April sees a little lightbulb goes on over his head.

“Damnit, Donnie, you were supposed to be keeping track of these things!” April complains.

“Aggravated groan. Well, gee, April, why didn’t your sophisticated tech alert us that Casey would be right here while I was focusing on Leo’s shenanigans? Oh wait, it’s because you don’t have any!”

Casey’s giving them a very funny look. His eyebrows are drawn, and his lips are pressed together.

Oh shit, does he think they’re being serious?

“Case, it’s okay, we’re not actually fighting,” April says reassuringly.

“Though there was actual annoyance just now.”

“I know that.” The strange look on Casey’s face has shifted, but for the life of her April can’t place it. It’s soft, and there’s something almost sad about it. Nostalgic, maybe, with a dash of grief thrown in? But why? “I just can’t get over how differently things—”

“Case, did you flush ‘em out?” comes Leo’s voice on the young man’s wrist communicator.

Casey slowly lifts his wrist to his mouth. April and Donnie are both shaking their heads and gesturing wildly for him not to snitch. He raises his eyebrows. April mouths “Please?” and Donnie holds up his bracer with a finger poised threateningly on a cryptic looking button.

Casey looks between them again, and then tells Leo, “Nah, sensei, I don’t see them.”

“Damnit, I really thought the third fakeout would get them. Alright, come back to base, they could be anywhere by now.”

Yeah, if this were wrestling Leo would definitely be making his heel-turn in the next few episodes.

April really doesn’t understand the encouraging little grin Casey flashes them before he shoots his grappling hook into the air and sails out of sight. There is, however, one thing she does understand: “Ohh damn, that boy’s a turncoat!”

Donnie closes his bracer computer smugly. “He made the right decision.”

“What were you going to do, anyway?” April asks as they stroll out of the alley and down the block in the opposite direction from where Casey grappled off to. Now that they’re not being hunted by Donnie’s brothers, their pace is quite leisurely.

“Password protect his music library.”

The implication that Casey wouldn’t know the passcode is obvious, but for Donnie it’s a remarkably tame threat. April laughs anyway. “Mean Uncle Tello.”

“Ugh, please refrain. I am nobody’s uncle.”

“Don’t tell that to Casey Jr., then.” April bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, are you hungry at all? I’m suddenly starving.”

“Frankly, I thought you’d never ask. Bonus points if it’s sit-down and we can avoid the lair even longer.”

“Valid. Actually, there’s this place not too far from here that I think is open late. Someone brought me here the other day and, honestly, it’s made me love dill in a way I never thought I could.” April grabs his hand to pull him down the right block, and it takes her a minute to realize she hasn’t actually let go. “Sorry, I completely forgot to ask—you good?”

Battle based maneuvers are one thing; it’s part of working as a team, and neither of them think anything of the fact they’ve been in near constant contact all evening. But instances like this are considered discretionary (Donnie’s words, not hers), and while he’s worked through a lot of his Technodrome-related touch revulsion, too much contact can still get overstimulating for him. April’s usually good about keeping that in mind, so she feels a little bad for forgetting just now.

Donnie waves the apology off with his free hand. Luckily, it seems today’s a good day. “I want to circle back to the dill thing,” he says seriously. “How much dill are we talking here, an accent or the entire dish? Answer carefully, because this is a crucial distinction and will be the defining factor in whether or now I will allow myself to be subjected to this cuisine.”

When Quin asks her out to coffee, his smile is shyer than April’s ever seen it. “Just you and me, if that’s okay?”

At first April’s struck because wow, first human date, but Quin’s looking at her funny, and “Shit, right, you need me to answer—yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s the beginning of April’s first casual relationship. Neither of them are interested in commitment, but they have chemistry and enjoy spending time together, so they ride it out and see how things go. It’s fun and low stakes. April doesn’t fall in love with Quin the way she fell for Sunita, but there are things she loves about him, like the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and how good he is at explaining his perspective on things that are entirely foreign to her. When they sleep together, she loves the flutter of his eyelashes and how he melts into her arms when he’s spent.

Quin breaks it off a few weeks later, saying he’s met someone he can’t stop thinking about and he has to see where it goes, but April’s not hurt like she was with Sunita. She thinks maybe it’s because she never thought of him as mine.

“Hey, no worries,” April says with a smile and a short hug she doesn’t have to force. “Good luck, sweep that lucky lady off her feet!” It’s surprisingly easy to stay in touch; she thought she would have been more daunted by knowing too much about him, but she doesn’t have a hard time keeping that information from souring their friendship.

It gets her thinking. Maybe…

‘Hey, I know it’s been a while, and I’m sorry,’ she finds herself texting Sunita. ‘I understand if the offer had an expiration, but if you’re still down I’d really like to be friends again.’

It takes over a day for Sunita to get back to her, enough time that April figures she’s been straight up ghosted, and honestly she understands. But Sunita’s got more grace than April ever gave her credit for. ‘I’d like that too! I’ve missed you. Wanna get something to eat (that is NOT PIZZA)?’

They go out for gyros and exchange stories about crazy professors and annoying classmates. Sunita’s in a committed relationship with another yokai now, and they both go to Columbia in disguise. She shows April her phone wallpaper, which is a selfie of them in their human forms in the dappled shade of Central Park. The genuine affection and joy in both of their faces makes April smile.

“What about you?” says Sunita, taking a sip of her coke. “You must be seeing someone.”

“Hm, not really. Had a thing with a guy from school, but we broke it off the other day. I’m just enjoying being single right now.”

Sunita pauses, stirring the ice in her glass of soda. Her lips purse together as she struggles to figure out how to word it, but then she just out and says, “Really?”

“Yeah. I finally took your advice about trying things a bit closer to home. It seems to be working out so far. I’m having fun.”

“I… did say that, didn’t I?” Sunita lets out a little embarrassed giggle at her past self. “But you’re—I mean, you’re still tight with the Hamatos, right?”

April blinks, bemused. “Yeah, of course, they’re my best friends—oh. Oh, no, don’t worry! I’m not ditching old friends for new friends. I still hang out with the guys all the time.”

“That’s… that’s good. I’m glad you’re happy, April.” She gives April a particular look of concern. “You are happy?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking, ‘Nita. I’m really glad you let me buy you some gyro.”

April grins at the bright, bubbly laugh this inspires, and just like that, they’re friends again.

Never has April been so happy to have been broken up with.

“I don’t get it,” says Casey Jones when she hears what April’s been up to recently. They’re in the middle of a crowded bar, surrounded by a din of conversation, but April has no issues hearing the older woman. Even when she’s actively trying not to, Casey is always shouting. “What is sleeping around doing for you?”

April blinks. “You don’t get curious about different types of people? Wanting knowledge for its own sake?”

Sure, some would say her relentless need to know things makes her a busybody, but in this case April doesn’t think wanting to explore is a bad thing. Everything’s consensual, and everyone uses the appropriate protections—why does there have to be a greater point?

“Yes, but what are these people providing to you?” Casey starts banging the unused fork from their decimated basket of fries on the table. “Do you need to be needed? Are you afraid of being alone? Have you not discovered sex toys? What do these people have that you cannot obtain yourself, and what makes them specifically skilled at offering it?!”

Before April can respond, their table is approached by a young man in their general age bracket. He’s looking at Casey. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted you to know I like your jacket. It’s really cool.”

“Thank you, I agree that it is very cool.”

“Actually, um,” says the young man. “Do you wanna go somewhere? Together? I think you’re really attractive and I’d like to spend some time with you.”

April has to give the guy props for being so direct, but Casey is entirely unimpressed. She’s just leapt up to stand on her chair and brace her foot on the table next to her rum and coke, a move which maybe gives her a couple of inches of height above her potential suitor. She points at the guy’s chest critically. “No, and that’s because you have nothing to offer me that I do not already have, or cannot already get for my own self. This conversation is finished!”

“Okay,” the guys says faintly. He looks like he might cry, or laugh, or both. “All you had to say was no.”

From the other side of the room, a clearly queer woman cups her hands around her mouth and whoops, “Hell yeah, girl. You do right by your own self!”

Casey—who has yet to get down from her chair—looks to April and gestures to her supportive catcaller. “See? Get you someone who will support you.”

“Do you know that woman?”

“I have never met her before in my life,” Casey declares. “But that changes nothing! That—” she points to the woman again, who just grins and winks “—is what you need.”

Considering she’s the one with the farthest to travel, April should have been the last to make it to Señor Hueso’s, but when she arrives Donatello’s the only one at their group’s usual booth. He’s stretched out with his ankles propped on the padded bench on the other side of the table, looking bored as he does something on his phone.

“I’m not that early, am I?” she asks as she slides in across from him, her leg bumping casually into his feet.

“No, dear April, you’re only five minutes early, which for all intents and purposes is on time,” he says without looking up. “It’s my fool brothers who are late. We were doing our own things today—and, unfortunately, without me they’re completely time-blind.”

Yeah, that checks out. “All good. We’ll just order for the table, and by the time they get here the food’ll be ready.”

“Already done.” Donnie makes a vague gesture towards the kitchen as he sets his phone down. “I got you your usual.”

“Rad, I’m starving—and, since it’s just us for now, I got you a thing.” April pulls the item out of her bag and slides it over the table with a shit-eating grin. It has deceptively cool packaging, all sci-fi greys and blacks, but the label says Magic Levitating Ball: It Really Floats!

In the same second it takes Donnie to read the Magic Ball label, April receives a notification in Dysfunction. He’s just sent her an article from one of her least favorite publications entitled Avocado Toast or Downpayment on a House? Your Choice.

Ah, it seems they are on the same page.

Donnie goes first, if only because the Levitating Ball is right there and clearly already provoking him. He picks up the box and gestures with it, the ‘magic’ ball rolling around inside. “April, this is a magnetized ball bearing. The base is magnetized to the opposite polarity. There is nothing magical about this.”

She grins and folds her forearms on the faded veneer of the table, leaning forward. “Perhaps, but consider: what is magic but science we don’t yet understand?”

“Whether you do or not, science understands magnetic polarity. We’ve known about magnets since the Greeks!” He launches into a comprehensive history of the magnet while April listens, smiling with her chin in her hand. It’s been a while since she’s found a bogus pseudo-science doodad provoking enough to inspire a Donnie rant of this magnitude.

When the lecture is over several minutes later, she summarizes, “So the ball’s going to float.”

He gives her a flat look like he already knows where she’s going with this. “An uneducated person would make the mistake of calling it floating.”

“But the definition of levitation is floating, is it not?” When Donatello simply offers a stony-faced stare, April gleefully pulls up a new internet tab. “Not sure? No problem, let’s see what the dictionary has to say—oh, would you look at that!” She rotates her screen around to show him the definition that vindicates her. Sure, it’s pedantic and completely misses the point, but that’s the fun of taking this side of the argument.

“Galileo give me strength, I’m about to shoot this thing into the sun.”

“You will not, it was a gift I bought specifically with you in mind—”

That’s when their phones both buzz with the arrival of multiple text messages. April’s got one each from Raph, Leo, and Mikey—and, considering they’re all cancellations, Donnie’s probably received the same.

“Mikey’s got a doctor’s appointment?” she reads skeptically. Unless it’s a reference to Dr. Delicate Touch, April’s pretty sure none of her mutant friends see a family physician.

“He doesn’t. That’s just what he says when he doesn’t want to go somewhere.”

“Why would he do that, though? Y’all love Señor Hueso’s.”

“How should I know? I haven’t seen him all day.”

Their discussion is further interrupted by a sudden commotion coming from the kitchen of the pizzeria, where April could swear, for just a second, she heard the telltale zip-zap of one of Leonardo’s portals. She almost brings it up, but that’s when there’s a crash and the lights in the restaurant go out.

“What have you done?” comes the very distinctive voice of Señor Hueso himself from the kitchen. He doesn’t sound distressed, merely beside himself with dismay.

“Did something flip the breaker?” asks April as she and several other patrons bring up the flashlight apps on their phones. Questions are springing up all around them, the entire restaurant abuzz with confusion.

There’s a series of mechanical clanks and whirs as a tiny floodlight pops out of Donnie’s battle shell and illuminates everything from over his shoulder. “It’s possible. I can still hear the appliances in the kitchen.” He’s already sliding out of the booth to go investigate.

“Please, everyone remain calm,” Señor Hueso says as he bustles out of the shadowy kitchen, which is also being illuminated with shifting cones of smartphone light. He’s carrying a box of candles. “There has been… an incident with our lights.” Oh, April doesn’t need to have finely honed journalistic instincts to know there’s a story there. She’s about to ask, but Hueso doesn’t give her the opportunity. “Thankfully, we are still able to produce your pizzas, so please do not fret! You shall have your food, and at a generous 10% discount for this… inconvenience.”

Every table in the restaurant is equipped with two emergency candles jammed into paper cups so the wax doesn’t get everywhere. By the time all the candles are lit, the restaurant is filled with a warm, shifting yellow light. It’s certainly not as bright as the fluorescent bulbs, but it works well enough that April can see everything just fine.

Now that it’s not pitch dark, most folks just settle into the new lighting situation. One by one, phone lights are turned off, and April hears another customer joke to their companion, “Well, this wasn’t the date I was expecting, but I’ll take romantic candle-lit ambiance.”

“I bet the levitating ball will look really magical now,” April teases. “This is just the sort of atmosphere it needs.”

The arrival of five people’s worth of pizza stops Donnie’s reply cold. There’s something weirdly familiar about the server who brings it to them, but April can’t put her finger on it.

“Please enjoy,” the unexpectedly high-voiced server tells them. They thank him as he bustles back to the kitchen—and that’s when April realizes it’s the way he walks. Something about the confidence in his gait reminds her of Leo.

Strange.

Anyway. April digs into the smallest of the pizzas on the table and automatically starts plucking off all the things that scream when you bite into them. Those get piled onto a transfer plate with all the mushrooms Donatello’s been extracting from his pizza because he’s a weirdo who hates their texture. Once the transfer plate is full, it’s rotated so they can each load up their pizzas with extras their favorite ingredients—and that’s why it’s a great system, because everyone wins.

“So I’m not trying to yuck your yums,” April says as the first tinny squeals get abruptly cut off by her friend’s enthusiastic chomping. “But how are you enjoying this? Turtles are vegetarians.”

If she had to classify the look Donnie just gave her, it would be mild offense. “For your information, spiny softshells are carnivores. The better question would be: how could I not enjoy this?”

April’s jaw drops as he takes another pointed bite. “Wait, no shit?”

“Yes shit—how have you known me for nearly ten years and not realized that?”

“I don’t know, because doing zoological research into your best friends feels way too personal? Also, literally all of you inherited Splinter’s smile, so it’s not like it’s obvious one way or the other.”

Donnie pauses, very clearly relishing another screamy chomp. Eventually he inclines his head. “Touché.” There’s another pause as he notices the curiosity emanating from her. With a slight roll of his eyes, he says, “Ask. I know you’ll do it anyway.”

“Have you ever been to a dentist?”

That clearly wasn’t anything close to what Donnie had been expecting. He blinks, processing, and then he scoffs. “I’ve engineered an electric toothbrush and a specialized toothpaste superior to anything on the commercial market. With the power of science, and my own unique genius, I have personally eliminated the need for such a profession. What you need to understand, April…”

He goes on for another few minutes, waxing poetic about his intricate understanding of chemistry, dentistry, and finely tuned mechanical engineering. April chews on her mushroom-y pizza and lets him do it, watching on with amusement.

At the end of all the bragging, she translates: “Just good genetics, huh?”

Donnie doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed at being called out. “Of course it’s good genetics—out of the four of us, Raph’s the only exception, but that’s because he went through a phase of headbutting everything when he was six.”

April snorts. “Yeah, he would—is it because you saw Lou Jitsu 4: Using Your Head?”

“Yes. Papá eventually told us it was breakaway furniture—which, in hindsight, should have been a clue; alas, I was such a naïve genius then!—but it was already too late.” The mystery having been solved to her satisfaction, he spins his phone around to reveal the stupid avocado toast article again. “Now, I am very interested in hearing your opinions on this prime example of journalism. It’s only come out last week—how soon do you think it will be nominated for a Peabody, and should I do it on your behalf?”

And April knows—she knows—he’s just doing it to get a rise out of her, but the Peabody comment really lights a fire in her gut. She can’t help taking a deep breath and launching into, “Okay, first of all, this is such reductive garbage…”

The lights never do get fixed during their stay. They end up running the candles on their table down to nubs and eating so much pizza they’re groaning and clutching at their stomachs as they waddle out of Señor Hueso’s with their takeout box several hours later. April also develops wicked acid reflux, but she feels weirdly refreshed, and there’s a soft smile indenting her cheeks for the rest of the night.

They should get together like this more often. She voices the thought to Donnie.

“I’ll ready another few articles for your assessment, then,” he says, and the grin alongside it is all teeth.

Between Barry Draxum’s oozesquitoes and the Krang attack, New York City’s demographics have been shifting. Sure, it isn’t common to see mutants or yokai wandering around, exactly, but they’re present in a way they never were when April was growing up.

Like Repo Mantis. Guy got turned into a mutant and just went on living his life. There are a lot of people like that now.

“They just make me uncomfortable,” one of her new friends says under her breath as they pass by someone on the street who’s mutated to have a couple of extra eyeballs, also some scales. “It’s like I’m living in a horror movie.”

April’s mind instantly flashes to the Hamatos, to Sunita, to every yokai she’s ever befriended in Hidden City. She wonders what sort of remarks would be made in undertones about them.

“Tell me about it,” grouses another person in a louder voice. “It’s so freaky. Which eye do I even look at?”

Her cheeks are getting hot. She should say something. She needs to say something.

“And we’re just supposed to—what? Pretend like it isn’t fucked up that the whole city’s acting like nothing changed? I bet you this shit doesn’t happen in San Francisco.”

But what happens if she does, and everyone reacts badly? Groupthink kicks in, and they kick her out? They make snide remarks about her behind her back instead, just like the kids in elementary school before she learned to fade into the background?

This time they know her better. This time they’d have the ammo to make the words pierce her straight through the heart.

“What the fuck, people?” Quin interjects. “Nobody asks to get mutated—you think making all these shitty comments makes you the good guys? Because from where I stand, you’re the assholes, not them.”

This quells the nasty remarks, even garners some admonished cringing. Yet there are no apologies offered, and Quin doesn’t demand them.

It’s a good thing he spoke up, though. April’s grateful for it—even if she knows, deep in her gut, that it should have been her.

She learns a valuable lesson that day, which is that this is not a safe place to talk about her mutant friends. Not if she doesn’t want to end up without any friends at all.

“So that’s when we realize we’re all locked out,” April tells the guys down in the lair. “Couple of the tall people try the windows, jiggling the door handles, nothing. And then we hear this ear-piercing screech. Cerise has gotten it into her head that she can get to the backyard by crawling under the deck—don’t ask me how she fit, I’ll never know—and doesn’t she come out, covered in dirt, dragging a dead raccoon with her. And she just says, ‘I figured out what smelled so bad last week’.”

Everyone bursts out laughing. April’s pelted with follow-up questions about what happened to the racoon (compost, though they did make up a funeral hymn for it) and how they managed to get into the house (Derek got to live out his Assassin’s Creed dreams and picked the lock; it took over an hour, but it was way easier than finding a locksmith at three in the morning).

“Too bad I wasn’t there,” says Leo. “Could’ve portaled my way in, no problem.”

“But then nobody would have found Mr. Stinkyfeets and given him a proper funeral!” says Mikey.

“Who named him Stinkyfeets?”

“Mr. Stinkyfeets, Raphala—and I just did! He needs a proper name to be sent off with peace and dignity.”

“How drunk were you all again?” asks Donnie skeptically.

“Extremely.”

“And the music wasn’t even good?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Dee, I genuinely do not remember.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but April still remembers how horrendous the Mad Dogs band was, so she really doesn’t think he’s got room to talk smack, even if the mixes he puts on Spoofy under the username Bootyyyshaker9000 are all bangers.

“I know it’s usually when y’all are doing your vigilante thing, but it’d be so much fun if you were able to come one of these days. I wonder if Sunita remembers where she got her cloaking broach from? You could all wear those, and—”

“Nah, that’s way too much work,” says Raph. “We’d just go like this! Everyone loves the Mad Dogs.”

“Besides, why would we need cloaking broaches when we’re already masters of disguise?”

“Leo, my dude. Your idea of a disguise is just saying you’re going to a comic-con later.”

“That’s not true. One time Raph wore that hippo costume,” Mikey reminds her.

“And got famous for it!”

“That’s only because the Atomic Lass got territorial about Raph’s kickass dance moves.”

“We should do that again, actually,” Leo muses. “I’ve been wanting a new skateboard, and we made bank last time.”

“Don’t you ever wonder what you’d look like as humans?” asks April. “It’d be so awesome. I could introduce you to all my college friends, we could hit up—”

“Do you ever wonder what you’d look like as a turtle?” asks Donnie pointedly.

“Oh, me, gosh—an April turtle-sona? Why have we not done this sooner? I’ll be right back!” Mikey’s got stars in his eyes, and he’s dashed off to his room to grab a sketchbook.

The entire time he’s gone, Donatello’s giving April a hard stare. He’s not often one to communicate subliminally, but April knows him well enough to see the I know what you were trying to say.

“Okay, I already have so many ideas!” Mikey skids back into being the center of attention, already sketching. “Your glasses are iconic, so those will definitely have to be your markings. We can make them yellow, since that’s your favorite color—oh, and your ninpo! Do you know what you want it to be? No, first things first, we have to nail down the aesthetic. What kind of turtle do you want to be? I’m thinking a box turtle.”

“Because you’re a box turtle, Mikey?”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. “I just think they’re the cutest.”

“What about a musk turtle?” While Donnie’s voice maintains most of its usual deadpan, there’s an iciness under his words that causes a pang of guilt in April’s chest. “I can see the resemblance.”

Leo, Raph, and Mikey all turn to April and tilt their heads one way, then the other.

“Raph ain’t seeing it.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“I’ll be honest, unless it’s one of us I don’t know any other types of turtles.”

“DonDon, I think you need to get your eyes checked,” Leo calls as Donnie stalks across the room. “Hey Donnie, did you hear me? I said—and he’s gone. Huh. Must’ve gotten people’d out. Anyway, Mikey, let me see that sketch. If turtle-April’s facial markings are too close to mine, we’re going to have to go back to the drawing board.”

Chapter Text

April meant it when she told Sunita she was happy being single and playing the field. What she didn’t realize was how quickly it would take for playing the field to get stale.

Well, that’s not totally true. She genuinely enjoys the people she finds, and she enjoys their time together, it’s more that… she’s noticing a trend.

First, she’s got weird issues around commitment. It always sounds nice until she gets it, and then it feels like she’s got her head stuck in a plastic bag. Second, that her lovers tend to find a partner they want to spend the rest of their life with during their time with April, or soon after things end.

There was the fast-talking yokai who ran their own flower shop in Hidden City, the adrenaline junky who drove her motorcycle everywhere and maintained an expensive membership at a rock climbing gym, the teacher’s assistant from her global communications class with the tired eyes and sweet smile, the guy who ended up with Mr. Fantastic-style elasticity thanks to an oozesquito, the super crunchy massage therapist who made his own salad dressings—the list goes on and on, and the result is somehow always the same.

After more than a year of this, April feels like a halfway house for lost souls. What is it about her that makes people realize what they actually want, and why is she never it?

When Splinter says he’s found a martial arts movie that none of them have seen before, everyone is stoked.

“Do they use practical effects? Are the sets lovingly crafted? I need to know before I lose my mind!” says Mikey.

“We’re gonna learn some badass new ninja moves,” is Leo’s prediction.

“Is it the ultra rare Lou Jitsu episode 6.5 I’ve seen so many rumors about on Wroteit?” demands Donnie.

“Pops, have you been holdin’ out on us all these years?” asks Raph with disbelief.

Casey Jones, nodding and smiling supportively as all his uncles lose their collective damn minds, leans down and mutters to April, “Why is this such a big deal?”

“Couple reasons. First, Splints never participates in movie nights anymore, he says we’ve all got bad taste.”

“Weren’t you all raised on action-adventure movies he starred in?”

“You’d think that would matter, but no. Between you and me, I think he’s a shit-stirrer that just enjoys pushing our buttons instead of accepting love from his sons.”

“Alright, I can see that. So what’s the other reason?”

Like it even needs to be said. April knocks her wrist into his arm and gestures to what Donnie said earlier. “He may have episode 6.5! That’s a big deal, Case!”

“Okay,” says Casey slowly. The poor guy’s really having a time wrapping his apocalypse-addled brain around the concept. You’d think two years of normalcy would’ve fully percolated by now, but he still struggles with things like this. “But what’s so special about episode 6.5?”

April leans in close. Well, okay, she’s got to grab his shoulder and pull him down a bit, but that’s not the point. These days Mikey’s the only one who hasn’t cleared six feet, and it’s annoying as hell. April’s actually quite tall for a woman, but you’d never know it when she runs with mutant goliaths.

Anyway, once she’s finished folding Casey in half so she can be subtle about this, April uses her very best reporter-with-the-scoop voice. “The movie never got released outside of a couple of watch parties, but nobody knows why. Some say the fighting was so awesome that normies went blind from the sight of it, and others say it was hot garbage and the franchise moved in a different direction—but there is no such thing as a Lou Jitsu movie that’s hot garbage, is there?” Casey, lovable fool that he is, attempts to answer her entirely rhetorical question. April barrels on to spare him the embarrassment. “No, Case, there isn’t. If episode 6.5 exists, the martial arts will be so rad it’ll immediately send us all to the next level. And, if it exists, Splints probably has it.”

“I thought Grandmaster Splinter barely managed to escape to the sewers with the clothes on his back and Masters Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Leonardo in his arms as precious babies? Is that not how everyone ended up down here?”

Casey doesn’t talk much about what happened in his timeline—understandably, April’s not throwing shade here—but it’s in moments like this, where he’s reciting backstories like they’re the revered Legends of the Ancients, that April gets the sneaking suspicion all their future selves low-key punked this poor kid. All this Master and Grandmaster nonsense is case in point.

“I have returned with plain popcorn kernels and real butter, as it is the superior snack!” announces Cassandra Jones as she appears with a rustling brown grocery bag. “I have also retrieved the sour belts for Leonardo, despite it being inferior in every metric.”

“Call it whatever you want, lady, just hand ‘em over,” says Leo as he bustles over to the grocery bag making grabby hands. He catches the packet easily despite how carelessly Casey tosses it in his general direction.

“And these are the peanut-free nut butter cups for Raphael, which I personally do not care for but obtained because I respect our different tastes.”

“Woohoo!” Raph cheers as Leo squawks, “Hey, why does my snack suck by every metric but Raph’s is just a ‘I respect our differences’?”

“Simple: I like him more than you.” Casey ignores Leo’s indignation and Raph’s pleased snickering to nod affectionately to the young man standing next to April. “Casey, April.”

Casey inclines his head with a grin. “Casey.”

“Hey, Case. Glad you could make it—I was just telling Casey, this should be a good one.”

“Casey, I didn’t know you were taking orders for extra snacks,” Mikey says pitifully. He’s got the big baby turtle eyes on and everything.

“Then you are a fool, Michael. I do this every time.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know this time!”

“’Angelo, I put in a Super Eats order for skittles and mochi ice cream fifteen minutes ago,” Donnie says from where he’s setting up the projector. “Should be here in the next seven minutes.”

There’s a delighted gasp as Mikey spins around, hands clasped together. “Donnie, you’re my hero and my favorite brother. Have I ever mentioned that?”

“First Raph is Casey’s favorite, and now Donnie’s yours, Michel? What is happening? I thought I was everyone’s favorite!”

“I could stand to hear it more often.” Donnie stands back from the projector and taps something on his bracer. The sewer wall immediately lights up with a movie theatre sized rectangle of light. An indulgently low-tech VCR also extends towards Splinter, awaiting input. “Alright Papá, movie please.”

Everyone who cares about this heretofore secret movie waits with bated breath. Splinter, clearly relishing the drama of the reveal, slowly looks around the room. Then he nods, once, almost to himself. “Yes, I believe it is finally time.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches into the sleeve of his robe—

“For Love and Honor, starring Deuce Bree?” is the collective, incredulous reading.

“Who the heck is Deuce Bree?”

“I have never seen this name before in my life.”

“What do you mean it isn’t episode 6.5?”

“Apparently, Deuce Bree was the first to popularize the martial arts movie genre,” Donnie reads from the screen on his bracer. “His fame was quickly eclipsed by Lou Jitsu.”

“Yes, and this was a great shame,” Splinter tells them all very seriously. “Deuce Bree inspired my career—none of us would be here, if not for him. And so, it is time that you all watch and learn from his work, as you did mine.”

Declaration so made, Splints makes a big show of tucking the VHS into the reader.

“Wait, so what about episode 6.5?” Leo realizes. “Did it ever exist at all?”

“That, Blue, is a mystery for another time.”

This is met with a collective groaning of disappointment from the true believers.

“Guys, I don’t think it exists,” says Casey. He looks to Casey to back him up. “Am I reading this wrong?”

A large pot clanks onto the range and is promptly filled with a cacophony of unpopped corn. “You are absolutely correct.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” cries April. “You’ll jinx it!”

“It’s true,” says Splinter magnanimously. “It is still technically possible that there is a Lou Jitsu episode 6.5.”

The ones who know understand this declaration as proof that episode 6.5 does, indeed, actually exist, while the haters go on hating. There is some quibbling about this as they finish up snack prep and the Super Eats is picked up from whatever rendezvous point Donnie could wrangle out of the app and delivered to the lair by a zippy little drone.

“April, yogurt covered pretzels and jujubes,” says Donnie as he unpacks the bag.

“Rad, thanks Dee! I didn’t even ask for these.”

“You didn’t have to. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Damn, nobody remembers that. I think that means you just became my favorite?”

It’s a joke, but Leo’s still butthurt about the whole favorites conversation from earlier, so he interjects with a grumbled, “Everyone already knows that.”

They both watch as the supposed group leader flops sulkily into the good corner of the couch and refuses to move his legs to give Raph more than three-quarters of a cushion. Unfortunately for Leo, Raph doesn’t squish down, so he finds himself forced to scoot or be squashed as his big brother makes himself comfortable, protesting loudly all the while.

“Inspiring, isn’t he,” Donnie deadpans.

“They’ll be making biopics about his heroic journey in no time,” April agrees. Then she makes the mistake of catching his eye and has to smother her laughter. Normally Donnie’s much better at not breaking character, but even he cracks a grin.

That’s when she notices Casey watching them. He’s giving them The Look again. It’s that tangled up sad-hopeful puppy-eyed look and it drives April nuts because he never says what it’s about, but he does it on a regular basis. Is there something that reminds him of the versions of them he knew in his timeline?

Well, probably. It was them in that alternate timeline, after all—but something specific.  He doesn’t make this face at anyone else; April’s been looking.

“You want to share, Case?” she offers, holding up her pretzels. It’s mostly to break him out of whatever thought cycle he’s got going on, but the guy’s also totally wild for sugar.

“No need, I got his favorite too,” says Donnie, pulling out some chocolate covered almonds and tossing them Casey’s way.

Casey immediately gets this look like Christmas just came early and squirrels the treat away somewhere on his person. “Thanks!” April must have blinked, because she missed wherever they ended up. Impressive.

There are not enough seats for all seven of them, which causes some chaos before everyone settles down. Splinter has to kick Mikey out of his armchair (twice), and despite her petite stature Casey is feral and challenges both Raph and Leo for the good corner of the couch, and then wins.

“She bit me!” cries Leo, staring aghast at the teeth marks on his arm.

“Yeah, she does that,” says Raph. Despite sporting a few bites of his own he remains in admirably high spirits, but that may just be because he’s just been handed a big bowl of fresh popcorn. “You have to bite back if you want to win.”

“Only a coward doesn’t use the natural weapons they were born with!” Casey declares from her victorious locale.

“Yeah, I ain’t getting tangled up in that,” April decides. She looks to Casey, who has also not taken a seat. As things currently are, there’s an open bean bag chair next to Donnie (who called dibs on the other one before everyone even got here today, and somehow everyone just let him get away with it), and either a barstool from the kitchen or popping a squat on the floor.

Casey’s definitely eyeing the bean bag. He has, in his own words, spent enough time resting on concrete.

So April plops down in front of Raph and uses his legs for a backrest. Sure, her butt will probably go numb soon, but that’s a problem for later April.

As soon as she acts, Casey’s looking between her and the bean bag like there’s something missing. “You sure, Commander?”

April frowns. He’s mostly gotten out of the habit of calling her Commander. Does this have something to do with whatever was on his mind earlier?

Well, whatever it is, now’s probably not the best time. She waves him off. At first Casey’s hesitant to settle into the beans, but once he does he achieves the Ultimate Gamer Slump that any kid of the twenty-first century would be proud of. He offers Donnie some of his chocolate covered almonds, but Donnie declines in favor of starting the movie.

“I want you all to pay attention,” Splinter says. “There is much you can learn from this film about fighting and romance!”

It’s… uh. It’s real bad. The pacing at once drags on the length of three lifetimes over scenes nobody cares about, and zips through the ones with the most plot importance. And there are an inordinate number of uncomfortably long kissing scenes where the music cuts out and it’s just kind of… wet sounds. The action scenes are good, but for an action movie there are not nearly enough of them.

Long story short, April can see why Lou Jitsu movies became the standard instead. She also has no earthly idea what the hell Splinter sees in this one.

The hype around this screening quickly evaporates. Casey’s the first to dip. “I am not enjoying this movie and I want to hit something! Raphael, let’s challenge those lobster guys who live next door to a fight.”

Raph is, needless to say, stoked on the idea of sparring. He passes Leo the half-eaten bowl of popcorn as he hops to his feet, and with nothing more than a “Sorry Pops, gotta go!” he’s outta here. Everyone can hear them discussing tag team strategies as they leave in search of unsuspecting lobster men.

Splinter sighs like his eldest son’s departure has grievously wounded him. “And just when it was getting good, too! Why do my sons forsake me this way?”

“Don’t worry, Dad, we won’t!” says Mikey, and while he does a good job of making himself sound optimistic April can see the instant regret in his demeanor.

“Yes, good, Orange. I always knew I could count on you to make me proud,” Splints says, settling deeper into his armchair.

“Mikey, why would you say that?” says Leo through gritted teeth. Honestly, it’s a great question, because April can see the layer of guilt settling over the group. Thanks to Mikey and his big mouth, the rest of them are going to have to come up with covert ways to ditch this shitty ass movie.

And April’s just made the mistake of climbing into Raph’s spot on the couch, right in Splint’s line of vision. Damn it.

The damage is done, though, and the game is on.

Leo’s the first to try his luck. As soon as his sour belts are gone, he goes into a deep slouch like he’s sulking. Then the slouch gets a little deeper, and then he’s slinking to the floor.

April, who’s right next to him and watching this entire thing, mouths at him, “Take me with you!”

“Save yourself,” he mouths back. Then he’s army crawling the fuck away from the projector. Splinter hasn’t even noticed he’s moved, he’s too enraptured by the bizarre tragedy playing out on screen.

She supposes she deserves that for teasing him earlier, but come on.

She looks around to see if anyone else has noticed—Mikey definitely has, but Donnie’s discretely scrolling through something else on his phone, and Casey… hold up, is Casey enjoying this movie? He’s looking right at the screen, and he’s not even flinching at the cringey stuff.

Frowning, April leans forward to check his vitals. Casey is, indeed, still breathing—and, from this angle, she can see the guy is fully dissociating. Oh, sure, his face is turned towards the screen, and his eyes are open, but his expression is entirely vacant.

While it’s an admirable talent, it makes April a little sick to her stomach when she thinks of how he must have learned it. Hasn’t the poor kid seen enough horror in his life?

“Ah, it means so much to me that we can all do this together,” says Splinter, though April cannot for the life of her understand why. “There is so much to learn from Deuce Bree!”

Okay, but what, though? How not to make bad movies?

Mikey, emboldened by Leo’s successful escape, moves next. He’s been half-hidden in his shell for a while in an effort to put a barrier between himself and all the gross kissing scenes. He uses that to his advantage now as he gradually lowers himself out of Splinter’s sightline. What April fails to catch is he’s also dragging Casey with him. Casey, either still checked out or complicit in this escape attempt, is limp as a ragdoll as Mikey quietly folds his arms and knees up against his torso and tucks him under an arm like he's a football. When April blinks, they’re both gone.

Splints doesn’t even twitch.

Which just leaves April and Donnie, who are by far the most visible. April tries to catch Donnie’s eye so they can plan a way to escape that doesn’t leave one of them stranded, but he’s far too fixated on the phone he’s hiding from Splinter.

“Are you taking notes on how Deuce Bree handles the nuance of his love interest’s circumstances, Purple?” Splinter is gesturing to the projection, but April refuses to look at it.

“Yes, Father,” Donnie intones, also without looking up.

“Good, this is valuable! Who knows when you will need to take note of your own love interest’s circumstances?” With a grunt, Splinter gets to his feet and touches his fuzzy gut. “Now, I must go to the bathroom! I will be a while—”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want you to miss crucial scenes of your favorite movie, would we Dee?” says April, hastily springing to her feet and fumbling to find the remote. “We can definitely just pause it for you, Splints, no problem.” She gives Donnie’s beanbag chair a short kick, causing him to startle away from whatever he was watching. “Right, Donatello?”

“Yes! I concur wholeheartedly with… whatever April just said.”

See, now was that so hard?

“Oh, no, you must not pause on my behalf! I will be a very, very long time.”

Ew. “Well, hey, everyone else had to go, so maybe we should just reschedule—”

“No, I insist! The two of you must witness the entirety of this very classically romantic Deuce Bree film and learn everything you can from it—and no cheating! I will know!”

He’s gone before April can protest some more. Damn ninjas.

She waits a beat to make sure Splints isn’t doubling back to check on them or the movie. When he doesn’t, she allows a single triumphant whoop. “Alright, we’re home free! Let’s—no, Dee, come on, not over this!”

While he’s not happy about it, Donatello is also very much resigned. “Dad really cares about this, for some reason.”

April starts to protest, but—damnit, for some stupid reason Splints really does seem to care, and she’s not about to leave a friend behind to suffer through this trainwreck of a movie alone. With a long-suffering sigh, she drops into Casey’s abandoned bean bag next to him. “What have you been doing this whole time, anyway?”

Donnie shows her the long-form video essay he’s halfway through watching. It’s about a defunct MMO that was popular nearly twenty years ago, and she’s never heard of it, but she’s immediately intrigued. He’s been watching on mute, but now that April’s also tuning in he cranks the volume so it more or less drowns out whatever Deuce Bree is up to.

Splinter was adamant that someone witness this movie, not that they had to pay attention. They’re still in the room—that’s witnessing enough, as far as April’s concerned.

It’s here, jammed together on the bean bags, shoulders and legs pressed together so they can both get a decent view of the phone screen, that April finds herself getting dozy. She pulled an all-nighter studying for multiple midterm exams and come to the lair after writing the last one late this afternoon, but all of that hadn’t caught up with her until right now. She leans her cheek on her friend’s shoulder as her eyelids get heavy. Her glasses catch on the clamp of his battle shell and get shunted halfway up her face, but meh. She’s mostly listening to the video instead of watching it, anyway.

When she comes to, the room is dark and blessedly free of Deuce Bree’s horrible kissy noises. Her glasses have been tugged off her face, and her cheek is smeared gratuitously over Donnie’s shoulder. She slits one eye open and sees Dee—who’s still impassively watching stuff on his phone—has the knee that’s furthest from her drawn up to support the arm curled under his head as he leans it to the side, presumably to give her more room.

It takes April a moment to realize that she hasn’t woken up because of anything Donnie’s done, but rather because she’s heard Splinter’s voice.

“—cute, but you’re going to wreck your neck like that, Purple,” he’s saying in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“It’s fine,” Donnie mumbles. “People don’t hit REM that quickly unless they need it. I don’t want to interrupt until I have to.”

There’s a pause where April could swear she felt Splints looking right at her, but her eye’s fallen back closed without her permission, so she can’t be sure.

What she does know is there’s a smile in Splinter’s voice as he says, “Suit yourself, but don’t come crying to me about needing a chiropractor tomorrow.”

“Ha. I know sarcasm when I hear it, Father.”

“Close, I was teasing.” Splinter’s already sounding pretty far away. “Don’t stay up too late now, son, or there will be rumors that you learned something about romance from Deuce Bree after all!”

April has to agree with the sound of distaste Donnie makes at the idea, but if he says anything else she doesn’t catch it. All she knows is when she rouses again, it’s to a soft snore and the pressure of his cheek resting on the top of her head.

By the time April’s date meets her at the coffee shop, she’s knee-deep in an elaborate text chain with Donatello. It’s a series of memes, links to articles, and long paragraphs; there’s at least three conversational threads to keep track of. Honestly, she’s having a blast arguing with him about the worldbuilding nuances in the surprise release of Jupiter Jim 10: One Last Slingshot Around the Sun, but she scheduled the date first, so this will have to wait.

‘Ok Moira’s here be back soon.’

‘Excellent. Maybe she’ll convince you to listen to ACTUAL SCIENTIFIC FACTS about the REALITIES of day/night cycles on planets with three suns.’

April snorts as she sets her phone aside, then stands up to greet her date with a hug. “Hey, it’s so good to see you!”

This is only their second date, so they don’t know each other especially well, but Moira’s got an energy that April can only dream of exuding one day (life goals or wife goals? Sometimes it really is impossible to tell). Moira’s a tattoo artist with blunt cropped bangs and an addiction to Doc Martins shoes. She’s currently wearing a pair of white combat boots embroidered with red roses. Very edgy and cool.

In the few seconds it takes to exchange pleasantries, April’s phone has buzzed no fewer than four times. Donnie must be taking advantage of her absence to really lay into her with the science.

Moira notices, of course, and her flawlessly plucked eyebrows go up with intrigue. “Wow, popular.”

“Nah, my buddy’s just got mad strong opinions about astronomy.”

Moira chuckles. “What an Aries thing to do—right? He’s an Aries, isn’t he?”

Actually, Donnie’s a Capricorn, but he’d disown April if she admitted to knowing that.

“Astronomy, not astrology. We saw the new Jupiter Jim movie that came out last week.” Then, at her date’s blank expression, “Most of the franchise came out in the ‘80’s. But the actor even came out of retirement for this, and everyone was hyped.”

“Oh, cool. Retro.”

Yikes. Moira’s definitely not in the know about Jupiter Jim. Maybe April can win her back if she explains?

“It is! That’s actually what we’re debating—they weren’t trying to be modern with this movie, they were embracing the camp. Camp doesn’t care about logic! Let me show you what I mean.” April pulls up some screenshots from the movie, with its classic little green Martians and candy colored tech. “See? Scientific accuracy isn’t their vibe at all.”

Moira leans over, her chin in her hand, and hums. Under the table she’s crossed her legs at the knee and started jiggling her ankle.

“But my buddy’s this big old nerd, and he’s got it in his head that this movie’s taking itself seriously. Look at this nonsense.” She pulls up one of the memes Donnie sent her to prove his point—and, okay, it’s still funny. She lets out a little snort as she shares it.

“Yeah,” says Moira slowly. “I don’t get it.”

“Okay, fair, that was a little niche. I think he sent another one while I was saying hi to you, that’ll help you get it. It’s—” April enlarges the image and immediately dissolves into giggles. “Damnit, this is a new one, I hate that I’m laughing—it’s shit like this, you know? It’s just fun to play in the space.”

Her phone buzzes with the arrival of another message. It’s an edit of the screenshot showing the planet with the three suns, except all of them have been overlayed with an image of a cartoon mooning the viewer. ‘Let me put this into terms you can understand,’ is how Donnie’s text begins.

That saucy little bitch, April thinks as she dissolves into incredulous laughter. Who does he think he is?

“Do you see this shit? The disrespect!”

“Yeah, about that.” Moira surprises April by getting to her feet and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It’s pretty clear you’re more interested in whatever’s going on there—” she gestures to April’s phone “—than anything I’ve got to offer. Don’t text me.”

All of April’s mirth evaporates. She watches, completely agog, as her date sweeps out of the coffee shop. The bell that clangs as the door swings shut after her sounds like finality.

April looks at the barely touched tea latte in front of her. Moira hadn’t even ordered before she dipped out, but April’s drink is still too hot to chug.

She’s pressing the call button on his profile before Donnie’s even finished his next text wall.

“Butt-dial or emergency?”

“You’re gonna get thumb cramps typing up those lousy arguments. Use your words.”

There’s a short pause, but Donnie evidently decides against asking about her sudden free time. Instead, there’s just a genial, “Well, if you insist.”

While the topic isn’t funny anymore, April listens to every word of his lecture as she plays with the tab on her tea bag. By the time he wraps things up, her latte’s done and she’s feeling strangely fortified, disappointed in the destruction of yet another relationship but ready to move on.

“Thanks, Dee,” she murmurs as she hears him getting called away in the background. She hasn’t heard the details, but there’s an alarm going off, and Leo’s hollering about something. “I appreciate you, you know?”

Donatello snorts. “Of course you do. Who else will tell you when you’re wrong?”

One of April and Mikey’s favorite things to do is trawl through the sewers looking for new graffiti. There’s more of it than you’d think—and yes, sometimes it devolves into turf wars with the two brothers who got turned into lobstermen by oozesquitoes, but that’s all part of the fun.

“I can’t stay out too long,” April says about an hour into today’s trip. The glow from her flashlight bobs in time to her steps and the music that’s coming from the Bluetooth speaker set in her backpack. Her trusty baseball bat rattles against an insulated water bottle, handle occasionally poking her mass of curls.

“Ooh, that’s right! You’ve got a hot date with—uh, it’s a yokai who used to work for Big Mama, right?”

“Oh, not her. We broke up last week.” Actually, it’s because the ex said yokai was still hung up on called up and asked to try again. April never stood a chance.

She thinks she spots something good, but the flashlight reveals it to be a run of the mill tag. Whoever Mainline Hypno is, they’ve got a really basic style.

“Didn’t you just start dating last week?”

“Two weeks ago, but yeah. Tonight’s date is the enby PhD candidate I met at the bodega.” They’d been buying the same combination of ice cream and frozen vegetables and made a joke to April about it; she can’t even remember what they said now, but it’d had her gigglesnorting so hard. One thing just sort of led to another, and now they’re meeting for dinner at this nerdy-ass D&D-themed hole in the wall her date’s obsessed with.

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned that one, actually.”

April hums. “Maybe not? We met while I was still dating Seychelle.”

“And Seychelle is also not the one who used to work for Big Mama, she’s the mutant who…”

“Kinda ended up getting mermaid powers, yeah. She works at Applebees.” She also doesn’t give April free appetizers anymore. “That was early last month.”

“I’m not gonna lie, it feels like you’re holding auditions—ohmigosh!” There’s a dramatic gasp, and Mikey whirls around. “You’re not looking for new best friends, are you? April, are you trying to replace us?” A single green finger is thrust her way. “You have to tell me if you are.”

“Replacing you is impossible, and you know it.”

“Yes, I know it—but do you? April.” Mikey sidles up alongside her, and he’d look very grave if he wasn’t so preoccupied with being such a ham. “Do we need to talk about Feelings? I can get Dr. Feelings on the line.”

“Mikey, you know I love you, but I will absolutely not be talking to Dr. Feelings.”

“You always say that, but I’m really good at this! I can help!”

He’s also fifteen-years-old and the closest thing to a baby brother April’s ever had, and she’s absolutely not going to talk about the intricacies of her love life with him.

“I know, and I appreciate that, but no thank you.”

“Okay, but—but…” The jokey-ness fades from Mikey’s demeanor as his hand falls back to his side. “You just seem so sad.”

That gets her attention. April looks at him, uncertain of whether she wants him to stop or elaborate. “Mikey.”

“It feels like you’re going through all these people because you’re trying to find something, and it’s making you unhappy. What are you looking for?”

Though this is not a question April has asked herself, the answer immediately rushes to the surface: The home part of something closer to home. You’d think, with the sheer variety of people she’s tried getting close to, she would have found it by now, yet April feels no more elucidated now than she did when Sunita broke up with her more than two years ago.

But that ain’t something she wants to unload on a fifteen-year-old.

Instead, April pulls him into a hug. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, Mike.”

Mikey immediately hugs her back. “Of course—you’re one of us, remember? Looking out for one another is what we do.”

Sunita had her own reasons for wearing her cloaking broach when they were in high school, just as she has her own reasons for continuing to do so while in college. It wasn’t actually something they’d discussed while they were together. April never asked her to wear it, Sunita chose to on her own.

April never managed to blend in like Sunita could. When they were downside, only April stood out—and when they were topside, there were no issues at all. Whether she asked for the cloaking or not, whether she consciously understood or not, April benefitted from Sunita’s choices.

She never asked whether Sunita was embarrassed to be seen together in Hidden City; the thought that she should never even crossed her mind.

It’s way too late to ask now, but thinking back, April wonders if Sunita wished she had.

April should have known the moment they all heard “Meatsweats in Harlem” that they’d end up fighting in a hipster butcher’s shop. Where else would a mutant foodie go for ingredients?

Somehow, though, she didn’t see this coming. Now she’s fending off a weaponized line of lovingly handmade sausage links with her bewitched baseball bat, and—yup, the sausages have just wrapped around her weapon and yanked it out of her hand.

Just how she wanted her Sunday afternoon to go. Really.

She curses and snags a length of pipe that got ripped from the wall at some point during the battle. It isn’t magical, but she’s pretty sure it’s made of lead, and that’ll have to do. “I’ll have you know that wasn’t kosher!”

Maybe it’s because he feels invigorated by the presence of bespoke ingredients, or maybe he’s just in a mood today, but Meatsweats is really putting them through their paces. He laughs and tosses Raph off like it’s nothing when the latter tries to tackle him, he’s dodged everything Casey and Mikey have thrown at him, and when it seems like Donnie’s got him cornered with some ninpo energy beams, he blocks with a packet of thick cut bacon and makes what’s left of the shop smell incredible as the beam instantly cooks it.

“Man, now we’ve got to fight hungry?”

“Ooh, not too floppy, not too crispy—the perfect texture!” Meatsweats remarks with delight.

Leo takes advantage of this moment of distraction to portal in behind him—but no dice, he’s just been chucked clear across the room and against a drink cooler. “Oh, he’s so not getting a five-star yelp review,” he groans.

April adjusts her grip on her improvised weapon and cracks her neck before stepping in and squaring off with Meatsweats. Okay, her turn. “April O’Neil!” she shouts as she charges.

In hindsight, she’s not sure why she thought this would work for her when it didn’t work for Raph, but that’s just how it goes sometimes. She manages to give one of Meatsweats’ legs a good whack with the pipe, and delivers another to his back as he howls and stumbles, but that’s when her nemesis the stupid sausage links come back to wreck her mojo. April’s so busy swinging the pipe that she doesn’t notice the links wrapping around her ankles, and the next thing she knows she’s being biffed directly into Donatello, who just finished recalibrating his weapons to maybe not create delicious food the next time they fire.

They both go sailing through the air and crash into a walk-in freezer. Thankfully, Donnie and his sturdy battle shell go first, so there are no real injuries. Unfortunately, April discovers her pipe’s gone missing as they detangle themselves.

“Damnit—Dee, you seen my bat? Or that pipe?”

Donnie’s not listening. “That’s it, time to put this baby into beta.” He jams his finger down on the screen of his bracer computer. A little pod pops out of his battle shell and whizzes over to Meatsweats, where—

“Holy shit, is that a Jupiter Jim lookin’-ass energy containment field?” exclaims April as Meatsweats gets put into lockdown just after Raph’s giant red fist manages to get a hit in. In an instant, their opponent is unconscious and under their control.

Donnie pointedly gestures to the insignia being cleverly mapped out by the jagged lines of electricity. “No, it’s Donnie Tech.”

“That’s not—you know what? You’re right. It very obviously is, and it’s extremely cool.” April holds up her hand to fist bump.

“Thank you,” says Donnie as he knocks their knuckles together.

“And it’s only in beta, you said? Looks like it’s working great!”

“It is, isn’t it? I’ve been finessing the coding on the containment nodes for the last few weeks, and—”

There’s a series of sinister crackles and zaps, and Leo shouts, “Hit the deck!”

It’s all the warning any of them has before, April assumes, something happens with the containment nodes, and suddenly there are rogue bolts of electricity lashing out all around them. Raph’s phantom projection slams into the door of the walk-in freezer, locking April and Donnie in near-total darkness. April smells molten metal as they watch half of the door glow orange from the heat.

“Donnie, turn it off, turn it off!” comes Mikey’s voice alongside a whole slew of new commotion in the main room of the butcher’s shop. The only light in the cooler is from Donnie’s bracer, and she can’t see through an insulated metal door besides, but April imagines a series of epic maneuvers as Mikey dodges the beams in a sudden-death game of jump rope.

“I’m working on it!” His fingers are flying over controls faster than April can keep up, but after several chaotic seconds April hears the device powering down on the other side.

“Everyone okay over there?” she shouts, banging on the door of the cooler. It doesn’t even rattle under her fist.

She’s relieved to receive a series of affirmatives, though she is very intrigued by Casey’s remark of, “Think they’d mind if we took this tri-tip that just got cooked?”

“What about you guys?” Leo calls back.

“Dark. Bruised egos—”

“Cold,” Donnie interjects.

“Yeah, it’s chilly in here,” April agrees. “But otherwise we’re good?”

“Good to hear, but the door’s welded shut, so we’re gonna have to deal with that.” Considering the glow and the smell from earlier, April’s not surprised. “Casey, I need you running interference downtown while Mikey and I get Meatsweats into a portal and drop him off at the authorities. Raph, you mind staying back and dealing with this door situation?”

“Don’t worry, Raph’s got this.”

They listen to the hustle and bustle as the (presumably still unconscious) Meatsweats is shoved through a portal.

“Alright, I’ll meet you downtown,” Casey calls, then there’s a surprised, “Oh, hey Casey. Coming to catch the fight?”

“Why would I when the fight is very clearly already over?”

“I don’t know, poor timing?”

“Don’t insult my timing, it is perfect! Now, I command someone to tell me about the door Raphael just texted me about.”

“What? Raph, you didn’t think you could handle the—” Casey stops, and April hears a very cryptic noise of realization. At this point she’s flush against the door in her efforts to eavesdrop. “I am so glad I’m not the only one who sees it, you have no idea, but do you really think this will work?”

“Really think what will work?” demands Donnie suspiciously. He bumps April to the side and joins her in listening at the door. “All Raphael has to do is use his ninpo to give it a good yank and we’ll be out.”

The silence that initially greets this response tells April there is some silent communication going on. She hammers on the door again. “Hey, what are you guys scheming?”

There’s a sound of metal scraping against rubble. “Just wrap this pipe around the handle,” says Casey simply. “It won’t be impossible to get out, but it’ll take some time.”

“Are you locking us in here?”

“I said the device was in beta! That’s standard disclaimer language—you can’t use its performance against me!”

The telltale creak of bending metal tells them both exactly where Raph is on this. “Listen guys,” he says, and he does sound at least partially apologetic. “I know this seems harsh right now—”

“You think?”

“Raph, need I remind you this is a giant freezer, and I am cold blooded?”

“But I promise you’ll thank me later.”

“Thank you for what?”

“Raph, you cannot be serious.”

He is, apparently, because he doesn’t let them out. Instead, they hear Casey telling him, “See, was that so hard? No, I refuse to relent to sad turtle eyes! This was your plan—if you weren’t committed to following through you shouldn’t have executed on it!”

April tries, but that’s all she hears of the conversation. She gives the door one last smack with her hand. “Someone better grab my baseball bat!”

No response to that, either. She slumps against the door, sulking with her arms crossed (okay, maybe she’s also trying to warm herself up, too; it’s cold in here). “Can’t believe him. I’m looking up spoilers for next week’s wrestling Smackdown and texting them to him.” She gives herself another moment to huff, and then she looks over at Donatello. “So, how do you want to bust out?”

“Frankly, I haven’t decided yet. I could shoot down the door with my ninpo—but you’re right, that’s far too brutish.” April hasn’t said anything, but go off. “I could get the drill to bring me a blowtorch so I can cut a hole in the door—”

“—If you’re bringing the drill over, why can’t we just leave through whatever hole it busts in here?”

“Because, dear April, the drill is made to deliver things with pizazz, not to be an end in and of itself. Just using the drill to dig a hole is humiliatingly pedestrian.” He’s really getting lost in the sauce now. If she lets him keep going, he’ll devise a seven-part plan that involves offshore bank accounts and a pizza delivery guy when all they needed to do was make a phone call.

Well, okay. It’s true that all the people April would call about this are either involved in putting her here, stuck in here with her, or busy trying to get Meatsweats behind bars (at least until his fan base bails him out again). But that’s not the point. The point is that Donnie’s in the weeds and this really ain’t that complicated.

April turns on her phone’s flashlight and looks around, taking stock of what they have to work with. There are some metal shelves they could disassemble to make an impromptu crowbar, maybe, some big cardboard boxes of product, a temperature gage…

Actually. April follows the wiring from the gage up to the ceiling. They’re in a freezer—there has to be some element of air circulation, right?

“Ah-ha!” she says as she spots the vent. She holds out her hand. “Dee, you got a screwdriver handy?”

“Do I have a—who do you think you’re talking to? Of course I do.” A travel-sized screwdriver pops out of a compartment on his battle shell, and he hands it over without second thought. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, I can send a message to Dad, who can send a message to Piebald, who will turn invisible and sneak in through the plumbing…”

April leaves him to his machinating in favor of dragging one of the large cardboard boxes directly under the vent and climbing on top of it. The ceiling isn’t too high, so she’s able to jam her phone into the strap of her bra for light and start unscrewing the bolts on the vent. At first they seem frozen in place, but with a bit of effort she’s able to get them moving in the right direction. It’s not long before she’s able to wiggle the vent cover free and balance it on the top of one of the shelving units. Then she looks between the opening and Donnie, who’s still brainstorming increasingly elaborate escape plans.

It'll be tight, but they both should be able to make it through.

April grins and claps her hands together. “I’ve always wanted to do an escape like this! It’ll be just like the movies! Hey, Dee?”

“Annoyed groan. April, please, I’m thinking of a way to get us out of here.”

“I know. I just wanted to give back your screwdriver. And could you give me a boost real quick?”

“Can I physically do that? Yes, but I don’t see why—oh, would you look at that.” A little floodlight unfolds from his battle shell and follows his head as it tilts back to study the open ventilation shaft. “Just like the movies.”

“That’s what I said, too! Alright, now gimme a boost.”

“Fine, but I’m not using my hands because I left my hand sanitizer in the Turtle Tank.” Instead, two mechanical arms crane out and lock together to form a step stool, of sorts. It’s all the help April needs to haul herself up the rest of the way into the vent. Things are too narrow for her to turn around once she’s picked a direction, so she just crawls forward a bit and calls back, “Now you!” Then, when he doesn’t respond. “Donnie?”

“I’m looking up the duct layout.”

“Oh.” Actually, that’s a very good idea.

“Did you turn northeast or southwest when you got up there?”

“Uh, I turned left?” Then she sneezes, because it is nothing if not dusty up here. And cold.

“Southwest, then.” Another few seconds of, April assumes, tech consultation, and Donnie’s hauling himself into the duct behind her. “It’s a straightforward path from here, so just keep going.”

“Nice.” April starts crawling forward, but soon has to stop to adjust the phone that’s sticking out of her bra. She’s still using it for a flashlight.

“Why’d you stop? If you’re gonna fart, I swear to Fibonacci—”

“I’m trying to figure out the lighting situation up here!” she says, laughing despite the fact she should probably be insulted, instead. “Unlike some of us, I don’t have extra tech arms to hold up the flashlight.”

“Oh—why didn’t you just say so?” There’s a click as the mini floodlight detaches from Donnie’s battle shell and waddles out to the front of their impromptu conga line on little robotic spider legs.

“’Cus I didn’t know you could do that, mostly.” April’s seen the floodlight plenty of times over the years, it’s a battle shell staple, but she’s only ever seen it—well, attached. Anyway, she can turn her flashlight off and tuck her phone more securely into the pocket of her Eastlaird hoodie now.

“It is a relatively new feature,” he admits. He probably would have sounded boastful, too, if he weren’t so obviously trying not to sneeze from all the dust they’re kicking up. “Ugh, this has got to be some kind of OSHA violation.”

“Dare I ask how far it is to the exit?”

“It’s best if you don’t.”

“Noted.” They crawl onwards in companionable silence, punctuated by the tik-tik-tik of the little robot leading the way and the hollow thuds and echoes of hands and knees hitting the metal. April’s surprised she’s not hearing screeches and groans of support brackets giving way under their combined weight, but she’s not about to question their good fortune.

Honestly, the movies made navigating through air ducts look way more exciting. Mostly she just feels squished and kind of bored. She needs some kind of conversational spice.

“Hey, Dee.”

“Yes, April?”

“You looking at my butt?”

The strangled sound that comes out of her best friend is exactly the entertainment she’d been hoping for. April immediately starts snickering. “I’m looking forward, if that’s what you mean. And you happen to be in front of me.”

“That’s not what I asked, and you know it,” she teases.

“I can neither confirm nor deny any survival-related observations of your dangerously trumpeting backside.”

“Okay, I fart in the movie theatre one time—”

“—I felt the vibrations. It was the granddaddy of flatulence, and a week is not nearly enough time to recover from such deep-seated trauma.”

It isn’t until she catches the pun (deep-seated, ha) that April realizes he’s just getting back at her for the butt question. “Blah, blah—methinks the boy doth protest too much. It’s okay, Dee, I know I got a cute butt.”

“Literally not the point I made at all, but please, continue to willfully twist my words to protect your ego.”

They continue to banter as they slowly crawl their way up an incline, interrupted only when April says with relief, “Sunlight ahead!”

April has to squish to the side so Donnie can punch the vent cover open with one of his mechanical arms (no neatly taking out screws from the inside, unfortunately), and then they’re tumbling out of the pipe and onto the rooftop in a grubby heap. The sun is much lower now than when they were initially trapped in that walk-in; everything around them is drenched in golden light, and there are streaks of pink and red painted across the clouds. A breeze rustles the leaves of the scraggly trees growing from sidewalk planters.

It takes April a minute to adjust to all the brightness after being stuck in a ventilation shaft, but when she does she has to admit it really is a gorgeous day.

That’s about when she realizes she’s utterly caked in dust. Her hands, her clothes, her shoes—it’s like she’s had sickly grey flour dumped over her head. “Oh, yuck.”

She looks over when she hears semi-rhythmic thumping, but Donnie’s already started smacking the dust off his gear, face crumpled in germophobic distaste. She can’t blame him.

April shrugs out of her hoodie, tucks her phone into the waistband of her skirt, and gestures for him to turn around. “Hold up, Dee, you missed a spot.”

Well, that’s an understatement. He hasn’t gotten to his battle shell at all, mostly because his arms don’t bend that way. She beats it clean with her hoodie, and they both make grossed out noises at the puffs of grey that come out.

“We should charge them for duct cleaning,” says April as she slaps the dust out of her skirt and leggings. She’s only half-joking.

“I’m seriously considering sending an invoice—wait, stay right there. Your hair’s a different color.”

April yelps and ducks away from the three-fingered hand that reaches out to ruffle her curls. “Has nobody ever told you not to touch a Black woman’s hair?”

“You can’t see what you’re doing! I’m trying to be helpful.”

“I know, but that ain’t how black hair works. You’ll just make it misbehave for the next week. Here.” April puts her phone in selfie-mode and shoves it into his hand instead. Then she grimaces—yikes, her hair really is a different color. It looks like she’s aged fifteen years.

“Told you,” Donnie says. He still cooperates in holding her phone at the right angle for her to see what she’s doing as she leans over and shakes most of the dust out of her curls. He even points out a couple patches she’s missed, which she appreciates.

“Alright, good enough,” she decides after several rounds. She smiles as she takes her phone back. “Thanks for the help, Dee.”

He grunts, but she can see he’s pleased to have assisted after all. That’s also when she notices the state his mask is in. Instead of the royal purple he prefers, it’s become more of a lavender. His goggles look like they’ve been stuck in an attic for the last fifty years.

“Uh, you got a little, um…” She points to her eyes and turns her phone around so he can see for himself.

“Eugh!” Donnie’s immediately ripping both goggles and mask off in disgust. He straight up chucks his mask to the ground in rejection. “Remind me to never crawl through an air duct again.”

“Amen to that.” April stoops down and helpfully starts smucking the dust out of his mask for him. As she’s doing this, she remarks, “You know, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you without your eyebrows, I think I forgot what you looked like without them?”

Donnie gives her a dry look, and honestly April’s got to give him props for his poker face, because he’s now sporting a set of neon purple ninpo eyebrows the exact shape and size of the set he typically draws on. “That better?” he asks as she starts giggling.

“Dayum, Bootyyyshaker9000, you got rave eyebrows you can just bring out whenever?”

Oh, now the ninpo eyebrows are strobing. “Are you jealous?”

“Honestly? Yeah, a little bit. You can make those babies do whatever you want! Imagine the possibilities! You—” April stops, snorting, and tries again. “You could make them do lower-third style headlines, you could take out advertising space on your forehead…”

Donnie doesn’t say anything, he just deadass stares at her as a miniature hardlight billboard appears on his forehead. It says Wow, I’ve never heard THAT joke before. What a genius.

It takes April a second to realize that his ninpo eyebrows are now displaying a scrolling message of Eat My Shorts, and then she doubles over, wheezing with laughter.

“Is this what you wanted?” He’s still got a completely straight face; April doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but that just makes the joke funnier. She’s absolutely losing it right now.

“I never expected you to actually do it!”

This scene brought charmingly to life by the mind-numbingly talented Aversiteespabilas!

“Oh, please.” Donnie rolls his eyes. It is absolutely wild to see such a normal reaction in conjunction with the virtual billboard and Eat My Shorts. “You forget I live with Leonardo. You’ll have to try a bit harder than that.”

“Valid. Can you just—you gotta take the billboard down, Dee. I can’t take you seriously right now.” The hardlight constructions wink out of existence in a flurry of bright purple pixels, and Donnie finally fights back a smile of amusement as she rubs at her face and whimpers, “Oh god, you got me cry-laughing.”

“No need to call me god. Donatello works just fine.” He full on grins when she boos his quip. “Can I help it if it’s true?”

YOU THOUGHT WE WERE DONE well we're not - Aversiteespabilas is at it again!!

“If you’re gonna be sassy to me, at least make it original. Don’t just quote something you read in a comic book.”

“You don’t know where I originally read it.” He starts to put his goggles back on, but his eyes are drawn to the mask she’s still holding.

Oh, right. He probably wants that back now. April gestures for him to bend his head towards her. “C’mere, I got it.”

“Oh, so I can’t touch your hair, but masks are fine?”

April pauses, and then admits, “I actually hadn’t thought of it like that. Legit, Dee, is this too much?”

She punctuates the question by holding out the purple cloth, and for a moment Donnie considers it. At length, he says, “No. But I’m very particular about it not being too tight, and if you do it wrong, I’ll probably hold it against you.”

“Deal.”

He has to stoop to get in easy knot-tying range, and then close his eyes to avoid getting poked by a wayward wrinkle as she smooths the mask over the upper half of his face. It isn’t until April’s reaching around his head to tie the knot, the inside of her wrist brushing against his cheek, that it hits her how vulnerable he is. She can feel the warmth stolen from the waning sun radiating from his skin, see the curve of his soft shell underneath the armor he always wears.

The affection that surges in her chest and burns the back of her eyes is a surprise. April didn’t anticipate how strongly she would react to being trusted like this.

The ever-curious journalist in her wants to linger, to ask all the questions about why trust is something she’s suddenly craving so keenly, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tests the tightness of the mask before smiling and stepping back. “Alright, will I be hearing about my shoddy workmanship for the next ten years, or have I passed?”

Chapter Text

April is twenty-one years old and she’s just been handed a heavy cardstock folder containing her degree.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur. Talking, talking, applause, throw the hat, fail to catch the dang hat, steal someone else’s hat and jam it on your head so you can snap a selfie and text it to your best buds as proof you really did do the thing.

Getting the air knocked out of you by your mega-enthusiastic mother as she squeezes you with the strength of a python.

“I am so proud of you, baby girl, so so proud—oh, you look so grown up! Quick, make me laugh, otherwise I’ll start crying and I won’t be able to stop for the rest of the day.”

April’s so overstimulated she can’t think of anything funny, so she just shows her mother the group text with the Hamatos, starting with her wild-eyed selfie. Mikey’s response is exclusively over-emotional emojis, Leo says she looks like she’s about to commit arson, Raph’s sent three different GIFs of very white people dancing very badly, and Donnie’s just sent a very succinct tassel’s on the wrong side.

Mom snorts loudest at Raph’s GIFs, and distracts herself further by fixing April’s tassel. “Speaking of the guys, will they be meeting us here?”

Just like that, the carbonated elation that’s been fizzing in the tips of her fingers evaporates. She glances around at the people she’s come to know over the last four years. People who are normal, with normal parents and siblings and friends. People who think she’s normal, too, and who will cut her out the moment they realize she isn’t.

April’s not proud of how her throat tightens around a ball of fear and guilt. “Oh. Uh, they’ve got something tonight. I’m meeting up with them next week,” she says.

“Really? They’ve been your best friends for the last decade, and you’ve known your graduation date for months. They couldn’t work something out?” Mom doesn’t say that three of them are also fully fledged adults capable of making their own choices. The sentiments hang in the air all the same, a toxic fog between them.

April doesn’t mention the drama that went down a few weeks ago, when Donnie up and called her out on not inviting them, or even mentioning graduation at all. There have been tiffs and scuffles throughout her eleven years of friendship with the Hamatos, but that was the first time April got well and truly shut out. Even Mikey ignored her texts.

“Why not just introduce everyone?” Casey asked when she’d finally managed to get a hold of him. There was no accusation in his tone—if anything, he was utterly baffled. Much like his namesake, Casey isn’t much for subtlety, and he never takes ‘I can’t’ for an answer because quote/unquote “I’ve seen impossible, and this isn’t it.” Rebellions and guerrilla warfare don’t leave much space for the intricacies of emotional turmoil, as it turns out.

At that point April had been so frustrated and desperate to make amends that she’d burst out: “Because I’ve waited too long for it not to go nuclear. My mom doesn’t even know they’re mutants, Case. She doesn’t know I do unsafe vigilante shit, she doesn’t know anything. I’ve fucked up and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“…But you do, though.” His complete bemusement hits far harder and deeper than sharpness or accusation ever could. “Am I missing something? Does your mom have dementia and won’t remember? She was killed by the Krang before I was born, so I never met her.”

He says things like that so simply, but April needs a moment and swallow back the bile every time. In Casey’s timeline, the Krang won. It was rarer not to be killed by them.

“No, she doesn’t. I just—I gotta go, Case. Could you please just pass on that I’m a giant selfish dumb-dumb and I miss them?”

It took another few days of agonizing silence before Raph texted she should join them for pizza and Lou Jitsu. Nobody’s brought graduation up since the truce was established, but it’s been the elephant in the room ever since, and April knows it’s on her to make the next move.

All of that is too much to explain to her mother right now. April doesn’t even know where she’d begin. “Mom, that’s not fair. They’ve got their own lives, and it’s nobody’s fault something came up.”

Mom gives her a hard look. April responds pleadingly, her stomach in knots and her palms clammy, please just let this go.

Mom lets out a hard breath and waves the topic off, dispersing the metaphorical fog in the same movement. “Fine, alright. We should get going, anyway. I made reservations at our favorite restaurant, and I don’t want to give up our table.”

So April’s not afraid of much. Rats? Her best friends’ dad is a rat man who lives in the sewers; she’s been around them her entire life. Brawling in the streets of New York City? She does it for funsies. Aliens? With the exception of the Krang, they’re just friends you haven’t met yet.

A fear April’s coming to terms with, though, is that she’s terrified of letting her mother down. She’s an only child, and other than the folks Mom’s befriended in the apartment building over the years, April’s all she has.

April doesn’t know how to break it to Mom that, despite pouring the best years of her life into the cause, her only kid kind of sucks. April waited until it was almost too late to care about school, she can’t hold down a job or a relationship, and it took nearly twenty years for her to make her first human friends—but even that long-overdue victory is soured by the continued secret mutant identities of her oldest friends. April’s played a part in saving the world, which sounds cool until you realize that saving the world goes hand in hand with adrenaline and danger that could very well leave Mom completely alone one day.

Looking at her life, April’s pretty sure she’s made exactly every wrong choice. Now, though, she’s managed to pull a veneer of accomplishment and normalcy about herself. Making human friends, graduating college—she’s on the right track now.

Backsliding isn’t an option. Not when she’s finally starting to seem normal. Not after she’s heard Mom say, “I’m proud of you.”

If April admits she’s just as weird and unimpressive as she’s always been, she will also be admitting that she’s been a phoney and a liar all those years she desperately tried to obscure her mediocrity. She doesn’t want Mom to think she’s failed at being a parent—because, as far as April’s concerned, she hasn’t.

It’s just April, doing what she always does: failing to become someone worth bragging about.

When April lands a job with her favorite New York based publication fresh out of college, it’s a dream come true. She arrives at her first day on the job nervous and excited and wearing the same blazer and loafers she bought to impress at her interview. The office is an easy walk from the subway station, and she’s spotted lots of great places to grab lunch in the area.

She works on the twentieth floor. Sure, she’s got a cubicle in the middle of the office instead of anywhere close to the windows, but still. She can gaze out over the expanse of Manhattan high rises when she goes to the staff kitchen for a snack, and that’s more than she can say for the tiny shoebox of a bachelor apartment she’s just moved into.

It’s modest, but it’s movement in the right direction. April has never felt so successful as the first time she uses her security card to beep into the office, calling out a cheery hello to the stone-faced guards in the lobby.

Okay, so there is the teensy-weensy problem that this is the same publication that also employs Matthias fucking Matterson, the world’s worst journalist, but he’s so high-profile April’s probably never going to see him.

“Oh, hello. You must be the new girl,” says a voice April wishes she did not recognize.

Or he’ll just waltz right up and start talking to her now. That’s fine, too.

Ugh, in person Matthias Matterson reeks of too much cologne and he’s got a smile like a toothpaste commercial. He stands all prim and proper in a neatly tailored suit and tie, and not even his grey receding hairline takes away from the sheer sliminess that he exudes.

Okay, calm down. He’s her co-worker, and this is her first day. April O’Neil the successful university graduate and reporter can be friendly.

“Hello! I’m April O’Neil, and I’ll be joining the—”

“Yeah, that’s nice. Listen, I wanted to give you some free advice. The office dress code is business, and not business casual.”

April doesn’t give him the satisfaction of doing a double take at her own outfit. She knows the slacks and blouse she’s wearing aren’t a matching set with her blazer; she’d been assured that wasn’t necessary from HR before she came in.

Her eyes do flick around at the rest of the office, though, and… shit, Matterson’s right. She sticks out as underdressed in a big way.

She also can’t help but notice that she seems to be one of three women, and the only person of color, period. HR hadn’t mentioned that when they’d recruited her.

Matterson flashes a condescending smile when he sees she’s caught on. “They told me you were well trained. So tomorrow we’re going to need you to wear something a bit more professional, m’kay?” He doesn’t seem to feel the heat of April’s stare as the forced-friendly smile slips from her face. “Okay, so welcome to the office! I took the liberty of signing one of my books for you. I know you’ll probably just pawn it, that’s how your type operates, but I’ve been told by HR that I need to be more friendly and welcoming, so this is me trying to help you succeed.” He passes her a copy of his latest novel, which has been defaced by a scrawl of sharpie, and waits expectantly. His eyes are damn near predatory as they sweep down her frame, and when they reach her face again, he has the gall to act like there’s no way she could have noticed.

“This is the part where you say thank you to me for taking you under my wing, by the way.”

It’s her first day. Her first fucking day at her dream job. April can’t get herself fired from here like she has from every other job she’s ever had. No matter what anyone tells you, it’s not a good look to go making a complaint about micro-aggressions and sexual harassment your first day on the job.

If she wants to be successful, she’s going to have to prove this asshole can’t break her.

“Thank you for the book,” she grinds out.

Matterson’s grin of self-satisfaction could have been ripped from the cover of a dental magazine. “That’s a good girl—oh, and another piece of free advice? Smile more. You get more flies with honey and all that.” He winks. “Get it?”

Oh, April’s got it alright. And if this bitch don’t get out of her face right now she’s going to take it and shove it right up his ass.

Thankfully, Matterson’s decided that’s enough mentorship for today. “If you need me, I’m in the corner office. Welcome to the team.”

He trots away like he’s a divine gift to journalism, and later on April hears him laughing with their colleagues about flies and honey and dress codes. She still hasn’t seen another brown-skinned person, at any level of the organization, let alone any mutants or yokai.

So, okay. Maybe her dream job is turning out to be a little more ‘job’ and a little less ‘dream.’ But April knows she’s a damn good reporter, and she knows how to win people over. She’s not giving up.

Here she is, with her university education at her stable, salaried job in a shiny skyscraper in the middle of New York City. She’s living on her own now. She’s got a date with a cute girl lined up for Friday. She is successful and she is well on her way to having a good, stable, normal life.

This is it—this is what April’s worked so hard for. What she’s always wanted.

Seahorse Hill is a brand-new club that’s just opened in Greenwich village. Based on what April’s seen on their socials, they’ve gone hard into the under-the-sea theme. They also advertise themselves as both queer and yokai friendly, which is what catches her eye. A club in an area of New York her human friends never go to, an even at the club itself April won’t be an anomaly—it’s perfect.

She immediately slides the Seahorse’s post about their opening night into her group chat with the Hamatos. ‘Yooo what are the odds crime will take it easy so we can party?’

‘YES’ is Leo’s immediate reply. ‘WE RIDE AT DAWN’ After a second or so, he amends, ’10 PM. WHATEVER. WE RIDE.’

Raph sends a GIF of a toddler boogying down to some unknown music, adding ‘↑ ME’

‘Um, so it says 21+. Is that going to be a problem?’ Casey texts.

Okay, yeah, so April’s technically the only one who’s actually of age. But when has that ever stopped any of them from doing anything, ever?

‘didnt they have u fightin krang when u were in diapers lol y wud u care about that’ texts Mikey.

‘I’m trying to ASSIMILATE, MIKEY.’

‘I’ll take care of it’ Donnie texts, which is everyone else’s de facto permission slip to get hype.

So, confession. When April read ‘taking care of it’ her mind had immediately gone to fake IDs. She hadn’t thought much beyond that—which, honestly, was her mistake, because while Raph, Leo, and Donnie are all very close to twenty-one and could conceivably pull off a fake ID with the excuse that they’re a little baby-faced, this definitely won’t work for Casey Jones and Mikey.

So when Casey rocks up with some wispy facial hair and one of Leo’s jackets with extra shoulder pads tacked on to make him seem broader, and Michelangelo’s sporting a trench coat and a stick-on bottlebrush moustache, April’s at a loss for words. Leo, Donnie, and Raph all look awesome; they’ve all got different styles, but they clearly understood the assignment.

“Um,” says April.

“Yes, young lady?” Mikey’s fidgeting with his fake moustache and pitching his voice far too low to be convincing. “Tell Old Man Michael what’s on your mind, hmm?”

“Uh,” says April.

“What?” Casey pats the shoulder pads self-consciously. “Too big?”

“Nonsense, young Mr. Jones, you look very mature. Dashing, even! Not as mature as Old Man Michael, though, of course.”

April leans back on one leg and puts her chin in her hand, trying to find the right words. When she glances at Raph and Leo for some kind of assistance, they respond with gestures for her to just let it go. Donnie, for his part, is on his phone and not paying attention to any of this. He hasn’t even said hi, beyond a brief single-finger wave of acknowledgement.

“You look great, Case,” Leo says, slinging his arm around the young man’s puffed-up shoulders. “April just didn’t realize you cleaned up so nice—right, April?”

“You got me. I’m speechless. And you too, Mikey. They’ll never know you’re only sixteen.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying—let’s party, baby!” Mikey cheers and fist-bumps in an incredibly mature fashion. Yes. April believes that.

Hoo boy. Well, she supposes the bouncer will have to make the final call.

It’s hard to know whether or not they’ve gotten lucky with the bouncer. He’s human, and clearly overwhelmed by how many mutants and yokai that have come out of the woodwork. It isn’t until April sees him chewing the inside of his lip while he checks Donnie’s ID that she realizes he’s having trouble reconciling the age on the card with the faces in front of him. He must not have close ties to the yokai community.

“Yeah, sure,” the bouncer says finally, and he holds out his hand for the cover charge. Donnie passes it over and enters the club without waiting for anyone else to join him.

The bouncer scrutinizes the shit out of April’s ID, but she too gets a grudging pass. When he sees Casey’s facial fuzz and oversized jacket, he immediately says, “Nice try, kid, but you’re going to have to wait a few years.”

“Wha—but I’ve got an ID!” Casey splutters.

“I’m sure you do, but let’s wait until we’re actually twenty-one, okay? Do you have a way to get home safe, or can I call you a cab?”

Casey starts to protest, and then just huffs and crosses his arms. “Don’t bother.”

“Alright, nex—oh boy.” The bouncer tilts his head back to look at Raph, a little intimidated by his sheer enormity. He then casts a skeptical glance to Mikey, who is still twirling his clearly fake moustache. “Alright—let’s do this. IDs, please.”

April can see him mentally rolling the dice when their fake IDs declare they were born in the same year. It doesn’t take long for him to throw up his hands and let both Mikey and Raph in. Leo soon follows.

They all wave apologetically at Casey as they file inside. He watches, scowling, as Mikey points triumphantly to his moustache and stage-whispers, “Bottlebrush.”

“I give him twenty minutes to find another way in,” Leo says once they’re out of earshot of the bouncer. April can barely hear him over the baseline beat, but that’s also kind of the point.

“Hmm, twenty-three,” is Raph’s bet.

“Wow, Donnie didn’t wait for any of us at all,” Mikey remarks. “I can already see him dancing!”

“I don’t know about y’all, but that’s where I’m headed.” The music itself is your standard hip-hop/dubstep mix, with an emphasis on long stretches of remix that all but bewitch you into wanting to dance. April can already feel it giving her dancey feet.

Seahorse Hill goes just as hard into the under-the-sea theme in real life as they do online. The primary color scheme is turquoise blue angelina film that’s been crinkled up and cut into long strips of seaweed and the generic shapes of fish—and, of course, seahorses. Shells and starfish and fishing nets are arranged on shelves and along walls. Iridescent baubles hang in clusters from the ceiling, and there is a glittery mosaic mural of humans and yokai swimming spanning the entire wall behind the DJ. The bar itself is decorated with tile that glints like quicksilver fish scales in the flashing lights—oh, and a pride progress flag. It breaks the theming a bit, but the sentiment is still nice.

Overall, April feels like she’s at a glitzy prom. It’s utterly camp, and she kind of loves it for that.

The crowd tonight is dense and mostly yokai (or mutants. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart from afar). They’re in every possible shape and size—several even match Raph in stature. They give each other a large berth, cast to the far sides of the room and surrounded by much smaller folks like satellites orbiting planets. Raph brightens when he sees these other centers of gravity and waves with the drink he’s just gotten. There is a shift in the solar system of the dance floor as he wades in and immediately acquires satellites of his own.

Leo and April, who were shamelessly following Raph as he trailblazed through the crowd, break off to travel even deeper into the dance floor once he settles, aiming for where Donnie’s already been for a while. Bootyyyshaker9000 is so in the zone he hardly even notices their arrival. While he’s on beat, there’s a separation between him and the rest of the crowd; he’s not interfacing with Leo and April insomuch as avoiding knocking into them. There’s some kind of techie glow bracelet twined around his fingers, and he’s got his goggles on and glowing too; it makes him a fascinating blur of light and color as he moves. As April gets into her own dancing groove, she keeps doing double takes as she sees flashes of him out the corner of her eye.

The international treasure Aversiteespabilas has blessed us with the most amazing art of this scene!!!!

Leo, on the other hand, is interacting with everyone in a five-foot radius. He grabs April’s hands and whirls around with her, and then a yokai woman, and then he’s sucked into a dance circle of very queer looking college guys, at which point he rediscovers April and pulls her in to join him.

The music does not stop when Casey Jones drops in from a ceiling vent in a cloud of dust and drywall, but the folks he lands next to sure do.

“Took you long enough!” Leo shouts over the music.

“So nice of you to help out, sensei!”

“Hey, I knew you had it under control.”

April, thinking back to the one time she crawled through a ventilation shaft, reaches over and helps Casey beat the detritus out of his clothing. “So, you got any fun dance moves from the future?”

He does, as it turns out, though April has to say the martial arts influence is strong. He also still dances like it’s the end of the world—no holds barred, like he’s trying to wring every ounce of joy out of this moment because he doesn’t think there will be many more like it. Everyone else looks half-assed in comparison.

She’s getting thirsty, so she gets drink orders from Casey and Leo and dances her way over to where Donnie’s still doing his solo rave thing, noting that his movements are getting a bit jerky and he’s doing increasingly more to avoid bumping into other partygoers. It takes him a minute or so to notice her waving in front of his goggles, too, but then he shoves them onto his forehead. “Thanks, but I’ll get my own. I’m headed outside for some air anyway.”

Ah, she thought he might be getting overstimulated. April’s a bit overwhelmed in here, and she’s not even prone to it. (In hindsight, she suspects that’s why Donnie’s been so standoffish all evening: he was saving his social battery so he can keep dancing as long as possible.)

“Want company?” He shakes his head, and April gives him a thumbs up. “Text if you need anything!”

With an acknowledging thumbs up of his own, Donnie’s making his own way outside. April navigates to the bar. She immediately spots Mikey, still in his trench coat and fake moustache, perched atop a barstool and chatting with the bartender.

“Mikey, there you are!”

“April—hey. Hey, you should try this. It’s really good!” His words are slurring, but the drink he hands her is a virgin Shirley Temple. April looks to the yokai bartender, who nods knowingly.

Yeah, she should’ve figured the bartender would clock him as a kid.

“Yeah, Mike, it’s delicious.”

“I’ve been learnin’ allll about mixology. Hey, d’ya think it’d be rad if I did that? Became a bartender?”

“Hell yeah I think it’d be rad. Listen, I’m gonna grab some drinks and head back to the dance floor, are you good here or do you want to come with?”

“Ooh, yes, I wanna dance!” He knocks back the rest of his juice as April places her combo order (plus something for Raph). April also gives the bartender a really good tip for not kicking her baby brother out.

It’s a good thing Raph’s easy to spot, because she can’t see Leo or Casey anywhere, and Donnie must still be outside because his telltale purple and blinky lights aren’t anywhere either. Mikey helps her carry the drinks to Raph, but once they’re within shouting distance he goes, “Oh, hey, it’s Casey. I didn’t know she was coming out dancing too!”

April hadn’t either, but considering that Casey and Raphael are good friends April’s not surprised to see the feral woman with the buzzcut dancing very intensely in Raph’s orbit.

Check out this absolutely sensational art by Aversiteespabilas!!

“Michael, what the hell is on your face?” is how Casey greets them.

“It’s my disguise.” Mikey strokes his moustache in a way he must feel is debonair. It looks like it tickles. “Really good, right?”

“You look like you just tried to eat a raccoon.”

Mikey gasps. “I would never!”

“You hangin’ in there, Raphie?” April asks as she passes him the drink he never asked for.

Raph takes it and has a sip anyway. “Are you kiddin’? Raph loves this place!”

“Noo—tell her, Raphala!” Mikey scrambles up Raph’s shell and points a finger down at Casey. “She doesn’t believe I got past the bouncer when Casey didn’t!”

“That is true, believe it or not,” Raph says.

“I absolutely do not—hey, the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get off him!” Some other partygoer, seeing Mikey using Raph like a jungle gym, seemed to think they were also invited. Casey puts a swift end to that by giving them an equally swift kick in the ass.

“Ohoho,” Mikey says, wiggling his fuzzy upper lip. “That had to hurt.”

“Mikey, I think you’d better get down before anyone else gets any ideas.”

“Okay, I still gotta find Leo and Casey,” says April, gesturing with her surplus of drinks. “I’ll circle back in a bit.”

Leonardo’s much easier to find than Casey, but Casey’s never far from Leo in a crowd. They’re both drenched in sweat and very grateful for the drinks, though Leo can’t help bouncing on his toes and swinging his hips along with the music as he downs his.

“Has Dee come back yet? He said he was getting some air.”

“If he has, we haven’t seen him,” says Casey. He asked for something non-alcoholic, but the look of surprise as he sips at his mocktail and finds it quite good has April chuckling.

April nods. Donnie’s an adult with a good grasp of his limits; he’ll find the group again when he feels like it. For now, April’s done herding cats. She just wants to enjoy her drink and get back to dancing.

Letting loose with her favorite people is one of the best feelings. Now that this place is here, she hopes they can do it more often.

Since it’s Seahorse Hill’s grand opening, it’s no surprise that most of the people here shut down the club. There’s a rumble of disappointment when the DJ announces last call. Their group doesn’t join the crowd that makes a bum-rush on the bar, choosing instead to dance through the last few songs. When the music stops and the normal fluorescent lights get flicked on, April’s ears are ringing and her eyes don’t know what to do with a steady light source.

“Ow, hated that,” says Leo, blinking rapidly. He shakes off the disorientation and does a head count. “I’m missing someone—where’s Donnie?”

“Last I saw him, he was doing his own thing,” says Mikey.

Raph cranes his neck to look out over the crowd. Judging by his frown, April doesn’t think he’s having any luck, either. “Anyone texted him? He may be outside again.”

Everyone takes out their phones, but nobody’s received any texts from Donnie. A flurry of tapping soon results in seven texts being sent his way.

“He’s got to be around,” says Leo. “I’ll check outside if someone else wants to check the bathrooms. Raph, mind staying here in case he comes back this way?”

“You got it.”

April and Mikey take the bathrooms. “Excuse me, young gentlemen, but have you seen a guy totally decked out from head to toe in purple gear?” she hears Mikey ask the unfortunate souls in the men’s side in his Old Man Michael voice.

“Dee?” April asks when she pokes her head into the women’s bathrooms. Donatello’s been known to pointedly ignore whatever labels are on bathroom doors in favor of whichever one he thinks is more sanitary. “You in here?”

“Deirdre?” asks someone in one of the stalls.

“No, sorry, wrong Dee—have a nice night!”

They all meet back up in the main room where Raph is with Casey and Casey. “Nothing?”

“Nada,” says Leo. “Do you think he just went home?”

“It’s possible. It’s loud and crowded, he may have decided he had enough.”

“But he would have told someone—oh, I’m getting a call from Donnie!” Mikey clears his throat and strokes his moustache as he answers in his Old Man Michael voice. “Where have you been, young man? Your brothers and I were worried sick—come again? While you’re what?” Mikey’s voice is suddenly pitching quite high, and his eyes have gotten very big. He looks around the group, and then rips his moustache off and dashes off to crouch behind the bar, hand cupped around the receiver on his phone. His ears must still be ringing from all the music, though, because he’s still talking loud enough for them all to hear. “I’m scared but I need details—no, not that many! Wrong details! Just tell me when you’ll be back.”

Mikey goes quiet, presumably as the call ends, and they all wait for him to come back out from behind the bar. He does so reaffixing his moustache and visibly trying to keep it together.

“So, where is he?” asks Casey.

“Donnie says we should go home without him, and he’ll meet up with us tomorrow.”

“He’s not already home, then?”

“No, he’s…” Mikey taps his forefingers together and rocks on the balls of his feet as his struggles with how to word it clash with his delight in being the bearer of the latest juicy gossip. He has never looked more like a child cosplaying as an adult as he does now. “Uh, apparently he met someone here and now he’s… getting laid?”

There is a very long, very heavy silence.

“He’s what?” Leo squawks. He then immediately scrambles out of the way as the shock has Raph full on stumbling weak-kneed into the bar, looking like he’s about to faint.

“What, this is unusual?” asks Casey. “People have needs, people! Get over it!”

“But this is Donnie,” says Raph. He’s still clutching onto the bar for support.

“You are failing to show me why that is remotely relevant, Raphael. Needs. People got ‘em.”

“He didn’t call or text any of you back, did he?” Mikey realizes with sudden delight. “That must mean I’m his favorite!”

Leo’s utterly beside himself. “I didn’t think he even cared about getting laid at all, and now he’s doing it before I have?!”

“If it helps, he definitely doesn’t need until tomorrow,” says April.

“Thanks, but that doesn’t help at all, actually. Are you even trying, O’Neil?”

April feels the touch on her elbow and glances over to Casey, whose flushed and sweat-shiny face is creased in concern. “Are you okay, Commander?”

April leans back a little, her brows drawing together. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she says slowly. Donnie’s not in a ditch somewhere, he’s having sex; why does it feel like Casey can’t parse the distinction? “Can I ask you something, Case?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“What about this situation is making you think of Commander O’Neil?”

If possible, Casey’s face flushes an even richer red. He jerks back and covers his mouth. “I—well, I didn’t… realize I called you Commander, actually. Did I really just do that?”

“You did, yeah.” A few seconds pass, and April waits. When Casey doesn’t answer, she nudges him. “May I remind you we’re in a bifurcated timeline and Commander O’Neil and I are not the same person? I don’t think you’re going to mess anything up if you tell me about an apocalypse club where someone goes missing and we all think they’ve been eaten by Krang, but it turns out they’re just getting laid.”

But Casey refuses to answer, and he looks so genuinely mortified by his slipup that April doesn’t have the heart to chase the answer down, even if the curiosity is eating her alive.

When April gets Mikey’s text of ‘SOS need extraction’ as she’s coming back from her lunch break, she doesn’t hesitate.

“A family emergency?” her editor says skeptically. “You didn’t mention this earlier today.”

April’s dumbfounded. “Because it’s an emergency.” One she doesn’t know the details of, admittedly, but that shouldn’t matter. Mikey said SOS, so April’s coming.

Her editor grinds his teeth. “Fine. Go to this ‘emergency’—but you’re making up the hours later this week, O’Neil. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Something doesn’t feel kosher about those terms, but April’s in too much of a rush, so she agrees because it’s easier and hustles her butt out of the office and to the retrofitted subway station. It takes so much longer than it should; she hopes she’ll get there in time for… whatever’s happening.

Depending on how you look at it, she shows up at the absolute worst or absolute best possible moment.

First off: there’s a lot of ninpo happening, the most concerning of which is the literal floor-to-ceiling wall of purple guns and cannons behind Donatello. Raph’s encased them in a luminous red sphere the thickness of one of his massive spiky arms, but Donnie’s responded by adding a few dozen more. His expression is twisted in fury, and there is a coldness in his demeanor that sends a horrified shiver down April’s spine. He looks murderous.

On the other side of the lair is Mikey, who’s clinging to some exposed rebar with his hands and holding Cassandra Jones back by locking his legs around her torso. Casey’s struggling wildly to tear his legs off, shouting, “Michelangelo, if you do not release me this instant, I swear I will—”

“You need to stop fighting me!” Casey wasn’t making progress in dislodging him, but several ethereal orange chains appear around them both anyway, just in case. Mikey’s phone is on the ground next to him—from where he dropped it after texting her, April assumes. “Casey, we’re trying to deescalate!”

“I have done nothing to provoke—”

“Forty-six minutes,” Donnie snarls. April has never, in all the years they’ve known each other, seen him like this. “Shelldon was back online for forty-six minutes before she attacked him.”

“I know, Donnie, I know,” says Leo, who April hadn’t even noticed before now. He’s in front of Donnie, hands raised in a placating gesture. Despite being utterly dwarfed by the aggressive display of ninpo in front of him, he doesn’t look intimidated. “It doesn’t look good. It was really, really stupid of her—”

“I am an intelligent person!” Casey barks, offended. “What your leadership clearly lacks is discipline.”

Leo closes his eyes for a moment. April sees him swallowing back the retort that’s on the tip of his tongue, deep-seated aggravation radiating from him. Instead, he refocuses and calls over his shoulder. “How’s Shelldon looking, Case?”

“Uh—well, bad.” Casey is couched next to the mangled metallic heap that, April assumes, had been Shelldon 2.0 before Casey took him out. He keeps giving Donnie’s ninpo arsenal nervous glances and crouching even lower, as if doing so would save him should Donnie fire and Raph’s shield not be enough to contain him. “B-but! I think it’s salvageable.”

“Oh, I do not know if you should have mentioned that, Junior,” Splinter remarks. He’s perched against the quartz island counter of the lair’s newly renovated kitchen next to a deflated soufflé with a shuriken sticking out of it. The man looks like he’s having the time of his life watching the drama unfold. April can’t decide if he’s calling Donnie’s bluff or if he’s got faith in Leo’s skills as a mediator, but either way it feels like entirely the wrong tone.

“Hoo boy,” April mutters, dropping her purse and rolling up her sleeves.

She isn’t expecting any of them to hear her, much less react, but everyone turns their heads towards her, and there’s a mostly genial chorus of, “Hi April,” before the standoff resumes. Cartoons always make moments like that look funny, but in reality it’s hugely disconcerting.

“You heard Case,” Leo tells Donnie. “Shelldon’s salvageable. Don’t you think destroying the lair and potentially killing all of us over something that can be fixed is an overreaction?”

“I saw weapons drawn, and it was flying towards your lab, Donatello! You needed protection!”

“Casey, I am begging you, please shut up,” Mikey says through gritted teeth.

“He—” extreme emphasis on the pronouns; April can only guess that Shelldon 2.0’s AI was even more sophisticated and self-aware this time around “—was taking his inaugural flight, we were doing systems checks!”

A few more guns appear over Donnie’s shoulder. Raph grunts, and the shield gets a little thicker.

“I could do this all day, Don.” Raph’s grinning through it, but it’s a warning.

Donnie’s eyes narrow, and a particularly massive canon rearranges all the other artillery around him. “Then get comfortable.”

“Okay, buddy, time to bring you back to the lab—‘scuse me, Case.” April nudges Casey to the side and squats down next to Shelldon’s crumpled body. There are some sharp pieces of twisted metal sticking out. She maneuvers around them as she wriggles her arms under the carnage and lifts with her legs, then nearly falls over. “Oh shi—I thought you’d be heavier than this.”

“Nah, dude, I got a carbon frame,” says Shelldon proudly. His voice is staticky, but he’s still perfectly understandable. “When you’re—zzt!—flyin’ around all the time, you wanna—bzzt!—be as light as possible, brah.”

April lets out a little laugh. “Egg on my face, then.”

“Is there? My—bzzt!—optical panel’s toast, so I have no idea what’s—zzt!—goin’ on, brah.”

That might explain part of why Donnie’s so upset—he didn’t realize Shelldon was still conscious. Or whatever the AI-equivalent of that is.

April sidesteps around Leo and the terrifying red Bubble of Doom. She can feel her friends’ eyes on her, each one of them gawking at this sudden change of direction. It makes her skin crawl like she’s tanking a presentation in high school all over again—but no shots are fired, and the tension’s been shattered. That’s got to be worth something.

“Sorry, Shelldon, that was an expression. I was joking that I was embarrassed to be wrong.”

“Why didn’t you just—bzzt!—say so?” If there was ever any question as to who built this little robot, there wouldn’t be any now. April swears she and Donnie have had this exact conversation before.

“April, you’re holding him wrong!” Donnie protests. He’s still inside the bubble with an army’s worth of weaponry at his back, though, so April ignores him.

“You know what? You’re right,” April says to Shelldon as they head down the hallway towards the lab. There’s a clank and a clatter, startling her—she steps back to see that a piece of Shelldon’s fallen clean off. “Oh, geez. Sorry, I’ll come back for that.”

“What did you drop?”

“You—zzt!—better,” Shelldon tells her. “Pops can’t fix me up if I—zzt!—don’t got all my parts!”

“Don’t worry, baby, your Dad’s gonna fix you up just fine,” April soothes as she waits for the usual ID-scan at the lab entrance. The lab hisses open and she carries the mangled droid to Donnie’s workbench, conveniently just as the turtle himself arrives, gripping the part that fell off earlier.

“Move.” He roughly hip-checks her out of the way and shoves his goggles down over his eyes as he looks over his damaged baby. “Shelldon, status report.”

“Casey Senior’s got—zzt!—one hell of a roundhouse, brah.”

Donnie scowls. “Shelldon, commence hibernation protocol epsilon. I need to run manual diagnostics.”

“Aww, what? But—bzzt!—I just—”

“Now, Shelldon.”

Shelldon grumbles wordlessly—something April didn’t think a robot could do—but nonetheless powers down. Donnie, still fuming, begins the process of taking the broken little drone apart. He only pauses when April hops up onto the corner of the workbench—and hoo boy, if looks could kill, that glower would have her six feet under.

“Must you?”

April leans back on her hands and crosses her legs at the knee. “Hey, I’m just chilling here. We don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want to.”

“Good, because I don’t.”

April lets Donnie have his way and pulls out her phone. Her girlfriend, a yokai named Idina, has texted. ‘you comin over 2nite bb 🤞’

April has to smile at the crossed fingers. She’s been spending every night with Idina since they got together a few weeks ago, and the U-Haul lesbian jokes from their friends have been relentless, but things have been really, really good between them. April doesn’t see a reason to break the streak now.

‘That’s the plan! But heads up I’ll probs be late, helping a friend who’s going through it. Want me to pick up anything on the way?’

‘YES I crave thai food’ Idina then follows up with a very specific order and some kissy faces.

Well, guess April’s picking up Thai food tonight.

“I’m not being unreasonable,” says Donnie abruptly. “Shelldon’s not the first thing Casey’s broken this week.”

April glances up from where she’s been researching nearby Thai takeout. One look at her friend’s face and she puts her phone away. “I noticed the soufflé, and her dig at Leo.”

“Raphael’s just fine, of course,” Donnie grumbles as he pries open a crumpled access panel. “They’re friends, he’s thinks she’s great. There’s nothing in the world Cassandra Jones could do wrong in his eyes.”

“I think he’s trying to be compassionate, Dee. He found her living in a tent in Central Park last weekend; she’s clearly going through something.” Not that April’s privy to what. She and Casey are friends—pretty good friends, April thought—but apparently not that good.

“Oh, so what—that just gives her carte blanche to reap havoc on the rest of us, then? Look what she did to Shelldon.” Donnie gestures to his partially disassembled robot so sharply that the joint in his elbow clicks. “If I were going through something, could I take the Turtle Tank out and start tearing up fifty-third avenue? I don’t think anyone would be so understanding, then!”

April raises her eyebrows. Does he realize he’s named the same street she works on? “Is that something you think about?”

“Irate scowl. That is literally not the point, at all.”

“So what is the point?”

“This is why Splinter never let us take in strays!” Donnie’s so engrossed in what he’s doing (using a pair of needle-nose tweezers to extract something sharp and fragile from Shelldon’s frame) he doesn’t catch April’s grimace. The broken pieces clink as they fall to the metal surface of the workbench. “So she’s going through something—that sucks, but I don’t see why she gets to make that my problem.”

April recalls what Casey said about Shelldon’s weapons being out. “I don’t think that’s what she was trying to do, Dee. She said she was trying to protect you. She read the situation wrong, and shit broke bad—it’s bad luck all around, especially for Shelldon. But I don’t see how that equates to her trying to make her problems your problem.”

She has to admit, the sharp look he levels at her hurts. “Whose side are you on?”

“Both of your sides! I’m not defending Casey’s actions—she was wrong, and I think she should apologize for hurting Shelldon—but her actions don’t exist within a vacuum. Can we agree on that, at least?”

Donnie doesn’t answer. It clearly irritates him that he doesn’t have a counterargument to her logic, which says a lot about how angry he is. He gnashes his teeth as he works, fuming. It isn’t until Shelldon’s mostly-disassembled that Donnie leans back to take in the damage in aggregate. Casey did a damn good job at beating droid ass. To April’s untrained eye, it looks like a solid half of the components on the workbench are totaled.

Donnie lets out a hard, shaky breath and turns away from the sight. “It’s like Shredder got him all over again.”

April waits for him to say more, but he just walks to a contraption on the other side of the lab and feeds it a hefty looking block of metal, presumably so it can start machining replacement parts.

“I wondered why you waited so long to bring him back.” It’d be a lie if she said she didn’t want to know the story, because she always wants to know the story, but he’s still so upset that it feels cruel to push. April makes sure her tone is open-ended; Donnie could decide to divulge, or he could decide to just let the remark stand as-is.

“It wasn’t a matter of time or resources,” says Donnie. He’s at the 3D printer, inputting commands to get it going as well.

April’s thinking of Karai Hamato. How she was trapped under heavy concrete boulders, how no amount of ninpo could have saved her. When April got to what was left of the lair, she hadn’t known Shelldon was buried under that same rubble; it stands to reason why April never looked for him. Even if she had known he was there, though, she wouldn’t have done anything differently. Even a mystically-superpowered human can’t be resuscitated and repaired like a machine.

Who would Donnie have gone to first? April wonders if the answer to that question is part of what delayed his bringing Shelldon back online. Seek out his grandmother, and he’d have been abandoning his droid; dig through the remains of their home for the AI he saw as a son, and he’d be leaving his Gram Gram to die. Or maybe it’s simpler than that—maybe he was just hoping to avoid having to see his baby in broken pieces more than once.

“Upgrades already?” she asks as he drops into the chair at the big lab computer and pulls up a modeling program.

“Might as well,” he mutters bitterly. Every click of the mouse is loud, feels like a punch through the air. “There’s clearly a need for improved passive defense.”

April watches, fascinated, as one design splits into two variants, and then four as Donnie emphasizes certain features and studies the ramifications of those choices through simulations. As he works, the intensity of his mouse-clicks goes down. Anger gives way to resignation, and April even sees glimmers of excitement over these new designs.

‘hows it going??? need a rescue??’ Mikey texts.

April’s about to respond when Donnie grouses with renewed aggravation, “Oh, look, it’s the gyroscope that took a month to optimize and less than thirty seconds to destroy, and now my backup file’s corrupted, so I have to start all over again—except I can’t yet, because I have to machine a custom joint for it, and I don’t have those materials! I’m having so much fun fixing everything Casey broke!”

April erased what she was about to send and instead types, ‘We’re getting there.’

“Hey, Dee.”

Donnie grunts, still scowling at the computer screen.

“Would it be cool if we got Casey to hunt down the raw materials you need as penance for Shelldon?”

He pauses. “I can’t think of how she’d ruin raw materials so much I couldn’t do something with them, and it would save me time…” he muses, trailing off. April waits as he continues mulling the idea over, switching what leg she’s got crossed over the other and bouncing her top foot. “Yes. That’s agreeable.”

April dutifully passes the idea along to Mikey, who doesn’t respond immediately—ostensibly, because he’s conferring with Casey. After a few seconds, he texts, ‘yeeee she’ll do it’

That’s when Leo texts, ‘I don’t suppose you know anyone who’s looking for a loud roommate who loves punching everything that moves?’

Also when Donnie adds, “And she has to move out. That’s the only way I’ll accept the terms of her penance.”

Oof. Yeah, saw that one coming.

April notes the conspicuous lack of input from Raph and winces. He and Casey have gotten to be really good friends since the Krang invasion—how is he taking this?

‘oh just realized I forgot spring rolls! hope im not too late plz bb?? 🤞🙏’ Idina texts.

Actually, that gives April an idea.

‘Not permanently’ she tells Leo. ‘But I know where she can go while we find something long-term, and she can go tonight’

April’s walking back to her apartment when her mother calls. Mom’s of an older generation and texting ain’t really her thing; calling out of the blue is kind of her MO. “Hey, Mama. What’s up?”

Mom starts to say something else, and then stops. “Are you okay, baby? It sounds like you’ve been crying.”

April lets out a hiccup of a laugh. No sense hiding it, if Mom’s already guessed. “No crying, but I am pretty sad. Just got broken up with about half an hour ago.” April hadn’t been present enough for Idina. She’s not sure what exactly her now-ex meant, given April hasn’t spent a night in her own apartment in weeks, but that was the apparent reason they weren’t a good fit.

That, and Idina says she’s recently met someone who makes her knees weak in a way April simply doesn’t. So yeah, April’s taking a trip through Bummertown right now.

Her mother tries to hide her little grunt of disappointment. April still hears it loud and clear. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

April grimaces. She doesn’t know what hits hardest: harshing her mother’s mellow, or the reaction to April’s inability to hold down a relationship long enough to bring her mother into the know. Either way, she’s really whiffing this whole ‘good daughter’ thing.

“It wasn’t serious, Mama.” Not anymore, anyway.

“Well, that settles it,” Mom declares. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to drop you off some ginger cookies, but now you don’t have a choice. You home?” Oh, April knows that tone, and it leaves zero room for argument. She’s getting a Mama Visit whether she wants it or not.

“Just about,” she says, giving in to her fate. Maybe it’s not what she’d been planning to do with her evening, but hanging with her mom’ll still be nice.

“Great, I’ll meet you there. Love you, baby girl. See you soon!”

April jolts as she remembers. “Wait, Mom, there’s—” Too late, Mom’s already hung up. April swears under her breath and pushes herself to a power-walk so she can beat her mother to the apartment.

She bursts through the door, sweaty and a little out of breath. “Casey!”

Casey peers around the breakfast bar of the bachelor apartment’s tiny L-shaped kitchen. April can hear the electric kettle heating up in the background. “April, this is outside of your normal patterns of behavior!”

“I know, but—is that my bathrobe?”

Casey smooths her hands down the microfiber front without any shame, petting the fuzzy fibers back into order. “Yes. It’s extremely comfortable!”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I—” April’s phone beeps. It’s the app her building uses to control the buzzer, letting her know that Mom’s already here. April groans and taps the release to unlock the downstairs door. “Okay, tabling that for later. My mom’s about to walk in; could you please make yourself decent?”

“Is your mother a traditional woman? Would she prefer to see me in uniform?”

It’s an entirely sincere question, which is the only reason April doesn’t become completely exasperated. “She’s not traditional, just—maybe something more than just my robe?”

Casey opens the robe to reveal her typical civilian’s clothes, which is a pair of cargo capris and a tank top.

“Oh. Yeah, that’ll work just fine.”

The robe’s being hung up in the bathroom just as Mom comes through the door to the tiny apartment. “April, what if we—”

“Hello, Mrs. O’Neil! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Mom just about jumps out of her skin when she sees Casey. “Oh, Jesus, you just about gave me a heart attack! April, you didn’t tell me you had company.”

“I tried, Mama, but you already hung up.”

“And you didn’t text?”

Uh. “I didn’t think you’d read it?” April tries.

Mom groans and starts to say something, but she’s interrupted by the hand being thrust at her. “My name is Casey. Would you like me to keep calling you Mrs. O’Neil?”

“Oh. Uh, Ms. O’Neil is fine. Or Wanda. Either works, it’s nice to meet you too, Casey,” she says as she shakes Casey’s hand. “Are you one of April’s friends, or one of her friends?”

“Mama!”

“This arrangement is strictly platonic, Wanda. Your daughter is not my type,” says Casey bluntly.

April’s sputters, but Mom’s suddenly smiling like she’s never heard better news. “It’s so good to finally meet one of April’s friends in person! You must be here to comfort her over the breakup. That’s so nice.”

Casey’s gaze flicks over to April, searching for confirmation. April tries to subtly plead for Casey to just roll with it. “That explains the tupperware of baked goods,” Casey says. “I suppose you’ll want your bed back, then, April?”

“I beg your pardon?” says Mom.

April wants to climb under the damn bed and refuse to come out to get away from this conversation. Instead, she sighs, rubs her face, and explains, “Casey’s crashing here while she’s between places, Mom.”

“I had an interview today with the Hidden City Detective Agency,” Casey declares proudly. “They were most impressed with my attention to detail and skills as a ninja, and they will soon agree that I would be a valuable asset to their missing persons unit.”

“Your skills as a what now?”

April’s gonna pick Casey up and bodily toss her and her giant blabbermouth out the window. She wants to scream, or cry, or—anything to distract from what Casey is saying to her sweet, normal, well-adjusted mother about a life that April is not, under any circumstances, supposed to have any association with. Cheeks burning, April retrieves the tub of cookies from her mother’s limp grasp and tries to do damage control. “Her skills as a—”

“As a ninja, Wanda. I have trained in martial arts since I was seven years old, first with the Foot Clan, and now with—”

“Oh, would you look at that! Hot water’s ready.” April lets out a nervous laugh, and she makes a big show of clanking around a cupboard, withdrawing mugs. “You were making tea, right Case? Here, let me help you!”

“I’d love a cup of tea, actually. Two scoops sugar for me, baby girl.” April is aghast as her mother hops up onto one of the two barstools stationed under the cluttered breakfast bar. It’s the closest April’s bachelor has to a kitchen table. “I’m very interested to see what you girls think of these cookies.” Then, to Casey, “It’s a new recipe.”

Casey needs no further encouragement. She takes an overlarge bite and chews like she’s going to be quizzed on the exact quantities of each ingredient. “I do not know how to evaluate this, Wanda. I’m used to snappy ginger cookies.”

“You and me both, girl. I was told this would make me change my mind about which I liked better.”

Casey hums, considering. April’s mind is racing to come up with a halfway plausible excuse to either get her roomie out of the apartment or to shut her up. There’s got to be something that’ll derail her, right?

“I am unconvinced, but perhaps another will turn the tide,” Casey decides. She hasn’t even finished her first cookie, but she’s already got another loaded into her hand.

Mom laughs and leans on her knuckles, smiling politely. “April never tells me about her friends. Where did you two meet?”

“Oh, that was when—”

“Here’s your tea, mama!” says April loudly. The tea sloshes over the brim of the mug as she sets it down in front of her mother, along with a small plate of the ginger cookies. The water is scalding. April pretends not to feel it. “Be careful, it’s hot—Casey, you should come make yours. I don’t know how you like it.”

“It’s very easy: I like black tea.”

April waits. Casey waits.

Mom frowns. “April, you can make plain tea for your friend, right?”

It’s the fastest mug she’s ever thrown together. “Here you go, Case. I’m sure you’re busy, so—”

“Raphael and I are getting convenience store hot dogs later, because they are apparently best at a specific time of night. But that’s not for another few hours.” Casey hops up onto the second barstool and makes herself comfortable. “I am perfectly content to discuss pleasantries with you and Wanda.”

Before April can get a word in edgewise, her mother lights the fuck up. “Raphael? Raphael Hamato?”

“That’s him, yes. The Hamatos are how April and I became friends, as well.”

April’s blood is made of snowmelt, an avalanche in her ears. She stares daggers at Casey, trying to signal for her to just shut up, but Casey doesn’t seem to feel it.

“So you’ve met the Hamatos in person? All of them?”

For the first time, Casey’s utterly bemused. Her eyes dart to April, openly wondering if there’s some crucial context she’s missing. “Of course I have—have you not? I was told the Hamatos and April have been friends for more than a decade.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This is not how things are going to shatter all around her. What Wanda O’Neil doesn’t know won’t give her an aneurism, and April’s determined to keep her mother from having an aneurism.

“Casey.” She means for her voice to be commanding. Instead, it breaks. April’s eyes burn as she grits her teeth and forces herself to keep going. “Can I talk to you, please?”

Mom and Casey’s stares are brands on her skin. The corners of Casey’s mouth sink, and her dark brows knit together. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Are you okay, baby girl?”

Casey doesn’t protest when April marches forward and drags her off the barstool. The older woman drops her ginger cookies on the breakfast bar and allows herself to be herded into the bachelor’s pint-sized bathroom and seized by the shoulders without a word.

“I need you to back off.” April’s voice is all tremor, even in her own ears. She sounds like she’s about to burst into tears. Even the hands she’s gripping Casey’s shoulders with are quaking.

“Back off what, exactly? I’ve been nothing but pleasant with your—”

“My mom can’t—she doesn’t know about the guys.” April clutches Casey’s shoulders even harder. “And she can’t. Okay?”

She expects Casey to protest; it looks like she wants to. Instead, though, she just gives April a long, hard look, unbothered by April’s death grip. “You’re terrified,” she realizes.

April leans in until they’re practically nose to nose. Her breaths are beginning to stutter. “Promise me.”

Casey doesn’t answer right away. She’s taking in the way April’s barely managing to keep her shit together. Finally, after what feels like a millennium, she says, “I promise.”

April’s doused in a relief so all-consuming that it sends her staggering back into the sink. She’s able to breathe for the first time since Casey introduced herself. “Thank you.”

There is a long pause. Then, softly: “This is nothing to thank me for.”

April doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then Casey’s stepping out of the bathroom and announcing, “I will no longer speak of the Hamatos.”

The apartment’s not very big, so April easily hears her mother’s reply: “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because April’s upset.”

Casey doesn’t specify why, and Mom comes to her own conclusions. With a gasp, she says, “That’s right, the breakup! Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I forgot…”

Mom stays until the tea and half the cookies are gone, and until April’s fingers are no longer trembling. She and Casey get on surprisingly well, despite Casey’s abrupt mannerisms.

“I hope you get that position at the Hidden City Detective Agency,” Mom says as she’s leaving, offering a supportive smile.

“They would be fools not to hire me,” Casey says with a decisive nod. April envies how entirely comfortable she is with herself—even when she’s at her lowest point, Cassandra Jones is confident enough that even April’s mother just rolls with the rest of her oddities, lulled into overlooking them.

Mom grins. “Damn right. It was so good meeting you, Casey. Hopefully this won’t be the last.”

The door clicks shut, and Mom’s footsteps click down the hall. The moment they’re too faint to hear anymore, Casey turns to April. “Is she evil?”

“What?”

“Is your mother an enemy? Were the cookies poisoned?”

April is utterly beside herself. “Absolutely not! Why would—how do you even—”

“You said she can’t know the truth about the Hamatos,” says Casey.

“That’s not because my mom’s evil. What the fuck, Casey?”

“Then I don’t understand. What other reason is there for her not to meet them in person?”

April splutters. “B-because—Casey, there are so many reasons.”

“Then enlighten me.” Casey leans back on one leg and crosses her arms. “What are they?”

“I—” Her throat locks up. The words won’t leave—and what would they be, anyway?

The Hamatos aren’t April’s only friends anymore. She has a life outside the group now, does her own thing at least fifty percent of the time. Maybe it would have been better to let Mom know more about them when she was a kid, but that’s not how things are anymore. Whether April likes it or not, she’s an adult with adult responsibilities; those take up far more of her time than moonlighting as a vigilante ever did.

April’s thinking of growing up on the sidelines. She’s remembering being stared at and mocked in high school. She’s trying to quantify how much of her life consists of being a normal human with normal human friends, and a normal human job, living a normal human life, making her mama proud of her one and only child.

Isn’t that what Karai Hamato said, that family is most important? Well, April’s taking care of hers the best way she can. Nobody said protecting the people you love has to be pretty.

Casey’s expression is hard, demanding. “Well?”

April swallows. “I know what you want me to say, Case, but I can’t.” She sounds like she’s about to shatter. That wasn’t what she was going for. She meant to sound unyielding—or resigned, at best. First she almost breaks down earlier, and now this—what’s gotten into her?

Casey isn’t the sort of woman who folds when someone pulls out the crocodile tears, but something about April’s response gives her pause. She considers April, expression inscrutable, for a painfully long time. Finally, she says, “You can, and you should—but I can see that belaboring this point will get us nowhere today, because you are a crybaby.”

“Excuse me? I am not!”

“You have been here less than two hours and nearly burst into tears twice—yes, you are a crybaby.” Casey flops onto April’s bed and wakes up her laptop, which is open and propped up on a pillow. She rolls to the side and her limbs spray into the air like she’s imitating a spider. “Lucky for you, I have been told I am a superior cuddler. You may approach!”

Honestly, April doesn’t even know how to react at this point. “Casey, stop messing with me.”

“I am being perfectly serious! You are clearly upset, and I am so good at physical acts of affection that I would be hired for it, if it were a job. Come get your cuddles.”

April’s still incredulous, but Casey’s expression remains sincere, and her limbs remain in the air—and you know what? Today’s been enough of a roller coaster. April’s a touch-fond person by nature; if Casey’s offering, then April will take her up on it.

April drops onto the bed and rolls closer. Casey’s limbs fall around her, and they arrange themselves so they’re both bundled up in the comforter with April curled into her friend’s side. Casey’s smaller than her, and mostly muscle besides, both of which should count against her—but holy shit, she really is a good cuddler, because April can’t remember being so cozy.

“You’re so warm,” April sighs as she burrows closer. As someone who runs cold, having a veritable furnace of a person next to her is glorious.

“Yes! I have been told that this is an asset.” With one arm snug around April’s shoulders, Casey navigates one-handed to a streaming platform and randomly chooses something to watch. (It’s some kind of action-adventure flick.) She doesn’t pet April’s skin or add any other gestures to her hold that might suggest intimacy, simply lets her body heat and complete ease with the situation act as a balm for April’s unexpectedly frayed nerves. April feels like she can finally relax for the first time since Idina said, “We need to talk.”

They watch the first several minutes of the movie in companionable quiet, but—as it usually does—April’s curiosity wins out. “So, what is your type?” she asks.

Casey crosses her unshaved legs at the ankles and responds without looking away from the laptop screen. “Women.”

April waits for her to elaborate. She does not. “There are a lot of different kinds of women out there. Is your answer: all?”

Casey snorts. “Absolutely not. The best women are soft, wear homemade sundresses, and enjoy frolicking in the woods and making their own bread.” Damn, if that isn’t a vivid aesthetic. Casey wasn’t joking when she said April wasn’t her type—the closest to baking April’s done is bought pre-buttered garlic bread from the nearby bodega, and she doesn’t think she’s ever frolicked anywhere.

“I never would have thought that for you,” April admits.

Casey pats her shoulder with all the tenderness of a drill instructor. “You don’t realize a lot of things. Now shh, I love this part!”

April’s been on enough dates that she can spot a dud pretty early on. Unfortunately for her, she caught this one about ten minutes after they both took their seats at a nice restaurant that required a reservation, and now there’s no graceful way to disengage.

It’s going to be a long evening.

“What do you do for fun, Odette?” asks April.

“Oh, you know, I watch a lot of Showflix. Have you seen the latest season of Bull in a Tea Shop?”

April’s skimmed the wiki articles because it’s all everyone in her office will talk about, but she wasn’t impressed enough to do more than that. From what she can tell, Bull in a Tea Shop is your run of the mill drama with dim lighting and soft porn sex scenes in every episode.

“I haven’t yet, but it’s on my list,” April lies. “What do you like about it?”

Her date, whom she met while getting coffee for her co-workers not too long ago, is straight passing in a way that’s almost disconcerting. She’s pretty and well coordinated in the most unassuming way, and her sense of style is always on point. Had April had any less experience with being flirted with, she probably would have mistaken the way Odette kept watching her as scrutiny of her outfits. It wasn’t until April had made an experimental joke about queerness that Odette had lit up. April asked her to dinner because she has exactly the normal vibes that April’s looking for—well, that, and she could see Odette wanted to be asked, but was too shy to do it herself.

Odette seems surprised by the question. “Oh—well, it’s just good. You know? Well produced, and the cliffhangers get me every time.”

“What makes it good, besides the cliffhangers? Is it the characters, the acting, the plot? What about it drew you in?”

“Yeah, the characters are good. I think the actors are doing a good job.”

April’s rapidly developing the impression that Odette is not an overtly critical viewer. “Good to know. So what else do you like to do?”

Odette looks thoughtful. “I go to the gym.”

“Oh, you’re a gym rat, huh?” April smiles to let her know this is supposed to be gentle teasing.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I just like staying active because it’s healthy, you know?”

Then does she enjoy going to the gym, or is she doing it out of obligation? Either way, she’s not answering the question, and April’s getting frustrated by all these dead ends, especially when Odette is doing nothing to move the conversation forward herself.

April glances at her watch, which is a slender gold and leather band with an analog face—or, at least, that’s what it looks like. There’s a button on the side that produces a hard-light screen, revealing that this seemingly innocuous and perfectly business appropriate accessory has all the functionality of a smartwatch. Donnie had given it to her the day before she started her big girl job because she’d been complaining about the lack of business chic in her wardrobe.

It's only been five minutes since they sat down. How is time moving so slowly?

April has another generic getting-to-know-you question ready to roll off her tongue when she catches an orange blur out of the corner of her eye, quickly followed by blue-purple-red. There’s the sound of a car crash, and the ground beneath her feet trembles.

Everyone in the restaurant gathers at the windows, goggling and snapping pictures at the spectacle unfolding on the streets of New York City. Mikey’s just used his ninpo to hurl a parked car at a yokai bearing Big Mama’s logo, but the yokai is about three stories tall and swats the car aside like an errant fly. Raph intercepts and redirects the vehicle’s momentum into one of Leo’s portals, which results in the car coming back at their opponent from behind and crunching into the back of the yokai’s head. It roars and whips around just in time to get a face full of Donnie Tech. This temporarily stuns it, giving Casey the opportunity to drop down with his hockey stick to try and find a weak spot.

“Oh wow.” Odette has her phone out and stars in her eyes—where was this excitement thirty seconds ago? “I can’t believe I’m seeing them in person. This is incredible. I could never—oh, my god, did you see that? Who is that man with them? Oh, I’m not even there and I’m sweating with nerves.”

The disguised smartwatch on April’s wrist itches. All it’d take is a touch of a button, and then she could be on the radio and joining in on the action. Sure, she’s wearing a dress and heels, but those are small details.

There’s another crash. April’s date jumps horribly and takes several steps back, hands shaking but expression a warzone of terror and fascination. She hasn’t been able to tear her eyes away from the spectacle.

Oh, the stories April could tell. Chances are she’d probably find some of the passion she was looking for earlier, if she did. Honestly, April could probably get this date to take a U-turn for the better. Seems like living vicariously through others is what Odette likes.

But that’s not the point, is it? April is getting away from being weird and living dangerously. She’s trying to make her mother proud of her, and that does not involve vigilantes or superpowers or regaling dates with them. She’s being normal and living a normal life—this is what she wanted.

Her friends are shouting at one another and darting between skyscrapers like ping pong balls. April spots a particularly impressive combo by Mikey and Raph that turns them into a sunset-colored streak, and then the massive yokai is doubling over, down but not out.

They’re having so much damn fun.

April looks between her friends and the table she hasn’t gotten up from (why run to look when you already know what’s going on?). They needed reservations to get into this restaurant, and she’s not dressed for running around the city. No. She’s going to do what she can to salvage this date.

The ground shudders again as a Raph-Donnie combo knocks the yokai down an entire city block, away from the restaurant. Her friends go chasing after it, bringing all their color and chaos and liveliness with them.

“Wow,” Odette breathes. She navigates back to their table on visibly shaky knees. “We almost died. I’ve never been that close to a fight before in my life.”

April blinks. What the hell is she talking about, almost died? “You okay?”

Odette’s got a hand over her heart and she’s breathing like she’s just had to run somewhere. “I think so. Yeah. That was so scary!”

They have two very different ideas of what ‘scary’ means.

“I took photos. Do you want to see them?” Odette doesn’t wait for a response before pulling up the images and leaning over to share them with April. They’re all blurry and unusable, like she’s trying to capture urban cryptids. “Oh, not that one. Not that, either. Oh, I know I’ve got something good—yes, here! Look. Didn’t that turn out amazing?”

April does look. Odette’s managed to capture a relatively stable image of Leo and Mikey fist-bumping in triumph, Raph smiling in the foreground with his arm around Casey’s shoulders, and Donnie on the side with his mad scientist’s grin lit by the purple glow of something off screen.

“It did, yeah,” April says, her voice faraway in her own ears. She tears her gaze away from the image and pushes herself back from the table. “I need to use the restroom, excuse me.”

She shouldn’t be doing this, April thinks as she ducks into the bathroom and climbs up on the sink to unlock the window. What happened to being normal? What happened to staying safe?

She shouldn’t be, but she climbs out the bathroom window and into the alley next to the restaurant anyway. Things with Odette never would have worked, so it’s just as well that she’s not planning on returning.

She’ll go back to being normal tomorrow—but, for now, she knows where she wants to be.

Running in heels is a pain, and she’s questioning her choice not to wear tights or nylons or anything under her dress, because thigh rub is real and it’s not fun, but all things considered she makes good time. The adrenaline is already humming through her system with each clacking footfall that brings her closer to the fight.

April presses the button on her watch and is instantly welcomed by the warmth of a hard-light cuff wrapping around her wrist in her signature shade of yellow. She holds it up to her mouth as she runs. “Y’all didn’t think you could party without me, did you?”

“Party’s just getting started, baby!” Mikey cheers.

“Yeah, good timing, April! Casey just got here, too,” says Raph.

That’s when April spots another person moving towards the action—and whoa, she’s never seen Cassandra Jones in a skirt before, much less a blazer, but there she is, plain as day. If she didn’t have her signature buzz cut and feral, wild-eyed expression, April probably wouldn’t have recognized her.

“Hold up, I thought you were a detective now,” says April as she catches up.

“She’s undercover as an insurance agent,” Leo snorts gleefully through the coms.

Casey ignores that and calls to April: “Nice heels.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” April races up an accessibility ramp and leaps onto an awning just as Donatello zips in close.

With a twirl of his tech-bō he reveals her trusty enchanted baseball bat. “Looking for something?”

“Thanks, Dee!”

April catches the bat in one hand and his forearm in the other, allowing him to swing her up and through the air, directly at the yokai. She lands stiletto heels first and comes down hard with the bat when she hears the corresponding roar. There’s only time for one more swing in before she’s tossed off, but the glowing orange of Mikey’s ninpo wraps around her arm and allows her to race across the side of a skyscraper and loop back around to sink her heels into the yokai again, officially breaking the straps of her shoes.

April leaves them behind without a second thought, running barefoot up the length of the creature’s massive arm and clubbing it on the head with her bat. It snatches at her, but she steps backwards into a portal and out of reach. She laughs aloud when she catches a sensible leather oxford getting chucked at the yokai’s head as Casey draws its attention for the next round of attacks.

And sure, she’s barefoot in the streets of New York, which is gross, and she’s sweaty and out of breath and her thighs keep rubbing together, which is inconvenient, but the exhilaration of being in the center of the action with her best friends? She wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Chapter Text

April is twenty-two years old and she’s just walked in on her boyfriend, Ferron, cheating on her with his roommate.

Not in a plausibly deniable kind of way, either. In a mostly naked and rolling around on the couch in desperate need kind of way.

The apartment door creaks shut behind her, and she grips the borrowed keys and takeout she’d just picked up so tightly she loses feeling in her fingers.

“Oh,” is the only thing she can say.

She’s had a lot of significant others over the years, but this is a first.

“Shitfuck, April!” Her boyfriend of the last three months—the longest she’s managed since Sunita—jerks upright. His cheeks are blotchy with color, and his hair is a mess. “Uh, this isn’t…”

She waits, but when Ferron doesn’t finish the sentence she prods, “Isn’t it?”

“I started it!” the roommate blurts out. “It was me, be mad at me, he didn’t—”

“No, that’s okay.” The blood is rushing through her ears, so her voice seems very far away. Her tone carries a grace she’s not sure she feels. When she sets the keys and takeout on the breakfast bar, her hands do not tremble. She meets her newest ex’s eyes. “In case it needs to be said, this—” she gestures between them “—is over, and I’m not interested in still being friends. Good night.”

April pats her pockets to make sure she still has her own keys, along with her phone and wallet, and then her feet are carrying her back down the three flights of stairs she just climbed.

The New York night is precisely as she left it a few minutes ago, bright and crisp with cold. Her breath clouds around her head in misty vapor as she walks on autopilot to the subway station. She boards mechanically, finds a seat in the back corner of the car, and watches the graffiti streak past the window as the train picks up speed and carries her away.

The numbness does not fade until she’s three stops away from her tiny bachelor apartment, and that’s when she realizes she isn’t even angry. She’s just tired.

When she calls, Leonardo picks up on the fourth ring. “What’s up? I thought you were hanging with the boyfriend tonight.”

“Didn’t work out. Do you want to go dancing?”

If Leo thinks anything of her tone, or her phrasing, he doesn’t bring it up. Instead, he says, “Make it Seahorse Hill and pay my cover, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Deal.”

She’s only one subway stop away from Greenwich Village, but Leo’s still waiting outside when she gets there, bobbing his head along with the beat that can clearly be heard through the door. He must’ve portaled in, though she doesn’t see a katana anywhere to confirm.

At first it looks like Leo’s burning to ask what happened with the whole boyfriend thing. That disappears when April hugs him.

“Whoa, tiger. I know how devastating it is for you not to see me for three whole days, but the Leo-nator needs to get his dance on.”

April laughs as she produces the prerequisite cover charge. “A deal’s a deal. Let’s dance, Leo-nerdo.”

Tonight’s DJ features a lot of mashups of popular hip-hop with the gritty emo-punk nonsense of the 2010’s, and it somehow slaps. April dances until she’s drenched in sweat and grinning her fool head off while she and Leo shout along with the lyrics of nostalgic bangers, then she drags him to the bar for shots. Leo’s not technically twenty-one for another nine months, but the counterfeit ID Donnie made him last year still works like a charm, so they have no issues.

They shut down Seahorse Hill like this, bouncing between the bar and the dance floor. While the dancing burns up most of the booze from their systems, they still tumble gracelessly into the autumn night when the club kicks them out in the wee hours of the morning. They then immediately spot a convenient hot dog stand less than a block from the bar and buy the shit out of a couple of dogs. They’re gone way too fast, but it was delicious while it lasted.

April lets out a huge sigh and stretches her arms behind her as they stroll on from the hot dog cart. “Thank you for coming out, Leo. I really needed this.”

“Are you kidding me? I wish I could shut down the Seahorse every night, but no, the city has to be constantly full of crime.”

April snorts and gives his arm a companionable bump with her elbow. As much as Leo complains, she knows he loves what he does.

“So?” Leo says after a beat.

“So what?”

“So something happened—with the boyfriend, one assumes. He wasn’t here, and you haven’t looked at your phone once.”

Oh, right. April has been having such a good time she almost forgotten that only happened earlier today. “Um, so, they were roommates.”

It takes a second for Leo to understand why she’s making a reference to an ancient-as-fuck Vine now, of all times. Then there’s a gasp. “And they were roommates?”

“Yeah. And I walked in on it.”

“Oh, shit.” He slings an arm over her shoulders in a walking side-hug. “April, I’m so sorry. That really sucks.”

April slips her arm around his waist as they walk together, hooking her fingers around the lip of his shell to hang on since she can’t quite reach all the way around. “Can I tell you something awful? I’m not even sad or mad about it. I’m just disappointed.”

“Because you saw the roommate thing coming, or because you thought you had a better take on his character in general? Oh, side note: what are your thoughts on viral character assassination, yes or yes?”

“No, don’t waste your time, it’s not worth it—which is basically what I’m getting at. Sure, maybe I misread his character, but I’m mostly just kicking myself over…” She gestures with her free hand, fingers twisting in the chilly air. “Being hard to love, I guess? I keep trying, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong, and I’m so done with being bad at everything.”

“Hey, at least you’re putting yourself out there.” April glances up, surprised by the sudden bitterness in her friend’s voice. “That’s something I admire about you, April. At least you’re trying.”

“Oh. Is there someone you…?”

Leo shakes his head, flashing a twisted grin. “But there won’t ever be if I don’t put myself out there, right? You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take and all that?”

Those aren’t his words, April can tell. He speaks like he’s got them echoing in his head the same way somewhere closer to home echoes in hers. She’s also hearing bits of the gallows humor he came back from the prison dimension with; it still shows up every once and a while, usually when Leo’s at the end of his rope.

Does that mean this, whatever it is, has him at the end of his rope?

April squeezes the arm she’s got around his waist, thinking of the confidence they both had playing basketball back when they were kids. “Sometimes taking the shot’s easier said than done.”

His chuckle is a complicated tangle of emotions that April doesn’t have the context to unravel. “Yeah.”

She thinks for a moment, then she pats his hip. “Hey, the cold’s getting into my bones, which means it’s probably a hundred times worse for your reptilian ass. Let’s warm up at my place.”

Leo readily latches on to this flimsy excuse to keep from being alone—but alas, while he did portal over to Seahorse Hill, he’d made it a one-way trip because he hadn’t wanted to deal with drunken partiers messing with sharp magical objects, so they have to hoof it back to April’s bachelor the old-fashioned way.

“I’m thinking some hot cocoa. You in?” April’s filling the electric kettle with enough for two regardless. Still, it’s polite to ask, right?

Her apartment isn’t big. She’s got a loveseat pushed against the foot of the bed, and just enough space between that and the wall to mount a TV and have a little coffee table. She eats her meals at the breakfast bar with two stools separating her tiny L-shaped kitchen from the rest of the living space.

“Yeah, sure,” Leo says as he flops onto her bed. He’s strangely withdrawn as April clinks around in the kitchen, splashing some milk into the hot cocoa mix to give it more flavor before handing Leo his.

“You okay?” She curls her leg under her butt and sits backwards on the loveseat with her mug propped up on the backrest so they can look at each other.

“I’m,” he says to the still-swirling cocoa. He’s frowning like the drink has just told him something very cryptic.

“Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it, no worries. But I’m here if you—”

“You said you’re tired of doing things wrong, right? Well, I’m tired of not even knowing how to start.”

The sudden declaration, said with altogether too much force, rings in the air, and the shuddering breath her friend’s just taken tells April that this may be one of the first times he’s ever said this aloud.

“There’s just all this pressure, you know? I’m doing all this leader stuff now, and I never have the space to just play around and figure things out for myself, because there’s always something more important that’s got to be done first—and that’s fine, I can do that, I’m good at it now. But I don’t know how to do things as just Leo anymore. Who even is that guy? What does he want?” The laugh that bubbles out of him is nearly a sob. “I don’t fucking know!”

Suddenly, April’s seeing his earlier comments about putting himself out there in a completely different light, and from this new vantage point it really seems like Leo’s questioning his sexuality. He's always been so self-assured it never occurred to April this might bother him—but, there again, if you’ve always been so certain of who you are, having any changeup to that foundation is, by definition, kind of earth shattering.

Her chest tightens. Yeah, she knows what being trapped in your own skin is like. Not knowing where to turn, or what else to do, is the worst feeling in the world.

Leo stills when April leaves her cocoa on the coffee table and places her hand on his forearm, mumbling. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have… I was yelling.”

She squeezes him comfortingly. “I never guessed this would be so hard for you, Leo. I’m sorry I never noticed.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t want anyone to.” Leo lets out a breath and sets his drink on the narrow little bedside table so he can reach up and rub his face without disturbing the hand she’s got on his arm. “I just—thought I’d wake up one day and things would all make sense? Which is stupid, ‘cause I don’t work like that. So here I am, years later, just…”

His hand falls to his leg as he looks at April. It hurts to see him so lost. “You know how Dad had us do all this training and practicing before he let us actually fight anything, where you could be stupid and mess up and there weren’t really any consequences? I need something like that, except with people, with—” he gestures, an uncomfortable, jerky motion. “I don’t know, kissing. Not being a virgin. Other stuff. Do you get what I’m saying, or should I just keep shoving my foot in my mouth and chowing down?”

April works to bite back the smile at the color staining his cheeks right now. Chances are Leo wouldn’t appreciate being told his awkwardness has a weirdly nostalgic charm to it; not right now, at least. “It does, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” She takes a moment to compose herself. “But seriously, I hear what you’re saying. You’re looking for a safe place where you can experiment without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

“Yes, exactly!” Suddenly Leo’s looking at her intensely, leaning forward. “You did that, right? How did you find someone like that?”

Her chest pangs again. Is that what he’s been trying to ask this whole time?

“Uh, I don’t know if my experience translates very well,” she says with an apologetic grimace. “I started with a long-term yokai girlfriend, dude—I just jumped face first into the deep end. Experimenting was much easier after figuring out goo-person anatomy.”

“That’s a good point.” The hope in Leo’s demeanor evaporates as he leans back and looks somewhere beyond her. He’s trying to hide it, but April can see the existential distress broiling just below the surface. The only other people in their friend group who are openly sexually active are Donnie and Cassandra Jones, but the kind of situation Leo’s talking about is more emotional than physical, and… well, April understands why he thought she’d be the best person to talk to about this.

She can see bringing this up has taken a lot out of him, too. She wants to show he was right to trust her with this vulnerability, to prove this wasn’t a waste of his time. Unfortunately, though, these really are things that are best learned by doing.

Which is kind of the whole problem, isn’t it? How do you establish a rapport with someone who can help you figure these things out in a safe environment if you don’t have enough figured out to know who or what to look for? April gets why Leo’s hit a wall.

She takes a deep breath. “Okay, hear me out, and don’t make it weird.” Leo nods, albeit warily, and April gives his arm a pat in thanks. “So, for starters: you can say no to this. I know it’s unconventional, and it won’t hurt my feelings. But if you really think a safe space with someone who can help you break the ice is what you need… I think I can do that.”

At first Leo just blinks, uncomprehending. April can almost see the little dots counting down behind his head. Then, “Oh—you’re suggesting that we…?” He gestures meaningfully between them, eyes wide.

“Leo, are you making this weird? You promised you wouldn’t make this weird.”

“Okay, you say that, but it is. It is weird. You feel me? Especially with, you know…” He makes circular gestures, and April can see he thinks they mean something, but she has no earthly clue what he’s getting at. “Other mutants? That you know very well and might be incredibly emotionally invested in? Anything? No? Not ringing any bells?”

“No. Should it? If whoever this is concerns you, of course we can talk about it, but you’re going to need to be a bit more specif—wait, actually. Let me be super clear about where I’m coming from, that may help.” April clears her throat and says very plainly, “Leo, while I love you a lot, absolutely none of it is romantic. It just seems like this sexuality stuff is tearing you apart, and—for better or worse—I’ve got a lot of experience with that. Sex is for bonding with people, not a life-changin’ thing, y’know? So you don’t have to say yes if you’re uncomfortable, but the offer’s there if you think it’ll make a difference.”

“Okay, so—actually, that was very clarifying, on multiple levels, thank you—so… you’ve done something like this? Before?”

“No, never,” April admits. “But I care about you, and I trust you, so I think it’ll work out.”

“Wait, hold on—trust me?”

“Yes! You think I’ll hop into bed with any doofus just because he whines about being a virgin?”

That earns her a solid whap with one of her own pillows from a very flush-faced Leo. They’re both giggling.

When things quiet down, there’s a gawkiness around Leo that April’s never seen. There’s a fragile sliver of hope, too, and that makes all the potential discomfort of this admittedly unusual offer well worth it. “Okay, so if we’re doing this, how do we… do it.”

“Well, it sounds like first I’ll have to explain the birds and the bees, which is really just a metaphor for—do I need to take that pillow away from you?” She blocks another fluffy swipe, laughing. Then she grabs it and drags it down until he’s more or less nose to snout with her. “Relax. First rule of sex is it’s supposed to be fun, and if it’s not—” She reaches up and lightly boops his snoot “—we can either talk about it, or you can tap out. There’s no such thing as the point of no return when it comes to changing your mind.”

With that, April twists around to slurp down some of her cocoa before it gets cold. She makes a show of being real absorbed in the task, giving Leo time to mull things over. She’s about halfway through her mug when she hears a quiet, “Okay.”

What she doesn’t expect is for Leonardo to follow up on this decision by sliding to his feet and unceremoniously shucking off all his clothes. “Alright, don’t be too shocked, but I am aware of how impressive I—why are you laughing at me?”

“Not at you.” April’s working so hard to button in the mirth that she can barely speak. “I swear I will never laugh at you. I just wasn’t expecting this to be how things got started.”

“What? I’ve seen porn, I know how this part goes!” Leo crosses his arms and pops his hip out to the side, grumbling. The short little tail April’s always forgetting he has flexes. “Why do you have so many more layers than me anyway? It’s like you expect me to work for this.”

Okay, two can play at this game. April looks right at him and peels off her sweater, undershirt, and bra in one motion. “Tada,” she deadpans as she flicks the clothes to the side.

Leo’s eyes immediate drop lower. “Okay, that was a neat trick.”

“Mm-hmm.” With a smirk she brings her knees up and tugs her socks off, making sure to toss one of them at him. It bounces harmlessly off his plastron, but Leo’s squawk of indignation would suggest true harm was inflicted at some level.

“That almost got in my cocoa, you barbarian!”

This time he does join in her giggling. Never in a hundred years did April think this would be how her night ended, but… well, there are worse things than ending up with a friend.

“Alright, maybe I jumped the gun a bit,” Leo mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something something proper decorum, or whatever.”

April shrugs as she shimmies out of her jeans and undies. “It had to happen at some point, right? Oh, and can’t forget to pose for my adoring audience!” She’s still kneeling on the loveseat, but she strikes a pose Vogue would be proud of anyway. When she catches Leo’s eye, she grins, and the smile he offers in return is much more comfortable, eyes crinkling behind the signature blue fabric tied around his head.

Actually.

“You’ve still got the masked vigilante thing going on, by the way. Did you want to keep it?”

“Oh, yeah.” When Leo touches his mask, something about his demeanor locks right up. He’s not as easygoing as he’d been the instant before. “I forget it’s there most of the time, honestly.”

April wonders.

She gets to her feet and gestures for him to bend down so she can reach the knot. “Here, let me.”

Leonardo lets her do it. When the blue strip of fabric falls to the floor, it takes the bravado and the heavy responsibilities of leadership and expectation along with it. Instead, the person who gazes back at her, earnest and a little hesitant, is Leo. Not just Leo, there is nothing lesser about him, but the Leo who’s been left floundering on his own since the Krang attacked.

For all that he’s been in the buff for most of this conversation, he never really felt naked until now.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve fully seen these before,” April says, tracing the red slider markings on his cheeks with fascination. “They’re rad.”

“I know, right?” There’s a flash of a proud, bright smile, and then he falters. He’s still bent down with his head in her hands, and while he doesn’t move, the way he shifts his weight wonders if he should. “So, uh. Do we kiss? Is that where this gets weird? Not gonna lie, April, I’m really struggling to find the line here.”

“I’ll follow whatever you’re comfortable doing. Normally kissing’s a good way to break the tension—” She’s not even finished the last word before Leo’s pushed forward and done just that. It doesn’t feel like kissing another human because he doesn’t have lips, but he’s warm and there’s a leathery kind of pliability when she presses closer, exploring with delicate swipes of her tongue. He opens up to her with a soft gasp of air, doesn’t shy away from her curiosity.

Overall, not a bad experience.

April isn’t short in comparison to other human women, but she is in comparison to Leo, and he’s not built to bend at the waist, so she makes a point of herding him to the edge of the bed and gently pushing him to sit down. “There we go, much better angle.” That’s when she notices his faraway expression and touches his shoulder. “You okay? Remember, you can always change your mind.”

It takes Leo a moment to refocus, but when he does he shakes his head and offers a shy smile. “No, I’m good. C’mere.” He pulls her to stand between his knees and kisses her, initiating his own exploration. Little experiments come in the form of different head tilts and nips at her lips, questioning darts of his tongue.

He lets out a breath when April’s hands rove over his torso, mapping the smooth protective slopes of his plastron. Visually, there are no signs of the devastating injuries he suffered when they were teenagers, but the tips of her fingers find a subtle radial pattern.

Things don’t start heating up until she places Leo’s hands on her bare waist, a wordless invitation to keep discovering. That’s when he utters an amazed, “Wow, you’re soft,” and just—hooks the backs of her legs and hauls her to straddle his lap like it’s nothing. He rubs his palms appreciatively up her thighs and around to her ass, where he squeezes and drags her in so he can nip along the underside of her jaw.

“Damn, okay Leo,” April gasps, bracing her arms on his shoulders as a shiver rakes down her spine. “Just kick things up a notch, why don’t you?”

This earns her a grin that’s equal parts delight and mischief. “You trying to tell me how sexy I am?”

“If I did, which head would it go to?”

It takes Leo a moment to catch the joke, but then he’s retorting, “Why don’t you tell me, and we’ll find out.”

April snorts and pushes him over. She braces her hands on either side of his head while her legs bracket his hips. “Actually, I think I like this view better. What’s sexier than a turtle stuck on his back?”

Leo frowns. “I’m not stuck.”

She looks down at their position, the way his shell’s digging into the mattress and pushing him to curl towards her, and smirks suggestively. “Seem pretty stuck to me, dude.”

The room spins, and there’s a rush of air, and just like that: April’s whumping into the pillows with Leo looming smugly over her, the glow already fading from the marks on his arms.

“Told you I wasn’t stuck,” he says the same time as she says, “Shit, that was hot.”

Leo blinks, stunned—apparently, that wasn’t what he’d been aiming for. Then he lights up with joy. “Yeah?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Oh, hell yeah—I wasn’t even trying!” He leans onto one arm and fist-bumps her with the other. “Am I a natural at this or what?”

April snorts—but honestly, he kind of is. Why is she not surprised?

She’s not about to jinx things by letting him know too early, though, so instead of answering she just loops her arm around his neck and pulls him down to kiss her, a nonverbal demand that he follows without resistance. It’s the same when, a few minutes later, she takes his hand and brings it between her thighs, shows him where her clit is, how to touch it without being too much. His jaw hangs slack as she guides him on how to prod her slick labia apart, how to push further inside. He slips in deeper than either of them planned, judging by his grimaced, “Shit, sorr—!”

The apology halts when he sees her enjoyment.

“Crook your finger? Like a ‘come hither’—yes, just like that.” April groans and shifts her legs to give him more room to work. “Now move your wrist while you do that?”

Leo’s eyes are wide and his jaw’s slack with awe as he watches, gaze darting between her face and the motions of his hand. “Holy shit.” He passes the pad of his thumb over her clit, and it’s clumsy, but he’s got the right idea.

“Yeah, like that. That’s good, Leo.”

Leo warbles and presses his face into the crook of her shoulder. “Holy shit.” There’s a pause as he realizes he stopped moving his hand, and the wet sound that accompanies his readjustment has them both moaning. His hips jerk as a heretofore unannounced erection grinds slickly against her leg, voice breaking around a fervent “Fuck.”

Oh, this is rapidly getting out of hand, isn’t it?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” April murmurs, reaching up to pet his head, her fingers massaging his scalp. Maybe Leo finds her skin fascinatingly smooth, but there’s something satisfyingly tactile about the texture of his. “Take it easy. Easy, Leo, we’ve got plenty of time.”

His hand immediately goes limp against her thigh, fingers sticky and trembling. His breath is coming in rapid huffs. “I’m sorry. I can do this, I just need a second—”

“Take two, they’re small.” April wraps her arms around him in a comforting hug that he slumps right into, and she doesn’t let go until he’s breathing normally again, erection softened and shrinking against her thigh. Then she lifts his head so they can look each other in the eye. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“You didn’t.”

April shoots him a flat look.

Leo grimaces. “Okay, a little. But I was also into it? I—I want to be good at this. I can do this. I just… maybe a bit more lead in this time?”

She nods and uses her hold on his face to gently stroke his cheeks with her thumbs. “You got it—roll over, I’ve got an idea.”

She sets him up so that he’s laying back with pillows around his shell and neck to make things more comfortable, and then climbs up to straddle his hips. “This okay?”

He nods, curious and a little starry-eyed, but not upset. “What are you thinking?” he asks as his hands come up to brace her legs.

“Well.” April cups her own breasts and squeezes, smiles as his pupils get big. “I figured you could just chill and watch for a bit.”

Just like that, his gaze is glued to her hands. “I think I can manage that.”

April doesn't mind playing with herself. Honestly, she relishes the absolute attention she’s commanding. There’s no ego boost quite so potent as witnessing someone getting hard for you in real time, without having to touch them at all.

Of course, all of this just showcases his… unorthodox shape. (Actually, she’s had enough non-human partners to know better than to ask outright, but she’s not entirely sure where it… came from? His cock certainly wasn’t hanging between his legs when he first got naked.)

There’s no denying it’s presence now, though, so she’s rolling with it.

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but I had an ex with a dildo that looked exactly like that,” April says with a nod to his erection.

The sound that comes out of Leo is a cross between a surprised laugh and a groan of exasperation. “You did not.”

“I did so! Except it wasn’t green, it was, like, highlighter pink.”

Leo laughs despite himself. “Oh, okay, so your ex just happened to have a kink for mutant turtle dick, then?”

“If he did, he should have said so. We might’ve lasted longer.” April leans in until her lips are brushing Leo’s jaw. “Because you look good.”

She feels the shiver travel through him, can see the way he’s holding his chin a bit higher. Then he’s taking her hand and bringing it to his erection with a husky, “Show me what that fool’s missing out on.”

April was planning to anyway, but that remark gives her a whole new layer of motivation. Between her hand and her tongue, Leo’s soon a puddle of gasping breaths and hiccoughed moans, tail curling against his thigh.

With a jerky motion, he pushes her hand away. “Give-give me a mo’. I need a second.”

April sits back on her heels and gives him as much time as he needs. She’s charmed by the flush in his cheeks is blending into his slider markings, how someone without hair on their head or clothes on their body could still manage to look so wonderfully dishevelled.

When he’s come down enough to notice how she’s looking at him, Leo pauses. “What?”

“Nothing.” April leans in and pets the warmth of his cheek, lightly traces the markings under one eye. “Just thinking how pretty you look like this.”

Leo sputters. “What the—I don’t—how’m I supposed to—pretty?”

“Yes.” April braces her hands on his shoulders and swings her leg over his thighs again. The sound he makes when she slides his erection through the wet lips of her vulva truly defies description, but she very much enjoys it. “You’ve got a problem with being pretty?”

“If I did, would you stop what’s going on right now?”

“I dunno. Maybe,” she says with a playful grin, just to see what will happen. She rubs along the ridges of his length again, earning a choked breath. His hips twitch as he resists bucking into it.

Leo shakes his head, panting, eyes glued to what she’s doing. “Then no problems here.”

“Are you ready?” asks April, slowing the movements of her hand so he’s got some space to think. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go that far.”

His eyes flick up to meet hers. “Do it.”

It’s all he needs to say. April lowers herself onto him, watching his eyes glaze over and his head fall back. She smiles at the way his quaking hands grip her hips for stability.

“I’ve got you, Leo. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she murmurs, petting his cheeks and forehead. “So, so pretty.” She grunts when he’s all the way in, and then lets out a breath as she relaxes into the stretch. “Still good?”

He makes a noise that’s supposed to be a hum of affirmation, she thinks. “H-how’s it going over there?”

“You’re damn lucky I like being filled up.”

That gets him to crack an eye open. “Is that… not normal?”

“It’s nervy down there, you know? It’s too much for some people—but don’t worry,” she says as Leo does, indeed, start looking worried. “There are still plenty of people who’ll love your dildo dick.”

Another strangled gigglesnort. “Damn it, April, don’t make me laugh.” She rolls her hips, mostly as a form of wordless compensation, but it’s been a while since she’s had a partner with his proportions, and she wasn’t lying about enjoying a tight fit, so there are several moments where they just sort of groan and hold on to one another as she rides him.

“Oh, whatever, I don’t care,” Leo mutters. “Call it whatever you want.”

He still seems uncertain. She braces her hands on his thighs and leans back to get them both a new angle. “You feel so good,” she says as he moans. “Raise your hips a little? Yes, just like that.”

It takes a few more rounds of encouragement before Leo fully gives in to the moment, but when he does his usual confidence comes back full force. In a blink, April’s on her back again and he’s fully taken control, the hard edge of his shell digging into the leg he’s pulled around him. But, natural though he is, he’s still new to this, and building sexual stamina takes time. There are only a couple of satisfyingly deep thrusts before his movements get jerky.

“Are-are you—?” he pants.

“Later.” April rubs her palms down his chest and drags his hips closer at one particularly uncoordinated thrust. “Go ahead.”

That’s all he needs before he’s burying his face in the crook of her neck and quaking in her arms. April rubs his shell while he recovers, and when he’s steady enough to lever himself up on one elbow, she shows him how to finish her off with his fingers. Leo still remembers what to do from earlier, and he executes with a drowsy bravado that drags the orgasm out of her hard enough to make the muscles in her thighs spasm.

In the afterglow, they’re a tangle of sweaty, boneless limbs and smeared bodily fluids, cuddling companionably. At some point April feels a faint tickle against her leg as Leo’s dick withdraws into whatever ether or pocket dimension it normally inhabits, and while it’s a neat trick she’s still not totally sure how he’s doing it. Instead of thinking too hard about it she just lets out a breath and relaxes into his plastron, readjusting the leg she’s got between his thighs and dragging her fingers across the yellow markings on his arm. Leo, for his part, is curled around her with his cheek resting on the top of her head, idly caressing the curve of her waist with his thumb.

It’s comfy, but April calls it when things start feeling sticky. With a groan and a muttered explanation, she detangles herself and toddles into the bathroom to clean up, returning with a washcloth for Leo as well.

But Leo’s not sprawled out on the bed where she left him. Instead, he’s got his legs thrown over the side and his head in his hands.

A block of ice drops in April’s gut as her fight or flight response kicks in. Oh, no. No, this wasn’t supposed to ruin everything. She approaches, goes to put her free hand on his shell, but then thinks better of it. “Leo?”

His shoulders tremble, and he doesn’t look up.

Fuck everything. Oh, shit, how does she fix this?

“Um, listen—”

“I’m gay,” he gasps out hoarsely. “I’m gay, April—fuck, I’m gay. I’m gay.”

And April can’t help it. Her knees buckle, and she crumples to the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter.

Leo’s head snaps up. “April, this isn’t funny.”

“It is, though,” she wheezes, unable to stop. “It is, because I was just having a crisis thinking I’d completely lost you—but nope! Turns out I just made you gay instead!”

At first Leo only stares, expression hard. Then, when her mirth doesn’t let up, he cracks a smile and a couple reluctant chuckles sneak out. Soon they’re both laughing themselves to stitches, clutching onto one another as wave after wave of catharsis crashes over their heads. When they finally manage to catch their breath again—and April conquers a savage bout of hiccups—April’s limbs are heavy and she’s mopping the tears off her face with the washcloth she’d meant to give to Leo. She’s also still sitting on the floor atop their discarded clothes and slumped over his lap.

When Leo motions for it, she belatedly completes the passing of the washcloth. He scrubs at his face and gives her a nudge so he can get the dried semen off his thighs, tail, and plastron, hissing at the temperature.

“Just aim for the hamper,” April says with a sleepy flick of her finger. “I’ll deal with it later.”

The washcloth lands squarely on the lid, bringing with it a heavy silence. There are too many unspoken things in the air.

“So.” April curls her arm under her cheek and tilts her head to look up at his face from his lap. “Gay, huh?”

Leonardo lets out a hard breath as he brushes a wayward curl off her cheek. “Yeah, guess so. No offense.”

“None taken.” April O’Neil’s Halfway Home for Lost Souls strikes again. If she were any more efficient with getting people to figure out she’s the last thing they want, she’d be a fucking drive-thru. “But why ‘guess’? You sounded pretty certain earlier.”

“I was. I am. I don’t know. There are a lot of bees in my head, and I’m really not interested in fucking with them right now?”

“Valid.” She takes his hand and threads their fingers together, offers a comforting squeeze. Leo squeezes back with a tired but grateful smile—and, for a moment, that’s where things stay. They aren’t awkward or uncomfortable, nothing is broken.

Then Leo taps his thumb on the back of her hand. “So what was that about losing me?”

Just like that, April’s limbs are icy with raw panic, and her eyes are burning with unshed tears. She blinks, trying to force the waterworks away, but that only makes things worse. “Shit.” She sits up and knuckles her eyes with the hand he isn’t holding. “Shit, hold on, I can’t turn it off. Give me a sec. I don’t—don’t—”

She never finishes the thought, because that’s when she starts out and out bawling.

It’s not about Leo’s sexuality. She’s glad he’s figuring himself out, and she hopes these realizations bring him the peace he’s been searching for, once he’s adjusted to them. He’s her best friend and she loves him—she wants the best for him.

No, the problem is the dead certainty she’d felt seeing him with his face in his hands. In that moment, she’d been so sure she’d ruined everything between them, so convinced he’d leave her amidst the rubble of her stupid fucking choices. Because she won’t introduce her mom to her best friends. Because she’s a one-trick pony and people are getting sick of the show. Because everyone else she’s ever tried to love has decided she’s not worth keeping and moved on without her—why should Leo be the exception?

The realization chills April to her core. The most precious people in her life, the friends she’s had since she was ten years old, have no obligation to stick around. If she fucks up, they will leave her. Just like Karai, just like Sunita, just like every person she’s ever dated.

April doesn’t want to be left all alone. She won’t do that again, she can’t—if she lets that happen, it will utterly break her.

Honestly? In that split second, the fear itself was nearly enough.

April doesn’t know how long she sobs. All she knows is it ain’t a pretty picture. When she comes to, Leo’s on the floor with her. He’s pulled her between his legs and hugged her against his chest, petting her and churring like she’s a puppy he’s trying to soothe.

The poor guy’s already having an internal crisis, he doesn’t need this.

“I’m sorry,” April rambles when she’s got the lung capacity. Her entire body is flushed with shame and humiliation. She braces her palms against the leathery rigidity of his plastron and pushes. “I’m so sorry, Leo, I didn’t mean—”

“April, stop. Look at me—yeah, in the eye.”

For all that Leo’s being doing the leader thing since they were teenagers, and he isn’t exaggerating when he says he’s gotten good at it, April’s never been on the receiving end of his Leader Voice before. It is not demanding; demands carry a sharpness that borderlines on cruel. No, the foundation of Leonardo’s Leader Voice is certainty; he believes that you will cooperate with what he’s asking for, and he’s so unyielding in his belief that you can’t help but prove him right.

When April inevitably cooperates, Leo is searching. He takes in her expression, her puffy eyes and snotty nose, how her hands are still shaking with reaction—and then he softens. He grabs her cheeks and leans down to kiss her on the forehead. When he speaks, the cadence is unfamiliar.

“I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, biiitch.”

It takes April way too long to realize he’s quoting another ancient Vine, and then she groans so loud he cackles.

Chapter Text

When her mom calls, April knows more or less how the conversation’s going to go down. Her guts are already twisting with guilt, but she answers anyway.

“Hey, Mama,” she says, putting her phone on speaker while she chops vegetables. “Sorry if you hear any funny sounds, I’m cooking.”

“That’s fine—actually, speaking of cooking, I wanted to let you know that I just picked up all the ingredients to make your favorite lasagna for when you and Ferron come over on Friday. I went to the farmer’s market and everything, and I got some great deals on zucchini.”

Distantly, April thinks how much Mikey would enjoy talking to her mom about farmer’s markets and zucchini. She wishes that were the conversation they were having, instead.

“I’m sorry, Mom, I have some bad news… Ferron and I broke up a few days ago.”

“You—but I thought… Sunita was the last person you introduced me to. I thought this was a sign you wanted to keep this one.”

It’s true. Sunita only ever met April’s mother while in her cloaking broach, and of course they’d never mentioned she was yokai, but April had been serious enough about her that meeting Mom had felt like an inevitability.

She hasn’t introduced anyone to her mother since because nobody’s stuck around long enough. Ferron had been the only exception, right up until April found him rolling around with his roommate.

“I know. I’m sorry, Mom. This wasn’t what I planned on, either.”

And, okay, maybe April hadn’t been serious about Ferron like she’d been about Sunita. But they’d gotten along, had decent communication, pretty good sex, and had lasted three whole months. There were no glaring flaws that April could see, which had been good enough.

Her mother lets out a hard breath of resignation. “I know better than to ask what happened.”

April winces. She supposes she deserved that, after what happened with the Hamatos and graduation last year. After spending the last four years messing around with all these people without committing to anyone for longer than a few weeks.

She’s just trying to be the daughter her mother deserves. Why can she never get this right?

April’s work email is only one letter off from the editor-in-chief, Aaron O’Neil, which is not ideal. There was that time HR sent her benefits paperwork to Aaron and then didn’t realize the error until April followed up two weeks later, looking for the information. Her coworkers will also mistakenly send her emails looking for article clearance or asking questions about stories she’s not supposed to know are in the works, which is always a bit of a nightmare. She’s had to sign at least three incidental NDAs so far.

Apparently it’s too late to give her a more distinctive email, so April’s just gotten good at figuring out what in her inbox is actually meant for her by title alone and forwarding it on. She’s pretty sure Aaron just deletes the stuff that’s meant for her, because it almost never goes the other way around.

This email she just got, though. This one’s different.

The title of the email is MANUSCRIPT FOR REVIEW and it’s from Matthias Matterson.

Aaron,

I know this is under the wire, but the damn computer kept flubbing the prompts. I’ve already sent the folks at Cre-AI-tivity a complaint, should hopefully hear back in the next day or so. If they don’t, they’re going to get a nastier complaint in their inbox every day until they fix my damn problem.

I don’t see what you get out of it, but I’m attaching the raw and cleaned up versions, per your request (see? I’m polite in email. I don’t know what HR goes on about).

Matthias Matterson

April’s shocked. Is this for real?

She checks over her shoulder. Nobody’s passing by her cubicle. Then she opens up an incognito window and looks up Cre-AI-tivity.

Yup, that’s a real ass generative AI. It’s specifically designed to throw together essays and articles based on one-sentence prompts.

She checks over her shoulder again. Still nobody coming.

Back to Matterson’s email. She checks the attachments for viruses (there are none) and opens the raw inputs and holds the document side by side with the AI window, then copy/pastes the first of the prompts into the search bar.

The results are not identical to what she sees in the document, but they are damn close. Both versions are also drenched in what April’s come to think of as Matterson’s smarmy, self-entitled voice.

She opens the cleaned-up version of the file—and there it is. He’s played with the grammar here and there, maybe swapped a few synonyms around, but there is no mistaking what he used for the source material.

Holy shit. Holy shit, critically acclaimed writer and journalist Matthias Matterson uses AI to generate his work.

April quickly saves the results of the search and runs through the rest until she bumps against the free-daily limit on the website. Then she renames all three documents, password protects them, and zips them into an encrypted folder with a second layer of password protection. She sends the file to her personal and backup emails under two false subject lines, then proceeds to wipe all evidence that she saw this from her work computer. Delete the email from inbox, delete the copy in her sent box, then empty the trash can. Delete any copies of the file and clear out the recycle bin, clear out cached data. April’s best friend’s a tech genius, she knows a thing or two about covering her tracks.

Oh, shit, Donnie. He’s gonna flip when he hears about this!

…Well, okay. On a personal level Donatello’s ambivalent about Matthias Matterson, at best, but he’s been helping her shit on the guy for years now, and this is some piping hot tea. He’s the only one who fully understands just how much April hates Matterson; he’s going to get why this is such a big deal.

Waiting for the end of the workday is actual torture, but as soon as the clock says 5 PM April’s out of the office faster than you can say “Matthias Matterson has no journalistic integrity.”

It’s a very tense ride on the subway, filled with impatient knee bouncing and fidgeting. She keeps checking to make sure the emails she sent herself are still there, as if Matterson could take this data away from her now. By the time she blows into the lair, there’s basically a dramatic wind sweeping in behind her.

She finds Splinter snoring on his favorite armchair in front of some soap operas while Raph, Casey, Leo, Mikey, and Casey are all engrossed in a very intense looking game of Risk.

“And with that, I smite you!” Casey jeers as she knocks an orange token off the board and clear across the room. “Begone from my realm, peasant!”

“That was my last stronghold!” yelps Mikey, clutching at his mask. “Why would you do that? I thought we were friends!”

“Whoa, hey, where’s the fire?” says Leo, jumping to his feet in alarm.

April waves him off. “Not now, Leo, the tea is way too hot and it has to be poured. Dee must be in his lab?”

“Yeah, but maybe not—” Raph starts at the same time Leo says, “April, this is really not a good—”

“Commander, no!”

They’ll understand when she explains later. For now, April practically skips to Donnie’s lab. As soon as the doors hiss open, she’s announcing, “Dee, I got Matterson dead to rights, you will never believe—oh.”

So, uh. Turns out Donatello’s got a special friend over and they’re making out on the worktable—or, they were, but now they’re both frozen in place and staring at her.

It’s not that bad, actually. Everyone’s fully clothed, and the lab’s mostly in order. If ever there was a best-worst time to barge in, this is probably it. She saw way more skin last month on The Night That Will Never Be Spoken Of Again Until the Day She Dies™ when she walked in on Ferron cheating on her with his roommate.

Despite that, April experiences a bone-deep mortification that has her entire body going cold. She knew, in the abstract, that bringing people over was something Donnie did these days; over the last year and change she’s witnessed several comings and goings. Sometimes they’re human, other times they’re yokai, or mutants, and there’s no real preference for gender identity or expression. Sometimes it’s the same person on a regular basis, and sometimes there are no repeats for weeks. April doesn’t know much more than that. Donnie’s not volunteering any information, and—for all her limitless curiosity—this is the one subject where April hasn’t felt right asking for details. It’s his private life; who is she to pry?

All of which is to say, abstract knowledge that one of her best friends is branching out sexually is not the same as busting in on it.

She needs to remember to start knocking.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. Um, I’m gonna go now, you folks have—”

“You got dirt on Matterson?” asks Donnie suddenly.

April can’t help noticing the annoyed look his partner is giving him. Oh, this is so not a good time for him to get distracted by her nonsense.

“I did, and it’s good, but now’s clearly not the best time, and I respect that, so—”

“Yeah, your timing’s literally the worst.” He is remarkably blasé for someone who’s just been walked in on. Only Donatello. “But I want to know what you found out. Text me; we’ll hang out later.”

“Sure. I’m leaving now.”

“Much appreciated.”

April’s face nearly bursts into flames as the lab doors hiss shut behind her. She doesn’t want to be anywhere close to where the action’s happening, and the dirt about Matterson suddenly doesn’t seem so important anymore, so she just kind of… walks back to where everyone else is around the game board, watching expectantly for her reaction.

“You didn’t see anything, did you?” Mikey asks in a low, hushed voice.

“Raph tried to warn you.”

“Commander, you look awful. Do you need to sit down?”

Leo has his arm propped on Mikey’s shoulder and his chin in his hand. He’s smirking at her. “So, what did we learn?” he singsongs.

April shoots him a flat look. Oh, he is taking far too much joy out of this. “That I need to listen to Raph more.”

Raph cackles triumphantly and Mikey snickers at the noise of offense Leo’s just made.

“See, Leo, what did I tell you?” says Raph. “I have the best ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are we all losing to Casey in this game, Mr. Ideas Guy?”

“That’s easy: because it’s better to let her win than deal with her being a sore loser,” says Raph cheerfully.

Casey immediately rounds on him. “You’re forfeiting this game?”

“I could be. You don’t know?”

Casey’s expression is so intense it wraps back around to being inscrutable. She promptly flips the board, sending pieces skittering everywhere. “Potentially dishonorable victory is no victory at all!”

So, no. She’s got no idea.

“Aw,” says Mikey with disappointment. “I had plans to make a comeback, too.”

In any other circumstance, April would have sent a follow-up text Donnie’s way almost immediately, but she’s still got so much lingering embarrassment from walking in on him that she can’t bring herself to do it for nearly twenty-four hours.

Stranger still, he also doesn’t reach out. April hasn’t checked, but she’s pretty sure it’s the longest they’ve gone without texting in years.

A mission must have come up. That happens sometimes. Sure, someone normally warns her if the group’s going to be MIA for whatever reason, and everyone else from said group is still communicating with her like normal, but hey, shit happens. People get busy.

There’s also the fact that, once she does reach out, Donnie’s texting right back, but. Well. It could’ve been a solo twenty-four-hour mission or something. Yeah.

He doesn’t say, she doesn’t ask, they move on.

April brings her personal laptop to the lair because that’s where the Matterson files are. Her laptop has also been retrofitted with Donnie Tech to have a scary amount of processing power for its size, so there’s no need to go to his lab to process the information.

“It’s better if you read for yourself. I don’t want to influence you with my bias,” April says. They’re on the couch and she’s sitting sideways with her legs criss-crossed while he slouches against the backrest with the laptop balanced on his thighs.

“Except for announcing you had him ‘dead to rights’ on the outset,” Donnie mutters as he scrolls through the first of the files.

He remembers that? “I was editorializing, it doesn’t count.”

“I thought that was the whole point of editorializing: to influence opinion.”

“Okay, you got me. I’m trying to keep myself calm and not blow this up into something bigger than it is—but Dee, I’m pretty sure this is huge.”

“Noted. Give me a minute, I’m almost done with the first doc.”

“What’s huge?” asks Mikey as he bounces over the back of the couch and alights next to Donnie on the cushions. He props his chin on his brother’s be-goggled head and leans in to look at the files. “This looks like three copies of the same thing. Is that it? Is this a scoop for work?”

“Maybe,” says April. “But if I’m right, it’ll take out the biggest journalist at our publication.”

“Ooh, that Matthias guy you hate?”

“If this is as big as I think it is, yes.”

As if summoned by the ethereal forces of comedy and potential innuendo, Leo appears with a grin. “What’s as big as you think it is?” He cranes over Mikey’s shoulder, but his expression of gleeful anticipation quickly waxes into disinterest. “This is nothing to me. What am I looking at?”

“I may have just gotten the scoop of a lifetime on Matthias Matterson, but I wanted Dee to check it out and let me know if I’m blowing things out of proportion.”

“What’s outta proportion?” Aaand there’s Raph, right on cue. He’s peeking over Leo’s head, while Leo cranes over Mikey’s shoulder, while Mikey keeps his chin propped on Donnie’s goggles, all four of them reading the screen of her laptop.

April takes a breath. “I think I got the drop on the big jerkwad at my work, but I’m too close to the situation, so now Dee’s checking my work.”

“Oh, you hate that guy. This is great!” Raph pauses. “Maybe. If it’s big enough.”

“And this is everything you’ve found?” asks Donnie without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not enough.” He sits up and snaps the laptop shut, disrupting the daisy chain of snooping brothers behind him, all of whom start complaining they’d still been reading. He ignores them and passes the laptop back to April.

She tries to hide the slight sense of betrayal as she accepts the computer. “But you saw the email?”

“What email? Raph didn’t get to the email.”

“It was basically a confession from the guy,” Mikey divulges in a stage-whisper. “Real buahaha and petting a fluffy white cat type stuff.”

“Whoa—and we still need more than that?”

“I read everything, April, and I’m telling you: it’s not enough,” says Donatello.

“How? Explain that, please.” April waves the computer around. “What am I missing? I’ve got written confession, I’ve got independent proof, I’ve got the raw originals—”

“I know what you have.”

Leo folds his arm on his brother’s shoulder and leans down. “Dontron, we’re all in suspense and you’re being really cryptic. Maybe speed up the explanation a bit?”

It’s half friendly suggestion and half Leader Voice. Donnie seems to realize that too, if the way his eyes flick to the arm on his shoulder means anything.

“Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good start,” he says, shrugging Leo off and gesturing to the laptop. “What I’m saying is, if you want to take this guy down, you need ten files like this. He’s the golden goose at your publication—if you want them to listen to you when you bring this forward, then your case needs to be airtight and overwhelming, otherwise they’re going to fire you and sweep this under the rug.”

“I could go somewhere else, then. Like you said, he’s the golden goose. Who wouldn’t want a story on him?”

Donnie shakes his head. He’s opened his bracer computer and started tapping around. “Math doesn’t check out on that. Statistically, even if you went elsewhere, you’re still more likely to get swept into obscurity first. It wouldn’t be a large enough impact on his career—a speed bump, if you will.”

“So this can’t just be a smear piece, this has to be total annihilation,” says Leo.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this entire time, ‘Nardo. Thanks for the translation.”

April chews on her lip. She doesn’t like what she’s hearing, but she knows better than to question Donnie’s calculations of these types of things. It sounds like a misfire could destroy her entire burgeoning career; she’s not taking that warning lightly. “Okay, so I’ll keep researching. Maybe I’ll get lucky and another one of these emails will fall into my lap.”

Now that a plan of action’s been made, Mikey, Raph, and Leo all wander into the kitchen. April hears them clanking around and talking to one another about epic snackage.

Donnie’s still tapping into his bracer. “I’ll put some feelers out as well, see what I can dig up.”

“No, hold up. I don’t want this to be like the solar system project in junior year, Dee. This is my thing; I want to do the work for it.”

“I’m not trying to take over.” It isn’t until he’s looking directly at her that April notices this is the first time he’s done so since she got here, well over an hour ago. “The fact of the matter is I have resources you don’t, and vice versa. This is the most efficient way to move forward.”

There’s a tense moment as they just look at each other. Finally, April straightens her shoulders and speaks plainly. “I’m happy for the help if you want to work with me to get the shot lined up, but I need to be the one to pull the trigger on this son of a bitch. Can you promise you’ll let me have that?”

Donatello smiles like that’s precisely what he’d been hoping to hear. “For you, anything.”

Her chest tightens. She’s so lucky to have a friend like him. “Good. Thank you, Dee. I really do appreciate the help.”

They both nearly jump out of their skins at the commotion that breaks out in the kitchen. When she turns to look, April sees Raph holding onto Mikey’s shell while Leo leans on the hinge of his plastron, effectively shutting him inside. They’re both flashing identical wide grins like they’re hiding something.

“Uh, what just happened?” asks Donnie.

“Oh, nothing much,” says Leo hastily. “We were just discussing if there was anything we could do to help with the whole jerk in the newspaper situation, and we realized you’ve both got it covered!”

“Yeah, I don’t see anythin’ we can contribute right now,” says Raph.

There’s a muffled sound from inside Mikey’s shell, but his carapace is too thick for anyone to parse it.

“Is Mikey okay?” asks April.

“Oh yeah, he just—saw a spider! It was a big one,” says Raph. He seems to be sweating, though April doesn’t think holding Mikey up is physically taxing. “Real yucky.”

“And we were just about to get him away from the spider,” Leo adds. There is some movement from within Mikey’s shell, and Leo leans more of his bulk onto the plastron hinge. “No, Mikhail, don’t come out yet! I can still see it!”

“I don’t see a spider,” says Donnie.

“Well, that’s because you’re on the couch and not standing right here, obviously, silly-billy. Okay, Raph-a-mundo, let’s get Mikey out of here!”

April and Donnie watch, utterly baffled, as they cart Mikey out of the room.

“Is it because I said ‘son of a bitch’? I thought Mikey said he was cool with swearing these days.”

“Who knows, with those three,” Donnie mutters. He’s gone back to inputting commands into his bracer. “I’ve learned to stop asking questions.”

April and Cerise have been friends since their second year of university when Cerise crawled under a porch at a house party where they all got locked out and came out with a dead raccoon. The woman is just the tiniest bit unhinged, and April respects that.

In the intervening years they’ve supported each other through thick and thin. Breakups and exams, yes, but also two separate pregnancy scares and the death of a grandparent, that one month and a half earlier this year the Hamatos had gone dark on a harrowing mission in South America and April had worried herself sick. They and a couple of other friends went to the Poconos on spring break together last year, just before graduation.

Maybe April hasn’t known Cerise for most of her life and saved the world with her, as she has with the Hamatos, but April considers her a close friend all the same. They don’t hang out as often as they used to while in school, but Cerise’s office is close to April’s and they get lunch together sometimes.

“I don’t think it’s too avant garde to want to write articles on things that matter,” April’s saying over her reuben and potato wedges. She slaps her hand on the tabletop. “You don’t need a degree to scroll through yelp reviews and compile top ten lists for things around the city, any monkey can do that!”

“Yes, but you’re the monkey that’s making a solid salary doing that in an era where journalism’s on the decline,” Cerise says, as if she needs reminding. She gestures with a forkful of romaine lettuce and caesar dressing. “I still think it’ll be worth it if you work the system and stick with it a few more years, April. Everyone in journalism starts small.”

“This isn’t even small, this is—I don’t know, subatomic. It’s driving me crazy! There are actual things worth writing about right now, and I’m not doing it.”

“You’re brilliant, you’ll get there.” Cerise stabs at a sliver of grilled chicken, and April sees the change of subject coming in the way she leans on the knuckles of her other hand. “Okay, on a totally different note, I heard rumors that you were at that yokai club, Undersea Castle.”

It takes April a moment to realize Cerise is referring to Seahorse Hill, and then she becomes extremely grateful for her dark skin as heat rises in her cheeks. “Who did you hear that from?”

“Oh no, a lady never reveals her sources—now spill: since when were you into getting freaky with the monsters under the bed? Well,” Cerise considers, chewing on her chicken. “Maybe it’s more accurate to say monsters in the bed. Either way, since when were you such a kinky bitch, April?”

Cerise thinks she’s doing some lighthearted teasing. She’s clearly expecting April to say she was supporting an experimental friend, or because she was driven to by her infamously insatiable curiosity. She doesn’t know about April’s previous yokai lovers, doesn’t know that April’s best friends are mutants.

And the reason Cerise doesn’t know is because she always makes these shitty fucking comments about them being monsters instead of people.

Cerise’s been a good friend to April, and they’ve supported each other through thick and thin these last few years. That’s the worst part, knowing she’s not a bad person underneath. April doesn’t know how to call out bigoted behavior without setting fire to the bridge.

She also doesn’t know how to bring her full self around someone she knows won’t accept her. Maybe, if she did, Cerise would learn how hurtful her comments are. Or maybe she’d dump April as a friend, get the rest of their small group to follow suit, and make even more hurtful comments about her behind her back, just like high school.

April’s selfish. The next time her best and oldest friends are gone for a month and a half on a covert mission, she still wants to have people to hang out with. Maybe Cerise isn’t perfect, but who is? Maintaining an imperfect friendship is better than not having any at all. April would know.

(And, if her oldest friends leave her because she’s an asshole who’s terrified of social conflict, she’s got a fallback. It’d be a lie to say she hasn’t thought of that, too.)

So here April is again, faced with the choice of burning the bridge or swallowing back the foul taste in her mouth to keep the peace and keep herself from ending up alone.

“Well?” says Cerise. She still thinks they’re on the same page, still thinks this is all a joke. “What do you have to say for your freaky self?”

April swallows, and she hates herself. “I say it sounds like I’ve got a twin, because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Getting ahold of Mikey is the easy part. He’s always got his phone on him, and he’s always got time for a text or meme. No, these days the hard part is wriggling actual hangout time into his schedule.

“So you’re taking psych classes online, and you’re getting mystic power lessons from Draxum,” says April from her perch on one of the chairs at the kitchen island in the lair. She’s ticking the activities off on her fingers as she says them. “You also teach community art to elderly yokai down in Hidden City—”

“I’ve got a youth class, too! Just started last week.”

“And now there’s a youth class, so you’re doing the whole spectrum. Then there’s this whole operation.” She nods to what he’s doing right now, which is recording himself cooking pan-seared chicken with twice-baked cheesy potato bites and balsamic glazed mushrooms. Technically it’s also dinner for everyone, but when all that’s said and done Mikey edits the footage down to 30 seconds, throws some captions and happy music on top, and lets the videos go viral on Clik Clok, so he’s still hustling. “Am I forgetting something?”

Mikey hums as he does that cool chef-flick with his wrist and flips all the mushrooms around in the pan without needing a utensil. Steam curls up through the camera rig that’s peering down at the stove top. “Oh! Casey and I also have our plot at the community garden. I’m hoping to finally grow some radishes this season.”

“How do you keep track of it all? Asking for a friend who keeps buying those pocket planners and then forgetting about them the third week of January, and who is definitely not me.” (It definitely is her.)

“I don’t! I’ve got about a hundred different alarms programmed into my phone, though, and they keep me mostly on track.”

‘Mostly’ being the operative word, April suspects. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it, though.

“Actually, I got the idea to try all this stuff by watching you.” He opens the oven door to check how the potatoes are doing on their second trip through. Not good enough, apparently, because he closes it back up.

“You did?”

“Yeah—well, sort of. You’re doing it in the people sense, trying out all these partners and stuff. But the principle’s the same. You chase what’s interesting and see what happens.” He flips the mushrooms again. “When I did that, I noticed there were some things I just kept coming back to, and that’s how I knew I really liked them.”

“Huh.” April takes a moment to chew on that idea. If she’s being honest, the only thing she’s questioned about the last few years of serial monogamy has been why she’s so bad at it, not why she can’t seem to stand being single more than a couple of weeks at a time.

Maybe… maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe that’s something she needs to work on.

“Anyway, I think I’m figuring it out now. Hard to feel like it’s too much if you enjoy everything you’re up to, right?” If Mikey thinks anything of how quiet she’s gotten, then it doesn’t show. To be fair, he’s also dragged his camera setup over to the chicken as he pulls it off the heat and sets it on a wooden cutting board to rest. It’s a very Aesthetic shot. April remembers being skeptical of the kitchen reno that happened about two years ago—because, frankly, the bright quaker cabinets and bougie quartz countertops are a bit out of place in an abandoned subway station—but Michelangelo’s vision pays off every time he puts up one of those viral videos.

“What’s that old saying?” April clears her throat and does her best Splinter voice; “‘If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.’”

She grins when Mikey giggles. “I know, I know, but it’s kinda true.”

April waits until his back is turned and then stretches across the island to sample one of the mushrooms from the pan. Unfortunately, Mikey’s still a ninja under all those extracurriculars, so he whirls back around and whaps her knuckles with a wooden spoon before she can succeed. “No touching! One of the ingredients in the sauce is toxic until it’s fully cooked through.”

April plops back down with stinging knuckles and an alarmed, “Girl, what? I thought it was just balsamic!”

“It’s mostly balsamic. But that’s the twist in this video.” With a bright grin, Mikey holds up a spooky looking bottle. There are little skulls on the label and everything. “They use it in Hidden City all the time, and it’s amazing, like the best umami you’ve ever had. You’ve just got to cook off all the poison first.”

Okay, so April knows Mikey likes to use buckwild ingredients—that’s why his videos keep going viral, aside from general production value and the added visual interest of the cook being a green guy with hands and arms covered with an intricate lattice of shiny stretchmarks. But he’s cooking with poison now?

“Are you sure eating this isn’t going to kill me?”

“Yes! But only if you wait ‘til it’s ready.” He moves the camera over to the mushrooms again and gives them an experimental stir with his wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re ready!”

“How can you tell?” asks April, rubbing at her knuckles reproachfully.

“The glaze is just right.”

April waits, but he does not elaborate. “If you say so—can I help with anything?”

“No, you just keep sitting there and keeping me company.” After doing a couple of takes pulling the mushrooms off the burner, Mikey grabs a stack of plates and lays them out, making a point to keep one slightly off to the side, though he doesn’t mention why.

The oven beeps, which means it’s time to film The Reveal of the potatoes, golden brown and sizzling on the slightly singed parchment paper. April watches as Mikey lovingly plates the meal together under the watchful glow of a ring light.

“That looks amazing, Mike.”

“I know, I’m so hungry!” He takes a couple more glamor shots of the finished product, checks the footage, then types something into his phone.

‘Come get ya food!!!’ appears in the big group chat. Everyone else is out and about, so it’s going to take some time before they make their way back to the lair.

“We don’t have to wait for everyone else to get here, right?” asks April.

“You can, if you want, but I didn’t make all this just to wait for it to get cold.”

“Good, because I was gonna—Mikey, what the hell are you doing? You just told me that was poison!”

It isn’t until April’s literally hanging off her not-so-little brother’s arm, the toes of her leather work shoes brushing the tile floor, that she realizes Mikey might have uncapped the bottle of Hidden City umami-toxin and pretended to take a swig just to get a reaction out of her.

Then he snickers like the chaos gremlin he is, and she knows that’s exactly what he was doing. “Aww, you’re like a cute little monkey, just hanging out like this!” he says, raising the arm she’s clinging to so they’re snout to nose. His grin is one of teasing and delight. “Unless you got jealous and wanted to try? Here, you can have a sip!”

“Frig off with that!” April pushes at his thigh with both feet so she can swing outwards and drop to the floor with a thud—only to find the bottle playfully shoved under her nose again.

“Oh, come on, a little one will only be a few days of horrible stomach cramps! It’s not that bad.”

“Mikey, no, shoo! I thought you wanted to eat while everything’s still hot.”

He immediately forgets about teasing her with the umami potion and whirls around. “That’s right, I was plating! I can’t believe you just distracted me like that, April. So unprofessional.”

“Yeah, I guess I just have one of those faces that people like to poison,” says April with a fond roll of her eyes. She watches as Mikey makes quick work of dishing the food out. “Hold up, that plate on the side’s for Donnie, right? He hates mushrooms, so he won’t eat them or anything they touch.”

“Oh, you are so right—” Mikey catches himself and abruptly changes trains of thought. “You know, April,” he says conversationally, divvying what would have been Donnie’s portion of the mushrooms up amongst all the other plates. “With the way you’re always looking out for my brother, it’s almost as if you’re—”

He’s interrupted as Casey skids into the room wearing clunky work boots and smelling like wet dog. “Are there still leftovers? Please tell me there are, I left the puppy rescue as soon as I got your text.”

“Nobody’s had a chance to dig in, dude, you’re still good,” says April. “How was work?”

That’s when she notices the stare down happening between uncle and nephew. Casey’s got Mikey pinned with an intensely quelling look, but Mikey’s defiant and exasperated.

“Uh, y’all fighting?”

Mikey starts to say something, but Casey gets there first. “No, Commander, just having a disagreement. Work was good. It was nail trimming day, but one of the rides broke down, so I missed the worst of it while doing repairs. I know Todd had to lay down the law with some of the puppies, though—I didn’t catch the reason why, but I saw the dust cloud.”

Casey’s settled into life as a handyman and mechanic an these days. His time in the apocalypse left him thrifty and capable of salvaging things that most folks in the twenty-twenties would consider broken beyond repair. He’s not good at building things from the ground up, but he’s remarkable at keeping them running. In a place as big as Manhattan, there’s never any shortage of people who could use the help; Casey’s as busy as he wants to be.

As for the puppies and the community garden plot he and Mikey work on—well, April’s pretty sure those are passion projects. She can’t blame him. Who doesn’t love gardens and puppies?

Even Mikey’s distracted by ‘dust cloud.’ “Did Todd go all super saiyan?” he asks as he grabs a seat at the island and pops one of the potato bites into his beak.

“Nah, wasn’t that bad.”

“I’ve only heard about Todd’s super saiyan mode. It sounds epic.” April crosses her feet at the ankles and leans against the island. She’s a little hesitant to try the mushrooms after learning what’s gone into them, but she loves mushrooms, so she does it anyway—and wow, she can see why Hidden City’s been taking the risk with that umami sauce. “What the hell, Mikey, this is incredible!”

“I told you.” He develops a mischievous grin and leans over to waggle the bottle at her again. “You sure you don’t want to risk it?”

“Are those skulls?”

“No, I am not going to eat poison for funsies!”

A distant hissing sound and a car alarm beepbeep telegraph Donnie’s arrival from the depths of his lab. “We’re eating poison for funsies again?”

“No,” says Mikey. “It’s all cooked off.”

“There are several foods that require proper preparation in order to be non-toxic. Kidney beans, for example.” Donnie takes in the plates spread over the island critically, searching for offending substances. He immediately accepts the mushroom-less one when April passes it his way, adding, “Also chicken, pork, eggs, some nightshades, several root vegetables, and more. It’s incredibly common.”

Casey’s grabbed the sauce from Mikey and is squinting at the ingredients and warnings on the label. “Take it from someone who got real chummy with the line between edible and inedible: this is not the same.”

“In your case, cooking wouldn’t have saved it,” April tells Donnie. “Mikey would’ve covered your plate in mushrooms if I hadn’t stopped him.”

Donnie shudders at the thought and peers at her plate like it’s become a petri dish. “It looks fine, but there’s no saving the texture—did you take my share?”

“We split it, but same-same, still more for me.” April fist-bumps with him, grinning. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Donatello grins right back. It’s just like their system at Señor Hueso’s: everyone wins. “Happy to be of service.”

April looks over when she hears the loud clink of silverware and exasperated groan. Mikey’s got his face in his hands, and Casey’s looking at the ceiling like he’s hoping for either supplication or a cave-in.

“Case, I need you to kick me in the shins,” Mikey says into his hands. His voice is strained. “I forgot the secret ingredient.”

Oh, no wonder—April’s been hanging out with him for the last hour, and she hasn’t heard mention of a secret ingredient at all.

Casey does not hesitate to oblige. “Stop forgetting.”

“Aw, that’s okay, Mikey. This still tastes great,” says April supportively. “I’m sure you’ll remember next time.”

“What was the secret ingredient?” asks Donnie nosily. “What makes it so secret?”

Mikey just lets out another groan and thunks his head against the countertop.

Chapter Text

They’re both living pretty different lives these days, but April and Sunita have kept in touch since their reconciliation three years ago. Sunita’s living with her partner over in SoHo and working as a chemist at a pharmaceutical company. She invites April over for what they’ve dubbed “bitch tea”, which is where they drink boozy cocktails and catch up on everything that’s been going on in the months since they last hung out. When she arrives, April takes in the trendy décor and custom framed photos on the walls and notes that things seem to be going well for Sunita.

As soon as they’ve settled in with their long island iced teas, Sunita lets out a squeal of excitement and shows April her left hand. “Look who finally proposed!”

Correction: things seem to be going really well.

“Hey, I heard that!” Sunita’s partner calls teasingly from the other room, where they’re doing something that involves a 3D printer and to-scale architectural models. Sunita had rattled it off earlier, but it went right over April’s head.

“Show me the lie!” Sunita calls back. She’s got this giddy smile on her face like she’s barely containing herself—which, considering her family’s penchant for getting googly schmootz on everything in moments of high emotion, may be more than a simple expression.

“This must be recent,” April surmises.

“No word of a lie, they did it last night. I am absolutely a’twitter—I’m already planning things, I can’t help it. We want it to be a spring wedding, so that’ll be next year or the year after, depending on when the venue’s available, because of course we’ve already got it picked out and it’s a hip-happening popular spot. Oh, and of course you’re invited with a plus-one—”

“Oh. Uh, actually, I’m…” April rubs the back of her neck then spreads out her hands. “Taking a break from dating for a while.” Sunita’s goopy eyebrows shoot up her neon forehead. “I know, it’s weird for me too. I can’t remember the last time I was properly single, but that’s kind of the point, I think. I don’t really know how to be alone? It was starting to feel unhealthy.”

April doesn’t mention how it’s going, which is badly. Maybe none of her relationships had been good fits, but while they’d lasted they’d given April a place to call home. A halfway house without any occupants is just an abandoned building.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

April offers a rueful smile. “Seems like updates about my love life always end up surprising you, Sunita.”

“You’re a surprising person, April O’Neil,” Sunita agrees with a strange little smile of her own. “But, lucky for you, friends also count as valid plus-ones. Think one of the Hamatos would keep you company?”

April snorts. “I think you’ve underestimated how much the guys love to party. You invite one, and the others will probably crash the scene just to see what they’re missing out on. Unless that’s the kind of excitement you’re hoping for on your wedding day?”

Sunita’s reply is inadvertently cut off by her fiancé hollering, “Googly-bear, did you tell her we’re doing plus-ones so she can bring that guy?”

“What guy?” asks April suspiciously.

Sunita’s face falls into her partially translucent hand with a noise of exasperation. “Yes, honey, I was just about to tell her she can bring all four.”

“All four—damn, April, I respect the hustle!”

“Don’t,” says Sunita when April opens her mouth to correct the record. Her face is still in her hand. “Trust me, you’ll only make it worse. I know what you mean, and I can explain it to them later.”

“Please do,” says April, still perturbed by the implication. She takes a drink of her boozy iced tea to fortify herself. “Because I don’t even know how they got to that—what, did I dribble?” Sunita’s studying her through her plasmatic fingers, so April checks the front of her blouse. She can’t see any liquid stains.

Sunita shakes her head as her hand falls back to her lap; her incredulous expression clears with the motion. “I thought I saw something, but I guess not. Anyway, so that’s our excitement. How’s the life of a journalist treating you?”

April doesn’t know what Donnie will be revealing, all she knows is he’s being supremely extra about it. Like, raised platform with a shimmery purple curtain and full-ass stage light rigging in the middle of the lair kind of extra.

“Wow,” she says, impressed, as she joins his brothers, Casey, and Splints at the foot of the stage. “Looks like an award show up in here.”

“Any guesses?” asks Leo.

“Not a clue.” Raph shakes his head.

“Donnie’s revealing a new invention, obviously!”

“Yes, Orange, but what kind of invention?” says Splints.

Mikey pauses. “Yeah, I have no idea. Is there anything we need?”

They all jump out of their skins when Donnie’s voice booms through surround-sound speakers April didn’t know the lair had. “Only things you didn’t realize you needed! Gentlemen, April, I must confess that I have been keeping a secret from you all these last several months, which is that the Shell Hogs are complete and utter garbage.”

A hole opens up in the floor of the stage, and one of the Shell Hogs is slowly raised up on a rotating hydraulic platform. Donnie, decked out in a flashy, patterned suit that would make any game show host proud, strikes a pose and maintains it until he and the Shell Hog rotate to a stop. “Look at this! Horrible, ugly, not nearly enough horsepower or hidden armaments!”

“Donald, what are you talking about? The Shell Hogs are fine,” says Leo.

“Oh, Raph sees where this is goin’.”

“Really?” says April. “Because I don’t.”

Donnie scoffs at Leo as he steps away from the Shell Hog, hitting a button on a remote April hadn’t noticed a second ago. The Shell Hog is abruptly enclosed in a thick, transparent capsule and disassembled by an army of tiny robots. What’s left behind are the aesthetic pieces, and those are summarily incinerated.

“Nay, do not weep for this hunk of junk!” says Donnie as outcries bubble up amongst the group. The capsule opens up, and a little vacuuming robot scuttles in to take care of the ashes leftover from the incineration process (Mikey, standing next to April, cups his cheeks and does a little “Aw, it’s cute!”).

With another click of the remote, the stage lighting gets more dynamic and narrows down to the seam of the curtain. Donnie sweeps his hand, and the curtains part to reveal two glorious looking motorcycles, all gleaming chrome, with long stripes of LED detailing and a coat of metallic purple paint. “Behold, the only creation that could compete with the Turtle Tank for the title of magnum opus, the Amphibious Axe-shell-erator Battle-Cycle 4500! These babies are equipped with unparalleled stealth capabilities—” another click, and the bikes seem to disappear “—lasers, electro-shock, and defensive spikes—” the bikes are back in view and displaying an intimidating variety of offensive equipment “—water-traversing capabilities—” the weapons disappear and the bikes suddenly look a lot like boats “—improved cargo, including emergency med kits—” now back to their standard configuration, two large side-saddle compartments pop open on each bike “—and, of course, superior comfort and aesthetics.”

April’s gotta say, these certainly look like an upgrade from the Shell Hogs.

Even Splinter’s gobsmacked. “Purple, these are magnificent!”

“Okay, I stand corrected,” says Leo, looking at the new cycles in awe. “The Shell Hogs are total garbage.”

“Yes, and they shall be decommissioned immediately,” Donnie declares. “The Amphibious—”

“T-cycles.” Everyone looks to Casey, whose got big eyes and an expression creased with overlapping memories. Without waiting to be invited, he hops onto the stage and reaches out to touch the handles like a man extending his hand to make contact with a long-forgotten god. “I remember these.”

“Hold the phone, muchacho—you remember these?”

“Whoa, unexpected timeline convergence!” says Mikey excitedly.

“Looks like future-Donnie didn’t like the Shell Hogs neither,” Raph remarks. He’s got a lopsided grin and his arms looped together as he watches his nephew admiring the cycles up close.

“He didn’t call them T-cycles, though, did he?” asks Donnie, aghast.

“No, no, he had some long name for them too, I don’t remember what it was.” Casey’s petting the finish on the bikes like he still can’t believe they’re real. “We all called them T-cycles because—well, Turtle-cycles. Or Tello-cycles. Either way, he hated it.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Donnie mutters.

“The T-cycles were some of our most reliable forms of transportation during the rebellion. Quick, agile, unfazed by terrain—we kept them going as long as possible,” Casey breathes. “I never saw them when they were new. By the time I—well.” The pause is too short for anyone to remark upon, but they all know the devastation he’s referring to. “In the end, there were only two left, and we had to ration them for special missions.” He turns to look at Donnie, eyes shining. “Have you taken them out for a test drive yet, Unc—Donnie? Can I drive one?”

There’s a collective grumble of disappointment from everyone else at the question. They all want to use the T-cycles, obviously, and April can tell they were all prepping to fight for it—but Casey’s clearly got the strongest connection, and he’s the baby of the group (even if he isn’t the youngest), so he wins before any of them can even try.

Donnie’s torn between annoyance at his nephew for stealing his thunder and delight in hearing that his most impressive invention yet has made a meaningful appearance in at least two separate timelines.

“Well, I was hoping to make you all duke it out for my amusement, but I suppose you can join me for this inaugural ride.”

Casey lights up like the fourth of July, and April sees pride win out in Donnie’s expression.

Nobody’s surprised to see the rack of color-coded and specially sized helmets, jackets, and wind-breaking pants that Donnie reveals. He gestures for Casey to go for the green-colored gear and they start suiting up.

In the meanwhile, April and everyone else have piled onto the couch in the living room to complain about their lost chances at super awesome bike rides (well, except Splints—oh, he’s still complaining, but he’s doing it from the comfort of his favorite armchair).

“Can’t believe he only made two,” Leo grumbles, throwing his legs over April and Raph’s laps as he leans into the corner of the couch. “He knows there are six of us.”

“I think it’s because there are only two bike spaces in the Turtle Tank,” says Mikey, who’s taken the path of least resistance and sprawled out over the backrest of the couch. He’s got his elbow propped on Raph’s shoulder and his cheek resting on his folded arm.

“See, Mike, you’re trying to make sense. Leo just wants to bitch,” says April, hoping that Leo doesn’t notice that she’s saying this from the bitch seat in the middle of the couch. She’d be feeling crowded if she wasn’t such a cuddly person, but since she loves cuddling, it’s not bad. She’s leaning against Raph’s arm, with her forearms folded over Leo’s thighs, and her head propped against Mikey’s plastron. The only downside is the way her curls apparently tickle Mikey when she moves.

“No, I want to drive the rad new bike. It’s completely different.” Leo bats Mikey away when the latter tries to balance his leg on the top of his head.

“Yeah, me too,” sighs Raph. He glances over at the rest of them. “D’ya think Don’ll let us take a spin when he and Case are back, or will we have to go one at a time?”

“If I had to guess, one at a time,” says April the same time she hears Casey say her name. She raises her voice to holler, “Yeah, Case, what’s up?”

“He wants you to come with,” calls Donnie.

It’s all April needs to hear before she’s busting outta the turtle pile. “Oh, hell yeah!” She nearly knocks Leo to the floor as she throws his legs off, then scrambles up Raph’s side and vaults clear over Mikey in her haste to get to the new toy—err, very sophisticated and serious vigilante equipment. Ahem. “See ya, suckers!”

“What? How is this fair?!”

“I call shenanigans!”

“Where are you even gonna put her?”

“April’s the only one besides Casey that’s light enough to ride double, my carapace’d brethren,” Donnie explains tiredly.

“Hey, that is not true!” protests Splinter.

“Discrimination against turtles and rat-men!”

“You’re just picking favorites!”

April turns and blows a very mature and serious raspberry back at the guys in the living room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say y’all are green with envy.”

“Boo, get outta here!”

“Journalist makes bad pun, what else is new.”

“Here,” Donnie says when she joins him and Casey on the platform. He hands her a thick denim jacket with accent patches in her signature shade of yellow.

As she shrugs it on and then pulls the yellow pants on over her jeans (ignoring the continued whining from the living room all the while), April says, “Not that I’m complaining, but why the sudden change of heart?”

Donnie lets out a sigh and gestures to Casey, who’s shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot. “You—err, Master Donatello and Commander O’Neil, I mean—used to take me on rides, when I was a kid,” Casey explains. “Usually—uh, well. Usually when Master Leonardo got to be a bit… much.” He winces apologetically, still too loyal to his sensei to besmirch him without guilt. “Commander O’Neil would say it was time for some air, and then we’d head out for a few hours. There weren’t any missions to execute, it was just racing around, trying to see how fast the T-cycles could still go.”

He's developed this faraway expression, lost in the memories. She’ll never truly know, but April has to wonder if the reason these recollections shine so brightly is because those motorcycle rides were the only real times where he got to be a kid.

“So you probably never got to ride solo, huh Case?” she guesses, casting a meaningful look Donnie’s way as she shoves her hands into some yellow leather gloves. Donnie’s brows furrow and he gives a small shake of his head, but April can’t tell if he isn’t catching what she’s trying to say or he’s against the idea.

Casey’s quiet for a moment, tracing around the fuel gage. “I have. The Commander and I went out a couple of times after…” His gaze darts to Donnie, but then he grimaces and looks away. “It wasn’t the same.”

Turns out April and Donatello are bleeding hearts, because that’s all Casey needs to do to get a T-cycle all to himself, though he’s promised to let April drive on the way back. They tear out of the lair with April and Donnie crammed together on one T-cycle while Casey shouts joyfully from the spacious luxury of the other, his voice easily carrying through the networked microphones built into their helmets.

They rip down the defunct subway tunnel, graffiti and concrete a blur on either side of them. Donnie’s substantially taller than April these days, so she doesn’t see what comes next or if his aim was deliberate—all she knows is they hit something and become briefly airborne, the T-cycle growling like a predator that’s been let out of its cage. The tires screech as they hit solid ground again—and then Donnie’s drifting around a corner, leaning so far to the side April swears she’s about to fall clean off the damn bike. It’s all she can do to hold on, her nostrils full of the smell of burning rubber, but it’s exhilarating. She doesn’t realize she’s whooping until she hears the corresponding cackles of delight from the mad scientist in front of her.

They hit another tight corner, and the T-cycle almost slides out from under April again. Adrenaline floods her system as gravity pulls one way and the motorcycle goes the other, and her heart leaps into her throat when her ass loses contact with the seat. It’s only fun because she doesn’t end up getting cheese grated on the asphalt.

At this point she’s basically suction-cupped onto Donnie’s back, the big spoon in a high-stakes cuddle session that neither of them asked for. Their hips and legs are snugged together and April’s wound her arms under the hard plating of his battle shell and locked them around his middle because they won’t reach all the way around otherwise. His tail’s pinned against one of her thighs, and she can feel his utility belt digging into her forearm despite the bulk of his jacket. The next turn they hit, April leans into it with him, and they fare much better.

“This okay, Dee?” The battle shell and bulky clothes are shielding him from most of their proximity, but this is still full-body contact he hadn’t been planning on when he orchestrated the reveal of the T-cycles.

A mechanical arm extends to hold the T-cycle steady while Donnie reaches down and adjusts her grip further down his plastron so her arms aren’t jostling his battle shell as much. He doesn’t let go right away, hand resting atop her interlocked fingers as he evaluates whether this change is enough to make a difference. “We’re good,” he decides. The mechanical arm folds neatly back into place just as they burst out of the underground and peel out onto a proper road, hot on Casey’s tailpipe and working as one unit to keep from splitting the balance on the bike.

It's early evening, but it’s still light out as they roar onto the interstate and finally get a chance to kick the engine to a higher gear. April crows as they zip around cars moving so slowly they might as well be idling. Sometimes Casey’s leading the charge, and sometimes it’s Donnie, but the air buffeting past them gets fresher as they leave Manhattan behind all the same.

Times like these, April gets why people equate flying with freedom.

Venturing beyond the gargantuan sprawl of New York City, they drive straight into the golden hour. Every tree and billboard becomes saturated with color, the blue of the sky even brighter by comparison. As a native New Yorker, April sometimes forgets the rest of the world isn’t skyscrapers and concrete and streetside hot dog carts. It almost feels like she’s been transported to another plane of existence, and she can’t stop goggling at all the open space.

According to the time displayed on the upper righthand corner of her helmet’s UI, they’ve been traveling for nearly an hour and a half. April nudges at Donnie’s plastron with her knuckles and asks through the built-in microphone in her helmet, “How you doin’?”

“Getting hungry!” says Casey—because, right, all the helmets are still networked together, so of course he heard the question too.

“Honestly, yeah, I could eat. What about you, Dee?” April pairs the question with another bump to his torso, trying to figure out where they are in relation to his touch tolerance. He doesn’t feel tense and he’s not twitching away from her, which are his usual markers of overstimulation, but she’s been koala-clung to him for so long she’s frankly surprised he hasn’t asked for a break yet.

Donnie answers the verbal question first. “The next exit’s got food, let’s go there.” In response to April’s nonverbal query, he simply leans low over the handlebars and kicks the T-cycle into a higher gear—a move which requires her to lean with him so they can go as fast as possible.

So yeah, apparently he’s doing just fine.

They end up at a fast-food drive-thru, waddling the T-cycles from window to window and laughing about how they look like a rainbow biker gang in the fluorescent corporate light. The cashier only seems to notice they’re all wearing color-coordinated helmets, and not that one of them is as tall as a basketball player and has only six fingers. Burgers and fries are consumed in the parking lot under the streaks of an orange and yellow sunset, and those colours rapidly lose the fight to the descending indigo of evening.

“Wow, there are so many stars out tonight,” says April, her head tilted back in awe. She’s used to only seeing them in photos and planetariums; they don’t even look real.

“You know the stars are there every night, right? It’s the light cast out from celestial bodies billions of years ago as a by-product of—”

Donnie dodges when she flicks the last of her fries at his fat head, and they both fight grins at Casey’s reflexive, “Stop wasting food!”

“Alright, Case, time to pony up,” April says, wiping the fast food grease onto the legs of her protective pants. “Get in the bitch seat, it’s mama’s turn to drive.”

Casey immediately does his best sad baby turtle eyes—and damn, he must have learned that from Mikey, because he’s really good at it, despite the obvious problem of not actually being a turtle. “Can we make a deal that next time you get to drive both ways? Please?”

April starts to argue, but marshmallow Uncle Tello gets there first. “You can drive this one, April.”

I’m nobody’s uncle, he says. Definitely never indulge my not-nephew, he says.

April doesn’t miss Casey’s gleeful little victory dance—and listen, she doesn’t care which bike she gets, but she doesn’t want it to be to her best friend’s detriment when this inaugural ride was supposed to be about him celebrating his newest invention. “You sure?”

He shrugs. “We’ve already got a system. No sense re-inventing the wheel.”

That isn’t what she means, but Donnie’s an adult who knows his limits. If he’s not worried, she’s not worried.

Having April behind the handlebars is easier, actually. Sure, it’s still the same amount of butt and leg trying to squash onto the same amount of seat, so they’re still spooning, but Donnie only really needs to hold on with one arm, they don’t have to worry about his tail, and he has no problems seeing above April’s head even with the added bulk of her helmet. She easily tucks against his plastron and under his chin.

“So, if I was a jetpack, what would you call this?” April jokes as they accelerate back onto the interstate.

Donnie leans forward, and April feels a faint pressure on the top of her head through the helmet. “A convenient chin rest.”

Casey snerks loudly from his solo-cruiser, and April notices the vibrations of Donnie’s amusement against her shoulders more than hears it over the coms. She scoffs—oh, hardy harr, short jokes never get old.

She’s the one who gets the last laugh, though, because she chooses this moment to flip the cover off the T-cycle’s hyperdrive she noticed while they were eating.

“April, wai—”

Too late, she’s pressed it.

The T-cycle takes off like they’ve suddenly switched to rocket fuel (and, considering who made it, they genuinely might have). In mere seconds, Casey’s so far behind she can’t even see the speck of him in the side mirrors. If she weren’t decked out in protective gear, the pebbles they’ve started kicking up would be tearing chunks out of her skin instead of bouncing harmlessly off. April’s bent low over the handlebars, marveling at the miles whipping by underneath her, laughing her fool head off from the adrenaline, a giant mutant turtle man clinging onto her for dear life. She’s never felt so fucking powerful.

Well, until he screams.

“Truck!”

They’re going so fast that April can’t comprehend what Donnie’s saying, much less react to it. By the time she spots the long-haul semi coming up on the horizon, it goes from being a smudge to a rapidly approaching, uncompromisingly solid barricade in less time than it takes to blink—and the smudge hadn’t even been there when Donnie started shouting.

Thankfully, Donatello put all that together before he opened his mouth, and he’d already started moving. April sees the hand clap down over hers and disengage the hyperdrive in slow motion, feels the pressure he puts on the handlebars. It’s not much, just a fraction of an inch, but at the speeds they’re going it’s rapidly multiplied, becomes the crucial difference between crashing full tilt into back of the semi and screaming harmlessly past. They’re still going way too quick to maneuver around traffic that’s less two miles ahead, but April can feel them rapidly losing momentum now.

“Don’t hit the brakes, don’t make any big adjustments, or we’re going flying.” Now that the immediate threat’s out of the way Donnie doesn’t sound alarmed; his tone is firm, instructive. The hand that’s still covering hers pulls up on the handlebars, making another minute adjustment that ripples out to an enormous course correction as they weave around another seemingly stationary vehicle.

“Crisis averted?” Casey’s voice is tight with anxiety as it filters in over the coms. Damn, but these helmets have impressive range.

“Yes. Do what you can to catch up, Case, but leave the big red button alone.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!”

“Holy shit,” April squeaks. She’s in shock, she thinks, because she still feels like everything’s happening in slow motion. “I did not think it’d go that fast.”

“I didn’t either,” Donnie admits. “Our combined mass compounded the momentum of the hyperdrive much faster than I anticipated. I’m going to have to adjust that.”

“You think?” There’s a pause as they slalom around another vehicle (who honks and flips them off), and then April lets out a breathy laugh. “Damnit, and now it feels like we’re moving through peanut butter.”

There’s a snorting giggle above her head, and a bump as Donnie goes back to using her head for a chin rest. Now that they’re not going faster than April’s senses can physically comprehend, he returns control of the T-cycle to her, his hand falling from the handlebars to join the arm that became an immobile safety bar clamped around her middle the instant he spotted the semi. “Literally the worst part of deceleration.”

Casey only manages to catch up once they hit the standard New York congestion, which really says a lot about how far ahead they were. The rest of the ride back to the lair is uneventful. They roll into the garage and set the T-cycles up on charging docks next to the Turtle Tank, which—while still impressive—is looking shabby in comparison.

Donnie must be thinking the same thing, because as soon as the T-cycles are put away he’s prancing over to the Turtle Tank and petting its armored plating. “Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’s giving you a systems update and a new paint job this week. You’ll be the most beautiful belle at the ball in no time!”

April’s pretty sure the Turtle Tank doesn’t have an AI (it certainly doesn’t respond to Donnie’s reassurances just now) but hey, what does she know? She leaves him to it and joins Casey at the equipment rack to start shucking off her protective layers.

“So how do these T-cycles compare to what you’re used to, Case?”

“Well, I mean, they’re brand new, and they’ve still got all the bells and whistles…” Casey’s trying to be judicious, but when April flips up the visor on her helmet and raises her eyebrows, he immediately cracks. “Yeah, it’s not even a competition. Half of the features didn’t work on our T-cycles anymore.”

“They’re not T-cycles. I refuse to let them be called that in a second timeline,” Donnie says as he joins them, already shrugging out of his jacket.

“I don’t know, Dee, I think it’s too late already.” Now that she’s got her coat and pants hung up, April pulls up on her helmet—and immediately stops. “Ah, shit, my hair’s caught on something.”

Casey makes a sympathetic sound, even as he inadvertently mocks her by easily removing his own helmet and placing it on the rack. His hair’s not even that short—he wears it in a man-bun!

“Which quadrant?” Donnie nearly sounds offended, though April can’t tell if it’s at the helmet for being flawed or April’s curls for exposing the issue.

“Uh, the back middle? Hold on, I think I got it.” She takes her glasses off and hooks them onto the collar of her blouse, then jams the helmet back down and awkwardly wriggles her hand about inside, searching for the catch. There are no obvious hooks. Either way, she rustles her curls around until she feels some slack, and then tries removing the helmet again. “Nope, I don’t got it. It’s middle right now. Dee, mind giving me a hand?”

“That would require touching your hair.”

Oh yeah, she’d scolded him about touching black women’s hair that day Raph trolled them both by locking them in a walk-in freezer, hadn’t she? It’s wild to think he still remembers. “I’m making an exception for this.”

That’s all she needs to say. The next thing she knows Donnie’s got hold of her helmet and is tilting her head forward, “Right of center, you said? There’s a seam in the padding there, but it shouldn’t be abrupt enough to catch anything…”

April listens as Donnie mutters to himself about helmet construction and hidden wiring, cooperatively allowing her head to be angled this way and that. It’s a far more thorough examination than some caught curls requires, honestly. She’ll rip the hair out to get the helmet off it comes down to it; she’d just rather not.

“Lean back and relax your neck?” April does so, feeling a relief from the incessant hair-tugging. She alternates between studying his crookedly angled goggles (must’ve been just shoved on when she’d asked for help; Donnie’d never tolerate the skewed position otherwise) and the absurd gravity with which he’s handling this request. His gaze is serious as his fingers trace the back of her head, gently prodding at clusters of curls as he searches for the culprit.

There’s a swoop in April’s stomach. Yeah, letting people touch her hair is super weird. If this were anyone other than one of her best friends, it’d be too much.

“There it is.” With a single deft movement, Donnie’s freed her curls from whatever was holding them back and helped her take the damn helmet off. Her cheeks are warm and a little sweaty from being in there so long, but April can deal with that now that she’s not encased in foam and polycarbonate.

“Thank you for freeing me from this prison, kind sir,” she grins. She would’ve used the helmet to offer a cheeky little bow, if they both weren’t still holding onto it, their hands layered together over the smooth carbon fiber surface.

“But of course, dear lady! We cannot let damsels such as yourself wander around with bald spots, it is simply unbecoming.” While Donnie managed to deliver his line with a straight face, he grins when April snickers.

They startle and look over when they hear a crash and a loud curse. April puts her glasses back on and discovers that Casey’s stubbed his toe on a hunk of scrap metal on his way out of the garage. He’s shaking his leg out and waving Mikey, Raph, and Leo off from where they’ve appeared to help him out.

“You alright, Case?” April calls.

His gaze snaps to her, and while his eyes are all big and watery like they get when he’s doing the Commander O’Neil Face, his grimace is entirely serving ‘kid who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar’. “Yeah! I just have to—uh.” He glances over his shoulder at Leo and Mikey, who are suddenly scrambling over each other. Raph, for some reason, has his knuckles pressed together and is looking at them with big eyes like he’s never seen anything more touching. “Go pee. Immediately. Right now.”

“I just made food!” Mikey says at the same time. “It’s real good, and I wanted to share!”

“Right, and I wanted to know if I could take the T-cycle now, because that’s what I care about most in this moment,” Leo adds. He flashes a broad, charming grin and leans against Raph’s arm, but the latter doesn’t even seem to notice. In the space of a few seconds, Raph’s expression has become a battle between hope and extreme exasperation.

“You can’t, Nardo, they’re charging,” says Donnie.

“Oh, darn—well, you know, I’ll get ‘em next time. Hey Mikey, what was that about food? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, me too!” says Casey. “So hungry. I haven’t eaten in hours.”

“Right this way, gentlemen, follow me to the kitchen! Raph, you’re coming too!”

It takes all three of them impotently pushing and shoving at Raph for him to realize he should move under his own power. Then he allows Mikey to herd him out of view, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as Mikey talks loudly about his latest culinary masterpiece. They’re followed by a hasty Leo and a slightly limping Casey.

April frowns. “That seem off to you at all, Dee?”

“Off in what way?”

“Forced as hell? Like how Casey said he’s starving and hasn’t eaten in hours when we all had fast food less than two hours ago?”

“Oh. Yes, now that you mention it, but I have no explanation for it.” He also doesn’t sound especially concerned. “Anyway, I’m going to make some changes to the hyperdrive so it can be usable by humans as well as mutants. Want to stop by after work tomorrow to take it for another test drive?”

“Hell yeah I do!” April pauses and reaches up to touch her curls, feeling another swoop in her stomach. “I’ll also remember to bring a bonnet.”

April’s not expecting to be called into her editor’s office. She goes, confusion furrowing her brows as she straightens her crisp blazer and matching pleated slacks. When she passes a conversation happening three cubicles down, a brief hush falls over them.

“Is this about my petition to take on the social justice beat?” she says as she knocks on her editor’s open office door. “Because I got your email about that.” The petition had been denied, much to April’s chagrin. She really thought she’d made a compelling argument, too—she’d submitted sample articles and everything.

“No, that’s not it. Come in, O’Neil, and shut the door.”

Once April’s seated in one of the teeny, hard-backed chairs across from her editor’s desk, the man pulls up the draft of one of her most recent article, The 7 best boba shops in Manhattan, on the monitor closest to her. “Do you know why I can’t publish this article?”

“No.” She and Mikey had gone on a boba-hunt last weekend for her to get the research for this done. Technically, that hadn’t been necessary, but April had wanted to do something fun with an otherwise soulless prompt. She’d thought the pictures Mikey coached her on taking were very Aesthetic and clickbait worthy.

“Number two and number five. Where are those shops?” Before April can answer, her editor tells her, “In bad neighborhoods.”

He means yokai neighborhoods. That’s what he’s talking about. April has to take a long breath in through her nose to stay calm.

“I want you to think about our readership demographics, O’Neil—what are they?”

“Middle to upper class, mid-to-upper career white professionals with disposable income,” says April, because she knows he’s going to hammer that home before he’ll let her get a word in edgewise. “The assignment was to write a listicle about something trendy. Boba is trendy, and these are the best boba in Manhattan.”

“That doesn’t matter. Our readership can’t access all these shops, can they?”

Technically, they can. Anyone can, because this isn’t the Jim Crowe era and shops aren’t fucking segregated. The yokai neighborhoods in New York are burgeoning, but they’re vibrant and welcoming and full of interesting food and culture and the kind of architecture April had only before seen in Hidden City.

April opens her mouth to push back on this, but her editor talks faster. “I can’t tell our advertisers to keep supporting us if we’re putting up half-baked articles that won’t get the clicks we need, can I?”

“Sir, the story is the story, the separation of church and state—”

“Doesn’t exist anymore, O’Neil. The politically correct idiots in universities like to pretend it does, but it doesn’t, especially not in an online-first publication. Do you like your salary?”

“I did exactly what I was asked—”

“I said, do you like your salary, O’Neil?”

His stern stare weighs about a thousand pounds, and it pins her into the uncomfortable little chair across from him. The power dynamics here are too great for her to overcome, especially not with phrases like ‘do you like your salary’ being thrown around.

“Yes, I do,” April grits out. Her fingers are rolled into fists in her lap, nails digging into her palms.

“Well, I’ve got breaking news for you: your salary’s paid for by our advertisers. So is mine, so is everyone else’s in this office. You want to keep the salary you like so much? Then you keep our advertisers happy. And how do we keep our advertisers happy?”

It is all April can do to keep herself composed. She squeezes her fists tighter, lets the pinch and tingle of her nails biting into her palm ground her.

In situations like this, she wishes she could talk to her mom. April’s out of her depth—she knows everything about this is wrong, and she wants to do something about it, but she’s not been in the workforce long enough to understand what she can and can’t push. Mom’s always been able to help her sort through thoughts like this.

Of course, talking to her mother would also mean saying something about her relationship with the yokai population, admitting she’s been to Hidden City countless times, admitting there’s an entire side to her life that she’s been hiding, and that… April can’t do that. She’s so close to finally being normal, isn’t she?

April lets out a breath through her nose as the proverbial winds flies out of her sails. She’s going to make the wrong choice, because that’s what she always does, even if she’s really trying to do right.

“I said, how do we keep our advertisers happy, O’Neil?”

“By serving our readers,” says April.

The dullness in her voice isn’t because of her editor, really, though it’s obvious he thinks it is. What he does with his lips is too tight to be called a smile. April doesn’t think he’s ever actually smiled at her. “Good girl. Now go fix this listicle, and don’t waste my time on this bullshit again.”

April doesn’t like admitting it, even to herself, but she hates Casey’s Commander O’Neil Face.

It’s not just because she doesn’t understand what triggers it, though that is part of it. It’s also nothing against Casey himself. She doesn’t envy him for having to develop a whole new dynamic with the young adult versions of what were basically his parents. She doesn’t blame him for missing the people who raised him, or for slipping up with the names sometimes. Honestly, it almost never happens anymore.

But that’s also… kind of why she hates it? Casey easily differentiating them from their apocalyptic counterparts means the similarities between who they are in the here and now and the people Casey knew aren’t there.

It means April doesn’t share a lot of similarities with Commander O’Neil.

Quietly, while she wasn’t paying attention, April’s subconscious started equating Casey’s stories of Commander O’Neil’s badassery and competence with what Karai Hamato was able to do with her when they shared a body. Somehow, the Commander managed it all on her own, no Gram Gram required. Being like Commander O’Neil is as achievable as reaching up and casually brushing her fingers across the surface of the moon.

April supposes she shouldn’t be surprised that she resents Commander O’Neil for being everything she isn’t. For being the best version of her. There’s no doubt that the Commander was extraordinary—you don’t survive twenty-plus years of an apocalyptic future without being damn good at what you do. She was vital to the resistance, people needed her.

And she managed all of that in the worst possible circumstances. Really made herself into the posterchild of ‘bloom where you’re planted.’ Commander O’Neil’s existence proves that April’s fundamentally capable of being something other than a phony and a failure, in the abstract.

It’s just this specific timeline where she sucks. You know, the good timeline where the world doesn’t end, and the deck is fully stacked in her favor.

Who wouldn’t resent having their nose inadvertently rubbed in that every time their friend gushes about the incredible person they’ll never become?

All Leo needs to do is send her the link to the event and text, ‘come with me?’

Technically, April had plans that day, but she’s got no compunctions about rescheduling when her best friend needs her.

It’s a human and yokai pride mixer. As far as April’s aware, Leo’s not said anything about his sexuality beyond what they spoke of on The Night They Will Never Acknowledge Until the End of Their Natural Lives™. It seemed like he needed time to adjust, so April hasn’t pressed.

And now this. Is he still testing the waters, or has he decided he’s ready to be open about it?

When they meet up, Leo’s not in his usual gear. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of slim fit jeans, bright neon sneakers, and a tank top under a half-done bright blue button-down patterned with boldly colored anthropomorphic pizza slices. He had to go up a few sizes to accommodate his shell, so while the shoulders and arms fit well there’s a lot of extra fabric at his waist, which he remedied by tying the shirt tails in a knot at one hip. There’s also a fanny pack made of holo-vinyl strapped diagonally across his chest. He looks like the gayest tourist April’s ever seen, and frankly the look would be a flop on a lesser mutant, but Leo’s always blurred the line between fashion and disaster when he dresses up. Now, whether this is by design or sheer luck April will never know, all she can say is he’s holding his own with this drip, just as he always does.

He’s also nervous and fidgety in a way that is very unlike him. “Thanks for doing this, April. I know it’s not a big deal and I should just make the announcement or whatever, because it’s not a secret or anything, but—”

April hugs him and, after a tense moment, Leo melts into it, holding her hard and burying his face into the space between his arm and the top of her head. She feels him let out a deep breath into her curls.

“You’re right, it’ll be fine when you’re ready to tell everyone,” April says when he finally loosens his grip. She leans back so she can see his face properly, rubbing reassuring lines into his arms. “But you have to be ready, first. Whether it’s a month from now or a year from now, you take the time you need.”

Leo nods, steeling himself. “Yeah, okay. That’s good. Have you said that before?”

“Naw, I just write for a living.”

“Ah, yeah, you got me there.”

April thought they’d headed for the bar at that point, but when she takes the first few steps Leo doesn’t follow. Doubling back, she touches his elbow. “You still wanna do this? It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No!” An embarrassed grimace flashes across his features, and he mumbles, “It feels like things did back when Dad just up and made me leader. Like the world I know’s been turned upside down all over again.”

“The leader thing worked out, though. Turns out you’re great at it; all it took was time to adjust.”

Well, also aliens destroying the city and nearly killing him in an alternate dimension, but April’s not about to bring that up when she’s trying to give the guy a pep talk.

“Yeah.” Leo rubs the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the ever-flowing tails of his mask. The grin he offers is crooked but no less sincere. “The stakes are a lot lower here, though. I like that part.”

“Amen to that.” April grins back and takes his hand, tilts her head towards the bar. “C’mon, Leon, let’s show these queers what real swag looks like.”

It’s a well-attended event—and, honestly, all it takes is a few minutes for Leo’s nerves to disappear. He’s at his best in busy environments; it’s where his charisma and quick thinking really shine. In no time he’s leaning back on the bar with his ankles crossed like he owns the place, exchanging quips and telling stories that have everyone around him roaring with laughter.

April keeps close, perched on the barstool next to him, but she doesn’t interject or interfere unless he invites it. Leo’s got this; she’s just here for moral support.

Alright, she’s also lowkey keeping an eye out for folks who seem legitimately interested so she can wingman for him later, but that’s just a little side project. She knows full well Leonardo’s a big strong turtle man who can handle himself (in fact, he’d probably get indignant if he found out she was doing this). But he’s also a baby gay that April wants to protect where she can. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

She’s not surprised to see quite a few folks showing an interest. This is a pride mixer at a bar, after all; it’s a great way to meet someone new, and Leo’s a handsome guy with effortless charm. April can’t blame people for being attracted to that.

Very few actively hit on him, though, which is weird. Oh, plenty of folks chat him up, but it’s nearly always in that exploratory, I’ll-flirt-with-you-as-soon-as-you-give-me-a-sign sort of way, and Leo’s not picking up on any of it.

It isn’t until the mixer’s winding down and most of the crowd’s left that a latecomer joins them at the bar.

“Nice shirt. I like the pattern,” he tells Leo with a nod at his pizza-fied button-down. He speaks with the faintest hint of a Spanish accent, like someone who could very easily school the cadence out but chooses not to because he prefers the way it sounds. It becomes clear that he’s likely fluent when he orders tequila with soda water and extra lime and slides into the correct pronunciation like it’s as easy as breathing.

Leo’s leg bumps into April’s as he shifts to flash a rakish grin at the newcomer, “Why, thank you. I’ve often said that pizza is the king of all food groups.”

The man smiles. He’s human, around April’s age, and cleanly shaven, with short hair that’s styled to look effortlessly tousled. He’s wearing dark washed jeans and a plain t-shirt with smart leather shoes. Overall, a good looking and well put together kinda guy, but April also spies a series of colorful handmade bracelets on his left arm, an anime-lookin’-ass tattoo peeking out from under one of his sleeves, and purposely mismatched earrings. There’s more than meets the eye about him.

“Ah, of course. I missed the day in school where we talked about pizza’s place on the food pyramid. It’s a regret I carry with me to this day.” He delivers the line without a trace of irony, all but daring someone to call his bluff.

Leo immediately clocks the joke for what it is and laughs. “I thought you had that tragic look about you.”

The man smiles again. “You have a wonderful laugh, you know that?”

It’s a genuine compliment delivered by a cute boy, and Leonardo fumbles hard. April feels the way he tenses, sees splotches of color beginning to fight for dominance with the slider markings on his cheeks. His elbow knocks into her as he struggles to find a good place to keep his hands. “Psh, yeah, of course I know. Why wouldn’t I be aware of that? Hey, is the thermostat broken? It’s really warm in here all of a sudden, and that’s coming from the cold-blooded guy in the room. I—” That’s when he notices the cute boy that’s been talking to him is still very much here and listening to everything coming out of his mouth.

With a quick, wide-eyed glance to April for confirmation (she nods), Leo’s abruptly pushing himself back from the bar. “I have to pee.”

April and the stranger watch him lock himself in the bathroom. For her part, April’s got her hand over her mouth and her shoulders are quaking with suppressed mirth. She’s never seen Leo so discombobulated.

“Did I overstep?” the man asks. He seems torn between amusement and dismay.

April shakes her head and pulls her hand away from her mouth, but she can’t stop the way she’s grinning. “Nah, he’ll be fine. He just needs a minute.”

“Is he yours?”

“Is he what now?”

There’s a beat where she can see the man checking his translation and looking confused. “Is he yours—are you together?”

For a moment April’s utterly mortified that The Night That Shall Go Unmentioned for the Rest of Forever Because If It Didn’t They’d Both Die™ has somehow altered her dynamic with Leo enough that they have ‘that look’ about them, but then she realizes the man is referring to the way Leo jostled and looked to her before running to the washroom. Yeah, she can see how that might look like panic from a significant other from someone who doesn’t know them.

“Absolutely not,” she says.

“Oh.” He’s surprised by her vehemence. “You must be… very close, then.”

She catches the understated question mark at the end of his sentence. “I’m just here for moral support. We’ve been friends since I was ten, and not in that complicated rom-com kinda way.”

“I see.” April can see the relief in the man’s body language as he collects his tequila drink from the bartender. He glances towards the bathroom again. “So he is single?”

“Yeah, dude.” She bites back the urge to issue a warning that she’d hunt down any sonofabitch that hurts him. Giving someone the shovel talk before they’ve even introduced themselves is definitely jumping the gun. Instead, she says, “I’m April, by the way.” She gestures to the bathroom. “And that’s Leo.”

“Juan Carlos Mateo Diego Alvaro, but you can call me Juan.”

“Oh man, legal forms must be a bitch for you, huh?”

“I could say the same to you,” he remarks as he takes the barstool next to the one Leo vacated. “How often do you get told you’re writing the date on the wrong line?”

It takes April a moment to get the joke, mostly because she hadn’t expected him to turn things around on her so fast. Then she cackles. “It’s only bad when it’s actually the month of April.”

She glances down when her phone buzzes. It’s idle curiosity, mostly, but when she sees it’s from Leo, she does pull up the text.

‘is he still there?’

“Sorry, I need to answer this.” Juan waves her off and sips from his drink as she texts back, ‘come out and see for yourself’

Leo replies, but she doesn’t bother to look at it.

“Why moral support?” Listen, April can’t fault Juan for being curious, but she’s not becoming a go-between, and it’s definitely not her place to talk about Leo’s comfort with his sexuality.

So she just shrugs and says, “Because he asked me to.”

This earns her a sheepish chuckle, the laughter equivalent of touché. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Something about that hits wrong—not because Juan doesn’t seem sincere, because he does. There’s a knee-jerk reaction that comes from April, this immediate sense of I don’t know about that.

She doesn’t have a chance to parse it, though, because that’s when Leo finally realizes she won’t be doing this for him and exits the sanctity of the bathroom. April can tell from the damp edges of his mask that he’s been splashing his face with water.

“Hey, uh, sorry about that,” he says to Juan, rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “I, um—I’m Leonardo?” He grimaces. “That’s not a question, I am Leo. Uh, it’s—hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Leo’s gaze flashes to April, silently begging for a shovel with which to dig himself out of this. She responds with a supportive smile and nod. He doesn’t need a shovel from her; he’s already got everything he needs.

When he looks back, Juan’s face is creased with a smile like he’s never seen anything so endearing. “I’m Juan Carlos Mateo Diego Alvaro. It’s good to meet you too, Leonardo.”

If there was ever any doubt that Juan is fluent in Spanish, it’s gone now. April’s pretty sure that’s the first time she’s ever heard someone pronounce Leo’s full name anything close to the way it’s supposed to be said. Even Señor Hueso only ever calls him by his various nicknames.

And, if the way Leo’s breath catches is indicative of anything, then it’s being well received.

Within ten minutes, they’re all chatting over drinks like they’ve known each other for months. Juan’s family’s lived in New York City for the last three generations, he’s the eldest of three, and he’s currently in med school. He’s never been to Europe or gone sky diving, but both are on his bucket list. He keeps surprising them both by taking their standard suite of puns and jokes and giving them spins that take a minute to parse, and then have them both in stitches.

Leo’s called him at least ten different nicknames, none of which are ‘Juan’, but Juan hasn’t objected to a single one—well, unless you count the way he refuses to use anything but Leo’s full name. April’s got a hunch it has nothing to do with standing on formality and everything to do with how Leo never fails to fumble at each utterance.

By the time Leo gets called away about two hours later (crime never sleeps in a city that never sleeps, after all), the only nudge April’s had to do is to say, “Hey, my phone’s dying—Juan, want to put your number in Leo’s so we can hang out again?”

She’s not planning on joining them the next time, of course, and she’s pretty sure everyone knows that. The training wheels are officially coming off her gay baby of a best friend, and she’s happy to see him flourish without her.

It’s the first time being a halfway house for lost souls hasn’t felt bad.

Chapter Text

April is twenty-three years old and rummaging around Repo Mantis’ scrapyard with a laundry list of bits and bobs to keep an eye out for. She’s not normally the guy who tags along on scavenger hunts, but she’s the only one who was available at the time Casey said he was going, and after The Incident with Casey Sr. a couple years ago nobody’s allowed to go scrap hunting alone, so here she is.

The day is overcast and muggy, classic New York summer weather. She and Casey haven’t been here an hour and she’s already damp with sweat—which is saying a lot, because April usually runs cold.

Casey’s even sweatier than she is, but he doesn’t seem to feel it as he fearlessly scales junk piles and opens long-forgotten cardboard boxes of who knows what. He told her once that he’s not immune to physical discomforts, it’s just that there’s always something more important to attend to. Classic apocalypse headspace, that.

‘is this too damaged?’ April texts Donnie alongside a photo of some aluminum sheeting she’s found. Something’s clearly punched through it at some point, but she’s been informed that aluminum is much easier to recycle than other things, so even damaged stuff should be fine.

Considering aluminum’s on Donnie’s section of her shopping list, though, April’s working under the assumption that there’s a fine line between an acceptable amount of damage and true scrap.

‘No, that’s exactly what I’m looking for’ he replies a few seconds later. ‘Oh, and tell Casey I need a RM-845 motherboard now. He’ll know what it is.’

April reacts with a thumbs up and looks up from her phone and calls, “Case, Dee says you gotta find him a RM-845 motherboard, whatever that is.”

Casey’s head pops up from behind an old rusty fridge as April drags the aluminum sheeting to their pile of stuff to take. “What? Why does he need that all of a sudden?”

“Is it a weird part to ask for?”

“No—well, yes. It’s hyper-specific. Is this for bot-fighting again?”

Donnie found an underground bot-fighting ring a few weeks ago and it—alongside his newfound arch-rival, a yokai named Jericho—are all he wants to talk about these days. The two seem to be inextricably linked, which is weird for Donnie. Honestly, aside from the bot fighting the whole situation is weird. The group can’t come to a consensus whether Donnie hates Jericho (Leo’s theory), enjoys being in competition with someone of rivaling intellect (Raph and April’s theory), or is playing up this whole rival thing in an inadvertent rivals-to-lovers’ storyline (Mikey’s theory). They’ve all met Jericho at some point or another by now, but if anything that’s only muddied the waters further.

Actually, come to think of it, Casey’s the only one who hasn’t picked a theory yet.

“I dunno,” April shrugs—but hey, if Donnie’s paying attention to his phone, it can’t hurt to ask. She sends the bot-fighting question his way.

‘Yes. I’m showing Jericho the lab tomorrow and need to crush any and all delusions he has of being the superior scientist.’

“It’s part of the dick-measuring contest with Jericho,” April translates to Casey. “Apparently he’s planning an ego-crushing lab tour? It sounds like a whole—hey, you okay, Case? You just got really pale.” She shoves her phone in her pocket and rushes over with a bottle of water from the pack they brought with them. “Do you need to sit down?”

Casey looks like he’s just seen a ghost. He bats the water bottle away, expression intense in a way April hasn’t seen since the Krang invasion. “Uncle Tello’s bringing him to the lair?”

Okay, April’s no genius, but she knows alternate-timeline references when she hears them—Casey never uses ‘Master Donatello’ or the even-rarer ‘Uncle Tello’ unless there’s a damn-near identical connection to where he grew up, not least of which because he and his uncle are the same age in this timeline.

“Oh, I have so many questions,” says April.

“There’s no time for questions—when is he supposed to be at the lair? Uncle Te—Donnie. Donnie’s going to be mad at us, but we have to stop him!” Casey’s in a full-blown panic. Holy shit, what did Jericho and Donnie’s alternate selves get up to in the other timeline?

“Hey—hey, I need you to slow down, Case.” Casey’s too tall to reach his shoulders without looking like she’s a baby who wants uppy, so April settles for firmly gripping his elbows and demonstrating a deep breath. She does it until he starts copying her, and then she nods. “Good, that’s it. First of all, there’s no rush. The tour’s supposed to be tomorrow, so we’ve got time to figure this out. Okay?”

Casey’s shuddering breath of relief says far more than it probably should. “Okay.”

“Second of all, take this.” She pushes the water bottle into his hand. “We’re gonna find a shady spot to sit down, and we’re not gonna hyperventilate.”

‘Finding a shady spot to sit down’ sounds like a nice idea, but there’s not much decent real estate in a junkyard. They make do by leaning against the tires of an old van that’s missing half its doors. Half doors means it’s only half-shady, but it’s better than nothing.

April waits until the color comes back to Casey’s cheeks to say, “Can I ask you about what just happened?”

He can’t stop looking at the shape of her phone in her pocket. Casey starts to say something, but then he lets out a hard breath and averts his eyes. “I overreacted. This is a bifurcated timeline; people turn out differently here.”

“But you met Jericho in your timeline.” It’s not a question.

She sees him start to lie, but one look at her and he’s cracking like an egg. His shoulders go back and his head straightens. “When I was little, yes. Five or six,” he reports.

Did she intend for this to be a de facto interview of her surrogate nephew? No, not at all, but that is the vibe April’s getting now, and Casey seems reassured by the no-nonsense nature of it, so she’s rolling with it. “He and Donnie were doing the bot-fighting thing then, too?”

“Krang-killing drones.” He makes a so-so gesture, and April nods. Not quite semantics in the grand scheme of things, but enough for her to understand the gist.

“And it was the same dick-measuring contest?”

“I hate that you’re using that phrase,” he grimaces. “But yeah. Same energy.”

“Sorry, I’ll call it something else moving forward. So it sounds like Jericho wasn’t part of the rebellion?”

“There were a dozen or so different units all coming at the Krang with different plans of action; Master Leonardo hadn’t wrangled everyone together under one banner yet. When Jericho said he was from another faction and interested in joining up, we had no reason not to believe him, but I always had a bad feeling. Commander O’Neil was the only one who would’ve listened to the gut instincts of a five-year-old, but she was on the other side of the continent on a months-long mission trying to rally support over there. Nobody else heard me.”

It’s so bizarre—not only that Casey’s talking about things done by strangers bearing her friends’ names, but that he’s telling her things that happened when he was five or six years old with the kind of clarity you’d see in a soldier giving a field report. Is this something he genuinely remembers, or has he been told the story so many times that it’s hard to parse where lore ends and memory begins?

“Got it. So I’m guessing the rivalry progressed to the point where Donnie brought Jericho to the hideout to crush his soul with how advanced and cool all your faction’s tech was, right?” Casey nods, so April keeps going. “But you said you’d always had a bad feeling about him.”

“It turns out he was from a yokai-only organization that hated humans, and since we had humans in our ranks, he was there to learn about our base, steal what tech he could, and then transmit our location to the Krang so we’d get wiped out.”

April waits. Casey his holding himself still, jaw tense, like he’s waiting for some kind of reproof or reward. Eventually she prods, “You didn’t get wiped out, though.”

He lets out a long breath through his nose. “No. I was little, and human, so he didn’t pay me the time of day when I followed him. I recorded him transmitting intel about us to his faction and confirming their next moves with the Krang. We had to pack up and move in about seven hours, and Master Donatello had to wipe the base off the map to keep Jericho’s faction from getting any more intel and potentially giving it to the Krang to use against us, which all sucked. But at least we lived.” He gets quiet, eyes fixed on something in the distance, and then he murmurs, “They started treating me like an adult after that.”

His rueful smile speaks volumes—he’s proud of what he did and the status he earned, but he also knows that the adults in his life probably shouldn’t have done it. And he misses each one of them keenly, even now.

Before April can speak, Casey’s soldier demeanor officially shatters, and he hastens to add, “And I didn’t say anything about any of this because we’re in a bifurcated timeline, and I didn’t want to assume because he could be fine here. I don’t even know what he’d betray us to, but Command—April.” He grunts in frustration and closes his eyes. April watches him take a deep breath without prompting. “I don’t feel comfortable knowing he’ll be in my home,” Casey says finally. He looks resigned. “I realize that’s not fair, because he’s not the same person, but that’s how I feel.”

“No, that’s legit,” says April. She’s already pulling out her phone.

“Wait, what are you doing? You’re not telling Master Donatello, are you?”

April looks up from the text she’s writing. “This is something he should know.”

“No, you can’t—different timeline, remember? This Jericho is kind of obnoxious, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Case, this is serious. He makes you uncomfortable, and your reaction to hearing he’d be in the lair was so visceral it gave you a panic attack.”

“But he’s Donnie’s friend. I don’t want to ruin that for him.”

“You’re Donnie’s family, Casey. You matter more to him than some bot-fighting rival.” April gestures with her phone. “Or boyfriend, or whatever’s going on. Either way, the point is you’re more important.”

She expects Casey to push back on such a boldfaced assertion about Donnie’s priorities, to ask for some kind of evidence. He doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at her phone and nods. “Okay—but make me look cool?”

“Way ahead of you, boo.”

‘bad news, D, your nephew’s giving Jericho the thumbs down.’

She sees the three little dots on his side of the conversation appear and disappear a couple of times. Casey’s watching on anxiously. “He’s thinking.”

‘Is there a good reason?’ Donnie finally asks. When April texts back the affirmative and asks if he wants details, all he says is ‘Damn it.’

“Is he taking it okay?” Casey seems torn about whether he actually wants to know.

“Still processing, I think.”

A minute or so later April receives a new text. ‘Well, there go my dinner plans for tomorrow.’ Donnie punctuates this with the rare appearance of an emoji. It’s a trash can.

April’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit, Mikey was right.”

‘WUT you were planning on crushing this guy’s soul and then asking him out to dinner??’

“He was?!” Normally Casey would be sticking his head over her arm to read the texts for himself, but he’s not, for some reason.

‘Of course not. He would have been buying.’

April snorts. “Get a load of this, Case. Can you believe this guy?” She tilts her phone for him to read the screen for himself. Casey’s a little hesitant at first, but when he finally gets over himself he makes a sound that’s equal parts mirth and incredulity.

“Actually, you’d be surprised how often you—” Casey claps a hand over his own mouth. For a second, they just stare at one another. He’s suddenly developed that nostalgic puppy look he’s been giving her for years.

“Casey.” April finishes sending Donnie a series of cry-laughing emojis and shoves her phone into her pocket. She narrows her eyes at him. “What’s with the Commander O’Neil Face?”

He shakes his head and scrambles to his feet one-handed. It’s all the warning April gets before he bolts, shouting a half-assed, “Sorry, gotta go!” over his shoulder. The worst part is, Casey’s got long legs and he’s fast. Even if she gave chase, there’s no way she’d catch him.

“See if I go scrap hunting with you next time you ask!” she hollers after him.

Casey still hasn’t stopped running. He’s halfway across the junkyard now. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take!”

Damn it, she’s never going to figure out what those weepy eyes are all about, is she?

It isn’t until April’s actively yanking Cerise into shops to avoid a yokai she used to date that it hits her she’s living a double life.

“Hey, stop pulling on me—what are we doing?” Cerise hisses as April busies herself with studying shelves of dog food, pretending to compare brands while waiting for the shape to pass the window.

“Hi there, can I help you find something?” asks the bubbly young clerk. She’s human, probably late high school age. April imagines this is one of her first jobs.

April shakes her head and mutters to both of them, “Just be cool. We’re waiting for someone to go by.”

“Oh! I’ve got exes like that too, girl. You take as long as you need,” the clerk says with a sympathetic cluck of her tongue.

“Thank you.”

“Did you see one of your exes?” Cerise asks in an urgent half-whisper. She’s half committing to the bit of pretending to buy dog food, and half up against the glass of the window as she scans the sidewalks for a hint of anyone she knows.

“Yes, now please be cool, Cerise.”

“I’m cool! I’m totally cool.” Cerise fusses with the hem of the blouse she’s got loosely tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans and makes sure her earrings haven’t fallen out. She manages about thirty seconds before she’s leaning in and asking, “Have they gone by yet?”

“No, now would you just—”

“Ugh, look at that yokai over there. This is the professional side of New York. What is it doing here in broad daylight?”

April grits her teeth and tamps down the aggravation and embarrassment heating her cheeks. That particular ex works in this district at a local bank—he’s got even more of a right to be here than April and Cerise do, not that you’d know it from Cerise’s demeaning pronoun usage.

April drags Cerise deeper into the shop and forces them to loiter for another ten minutes or so before going onwards, just to make sure her ex has enough time to move on. The last thing she wants is for one of her human friends to see how close she is to the yokai community.

(Or, frankly, for anyone from the yokai community to see her with someone like Cerise, who really doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut about these things.)

If that were where the separation between her lives ended, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but it doesn’t stop there. April also pulls her hoodie up over her curls and tries to become as small as possible when she’s in a café with Mikey and someone she knew in college comes through the door. She scoots her chair so that her back is turned to the door, hunches over the table, and blocks her side profile with a hand.

“Uh, everything okay, April?” Mikey, bless him, he hunches over and blocks his side profile too. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that won’t be enough to hide the fact he’s a stocky six-foot-three turtle with bright yellow spots and colorful designs painted on his plastron. “Did one of your exes just walk in?”

What is it with people and assuming she’s got all these toxic exes?

…Actually, on second thought, it might be best to roll with the ex thing instead of explaining the real reason, which is that April still maintains a genial acquaintanceship with the man despite the fact he’s been known to compare mutants to low budget TV show monsters of the week. He’s friends with her editor, and with performance evaluation season right around the corner at work she’s lowkey hoping he’ll put in a good word for her at the weekly blackjack games April’s never invited to.

Of course, if he sees her here with Mikey, he’ll be putting in a totally different kind of word to her editor. She gets enough flak for being the office’s token black and queer representation; she doesn’t need another mark on her name.

“Something like that,” April mumbles. She hears the man go up to the counter and place an order, then whaps Mikey on the arm. “Go-go-go, while his back’s turned, but keep it casual!”

Mikey doesn’t ask questions, he just joins her in bringing their finished drinks to the self-bussing station and strolling out of the café. He also keeps pace when April speed-walks down the block. “Good news, I don’t think he noticed us!”

Oh, April can guarantee that he noticed Mikey, but if she’s lucky she won’t get an uncomfortable text later asking if she was the human with the mutant in the café and using four question marks.

After two days go by and the text doesn’t show up, April breathes a sigh of relief—only to tense back up again from the guilt.

If she were doing anything worthwhile in society, she’d say she’s starting to understand how the vigilantes from comic books feel. As things are, she’s struggling to come up with a suitable media comparison that isn’t villain.

She never meant for things to end up this way. She never intended for her connections with the yokai world and the human worlds to become so fully stratified that traveling between them might as well be jumping between two parallel dimensions. All she wanted was to be normal—have normal friends, go to a normal job, live a normal life, make her mother proud. This isn’t supposed to be how things went down.

She hasn’t allowed her thoughts to touch much on Karai Hamato and the impossible standards she set, but these days all April can think is how disappointed Karai would be that she’s managed to fumble absolutely everything.

April wishes she could talk to someone about this, ask for advice, but the problem is that broaching the subject with anyone from either world means implicitly acknowledging the existence of the other, and the utterly problematic divide between them. There’s no such thing as a neutral party—everyone she knows has already chosen a side.

So she doesn’t ask anyone for help, and the chasm between the parallel dimensions of her life keeps growing. One of these days April’s going to get stranded on one side or the other, or just fall into the void between where there is no one at all.

She can’t decide which option is worse.

Raph’s always been spikey, and as they’ve gotten older it’s only gotten worse, much to his chagrin. Oh, sure, it makes him dangerous in a fight, but it’s legit an issue for a guy with a soft spot for stuffed animals.

“I can’t not sleep with them, though,” he always says. “If I put them on a shelf, they’ll be sad. Raph ain’t doin’ it!”

The stuffies end up getting poked at and torn as he tosses and turns (and, apparently, that one time he dreamt he was eating a marshmallow). That’s where April comes in—in comparison to Raph, she’s got teeny, dextrous hands that can thread needles, tie little knots, and get into corners with ease. She’s not the best seamstress by any means, but faux fur is forgiving, and Raph’s always so happy when his plushies come back from the ‘hospital’.

Besides, it gives them an excuse to hang out one-on-one. April’s found that they always have their best heart to hearts while their hands are busy.

So here they are in the old subway car Raph’s retrofitted into his bedroom, surrounded by injured stuffed animals, sewing supplies, and swatches of cotton fabric. April’s sitting cross-legged on the California king-sized mattress that barely fits him, her back against the slightly curved wall of the train car, bobbing her head along to the music coming from the speaker on his desk as she sews a button eye back onto a zebra.

She looks up when Raph starts patting his lap and the rumpled comforter he’s sitting on, searching. “Crap, I lost the thread again.”

April giggles and leans over to pluck the needle and thread that are dangling off a spike that’s trying to bust through his training scrubs. “Found it! This color blends in scarily well. Might be easier if you were in your normal gear.”

“Huh?” When April gestures at what he’s wearing, Raph looks down and laughs. “Oh yeah! It’s just like wearin’ pajamas, you just kinda forget they’re there.”

April never got the details, but around the time she graduated from Eastlaird Raph announced he wanted to be a registered nurse, and he’s pursued it with single-minded determination ever since, so much so that even April didn’t feel emboldened to ask him about the sudden change of direction. To be fair, though, nursing’s not a far cry from what he does anyway—he’s been fulfilling the role of team medic ever since Leo came back from the prison dimension half dead, and he’s got no shortage of compassion or bedside manner. All told, it’s a good fit, so why not make it official?

“You’re almost done with the last semester, and then it’s your work placement, right? Still digging it?”

“Oh, hundred-percent. Feels like this’ what Raph always should’ve done, but if Cass hadn’t pushed, I—” Raph pauses like the thought’s surprised him, using a gentle claw to smooth the fake fur away from a recent gauge in a teddy April remembers giving him for his birthday nearly ten years ago (oh, god, has it really been that long?). The teddy itself is more patch than plushie at this point, but Raphael refuses to give up on it. “I think I would’a stayed stuck,” he realizes, voice soft.

April ties off the thread of the button she’s just replaced and sets the stuffed zebra aside, watching her friend curiously. Raph’s not talked about this before, at least not to her—which, for a guy who openly wears his heart on his sleeve, is saying a lot. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. After Pops made Leo leader, I just… got lost. Like, what else was I good at, y’know?”

“I hear that.” April grabs a new plushie and begins mapping out the damage. It’s in pretty bad shape; a patch may be necessary. “I’m there with work right now. I hate it there, and I hate that I feel that way, because I spent all this time getting to this point and now it’s just—not working. But what do I do? It’s not like I’m good at anything else.”

“You gotta look outside the box.” Raph talks while carefully pinching his own needle and thread in his claws to begin the process of sewing Patchwork Teddy back together, his brows furrowed in concentration and his snaggletooth biting into his tongue.

April grunts, pulls her thread tighter than she means to. She’s never confirmed it, but she’s pretty sure the Hamatos are either living off Lou Jitsu royalties or some shady nonsense Donnie’s done with an algorithm and the stock market. Either way, they’re never hurting for funds. It’s easy to make big life changes when you don’t have rent to worry about.

Well, they don’t pay rent anyway because they live in an abandoned subway station, but the general point remains. Money’s never seemed to be an issue for them.

She hasn’t said anything, but Raph catches on anyway. “I’m not sayin’ gettin’ outside the box ain’t scary. It’s scary as hell—but it’s worth it.”

Why does it feel like they’re talking about more than just a shakeup of jobs and leadership roles? April can’t quite put her finger on it.

“How did you know it would be worth it, though? Not every leap of faith is.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t see it because I was still stuck in there, too scared to even peek out,” he says simply, then snorts. “Didn’t have a choice once Casey tore the box apart. She wasn’t gonna wait for Raph to worry about everythin’. You know how she is: get movin’ and the thinkin’ part’ll catch up!”

April grins at him. “Or you outrun the thoughts completely. Perks of a big stride.”

“I’m pretty good at outrunnin’ most of ‘em now,” Raph agrees, waving Patchwork Teddy’s stubby little arm back and forth, the ear repair job he’d been working on momentarily forgotten.

“It sounds like she’s been good for you.”

The waving stops. Raph stares the bear down like he’s suddenly surprised it’s there. “Oh. Uh. About that.”

Just like that, April’s completely forgotten about the mending. Her thoughts are a cyclone—he’s been talking about Casey a lot during this conversation—he’s not meeting her eyes anymore—he doesn’t look upset—the way he just said about that.

Holy shit, Raph and Cassandra Jones are a thing.

April knew they were close. They’ve been close ever since the Krang invasion, everyone knows that. But this kind of close?

There are so many ways April could acknowledge what she’s just gleaned. She’s a reporter, she’s supposed to be quick on her feet. Instead of anything clever, April just blurts out, “But Casey’s a lesbian!”

Raph’s hum of affirmation and utter lack of follow-up does absolutely nothing to quell the tempest of thoughts that are threatening to explode from her ears.

Wait, did he just—no, did she—? They…?

What the hell else has she missed?

April thrusts her hand towards her friend. “Hi, I’m April, she/her.”

If this were any other circumstance, Raph’s bewildered expression would be comedy gold. The hand that gently shakes hers is so huge it totally engulfs her fingers, scales a prominent, knobbly texture on her skin. “Uh. Raph, he/him? April, you good?” Without waiting for a response, Raph pulls her in and presses his free hand to her forehead. “You ain’t feverish.”

April brushes his hand off. “I’m not sick, I need you to dish. How long has this been going on? When did you know? How—”

Mikey ducks his head in as he’s passing by, carrying a box of art supplies. “Hey, I heard hollering. Is everything okay?”

Yes, aside from April missing this huge development in her best friend’s life and apparently being too smooth-brained to grasp the concept that Raphael, a cisgendered man, is dating the most sapphic woman she’s ever met. It seems words are just not a thing for her today, because it all comes out as, “Mikey, Casey’s a lesbian!”

As Raph starts giggling, Mikey gives April a look of such incredulity that it borders on pity. “You know, actually, this explains so much,” he says, almost to himself. “I’m choosing to take comfort in this.”

“No, Mikey, I know—”

“Nope, I’m leaving now! Good luck, Raph-a-taph, you’re gonna need it.”

Raph completely dissolves into laughter. April groans and rubs at her face with both hands, dislodging her glasses. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“It’s easier if y’don’t think too hard about it,” Raph tells her, wiping tears from his eyes with the jagged tails of his mask. When April biffs a stuffed penguin at him, he just chuckles and catches it.

“I’m a journalist—thinking too hard about everything is what I do!” She tosses her glasses to the side and flops pathetically over his outstretched leg, arm dangling over his thigh and her cheek propped next to the spike on his knee. “I crave details, Raphie. It’s cruel to leave me hanging like this.”

He shrugs and situates the penguin so that it’s cuddled up against April’s cheek, then gives them both an affectionate pat on the head. “It just kinda happened. Normally Cass is all about cottagecore-y princesses, but turns out she’s got a thing for Raph, too.”

Yeah, April’s aware of Casey’s normal preferences—that’s why this whole thing is so shocking.

“And this is new, right? I’m not completely blind?”

Raph snorts and tries on her discarded glasses. He immediately goes cross-eyed, just like he does every time. “I mean…”

“In the metaphorical sense,” April amends, taking her glasses back and perching them on her nose. “Like, this hasn’t been secretly going on for years?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that.”

She waits, but that’s apparently all he’s got to say on the subject. “Raph, you’re killing me.”

“What? It ain’t like this havin’ a girlfriend thing is old news. I’m still gettin’ used to it!” It’s not that he falters, exactly, more like he’s still in awe of the reality behind what he just said. April watches his expression go from casual to introspective. “I almost missed out, too. If Casey hadn’t gotten me so used to lookin’ at things differently, doing things even when it’s scary as hell, I’d still be sittin’ here thinkin’ it was a lost cause, never knowin’ how wrong I was.”

April starts to say that she’s happy for his hard-won contentment, but the words fade on her lips. Raph’s looking at her like he’s expecting some kind of lightbulb moment. “Uh, hi? What’s up?”

“I’m sayin’,” he tells her meaningfully, “That there’re some things in life you just gotta pick up, put against a wall, and kiss senseless just to see if it’ll work out. You get me?”

April gasps and sits up fast, her mouth hanging open. “Holy crap—Raphael, is that what you did? Raph, what—hey, what? What?” Raph’s let out a groan, flopped face-first onto the mattress, and started burying himself in injured stuffed animals. “You brought you here! You’re the one who used that hyper-specific example!” She shakes him, but he refuses to lift his head. “Oh, come on, there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s just kissing.”

Raph just piles on more stuffies. Poor guy, he really is still getting used to this.

April knows there’s a scheme in the works the moment she gets to the lair after work. Splinter’s in his favorite armchair in front of a muted TV, surrounded by his four hulking mutant sons, all of them backlit by the screen. She feels like she just walked in on an intervention or a scene from a horror flick.

She doesn’t see Casey, though. Must be out working.

“Dad, seriously, I’m seeing moss on this chair, and it looks like it’s started growing on you, too,” says Leo, making a face at the stains on Splinter’s favorite armchair.

“It’s mold, ‘Nardo. Moss is fuzzier.”

Leo features crease in disgust and he takes a pointed step away from the armchair Splints is still stubbornly parked on. “Why is that worse?”

“’Cus mold is worse for your health than moss,” says Raph helpfully.

“It won’t be long, Daddy,” says Mikey in his sweetest, most Youngest Child voice. He squats down to Splinter’s level and everything, his hands perched on his mismatched kneepads. “Just a couple of hours while we get the new chair in and assembled—”

“And the hazmat team cleans up,” Donnie mutters under his breath.

“—And then you’ll be comfier than ever!”

“No, I refuse! This chair has been with me for twenty years—”

“Dad, that is the point! It’s older than Mikey, it’s gross, it’s busted, it’s got to go!”

“Some fresh air would do ya some good, Pops. You’re gettin’ a little…” Raph gestures delicately. “Feral.”

Ah, so intervention it is.

“Sup fam,” April says, and Splinter leaps two feet in the air and hisses, eyes flashing and claws out.

“See? This is exactly what we’re talking about.” Leo thrusts his arm in her direction. “You just hissed at April.”

April does her best to look extremely attacked and weepy. “Yeah, Splints, that hurt my feelings.”

Splinter pauses, then harrumphs, arms crossed. “Fine, but only for a couple of hours, and this new chair had better conform to me like this one, or I want a refund!”

Everyone looks at the sagging, abused armchair with all its stains, but nobody knows what to say about that. Instead, Mikey springs to his feet and drags Splinter into a big hug that also extracts him from the chair—entirely coincidentally, April’s sure.

“That’s the spirit, dad! We’re gonna have fun—and we have to, because I rescheduled one of my mystic lessons with Barry for this!”

“Ah, yes, such noble sacrifice,” Donnie says as he lifts his arm and navigates through a few screens on his gauntlet computer. “Operation CLOROX is a go.”

Right on cue, Shelldon 3.0 and half a dozen drones of other shapes and sizes (several of which are former bot fighting models) come buzzing in, carrying a kit for a leather recliner and several cleaning supplies.

April’s pretty quick on her feet, but she ain’t ninja fast. She hitches a ride on Raph’s shell as the team rapidly exits the lair so she’s not slowing the group down. He barely even notices the extra weight. “You okay with travelin’ this way? You look fancier than usual,” he asks with a gesture to her outfit.

“Nah. Maybe I’m not rocking scrubs, but these are still just work clothes. Let ‘em get dirty.” Raph’s shell is as big as a queen-sized bed these days, so she’s got some room to make herself comfortable. April props her elbow between a couple of his spikes and rests her chin in her hand. “How’s the practicum going, by the way?”

She smiles when he absolutely lights up at the question. “Awesome! I still ain’t the best at feeling when somethin’s swollen but doesn’t look it, but I’m gettin’ better from all the practice.” There’s a pause as he studies some traffic patterns from a rooftop. April only realizes what he’s about to do the second before he leaps from the building, skids down an awning, and sails right through the spaces between three different lanes of taxis. April’s squeal of delight is interrupted with an oof of surprise as she’s plucked from Raph’s shell and tucked against his plastron mid-air; he hits the ground and rolls through the impact, coming to a tidy stop next to Leo at the entrance of Central Park.

“Anyways, just a few months left, then it’s the licensin’ exam,” Raph says, setting her on her feet and straightening her blazer like nothing out of the ordinary’s gone down. He’s not even winded. “That’s only two things! I’m basically already there, and then you can start callin’ me Nurse Raph.”

April grins up at him, so thrilled by their method of arrival she forgets to check if there are other humans gawping at the sight. “Hell yeah, I’m so stoked for—”

She never gets to finish her sentence, because that’s when all the guys’ phones start beeping with incoming crime alerts. Curiously, she presses the button on the side of her analog watch to transform it into a yellow hard-light cuff with all the capabilities of a super beefed up smart watch (because of course this isn’t just any tech, it’s Donnie Tech). With a couple of taps, she’s seeing the alert for herself.

Oh, damn, bank robbery. Just like the movies.

April looks up just in time to see blurs of blue-orange-purple as their respective owners take off.

“Whoa, everyone’s going?”

“Yeah, it’s just like the movies—we ain’t missin’ that!” Raph smiles and pats her arm. “You’ve got Pops covered, right April?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he, too, is gone in a blur of color.

April looks to Splinter, ready to commiserate about how they didn’t get invited to stop the bank heist, but he’s scowling and squinting, trying to shield his eyes from the sun. “My sons did not tell me it would be so bright up here! I am not used to this!” he says irritably.

Aaand that’s the real reason why everyone dipped: they didn’t want to deal with Splinter being cranky about losing his armchair.

“Oh, come on, Splints, it’s such a nice day even you can’t get grumpy.” There are only a few quick moving clouds in the sky, and there’s a pleasant breeze so the humidity doesn’t settle too close on the skin. April’s not even wearing a secondary jacket over her work clothes today.

She reaches down and nudges his shoulder so they can start walking. “When was the last time you were here, anyway?”

It’s hard to say if Splints was just playing up the cantankerousness to see what he could get, or if he’s genuinely over it. Either way, he gives the brightness all around him one last look of reproach before adjusting his robe and walking alongside her. “It has been some time,” he admits. “The trees have grown.”

Yeah, time does that. How long has it been?

“Is it agoraphobia that keeps you in the lair all the time?” She’s always wondered.

“I am not familiar with the word.”

“Fear of open spaces—or just going outside in general.”

Splints’ hum lets April know he’s noticing the way she keeps scanning their surroundings. At this point it’s second nature to watch out for unfriendly faces. “No, it is not the space that is uncomfortable. It is that there is nothing left for me up here.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

He flicks a claw at the other parkgoers, drawing April’s attention to the double takes and open staring some of them are doing, as if she didn’t already know. “I am Lou Jitsu, and Splinter, and even occasionally ordinary teenaged boy Randall—and I have been received differently each time I’ve come up here. Rarely the way I want to be.”

April grimaces. He’s not wrong, and the reason why is stark without him ever having to say it aloud. “You miss being Lou Jitsu, and being up here hurts because it reminds you of what you lost when you were mutated.”

“If I had a cloaking broach, I would never take it off,” he confesses. “But that would help nothing, in the end.”

“Because it wouldn’t be authentically you and you’re trying to set a good example, right?” April knows Splints raised his boys to be proud of who they are—and, honestly, he did an amazing job. She’s never met anyone half as self-confident as her best friends, and it’s something she admires greatly.

“Even when I was human, I was a Japanese man with a martial arts background trying to break into the 1980s film industry. What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t chosen to fill the very specific role of action star, April?” Something drops into her gut, but Splints doesn’t wait for her to come up with something to say. “My sons do not covet the approval of others the way I did—if I have done anything right as a parent, it is sparing them of that, because such desire is a maze without an exit.”

And that’s why he no longer has interest in the surface world, and why he’s never sought out a cloaking broach: because he doesn’t want to fall into the habit of chasing the approval of people who don’t matter. Being mutated pushed him away from it, but Splinter’s intentionally keeping his distance now.

“Oh, Splints,” April says softly.

He hums, and then looks up at her expectantly.

“What, is there something on my face?” April pulls out her phone in selfie mode and checks her face and teeth. Nothing embarrassing to be seen.

Splinter lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You are just like my boys, April. You only learn things the hard way.” He clears his throat and says very plainly, “Have you ever considered that you are trying to force a lifestyle that doesn’t work for you, and maybe going full rat-mode is a better solution?” He does a little gesture to himself.

April suddenly feels like she’s watching a foreign show without the subtitles. “You think I should become a rat-person?”

“No, that is a metaphor. I am saying that authenticity as a rat-man is better than subterfuge as a beautiful human wearing a cloaking broach.”

“But didn’t you just say the cloaking broach wouldn’t matter anyway, because you were still stereotyped even when you were human?”

“Yes, I did, but that’s not the—you know what? Let’s just get some ice cream.” He points at a refrigerated cart that’s coming up ahead on the path.

April immediately embraces the distraction from the weird circular confusion Splinter’s spinning up. “Absolutely. My treat, since you’re losing your favorite chair today.”

“Ugh, do not remind me.” Splinter shudders. “I will not like this new chair, I just know it!”

By the time Mikey calls to check in on them, April and Splinter are lounging on a park bench with their ice cream cones and speculating which crime syndicate could be behind the bank heist. April answers using her Donnie Tech watch so there’s video.

“Hey, how—are you guys having ice cream without us?” Just like that, Raph and Leo and Donnie are crowding into frame to witness the betrayal for themselves.

“We slave over a hot, dusty city day in and day out, keeping it safe for you, and you don’t even get us ice cream?” says Leo indignantly.

“Mm-hmm,” April hums, adjusting her cone so the sunlight hits the frozen treat in the perfect glamor shot. “It’s real good, too.”

“Perhaps if you did not abandon your father in the middle of Central Park, you too would have ice cream,” Splinter says primly.

“We very clearly did not abandon you, Papá. April’s right there.”

“Yes, and she is my favorite child now!”

“It’s true. I can’t believe you don’t show Splints you love him,” April tuts, leaning magnanimously against the back of the bench. She grins at the gaggle of protests that erupt on the other side of the call. “Oh well, more ice cream for us. Have fun saving the city or whatever, enjoy being the least favorites!”

She cuts the call. “What do you think, ten minutes until they get here and start competing over who’s the best and most loving son?”

“I give it seven. Blue was really insulted about the ice cream,” says Splinter. He’s torn between fondness and amusement—no matter how obviously fake it is, when he messes with them like this his sons always react in the biggest and most theatrical way possible. It, April thinks as she grins and shakes her head, most definitely runs in the family.

April’s at the kitchen island in the lair with one knee drawn up and leaning against the counter, listening to music and snacking on leftovers from one of Mikey’s latest cooking videos while she scours the internet for more dirt on Matthias Matterson. It’s been more than a year since her windfall of incriminating information, and she has yet to get lucky twice. She hasn’t given up on taking him down, though. If there’s any justice in the world, it’ll happen one day.

She doesn’t think anyone else is in the lair right now—but, if they are, they’re keeping out of the common spaces. April doesn’t mind. Being here by herself is preferable to being alone in her tiny bachelor—and besides, Casey’s just texted that he’s nearly done with his latest odd job, so she’ll have company soon anyway.

Her ears perk up at the sound of a door and the rumble of conversation. Oh, it’s Donatello and his current partner. April feels bad that she doesn’t remember the guy’s name, but she’s seen him around a lot recently; he’s a human man with dyed hair, a nose ring, thick-rimmed glasses, and biceps that could crush a soda can in one flex. He’s tall, though not nearly as tall as Donnie (only fellow mutants are, these days). All in all, April can certainly see the appeal; good for Dee for nabbing such a hottie.

April can see them in her peripheral as Donnie walks his beau to the lair’s entrance. She tries to focus on her phone’s screen, but the ever-curious reporter in her is taking note of hesitant body language coming from Donnie’s partner. “I’ll, uh. See you around, okay? Let me know when you’ve had more time to think about it.”

“Of course, Tarek.”

There’s a moment where they just sort of look at each other, conspicuously standing arms’ breadth apart. Tarek starts to step forward to close the distance, but stops when Donnie tenses up. He settles for giving Donnie’s arm a lingering squeeze instead, which Donnie woodenly permits.

Then he’s gone, the lair’s door giving a small beep as the locks click back into place.

At this point April’s poured all her concentration into rereading the same sentence six different times, and her brain’s still refused to comprehend the words. “Hey,” she says when Donnie heads toward the kitchen. If he didn’t want to be talked at, he could have gone literally anywhere else. “Have you tried this shrimp scampi, and do you know what weird thing Mikey did to it? Because I still haven’t figured it out.”

“It’s not actually shrimp,” Donnie says as he takes the chair next to her on the island.

April stares down at her plate, shook. She pauses the music coming out of her phone. “Then what are they?”

“A burrowing insect you can only find in a specific biome in the Hidden City. It took ‘Angelo weeks to make the connections he needed to get the supply, but I hardly think it was worth it. Shrimp have a better texture.” So says the obligate carnivore. Honestly, learning that a few years back has explained a lot of Donnie’s extreme pickiness when it comes to food.

April gives her plate a considering look, and then shrugs and spins up another forkful of scampi and noodles. Apparently, she likes eating bugs—who knew?

“April, I’ve got a question for you.” Donnie’s pensive in a way April’s only seen a handful of times throughout their friendship. His fingers are drumming on the quartz countertop, and he’s jiggling his knee.

“Yeah, Dee? What’s up?”

This isn’t normal, so April exits out of her Boogle search and puts her phone to sleep—only to have the device swiped out of her hand.

“Have you been ignoring your update notifications?”

“Uh. Not on purpose? I’m always in the middle of something when they pop up, and I mean to circle back, but then… I forget.”

“That’s it, you’re getting switched to overnight updates—look at this processing speed! It’s embarrassing, April.” She knows she’s busted when Donnie flashes her an entirely unimpressed scowl and opens an admin-locked app to start backfilling her systems updates and cleaning out her cache. “As a Donnie Tech™ brand ambassador, nothing in your lineup should be running this poorly.”

“Sorry, Dee.” April sets her fork down and twists around to get a better look at him and how intense he’s being over this phone update thing. Sure, he’s usually annoyed when she forgets, but this feels different. “Did something happen? You said you had a question for me, but I don’t think it was about my phone.”

“It wasn’t.” For a long time that’s all he says on the matter, focusing instead on tapping impatiently through permission screens and cleanup logs. He doesn’t seem upset, exactly, but the prickliness radiating from him is unfamiliar.

April bumps his arm with the leg she’s got folded up against her chest. “Change your mind? I can switch the subject, no harm no foul.”

“That’s not it.” He takes a moment, steeling himself, and then says, “You’re considered a cuddly person, right?”

Out of all the things she thought he’d ask, this wasn’t one of them.

“Yes,” says April slowly. She grins, trying to lighten the mood. “Why, arguing over the definition with someone?”

“Tarek says I’m not affectionate enough and it’s hurting him.”

Oh. That puts the scene at the entrance to the lair in much more poignant context.

April winces, feeling bad for trying to joke through the tension. Donnie’s never talked to her about this sort of thing before—maybe he was right to do that. “I take it he’s a cuddly guy, then?”

Donnie hasn’t looked up from what he’s doing with her phone. “Yes, and it’s…” He replaces the word ‘overwhelming’ with a short sigh of frustration. “I’ve been showing affection, and frankly he’s not seeing it.”

April folds her arm across her knee and leans her cheek onto it. “All the usual tech upgrades?”

Donnie nods and checks the settings on her newly updated phone. Something isn’t up to specs, so he brings up the admin-app again and types in a couple lines of code. “Tarek used to play rugby, and he has an ACL injury that’ll never fully heal,” he says as he types. “I consulted with Raphael and came up with a device to help with his physical therapy.”

April whistles, impressed. “Damn, okay. I had an ex tape my glasses together after I sat on them once.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. They did a horrible job.”

“Why do you think I asked you to machine a replacement the next day?” She’d passed it off as having really good insurance, and her ex hadn’t prodded further. Everyone’s pride was saved that day. “Anyway, not the point. So you made this really thoughtful gift, and then what happened? Does he use it?”

“He does, and he’s seen improvement, which I’ve pointed out is far more useful than a hug.” Tangible, positive results: Donnie’s favorite outcome. “But he still says it’s challenging for him to understand someone cares if they don’t cuddle enough. He says it’s isolating.”

It sounds like Tarek’s done a fair job of articulating where he’s coming from. There’s no question of whose side April’s on, but as a cuddly person herself she fully understands what it means to feel as though your partner’s cutting you off from physical affection.

“Sounds like you both want to make this work, if you’re talking things through like this,” April observes.

Donnie’s quiet as he gives her phone one last look over and then slides it across the counter, nodding at her word of thanks. “Yes,” he says finally.

April doesn’t remark that it sounds like he’s only now coming to this conclusion, or that the decision sounds dubious at best. It’s not her place to prod deeper; he’s asking about demonstrations of affection, and she respects him enough to keep things there.

“Okay,” says April, thinking aloud. “Well, what about—”

“Actually, I have a caveat: while I am willing to compromise, I’m not willing to undermine myself for this. I know I’m not a cuddly person and that’s a point of contention, but I’m not interested in forcing myself to become one for someone else’s sake.”

Donnie speaks with a vehemence that comes from having to assert yourself time and again. April feels a pang in her chest as she wonders how many of his previous partners have asked this of him.

“Valid,” she says, noting the relief in the set of her friend’s shoulders. “And honestly, showing affection to a touchy person doesn’t have to involve full body snuggles, though I won’t deny those are awesome.” She wiggles the toes she has dangling over the edge of her chair and grins at his expression of distaste. “Have you tried doing the thumb thing?”

Donnie gives her this look like he’s trying to figure out if she’s teasing him. April can practically see the cogs turning in his head. “Explain.”

April chuckles. “It’s when you’re holding someone’s hand and petting them with your thumb. It’s a little touch, but the pets show you’re paying extra attention.”

Donnie’s brows are drawn together skeptically. “You’re using both hands for this?”

“No, just one. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

April holds out her hand, palm up. Donnie reaches over and watches with academic interest as April twines their fingers together. Despite their mismatching number of digits, they have no trouble finding an arrangement that feels comfortable. “This is the thumb thing,” April says as she rubs the pad of her thumb along his knuckles, picking up on the subtle bumps of scales and callouses.

Donnie takes a moment to consider, studying their interconnected fingers by tilting them this way and that. April’s chest goes warm when he experiments with giving his own thumb pets—what can she say? There’s a reason it’s a tried-and-true gesture. If it’ll work on her, it’ll work on anyone.

Her heart skips a beat in surprise when Donnie meets her eyes. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. It’s not complicated, but speaking from experience? It makes a big difference.” She stops petting and gives his hand a companionable squeeze. “How’s that treating you? Too much?”

“No, but you’re not a good example, April. No offense.”

April laughs instead of showing that, actually, she’s on the fence about being offended. “How am I not a good example?”

“Because I don’t have to explain myself to you.” The emotion that cracks his voice is a surprise to both of them. Donnie draws a shuddering breath and looks away, embarrassed by the intensity of the outburst. His knee’s started jiggling again. His gaze flicks down when April moves her thumb in comforting little circles. The longer he watches, the more his demeanor softens to show just how wounded he is over this misunderstanding with his partner.

He swallows and averts his eyes again, frustrated. “I hate that I have to keep having this conversation with people, and I hate that it never gets easier. It’s exhausting.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry this is happening, Dee, but hopefully a compromise like this will help Tarek understand how much love you’ve got to give.”

Donnie’s scoff is more of a sigh. He doesn’t say anything.

He does, however, look down when April taps the back of his hand to show him that he’s still petting her knuckles, that he hasn’t stopped this entire conversation. She smiles as his knee stops bouncing. “See? Didn’t even realize you were doing it. That’s a really good start.”

After being single for more than a year, April’s of two minds about it.

On one hand, not having to repeatedly sell herself to potential partners is a relief, and she doesn’t miss the one step forward/two steps back of the do-you-like-me-or-are-you-just-friendly game. There’s also all the free time she has now that she doesn’t have to figure out time with her friends around someone else’s schedule, and she appreciates no longer having to burn off all the weird energy that builds up after a date gone sideways.

On the other hand, Cassandra Jones put it best when she said, “Needs. People have ‘em.”

April knows how to take care of herself, but she dreads the loneliness that’s baked into using a vibrator to get off. What she misses the most about dating are the in-between moments—the inside jokes, the silly faces, eating takeout in their underwear because there’s nowhere else they need to be. She misses being able to snuggle up to someone in the middle of the night and soak up their body heat, misses groggy ‘good mornings’ and kisses that hit chins and noses instead of lips because they’re both still half-asleep and they aimed wrong.

And yeah, she’s got a couple different apps downloaded on her phone, and one-night stands are a decent substitute when the alternative is masturbation, but there’s never enough time or repetition for things to get as good as they might have otherwise.

She’d really started resenting her role as a halfway house for lost souls there in the end, and she’s not desperate enough for companionship to open herself back up for business. It’s just—sometimes she still feels like an abandoned building, and a single night with someone new is nothing more than the hauntings of a transient ghost. There are days when April despairs that she’s not doing the only thing she’s ever been good at while simultaneously wanting to demolish the entire damn house because it’s never been home, and it never will be.

She’s getting by, though. Raph’s leant her Patchwork Teddy, and April cuddles that on the nights her bed feels huge and empty and her apartment’s way too quiet.

What helps the most is spending time with her friends. She and Mikey go hunting for the best bakery in New York City and find it in this tiny hole in the wall on the west side that they discover completely by accident. She tags along with Casey when he volunteers with the puppies at Toddland and starts learning different dog breeds. She tries new coffee shops with Leo and Juan and learns that, actually, she’s way pickier about her brews than she originally thought. She and Raph drag Casey with them to as many live wrestling matches as possible and rejoice the day she finally starts screaming at the ref with them. She and Donnie host hours-long debates on sci-fi principles over cooling takeout instead of finishing movie marathons. Sometimes she tags along on vigilante adventures, and sometimes she hangs back at the lair watching soaps with Splinter. Sometimes she drops by her mother’s apartment and helps deep clean the place, just because she’s here and she can.

April has other friends, too, other connections that she maintains, but these are the ones she keeps coming back to. These are the people she never tires of, the ones who never fail to leave her feeling better than she was before they met up, no matter what goes down.

Ironically, it feels like she’s finally taking the advice Mikey said he originally got from her. She’s finding out what makes her happy.

Chapter Text

“And now, for our next challenge,” Splinter announces from atop a platform high above the arena. He’s in his referee’s uniform and he’s wearing a microphone so that everyone in the abandoned warehouse can hear what he’s reading off a wide purple Donnie Tech™ tablet. “The Gauntlet of—okay, who named this? ‘The Gauntlet of the Stabby-Boom Chaos Champion’? Orange, was it you?”

Mikey, who has been hopping from foot to foot and shaking out his arms, whoops and leaps vertically about four feet into the air. “You bet it was, baby! And I’m gonna win.”

Leo scoffs as he stretches an arm across his plastron. “Yeah, Michael, that’s cute, but everyone knows agility’s my thing.”

“Excuse you both,” says Donnie indignantly. “I built this obstacle course, I know it inside and out!”

“Not anymore, ya don’t,” Raph says confidently. He gestures to the table of buttons, switches, and dials that’s just appeared on the sidelines. “Casey did some modifications to the controls earlier today. Nobody knows what they’ll do now.”

The four brothers are lined up on a platform of their own at the beginning of the obstacle course about twenty feet in the air—and it’s the kind of gauntlet that could give any video game a run for its money. Gymnastics equipment stands alongside swinging hammers, and there’s a section where a giant rolling pin leads to a very floppy looking net that’s suspended above some spikes. Every once in a while some pyrotechnics fire off, just to keep things interesting.

“Gasp—Casey Junior, you tell me what you did this instant!”

“No, Purple, that is against the rules!” Splinter interjects. “The object of this challenge is to get through the obstacle course with as much style as possible, while our lovely audience does everything within their power to stop you.”

“Shelldon, make sure you’re getting shots from multiple angles,” April instructs into her hard-light smartwatch. “If style points are on the line, we’ll probably have some photo finishes to squabble over.”

“You got it, brah!” Shelldon says through the comms on her watch. Above their heads, a small army of drones zip into place around the Gauntlet. April makes sure the livestream of the event is working properly and then sets control of the different camera angles to Shelldon’s discretion so she can focus on doing her part in this event.

Casey cracks her knuckles, and then her neck, and drops into a deep horse stance in front of the buttons, hands raised and prepared to strike. She stops when she notices a crucial detail, and promptly whips around. “Casey! None of these buttons have labels!”

“They’re not supposed to,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And there’s so many of them I can’t remember which one means what, either—that’s part of the fun!”

Cassandra cackles in a way that reminds April of her whole Evil Foot Ninja phase. “Excellent choice, Casey! I will relish this element of chaos as I make this Stabby-Boom course even more obstructive!”

“Oh, yeah, we weedin’ the champions out from the tortoises today!” April crows as she joins Casey and Casey at the literal switchboard. They’re missing one. She waves over the fourth audience member. “Juan, get over here!”

The man Leo instantly hit it off with at the pride mixer several months ago approaches with an utterly bemused look. He keeps glancing between the buttons and the Hamatos, who are still casually talking smack to one another, entirely unbothered by this added element of anarchy. “Somehow, this is not what I pictured when Leonardo said ‘family bonding’.”

“There is no better bonding experience than adrenaline and danger!”

“If it makes you feel better, every obstacle in this gauntlet was a suggestion from someone up there, so they literally asked for this,” adds Casey.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” says April. She promptly drags Leo’s boyfriend into the fray. “Now get over here and get ready to button mash.”

“Our audience is in position, and our competitors are being reminded, right now, that they are not allowed to use their mystic powers during this event,” Splinter says, his voice booming out over the loudspeakers. “Ready, set, go!”

As predicted, chaos ensues. Smoke bombs are released from the ceiling. A sprinkler starts spraying—is that orange soda? The gymnastic balance bars shake like they’re experiencing an extremely localized earthquake, which is going to make jumping from one to the other more challenging. One of the swinging hammers reveals a hidden jet attachment and starts chasing whoever’s closest. The giant rolling pin is now covered in oil and even harder to balance on than before. The net the boys have to climb across is now smoking because it is actively on fire. The pyrotechnics have also been taken up a notch—every so often a really huge flame jets out over the top half of the obstacle course, discouraging anyone inclined to try and ‘take the high road,’ as it were.

Despite all of this, literally none of the brothers are fazed. Random mayhem is their bread and butter; they know how to dodge and weave around all of that with grace.

“Ha—is that all you got?” Leo jeers as he artfully dodges the rocket-hammer by swinging up and doing a one-handed pose on the balancing bars. He’s got his toes pointed and everything.

“Easy peasy!” Mikey says as he does a series of mid-air flips and twists and lands lightly atop something that was never meant to be stood upon.

April frowns. If these buttons are going to make any sort of impact, they need to be used with intention.

“Okay, hold up with the button mashing,” says April as she gets an idea. “Case, about how many of these buttons would you say you messed with?”

“I don’t know, half?”

Fifty-fifty odds of being right, then. “And the rest still have Donnie’s original programming,” she says. “Alright, let’s give this a shot—they always use dials for lasers in Jupiter Jim. Juan, turn that dial right as Raph’s jumping between those bars?”

Juan does, looking visibly skeptical—but there’s no mistaking the laser that shoots out of the wall. The only problem is it’s nowhere near Raph. However, it does singe the edges of Donnie’s mask tails as he lurches out of the way at the last second.

April grins widely. Now they’re cooking with gas. “Bet you anything the set of three switches over there are for the spikes. Casey?”

The switches are going in alternating directions, but Casey flips them all anyway, and they’re rewarded with the spikes below the flaming net rearranging themselves and spearing upwards at random intervals. One of them catches the chain of Mikey's 'chucks and forces him to abandon the acrobatics he’d been about to perform in favor of not getting turtle-kebabbed.

“And this big red button’s for the fire.” April smacks down on it as Leo strikes another pose in mid-air—and, sure enough, the big-ass flamethrower belches out green-tinted fire and immediately wrecks what would have otherwise been a very cool landing.

The next two she gets wrong—a domestic switchplate used in houses and apartments doesn’t turn parts of the obstacle course on and off, as she expects, but instead sprays a specific part of the course with orange soda. The shiny chrome dial doesn’t introduce a soundtrack element, it—

“Banana peels?” says April. “Alright, who’s been watching the most cartoons recently?”

“Of course,” says Juan mildly. “Is a giant death gauntlet truly complete if it’s not pelting participants with banana peels?”

Casey’s snickering. “My idea. I’ve been eating a lot of bananas.”

April sees the shift in Juan’s demeanor before he speaks up. She doesn’t think he can help himself. “Are you having trouble with your potassium levels?”

“I don’t think so? I’m just really into fresh fruit right now.” Casey shrugs. “Didn’t get a lot of it growing up.”

It’s a cleverly oblique reference to his history, truthful without being outlandish or having to dive into the whole I’m-from-an-alternate-future thing. But Juan surprises them all by remarking, “That’s a good point. I don’t suppose banana trees were common in post-apocalyptic New York, huh?”

Casey blinks, stunned. “Oh. Uh, no, they weren’t. Sorry, I didn’t realize Leo’d mentioned that part already?”

“I made the mistake of assuming you and Cassandra were siblings, given the obvious family resemblance.”

“It’s true, my future son inherited many of my most favorable traits!”

“This competition is really heating up,” Splinter says over the loudspeaker. “And it would only be more interesting if the people on the sidelines stopped having social hour and did their jobs.”

They all look over to the obstacle course and see the Hamatos nonchalantly lounging on various threats. Donnie’s on his phone. When the rocket hammer targets him, Raph casually punches it out of the way.

“What’s the point of getting style points if no one’s watching?” Leo laments from where he’s draped melodramatically across the giant rolling pin, entirely unaffected by how slippery it is. He throws his arm across his eyes, conveniently as an arrow zips past where his elbow would have been—where had that even come from?

Shelldon makes an annoyed “ahem” sound. “What am I, chopped liver? I’ve been filming the entire time, from multiple angles!”

“Ooh, can this be part of this year’s blooper compilation?” asks Mikey. He’s hanging upside down from the smoldering net without caring one iota about the flames.

“That depends entirely on whether anything funnier happens between now and the end of the games, ‘Angelo,” says Donnie as he puts his phone away. He looks annoyed.

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Yes, Donald, I know what bloopers are. I’m saying this is funny.”

“Strictly speaking, no you didn’t.” Donnie, who’s airborne thanks to his battle shell, easily dodges another rogue arrow—seriously, where are those coming from? He twitches in irritation as it whizzes harmlessly by and clatters against the wall.

April interrupts before he can take his aggravation out anyone else. “Splints, we’re ready to go down here. Whenever you wanna count us in.”

“Finally.” The brothers all put their game faces back on as Splinter counts down from five, and then the competition is back in full swing.

At this point April’s got a working theory about which parts of the obstacle course the switchboard controls. It’s organized into quadrants, because that would make the wiring easier.

“That makes sense,” Casey says when she explains. He waits until Mikey skids onto the rolling pin, striking a showy pose as he does so—and is promptly upstaged by Casey, who slaps four different buttons in the corresponding quadrant of the table.

It works. Cartoonish green slime drops onto Mikey’s head from the ceiling, the rolling pin starts spinning at breakneck speeds, a cloud of colorful feathers explodes out the side of the wall with a puff, and the sound of a sad tuba echoes out across the Gauntlet. The result is Mikey looking like a recently molted parrot that’s scrambling to keep his balance.

“It’ll be hard to come back from that,” Juan remarks. He watches as Leo flips around on the still-rattling gymnastics bars and experimentally smacks a button that’s pulsing different colors. One of the bars suddenly retracts, but Leo recovers admirably, latching onto one of the vertical support poles and swinging circles around it with all the grace of a cirque du soleils performer. He lands with no trouble and does a cheeky little bow.

“Nice try, cariño! Love to see you participating.”

Juan grunts, unimpressed. His hand swipes across multiple buttons almost by accident, and Leo is suddenly being chased around by a cloud of very tiny robots that buzz like angry hornets while dodging an automated turret shooting balloons filled with brightly colored paint. Also, there’s a sticky ooze seeping out of the floor and sucking against his legs, which is making the whole dodging thing a bit tough.

“Love to see you participating, Leonardo,” Juan says, and while his tone is light the way his hand hovers over more buttons decidedly is not.

Oh, April’s seeing a whole new side to Leo’s boyfriend today.

The net, which is still on fire, breaks under Raph’s weight as he leaps onto it from the rolling pin. Raph saves himself from a treacherous landing amongst the spikes, but unfortunately doing so involved an instinctive use of ninpo, which disqualifies him. Mikey’s still goo’d and feathered, which severely hinders the cool factor of anything he does between the rolling pin and the end of the Gauntlet.

Donnie does okay up until Casey and April hit two buttons at the same time. One of them (or perhaps a combination of the two?) throws out an EMP wave and shorts out his tech, then sends him bouncing comically off a giant trampoline and into the broken and burning net. The resulting tangle is decidedly not stylish at all. He also slips on the giant rolling pin, which is admittedly covered in all kinds of goops and oils and feathers and orange soda and probably a nightmare to find traction on. Recovery from that isn’t too bad—he avoids faceplanting onto the spikes with a rare show of bō-assisted acrobatics, but he doesn’t stick the landing. The resulting stumble and yowl as he lands hard on his tail kind of cancels any style points he’s managed to claw back.

Leo’s the only one who makes it to the other side of the obstacle course on his own terms. He makes a three-point landing and immediately straightens into one of his classic poses, katana propped across his shoulders and mask tails streaming in a nonexistent wind as something explodes behind him.

“Blue wins!” Splinter announces, much to the groaning chagrin of the other brothers. “Purple comes in second, followed by Orange, and Red’s last for getting disqualified.”

The four color-coded turtle icons of the scoreboard hanging on the far wall obediently click into place to reflect this score. They’re about three-quarters of the way through this years’ Games, so the numbers are getting interesting. Leo and Donnie are neck in neck, with Raph right on their tails and Mikey hanging on to a very distant fourth. Most Lair Games have played out similarly since Donnie’s first win back when they were teenagers, but it’s usually a tossup as to who’ll place in what order among top three contestants.

Leo had been projecting confidence and even an element of badassery in his final landing pose, but upon seeing that his token is now marginally ahead of Donnie’s, he hoots and devolves into a silly victory dance. The jiving does not pause when Shelldon flies in and sticks a microphone in front of him.

“So how does victory feel, brah?”

“Well, Shelly, I have to say, it truly felt like this outcome was inevitable. I mean, this was a style competition—who else has more style than yours truly?” Leo dodges the banana peel that gets chucked at his head, only for a second to splat square across his beak.

“Nice shot, Raph,” Donnie says while Leo splutters and swipes the banana peel off his face. Shelldon makes a point of filming that, too.

“He had it comin’.” That’s when Raph remembers Juan’s still here, and this is his first time officially meeting the family. With a sheepish grimace, Raph turns and says, “Uh, what I meant to say was, err. Oops?”

Juan looks up from where he’s just snapped several photos of the whole thing. “Are you kidding? I’m making this his profile picture.”

“Oh.” Raph takes a moment to digest this, then he grins. “Can you send it to me, too?”

“Of course I can. Give me a second to find the best one.”

There’s a distant “Me too!” from Mikey, who’s standing off to the side and attempting to scrape off the goop and feathers still stuck to his person. It’s not going well. April spots his harebrained grin and drops behind the nearest bulky object with a yelped “Duck!” just before he uses his mystic powers to forcibly expel the stuff from his person. It goes splatting everywhere, though all the trained ninjas in the room conveniently avoid getting splashed.

“Hey, watch it, bro!” shouts Shelldon as the drones he controls dart out of their various positions like startled flies.

…Okay, so it’s just Juan who gets gooped in the end. He looks at the large, feathery blob that’s now on the leg of his pants and casually shakes it off. Good thing the guy’s got a strong stomach.

“Alvi, come take a selfie with me—I wanna put this on my socials!” calls Leo, who’s completely missed this exchange.

It takes a moment for April to understand why Juan reacts to that, but then she remembers Juan’s literal five first names and Leo’s penchant for switching up nicknames on a dime and everything makes more sense.

“Un momento. I’m texting.”

Leo huffs and mutters, “Dichoso es tu que eres guapo.” April has no concept of what that means—Juan clearly does, though, and whatever it is makes him smile.

Leo’s pronunciation has definitely gotten better, she can tell that much. The words seem to flow with greater ease, too. He’s either been practicing on his own or getting Juan to talk to him in Spanish when they’re together.

April knows the moment Raph receives the banana photo, because that’s when he cackles.

“How am I supposed to get up there?” asks Juan, tilting his head back to look at the platform. It’s about ten feet off the ground, and there’s no ladder because all the competitors are superpowered ninjas for whom ten feet of clearance is barely an inconvenience. April’s hung out with Juan several times the last several months, and she knows he’s not what you’d call a jock. The man’s in med school—he doesn’t have time to be a jock.

“What do you mean, you just—oh. Right, portal coming up.” Leo cuts a portal and Juan uses it with the confidence of someone who’s done so many times. He doesn’t even look motion sick on the other side, a common portal side-effect.

“He knows about portals, too?” April hears Casey whisper to an officially goop-free Mikey.

“I guess? Honestly, Case, this is news to me, too.”

A couple minutes later, April’s being tagged on Leo’s social media post about the Lair Games. The first in the photo series is the promised selfie of himself and Juan beaming up at the camera with the wrecked obstacle course visible just over the tops of their heads, and others are various birds eye views from the platform. April’s pretty sure she only got tagged because the angle of the shot she’s in makes her curls look three times more voluminous than they actually are, and Leo thought it was funny.

He tagged Donnie, too, which explains the sudden noise of indignation. “’Nardo! At least have the decency to do a before and after shot of the course—you’re making my work look sloppy!” Donnie swipes an incoming notification away and navigates to something on his bracer. “It’s very easy to do a side-by-side comparison. All you need to do is go to Shelldon’s stream,” he says with an annoyed grunt and another dismissive swipe, “Then take a screenshot like—” The screenshot is ruined by yet another incoming notification. Donnie grumbles wordlessly and all but slaps it out of the way. “Like this.” Another few taps, needlessly rough on the screen. “There. I just replied to the post to give proper context.”

“Y’all really did do a number on it,” says April, impressed.

“Speak for yourself, O’Neil. I will not have my contributions to this destruction go uncredited!” declares Casey. She’s hopped onto the edge of the giant trampoline, about five feet off the ground, and is casually swinging her feet. One foot keeps bumping into Raph’s leg, but Raph either doesn’t feel it or doesn’t mind. He’s too busy tapping into his phone, ostensibly adding his own interactions to Leo’s post.

“No, that’s a good point, Case. This is the first year there’s been audience participation,” says April.

“I think it added something,” says Mikey. “We should do audience participation every year!”

“This is the first year there have been enough people on the sidelines to even count as an audience,” Leo says as he and Juan portal back down to ground level. “Normally it’s just April and Casey, and April’s always too busy filming.”

Not this year, though, thanks to Shelldon! Sure, April will probably still do most of the cutting, editing, and post-production interviews herself (maybe with Mikey’s help, if he’s got time), but she’s having a good time enjoying as a spectator instead of a director.

“Enough audience participation, more competition!” says Splinter, appearing out of nowhere and impatiently tapping the purple tablet in his hand. “I have a hard stop at eleven when my show comes on!”

The Lair Games are also one of his favorite annual traditions, and he always gets antsy between rounds. At this point in this year’s Games, even the new folks are well aware of his investment in them. The guys do a couple of stretches to keep limbs loose and then drag Leo away from where he’s very obviously just flexing in front of his boyfriend and on to the next competition.

This one’s far less chaotic. Each competitor must maintain a handstand while April and the other spectators climb up on ladders and pile a diverse array of objects atop their feet. Every sixty seconds, a finger must be lifted. It’s less a game of strength as much as balance and patience.

Mikey’s the first to go out, too fidgety to keep the objects stabilized. “I can’t help it, I just get so bored!” he tells April as all the stuff she’s piled onto his feet goes crashing to the floor—or would have, if he hadn’t used his mystic powers to set them down gently. As he does, the stretchmarks spiderwebbing across his hands and up his forearms glow along with his eyes and box turtle markings; it looks like he’s been tattooed with lightning.

He’s getting extremely good with his mystic powers, April notes. The lessons with Draxum are starting to pay dividends!

“Valid,” says April as she hops down from the ladder where she’d been assisting him. “I don’t know how you handle all that blood rushing to your head, anyway.”

“It feels kind of like being under water for a really, really long time.”

April tilts her head to the side, confused. “Was that supposed to help put things into context?”

“Next object, and thirty seconds before switching to one hand!” Splinter announces.

Juan, who’s Donnie’s assistant, curses under his breath in Spanish. “Uh, a little help?”

The next object is a dishwasher. It’s heavy—and, because it still has its door, also hard to get a grip on. April gets why Juan isn’t willing to haul the thing up the ladder on his own. The next couple of objects are equally bulky; April can see him eyeing them apprehensively.

“Want me to tag in, Juan?” Juan nods and climbs down, relieved. Mikey’s easily able to heft the appliance up and over, no mystic powers necessary. Donnie grunts at the extra weight and otherwise remains stable. Down the line, Raph and Leo are likewise also holding out just fine.

“One-handed stands now!” Splinter calls out.

“This is gonna be the interesting part,” April tells Juan with a grin. She’s already pulling out her camera to take some closeup shots as her friends navigate the necessary shift in weight and balance.

Raph manages flawlessly, waiting until he’s sure nothing will fall to call out a triumphant, “Like a boss!”

Leo and Donnie have a bit more trouble with their handstand transitions. Leo wobbles dangerously, the pile of junk on his feet pitching to the side, but with a shout and some frankly stupendous core strength he manages to course correct without overdoing it.

“Not bad, Blue,” says Casey from the ladder next to him. She’s sitting on the top step with her knees wide and her arms resting on her thighs. “I thought you’d lost it for a second there.”

“Me too,” Leo pants.

Juan crouches in front of Leo. “So this what you do for fun, huh?”

Leo grins and quips, “What, are you telling me you’ve never done this with your sibs? Not even once?”

“We played Twister once. Does that count?”

“No,” Raph interjects. “I seen how that game’s played, and it ain’t anythin’ like this.”

“Twister has is an entirely different set of rules!” Donnie adds.

“They’re right, you know, Mateo,” Leo says conversationally. “You simply haven’t lived until you’ve held up half a junkyard with one arm.”

“That’s patently false. I’m here for the bragging rights, not because I think this specific activity is fun.”

“Yeah, Raph’s thinkin’ that’s a gigantic exaggeration. You can live just fine without holdin’ up half a junkyard one handed.”

“Gee, that’s funny, I didn’t realize your names were also Mateo.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want us to give you a room?” says Donnie with sudden irritability. He’s finally completed his slow, methodical transfer to standing on one hand, and April can see him twitching. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the physical labor of maintaining a handstand—rather, he looks like he’s on the verge of a sensory meltdown. He uses his chin to bring up the hard-light interface on his bracer, which just so happens to be his free hand, and thrusts his arm out. “April, I need you to get this off me, right now. Please.”

Donnie’s voice doesn’t break, exactly, but there’s a desperate edge to the way he says ‘please’ that immediately sends April into motion. Before she knows it, she’s tossing her camera to Mikey and kneeling beside her friend, reaching for the release on his bracer.

“Hey, whoa, whoa—does that count as interference?” Leo objects.

“No touching the competitors!” Splints says.

“Wait, hold on, I don’t think—” Casey starts to say from the ladder next to Raph.

“Nobody’s touching anybody!” snaps Donnie. Now that she’s closer, April can hear the vibration of another notification coming to the bracer. His scales jump, and his face contorts, breaths coming short. She watches his entire body quiver as he struggles to hold it together. “Lower left button on the projection, April. Hit it twice.”

She does, and the UI winks out. There’s a small click and hiss, then the bracer falls off his arm and onto the floor with a clank. It buzzes again, and Donnie’s entire body becomes one big twitch—he only manages to keep everything balanced atop his feet through sheer tenacity of will. He looks like he’s going to scream. “Get it away from me.”

Oh, damn. Donnie never wants to be away from his bracer. Is this really just from notifications?

April picks the piece up and carries it out of earshot. It buzzes twice more while she’s holding it.

Okay, if it’s been that bad this whole time, she understands why he was about to lose it. Is somebody trying to get a hold of him, or is it just an app going bonkers? She has no idea.

“See?” April says to break the heavy silence that’s casting a pall over the group. She returns from where she’s put Donnie’s bracer in time out, her hands aloft like this is some kind of stick up. “No touching required!”

“I will allow it,” says Splinter. April knows he’s only doing this because he doesn’t know how else to react, not because he actually thinks a referee-style ruling is necessary. It’s been years since Donnie’s let himself get this close to a breaking point; normally he’s more attentive to his limits—is winning the Lair Games really that important?

Well, okay, April admittedly already knows the answer to that. The Hamato competitiveness runs deep, and the Lair Games are designed to bring it out of you. Donnie probably thought he could tough it out until someone else got third place, or the notifications stopped.

“Not that I’m a glutton for punishment or anything.” While Leo’s tone is casual, April can tell there’s more nuance to what he’s doing than that. He’s purposely drawing the attention onto himself and away from Donnie. “But I’m pretty sure it’s been more than a minute since we switched to one hand. Aren’t we supposed to be lifting a finger by now?”

Splinter startles and then immediately catches onto Leo’s tactic. “Yes, Blue, that is correct. One finger up, boys! Assistants, it is also time for the next object.”

“How ya holdin’ up there, Don?” asks Raph once everyone is now holding up heavy metal vacuum cleaners that look like they’ve been around since the 50’s. His tone is disguised as smack talk, though April’s not sure the effort’s necessary. The only one who wouldn’t understand that he’s actually asking how Donnie’s doing in general is Donnie himself, and the latter isn’t great at deciphering tones of voice when he’s stressed. Raph probably could have used any inflection and gotten the same results.

“Having the time of my life, Raphala, thank you for asking,” Donnie grunts. He actually does look better. Far more relaxed, despite—well, being upside down and holding up a pile of junkyard scrap. “I’ve heard it said you haven’t lived until you’ve done this.”

“Wow, I wonder which incredibly handsome genius said that!”

“I, too, wonder,” says Juan thoughtfully. He shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to meet him someday, Leonardo.”

Much-needed laughter bubbles up all around them, breaking the last of the tension, but Leo doesn’t seem to hear the quip insomuch as the affectionate way his partner says his name. April sees him falter, a flush in his cheeks that has nothing to do with maintaining a handstand, and then Mikey’s using his mystic abilities to catch the junk as it tumbles down.

“Ha!” says Donnie as Leo tucks and rolls out of his one-handed-stand to pop neatly up onto his feet. “Third place. How the mighty have fallen!”

“It is time to lift another finger!” Splinter says.

Donnie’s too cocky about it. Still crowing about knocking Leo out of the rankings, he moves too fast and knocks himself off balance. The pile of junk he’s holding up is jostled, and there’s no saving it after that. Mikey once again guides everything safely to the floor with visibly little effort.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Shut up, ‘Nardo.”

“Purple’s out, which means Red wins!” proclaims Splinter. He hits something on his Donnie Tech tablet, and the tokens on the scoreboard shift to reflect the new numbers.

“Like a boss!” Raph shouts.

“You already said that, Red,” Casey points out from where she’s still sitting on her ladder. It’s hard to tell if she’s amused or exasperated. April recalls hearing about the whole clam chowder incident back when Casey was still evil, how Raph had tried workshopping a couple of different catchphrases before eventually there was a collective decision that ‘like a boss’ was still the best of the bunch.

Raph waits for Mikey to relocate the stuff he’s holding up before he moves. Then he’s springing upright far more gracefully than someone his size should be able to, fist pumping with both arms. He looks to his girlfriend, who’s actually about eye-level with him right now. “Considerin’ the circumstances, Raph thinks it was worth sayin’ twice,” he says primly.

Shelldon swoops down in front of Raph. “Congrats on winning the round, brosef! Anything you wanna say about your victory?”

April leaves Raph’s interview in Shelldon’s capable circuitry and checks in on Donnie, who’s rubbing his bare forearm like he thinks the lack of bracer amounts to indecent exposure. “The next thing in the pile was a mini fridge. Think you could’ve handled it?”

He hadn’t tensed at her approach, exactly, but upon hearing her playful teasing he visibly relaxes. “Scoff. Of course I could have. Who do you think prepped everything to make sure each pile weighed the same?”

That’s a very good point, actually. “But were you carrying it all at once while doing a handstand?” she says anyway, grinning as she loops her arms together and juts out one hip. “I think you’ll agree there’s a crucial distinction.”

Donnie stops rubbing his forearm so he can lay a dramatic hand over his heart. “Scandalized sound! I would never, because that would constitute as an illegal trial run, something the Lair Games bylaws strictly prohibit!” Then he checks their surroundings and leans in, lowering his voice, “And even if I did, you could never prove it.”

April’s stomach swoops. Oh, he definitely did an illegal trial run.

“Wow, Dee, really making sure you’ve earned your reputation as an aloof bad boy.”

“I am, aren’t I? Thank you for noticing, dear April. It’s something I am constantly working to maintain.”

Honestly, she can’t tell if Donnie’s caught on that she’s joking. She smiles anyway. If he isn’t playing into the banter, the fact he thinks doing a clandestine handstand makes him a bad boy is deeply entertaining.

In the background, Juan’s approached Splinter and muttered something in his ear. Considering this is the man’s first time ever meeting Splinter, April finds this oddly chummy. What could they be talking about?

Even more suspicious, Splints snickers and says, “Oh, you’re a keeper. Blue, I like this one!”

Leo, for his part, is not nearly as uneasy as someone whose boyfriend is having muttered conversations with his father ought to be. “Of course you do—when will you people finally understand that I have excellent taste?”

April’s not sure what sort of response Leo was expecting, but suddenly everyone’s got something to say about his tastes.

“This coming from the guy who likes Hawaiian pizza!” says Raph.

“I have screenshots about soap operas that say otherwise,” adds April.

“No, I can agree that Leo has good taste,” says Donnie in a surprise twist.

“See? Thank you, Donnie! Twin bond coming in clutch.”

“There’s a reason he comes to me for advice every time he wants to dress to impress.”

Leo scrubs exasperatedly at his face, pushing his mask askew. “Why do I always fall for that?”

Mikey wades into the conversation with an air of monk-like serenity and composure. He puts a hand on Juan’s shoulder. “What everyone is trying to say, Juan, is you don’t have to date our brother to be part of this group. We like you enough as-is.”

“Hey!” protests Leo.

Juan takes all of this in, nodding thoughtfully. “I see the problem. You all seem to be under the impression that I’m cool. I can assure you, I am not. Exhibit A.” He pushes up the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing to reveal the full-color tattoo that’s been peeking out the whole time. It’s a lovingly detailed render of several generation one Gotchamon. “Leonardo’s tastes are just as bad as you suspect.”

“You’re right, dude, that’s pretty bad,” April agrees, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I didn’t realize anyone knew the gen one Gotchamons anymore.”

At the same time, Leo says incredulously, “You used your dorkiness to dunk on me. How is that even possible?”

Juan grins at him. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Leo huffs wordlessly, though it’s obvious his annoyance is mostly superficial. All joking aside, he’s radiating joy at the way his boyfriend’s been so readily accepted by his family. April hadn’t thought he seemed apprehensive about introducing Juan officially, and he isn’t relieved, per se; he just seems notably more comfortable.

Mikey hasn’t been listening to the last half of what Juan said, or anything that’s followed. He’s too busy studying Juan’s tattoo with stars in his eyes. “Oh. Me. Gosh—this is gorgeous! Who’s your artist? I’ve gotta know!”

“I found her online,” says Juan with a shrug as he rolls his sleeve back down. “Are you interested in getting a tattoo, Mikey?”

“I don’t know, maybe! I haven’t thought much about it until just now—but you should send me her portfolio anyway. I definitely want to see the rest of her work!”

At this point Splinter decides he’s had enough of break-time and announces, “Time for the next challenge, we are running behind schedule!”

Lair Games activities are normally focused on individual performance: how well one brother can perform X in relation to his relations. There are strict rules against interference and forming alliances. This particular event is something of an experiment. It’s still every turtle for himself, but this time they will be interacting with each other in a four-way sparring match.

“The object of this round is to be the last man standing in the arena, which can be accomplished by either forcing your opponents to tap out, or knocking them out of the designated area. Here are your ground rules,” Splinter reads. “The use of ninpo or other mystic abilities is strictly prohibited. Contestants are permitted their standard loadout of gear, whatever that entails, but there is a twist: you will each pass your signature weapons to the person on your left.”

This is not news to the brothers, who were all part of planning for this and agreed to the terms beforehand. The weapons get shuffled down one. Mikey ends up with Leo’s katanas while Leo’s holding onto Donnie’s bō staff (the traditional, non-techie version), Raph’s handed Mikey’s nunchucks, and Donnie’s got Raph’s sai. Each brother is looking down at the weapon in his hands with varying amounts of consideration and confidence.

“You have ten minutes to adapt to your new weapons, and then we shall begin.”

Based on how the guys react, the first seven and a half minutes are vitally necessary to getting a feel for the advantages and limitations of these different weapons. They are all excellent at improvisation, but whatever random stuff they fight with on the regular tends to bend to their preferred style. These weapons do not bend in nearly the same way, they require conscious adaptation.

Once those seven and a half minutes are up, though? Well, it’s right back to socializing.

“Hey Case, did you ever do anything like this in the apocalypse?” asks Leo as he swings the bō across his shoulders and experiments with hanging his wrists over it the way Donnie does. As he waits for Casey’s reply, he gives Juan a look that silently asks for a rating on how cool this looks.

Juan offers a so-so gesture. “The swords are better, cielo.”

Leo drops the pose with a disappointed sigh. “I know, I miss them already—you better be careful with my babies, Mikey!”

Casey, in the meanwhile, is shaking his head. “By the time I came along everyone was hyper-specialized. Master Leonardo probably could have figured something out, if he got his hands on something that was enough like a katana, but I don’t know what Commander O’Neil would have done without her baseball-bat-slash-gun.”

“Her what?” says April, instantly all up in this conversation. Why did Casey never mention she had such a buckwild weapon in his timeline? “I need to know more.”

“Yeah, Case, I don’t think I understand how something can be a baseball bat and also a gun,” says Leo.

“It was custom made by—” Casey catches himself, gaze briefly drifting to where Donnie’s practicing with the sai. He swallows and says hastily, “—well, it was a custom weapon, obviously. When she was close range, she used it like you use your bat, April, and when she was long-range a handle dropped down and she fired it like a rifle.”

April’s eyes go wide. “That is so freaking badass.” It makes sense, too—she prefers melee, but it ain’t like she’s a mutant with mystic powers and super stamina. Like as not, she would have needed a way to keep fighting even when her human body was giving out on her.

“There were weapons like that around, and I stuck with swords?” Leo complains. “Ugh, what was future-me thinking?!”

“Are we certain he thought much at all?” asks Juan. He ducks his head and giggles when Leo shoots him a narrow-eyed look, though April notes there’s no real ire in it.

“I know you’re joking, but sensei was a tactical genius,” says Casey earnestly. “I think the katanas just felt right to him. Why fix what’s not broken?”

“That’s true, I have spent most of my life training with swords,” Leo muses. “Be a waste to throw it out now.”

Leo’s clearly already moved on, but Juan hasn’t. “I have no doubt that your sensei was brilliant,” he says to Casey without irony. His tone is entirely serious and factual. “He was Leonardo.”

April smiles at the way Leo sputters, spots of color warring with the slider markings on his cheeks. As fun as it is to see them playfully dunk on each other, it warms her heart to know Juan will compliment Leo so openly, too.

As she leaves the couple to their bickering and plays with some of the settings on her camera, she notices that Donnie’s standing off to the side now, speaking into his phone. His shoulders are held stiffly, and his tone is clipped. He seemed to be in good spirits just a minute go—what’s going on?

“What, Tarek. What could possibly be so urgent that it can’t be encapsulated in twelve text messages and eight different social media tags?” Donnie’s face is stony as he listens to what his boyfriend has to say.

April keeps adjusting the settings on her camera and tries not to give in to the journalistic urge to become a fly on the wall. This is clearly private, none of her business—although, if it were, she would say that is an irresponsibly high number of social tags. Like, an extremely clingy amount.

Still, not her business. Donnie’s irritated enough. Explains why he got so overwhelmed during the handstand competition, though.

“That’s what the stream’s for, to be watched.” There’s a short pause, and Donnie scowls. “Yes, I realize my brothers are making social media posts about the competition. You’ve done an excellent job at drawing my attention to them, as if I didn’t already know.”

Well, April’s camera is set in sports mode to better catch the action from the sparring match now. Shelldon’s probably already taken flyover footage of the arena, but she busies herself with some panning shots anyway.

“I didn’t invite you because this was a family-only event,” Donnie says from somewhere behind her, and his voice is getting… kind of loud. April winces, along with several other people who are also pretending not to listen. Damn, that was unexpectedly harsh, and she honestly can’t tell if Donnie meant for it to be.

Off to her right, a mortified-looking Juan’s just tugged Leo down to mutter something in his ear. April doesn’t catch what he says, or Leo’s reply, but Leo’s making a dismissive wave and shaking his head.

“Actually, no, I don’t have a problem with that,” Donnie says sharply. “I like Juan.”

…Okay, there’s no way that wasn’t intended to hurt. Poor clingy Tarek. April wouldn’t want to be him right now. Or Juan, whose mortification has intensified. He’s jostling Leo’s arm, and April just catches his urgently hissed, “You told me—”

“It’s clearly not going well, so I was at least half right!” Leo whispers back. “Donnie doesn’t get like this—this person’s toast. End of day, tops.”

As if to corroborate this prediction, Donnie says curtly, “I’m not having this conversation right now. We’ll talk later—no, I’ll call you.” There’s a clatter as he tosses his phone onto the same bench April left his bracer on earlier, and he lets out a hard breath.

Donnie whirls around and stalks to the sparring area, jaw set, Raph’s sai clenched in his fists. “Ten minutes is up. Are we doing this or not?”

There’s a collective pause as the rest of the group exchange anxious glances. Mikey speaks up first, holding both katanas in one hand as he approaches Donnie with the other outstretched. “Hey, Donnie, it’s okay if you need a break. Just because Dad’s impatient doesn’t—”

“Don’t touch me.”

“And, for the record,” Splinter says. “I am not so impatient that a well-deserved break cannot be accommodated.”

Mikey redirects the hand that was about to touch Donnie’s arm. “Are you going to be okay to spar like this?”

It’s a good question, but it’s also clearly not one Donnie’s interested in answering. “I’ll be okay once you all stop babying me, Michelangelo.”

Mikey frowns. “That’s not—”

“Okay, you got it,” says Leo. He marches into the ring with full smirking bravado and pounds the ground with the bō. “Hope you’re ready to get beaten with your own weapon, Don-a-thon, ‘cus I won’t be going easy on you.”

“Disdainful snort. We’ll see about that.”

“Alright, so we’re doing this,” says Mikey, unsheathing both katanas. His expression is uncharacteristically hard.

Raph and Splinter trade a look, and then Raph steps into the arena and gives the nunchucks an experimental swing. Their chains rattle as he says, “Raph hopes you boys won’t take it too hard when you lose.”

“Kick their asses, Red. Show them how it’s done!” calls Casey. April can’t tell if she’s just hyped to see a brawl or if she’s trying to help redirect the energy in the room towards that of competition instead of real anger.

“Anyone knocked out of the marked area will be considered disqualified,” says Splinter in his announcer’s voice. “And no lethal strikes! This is for fun, remember?”

Splints has the guys stand roughly equidistant from one another in the center of the ring and counts them in. Then the match begins.

From a martial arts standpoint, April’s utterly fascinated. She’s seen her friends fight long enough to know the markers of proper technique with their signature weapons, and to see those strategies broken and repurposed is, genuinely, a delight to behold.

Between the 'chucks and the spikes on his tail, Raph’s become a deadly windmill that nobody else can get close to. He easily keeps Mikey and Donnie at bay, with their short and mid-range weapons. Leo he has more trouble with. The bō gives Leo greater reach, allows him to duck down and sweep at Raph’s ankles while avoiding the swing of the nunchucks, but that’s also where both of them are wielding their weapons incorrectly.

For his part, Leo’s alternating between using the bō like a bat or a sword, depending on how far out he needs to strike, which is putting him off-balance and making it easier for the nunchucks to tangle around the bō and yank it out of his grasp.

“I’ll just take that, thanks!” says Raph during one such instance.

Leo thinks fast and grasps the other end of the bō with an “Oh, no you don’t!” The leverage on the weapon shifts sharply, creating just enough slack for Leo to slide the bō out from where it’s caught in the 'chucks. Since he’s already there, Leo does the martial arts equivalent of swinging for the fences and manages to whack Raph on the plastron, for all the good it does, which is almost nothing. April thinks Raph maybe grunts on impact? It certainly doesn’t slow him down.

That being said, Raph’s not letting gravity and momentum do most of the work on the nunchucks. Instead of creating a pendulum of strikes that curl in and out, requiring minimal adjustment or encouragement, he winds up and whips the weapons out each time he wants to attack. His strikes are harder, but they’re slower, and he’s vulnerable in the lull between them.

That’s where the tail comes in. Raph’s tail reaches down to his knees, and the spikes on it are no joke. When he whirls about, it clubs anyone unlucky enough to be in its trajectory. He’s already caught Leo and Donnie coming at him from behind like that, sending both of them staggering backwards. Mikey’s too fast to get caught by Raph’s tail, but he’s not making any progress on breaking his guard, either.

“Nice try, Mike!” calls Raph, avoiding the silverfish glint of the katanas as Mikey slashes with them. The only evidence there is that Mikey’s gotten close at all is the seemingly delayed thunk of the katanas hitting the nunchucks'.

“You’ve got to get tired sometime, big brother—and then I’ll be there!” Mikey laughs as he dodges a wayward bō strike from Leo.

Donnie immediately spots the problems with Leo’s bō technique, of course. He presses the advantage, but he’s not used to being both close-range and armed with blades. He slashes and stabs with the sai more than he catches, redirects, and disarms with them—it’s not a bad technique, exactly, but it’s not especially effective against the bō, even with the way Leo wields it. It results in a lot of Donnie’s aggressions being stymied by Leo throwing the bō up in awkward parries like it’s a too-long practice sword. Either that, or he’s getting swatted back with horizontal swings as Leo braces the bō against his side and uses the torque that comes from switching stances to sweep the weapon through the air similarly to arc Raph’s tail keeps making.

Leo also gets bonked in the head when he keeps his hands together in the middle of the bō for a block and Donnie catches the top of the weapon with the flat of the sai, forcing it backwards. That part’s funny.

“Hey, ow!” he yelps, rubbing his forehead. “Donnie, that was a cheap shot!”

“No foul,” Splinter calls, much to Leo’s annoyance.

“Dad, c’mon, that was clearly unsportsmanlike!”

“Should’ve blocked better,” Donnie says, and he attacks again. He isn’t participating in any of the banter, and his strikes are all coming in hard, with little regard to the dangerous sharpness of his weapons. That part’s not funny at all.

Leo’s familiarity with dual wielding comes in handy as Donnie jabs, slashes, and feints, and it shows in the way he clearly anticipates where the next strikes will be coming from. He’d give up less ground if he stopped trying to parry with the bō, though—and how much ground Leo’s losing is rapidly becoming a problem, because Donnie’s relentlessly herding him to the edge of the ring. One foot out of bounds and he’s disqualified.

It’s hard to know if Mikey intercepts because he wants Leo to stay in the game, or if he sees an opportunity in Donnie’s uncharacteristically single-minded offense. Either way, there’s a clash of metal on metal as katana and sai meet. Mikey’s suddenly getting the brunt of Donnie’s aggression, and Leo leaves them to it, moving to try his luck against Raph’s pinwheel of doom instead.

Overall, Mikey’s been handling the katanas pretty well, but it’s clear he’s not used to the reach of the blades and how often they’re crossing one another’s paths. When he slices with one sword, the other tends to mirror the motion on reflex, causing them to clang together—or, worse, he reflexively attempts to generate the wrong kind of momentum. Both options leave crucial openings in his guard that Donnie does not hesitate to take advantage of.

Mikey’s fast. Really fast. Initially, that’s how he’s able to hold his own—then Donnie figures out the pattern, and with a twist of the sai one of the swords goes flying. Without the confusion of two blades, Mikey actually performs much better, passing the remaining katana from one hand to the other as necessary and wielding it equally well in both.

“Hey!” Mikey yelps as a sai screeches against his blade. “We’re doing this is for fun, remember?”

Donnie doesn’t answer, he just redoubles his efforts. At this point they’re moving so fast that it’s getting hard to tell whose arms are going where; the only thing that can be reliably heard are the crashing and scraping of weapons.

Mikey falters only once—he zigged when he should have zagged, but that’s all it takes. Donnie’s right there, and in one wrenching motion the other katana is beyond Mikey’s reach.

“Alright, you got—hey!” He leaps out of the way, barely managing to avoid the incoming slash. “Donnie, stop, I have no weapons. This isn’t part of the challen—Donnie!”

Donnie’s eyes are narrowed, and his jaw’s set. He keeps advancing, driving Mikey to the edge of the arena. It doesn’t look like he’s holding back—if Mikey were any less speedy, he probably would have gotten hurt by now.

“Purple!”

“Pops, he’s not listenin’,” says Raph with rising alarm. “We gotta—”

“ENOUGH.”

Sometimes April forgets just how powerful Mikey is. When Donnie lunges forward for his next strike, Mikey—who’s shorter, and thus has a lower center of gravity—ducks under his guard. He grabs his brother’s plastron and thigh as Donnie’s momentum carries him forward. Donnie wheezes at the impact, and then—

In less than a blink, Mikey’s hurled Donatello across the room. There’s a loud crunch as a Donnie-shaped crater is punched into the scoreboard, shorting it out with an ominous, electric fizzle. The color-coded turtle icons snap and fall off, clattering to the floor. Donnie soon follows, peeling off the scoreboard and crashing down and out of view behind the wreckage of the obstacle course.

“Anyone else want some?” Mikey snarls. There’s no sign that his actions have taken any physical toll on him. Honestly, he looks furious enough to chuck a skyscraper halfway across Manhattan next. (And, considering he’s literally done that before, back when they’d all been fighting Krang Prime and before he started training his mystic powers, April doesn’t consider the notion an empty threat.)

Raph and Leo immediately drop their weapons.

“Nope, Miguel, none for me.”

“Actually, Raph’s startin’ to think this whole sparrin’ thing was just an overall bad idea.”

Leo can’t help himself; he has to have the final say. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing. Let’s call it a draw and never, ever do this again.”

Mikey doesn’t acknowledge either of them. In a flash of ethereal chains and orange ninpo, he’s suddenly on the other side of the room where Donnie landed. “Oh, good, you’re okay,” everyone hears him say in his normal register. Now that he’s confirmed Donnie’s welfare, though, he drops right back into the terrifying voice he’s been using since Donnie took things too far. “Now get your shit together, Donatello, or so fucking help me, the next time I throw you I will not be holding back.”

There’s another flash of ninpo, and Mikey’s slamming open the double doors to the abandoned warehouse, the network of lines on his arms lit up and crackling with barely suppressed power. The doors crash into the brick walls and do not swing back closed. “I need a break.”

He stomps off into the dimly lit industrial area and is quickly swallowed up by the nighttime darkness. Nobody stops him. Michelangelo does not get angry very often, but when he does the best thing for everyone is usually if he separates himself from the group to cool off on his own.

There’s a heavy silence, and then Shelldon says, “Well, this sucks. I’m gonna check on Pops now.” He zips to the other side of the obstacle course and out of sight.

It ain’t fancy, but it works to get everyone in gear. There’s a collective agreement that yeah, maybe a break is necessary for everyone. The Lair Games have been going on for the last several hours—honestly, it may be past time.

Nobody explicitly says they’re clearing out to give Donnie some distance, too, but they don’t have to.

April checks the camera feeds using the hard-light UI on her watch, and hastily switches the streaming footage to a looping Intermission animation. She tries to ping Shelldon to let him know he should stop filming what he’s seeing, and grumbles wordlessly when she doesn’t get a response.

“April, are you coming, too?” asks Casey, ducking his head back around the forced-open doorway.

“I think so, but Shelldon’s not answering me. I’ve gotta make sure he doesn’t restart the stream on accident. Text me where y’all end up and I’ll see if I can meet you?”

“Will do!”

Casey ducks away again and April picks her way around the obstacle course. She moves gingerly—not because the piles of random junk or wayward banana peels are hard to weave around, but because she wants to give Donnie a fair warning of her approach.

“Shelldon, bud, you gotta cut your feed,” she says before she comes into view. “I don’t think your dad’s interested in being on the stream right now.”

“Oh, you are so right, brah!” April’s not sure what kind of coding goes into making an airheaded AI—or one that seems forgetful? She’s actually not sure how that works—but if ever one existed, it would be Shelldon. April checks her watch again, and sure enough, his part of the stream has been shut off, alongside the drones he’d been controlling.

Alright, mission accomplished. She can double back and join Casey and the others, if she wants. Casey’s already texted that Leo portaled them all back to the lair for some snacks. It wouldn’t be hard to join them.

Probably be more comfortable, too. April’s got no illusions that an overwhelmed and overstimulated Donnie will be fun to talk to. He’ll probably tear into her just for trying.

So she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she ventures into the scoreboard wreckage and sticky puddles of orange soda and green slime behind the obstacle course, finds a relatively clean spot on the floor, and sits. Not too far away—she’s not trying to make him a pariah—but also not so close it feels like crowding. Shelldon’s also nearby. He’s landed atop one of the IDEA display cabinets that got constructed during an earlier round of the competition. The Umlaut looks correct at first glance, but it’s swaying preciously back and forth, which makes April think it’s Leo’s version. Donnie’s Umlaut was the only one that had any sort of structural integrity; Mikey ignored the prompt and created something entirely different, and Raph accidentally crushed his.

Donnie’s not looking at either of them. He hasn’t moved since she approached, actually. He’s got one of his legs bent under his butt and the other drawn up to his plastron. His forehead is pressed into his knee, and he has an arm curled around his head. His free hand flaps hard against his thigh, with no sign of stopping.

Aside from the sound of one hand clapping, there’s a few gross drips from the obstacle course, and the gentle hum of Shelldon’s cooling fans. The warehouse is quiet, and at this time of night so is the industrial area. For a while, the ambient noise is all there is.

It’s right around the time where April hears Donnie take a couple of long, slow breaths that he speaks up. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says without lifting his head or uncurling his arm.

She can’t tell if he’s still spoiling for a fight or if that’s genuinely why he thinks she’s here. Either way, she keeps her tone level and neutral as she replies, “I wasn’t aware I’d asked for an explanation.”

“Scoff—please, April. Why else are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I have a deep and ancient need to feed on the suffering of others, and this is the tastiest morsel I’ve had in months.”

The stimming continues uninterrupted, but April sees the hand around his head flex. “You’re not funny.”

“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good—hey Shell, was my joke funny?”

The little droid hums. “Gonna be real, April, it was mid.”

“Suck-up.”

“I know where my upgrades come from, brah.”

April’s got her legs crossed tailor style. At this disclosure, she props her forearms on her thighs and leans forward. “So you admit you’re a suck-up.”

Shelldon affects a loud gasp. “I would never.”

April chuckles and leans back, satisfied that she’s uncovered the truth. Donnie doesn’t add anything, either, likely because they both know ‘I would never’ is Shelldon’s tell for when he’s lying. Has been since version 1.0. Which means her joke was, in fact, very funny. Despite it only being implied, she’ll take the win where she can get it.

Things go quiet again. April watches as Donnie’s leg-slapping gets incrementally slower and less forceful, though it never truly stops. Over the next few minutes, the tension in his shoulders starts seeping out, as well.

She’s not surprised when she receives a text from Leo. ‘do we have time to order super eats plz say yes i am STARVING’

At first April’s confused, because Mikey cleared his insane schedule for the Lair Games and these days he prefers to cook instead of order takeout. Then she uses her context clues: Mikey’s apparently still MIA, too.

‘Yea, but only if you order me something too’ she texts back. Leo reacts with a thumbs up, and April puts her phone away. She doesn’t know where they’ll be ordering from, but Raph and Leo know her usual asks, so she’s not worried about it.

It’s still a little while before Donnie talks again. He tilts his head so she can hear him clearly, but otherwise doesn’t lift it. “I’m not overreacting.”

“Right. Because you never overreact,” says April, making sure to over-emphasize the warmth in her voice so he can tell she’s teasing.

“He would never,” Shelldon chimes in.

Donnie harrumphs, but otherwise doesn’t protest their ribbing. It’s a sign he understands the joke, April thinks. Good.

“I didn’t say that. I’m not overreacting about this.” He gestures with the hand he’s been flapping. Other than the fact he’s still not wearing his gauntlet, April’s not sure she gets it.

“You meant to attack Mikey for real?”

“No—well, yes. Strictly speaking, I suppose that’s true. But it was never about Michelangelo, he was just… unfortunate collateral.”

Judging by how pinched and guilty his voice has become, Donnie’s fully aware of how bad that sounds, and also fully aware that he’s in the wrong. April doesn’t see the benefit of belaboring the point. “So what was it about, then?” she asks instead.

“Tarek, obviously!” The mere mention of his partner’s name has Donnie stimming harder with renewed aggravation. “He doesn’t know how to back off. I told him the Games were important to me, I told him I didn’t want any distractions, he knows we’ve been planning this for months because I told him about it, but when he disregards all that I’m the asshole? I just wanted this one concession.”

April winces. Oof, the lid’s really blown off everything Donnie’s been bottling up now. She doesn’t know she could stop him now if she tried.

She doesn’t want to try, though. It sounds like he really needs to get this off his chest.

Actually, wait.

“Donnie, has this been going on since I showed you the thumb thing?” That late night conversation was—shit, that was around the time they collectively started planning this year’s Lair Games. Months ago.

April wouldn’t call the sound that comes out of him a laugh, but it’s possible that’s what it was supposed to be. When he lifts his head, April expects it to look like Donnie’s been crying, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s halfway to hysteria with impotent anger, eyes dry and wild. His hand’s become a fist that’s started pounding the cracked and stained concrete floor instead of his thigh.

“Alright, dude, you’re gonna hurt something,” says Shelldon suddenly. With a mechanical whirr, he is once again airborne and flying straight at Donnie’s head. “Incoming!”

April’s alarmed when Shelldon settles over Donnie’s shoulders and shell and powers down, but Donnie doesn’t even flinch. A warm, red glow appears on what would have been Shelldon’s underbelly, if the little droid were an organic being. Donnie lets out a long, wavering breath and goes back to the more harmless hand flapping, and April clues in: the robot’s essentially turned himself into a heated and weighted blanket.

“I didn’t realize Shelldon did that,” she remarks.

“He doesn’t usually need to.” Donnie’s not looking at her. Instead, his gaze seems to be glued to the Umlaut the little droid had previously been perched upon. He leans his head back against Shelldon’s warmed form and props the arm that’s not stimming atop his still-bent knee. “It actually helped for a while.”

It takes April a moment to realize he’s talking about the thumb thing and not Shelldon. “I’m glad,” she says, though it’s obvious this isn’t the full story.

“Basically lost my hand for a few weeks, but the technique worked exactly as intended.” He flexes the hand dangling from his knee as if he can still feel the pressure of someone else’s fingers squeezing it. “So, fine, cost of doing business. And then it stopped working—”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know!” Briefly, Donnie’s palm falls against his leg with a loud clap, but it doesn’t stay there long before he’s wiggling out excess energy again. “Behavioral patterns were consistent, there were no major life events, no upsets within friend groups—literally nothing was different. But suddenly I’m not being affectionate enough again.”

April frowns. “But the thumb thing was still going on?”

“The thumb thing was literally happening when he said it.” Donnie makes a sound of frustration, rolling his fingers into a fist again, then takes a moment to intentionally relax back into the heat coming out of Shelldon. In a calmer voice he continues, “So I point it out. This was the compromise, we agreed to this, what gives? And Tarek says I’ve gotten so comfortable with the thumb thing that it’s clear I’m capable of being more physically affectionate, which means I obviously don’t feel like it—and, yes! Yes, that is the whole point! I can stick my head in a toilet, too, but you don’t see me doing that because I have no desire to.”

April can’t help her giggle. “Sorry, sorry, it’s the toilet thing. Apparently I’m five years old, ‘cause potty humor still gets me.”

“Should have guessed,” he mutters with a grudgingly fond roll of his eyes.

“I’m taking it Tarek didn’t love you comparing more cuddles to giving yourself a swirly?”

“Give me some credit, my phrasing was more considerate at the time.” There’s a small pause before Donnie concedes, “But yes, despite my more mindful comparison it still went over poorly. And ever since I’ve been dealing with this.” He gestures sharply at nothing; April’s assumes he’s referencing the mess of clingy texts, calls, and social media posts.

Today’s onslaught only began after Leo’s social media post, April realizes, and cringes. “He saw Juan was here and lost his ever-loving mind, huh?”

“This was supposed to be family only—if Leo and Raph say that’s where they are with their partners, great, whatever. That’s got nothing to do with me, and I didn’t want to be distracted!” Donnie bursts out. “All I want is some fucking space. It’s not about Tarek, but Turing knows that doesn’t compute, because clearly I’m doing this to punish him!”

That’s around the time where April does an inventory of her current closeness, which is about an arms’ length away. Considering how worked up he is—and how smothered he clearly feels—she decides to play it safe and scoots a bit further to the side.

She’s surprised when Donnie grabs her wrist. “Don’t. Just—you’re fine, April. You actually respect me.”

The fingers around her wrist squeeze once in an unspoken request that causes something to tighten in the pit of her stomach. Please stay.

She does. April settles next to him so they’re about shoulder to shoulder and adjusts things so their hands are clasped together like they’re children, no intertwining of fingers, just offering something he can hold onto. Her chest gets warm when Donnie starts rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand—the motion’s a bit rough, clearly another way to work out excess energy, but it’s endearing that this seems to have become an unconscious habit.

“So it’s a respect thing, and not just a difference in the way you both express affection mucking things up?”

“At this point there’s not much of a distinction between the two,” says Donnie, flat and bitter.

April understands wanting physical affection from a partner, and she’s been dumped enough times to know how much it sucks when you like someone more than they like you; she can see how it’s transformed into a toxic slurry of clinging and insecurity for Tarek. She can also see how Donnie shutting down and pulling away has only made the slurry worse.

That said, her best friend is being smothered and made to feel like his desires and comfort levels don’t matter by someone who’s supposed to care about him, which is putting Tarek squarely on April’s shit list.

“Dee, why the fuck are you still with this guy?”

Being this blunt with anyone else would have blown up in her face. Donnie merely huffs like this is the question he’s been waiting for. “I was trying to follow your advice and make it work.”

At first April just stares, gobsmacked. “Oh, hell naw, boy, you did not just try and put your relationship drama on me!”

“You’re the one who said I should try!”

“Nuh-uh, not even close—I told you that talking about shit like this with your clingy-ass boyfriend made it sound like you both wanted to make it work!”

“That is absolutely not what you said, and I can prove it because I record everything.” He starts to bring up the arm where his bracer usually is, realizes his bracer’s not there, and unclasps his hand from hers to thrust his arm out. “Give me your watch.”

April hugs her wrist to her chest. “Use your own tech!”

“Your watch is my tech, April.”

…Shit, he’s right. She drops the device into his expectant palm, grumbling, “I’m only doing this because I’m actually right and I want to prove it.”

“We’ll see about that.” He activates the hard-light UI and flies through the screens. He’s got an admin-app on every piece of Donnie Tech™ that he essentially uses like a remote desktop, giving him access to his standard suite of files and programs from most anywhere. April watches as he punches times and dates into a customized search engine and pulls up an audio file.

“Sounds like you both want to make this work, if you’re talking things through like this,” she hears her own voice say, hesitant but supportive.

“HA, I told you!” she hoots as he swears under his breath. Then she stops, realizing something. “Hold up—which thing recorded that? Was that already on my watch?”

“No, this was mine. Because of its small size, your watch has a worse microphone. Although, with some of the advancements I’ve made recently, I could probably…”

“Focus, Donnie.” April takes her watch and slides it back onto her wrist. “Now we’ve established that I was right, this shit with Tarek ain’t working. Why are you still putting up with it?”

She doesn’t expect him to go quiet and avert his eyes. He hasn’t made a lot of eye contact throughout this conversation, but the fact he’s actively avoiding it now makes something cold drop in her stomach.

“I’m not asking if everything’s okay, because it obviously isn’t.” April sits back, her hands in her lap.

Donnie frowns. “That bad, huh.”

The reaction throws her way off. He was in such a snit earlier that Mikey had to chuck him into the scoreboard—what part of that was good?

“Yeah, Dee, it is,” she says slowly. “Did you really not know that?”

She’s not expecting the sour chuckle that comes out of him. “So I actively make relationships worse when I try to keep them—it’s the Hindenburg special!” He’s back to waggling his hand against his leg, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the Umlaut cabinets. It’s not obvious in his expression, but April senses real hurt emanating from him. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “I really, really did try.”

Two reallys. April would have known that even without the emphasis, though. Even if he hadn’t opened up to her about the finer details today, she’s seen it in the sheer amount of time Donnie’s dedicated to this.

She sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest with her ankles still crossed, loosely loops her arms around her shins. “I wish I could share the secret to success with you, but I’ve never figured relationships out, either. Shit’s hard.”

“Really?” Donnie looks at her with genuine surprise, his hand pausing on his leg. “You’ve always acted like you know what you’re doing.”

She huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “If I have, it’s just dumb luck; I haven’t had anything figured out since Sunita dumped me.”

She doesn’t know why she’s telling him this, either. Donnie didn’t ask to hear about her years of floundering—honestly, for as little as they discuss their respective love lives, even this is probably too much information.

Donnie doesn’t seem put off, though. Rather, his curiosity builds as he puts the pieces together about what she’s saying. “So the last year and change…” he trails off, uncertain of how to characterize her abrupt lack of partners.

April shrugs one shoulder. “Got tired. Nothing I did was working, and who was the common denominator across all of it? Me. Figured I should probably just… stop.”

He’s quiet for a while—digesting this information, ostensibly, but April can’t bring herself to check. She feels weirdly exposed. Aside from that one time with Sunita, she’s not really talked about this. She’s certainly never admitted aloud how lost she feels.

“Well, I definitely don’t plan on putting myself out to pasture the way you have,” Donnie says finally.

She laughs way harder at the burn than she should. But she appreciates that he’s not digging deeper, and the casual delivery was, objectively, funny. It doesn’t feel weird that they’ve talked about this—on the contrary, it’s kind of nice to have someone to compare notes with, so to speak. “Wait until you get to the ripe old age of twenty-two, young man,” April says in her best old lady voice. “You’ll understand, then.”

“Oh, I fully expect I’ll have unlocked the secret to being young and beautiful forever by that point. I don’t know how much use it will be to you, of course, since you’ll be a thoroughly washed-up twenty-four, but—”

“Oh, shut up.” April laughs and jostles him with her arm, is rewarded when he grins. She smiles back, and then checks her phone for updates. “So a metric shit-ton of food got ordered to the lair, and it looks like Mikey’s back. How’re you feeling, Dee? Ready to finish this year’s Games?”

Donnie’s ready as he’ll ever be, though he does ask April to carry his phone and bracer as they fly back to the lair using his battle-shell, Shelldon reawakened and flying alongside. Once there, they’re greeted with the greasy smell of Chinese take-out and a cacophony of conversation happening over Splinter’s 11 o’clock show.

Things go quiet as Donnie and Mikey confront each other.

“I’m not apologizing for throwing you,” Mikey says, arms crossed over the bright art painted on his plastron. “You were being a giant jerkwad.”

“I was. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you, ‘Angelo, and for that I apologize.”

There’s another tense stare down, and then Mikey springs forward and throws his arms around Donnie, who pats him on the shell in reciprocation. “You’re forgiven!”

The food must have only recently been delivered, because there’s still a lot of it. April and Donnie tuck in along with everyone else, and once they’ve all had their fill discussion returns to how they’re going to finish out the Lair Games. With the scoreboard broken, Splinter decrees a four-way tie—which, of course, means the final round will be his choice. He will accept no other solution, despite the protests from his sons.

“Luckily, I have just the thing,” he says with a sly, toothy grin. “And it even includes audience participation, since that is apparently a thing we care about now!”

It’s a three-legged race. Each brother must be paired with a member of their four-person audience, and the challenge comes from the audience members not being genetically mutated super soldiers. They’re allowed to choose their own partners, which breaks down exactly as anyone would expect. The group’s two couples immediately pair off, and Mikey calls dibs on Casey because he’s got longer legs and is a faster runner than April.

Admittedly, Casey and Mikey make for a formidable three-legged opponent, and after that dig about her run speed April’s fired up. “Oh, we’ll show you punks,” she says as she shoves up the sleeves of her jacket. “Donnie, we’re fuckin’ winning this.”

He smirks. “That’s the plan.”

On one hand, they make a good team. All those years of doing combos together in fights has paid off. They’re able to quickly fall into a rhythm that compensates for Donnie’s longer stride, and April’s been running with vigilantes long enough that she’s got more strength and speed than your average human, something Donnie’s able to take advantage of while also holding back enough that she’s not faceplanting.

Doesn’t change the fact that Mikey and Casey wipe the floor with everyone, of course. There are full seconds between their lightning-fast finish and Donnie and April’s second place. Considering how long it takes for everyone else to finish, though, that’s actually considered an accomplishment.

Mikey doesn’t even wait to see how the rest of the race shakes out. He’s already screeching and dancing around in victory. “Does this mean I just won the Lair Games?! I’ve never won before! Ohh me gosh this is the best day of my life!” He abruptly spins on a heel and marches up to Donnie, speaking with such sudden intensity that April gets chills. “Give us the keys to the T-cycles. Casey and I deserve a victory lap.”

It's hard to say if it’s lingering guilt over his earlier behavior or simple intimidation, but Donnie hands the keys over without protest. He doesn’t even correct the name.

Mikey’s immediately back to whooping and hollering in triumph. “Come on, Casey, we’ve earned this!”

“Right behind you!”

“Wait, what about your victor’s interview!” calls Shelldon. It’s too late, though, they’re already gone. In no time at all there’s the telltale roar of the T-cycles tearing out of the garage, Casey and Mikey shouting in glee.

Meanwhile, the three-legged race is still going on.

If the length of Donnie’s stride was challenging, then everyone needs to pour one out for Casey, because even with her free leg pounding the ground so fast as to be a blur there’s no keeping up with the space Raph can cover in a single step.

“Don’t hold back, Raphael, I can keep up!” she insists. However, the reality of the situation is she’s just getting dragged along for the ride, with Raph doing what he can to keep her from falling over while also not laughing too much about it. He can’t support her too much, though, because doing so has her barking out, “That’s cheating, we will do this properly!”

Even then, Raph and Casey make it over the finish line before Juan and Leo. The last pair are having a hell of a time finding a step rhythm, and not for lack of trying.

“No, with me!” Leo’s laughing so hard he can barely talk. They’re basically at a standstill, and they’re not even fifteen feet out from the starting line. “You have to step with me—same foot, Carlos!”

“I am!” Juan insists, cheeks flushed with amusement. “You’re stepping out of sync with me!”

“I’m not—okay, try again. Ready? Uno, dos, tres—” Leo attempts to use their shared leg while Juan uses his free foot, which immediately throws him off balance. Leo hastily catches his boyfriend to keep him from faceplanting, tears of mirth soaking into his mask. “Diego, you’re killing me. We have to use the same foot.”

“How was I supposed to know that was the foot we were using?”

“This whole thing was your idea, Alvi, how are you so bad at this?”

“They are extremely bad at this,” says Casey. She’s appalled—this is not a performance befitting a ninja of Leo’s caliber!

“Raph can’t decide if this feeling is entertainment or second-hand embarrassment,” Raph agrees, stifling his giggles.

Casey turns her back. “I can’t watch this anymore. I’m getting leftovers!”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Raph is also on board with that. “Good idea.”

Which just leaves Splinter, April, and Donnie. Watching Leo and Juan slowly limp along is a comedy of errors that they never really improve upon. They finally cross the finish line clutching at one another and wheezing in shared hilarity.

“And there’s Blue,” intones Splinter. “Very much in last place.”

“Oh, sweet theory of relativity,” Donnie says as he checks the stopwatch. He’s so aghast at the time that he’s looping back around to being impressed.

“How bad is it, Dontron?” asks Leo.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but I really do.”

“It took you ten minutes and thirteen seconds. It took Mikey and Casey a tenth of that time.”

Normally, this would put Leo into an immensely sour mood. He hates losing, always has, and—with the exception of the year April suspects he lost on purpose—usually comes in first or second place in the Games.

Not this time, though. Despite coming in dead last, Leo hears this grievous disparity in time and dissolves into a fresh round of hysterics with Juan. It’s so potent that they end up in a heap on the floor, still laughing.

“You know what’s worse?” Juan gasps, leaning an elbow on Leo’s plastron and scrubbing tears out of his eyes. He’s desperately trying to school his grin into something serious; April can’t tell if he’s winding up for a joke or a confession.

“What?” asks Leo gamely.

“I’m so pumped on adrenaline I could run a marathon.” Juan grabs Leo by the face. “Leonardo, is this how you feel all the time? Is this how you live?”

Okay, whether it’s a joke or not, that’s still funny. April had already been shaking in suppressed laughter just seeing them cackling, but now she’s chuckling aloud.

Leo’s still losing his shit, but he nonetheless manages to gasp, “How are you the cutest fucking thing?” He drags his boyfriend in for a gratuitous kiss that Juan enthusiastically reciprocates.

Alright, decidedly less funny now. April turns away to give them some privacy, but she can still hear them giggling and carrying on, entirely lost in what a great time they’re having together. It makes her smile—because, okay, as a spectator it’s kind of a lot, but it’s sweet, too. It warms her heart that Leo gets to be this happy. He deserves to be.

It also gets something squirming in her stomach that she thinks might be jealousy. For all the relationships April’s had, she’s never had someone this stupidly smitten and happy to be around her—yet here Leo is, hitting a homerun on the first try.

April wants to have that with someone, and it hurts that she’s looked for so long without finding it. Is the problem that she’s too desperate for it, or is something bigger, something innate she can’t fix?

Splints has split. Donnie’s watching the pair still wheeze-laughing on the floor, and April’s surprised to see how closely his wistful expression mirrors her own. He catches her eye and rolls his shoulders, caught but not sheepish about it. They share a mutual nod of understanding before they leave the happy couple to their shenanigans and join the other happy couple chowing down on leftovers in the kitchen.

If they’re going to flounder when it comes to romance, at least they’ll be in good company.

Chapter Text

By the time five o’clock rolls around April’s ready to either dropkick her work computer out the window or burst into tears, and she’s not sure which is going to win out. All she knows is she needs to get out of this building.

The air outside smells like snow’s on the way, which is not great considering fall’s barely started and April’s not wearing a heavy enough coat for this shit. She can feel the wind sapping the warmth from her as she hugs herself and walks faster.

She’s not entirely sure when she made the conscious decision to give Donnie a call, either, but he picks up on the second ring with the usual, “You’re conversing with Donatello,” and—well, she’s already got him on the line. Be rude to hang up.

“Hey Dee, you wouldn’t happen to have the emotional capacity to listen to me bitch about work for a bit, would you?”

There’s a brief pause, and then an enigmatic chirp. “Give me a minute.”

April’s suddenly getting flashbacks to the last time she busted into his lab without knocking. Last she checked he wasn’t seeing anybody consistently, but to be honest she doesn’t keep close tabs on his love life. “Oh, shit—am I interrupting something?”

“No. You asked if I had emotional capacity, and I’m trying to figure out if I do. Give me a minute, I’m putting you on hold.”

Without further ado, April’s listening to one of Bootyyyshaker9000’s latest Spoofy remixes. He’s been into some really grungy fucking techno recently—she’s pretty sure one of the baseline sounds is courtesy of a cordless drill.

And listen, she doesn’t begrudge him taking time to think things over, but the fact he’s probably doing realass calculations to determine the precise volume of today’s emotional capacity has her torn between laughing and groaning. Donnie would be the first to point out that emotions are not his forte. If she wanted emotional support, why didn’t she auto-dial Mikey or Raph instead? They’ve got empathy down to an art, and asking for it is far less likely to put them out of their comfort zones.

Except she didn’t call Mikey or Raph, she called Donatello. Truth is, even if her hand hadn’t moved on its own April probably would have reached out to him anyway. It doesn’t make sense, and she’ll feel bad if the ask makes him uncomfortable, but he’s the person she wants to be around right now.

Her ears are buzzing from the cordless drill beats when Donnie comes back on the line precisely one minute later. “I have emotional capacity. What’s going on?”

The relief that floods April’s system is so intense she almost doesn’t feel cold anymore. Letting out a fragile laugh, she says, “So I got my performance review at work today, and guess what? I’m officially on probation for ‘poor attitude’ and ‘not being a team player.’ If I don’t turn my shit around in ninety days I’m fired. Isn’t that hilarious?” She laughs again, and even in her own ears it’s breathy and goes on way too long. “Just like the good old days, right? I should’ve known better than to think I could keep a job.”

There’s a long silence on the other end. Eventually, Donnie just out and says, “This is more complicated than I’m capable of managing over the phone. Name where you want to go, and I’ll meet you.”

“Oh. Uh…” April casts about, but her eyes slide past all the signs without taking in any of the information. The lizard part of her brain is starting to panic. She wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this. “S-somewhere indoors? I guess? I don’t know if you’ve been out today, but it’s fucking cold, dude.”

“Wear a jacket, got it.” She hears click-clacking on Donnie’s side of the call. “There’s a bistro two blocks east of where you are. Small, yokai-owned, shouldn’t be too loud. I’ll text you the address and meet you there. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s great.” Yes, a location and clear directions. Good stuff, she can work with that. “Thanks, Dee.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in a few.”

Donnie must not have been far away, because he gets to the bistro the same time she does. He clearly heeded her warning about the temperature, too, because he’s bundled up in long pants and his heavy corduroy coat, along with a scarf.

“Here,” he says when he sees her, and he passes over a knit sweater in his signature shade of royal purple. He frowns when April just kind of stares at it. “You said you were cold, which I took to mean you weren’t dressed for the weather.”

“Right, I did say that,” she realizes belatedly. “Thanks for remembering.” Inside the bistro’s already much better than being outside, but she still layers the sweater under her current jacket once they’re there. It hangs off her like a nightgown because she doesn’t have a shell and she’s not nearly seven feet tall, and she’s got to roll the sleeves back several times in order to find her hands on the other end, but that’s actually wonderful, because it’s trapping what little body heat she generates and keeping it close.

There’s a good mix of humans, mutants, and yokai inside, a part of April notes as they’re led to a table in the back corner. That’s nice. It’s good to see so many different kinds of people mingling. There should be more of that.

Donnie waits as their server brings them some water, observing her as though she’s stepped in something radioactive and he’s monitoring for side effects. His expression’s neutral, mostly, but she can see the watchful tension around his eyes through the fabric of his mask. His gaze roves over the bags under her eyes, the way she’s leaning on her forearms and picking at the stitches of the sweater he leant her.

After several moments, when April doesn’t volunteer anything, he prompts, “You said you wanted to bitch about work?”

“Yeah,” says April with a nod. She sits upright and straightens her shoulders—that’s right, she’s full of righteous anger! “I’m really mad about how my performance review went down. I’ve done every shitty thing they’ve asked for—I bought a new wardrobe to fit in with their look, I write the stupid listicles that nobody cares about, I don’t complain when my boss calls me ‘good girl’ like I’m a dog, I haven’t said shit about Matthias fucking Matterson using AI software—and I’m the one who’s not a team player?”

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question. April was supposed to be raising her voice, really getting fired up. Instead, her words crack around the ball of spikes that’s suddenly appeared in her throat, and she’s got to sneak her fingers under the lenses of her glasses to rub at her eyes. She’s so tired. Everyone else she knows is on a positive trajectory; why is she the only one who can’t seem to get her life right?

Donnie starts to say something, and then catches himself and holds up a finger to ask for a quick time out. “Point of clarification: you’re looking for a sympathetic ear, correct?”

“I…” Is that correct? If she wanted sympathy, there are several other people in her life who are more equipped to give it. But they’re not who she called. “Not necessarily,” April admits to herself after a beat, her voice warbled. She clears her throat, tries to lighten the mood with a laugh. “I can throw perfectly good pity parties on my own, I don’t need you to pat my head and say ‘poor little April’.”

“Oh, sweet baby Galileo, thank you, because I’m not good at that.” Donnie’s relief is unabashed. With that out of the way, he’s far more confident about straight-out asking, “Why are you still there?”

“Because it’s my dream job! I’ve wanted to work for this publication for forever, you know that.”

“Except it turns out that working there makes you miserable.”

April sputters. “Yeah, so it sucks sometimes, but being a journalist has been my dream for years, and it’s not like the industry pays very well. I’m really lucky to have this job, Donnie.”

“Are you, though? Because I’ve known you for thirteen years, April, and I’ve never seen you like this.”

What is she supposed to say, that he’s wrong? He’s not.

She bristles anyway. It’s not like she asked for everything to fall to shit—what’s the point in cornering her into saying her dream job wasn’t all she wanted it to be? “Can you blame me? I’ve got ninety days to charm my editor into keeping me, which is basically impossible, because he hates me—and if I can’t figure it out, then I’ve lost everything.” She starts ticking off the dominoes that are poised to fall on her fingers. “I can’t keep my apartment if I don’t have an income, and no one else in the industry will take someone who’s been fired for poor performance, even if it’s bullshit, so I guess I’m moving back in with my mom and getting a job at McRonald’s? What the hell else can I do with a degree in journalism?”

Donnie gives her a long, guarded look that lets her know he’s holding something back. April responds to by throwing up her hands in a wordless gesture for him to just spit it out.

So he does: “You’re catastrophizing.”

“Catastoph—explain to me how I’m blowing a ninety-day notice to do the impossible out of proportion.”

“You don’t work at the only publication in New York City, April. Get a position at another one before they fire you.” He starts ticking off the benefits on his fingers, intentionally mirroring what she was doing a few moments ago. “It solves the income problem, the apartment problem, and the toxic workplace problem. And, you’ll be interested to know—” he activates the screen on his bracer and taps into it “—there are five different publications hiring right now.”

“You think I haven’t looked into that?” April gestures to the computer on his arm. “I know who’s hiring, and each one’s a pay cut for me.”

The bracer goes dark, but Donatello’s unimpressed. “Is working at McRonald’s better money?”

April scowls. She can feel her lips trembling. “That’s not fair.”

“How is the question not fair? You were just saying that’s what you’ve got to look forward to if you lose this job on their terms.”

He’s right, she was—and April’s the dummy who repeatedly encouraged him to be honest, even though she knows full well that Donnie’s honesty is a blunt force instrument. If she’s feeling bruised, she’s only got herself to blame.

Story of her life.

Their poor server reads the break in conversation as a good opportunity to take their orders, but the atmosphere between April and Donnie is tense, and all the pleasantries April forces out are awkward and stilted in her mouth. Nevertheless, they all get through the ordeal in one piece, and their server leaves them to their prickliness soon after.

It’s April who crumbles first. She didn’t set out to pick a fight with him. She didn’t set out for any of this to end in disaster—not that intentions matter when everything she touches shatters sooner or later, but still.

She sets her glasses on the table and rubs at her face with both hands. “I’m sorry, Dee, I know you’re just trying to help. I shouldn’t have gotten snappy with you.”

At first Donnie’s unresponsive, but after a beat he exhales and releases the tension he’s been carrying. “The situation isn’t as impossible as you think,” he says, blurry fingers tapping an uneven rhythm halfway across the table. “There are solutions. You’re just rejecting them because they don’t match the status quo.”

April lets out a hiccupping sound that’s supposed to be a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.” It’s an understatement, really; she and the status quo have been frenemies for years. She laughs again, her shoulders shaking. “It’s just—I worked so hard for this, you know? That’s what’s so funny. I did everything I could to make this work, and I still did it all wrong.”

It’s only when she feels the tickle of moisture rolling off the tip of her nose that she realizes she’s crying, and the embarrassment of breaking in the middle of a restaurant with a friend who most definitely didn’t want her inferiority complex to join the chat only makes her cry harder. She’s such a loser that she can’t even manage to bitch about work like a normal person.

Why can’t she get anything right?

She doesn’t know how long the open hand next to her elbow’s been there before she notices. Too long, probably. Nevertheless, when Donnie sees he’s got her attention he flexes his fingers in wordless invitation.

April sniffles and knuckles the moisture away from her eyes so she can put her glasses back on, effectively startled out of her downward spiral. She’s thinking of the discussion they had about hand-holding months ago, and she suspects it’s not a coincidence that he’s offering this comfort to her sad, cuddly ass now.

“I’m not hugging you across the table,” Donnie tells her, inspiring a watery laugh.

“That’d be weird,” she agrees as she curls their fingers together. It looks like they’re about to start a thumb war, but it’s either that or looking like they’re closing a business deal, and April finds this more comfortable. Warmth blossoms in her chest when he rubs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, just like they practiced. He’s clearly not forgotten how meaningful tiny gestures like this can be for cuddly people, and it doesn’t seem like he’s tying the gesture to the ex he learned it for, either.

So maybe she was able to do one thing right.

She expects Donnie to let go when their server comes up to refill their water and let them know their orders are shortly on the way, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just readjusts his hand and asks to see the dessert menu.

April snickers. “We haven’t even gotten our food yet and you’re already thinking about dessert?”

“You like desserts,” he says simply, like that’s all the rationale there needs to be.

Apparently, it is. They end up ordering three to split because they all sound too good to pick between, and all the while they keep hold of one another’s hands, thumbs casually tapping and petting for emphasis as they talk about everything except April’s job situation. It’s not a hard task—between their mutual interests and the ever-present excitement of Donnie’s vigilantism, there’s no shortage of things to discuss.

April keeps watching for signs that he’s getting touched out—the twitches or the stiffness—but they never show. When she experiments with a low-energy game of actual thumb wrestling, he plays right back, their thumbs pressing lazily back and forth while they talk. They only break apart when their dinner gets delivered, but as soon as their main plates are cleared away Donnie’s extending his arm again.

It isn’t until their three plates of dessert have arrived and they’ve decided to navigate picking at them one-handed that Donnie asks, “Did you save any of the investigative articles you wrote when you were trying to get on a proper news beat?”

“Yeah, I’ve got them in a folder somewhere.” April tilts her head over their chocolate lava brownie, cheesecake, and baklava. She taps the side of her thumb against the heel of his palm and feels her lips quirk up in a tiny smile when he taps back. “Why?”

“Those are proof of competency. You can use them to support an argument that you’ve got field experience and should get better than entry-level wages at another publication.”

She blinks. Applying to other publications is still an idea she’s warming up to, and she still can’t shake the notion that doing so is a sign she’s giving in to abject failure, but the logical corner of her brain already knows it makes sense. April’s not likely to get anything that pays as well as her current position, but if she plays her cards right, she can make the pay cut hurt less while staying in her field. It’s as close to a compromise with the status quo as she’s likely to get.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admits. Then she raises her free hand and motions at her own chin. “You got some schmutz on your stripeys, by the way.”

“That’s not what they’re called,” Donnie says flatly, though he nonetheless grabs a napkin and wipes the chocolate off the purple markings on his chin.

“How about goatee tattoos, then?”

“If that’s the alternative, I’ll take stripeys,” he says, and he delivers it with such deadpan that April laughs.

“You could just tell me what they’re actually called.” Honestly, he’s had them for a while now; the fact they haven’t come to a consensus yet is kind of buckwild.

“No, I’d much rather you keep making a fool of yourself.”

April shrugs and grins. “Alright, I can keep making up names for your chin rectangles. Just remember: this is what you asked for.”

“I asked for no such thing. This endeavor is entirely your own doing.”

She snorts, and then she gets quiet, gazing down at the hand she’s still holding. There’s a fine line between asking a friend for support and asking for too much, and April’s not sure how close she came to it tonight. There’s no way this was what Donnie had in mind when he made the mistake of telling her he had emotional capacity.

“Hey, Dee, um. I really just—thank you, for everything,” she says, looking up and meeting his eyes. “Tonight really would have sucked if you’d been busy. I just want you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

At first Donnie’s puzzled, almost as if hearing this is a surprise, or he’s forgotten that this whole evening started with her asking if she could bitch about work. Then a corner of his mouth quirks up in a sly smirk. “Great, so in honor of services rendered, you can pay the bill. Also, I expect my sweater back the next time we hang out.”

“Oh, but I was planning on adding it to my permanent wardrobe.” April flicks the wrist of her free hand and allows the overlarge sleeve of the sweater to unroll another foot or so past her knuckles. “I think this is a good look for me. Really trend-setting.”

Donnie continues as if she hasn’t spoken. “It’s washed on cold and laid flat to dry, or dry cleaned. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“Fine.” April sighs dramatically and flaps her wrist, causing the purple knit to flop around, and grins at the dry look the action earns. “But when this drip is in vogue next season and I’m not on the forefront of the movement, I’m blaming you.”

Please join me in weeping uncontrollably over this amazing art by Turtsmcgurts!!

There are three weeks left of her probation by the time April leaves what should have her dream job for a substack that’s a fraction of the size of her current office and barely two-thirds of the pay. Her coworkers give her no proper send-off; they don’t even scribble their names on a card to wish her farewell. She’s pretty sure word got around that the writing was on the wall for her, and none of them wanted to risk being potentially infected with a fatally poor attitude.

It’s a sharp contrast to the warm welcome she receives her first day in her new office, which is on the third floor of a five-story historical building in a mixed residential-and-commerce part of the city with relatively cheap rent. There’s a modest spread of donuts, bagels with schmear, and coffee on the conference room table. The walls are painted with bright accent colors, and just about everyone is wearing jeans. April’s plied with baked goods and gently teased about being overdressed in her fitted blazer and pencil skirt.

“I know they say dress for the job you want, but did you have to come in on your first day gunning for mine?” her new boss jokes.

April immediately fumbles. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t worry about it. I know where you’re coming from, remember?” Her new boss is a South Indian woman with a single, fat streak of grey in her dark hair, and she founded this substack just after the Krang attack with the aim of monitoring civil rights issues on the eastern seaboard, including those of yokai and mutants. With the addition of April, she’s got six employees, half of which are yokai or mutant, and two more of which are people of color. April’s already clocked at least one other queer.

It's a night and day difference from her last office.

And yet, she’s utterly shaken when she runs into one of her new human coworkers, Priyanka, in the Hidden City (which really isn’t all that hidden anymore. There are many nicknames for it in circulation, but April’s partial to the Yo-Kaves or Asphodel).

“Hey April!” Priyanka calls when April attempts to slink away in the other direction.

April freezes. Shit, busted. “Oh, uh, h-hi Priyanka. Um. I wasn’t expecting to see…” She trails off, uncertain of the least offensive way to finish that sentence. Priyanka’s smiling and looking friendly, and it’s throwing her off-kilter.

“Yeah, I’ve got friends who live down here—you must too, hey?”

She’s got friends that what now?

Listen, April’s not dumb enough to believe she’s the only person with connections down here these days, but she is definitely not used to being around humans who would readily say so. April’s brain is chugging like Priyanka’s suddenly started speaking in another language.

“Uh.”

Priyanka’s smile falters. “April, is this your first time in the Underground?”

“Oh—uh… well.” April shuffles her feet, still laboring to wrap her mind around the idea that Priyanka’s not holding April’s presence here against her. This never would have gone over so well if she’d been spotted by anyone from her last office.

“Oh my gosh, are you here to get familiar for work?” Priyanka takes April’s continued faltering as affirmation and makes a placating gesture. “It’s okay—I know things look kind of topsy turvy down here, and this is a totally new beat for you, but you’ll catch on soon. All of us have friends down here—actually, I was just about to meet with mine. Do you want to come with and let us give you a tour?”

And that’s how April ends up being two hours late to meet the Hamatos for pizza at Señor Hueso’s. Everyone’s basically ready to go by the time she rolls in, waving to Priyanka and her friends and reassuring them no, really, she’s totally fine on her own, but thanks for offering.

“What the hell was all that?” asks Leo, craning his neck to peer at them through the window.

“One of my new coworkers gave me a tour of Oldtown because she thought I was a tourist,” says April numbly as she plops into the booth next to Raph. “I was too shocked to correct her until it was too late.” She extracts a Hidden City Oldtown-branded snow globe from her bag and slides it across the table. “Here, Dee. I didn’t know what else to do, so I bought you a souvenir.”

Donnie stares incredulously at the snow globe as his brothers start snickering. “Why.”

“They took you to a souvenir shop and everything,” Leo cackles, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh my god, they really did think you were a tourist.”

At this point April’s feeling grounded enough to start giggling, too. She gestures helplessly. “Honestly, I thought it deserved to go on the Shelf of Shame to commemorate this whole thing.”

That’s what really gets Mikey laughing. He grabs the snow globe and gives it a shake. Turns out, instead of snow, Hidden City’s tourism board thought it would be more appropriate for bioluminescent ooze to gloop around instead. Just seeing that makes Mikey laugh harder. “Yeah, it definitely does.”

“I can’t believe you robbed us of the opportunity to roast you for this by roasting yourself, April. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It’s not even thematically appropriate for the Shelf of Shame,” Donnie complains. He’s taken the trinket from Mikey and he’s studying the glowy ooze like he’s hoping it’ll give up some hokey fake-science secret so it will match all the other horrendous souvenirs April’s presented to him over the years.

“The most shameful thing of all, if you think about it,” says Raph.

“Good point, Raphie.”

“Alright, objections sustained. Context counts for the Shelf of Shame, but only this one time,” Donnie decides, setting the globe down again. At first he debates it, but then curiosity wins out. “Did you actually learn anything new about Oldtown, though?”

Everyone else groans, but April just shakes her head and fights back a smile. “I wish I did—but alas, all I got was this lousy snow globe.”

April’s new workplace is open concept instead of cubicle-oriented, so everyone hears the car crash that happens outside. It sounds like a bad one, they remark amongst themselves, here’s hoping everyone’s okay.

Then April feels the floor ripple beneath her sneakers, and she knows something’s gone terribly wrong. She works in a building that was built in the 1800’s—the place is made of wood and brick, and those materials do not ripple.

She leaps out of her chair and dashes to the fire alarm, ignoring the shouts of confusion from her coworkers. Old-fashioned bells clang all around them, and sprinklers start sputtering overhead.

“April, what the hell are you doing?” demands one of her colleagues, a spider yokai named Gwyn that can move just as fast as April, when the mood strikes her.

“Save the computers! Get them under the tables!” calls Priyanka. It’s already too late for the computers. They are sparking and shorting out, and there’s a heavy smell of burning electronics in the air.

“Forget the computers, we’ve got to get out of here!” April shouts. “It’s not safe!”

“What’s not safe is you pulling the—” Gwyn starts to say, but that’s when the external wall of the office groans and buckles, shattering the windows as hundred-and-fifty-year-old mortar gives up the ghost. Warped wooden floorboards creak and snap as bricks fall out from under them. Their office is on the third floor of a five-story building—if anyone were to fall from here, it could be fatal.

“Emergency exit,” April orders, throwing her damp arm out towards the flickering signage. “Now.”

Nobody protests or questions her this time. Gwyn leads the way to the door, clinging to the walls and ceiling with her multiple sets of dexterous limbs as she holds it open for the rest of the office to get through. April pushes her water-smeared glasses up onto her forehead—she really needs to invest in contacts—and does a somewhat blurry head count as they exit. It’s a small team, and everyone’s accounted for.

“This building’s coming down! Once you’re on the ground, get clear—at least a full block!” she barks down the narrow stairwell. Hopefully people can hear her over the thundering footsteps of the other evacuees.

“Wait, where are you going?” asks Gwyn, poised at the top of the landing.

April points up. “There are still people up there. Someone has to make sure they make it down safe.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

April shakes her head, wet curls flopping. “It’s only two floors, I’ve got it—you make sure people are getting away from the building once they’re out. I don’t want anyone getting brained by falling bricks.”

As she says that, there’s a calamitous crash from their office. Glass screeches and shatters, and the sound of collapsing masonry is unmistakable. Judging by the water that’s started gushing out from under the emergency exit door, a pipe has also burst.

The sprinklers dumping water down the stairwell stutter as the water pressure suddenly drops. When they resume their steady spray again, there is noticeably less volume than before.

“Go!” April shouts to Gwyn, shoving her onwards and ushering other people evacuating from the upper floors along after her.

Gwyn doesn’t protest this time, she just reaches out to help someone who slips on the wet stairs, catching them before they can fall.

Satisfied that the other evacuees are in good hands, April takes the steps two at a time as she races up to the fourth floor. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here, but she kicks in the doors of both suites and does a quick and dirty sweep anyway.

There’s only one moment where things get bad. The floor gives out from under her as she’s making her way back to the hallway, forcing her to snatch an extension cord and use it to haul herself back up. She decides to take the cord with her, looping it around her arm as she finishes loping through the offices. You never know when a makeshift rope could be useful.

She spares a brief second to glance down at the complete and utter destruction of the office she’s only just gotten comfortable in. The floor’s slowly coming down with the external wall, and everyone’s desks and chairs are piling up on each other as they slide down the incline. Water fountaining out of a broken pipe is rapidly pooling up behind it all, weakening the ancient floor joists and adding even more weight to them.

Then the entire building shudders as another crucial structural component gives way, and April’s sprints up to level five.

There are stragglers up here, three of them. Two drenched adults, a man and a woman, are supporting an elderly man with an ankle swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Behind them, the door to their suite is hanging precariously on only one of its hinges, its wooden framing sticking out like a jagged bone.

“Help, he can’t get down the stairs like this!” the woman says when they see April.

April spots a plastic folding table that got knocked over in the chaos and gets an idea. “I’ve got it, you two go.”

“Are you going to carry him?” says the man skeptically.

“No.” April heaves the table upside-down and snatches up two sodden cushions from the couch in the suite’s waiting room. “We’re gonna ride down.”

The implication that April needs them to be off the stairs—or at least a good distance away—before she can do this is clear.

The elderly man speaks up. “Oh, I like where your head’s at!”

That’s enough for the people who are supporting him—or perhaps they get spooked because the floor judders beneath their feet and they all hear the crack and crash of another room falling in on itself.

This time, the sprinklers do stop. Whatever just happened, it’s cut off the flow of water to the fifth floor—but that water’s still coming out somewhere. April can hear it further down.

“Go, now!” says April. She’s still got the extension cord looped around her arm, and she hands it off to the two people now. “Sounds like a river down there. Tie this off on the railings and use it to help you get across areas where it’s slippery.”

“We’ll be fine,” the old man tells his companions confidently.

“You’re both crazy,” the woman says, albeit with boldfaced admiration. The man squeezes his older companion’s shoulder, and then they’re racing down the stairwell.

The old building groans like a beast stirring from slumber, and more windows shatter in response.

April chucks the couch cushions down onto the underside of the overturned table and helps the elderly man get situated on them. He hisses and grunts whenever he has to put weight on his ankle, but he’s nonetheless as cooperative as he can be.

“I don’t know if this’ll work, but it’s our best shot to get you outta here fast,” she admits.

Surprisingly, he’s laying back with his arms crossed over his chest and a wild grin on his face. “Girlie, I was on the Olympic luge team of ’87. I’ve been trainin’ for this moment my whole damn life.”

Oh, April likes this guy.

“Hell yeah!” She folds one side of the table legs down over his lap like a safety bar and lashes everything together with a sodden necktie someone’s left behind. Then she pushes their impromptu toboggan to the top of the stairs and gets herself into position behind him like a musher at a dog-sledding race.

She was going to count them down, but that’s when the roof starts caving in, so she settles for a guttural shout of “April O’Neil!” and kicks off as hard as she can.

Gravity’s a hell of a force. Between the angle of the staircases and the water coating all the steps, it doesn’t take them long to pick up speed. April drops down into a squat to get a lower center of gravity and puts her weight into the table legs she’s holding onto to steer them around the first switchback.

She steers too hard, as it turns out. The edge of the table lifts clean off the ground and scrapes against the brick wall as they whip around the corner and shoot down the next flight of stairs.

“Ack, sorry, sorry! Still getting the hang of this!”

“You’re doing great!” her companion shouts back. He’s throwing his own body weight from side to side as needed, helping her get the hang of steering with his hands still perfectly crossed over his chest.

They hadn’t kicked off a moment too soon. April notices the patches of sunlight coming in over her shoulder, the veritable tide of snapping wooden beams and tumbling masonry mounting behind them, chasing them down the stairs.

They find out what happened to the sprinklers when they hit the fourth floor. The building’s primary water pipe has broken. It’s jutting out of a half-collapsed wall, gushing at an alarming rate. The entire side of the building’s fallen away, creating an inadvertent waterfall out of the jagged remains of the floor and dumping onto the roof of the neighbor’s three-story townhouse.

April’s stomach lurches when she sees that the next section of the stairs is already rubble. Between that and this level cracking and groaning as it gives way—not to mention the remains of the fifth floor coming down on top of them—there’s no way they’re going to surf their way to the ground floor this way.

So she does the only reasonable thing left for them to do: she aims for the waterfall.

As soon as they hit the main flow of water they start hydroplaning, which only gives them more speed. Some combination of their weight and the building collapsing behind them turns the broken floor into a ramp that forcefully ejects them from the carnage. For an instant they are fully airborne, surrounded by droplets of water that wink and glisten in the bright sunshine beaming down on them.

It’s exhilarating. April shrieks in adrenaline-fueled laughter—and so does her new friend.

Then gravity sinks its claws into them again. If they hadn’t been shot off the fourth floor so fast, they likely wouldn’t have cleared the gap between their building and the neighbor’s. As things are, however, they sail across the open space and slam down on the rooftop patio with nearly perfect trajectory. The hard plastic of the tabletop shreds like papier mâché as they skid across the concrete and knock into the fence on the far side of the patio, but the pillows protect them from the potential road rash.

There’s an almighty crash as the building finishes coming down, and the entire block shudders from the impact. Distantly, April hears sirens and the tinkling of broken glass. Her ears are still ringing from the fire alarms.

Her new friend whoops and exclaims, “That’s the most excitement I’ve had in years! Young lady, what you did was incredible!”

“No, you were incredible,” April tells him, crouching down to release him from his makeshift sled. “We never would’ve made it if you hadn’t helped me with the steering—that Olympic luging experience really came in handy!”

The man pushes himself to sit up, wincing a bit as he jostles his ankle, but otherwise in bright spirits. “Hand to god, I didn’t know I still had it in me—but wow, what a rush!”

April grins as she stands up and detangles her glasses from her curls so she can wipe them off as best she can with her damp clothes and put them back on properly. That’s when ethereal light flashes in the corner of her eye. She turns, leans out over the patio railing, and spots streaks of blue and orange and purple and red as her friends battle… something. They’re a few blocks away at this point, and their opponent is small enough to be indistinct from this distance.

So it hadn’t been a car crash she’d heard earlier at all, it had been this fight. Something (or someone) must have clipped the side of her office, and, since the building was ancient as hell anyway, that had been the final straw.

Well, mystery solved there. It’s been a while since a bad guy’s been ballsy enough to go toe to toe with the Hamatos in an all-out fight; these days they can mostly get away with someone sticking their head through a portal and giving potential ne’er-do-wells the stink eye. April looks forward to hearing all about it later—but, for now, she’s got things to do. The owners of the townhouse, both of them yokai, are rushing out onto their balcony, visibly torn between panic and relief.

“What just happened?” one of them demands breathlessly.

“April! Is that you?” It’s Gwyn. She’s running down the alley between the townhouse and the high-rise next door, one set of arms cupped around her mouth. “We saw you go flying when the building came down—are you okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good!” April leans over the railing to call down. “But I’ve got this fella here with a busted ankle, and I can’t carry him down by myself.”

“Oh, I can help with that.” Between Gwyn’s extra limbs and clear familiarity with scaling vertical surfaces, she’s able to easily climb up the side of the townhouse. “Oh,” she says when she sees the owners. One of her hands gives a small, sheepish wave. “Hi.”

“You know, you could have knocked,” one of the owners says wryly. “We would have let you in.”

“I mean, you were already up here. This was easier.”

“I can help you clean up this mess, too,” says April, eyeing the weirdly crispy-looking smears of table on their patio. “Sorry about crashing the party. And the property damage.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the yokai waves them off, and then gives Gwyn a particular look. “We’d just prefer you take the stairs as you leave?”

“We tried to do that in the last place, too,” remarks April’s new friend, jerking his thumb to where their building used to be. “Didn’t go so well.”

April covers her mouth to hide her grin.

Gwyn’s easily able to carry the old man down to the ground floor. April follows behind, dragging what’s left of the table and couch cushions to leave them on the curb. That’s when she sees the crowd gathered a block away.

“Everyone was out of the way when the building came down?” she asks Gwyn as they go to join the group.

“Yep—a little shaken, and the dust cloud had us coughing, but otherwise everyone’s fine.” Gwyn pauses, frowning. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gwyn doesn’t look convinced. April puts a hand on one of her arms. “Seriously, please don’t worry. I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t been so on top of things, a lot of people would’ve gotten hurt.”

Gwyn doesn’t get a chance to respond; they’re swarmed by the other evacuees.

“You’re alive!” cries Priyanka with relief, grabbing April’s arm and shaking it. “Not gonna lie, we thought you were a goner.”

“Ernesto!” The man and woman who’d initially been supporting the old man rush up. “Holy shit, the table thing worked?”

“Like a charm! I was just telling my young friend here—actually, young lady, what’s your name? A-something?”

“April O’Neil,” Gwyn says proudly. “She works in our office.”

“Yes, thank you, miss—anyway, as I was telling April here, this was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.”

“The extension cord you gave us really came in handy, too,” the man says breathlessly. “We had to use it to get the rest of the way down when the stairs collapsed.”

“That’s right, you were the people who literally came in swinging!” says Gwyn. “That was some Tarzan-level shit.”

They all laugh. It’s a giddy sound, ragged with leftover adrenaline.

“Wait,” says Priyanka seriously. She’s giving April a look like she suddenly doesn’t recognize her. “You saved these people, April?”

The ground trembles as the real heroes take care of business a few blocks away. April tells the truth, “I gave them an extension cord. They saved their own selves.”

“We never would have made it out in time, if it weren’t for her,” says the woman.

“Her quick thinking certainly saved my life,” Ernesto says as Gwyn sets him gently onto the ground. His companions quickly take over supporting him. “There was no way I was getting out of that building on my own.”

“If April hadn’t pulled the fire alarm, nobody would have gotten out in time,” Gwyn asserts, causing a massive influx in conversation from the crowd.

“That was you?”

“April, what you did was extraordinary,” her boss tells her. She’s still dripping from the sprinklers and there’s dust smeared on her clothes, but she’s smiling. “We’re lucky you were there.”

“She exploded out of the building, and she’s totally fine? What is she made of?” April hears someone in the crowd say with full-blown admiration. “That’s incredible, no normal person could do that!”

The phrasing lances something deep, deep within her. April’s ears are suddenly ringing from more than just the fire alarms. It’s the first time someone’s called her abnormal in a good way.

She doesn’t have the chance to respond to her boss, to that random person in the crowd, to Ernesto, or anyone else, because that’s when a haphazardly aligned portal opens up and unceremoniously dumps Raph and Casey Jr. onto the asphalt. Leo must really be distracted, because normally his execution is much cleaner than this. They land okay, but the way they twist in midair to make it happen implies they were going in a completely different direction when the portal nabbed them.

“No, we’re too late—Casey, help me look for survivors!” Raph’s face is twisted with guilt. He flexes his fists to engage his ninpo and immediately starts sweeping debris out of the way.

Casey doesn’t immediately join him. His hockey mask is down over his face, and the slow way he’s panning his gaze from left to right suggests he’s using the tech built into it to scan the area for indications of life. He stops when he spots April and the rest of the evacuees, and his shoulders sag with relief. He shoves his mask up to reveal a big smile. “We’re good. The Commander’s already handled it.”

“The who now?” Raph looks over his shoulder.

Before she’s consciously decided how to handle the first-ever instance of her personal life crossing with her professional life in such a significant way, April’s offering a cheeky salute of greeting to her best friend.

Raph’s ninpo winks out, and his powerful frame sags as the anxiety of what they might find in the rubble evaporates. He points to April. “We owe you so big.”

April smirks teasingly. “Just put it on my tab.”

“…Yeah, Raph’s not gonna remember to do that with everythin’ else goin’ on.” Next to him, Casey’s talking into the radio on his wrist. Another oddly angled portal appears beside them. “Should be wrapped up in a few hours if you wanna hang out, though!”

Casey smiles brightly and waves as he pulls his mask back down over his face. “See you, Commander!”

It’s only after they hop into the portal that April realizes Casey had been calling her Commander without making the weepy Commander O’Neil Face. Honestly, if April had to place his expression at all, she’d say he looked proud.

“‘Commander’?”

April turns to an extremely confused Gwyn and Priyanka, shifting to cover up the disguised vigilante tech on her wrist. Her face is hot, and her heart is beating faster than it ever did while escaping the building.

…Shit, yeah, there’s really no passing off her banter with Raph as anything but familiarity.

“It’s a nickname,” she says. That’s the easiest way to explain it, anyway.

“You know those guys?”

April has to keep herself from wincing. She can’t tell if this is going to be what ruins things for her. “Yes, I do,” she confesses solemnly.

Then the wildest thing happens. Instead of freaking out, the people around her look—well, fine. Pleasantly surprised, if they’re anything.

“Oh, this explains so much!”

“What, that’s so awesome! How do you know them?”

“Do you have powers, too?”

“No, nothing like that!” April says, waving her hands. She can’t help how exposed she feels, or how stunned she is that this seems to be… going over well? It’s like she broke into another plane of existence when she flew out of that building, slammed down in an alternate dimension where being chummy with mutant vigilantes is a totally normal thing for people to do. “They’re the ones with the cool powers and abilities, I’m just some guy.”

“Just some guy, she says,” Priyanka remarks to Gwyn and their boss as if they’re all in on the same joke. “I know I sure as hell couldn’t have thrown myself off an exploding building and lived to tell the tale.”

Their boss starts to say something, but then two NYPD cruisers and a fire engine squeal onto the scene, lights flashing. “Alright, people, we’re going to need statements from each of you on what happened here,” one of the police officers announces while their partner officially tapes off the block. “I’m afraid we’ll be detaining all of you until we can sort this out.”

“Well, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon,” April’s boss sighs. She flips opens her phone case and takes out a credit card. “And I’ve got to call the landlord and start filing insurance claims—Priyanka, take this and order a metric shit-ton of pizza. If we’re going to be stuck here, we might as well have a good time.”

Priyanka needs no further encouragement. She takes the card and starts making notes on her phone about toppings and dietary restrictions, doing the math on how many pies will be enough for sixty-some-odd people.

Another office volunteers to buy beer and bottled water. A third sends someone out for plates, cutlery, towels, and some folding chairs. Someone starts their car and cranks up the volume on an upbeat Spoofy playlist. The people in the townhouse open their home up to anyone who needs to use the bathroom or get out of the sun. It doesn’t take long for things to start looking like one of the block parties April’s neighborhood would throw while she was growing up. People are mingling, laughing, making calls to loved ones to let them know what’s going on. April texts her mother to let her know the basics of the situation and promises to call when she’s allowed to go home. When she checks her socials afterwards, photos of the impromptu party and the rubble looming in the background are trending.

It would have been nostalgic, if any of the other kids at those parties had talked to or played with her. As things are, April’s memories of those block parties are mostly of people having fun around her while she munched on hotdogs and group-texted with the Hamatos. Now she’s just keenly aware of everything she’s done to stand out today. She keeps hearing people talking on the phone about this crazy black girl who table-surfed off the fourth floor like she’s some kind of urban legend, and it low-key makes her want to disappear.

April stands off to the side, a paper plate in one hand and a sweating beer in the other, and tries not to draw too much attention to herself. She keeps side-eying the pop-up tent and partition NYPD have set up to conduct incident interviews in. She doesn’t know what’ll happen when they inevitably call her over, but she knows it won’t be good.

Except she’s not on her own for long. People keep coming up to her and introducing themselves—sometimes they’re accompanied by April’s coworkers, or Ernesto and his friends, and sometimes they’re solo.

Either way, each new person says some variant of, “I just want to say I heard what you did, and thank you for doing it.”

And April always replies with some rendition of, “All I did was pull the fire alarm. You would’ve done the same.” She doesn’t bring up the table-surfing if she can help it. As necessary as it had felt at the time, it was far too abnormal a thing to do. She doesn’t want to be known as the person who steals old men and chucks them off buildings by people she works with. Honestly, just thinking of what the people at her last job might say when they hear about this (and they will hear about it, because they work in the news and this is a huge local story) is giving her stomach cramps.

“Don’t be so modest,” someone tells her at one point. “What you did for Ernesto was extraordinary—you should own it!”

And that… that gives April pause. People think she’s just tryin’ not to humble-brag? They think this is something worth bragging about—something extraordinary, instead of mortifyingly weird?

April doesn’t know what to say to that person, so she just changes the subject, inquiring how they know Ernesto. She’s a journalist; she’s good at controlling the conversation and steering it away from herself.

She learns more about the sixty-some-odd people she shares an office building with in one afternoon than she did across the two years she spent at her last publication. Maybe it’s just the beer softening them up, or maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline from the evacuation causing some trauma-bonding, but they’re warm and friendly and they want to hear what she has to say. It’s a nice feeling, being around them. April even starts thinking of a few as new friends.

“Man, I am so glad we hired you. What’s it like being a local celebrity?” one of her coworkers jokes at one point, and April rolls her eyes.

“I’ll remember that the next time you’re on my ass for waiting until the end of the day to wash my coffee cup.”

“Okay, fine. In thanks for saving my life I will hold back my comments about your mug for an entire workweek, once we have an office again. Does that sound fair?”

It’s definitely not an equivalent exchange, but April laughs anyway. “I’m holding you to that.”

Then it’s time for her police interview. April’s nervous as she sits down in the squeaky folding chair they provide for her, fingers clasped self-consciously around the slender strap of her watch. As someone who runs with vigilantes—and especially as someone who occasionally lends said vigilantes a hand—she’s got to be careful about what she says. She doesn’t want her friends to become collateral damage.

“In your own words, tell us what happened this afternoon,” prompts the officer.

April nods and takes a deep breath to push down the anxiety trying to claw its way up her throat. “So it started when we thought we heard a car crash…”

She leaves out the part where she almost fell through the floor when it dropped out from under her, heavily glosses over the part about the table-surfing, and entirely omits the part where she recognized the actual culprits behind the collapse of the building (and then exchanged lame quips with one).

“And now I’m here,” she concludes with a shrug. “That’s what happened.”

Her interviewer’s eyebrows are high on his forehead with flat-faced skepticism. He crosses his legs at the knee and taps his pen against the form he’s filling in. “You realize I’ve done about thirty of these interviews already, right?”

“Erm,” April says. If this man is going to call her out on her bullshit, he needs to be more specific.

“Every person I’ve spoken to named you as the one who set the evacuation into motion. And while I appreciate the succinctness of—” he checks his clipboard “—‘pulled the fire alarm and made sure people from the upper floors made it out safely’ I’d like you to be a bit more specific in your recounting of today’s events.”

“That is what happened, though.”

“You don’t have to be so modest, Miss O’Neil. You saved several lives today—it’s okay to be proud of that.”

There it is again, that reference to modesty. What is in the water today? She’s a whack job who strapped an old guy to a table and jumped off the fourth floor, and this guy wants her to be proud of that?

“Right,” she says slowly. “Look, I’m a journalist. I find the stories, I don’t star in them. I’d really rather this not become a whole thing, if that’s okay?”

The officer gives her a long look, expression inscrutable. Then he hooks his pen onto the side of his clipboard. “Alright, modesty it is. Have a good day, Miss O’Neil. Thank you for your time.”

April tries not to exit the tent too hastily, and she thinks she mostly manages it. As soon as she’s back out in the late afternoon sunshine, she’s being greeted by several now-familiar faces.

“Hey, there she is, the woman of the hour!”

“You just missed the news van! I can’t believe they didn’t wait to talk to you.”

Honestly, April’s thanking her lucky stars for that. She doesn’t know how she’d explain being interviewed on the news for pushing a former Olympian off a building to her mother.

Someone thrusts another beer into her hand. The music playing from the parked car is getting bouncier and harder not to dance to. Several others have already given into the urge. She smiles when she sees someone from one of the second-floor offices bust out with an incredibly corny display, much to the entertainment of those around them.

It looks like either all the insurance paperwork has been filed or folks have given up on being able to concentrate with everything that’s going on, because April can’t see anyone working. It really has become an impromptu block party over here.

She can’t think of a better way to make the best of a bad situation, honestly.

Her heart leaps into her throat when her phone starts ringing, fear of her mother having heard something she shouldn’t nearly crushing her on the spot, but it’s just Casey. April heaves a private sigh of relief and answers with a smile. “Hey Casey, what’s up?”

“Hey Commander, we were just wondering where you were,” he says. There’s a little beep as he starts sharing video, and April’s greeted with a stilted shot of the Hamatos all lounging together on various couches and bean bags at the lair in very comfortably looking onesies.

“Nice drip, fellas.”

“Thank you, it is!” calls Leo without an ounce of irony. His onesie is a blue unicorn; he truly is the king of cringe.

“Today’s bad guy was a real doozy, and frankly we’ve earned this R&R,” Mikey declares without any shame whatsoever. There are paint splatters on his onesie.

“Come get in on this, April!” says Raph.

“It is kigurumis only, though, so if you partake you are required to dress the part,” Donnie adds.

“I respect your commitment to the bit,” says April sagely. She flicks on her own video and sips at her beer as she shows them what’s going on over here. “But, as you can see, I kind of ended up at a street party, and I wanna get my dance on.”

“Boo!”

“What, and you didn’t invite us to get our dance on?”

“I thought you loved us!”

“Technically, the po-po are still conducting interviews, so we’re still an active crime scene.” April takes another pull from the neck of her beer bottle. “I’m not actually allowed to leave, even if I wanted to, so we out here makin’ the best of a bad situation.”

“Clearly.”

Casey’s got a funny look on his face as he takes in the scene she’s sharing. Then he just chuckles and shakes his head. “Classic April Party.”

April looks between the festivities and her friends, skeptical. “Alright, Case, you’re gonna need to explain that.”

“Are we about to learn that, even in the stagnant wasteland of the apocalypse, Commander O’Neil was a hugeass party animal?” asks Leo.

“Raph could see it.”

“Sort of?” Casey scratches his head with his free hand, face scrunched as he figures out how to describe it. “Commander O’Neil had a semi-regular habit of pulling off missions that should’ve been hopeless, and she usually did it in the most—and I’m quoting Master Leonardo here—‘looney toons way possible’.”

Leo hums in approval. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Yeah. Anyway, depending on how wild the victory was, you got an April Party.” Casey makes a vague gesture to April’s situation through the screen. “They were never planned, they just kinda—happened. It’s awesome to see them happening in this timeline, too!”

For some reason, despite Casey’s multiple Commander O’Neil slips this afternoon—something that rarely happens anymore—it isn’t until this moment that April fully makes the connection.

He’s saying she’s like Commander O’Neil.

Not simply that she shares a superficial resemblance, but that what she’s done today is exactly what the best possible version of her would have done. April’s never matched Commander O’Neil before, in anything.

If the stunts she pulled today would have been impressive enough to warrant an April Party in Casey’s timeline, then they’re worth celebrating here, too.

A tentative bubble of pride at her accomplishments swells in April’s chest. It’s a new feeling.

She doesn’t know whether she should chase it or squash it down.

Chapter Text

Even though she escaped a direct media interview, the coverage of her office building’s collapse is comprehensive enough that April’s name ends up in articles. She tries to get ahead of things with her mom by calling ahead and sharing the same dumbed-down version of events that she gave in her police interview.

“They just needed a face-man to sell the story, Mama.” April really hopes that her experience in the industry lends her credibility on this. “And since I was the guy who pulled the fire alarm, they decided it would be me—and before Tom and Genie from B104 ask, no, I didn’t give any interviews.”

“I thought the address sounded familiar, but I’m still getting used to you being at this tiny publication,” Mom says. April grimaces, tries not to take ‘tiny publication’ too personally. Wanda doesn’t know how close her daughter came to being pushed out of the journalism industry entirely; as far as she’s aware, April left her position at the prestigious publication of her dreams on a misguided whim. “It’s too late for Tom and Genie, by the way. They were the first ones who called.”

“I should’ve guessed, they’re always checking up on you. Anyway, yeah, it was us. We’re all working remotely for the next few months while we try to find a new office space.”

“Is it really true that nobody got hurt?”

“I mean, there were some minor scrapes and bruises, and one guy sprained his ankle, but that’s small potatoes compared to what could have happened.”

Her mother hums in vehement agreement. “And what about the stories that you jumped off the roof to save a man’s life?”

April knew that was coming—knew it, and yet she nearly chokes on her spit all the same. “Mama, do you even hear how crazy that sounds?”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking you if it’s true!”

April’s spared from having to answer further when she hears the beep of another incoming call. “Hey, my phone’s still blowing up. Can I call you back once I’ve tamed things a bit?”

There’s a pause where it really feels as though Mom wants to say something else, but then she says, “Sure, baby girl. Talk to you in a bit.”

“Hey Cerise,” says April when she switches calls. “What’s—”

“So I’m suddenly hearing all these stories about this April O’Neil chick doing crazy vigilante shit saving people from collapsing buildings.” Cerise’s voice is full of alarm and incredulity. In her defense, the demure, normal version of April she’s known since university would never do any of those things. For her, this is so completely out of April’s character it’s actually mind-boggling.

It’s a sign that April’s hard work blending in has paid off. She should be proud of it. Instead, something uncomfortable writhes in her gut.

She’s thinking of how Gwyn and Priyanka have started bantering with her outside of working hours, how nice it is to tell stories about her mutant best friends without having to edit out the parts that aren’t mundane or human enough. She was even able to share a funny selfie she and Mikey took the other day, featuring a thoroughly vexed Meat Sweats in the background. Her co-workers hadn’t needed the additional context to find the image entertaining.

She’s thinking of Commander O’Neil and how, just maybe, they might be more similar than she initially presumed.

Cerise has been a good friend to April in the years they’ve known each other. She’s not a bad person, she’s just misinformed. Maybe April needs to give her a chance to prove it by actually being honest. Commander O’Neil wouldn’t shy away from something like this. Commander O’Neil would face the challenge straight on, and she’d come out victorious.

“Yeah, that was me,” April says with a nervous laugh. “Surprise?”

“What?” Cerise is beside herself. “Then-then that means you’re at that mixed yokai-mutant-human substack now!”

“It does, yeah.”

“April. Girl. I knew you weren’t happy at the last place, but you could’ve asked me for help! You don’t have to stoop to this level just to make a living, I would have gone to bat for you, my brother knows—”

“Cerise, I like my job.” It isn’t until she says it aloud that April realizes it’s true. Sure, the money’s worse, but everything else about it—from her colleagues, to the content she’s allowed to produce, to the morals she knows she’s upholding—is an improvement. It’s not prestigious, and if she hadn’t been pushed out of her last position she never would have found it, but now that she’s here April doesn’t want to go anywhere else.

“You-you... what?” Cerise sounds lost. Utterly dumbfounded. “You chose to...?”

“Yes, I chose to work there,” April says, as gently as she can. Cerise is her friend, and April wants to help her understand. This is the first time talking about yokai or mutants with Cerise hasn’t made April feel like a villain. She’s been sleeping on this too long.

“April, they’re not even human.”

“They don’t have to be, Cerise—they’re still people. That’s what matters.”

“Are you even hearing yourself? Non-human people—what’s next, bestiality? After all, where’s the difference between fucking something that’s half-animal and the real deal, anyway?”

“Cerise.” April doesn’t know where the bite in her voice comes from, but it’s sharp, and it gives the other woman pause.

“April, you’re a fantastic journalist, and you’re too nice for your own good,” Cerise says. “I can see how these things have suckered you in with their sob-stories, but you need to be realistic. I don’t want you to throw your career away because you ended up on the wrong side of history.”

April’s never going to get through to her.

The realization hits like a falling brick. April could talk until she’s blue in the face, but Cerise will never come around. Maybe if April had been candid when they first became friends, there would have been a chance, but it’s too late now.

Honestly, listening to the utter conviction in Cerise’s voice, there might have never been a chance at all. Cerise has always been good to April because April’s always been human. What is that kindness actually worth if it’s always applied with such prejudice? What is someone’s friendship worth if it comes with so many strings attached?

The version of April that Cerise knows isn’t even real. It’s a caricature, some two-dimensional ideal April’s never been able to live up to, a costume that’s never fit her properly. And April had played the part because she’d been terrified of being left alone, but there are people in her life now who don’t want or expect that of her.

“No, you’re wrong,” April says with a firmness she hopes sounds like Commander O’Neil. “And if that’s really what you believe, I don’t think there’s anything more to say.”

April doesn’t wait for Cerise’s response. She ends the call and blocks the number, eradicates every likeminded person from that friend group from her phone and social media. Her hands are quaking the whole time, and she can’t help mourning the things she could never salvage, but it’s the first time in a long time she feels like she’s finally doing the right thing.

“Would you look at this custom cooling system?” It’s hard to tell if Donnie’s envious or admiring; April’s money’s on both. “Oh, and of course he sprang for the premium insulation panels—how could you not?”

“I thought Stockboy was trying to finance an ivy league education and still on watchlists from his time in genius baby jail,” says April as she takes in the rows of spotless server cabinets and buffed concrete. Despite being surrounded by an ungodly amount of processing power, all of which is generating substantial amounts of heat, the digital reader on the wall proclaims that the server room is a balmy seventy-three degrees, and the chill in her extremities concurs. “His parents own a grocery store, and this place looks like the Nakamura vault we broke into when I was in high school—where is he getting this kind of cash?”

“I had the same thought when I was working out how we’d get in here.” April bites back a grin. It’s funny how casually he’s referring to them breaking into this second-story office suite at a failing strip mall in one of the outer Burroughs. It had taken Donnie longer to crack Baxter Stockboy’s security than he would have liked, and he’s been torn between aggravation and the thrill of the chase ever since.

“It’s not the MeTube channel, is it?” asks April, because there’s no way Donnie didn’t at least try to figure out where Stockboy’s getting these resources.

“No, unfortunately for him that continues to have modest engagement. The Stock & Shop’s in a similar stasis. But then I looked into—” he’s interrupted by a specific beep-boop that April knows very well, indeed. It’s from an app that facilitates hookups amongst folks who don’t have a preference between human, mutant, or yokai partners.

…Actually, that might be her. Did she forget to mute before they went in here? April slides her phone out of her jacket pocket and checks her notifications—and yes, she’s got some, but not from that particular application.

Which means Donnie…?

“Grimace. Who uses bitmoji? Ugh, blocking you immediately.”

April blinks in surprise—not that they apparently use the same hookup app, but that Donnie’s openly talking to her about it. They’ve been operating under an unspoken don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy for so long that even this innocuous complaint has April doing double takes. Saying this aloud was a deliberate choice, not reflexive. Sure, they shared a moment about how hard romance was at the Lair Games a few weeks ago, but she hadn’t realized that would have wider implications.

It's not a bad thing. Donnie’s far from the only friend that she’s got this sort of knowledge about—it’s just a change in their dynamic that’s new, and she’s very, very aware of it.

“Are you sure it wasn’t being used ironically?”

“Even if it was—and, for the record, it definitely wasn’t—I still would’ve blocked them, because that’s not funny.” He scrolls a little and frowns at the screen. “And I told you I was busy, so I don’t know why you’re acting like I’ve committed a grave offense by leaving you on read. Block.”

April raises her eyebrows. She’s certainly never considered Donnie’s schedule before texting him, even in the wee hours of the morning. She just assumes he’ll answer when it’s convenient (which sometimes is in the wee hours of the morning, actually; vigilantes have terrible sleep schedules). “Doesn’t that seem a bit harsh?”

“No. I’m setting boundaries, April—if this person can’t figure out how to respect my space after talking with me for the last three weeks, I’ve got no obligation to tolerate them.” There’s a small pause, ostensibly as he screens his DMs for any other offenders. Another decisive tap soon follows. “And I’m blocking you because I don’t like your new profile picture.”

It’s clear this is his method of avoiding another Tarek-style debacle. On one hand, April fully endorses holding strong on boundaries—on the other, Donnie’s callousness sends a chill down her spine. He doesn’t seem even remotely upset that he’s just blocked someone he spent the last three weeks getting to know.

Either his DMs are full enough that he can afford to be choosy, or becoming the pickiest man on the planet’s going to eventually come back to bite him, and not in the good way.

“…What was wrong with the new profile picture?” She’s curious, sue her.

“The use of three different filters, including face-shaping,” Donnie says flatly. As he talks, he calls up a hard-light display of the server room’s schematics from his bracer. Numbers and code roll down the screen faster than April can read them as he executes the search protocol. “If you don’t like your face, that’s not my problem, and I don’t have the emotional capacity to pretend it is.”

There’s something to be said for knowing the limits of what you can offer another person. It’s not that April thinks he’s making a mistake, exactly, he’s just being so savage about it.

Before April can come up with something to say, the search protocol finishes. One of the server cabinets in the schematic is now glowing. It effectively diverts the conversation as April lugs her heavy backpack over to the cabinet and hauls out her laptop and the cables she needs for the data transfer. She sets up, her heart pounding and a tingle in her fingertips. If they pull this off, it will be the culmination of nearly two years of research, the longest she’s ever worked on a story.

“I see a lock on the cabinet itself, but it looks like your standard keyhole. Are there any other security features that you can see, Dee?” she asks, prying her laptop open.

“Negative,” says Donnie after a moment. He’s joined her in this corner of the server room, monitoring the projected screen for any signs that things are going sideways. “Should be good to pick the lock.”

April sets her laptop on the floor and politely pats his battle shell so she can have the lockpicking tool he designed. A small compartment obligingly slides open, though Donnie himself doesn’t look up or appear to have given any discrete commands.

There’s a reason lockpicking is a skill—and, unfortunately, one April’s never had the patience to learn. Thankfully, the lockpicking gadget does all the work for her, sliding into the keyhole and creating a copy of the key with some teeny tiny sensory scanners and some ninpo. The cabinet creaks open.

“Can you tell which rack, or should I just take everything?”

“You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Your laptop—while undeniably impressive, thanks to the upgrades installed by yours truly—doesn’t have nearly enough hard drive space.” Donnie bumps her out of the way and refines the search protocol, examining each server in turn. April doesn’t pretend to understand how he’s sifting through the data, but she trusts him when he points to the fourth server down from the top.

“Hey, so, question for you,” she says as she studies the cable in her hand, trying to find the corresponding port on the server. This isn’t your usual USB or HDMI, so she’s a bit baffled—she said she wanted to do this herself, though, and she plans to make good on that.

Donnie, visibly combating the reflex to take over, nudges her arm so she’s in the right area. “Try that.”

“Oh! There it is. Thanks, Dee.” April flashes him a bright smile.

He hums with clear relief as she finally makes the connection. “You’re welcome, he says casually, because he’s definitely being very chill about relinquishing control of his area of expertise out of respect for your very specific request to do this for yourself.” His voice is pinched and not at all casual.

April laughs. Ah, yes, there’s that classic Donatello subtlety. “He should know that his self-restraint is admirable, and she is grateful.” She’s half-teasing, but the other half is sincere. She really does appreciate that he’s helping her get this data on her own terms.

“Better be,” he mutters. He’s looking at the file transfer she’s begun on her laptop like he wants nothing more than to snatch it out of her hands. “Was your question which port to use?”

It says the file transfer will be a few minutes. April balances the laptop over her forearm and glances at the hard-light screen still coming from his bracer. “Oh—no, actually. All this talk about boundaries just got me thinking. Should I change up how we hang out?”

Donnie gapes at her like she’s suggested they run off to join the circus. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’ve never checked your schedule before I text or call, I’m always in your personal space, and I barge into the lair unannounced at all hours of the day.” She gestures between them to highlight how they’re standing shoulder to shoulder (or would be, if they were of a comparable height). “You were just saying five minutes ago how much all that bothers you.”

Is changing up the way they hang out something April actually wants to do? Not really. She likes their current dynamic—but she likes knowing her best friend’s comfortable around her even more.

Donnie assesses their current circumstances for all of two seconds before sniffing dismissively. “That’s different, I’m used to you.”

Warmth floods through her chest and chases down her limbs, squirms in the pit of her stomach, and April smiles. She doesn’t know what else she expected. Still, it’s nice to know they’re on the same page.

“Good, just checking.” That’s when she notices the file transfer’s frozen, and an error message has popped up. “Uh, am I running into processing issues?”

“Don’t insult me, this laptop is more than capable of—oh.” Donnie’s just peered at the screen from over her shoulder. “That’s not good.”

Before April can issue a follow-up question, Baxter Stockboy’s voice filters in through speakers above their heads. “Well, well, well, look who’s the criminal now! Did you think I wouldn’t be able to override your override of the security in my own server room, Donatello?”

It would have been more intimidating if Stockboy’s voice stopped cracking. Truly, puberty’s the worst.

“I thought you said him overriding your override was unlikely?” April says to Donnie out of the corner of her mouth. She’s looking around, trying to find the most likely spot where Stockboy will make his appearance. The door’s too obvious—maybe there’s a hidden entrance? That sounds like something he’d have.

“Unlikely is not impossible, and I never claimed it was impossible,” Donnie replies, also out of the corner of his mouth.

No, he’d just bragged about his superior intelligence and extremely superior tech the entire ride over on the T-cycles.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?”

Oh, so Stockboy’s audio sensors aren’t terribly sensitive. Good to know.

“Let me try and sweet talk ‘em,” April mutters. Donnie nods and gestures for her to go ahead.  April raises her voice, “Alright, Baxter, here’s the thing—”

“Are you—you’re not actually trying to strike a deal with me right now, are you? I caught you red handed in my entirely legally rented office space, stealing my data! I should be calling the cops right now!”

Except he hasn’t yet, which says to April he’s either got something to hide, or he’d rather settle this himself. She can’t imagine explaining this space to his parents will be easy.

“You could, yeah. But can I tell you why we’re here, at least?”

There’s a surly pause before Stockboy’s grumbling, “Not much of a bargaining chip—I would’ve demanded you tell me, anyway.”

“Valid.” April minimizes the failed file transfer and navigates to the encrypted folder of research, stopping just short of entering the password. “We’re trying to dig up dirt on the journalist known as Matthias Matterson. You ever heard of him?”

A screen comes down from the ceiling, broadcasting a video of Stockboy in a small and cluttered university dorm room, hunched over a too-short keyboard tray. “Ever heard of him? That jerk—” oh, there’s a lot of vitriol there, not to mention a particularly vicious voice crack “—listed me as the number one worst channel on MeTube in one of his listicles! He tanked my engagement, destroyed my reputation—that bitch needs to pay!”

“I’d wondered if you’d seen that,” Donnie remarks. At April and Stockboy’s twin looks of confusion, he elaborates, “I saw the listicle a while back, but Stockboy never made any public statements on it, so it was unclear whether he knew.”

“Of course I knew—ever since I’ve been biding my time, gathering information. That man’s not going to find work in this town again, once I’m through with him!”

…You know, April hadn’t really considered Stockboy a proper villain before, more of a misguided genius with too much talent and not enough constructive outlets. His tone as he says that, though, truly puts him over the edge.

“Okay, so straight up: we got the same goals,” says April. “You know how he uses AI to write his articles, right?”

Stockboy’s eyes just about bug out of his head from behind his thick-framed glasses. “He what? How do you know this? What’s your evidence?”

Donnie crosses his arms and shifts his weight onto one leg with a confident smirk. “Don’t you worry, we’ve got him on that front. Also several counts of sexual harassment and being an all-around shitbag.”

April frowns at Donnie. “I don’t have solid proof of the last part. It’s all anecdotal.”

“Actually, you do.”

“Uh, Dee? No, I don’t. You’ve seen what I have.”

“Do you or don’t you have him on being a giant creeper?” demands Stockboy.

“We do.” Donnie taps into his gauntlet to bring up an awkwardly angled video of Matterson’s face when viewed from below.

“Hello! I’m April O’Neil, and I’ll be joining the—”

“Yeah, that’s nice. Listen, I wanted to give you some free advice. The office dress code is business, and not business casual.”

The video continues, though April already knows what happens. Her first day at what should have been her dream job, her first day coming face to face with Matthias fucking Matterson, and all the bullshit that came with it.

Something about the wonky-ass angle is tickling the back of her mind. It’s more than the fact Donnie somehow got his hands on a recording of that conversation—though they’re going to have words about that—it’s very specifically the camera’s point of view that’s throwing her.

“There are several more where this came from,” Donnie says when the clip ends. “And for the last two years April’s been recreating his articles through the generative AI we can prove he uses. But we’re short of complete evisceration, and that’s where your data comes in.”

Stockboy’s laugh is yanked straight out of the movies. April swears it sounds practiced. “Alright, I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” he grins. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But that’s the spirit, if not the letter.”

Stockboy scoffs. “It’s an expression, dude! I don’t actually want to be your friend! I wanna see Matterson burn for making me the butt of the joke on his stupid AI-generated listicle!”

It isn’t until Donnie gestures with his bracer-arm that it clicks.

“You’ve been taking recordings with my watch?” April squawks, interrupting what he was about to say.

Donnie’s wide-eyed expression says caught. “The answer you’re looking for is obviously… no,” he says slowly. “So, ah. No. Of course not.”

He’s always been a terrible liar.

“Donnie, what else do you have recordings of?” She wears her watch all the time—she scarcely takes it off! What else has he seen?

Donnie holds up his hands. “Only during business hours! At first we just wanted to make sure you had a good first day, but then, after that whole thing with Matterson, it seemed like a good idea to—”

“We? Does everyone know you’ve been recording me at work?”

“I didn’t know,” says Stockboy. He’s got his chin resting on his fist and is watching this scene play out with sinister glee. “But that sounds really bad, lady. Just the worst possible breach of privacy. You should definitely knock him down a peg or two. Or maybe—and this is just a friendly suggestion, no need to look too deeply into it—do me a favor and destroy him completely?”

April holds up a threatening finger to Donnie, who takes half a step back, appropriately intimidated. “This conversation is not over, Donatello.” Then she rounds on Stockboy. “And Baxter, what the hell? You know my name. We’ve been enemies for years.”

Stockboy shrugs, unrepentant. Ugh, teenaged geniuses. “We’re enemies. Why should I do you the courtesy of using your name?”

“You use Donnie’s!”

“He’s more of an enemy to me than you are. It’s a tiered system!”

“Out of curiosity, how highly do I rank?” Donnie pipes up.

A dark chuckle echoes around them. “Oh, you’re one of the highest, Donatello.”

Donnie nods, clearly pleased. “As I should be, frankly.”

“Alright, Donnie’s a better foil for you than I am, whatever,” April interjects. Not like she’s salty about it or anything. “Baxter, are we working together on this or not?” She’s still holding up her laptop with one arm, but she props the other up on her hip impatiently. She has never been this close to her goal of ruining Matterson’s life, and frankly she’s not in any mood to mess around.

“Normally I’d say the ends justify the means, but here’s the thing: I want this takedown to be posted on my channel. And I want it to go viral!” Stockboy laughs his practiced villain laugh again. “I’m still a minor—even if he comes after me, none of it’ll stick!”

“Actually, April, that’s a good point,” says Donnie. “Even if we manage to completely ruin Matterson’s career, there’s still a non-zero chance it could impact yours.”

On one hand, it’s a valid concern. This could be advantageous for both her and Stockboy. On the other: “I had to deal with that bastard’s condescension for two fucked up years, and I’m getting my just desserts! I’m putting my name on this exposé, one way or another, so unless you take my article and use it as a cited reference—”

“That’s all you want? Fine, I can interview you. Make it real newsy looking and everything. You drop the article and I drop the video on the same day, and then we both get the credit and Matterson gets to eat crow.”

Donnie hums and checks something April can’t see on his bracer. “That would work.”

It’s not the triumphant David vs. Goliath moment that April’s been envisioning for the last two years, and that hurts her pride. What’s the alternative, though, grinding out the next several years hoping she can somehow capture the same data that Stockboy already has, knowing he’s aware of Matterson’s AI secret and will be actively hunting for his own proof? In a rat race like that, April’s going to lose.

She showed her hand too early. She knows that now—if she wants credit for this takedown at all, it’ll have to be shared with Baxter Stockboy. She glances at Donnie and the calculations he’s just been doing on his bracer. He’s probably already factored that in.

“Well?” says Stockboy expectantly. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Before I answer, I wanna know what dirt you’ve got on him,” says April.

Stockboy scoffs. “Felony tax evasion, obviously. He’s been cooking his books for the last decade, and I’ve got the paper trail to prove it—but taxes are boring. I needed a better hook, and you’ve got it.”

Another delicious irony, since some of Matterson’s earliest articles—the ones that originally put him on the map—were takedowns of corrupt public figures.

With their research combined, they’ve got the right amount of clickbait and serious crime to do some irrevocable damage.

“So, actually, it gets better.” Donnie brings up the hard-light screen from his gauntlet again. It’s displaying security footage of a package being left on the welcome mat of a very nice penthouse suite. Matterson himself opens the door to pull the package inside.

The viewpoint changes. They’re now inside the penthouse, looking at framed photos of Matterson at various award ceremonies and speeches framed on the walls, a stack of his latest books on a beautifully carved wooden sideboard. Matterson carries the box to the kitchen, and the viewpoint changes again. Matterson digs a pair of scissors out of a drawer and opens the package—

The security footage is black and white, but there’s no mistaking the glitter that explodes from the box in a cloud of smoke and shimmering mica. In the aftermath, every surface of the penthouse sparkles. While there is no audio, there’s also no mistaking Matterson’s scream as he clutches at his face and takes in the redecorated space.

April’s never seen this footage before. Never, in her years of scouring the internet for shit on Matterson, has she even come across the suggestion that Matterson’s been glitter-bombed.

Which means this wasn’t just a coincidental glitter-bombing that Donnie happened to luck out and capture on tape, this was deliberate.

Donnie’s wearing an extremely self-satisfied smirk. It tells April exactly what she needs to know. She picks her jaw up off the floor and demands, “Donnie, when did you do this?”

“Midway through your third week on the job. It would have been sooner, but Mikey pointed out that we didn’t want the incident to be too closely associated with your arrival.” He looks at her face for the first time since her ominous this conversation isn’t over, and his smirk falters. “You… don’t seem utterly delighted. I thought you’d be overjoyed. He looked like an idiot.”

Honestly, April doesn’t know what she feels right now. She rubs at her face. “So—so, okay. There’s the secret footage from my watch, and there’s this. What else don’t I know?”

“Twenty-three discrete instances of Matterson stiffing service workers, shouting at baristas, and sexually harassing servers, all caught on video, with clean and easy-to-broadcast audio,” Donnie reads as he goes down the list. “Oh, and one time he nearly wet himself gushing over a well-known neo-Nazi.”

“Were you ever planning on telling me about any of this?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, because it’s obvious that he was holding out for an opportunity like this to reveal everything. “Donnie, you promised you were going to let me do this!”

“I am! Everything I’ve collected is designed to add insult to injury—it’s supplemental, at best.” He thrusts his arm out at Stockboy’s screen, at their whole location. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? I can help you load the gun, but you want to pull the trigger. Well, here’s your ammo.”

“Um, hello? I’m still here,” says Stockboy with clear annoyance. “Really not interested in listening in on your lover’s quarrel.”

April snorts loudly. “Girl, what?”

“It’s not a lover’s quarrel, it’s a regular quarrel,” Donnie says without looking at Stockboy. He flaps a dismissive hand, and if April were any less upset, she’d be voicing agreement to this crucial distinction. “And it’s one I plan to win, because I didn’t break my promise.”

“No, you just went behind my back and—”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Stockboy huffs and leans on his wrist. “Can you wrap up whatever you’re calling this tiff so we can iron out the details of this collaboration? I’ve got extracurriculars.”

April doesn’t doubt that. What she doubts is that his extracurriculars have an association with the university.

She lets out a hard breath. Probably better not be having an argument of any sort in front of an enemy, anyway. “Fine. Baxter, send me your availability for the interview and a link so we can exchange files, and I’ll work on drafting the script.” She doesn’t bother offering her contact details. Stockboy’s a tech genius, he’s not going to have any trouble digging them up himself.

“Good.” Stockboy types something into his keyboard, and a mechanical arm that’s strongly reminiscent of Donnie’s design lowers down from the wall and angles itself right in front of her. “Shake on it to make it official?”

April switches the laptop she’s still holding up to her other arm and reaches over—only to have Donnie knock her wrist out of the way.

“Don’t touch that, he’s coated it in something.” Donnie flips his goggles down and adjusts one of the lenses. “That’s a nasty chemical abrasive you’ve got there, Stockboy. Definitely not available over the table—which underground facility did you raid it from?”

Stockboy laughs his villain laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Baxter, what the hell?” April yelps, folding her arm protectively against her chest. “You say we’re gonna work together, and then you try to kill me?”

“Well, it was worth a shot.” Stockboy shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have killed you, for the record. Just seriously maimed you. I’d hoped Donatello would be vain enough to go for it first.” There’s some more clacking around on his end, and the arm retracts into the ceiling. April’s phone vibrates with the arrival of a new email. “Just sent you the files. No more funny business.”

Donnie hasn’t lifted his goggles. He’s scowling. “I’ll be the judge of that—April, don’t open that email until I’ve run diagnostics on it.”

“You’ve been in my domain for the last fifteen minutes. If I wanted to hack your systems and lift the files myself, I would’ve done it already.”

That sounds like a bluff to April. If Stockboy could do that, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t have, especially if it means the difference between sharing credit with an enemy or taking it all for himself.

“Ugh, working with villains is so annoying,” April groans.

“Oh, and you think I’m having a good time? Because I’m not, for the record. I’m just more invested in seeing Matterson burn.”

“Unfortunately, on that we can agree,” Donnie says.

“So are you gonna let us pack up and walk outta here, or are you gonna be a little punk about it?”

“I should make it harder for you. But, as a gesture of good faith on my part, I’ll be the bigger man and permit you a safe exit. You’re welcome.” Stockboy gives Donnie’s bō staff an apprehensive look as he says that, which undercuts his bravado a bit. Donnie’s not doing anything with it, it’s simply in his hand. The purple marks on his arms and legs aren’t even glowing with ninpo.

Wait, when did Donnie get his bō out? It hadn’t been there ten seconds ago.

“Great,” Donnie says, pushing his goggles back up his forehead. “Then we’ll be leaving.”

With one last glance at the bō, Stockboy’s video cuts out and the screen retreats back into the ceiling. “I’m still watching you,” he says through the speakers.

April rolls her eyes. “You do that.” Then she says to Donnie in a voice too low for Stockboy’s mics to pick up. “Think it’s a trap?”

Donnie mutters his reply, “If you’re asking whether I think he’s being truthful, I don’t know. However, I don’t see an advantage to keeping us here, given that we could retaliate by damaging his servers.”

Yeah, that’s her assessment as well. April nods and closes her laptop to start putting everything away.

Still bracing his bō on the floor as a wordless warning to Stockboy to behave himself, Donnie squats down with her as she packs her laptop and the transfer cables back into her rucksack. When he speaks again, his voice is even softer than before, “For the record, I genuinely only collected that other data with the intention to supplement what you were already doing. I know how important this is to you; I wasn’t trying to steal your thunder.”

When April looks at him her heart skips a beat, and her stomach does a little backflip. He’s being earnest, and while it’s not exactly an apology for gathering dirt on Matterson behind her back she believes him when he says he had the best of intentions.

“The glitter bomb was pretty diabolical,” she admits.

This cheers Donnie right up. She warms to see how brightly he smiles. “Wasn’t it? I’ve been dying to show you—I confess, I was skeptical at first, but Michelangelo talked me into it. FAB adhesive can be dissolved, but glitter is forever.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were doing this, Dee?” That’s the part she still can’t figure out.

His smile dims. She’s sorry to see it go. “Believe it or not, it was an effort to avoid you thinking I didn’t trust you to do things your way.” There’s a brief pause, and then he can’t help adding, “Despite how much it pained me to do so, because really, April, it would have been so much more effective if you’d just let me take care of it.” He lets out a short breath, shoulders noticeably relaxing. “There, I finally said it.”

April ignores what effectively amounts to a very wordy ‘I told you so’ and instead asks, “So how would you rate your experience of delegating techie sleuthing? Satisfied, very satisfied—”

She laughs at his loud groan. “Very dissatisfied! I refuse to make such a promise again, not even to you. Nobody else does the sleuthing properly and it makes me twitchy.”

He’s not wrong. Even talking about it has one eye twitching, which makes April giggle.

“Alright, you’ve made your point, the psychic damage was too much.” She zips the last closure on her backpack and looks at him. “It really does mean a lot that I could do this myself, though.”

Donnie softens, and something pangs behind her breastbone. “I know.”

“Hey lovebirds,” Stockboy’s voice comes over the intercoms. “You’re done getting packed up. Stop flirting and get out of my sever room.”

“If you think this is flirting, the rest of college is gonna be real confusing for you,” April grumbles. Nonetheless, she straightens up and slings her backpack over her shoulders in preparation to head out.

She’s surprised that Donnie’s still crouched on the floor. He’s staring at one of the server cabinets, fingers flexing on the grip of his bō. Aside from a set of furrowed brows, his expression is inscrutable.

Concerned, April nudges him with her leg. “Earth to Donnie. You okay?”

Donnie blinks owlishly and tilts his head her way, eyes wide as if he’s only just seeing her for the first time. “Yes,” he says at length. There’s something faraway and distracted about his demeanor, as if he’s working out a particularly complex mental math problem.

Before April can remark on how weird he’s being, Donnie’s springing to his feet and leading the way out of Stockboy’s sever room, not pausing to check if April’s behind him. It isn’t until they’re roaring away on the T-cycles—they each got their own for this trip, luckily—that April understands what’s bothering him.

“Don’t let Stockboy get under your skin, Dee. He was just saying shit about us flirting to see what would get a rise outta you,” she says through their networked helmets. “Mikey used to do it all the time when we were kids. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still good.”

Donnie doesn’t answer immediately. The silence echoes through April’s helmet—what if Donnie really does think differently about their friendship because of those stupid comments?—but she’s reassured when he says, “Same here, we’re good. I simply wasn’t expecting goading like that.”

“Tell me about it. Teenagers, am I right? There’s definitely no way we were even close to being that bad when we were teenagers, lo those many years ago.”

Donnie lets out a loud laugh, and April grins as warmth blossoms in her chest. Yeah, they’re good.

Priyanka and Gwyn volunteered to help her go dress shopping for Sunita’s upcoming wedding after work. April’s so preoccupied chatting with them and modeling ridiculous dresses she’ll never actually buy for their collective amusement that she completely misses the tsunami of notifications that hit her phone.

That is, until Priyanka says, “Uh, April, do you have an alarm? Your phone’s been vibrating nonstop since you got in the changing room.”

April frowns and twists her arm behind her back to mostly zip up the latest garment she’s trying on. It’s another joke dress; the sequined polka dots and extra-floofy princess skirt ain’t her bag, but that’s also the point.

She presses the button on her slender gold and leather analog watch to bring up its advanced hard-light UI, and—oh, wow, okay. It looks like every person she’s ever met has decided to text her en masse. She deactivates the UI, because she definitely needs a bigger screen to sort through all this.

Her friends giggle unabashedly when April flounces out of the dressing room to retrieve her still-buzzing phone from Priyanka, and April strikes a goofy pose for their further amusement before noticing she’s got a missed call from Donnie. That’s not like him. Donnie much prefers to text or have a chat over video.

Oh—actually, he’s calling again.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she says by way of greeting.

“I take it you haven’t been looking at the news.” For all that he’s been calling multiple times, and her phone’s drowning in notifications, he doesn’t sound panicked or urgent. Does that mean there isn’t an emergency?

“No, I’ve been with friends. Is it something that needs immediate attention?” April catches Gwyn and Priyanka’s twin looks of curiosity and waves them down. Still digging, ladies, hold your horses.

“Matthias Matterson’s been taken into federal custody.”

April’s so shocked that she loses grip on her phone and has to scramble to catch it mid-air before slapping it back against her ear. “It’s barely been forty-eight hours.”

She’d been expecting something to happen after she and Stockboy did their synchronized article and video drop, but certainly not this quickly.

“Well, it turns out the documents that mysteriously showed up at the IRS’ headquarters have been put to good use. And it just so happens that an anonymous source supplied high quality b-roll of Matterson in a variety of deeply unflattering situations to all the major news outlets.”

He hadn’t told April he would be doing that (or coordinating with Stockboy on that? Hard to tell). Either way, she’s not surprised. Donnie’s nothing if not detail oriented.

“Between that and your collaboration with Stockboy about the AI-generated content, coverage is wall to wall and likely to stay that way for at least a full twenty-four-hour news cycle,” Donnie concludes smugly.

April’s willing to bet it’ll dominate even longer than that. There’s nothing cable news shows love more than tearing apart journalists who have broken their shared code of ethics. “Holy shit, it’s happening,” April breathes. The tips of her fingers are tingling, and her heart’s suddenly thudding a thousand miles an hour. She can’t stop grinning.

This is it, what she’s been working so long for. Complete and utter annihilation of Matthias Matterson on a personal, professional, and social level. It doesn’t even matter if he knows she’s part of it, because he’s so thoroughly over that nothing he could say against her matters anymore, anyway.

“April, you’re laughing like a villain,” Gwyn tells her the same time as Donnie says the same thing through the phone. “What’s going on?”

April quickly gets her ominous cackling under control and relays the situation to her friends, who immediately pull up news apps on their phones to confirm the story.

“Ohh my god, and your article was part of this!” says Priyanka excitedly.

“Great work, April,” says Gwyn, impressed. “I knew your article had teeth, I just didn’t expect them to sink in this quickly.”

There’s a voice in the background of Donnie’s call. “Leo’s saying this is the perfect excuse to go to Seahorse Hill tonight and celebrate.”

April snorts. She’s so giddy, her cheeks are hurting from smiling so hard. “He says that when the barista gets his coffee right, too. As far as Leo’s concerned, any excuse is a good enough excuse.”

“True, but who among us doesn’t love to dance?” Donnie’s trying to sound philosophical, but out of all of them, Bootyyyshaker9000 undeniably loves dancing the most. April can hear he’s even more keen on the suggestion than Leo is.

“You got me there—but you realize you don’t actually need an excuse, right? If you want to go dancing, Dee, we can just go dancing.”

“Are we going dancing?” asks Gwyn with interest.

“I’m down,” says Priyanka gamely. “Who are we going with, your boyfriend and his crew?”

April blinks. “My what now?”

Gwyn and Priyanka exchange a look, and then the latter points to April’s phone. “Isn’t that who you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to Donnie, Priya.” Since the whole collapsing building incident, the cat’s out of the bag about April’s friendship with the Hamatos. Other than some general incredulity about their powers, the people at her current publication haven’t made a big deal about it, and in the intervening months April’s been getting steadily more comfortable talking about her friends, so Priyanka knows who Donnie is. It’s not like her to assume context where there isn’t any.

There’s an incredulous pause from both her friends and a tinny beep in her ear as Donnie hangs up.

Chapter Text

With the Hamato clan attending her picturesque outdoor spring wedding, Sunita should have known better than to do a bouquet toss. It’s like she’s forgotten the shenanigans they all got into the year she and April were dating.

It’s not even that the guys want the bouquet itself, April doesn’t think, they just want to win. This might as well be a continuation of the Lair Games.

In a blink, all four Hamato brothers are blurring into action, fancy clothes and other wedding guests be damned. Mikey, being the fastest, gets there first. “Oh yeah, I got this, baby!” he shouts just before his hands made contact with the foliage. He’s promptly body slammed by Raph in a move that April can only describe as pure wrestling. As he goes down, Mikey knocks the bouquet upwards. It shoots straight up, so high April briefly loses it in the late-afternoon sun.

Suddenly, Raph’s no longer on the ground with Mikey, he’s poised to catch the falling bouquet with a “Ha! Can’t believe you fell for that. Oldest trick in the book.” He’d used the impact of the fall to activate his ninpo and phase into a new location.

“How kind of you to make this so easy for me, big brother.” It’s unclear to April if Leo’s been there the whole time, balanced atop one of the folding chairs and waiting for the coolest moment to announce himself, or he’s only just gotten there. Either way, he leaps and spins and redirects the trajectory of the prize. The bouquet arcs up through the air again, out of Raph’s reach—and, presumably, right where Leo plans to land.

Just as Leo touches down, his legs are swept out from under him by one of the mechanical arms on Donnie’s ever-present battle shell (well, he’d called it the Celebration Variant earlier today, so his celebration shell?). He yelps as he faceplants into the grass. “I’ll take that, thank you, ‘Nardo,” Donnie says primly. “As we can all clearly agree, I am the superior—”

Raph’s back again and, without saying a single word himself, promptly has Donnie eating his. All Raph does is scruff the back of his brother’s suit jacket and toss him out of the way. Donnie lands just fine, but he’s spluttering indignantly, and that’s never a reaction that earns style points.

Raph laughs triumphantly. “And now all I gotta do is catch—”

He’s dogpiled by all three brothers at the same time. Donnie and Leo end up colliding head-on, and Mikey somehow manages to snag his suit onto Raph’s spikes so thoroughly that he gets stuck there, sprawled out on top of Raph’s head. They all go down in a heap of disoriented groans and complaints about wayward limbs.

The bouquet is still falling, and all the Hamatos are out of commission.

April seizes her moment. She climbs to the top of the turtle heap—ignoring her friends’ complaints—and allow the flowers to drop neatly into her outstretched hand.

“I don’t know what you four are complaining about,” she says, propping her free hand on her hip and leaping lightly out of the way as Leo swats at her for standing on his shell. “This was easy.”

As soon as ‘easy’ leaves her lips, she catches the dark blur out of the corner of her eye. The feral shout soon follows, and she barely manages to say “Nonono, Casey, wait—” before she is bodily tackled by Cassandra Jones, who is either two seconds too late on the takedown or waited this long on purpose. Regardless, April goes down with an oof, tumbling down the well-dressed pile of competitive idiots to land at the grassy bottom with Casey.

The bouquet is dislodged from April’s grip on impact with the ground, and Casey sends it spiraling through the air to Casey with a “Go long, Junior!”

Casey doesn’t actually need to go long, he just kinda jumps up and snags the flowers out of the air. April can see just over Raph’s tail spikes how completely bewildered he is—he’s aware he clearly needs to do something with these, but what?

Oh, jeez, there’s no way they had the time or the resources to do bouquet tosses in the apocalypse. When would he have ever learned about this particular tradition?

So, with all the urgency befitting the sudden game of keep away that sprung up amongst his uncles, Casey hustles back over to Sunita and drops onto one knee to present the utterly bedraggled bouquet back to her with as much gravitas as he can muster. “Congratulations on your wedlock. Please allow me the honor of returning these to you.”

The entire wedding goes silent, from the officiant to the recently married couple to all hundred-plus guests. Birdsong can be heard in the trees, but even that feels hushed. Everyone’s waiting to see how Sunita reacts to this.

April pushes Mikey’s foot off her head and levers herself up on one elbow as she suddenly realizes just how… bad this whole thing could look. A weight settles behind her breastbone. This is weird even for a mixed crowd like this, consisting more or less equally of humans, yokai, and mutants.

But no, Sunita bursts out laughing. “Thanks very much, Casey,” she manages graciously, and then she has to hold onto her new spouse as she doubles over, googly schmutz rolling down her cheeks instead of tears. “Please tell me someone caught the Hamato clown troupe on video,” she gasps. “I want this to go down in infamy.”

The tension in the crowd shatters into conversation and laughter. This is, admittedly, the most unorthodox bouquet toss April’s ever witnessed in her twenty-four years on this earth.

“Hey now, infamy’s a strong word!” protests Leo from his incredibly dignified position in the middle of the dogpile with April’s shoeprint on his back.

“Clowns?!”

“The word you’re looking for is ninjas.”

“I’d love to see you all ninja your way out of this pile,” Sunita’s spouse, Nasha, remarks with deep-seated amusement.

“Easy!” is Leo’s instinctual reaction. Then he tries to extricate himself and swears under his breath when it doesn’t work. “Mikey, you’re sitting on me.”

“I’m actually really stuck,” Mikey confesses. “Pretty sure I’ll rip my suit if I move.”

“Yeah, Raph’s gonna need some help gettin’ outta this.” Raph’s voice is muffled by a combination of Mikey’s torso and Donnie’s arms. April can just glimpse the red of his bandana amidst the body parts.

April and Casey, being on the outskirts of the pile, easily find their feet. Together with Juan and Casey—who clearly knows he did something unorthodox with the bouquet but hasn’t figured out what—they’re able to untangle the guys from each other.

“I don’t suppose you’ll admit there’s a lesson to be learned from all of this,” Juan teases as he helps Leo brush dirt off his suit, which is shades of patterned blues and greys and, now, very conspicuously grass stained.

“I think it’s that I should’ve used a portal. Definitely would’ve won that way.”

Juan, aware he’s being baited, utters a very academic sounding hum. “Fascinating. I’ve never met a turtle with such a strong compulsion to play fetch.”

Leo narrows his eyes. “You think I don’t realize you’re trying to get me to make a raunchy pun about chasing sticks and balls? Well, joke’s on you, because I do realize, and I have higher standards than that.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “This is a wedding, Carlos. Shame on you.”

“Actually, I was trying to get you to acknowledge your overzealous competitiveness and reiterate my suggestion that you join an organized sport.” While Juan’s tone is mild, his expression is bursting at the seams with mirth. He gestures invitingly. “But please, cielo, tell me more about the sticks and balls that are so clearly on your mind.”

Leo goes from smirking on his proverbial high horse to superficially offended. “You tricked me on purpose!” It’s all Juan needs to hear before he’s dissolving into giggles.

“Is there anything on my back?” Donnie asks her.

April has him spin around and obliges in knocking the blades of grass and clumps of soil from his suit jacket. The fabric is a deep eggplant, patterned with botanical designs of a slightly lighter shade and subtly highlighted with delicate metallic thread that sparks violet when he moves. “Okay, you’re—oops, hold on, goggles.”

“Thank you for protecting my decency,” Donnie intones wryly. He turns back around and bends his head to let her straighten his headpiece, which he’s polished for the occasion. His button-down is the same purple as the metallic thread, and his tie and pocket square feature two much livelier patterns from the same palette, creating both a sharp contrast as well as an internal color cohesion. If there are any grass stains, they’re well obscured.

He looks amazing, honestly—but Donnie’s always been handsome, and he’s always cleaned up nice, so that’s hardly a surprise.

“You’re welcome, you harlot,” April says with a playful grin.

Donnie snorts in amusement and falls quiet while she tugs the wrinkles out of his mask and makes sure the knot at the back of his head is properly centered. His gaze travels from her shoulders and up above her head. “There’s grass in your hair,” he murmurs. “May I?”

There’s a swoop in her stomach. “Crap—yeah, if you could help with that, I’d appreciate it.”

Donnie cradles her jaw in one hand and gently tilts her head this way and that as he plucks the blades of grass from her curls, mindful not to disrupt the way they’re styled. He’s showing such attention and care that April’s pulse stutters. She’ll probably never get used to letting her friends touch her hair.

“Much better,” he says as he flicks the last of the grass away. Their eyes meet, and there’s a beat where they just stand there looking at each other, his hand still on her cheek.

April feels what can only be described as a hot flash flare up her face and down her limbs. Despite the onset of the golden sunset hour, it’s still springtime, so it’s not hot out—and even if it were, she runs cool, so she’d be loving it anyway.

She’s decidedly not loving the heat tingling in her cheeks. Here’s hoping Donnie can’t feel… whatever this is. She doesn’t want him getting the wrong impression.

Right, she hasn’t said anything. Manners, O’Neil!

“Thanks, Dee,” she hears herself say from a distance.

Donnie’s hand falls to his side. When he speaks, it’s lower than his usual register. “For you, anything.”

He maintains eye contact for just a second longer, and it’s enough to send April’s stomach lurching like she’s missed a step. Wow, she is not used to Donnie doing the eye contact thing.

It must have been a lot for him, too, because he takes a hasty step back and sucks in a deep breath exactly when she does. The extra space feels better, less hot flash inducing.

“I’m gonna go say congrats to Sunita and Nasha,” April jerks her thumb over at the newlyweds a little more roughly than she intended. “Wanna come with?”

The wedding ceremony and the reception are all happening at the same location. Several folks are hanging back, but more are making the migration from the chairs set up amongst the vibrantly blooming flowers surrounding them to the giant party tent set up on the other side of the botanical gardens. Music is already playing and can faintly be heard down the meandering stone path between here and there. A soft breeze rustles the branches of the lush trees and shrubs lining the path, all of them edged in golden light.

Seeing all this natural splendor, April gets why Sunita waited nearly two years to get married here. It was worth it.

Donnie takes in the photographer and the cluster of other guests hovering around their friends and shakes his head. “I’ll do it later.”

If the conspicuous absence of the other Hamatos is indicative of anything, they’ve made a similar decision. Frankly, April’s not sure that later’s going to be much easier, but what does she know. She waves Donnie off and wades through the crowd in the opposite direction.

“There’s a reason it’s called golden hour,” the yokai photographer says anxiously. “We need to take advantage of this!” He keeps gesturing with his tail while his hands hold the large digital camera up to his lowest set of eyes. The camera clicks occasionally as he snaps candid photos of the couple talking to friends and family amongst the flowers.

“You just let us know where you need us and we’ll get there,” says Nasha amiably.

“Great—I need you both over here.” Another tail gesture. “Holding each other, smiling and happy, happy!”

It’s not a hard ask. They’re both radiating joy and adoration, unable to stop smiling at each other. The photographer instructs them to ignore him, and despite his perpetual twitching and anxiety they manage it effortlessly.

Sunita’s dress is made of several layers of floaty white silk that shifts ethereally around her legs with every gust of air, almost as if it has a mind of its own. Nasha stands stalwart in a beautifully tailored white tuxedo, their bowtie the same color as Sunita’s eyes. They positively swoon when Sunita slips her neon green arms around their neck and leans down to press their foreheads together, sliding their arms around the generous curve of her waist and whispering something that no one else can hear.

April smiles as the photographer flits around them, trying to capture the moment from every possible angle. The couple barely notice, too absorbed in their love for one another.

She doesn’t allow the envy wriggling about in her stomach to ruin things. It doesn’t matter if April O’Neil will never experience something like this, because today ain’t about her. Her contentment with herself or her own personal situation has no bearing on whether she can support her friends’ success and happiness.

She does, however, permit herself to wonder what loving someone so completely would be like. With the possible exception of Sunita herself, none of April’s previous relationships had her feeling the way these two clearly do for each other. At this point, she’s questioning whether it’s even possible. Maybe some wires got crossed, and she’s spent all this time chasing something she’s fundamentally incapable of feeling. It would explain a lot—April’s never been able to accurately draw the line where friendship ends and romance begins, and maybe that’s all the proof she needs.

It looks like being in love feels nice, though.

“Hey April, we’re so glad you could make it!” says Sunita once the photographer deems the golden hour has passed and the lighting incompatible with taking more glorious sunset photos. She hugs April without restraint, the hem of her skirts tickling against April’s shins.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” April says. “There wasn’t a dry eye in the house after y’all said your vows.”

April’s thinking of how Mikey and Raph openly wept into the tissues Leo had been smart enough to bring along while Leo himself had been trying to obscure his blubbering, but those three had been in the majority. April had been among the ten or so people who wolf-whistled at the passionate spousal kiss that followed the vows.

“Was someone taking drone footage?” Nasha asks suddenly. “I could’ve sworn I saw a little robot buzzing above everyone’s heads.”

“Oh, I bet that was Donnie,” Sunita says.

“It was, yeah,” April concurs. She’d been annoyed when she saw him with his phone out, initially, but he’d responded to her insistent elbowing by showing her the screen and hissing for her to stop jostling the controls and making it look like he was an amateur cryptid hunter.

Sunita giggles. “I got the notification that he already sent us the files. It was really nice of him, actually.”

“So I’ve gotta ask about the bouquet thing,” Nasha says. “Is that a Hamato tradition, or…?”

“Between us, I don’t think a single blessed thought about why crossed their minds.”

“Including yours,” they grin.

Touché. “After all that effort, someone needed to catch it. Might as well be me!”

Sunita hums, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Sure. And what about that moment with Donnie afterwards? Looked like you were pretty close there.”

April frowns. “You mean when there was grass in my hair?”

“Is that all that was?” While Sunita’s tone remains light and teasing April immediately recognizes it as leading, as well. Her ex has Opinions on what the right answer is.

“Hmm—yeah, googly bear, I’m not so sure.” Nasha slings an arm around their wife’s hips with a conspiratorial air. “Looked like there might’ve been something…”

April knows when she’s being trolled. She rolls her eyes. “As if you two were paying any attention.” She takes a step back and gestures to the other people around them. “Anyway, I know other people are lookin’ to talk to you, I just wanted to say congrats. Sunita, we’ll have to do bitch tea again sometime.”

Sunita smiles. “I’d like that. Enjoy the reception!”

“My folks are gonna be setting off fireworks once it’s fully dark, should be a good time!” adds Nasha.

April walks to the party tent at a leisurely pace, taking in the trees and vibrant flowers. Solar-powered lanterns lining the path wink on one by one as the sun finishes setting, leading her along. April keeps patting the side seams of her dress for her phone so she can take some pictures before remembering she doesn’t have any pockets and she gave her phone to Donnie for safekeeping. Fancy dresses are a pain like that—though she still likes how this one fits her, with its halter neckline and additional skirt that ties around her hips like a sarong. It comes to about mid-thigh, so it’s easy to move in, too.

She hears what’s going on in the party tent long before she sees it. Music and conversation war with one another for dominance, followed distantly by the sound of cutlery. It doesn’t quite reach Seahorse Hill levels, but it doesn’t have to.

Inside the atmosphere is lively and jovial, people serving themselves buffet-style catering and ordering drinks at the open bar. The space is lit primarily by strings of market lights that zigzag from one end of the tent to the other, though the head table where the couple will be sitting also has candles. Clusters of balloons and garlands made of flowers and greenery stretch from one end of the large circular space to the other. Tables line the edges of the tent, each dressed in off-white linens and with vases of flowers as centerpieces. There’s a conspicuous grassy gap in the middle of the tent that serves as a dance floor. A DJ nods along with the latest mix while a half dozen or so dance, but mostly folks are eating and catching up, and the music’s set to reflect that.

April quickly locates her friends amidst the crowd—the Hamato dedication to color theming is bar none, all she has to do is look for the rowdy rainbow. Of course, being able to locate them doesn’t mean she understands what’s going on when she approaches with her plate and vodka cooler.

Dropping into the vacant seat between Donnie and Juan, April gazes across the table to what Casey and Raph are doing and tries to suss out just what could have sparked this.

The vase of flowers in the center of the table has been partially demolished, the blooms pinched from their stems to be stuck behind ears, through buttonholes, and under lapels. As the couple are both wearing suits (though Casey’s blazer has a nice peplum), there’s quite a lot of ground to cover. April spies some little blossoms jammed in where Raph’s shoulder spikes poke through his jacket, and Casey’s got a chain of orchids encircling her brow. They’re both busily prepping yet more flowers—oh, and Mikey’s helping, too.

“April, excellent, you will be a valuable ally,” Casey says briskly. She gestures to Raph with the flower she’s holding. “You can agree that Raphael is gorgeous.”

Raph’s weirdly annoyed. “Casey, you can’t just not give context—”

“Yup.” April crosses her legs at the knee, props her chin on her wrist, and grins at her best friend’s exasperation. “Don’t tell Sunita, but I think Raph’s got her beat. Nice flowers, by the way.”

“Thank you, but what Casey ain’t sayin’ is this is a competition and she’s dupin’ you into votin’ for me when you don’t know there are two of us to vote for.”

That explains Raph’s earlier reaction—it wasn’t what Casey said, it was what she was omitting. Classic good hero guy move. “Ah, so do more flowers equal more beauty, or is it a case of who wore it best?”

“Who wore it best, obviously! And, now that you know what’s goin’ on, you’ll agree that Casey is killin’ it with that flower crown and change your vote so I win.”

“Wait,” says April confused.

“You really shouldn’t,” Donnie mutters as he does something on his phone.

“Listen, April, the rules don’t actually matter,” Leo says, leaning around Juan. “You just gotta put your vote it so we can see who wins. We’re in a dead tie right now!”

“Not for long, we’re not!” announces Mikey. He’s finished braiding several flower stems together to create a boutonniere of sorts—and, since she’s closest, he affixes it to Casey’s blazer. “There, I think that really elevates your look.”

Raph starts protesting, but Casey gets there first. “This attractive coalition of botany is illegal tampering unless you also make one for Raph!” she decrees, slamming her fist on the table and making all the glassware jump.

“Hey, that’s what I was gonna say!”

“Alright, alright, give me a minute and Raph’ll have one, too.” Mikey doesn’t sound especially put out by this. He just plucks a few more flowers from their dwindling supply and gets to work.

Raph peers down at what he’s doing. “Hey, Mikey, be a bro and throw in one of them red ones, too?”

“You’ll get whatever Orange makes for you! I didn’t get to choose what was in mine!”

April’s starting to see why Leo said the rules don’t matter. “So do I have to wait until Mikey’s done to cast my vote?” she asks experimentally.

“Unless you’re votin’ for Cassandra, yes.” Raph points at April. “And you should, by the way. Raph worked hard pickin’ out all them flowers for her and she’s lookin’ really beautiful.”

April doesn’t expect Casey’s hand to snap out and snag Raph’s wrist, or for the motion to be followed by a mighty tug that brings him roughly down to her eye-level. She presses a sweet kiss to his forehead and releases him without further fanfare.

Raph smiles softly at his partner as he sits upright, though he doesn’t have a chance to react further because that’s when Mikey announces, “Done! Raphie-kins, your wrist please?”

Raph obliges, and April makes a considering sound once the flower bracelet is secured. “You know, I’m glad I waited to cast my vote, because that’s very compelling.”

“Yes, April, be a good ally and let me win!”

Unfortunately, Raph sees through what she’s doing. “April, you can’t force a tie! You gotta choose!”

“Ugh, you’re just stirring the pot for the funsies!” groans Leo.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Juan remarks.

“Hey, don’t talk about Mikey like that.”

“Yeah, Juan, I can’t believe you’d—” Mikey stops as his brain catches up to what his mouth is saying. “Except you didn’t, that was Leo twisting things around and me falling for it, again. Can’t a guy braid flowers in peace anymore?”

“Apparently not,” says Casey from Leo’s other side, his voice muffled by the mouthful of food he’s talking through. He finishes chewing and plucks a couple new flowers from the vase, passing them Mikey’s way. “Can you do me next, though?”

“If April won’t vote, I’ll find someone who will!” Casey doesn’t wait for consensus, she’s already on her feet and marching off to find the poor soul who’ll unwittingly give her victory. When one of the flowers on her lapel falls off, she’s quick to catch it and put it back into place.

Raph stands with a bright, “Guess we’re outsourcin’—bye!”

As the flowery couple loom before a hapless bystander and demand their participation, April leans over and mutters to Donnie as he’s about to take a bite of chicken, “Tell me you took pictures.”

He pauses, fork midway to his mouth. “Scoff—April, I took several minutes of video.”

She grins and holds up her fist. “Smart man.”

“Thank you, that is an extremely accurate statement,” Donnie says as he knocks the knuckles of his free hand against hers.

“Don’t tell Donnie how smart he is—do you want his forehead to get any bigger?” says Leo.

Mikey and Casey snicker at this, as brothers and nephews are wont to do.

“Oh, shut up, Leo,” Donnie huffs.

“I don’t know, I think there’re some upsides to it. C’mere, Dee.” April yoinks a couple of flowers from the centerpiece. When she beckons, Donnie cooperatively gives up on eating and bends his head her way so she can pinch the stems down to size and tuck them under the metal band of his goggles. He watches her arrange the blooms with a disarming intensity, and her playful grin falters as something she can’t name tumbles into the pit of her stomach. He’s not directing his lingering irritation at her, this feels different. It feels… she can’t put her finger on it. Closer than it should be, somehow.

April doesn’t understand why her fingers are quivering when she lowers her hands back down to her lap. She forces a cheery expression anyway and makes jazz hands as Donnie straightens out again. “More room to decorate, for one! Look how nice that is. Everything’s better with flowers.”

“Thank you, April, I feel prettier already.”

April’s smile becomes genuine to see him hamming up these flowers as if they’re an actual upgrade. “You should, you’re very pretty.”

There’s a weirdly tense half-second of silence, and then Leo’s leaning back in his chair and making a noise like he’s being forced to watch a Deuce Bree film. The sound transforms into a hum of interest as the DJ puts on a new track. “Hhnnoo—ohh would you look at that, they’re playing my song! Come on, Casey.”

Just like that, Leo’s on his feet and hauling Casey to his as well. Juan looks on incredulously as they head to the dancefloor. “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just stay here,” he says, more amused than upset. “That’s what I wanted, anyway.”

“Oh my god, Mateo, you know I always want you around—get over here.” Leo says it, but it’s obvious he’s only playing up his exasperation because he thinks the drama’s funny. As Juan heads over, Leo adds, “You too, Mikey. This is my song, and we’re dancing to it!”

It’s a hip hop remix of Barbie Girl. Leo’s favorite genre of music is synth-heavy 80’s electro-ballads—how is this his song again? April’s not sure how much further from that this remix can get.

“Coming!” Mikey’s gone without further excuse or explanation, leaving the flower bracelet he’d been making for Casey behind half-finished.

April and Donnie stay back and finish their food instead of joining the others, chatting and joking amiably between bites. It looks like the group on the grassy dance floor’s having a good time, though. Casey’s giving it his all, as usual, and it’s inspiring the others to be similarly enthusiastic (though none of them can match him).

Donnie’s flowers keep drooping. There’s too much space between his head and the bar of the goggles. April remedies this by sticking a few more flowers in there, really getting things snug. He doesn’t protest or complain, he just shuffles himself to let her do it.

“Much better,” she says, leaning back to admire her handiwork. “In my professional opinion, you’re officially the prettiest belle at the ball.”

“Can’t wait to put that on my resume.”

He smiles as she laughs. There’s a softness in the expression that feels strangely familiar, though he’s never looked at her like this before.

They both perk up when a new song starts playing. It’s got a compelling beat that sets April’s shoulders in motion and the pointed toes of her shoes tapping the grass. Now that the dancing spirit has moved her, she sees no need to say no. Pushing herself to her feet, she gives Donnie’s jacket a tug. “Come on, Dee, let’s go!”

Donnie needs no further encouragement. He downs the last of his drink and joins her on the dance floor, where they shimmy and shake their way over to the rest of their group. Everyone dances through the next several songs with the party tent fully lit, pausing only long enough to snap a few group selfies, gulp down some water, or get rid of heels. As more people finish their food and take to the center of the tent, body heat starts building up, chasing away the encroaching chill of the spring night. April is pleasantly warm dancing barefoot in the grass with her friends.

“Do you think they’re still gonna have a first dance?” she asks nobody in particular.

“Oh, I hope they do. It’ll be so cute!” says Mikey.

Raph’s skeptical. “Don’t see how they could, at this point. Feels like Seahorse Hill up in here.”

“What’s a first dance?” asks Casey. Juan tugs him over and mutters the definition to him. His expression clears. “Oh! That sounds nice, I like that tradition.”

“I still think they’ll do it,” says Leo. “If nothing else, it’ll be a good interruption to keep things from getting too much like a club.”

No sooner are the words out of Leo’s mouth does the DJ announce that the newlywed’s first dance will be coming next. Leo immediately smirks and pretends to polish his nails on his button-down.

“Leo, how do you always do that?” asks April, fascinated.

“What can I say? It’s a skill.”

Donnie, who April thought was too lost in the dancing sauce to be paying attention, says, “It’s coincidence. A lesser man would call it luck.”

“I’m convinced Blue’s life is a function of irony, in which the things that happen to him in any given circumstance either occur or don’t based solely on which outcome’s funnier,” says Casey. She flashes a feral grin when everyone stares. “If we’d been enemies longer, I would have put my plans for testing it into action!”

“Casey, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you may need a reminder that we’re not enemies anymore,” says Mikey. He gestures at the group. “Friends, remember?”

“Sometimes Raph forgets you used to try killin’ us on the reg.”

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be less scary when you started dating my brother,” Leo muses.

“It’s a nonsense theory, anyway,” Donnie sniffs. He still can’t help turning to Casey and adding, “But out of curiosity, how would you have quantified the results?”

He never gets his answer, because that’s when the current song ends and the DJ makes a follow-up announcement asking everyone to clear the dance floor for the newlyweds. The lights in the tent are dimmed, save for a spotlight on the couple. A slow song starts playing, and the crowd oohs and ahhs as they hold one another and swing in lazy circles, Sunita’s skirts flowing around their legs like they’re made of mist.

Sunita and Nasha are so absorbed in each other that they scarcely seem to register the crowd around them. They only seem to return from their little world when the music fades out and the crowd cheers and claps for them, looking away from one another and blinking like they’ve resurfaced from a trance.

Since the lights are already low, the DJ throws on another slow track. It’s a clever way of smoothing over the transition from focusing on the couple (who are back to being bombarded by well-wishers) back to guests entertaining themselves. Those who brought a date take the opportunity to be close. Leo and Juan have their arms around one another, and Leo’s got a dorky, lovestruck grin on his face. There are others, too—folks who are somewhere between friends and lovers, and others who seem completely platonic, chatting comfortably as they rock. Casey and Raph abstain completely in favor of refreshing their flower decorations on the sidelines; April imagines their massive height difference doesn’t make slow dancing much fun.

“May I have this dance?”

April glances at Donnie’s outstretched hand with surprise, and then up his arm and to his face. He’s not smiling, exactly, yet there’s this optimistically open-ended air about him that she doesn’t recognize. It’s not like Donnie to ask for close contact, particularly in circumstances where there’s no obligation. April’s intrigued and a little flattered. Maybe being surrounded by all this wedding stuff is making him weirdly sentimental?

Ha, okay, that’s funny. Donnie doesn’t do that kind of sentimentality.

Regardless of his motivation, she’s not about to leave him hanging. April smiles and grasps his hand. “Yes, you may.”

There’s no point in pushing their way deeper into the crowd, so they stay on the far side of the dance floor. Donnie’s arms curl around her waist and April reaches up to loop hers around his neck. He’s solid and strong against her, though it seems his celebration shell’s a leaner model than the usual battle shell, because he feels smaller around than he usually does when she hugs him. She has to tilt her head back to look at him.

“If I ever went to a school dance and had things work out the way they were supposed to, I imagine this is what that would feel like,” April remarks as they sway back and forth.

“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment to me or a dig at your high school.”

She grins, noting that either option still reflects well upon him. “It can be both, can’t it?” She shifts her arm and fusses with the flowers tucked under his goggles again. “These things just won’t stay put. It’s like this isn’t what any of this was made to do or something.”

“Imagine that,” Donnie says dryly. He’s not paying attention to what she’s doing with the flowers. Instead, his focus is on her face. He’s studying her features as if they haven’t known each other for more than half their lives and he doesn’t already know them all by heart.

It doesn’t make April uncomfortable, exactly, merely very aware of… having a face that can be looked at. “What, do I have food in my teeth?”

“No.” At first it seems like that’s all Donnie has to say, but then his plastron expands against her chest as he takes a long, slow breath. “You look lovely tonight,” he says softly.

Something catches in April’s windpipe. She ducks into her elbow as she sputters and clears her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. “Sorry, I don’t—I think I just swallowed a bug? Oh, yuck!”

She feels more than hears Donnie’s snickering. “Is this part of the school dance experience, too?”

Honestly, he’s such a germophobe she’s lucky he hasn’t chucked her halfway across the tent. “Might as well be, from the stories I’ve heard,” says April. “How’d we get on ruining Sunita’s wedding with talk about school dances, anyway?”

“That was your doing,” he reminds her with just the hint of a teasing smirk.

“Right. Well, let me undo it.” April casts about for something new to say, but it’s all just dim lights and soft music and flowers and tables and chairs. Just your run of the mill wedding reception stuff. “Uh.”

Donnie hums. “A very nuanced point. Well articulated.”

“I’m thinking!”

“I can tell. There’s smoke coming out your ears and everything.”

He snickers some more when April narrows her eyes and tugs the tail of his mask in retaliation. “Alright, how about this: what are your thoughts on marriage, Dee?”

Now it’s Donnie’s turn to start choking and sputtering. Seriously, if there are bugs here, they are extremely sneaky! “I’m still getting used to this,” Donnie says once he’s recovered enough to talk. His voice is hoarse.

April stops looking for insects flying around their heads and gives him a funny look, brows furrowing. “Getting used to people our age getting married, you mean? Because I agree, it’s wild. Maybe it comes from being a weird kid or whatever, but I just don’t think I’m adult enough for that level of commitment, you know?”

“Oh—you’re referring to marriage in the abstract.” The relief coming from Donnie is sharply palpable.

“I am, yeah,” says April slowly. She tilts her head to the side. “Why, what did you think I meant?”

One of his hands leaves her waist to wave the question off. “Not important. As an abstract concept, I haven’t thought of matrimony much one way or the other because there’s never been an impetus for it. However, in contemplating it right now I’d want a real dance floor. Grass stains and doesn’t look good when it’s trampled.”

They don’t need to look down at the damp, squashed grass under their feet right now. April’s going barefoot, she’s already fully aware.

“Could have some fun lights in a proper dancefloor, too,” April muses. “Maybe get the tiles to glow different colors in time with the music, or in response to people stepping on them.”

He immediately—well, lights up. “Actually, that’s a fantastic idea! It wouldn’t be hard to do, either, just some arduinos and LEDS, and a few pressure sensors.” That actually sounds more complicated than Donnie’s giving it credit for, but who is April to judge?

April flashes a mischievous grin. “Okay, but real talk: would you make Shelldon your officiant.”

“Eyeroll, April. Of course not. Shelldon’s not registered to perform such rites in the state of New York, it would make the whole ordeal a moot point. Also,” Donnie adds. “On a completely separate note, neutrals make for a boring color story; jewel tones are where it’s at.”

“Obviously there will be copious amounts of purple at your hypothetical dream wedding, Donnie. That’s a given. What about DJ versus live band?”

“DJ, no question.”

April nods her approval. “Agreed. Live bands are fun, but they don’t have the stamina to get people dancin’ most of the night.”

“Exactly! Oh, and sidenote on Shelldon: while not officiant material, he’d be upset if I didn’t incorporate him into the ceremony somehow.”

“Ring-bearer or flower-droid?” suggests April. Then she snorts. “Unless you think you can get away with putting him in your wedding party?”

She doesn’t know if it’s to Donnie’s credit or detriment that he actually considers this. “Hard pass. Being part of the wedding party typically means being part of the bachelor party.”

“Oh, god, that would be so awkward—no, I think you’re right. Ring-bearer or flower-droid it is.”

They realize at the same moment that the slow song they’d been dancing to ended a while ago. April hadn’t even registered when the DJ started ramping up the tempo again, she was so absorbed in the discussion. She chuckles sheepishly and lets her arms fall from around Donnie’s neck. “Anyway, you’ve got good ideas—and who knows? Maybe you’ll even use ‘em one day.”

It’s as though she’s inadvertently flipped a switch. Suddenly Donnie’s springing back so they can each have their own space, eyes wide and movements stiff, face a tight, expressionless mask. “Yes, divination isn’t real and the future is what you make it or whatever—I need some air, actually.”

Yeah, April can see that. It’s weird that he got overwhelmed so suddenly, but that’s sensory sensitivity for you. April steps out of his way and gestures to the entrance to the party tent. “No problem, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Donnie’s already gone, long legs carrying him swiftly out into the garden. April knows it’s nothing personal, and he’s an adult who knows how to handle himself, but she spares a concerned glance in the direction he disappeared anyway. Here’s hoping he caught it early enough that recovering won’t be a big deal.

“Hey April,” says Mikey pleasantly as she joins him on the dance floor. He cranes his head towards the entryway. “Donnie sure left in a hurry. Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, he just said he needed a breather. We were so caught up in what we were talking about that we didn’t even notice the music picked up again.”

“I noticed that.” Mikey disguises his prodding nudge as a playful hip-bump and takes her hand to spin her around. It doesn’t go with the music at all, but it makes them both giggle, and that’s what really matters. “What discussion was so interesting, anyway?”

“Oh, I asked him if he ever thought he’d get married one day—because it’s wild that our friends are starting to get hitched, you know?—and we were having fun figuring out what he’d do differently, if it ever happened. We came up with great idea for a dance floor that—um. Mikey?”

Mikey’s stopped dancing and taken her hand in both of his. There’s a serious but ultimately unreadable expression on his face. It seems like he wants to say something, his mouth opens and everything.

Then his beak shuts with a click and he gives the back of her hand a solitary pat before letting go. That done, he turns on heel and walks away.

April’s flabbergasted, to say the least. “Mikey, where are you going?”

Mikey doesn’t answer. The angle of his shoulders suggests he’s headed for the bar, but Leo—who’s also still dancing—snags his arm and leans down with a troubled furrow in his brows. Whatever Mikey says, it has Leo’s jaw going slack. He promptly claps an arm around Mikey’s shoulders and steers him to the bar himself. Juan goes with them, shaking his head.

“Was it something I said?” asks April faintly, even though no one’s around to hear her.

Leo and Mikey take over two of the three barstools and order shots from the bartender, which they immediately knock back. Juan’s offered one, but visibly declines. The fact Mikey’s still only nineteen and shouldn’t be doing this doesn’t even seem to enter into it.

What happens next can only be described as a chain reaction. Raph—who has a sixth sense for these kind of things—approaches Mikey and Leo with a worried frown, because this behaviour is not normal for them. April can’t hear what they say from here, but it involves a lot of hands being thrown in the air. It’s all Raph needs to hear before he’s taking the third barstool and ordering a shot of his own, which Leo and Mikey join him for.

This clustering, in turn, summons a confused looking Casey. Juan’s the only one composed enough to catch him up, but what he says is enough to send Casey directly in Leo’s direction; he pushes Leo sideways so they can each have a buttcheek on the barstool. The bartender—who seems very much in the know now—immediately serves up another round, which all four of them slam.

Mikey’s head falls into his arms, shoulders quaking. Juan’s started rubbing comforting lines into Leo’s shell while the latter and Casey slump against one another. They’re all very clearly talking shit about something. Raph’s just staring into the middle distance. He only refocuses when his girlfriend appears at his elbow and thoughtfully presents an empty and freshly washed vase from one of the centerpieces. The bartender doesn’t need telling twice to start whipping up a Raph-sized drink to fill it. Casey also takes this opportunity to have a shot of her own, which she downs like a champ.

At that point, Raph and Casey join in on the shit-talking, too. The whole process takes less than five minutes to unfold, and April is utterly baffled. What the hell is going on?

Well, she wouldn’t be a good journalist if she didn’t go check it out, now would she?

At this point the reception’s in full swing and the dance floor is quite full, so April’s not able to cross from one end of it to the other easily. Donnie intercepts her as she begins the process of bobbing and weaving around the other guests.

“Welcome back, Dee! That was quick,” she says, pleasantly surprised. “Everyone’s acting really strangely. I was just headed to see—”

“Actually, I was hoping you could join me for a real dance this time, since the last one was just kinda... stepping slowly from left to right.”

He’s not wrong. Jury’s still out on whether that genuinely counts as dancing. “Sure, right after I check what’s going on at the bar. Seriously, it’s like something flipped a switch and—”

“April.” It’s not startling when Donnie steps closer and touches her hand, exactly, April just wasn’t expecting it. Initiating something like this isn’t like him. Neither is the way he meets her eyes and says, “Dance with me.”

April’s brain completely stalls out. She knows she can brush Donnie off, intellectually, yet she’s never seen him so intense before, and... it’s kind of impossible to say no to. Her lips move soundlessly over several false starts before she finally manages a faint, “Yeah, okay.”

The pleased smile her acquiescence inspires is absolutely worth delaying her curiosity, and that’s before he starts moving. Donnie sweeps her over to the dancing area so efficiently April’s not sure her feet even touch the ground, then uses his existing hold on her hand to twirl her out. Her head’s still spinning as he reels her back in and leads them through a few showy rotations with his hand on the small of her waist. It’s all April can do to keep up, her entire focus narrowed to matching the movements of his feet, entirely trusting him not to send them careening into other dancers as he takes them through several big, ostentatious maneuvers.

She giggles when he dips her, mostly because the way gravity’s suddenly tugging on her shoulders sends a spike of adrenaline surging through her system. It’s smoothed out by a blossoming warmth when she takes in his confident grin and steady hands. Donnie won’t let her fall.

As he pulls her back upright, April swings her leg up and out and tugs him in until his plastron’s brushing against her torso, her chin tilted back so he can see her daring smirk. If he’s looking to be extra about this, two can play at that game.

Donnie’s gaze sparks, sending something shivering down her spine. His hands fall to her hips as he leans down and puts his mouth close to her ear. “Jump.”

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It’s a combination of the excitement of this pseudo-competition and implicit trust she has in her best friend that have April doing exactly as he’s asked. As soon as her feet leave the grass Donnie’s hoisting her up above his head.

Then there’s a flash of purple light, and she gains another couple feet of height as his ninpo pushes her into the open air. April’s heart just about leaps out of her throat. She’s been holding a strong pose, with her toes pointed and everything, but she hadn’t been expecting this.

Since she’s here, though, might as well make use of it. April tucks her arms in and twists through the air once, twice, before falling neatly into Donnie’s waiting arms. She does a full-contact slide down his torso as he sets her on her own feet. Her hands are braced on his upper arms, and they’re both grinning like idiots at what a pointlessly theatrical display that was.

It’d been really fun, though.

“I wouldn’t be upset if that happened again,” says April. She’s breathless, her heart drubbing her ribcage. Somewhere during her descent, she jostled his flowers, so she reaches up to fix them.

She swears she hears something catch in Donnie’s throat as he fumbles, but as soon as she looks closer there’s no sign of it. “Good to know.” He’s already leading them through another series of sashaying arcs, and without trying April’s already fallen into the rhythm.

Donnie doesn’t throw her again, which she’s admittedly a little disappointed about. That said, the ante has officially been raised, and he’s not shy about incorporating other lifts and leans into their dancing. April doesn’t mind. She’s having fun figuring out how fast she needs to react to keep the game interesting.

One such instance has him dipping her so low she swears her curls brush the trampled blades of grass. April responds by curling her leg around his thigh and hauling herself back up with it, her back arching and her arm curling around his neck to help herself along. When she finally pulls her head upright she’s practically nose-to-beak with Donnie, whose jaw’s a little slack. For half a second, he just gapes at her, dumbstruck.

Then he’s spinning her again—except when he pulls her back in this time, her shoulders are against his chest and his free arm’s wrapped around her middle, keeping her flush against him so they move as one unit with music that now feels half a world away. The humidity of Donnie’s breath against the side of her head has the skin raising on her arms, and she can feel his heartbeat hammering against her shoulder. April’s fingers clasp around his arm, holding him where he is.

That’s when she’s realizes she was so caught up in their dancing that she hadn’t noticed them cha-cha-cha-ing right out of the party tent. The night air is cool on her sweaty skin, and the music coming from the tent is muffled and distant. She’s still standing on grass in her bare feet, but this stuff hasn’t been squashed yet.

It’s fully dark now. Frogs and crickets call out from the trees and shrubs. Between the lantern-like glow of the party tent and the lanterns lining the walkway April can see well enough, despite their being no discrete light source at their current location. Above them, stars twinkle around a half-full moon, obscured only in partial by a handful of puffy, fast-moving clouds.

On the other side of the party tent there’s an excited shout of, “Here we go, stand back!” A whistling sound fills the air as something shoots directly upwards, and then a crackling explosion as the aerial firework detonates in a dandelion spray of green and white and yellow. The group who ostensibly set the firework alight cheer for their handiwork.

A new song begins, melody sweet and tempo gentle. The perfect slow song. April and Donnie begin to sway together, a soft side to side that could be passed off as an inability to stand still. If April wasn’t fully leaning back into him already, she certainly is now. Her throat constricts and her stomach flops as she adjusts the grip she has on his arm, less staying and more steadying. She’s still holding onto the hand he used to spin her earlier, it’s pinned against her upper arm. Her fingers are clammy.

“I know you brought us out here on purpose, Donnie.” It’s far too pointed a path for it not to have been deliberate. The only question is why.

Donnie’s plastron pushes against her spine as he takes a deep breath, though he hasn’t stopped swaying with her. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t.”

April releases him so she can turn around. His face is shadowy, but she can just make out his watchful expression. It’s almost as if he thinks she’ll be upset.

To prove she isn’t, April takes him by the waist and takes the lead in a slow waltz. Thematically, it doesn’t match the song that’s playing at all, but the tempo’s right and the methodical pattern feels nicer than generic rocking. Donnie falls smoothly into step with her, doesn’t move to take over.

His fingers are trembling. It’s not overt—if April hadn’t been leading, she likely never would have noticed the tremors.

“You’ve been acting off all evening, Dee,” she says, not unkindly. “Are you okay?”

Donnie makes a sound like he’s been holding his breath, though she’s been feeling his steady in-out this whole time. When he speaks, his voice is strangely subdued, “Actually, April, there’s something—”

“Look out!”

The scream comes from the other side of the party tent. It’s all the warning they receive before a rogue explosive comes rocketing towards them, fuse sparking bright yellow and orange against the darkness. It’s coming in fast—T-cycle hyperdrive before it got nerfed in the human-friendly software update fast.

Quicker than April can think, let alone react, Donnie puts himself between her and the threat. He throws out his arm and a purple ninpo ramp springs into existence just in time for the firework to skid upwards, sizzling impossibly loudly. It’s barely twenty feet above their heads when the fuse runs out and red crossettes crackle and dart through the air.

All of this happens in a matter of seconds.

When April’s brain finally catches up, she and Donnie are clinging to one another. He’s curled around her, holding her tight against his chest, head bowed over hers. She’s got her face buried into his shoulder and her hands fisted in the fabric of his suit jacket.

Chapter Text

April laughs as the firework fizzles out overhead, adrenaline roaring through her veins. “Holy shit, that was so close! Nice reflexes, Dee.”

Donnie pulls back just enough that she can see the fondness warring with the exasperation on his face. “If the words ‘let’s do that again’ come out of your mouth, I swear to Madam Curie I will leave you to deal with the next firework assault on your own.”

He’s making the threat, and it sounds genuine enough, but April’s distracted by the thumb that keeps roving over the swell of her hip. It’s a rapidly moving gesture, stimming more than deliberate, yet the reflexiveness of it—the location of it—has her pulse stuttering.

“Oh my god, there were people over there! Are you okay?”

A crowd pours out of the party tent, concerned and loud. This is what clues Donnie into what he’s doing with his thumb, and he jerks away and brings his hands back to himself with a little noise of alarm. April can’t blame him—she’s not sure how she feels about the hip-touch, either.

It takes some convincing for the worried onlookers to believe they’re actually fine, but eventually their visible lack of singed hair/clothing and overall good health finally sink in. At that point Donnie’s muttering about needing a drink, and honestly April agrees. Being the center of attention like that is not her idea of fun, and the firework incident’s soured her desire to be outside the party tent for the rest of the evening.

April expects the rest of their group would’ve had their fill of liquor by now, and that’s mostly accurate. Well, they’re still drinking, but at least they’re not clustered around the bar anymore. This seems more like a trying-to-have-a-good-time level of drinking, instead of... whatever had been happening earlier.

She tries to ask Casey about it. She’d gone back to the buffet for seconds, and he’d joined her; seemed as good an opportunity as any.

At first Casey just blinks at her.

“Did I phrase the question weirdly? I can try again.”

“No, I got what you were asking—I just don’t...” He trails off, lets out a heavy breath, and shakes his head. “I’ve got nothing. April, honestly, the fact you haven’t figured it out is kind of the point.”

“Wait, this is about something I did? How am I making everyone throw back shots like it’s goin’ outta style?”

Casey gestures helplessly. “Sorry, I don’t know how to put it any other way.” To his credit, it does look like he feels a little bad. But mostly he refuses to answer in any other way, and that makes April want a shot.

Donnie finds her again as she’s waiting at the bar for the drink Casey’s stubbornness has driven her to. It’s a relief that he’s not avoiding her out of lingering embarrassment. She smiles and waves, instantly more at ease.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” he says to the bartender. When April lets him know that matching her means he won’t be getting a beer or one of the cocktails he’s been slowly sipping from since the firework-incident, Donnie considers, and then shrugs. “That works.”

They clink the tiny glasses together and throw the liquor back in unison. The booze burns all the way down her throat and drops like a hot coal in the pit of her stomach. Something about it reminds April of the university parties she used to go to. Donnie never attended any of them, but a part of her wonders now what that might have been like.

What is it about tonight that’s making her so reminiscent?

Before she can make proper conversation, Donnie’s tapping the counter next to her hand to get her attention. “Dance with me?”

April’s bewildered—is this some kind of retribution for what happened earlier? “You sure?” she asks, just for her own peace of mind.

“Definitely.” He meets her eyes as he says it—and there it is, that intensity of focus, as if everything in his worldview has narrowed down to this moment.

Nothing to do with retribution, then. Just Bootyyyshaker9000 looking for some company on the dance floor.

A shiver ripples down April’s back, sizzles in her fingertips. “Then what’re we waiting for?”

Nothing, as it turns out. She lets Donnie choose which part of the dance floor they end up occupying, since he’s more claustrophobic than she is. They end up on the opposite side of the tent from the DJ, towards the back of the crowd where elbow room is more readily available. The bass is thrumming loud enough to vibrate through the soles of her feet, and there’s warmth buzzing pleasantly down her limbs. That’s all it takes for the rhythm to take hold of her.

The first few songs are fun and fast-moving, have both of them grinning and one-upping each other with increasingly elaborate sequences—some of which are solo displays, and some that bring the other person along for the ride. Much to April’s delight, it culminates in Donnie throwing her in the air again, ninpo glowing in his eyes and the marks on his chin.

She tries to show off by doing a third mid-air twist, but she doesn’t time things properly. Instead of completing the rotation and getting herself vertical again, Donnie has to catch her while she’s still sideways. She drops into his arms—well, bridal style—and he punctuates her landing with a spin of his own, supporting her shoulders while slowly releasing his hold on her knees. April touches back down lightly, almost as if they planned it this way.

There’s not a lot of space between them after that. The ante’s been upped once again, and neither of them are backing down.

The dim, shifting lights pick out the metallic threading in Donnie’s suit jacket, gilding him in sharp violet hues that play tricks on the eye. April traces up the length of his tie and grabs just under the knot to drag him in as a rogue salsa number starts to play. Donnie follows readily, a shamelessly handsome smirk on his lips. One of his arms ensnares her waist so they can keep moving in lockstep. She can feel exactly how hard his heart’s beating, thudding against his plastron despite the fact he doesn’t seem winded.

April’s well and truly lost track of how much time has passed. The bass of the music resonates in her bones while the melody has to filter through the roar of blood in her ears.

That being said, she hears Donnie loud and clear when he puts his mouth to her ear and says, “I need to ditch some layers and get some water.”

Despite the obvious matter of Donnie being cold-blooded, the air between them is volcanic. Perspiration dots April’s forehead and tickles the back of her neck. The arm around her waist is hot, and she can feel the heat radiating from inside his jacket.

April nods, suddenly registering how parched she is. “Water sounds awesome, actually.”

Just before they break apart, he murmurs, “And then we’re picking this up again.”

Electricity zings down to the tips of her fingers. April grins at the vaguely competitive gleam in Donnie’s eye. “Damn right we are.”

The water pitcher at the table claimed by their group has long since been emptied. That’s just as well, because it looks like someone’s also cleaned up all the glassware. April brings the pitcher over to the bar for a refill and to ask for some new glasses while Donnie shrugs out of his suit jacket.

Casey joins her at the bar as she’s waiting for the pitcher to be refilled, jostling her shoulder companionably. “Hey April, wanna have a shot with me?” he asks.

April takes stock of how she’s doing, sobriety-wise; the dancing must have burned up the alcohol in her system, because aside from being a bit dehydrated, she’s feeling fine.

She’s also pretty sure this is Casey’s way of apologizing for being a stubborn shit earlier, and she wants to take him up on it.

“I’m down. What’s your poison?” she says as the pitcher and a couple of fresh glasses are plunked down in front of her.

It’s flavored rum, apparently. April wouldn’t have pegged Casey as a sweet drink kinda guy, but alright. She makes a point of downing a full glass of water as the shots are being poured. “Man, I always forget that dancing’s such a workout!”

“Yeah, I don’t think you and Donnie have stopped at all tonight.” While Casey’s voice is casual enough, there’s something about his expression that makes April think he’s trying to imply something else.

“Uh huh,” says April slowly. “Casey, what’re you—”

“Make that two more!” calls Mikey as he drags Donnie himself over to join them.

For his part, Donnie doesn’t seem upset about it. He immediately sucks down two glasses of water like it’s going out of style, sure, but he’s just as game for the rum once it’s served.

In addition to removing his jacket, Donnie’s tie is gone, and he’s rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, too, the green of his skin a strong contrast against the vibrant fabric.

He looks good. It’s a different kind of good from the full suit, far more laissez faire. He’s pulling it off effortlessly.

“Bottoms up, baby!” says Mikey, holding up his glass to cheers. He’s just happy to be here.

The liquor is sweet and it burns going down, but April’s gotta hand it to Casey: he’s got fun taste.

“Actually, that’s not bad,” Donnie says, smacking his lips.

“Did you just do a round without me?” says Leo indignantly. April does a double take; she could have sworn he’d been on the other side of the tent a second ago.

“Yes,” says Casey unapologetically.

Leo’s noise of offense is mostly superficial. Mostly. “Well, joke’s on you, because now you’re all having another one.”

“Oh no, enjoying ourselves at a party,” Donnie intones. “However will we cope.”

He’s promptly knocked into April as Leo wriggles himself in between him and Mikey with a “Thank you for being so understanding of my suffering, Don-tanimo!” Both April and Donnie’s arms shoot out as they steady one another, and Donnie keeps a bracing hand on the small of her back just in case Leo gets any other pushy-shovey ideas, though he seems perfectly content now that he’s in the middle of things.

The second shot hits much the same as the first—and no sooner have their glasses clunked back onto the bar do they hear a pitiful, “And you didn’t even wait for Raph?”

So they have the deeply amused bartender pour a third set of shots. “Are you sure that’s everyone this time?”

“Yup!” is the majority response.

At the same time, April speaks up, “If we’re gettin’ everybody in on this we gotta get everybody—where’re Casey and Juan?”

She swears she sees a swift look of disappointment pass between Leo and Mikey, but then Leo’s hollering for the last two members of their party to get their butts over here, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d be disappointed April asked about them. Juan and Casey join readily, almost as if they’d been waiting in the wings the whole time. Eight glasses come together in a sloshy cheers, and then the sweet burn is making its way down April’s throat again.

Okay, she’s definitely feeling the booze now. Her head’s a little floaty, and her limbs are tingling. Her knees keep bobbing to the beat of the music as she has another glass of water to try and balance out the liquor. Man, she’s gonna have to pee so bad later.

The rest of their group has dispersed to their various activities—socializing, dancing, revisiting the buffet table. Donnie clearly sees the genius in her water idea, because he stays behind with her and sips at his own glass. April’s perched on one of the barstools, shoulders moving to the music, while he leans one elbow back on the bar next to her with his feet crossed at the ankles. The patterned lilac socks he’s chosen for this occasion are peeking out from under the crisp, dark hem of his suit pants. He's wiggling his toes to the beat, causing the softly buffed leather loafers he’s wearing to bounce.

April doesn’t think she’s ever given Donnie the credit he deserves for his superb color coordination. She never would have thought that all these patterns would be sympatico, yet here they are, and he’s really making it work. While there are lots of well-dressed people around tonight, her gaze keeps coming back to him. He’s watching the dancing going on in front of them with detached interest, nodding to the beat, the tendons in his bared forearm flexing subtly as he rotates the water glass in his hand.

April hasn’t done anything to draw attention to herself, she doesn’t think. Donnie looks at her anyway. He sets his glass down and, with a casual twist of his fingers, undoes the third button on his shirt. Now his plastron’s visible, goldenrod in the dim lighting, the warmest part of his cool-toned color palette.

April’s tongue sticks to the roof of her dry mouth. It’s all she can do to down the last of her water without slopping it down her front.

Oh, would you look at that, Leo’s visiting the DJ! Whatever he says has them cackling and typing into the tiny laptop they’ve brought with them. Then the strangest song starts playing. It’s from a meme that set the internet on fire back when April was still in middle school, and she hasn’t heard it in years. Of course this would be what Leo wants. Back in the day he’d gone through a phase where it was the only song he’d listen to, and he’d blasted it across the lair day and night until Raph hulk-smashed the sound-system and Donnie forcibly strapped headphones to Leo’s head.

She can’t help the way she starts laughing—and she only snickers more when Donnie lets out a loud groan and scrubs at his face. “No, anything but this song!” he whines.

“Oh, looks like you may have an ally, Dee,” chuckles April as Sunita marches up to the DJ booth, skirts billowing around her.

“Thank Einstein.”

They can’t hear what Sunita’s saying from here, but she’s definitely asserting something. Leo protests, and there’s a very pointed gesture at April and her enjoyment of the joke. Sunita crosses her bright goopy arms and utters something final—and, if the way Leo’s just thrown his hands in the air and stalked off, that’s the end of the argument.

With an air of triumph, Sunita pokes her head over the DJ’s shoulder and points at something on the softly glowing screen in front of them. The DJ nods and grins in the blue light. The music doesn’t change, though, so maybe April’s missing something? Either that or cutting the current song off would be worse for the party’s ambience than just letting it run.

April’s curious, of course. She’s also far more entertained by the stupid meme and Donnie’s vexation with it than she has a right to be. She hops down from her barstool and grabs his hand. “Come on, Dee, we gotta.”

“How do you expect me to dance to this after being tortured with it when we were kids?” he complains, digging in his heels. “I can’t. I refuse!”

He doesn’t stop April from using her hold on his hand to reel him in, though. He also doesn’t avoid her gaze when she leans in and purrs, “Dance with me, Donnie.”

His breath stutters and a muscle works in his jaw as he fights it. Then he lets out a hard sigh. “Groan. Fine, but know that I still hate this stupid song.”

For someone who claims to be under duress, he sure looks pleased about being hauled onto the dance floor. He also quickly gives in to his amusement when April does a little jig around him. With a roll of his eyes, Donnie joins her in a series of the wackiest, most old-school dance moves either of them can think of, and by the time the meme song is over they’re both hanging on each other, breathless with laughter.

The next song is still old and corny, though it is decidedly less cringe. At this point they’re both fully committed to the bit, and they goof off through that one, too. April’s abandoned awareness of everything beyond the music and her dance partner. Dim lights wink off Donnie’s goggles and cause his eyes to almost glow. Despite their collective silliness, his gaze sears into her as the space between them narrows, and something in April comes alive.

Donnie’s always been a great dancer. Seeing him from this distance, though? April’s mesmerized. He’s fluid and tireless, perfectly on beat only in the way that someone who understands the mathematics of music can be. He’s a masterpiece in motion, absolutely breathtaking to behold.

April snakes her arm up his chest as the music dips back into a fast-paced hip-hop tempo. When she reaches the split in his shirt where those buttons have been undone, she drags her fingers over his exposed plastron and up the scales on his neck, rolls them into his collar. She slides her leg between his thighs as the bass pulses between them for one, two heartbeats—and then Donnie’s hands find her hips. His grip is firm as he drags her closer until their torsos are flush.

She’s still got him pulled down to her level, so close that she can feel every humid exhalation hit her cheek and skitter down her neck. April turns her head, the tip of her nose grazing his beak. Looks him full in the eye.

Donnie’s looking right back. It’s like being struck by lightning. Energy courses through her veins as they move together. Her glasses fog up, and her grip on his collar reflexively tightens. She doesn’t pull back to allow the fog to clear.

Something soft brushes against her cheek, but April can’t tell what because of the mist on her lenses. Also, she’s being distracted by the way he’s just squeezed her hips and set them at an angle so she can keep moving them without jostling the leg caught between his thighs. He’s not moving around her limb insomuch as using it as a prop to dance with, and he doesn’t seem inclined to give it back any time soon, not that April minds.

She doesn’t know how long this goes on—she’s completely lost in the movement and the contact and the pounding beat reverberating in her bones—but April’s very aware of when things end. The stop to their dancing is abrupt, triggered only when the lights in the tent are turned back onto full and the DJ announces that the party’s over.

April blinks, dazed. She uses her hold on Donnie’s shoulders to steady herself as the disorientation tries to knock her off balance. “Ow.”

Donnie makes a conspicuously turtle-y hiss of agreement from where he’s got his face buried into the crook of her neck, fingers flexing from where they’re splayed across her ass. The flowers sticking out of his goggles are tickling her shoulder.

“Break it up, people! We can all see you,” Casey hollers in a voice that can only be described as ‘drill sergeant’.

April doesn’t check if that’s being directed at her and Donnie, specifically, or just in general. Either way, they probably should, uh, untangle themselves.

The world looks so different when it’s this bright, she almost doesn’t recognize it. With the light comes the sudden awareness that she’s sweaty and hungry, and there are blades of grass stuck to her bare feet that kind of tickle. Everything sounds fuzzy and muffled without music blasting in her ears.

After being in each other’s space for so long, it’s cold and strange to be standing alone again. April finds herself keeping closer than she would normally to help ease the transition. Donnie doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with groaning and rubbing his tailbone.

“I have so much lower back pain,” he says with an accusatory look. “Why do you have to be so short?”

Says the guy who’s nearly seven feet tall. How is it her fault he’s got a foot of height on her?

April ignores the jab and instead paps his fragile old hips. “Poor Donnie! Do we need to get peepaw a hot pack when we get back to the lair?”

“Actually, yes, after several hours of dancing that sounds great—and also some ibuprofen. I expect to be pampered for my sacrifice.”

“Damn, has it actually been that long?” April gave her phone to Donnie to hold onto before the wedding started, since he had pockets and she doesn’t, and she hasn’t seen it since.

“It’s half past two in the morning,” Donnie says with a cursory tap on his ever-present gauntlet. Aside from a rumpled shirt and the severely wilted flowers still dangling from his goggles, you’d never know he spent the night partying.

Wait, no, he’s just stifled a yawn—and it’s already set off a chain reaction in April. “I thought it might be naptime,” she quips into the fold of her arm.

“Hey. Hey, have I mentioned how much I love you guys?” Leo slurs from nearby. He’s on his feet, but he’s slumped into Raph’s side and clearly only still upright because his big brother’s holding him up. “You-you’re my family, y’know? I—hic—I fuckin’ love my family.”

For himself, Raph’s torn between laughing and getting emotional. “Yeah, Leo, we love you too,” he says, patting Leo on the shoulder. “But Raph’s thinkin’ we should probably just take a taxi back to the lair instead of portalin’.”

“What? ‘Course Imma make a portal. What, you-you think we’re all gonna fit in a taxi? Have you seen you, Raphie?” With a loud, snorting laugh, Leo bats Raph’s arm off and snatches up some cutlery from one of the tables. In a flash of blue light, he’s swinging a katana up onto his shoulder and striking one of his usual poses. Casey ducks to avoid getting accidentally slashed with the newly minted blade. “Hey, how you folks feel about goin’ to Tahiti?”

“No, Leo. Home,” says Mikey firmly.

“Are we sure letting him have a sword is a good idea?” asks Casey while crab-walking out of Leo’s range. “I think I’m with Raph on the taxi idea.”

“He just ninpo’d it into existence out of a butter knife,” says Donnie flatly. “Do you think we could stop him?”

Casey weighs his options on this—Master Leonardo wasn’t a big user of ninpo, as it turns out, so this evaluation is based entirely on Leo and his proclivities. After a long moment he says, “Touché.”

“You sure? I could get us to Tahiti lickity-split, you know. Just slash-slash nyoom.” Leo demonstrates the motions with his two-foot-long sword, and while he succeeds in chasing everyone out of his reach, no portal appears. He pauses, frowning discordantly. “Huh, that’s weird. I never get portal dysfunction anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember when you used to suck at portals,” Casey snorts nostalgically. “Good times, Blue.”

“There’s a joke that could be made here, but it’s far too easy,” Juan sighs.

“Oh, yeah, it’s probably a joke about how handsome I am—good call, babe. Wouldn’t wanna make Donnie jealous.”

Juan’s tilted head and baffled frown are emblematic of the group’s consensus on that remark. “Qué?”

“’Nardo, I know you think you just said something clever, but in actuality you said nothing at all.”

“Okay, buddy, why don’t you let me help you make the portal,” says Raph.

“What? I don’t need—” with Raph steadying his arm as he draws the circle, the portal crackles into existence. Leo makes a pleasantly surprised hum. “Oh, would you look at that, it’s working now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust where it’s going,” says Mikey. He sticks his head into the bright blue glow, holding onto the edge so he doesn’t fall all the way through. When he leans back out, there’s a pile of snow on the top of his head. He doesn’t look impressed. “That was a blizzard happening on some mountain somewhere. Try again, Leon.”

“Alright, alright, I got it this time,” Leo mutters, dispersing the portal with a dismissive flick of his finger. He’s wobbly at first, but then he squares up his stance and holds the katana with both hands. “Tahiti, here we come!”

“No, Leo, no Tahiti!”

“Are we sure nobody else can make portals? Didn’t Splinter do it once?”

“Normally I would be all for Tahiti,” says Donnie. “But I’ve been promised a hot pack and anti-inflammatories, and I mean to collect.”

“Oh, and would his highness also want a velvet footrest while we’re at it?” intones April.

He smirks. “If the lady’s offering, how could I refuse?”

She rolls her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips, though, she can feel it.

Leo slashes wildly through the air—and, surprisingly, a portal does come into existence. Sure, it’s at a bizarrely cockeyed angle, and Mikey’s got to levitate to properly stick his head through to check the location, but still.

This time, Mikey’s head is drenched and there’s a long strip of seaweed flopped over his forehead. “That was the ocean.”

Leo laughs. “Aw, yeah, none of us are that kinda turtle, huh?”

“Was it warm enough to be Tahiti?” asks April curiously.

Mikey peels the seaweed off his head and folds it up on someone’s discarded food plate with an apologetic air. His sopping wet mask is dripping onto his collar. “Definitely not.”

Raph rubs at his face, though he’s careful to avoid dislodging the flowers that are still decorating his mask. “Leo, are you screwin’ around on purpose?”

“So,” says Sunita, approaching with a thoroughly entertained grin and Nasha holding her hand. “How’re the Hamato clown troupe getting home?”

“Working on it,” Casey promises. Then he frowns at Leo. “I think.”

“Probably wasn’t the best idea for your mystic DD to get wasted,” Nasha mutters, eyeing Leo with amusement.

“Hey, I know I got the eye thingies, but I’m not a clown,” Leo grumbles belatedly. “I’m a ninja.”

Nasha points to the sword in his hands. “Did I just hear you made that out of a butter knife?”

Leo pauses, looking between the newlyweds and his katana. “…You didn’t want it back, right? ‘Cause the transformation only goes one way.”

“Then I guess it’s yours.”

“Cowabunga!” Confidence restored, Leo cuts through the air again. The angle of the portal is better this time, at least.

And when Mikey tests the portal, he flashes a thumbs up at the group.

“See? Told you I could do it,” Leo says proudly. Then he sways and hiccups so hard that he staggers backwards and nearly falls onto his ass. Raph catches him and casually swings him over one flowery shoulder. The katana falls to the flattened grass to be helpfully scooped up by Juan.

“Whoa, guys, did I do that portal right?” asks Leo. “Gravity’s doin’ some weird shit right now. And I’m getting slow-mo stabbed.”

“That’s me, Leo.”

“Oh, hey Raph-a-doodle! When’d you get so short and start walking sideways everywhere?”

“Have a good night, everybody,” says Sunita. She’s offering parting hugs to anyone who feels so inclined, which is most of them. The Hamatos are nothing if not huggers. When she gets to April, she mutters, “And you owe me an update at our next bitch tea.”

April pulls back, puzzled. Before she can ask, Mikey’s diving in for the next hug. “Seeya, Sunita! It was a bee-u-tiful wedding! Ten outta ten would cry again.”

April doesn’t get the chance to double back with Sunita as Raph herds everyone through the portal before Leo gets too distracted to maintain it—or falls asleep hanging off Raph’s shoulder, whichever happens first. It’s just as well, because Sunita and Nasha are looking people’d out and exhausted. April will have to reach out later.

April’s in the middle of the pack; she lands in the living room of the lair to see the lights already on and a pile of couch cushions, bean bag chairs, blankets, and pillows in the middle of the floor. Juan and Casey have claimed the lair’s two bathrooms to get themselves ready for sleep, and Mikey’s clunking around in the kitchen throwing together some late night snackage.

Splinter’s also still awake, for some reason, sitting in his armchair with a late night infomercial playing on the TV playing in the background.

“I wasn’t staying up waiting for you all to get back,” Splinter’s telling Casey defensively. “I was up late watching my shows.” Oh, sure, because he definitely loves 90-minute advertisements about slap-chops that much.

“Grandmaster Splinter, these soft things weren’t on the floor when we left,” Casey points out.

“And you were not covered in wilted flowers when you left. What’s your point, Cassandra?”

Casey isn’t the least bit embarrassed by Splinter calling her out. “I will not deny my floral appearance! Raphael did his best, but I was still victorious in the end.”

There’s a brief pause. “I am missing some crucial context, but I also do not think I will benefit from having it,” Splints decides.

April listens to their conversation with an entertained smile as she drops the heels she never bothered putting back on next to her overnight bag behind the couch. Then she goes to the kitchen to see if Mikey can use any help.

He waves her off with the knife he’s using to slice green onions. There’s already a pan on the stove with thin slices of beef sizzling in a rue, and a large pot of water next to it. On the counter are several packets of ramen noodles, a container of shredded carrot, and a flat of eggs. “This is baby stuff,” he says. “I could do this in my sleep—honestly, kinda already am.”

That’s not reassuring to hear from a guy wielding a chef’s knife at the speeds he’s using, though April can’t argue with his results. She leaves him to it and gets the electric kettle going.

Meanwhile, the last of the group has finally arrived. Donnie drops down from the portal with his arms full of everyone’s discarded suit jackets, followed by Raph, who’s still carrying Leo over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. One of Leo’s arms flaps against Raph’s shell, and the portal cinches out of existence.

“Ah, I see Purple and Red have also been decorated,” Splinter observes. “Was this some kind of wedding tradition?”

“Mine are unrelated,” Donnie says.

“Naw, Pops, just good ol’ fashioned competition,” says Raph at the same time. He gestures to Casey with his free hand. “And I think you’ll agree that Raph won.”

“Too late, I’ve already claimed victory to Grandmaster Splinter!”

“If you were just gonna do that, then why’d we bother with all the votin’—”

“Hey, no biggie if you hadn’t thought about this, but should I just plan on falling asleep here, or…?” asks Leo around a massive yawn that quickly makes the rounds to everyone who witnessed it.

“Oh, right.” Sheepish, Raph plucks Leo off his shoulder and sets him onto his feet. “There you go, buddy. Thanks for the portal.”

Leo flashes a discombobulated grin and sways on his feet. “Anytime, brochacho, Leon’s Portal Taxis are the finest in Manhattan!” He stumbles, and Raph steadies him.

In the background, Donnie leaves all the suit jackets onto one of the kitchen barstools and cranes his neck to check out what Mikey’s working on. Seeing that the food’s not ready yet, he groans and flops over the side of the couch. His legs end up draped over one armrest, shoes brushing the floor, while the tips of his fingers peek out over the other one from how he’s flung his arms up over his head.

“Is there a reason Blue’s wasted while the rest of you seem fine?” asks Splinter.

“You see, Daddy-o—hic—I don’t normally drink, and,” says Leo. He does not finish the sentence.

“And what?”

April snorts as she opens the cabinet above the fridge where the Hamatos keep their over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. She shakes out a couple of painkillers into one of the tiny glass dishes Mikey uses to keep spices aesthetically separate in his Clik Clok videos. While she’s up there, she also retrieves the floppy rubber hot water bottle.

“Oh, that’s the whole reason.” Leo waits, head tilted as he listens for a punchline, but when no clever quips are uttered, he looks around with sudden concern. “Please tell me we—hic—didn’t ditch Alvaro at the gardens, because if we did I am such a dead man.”

“Juan’s in the bathroom, Lee,” Mikey calls without looking up from the stove, where he’s dropping blocks of ramen noodles into the pot.

“Oh, Pizza Supreme, I almost had a heart attack.” Leo sags in relief, and then just sort of… keeps sagging, right onto the pile of blankets and pillows. Now that he knows Juan’s fine, he’s perfectly happy sprawling out atop the pile. “Actually, this is real nice—y’all should get in on this.”

“Ain’t that the plan?” asks Raph with a gesture to the pile. “Raph’s gettin’ slumber party vibes from this whole situation. Minus Leo.”

“You kids can do whatever you want,” says Splinter, turning off the TV and holding up his hands. “I am going to bed. I’m glad to hear it was a nice wedding, though.”

“Yeah, it really was,” says Raph. “Very inspirational, some might say.”

April feels eyes on her, but she’s too busy getting a glass of cool filtered water from the fridge door, so she doesn’t bother to confirm it. Instead, she says, “Night, Splints. Thanks for waiting up for us!”

Splinter grumbles again that he most definitely wasn’t waiting up like a concerned parent for his very adult children. Nobody believes it, but they let him stay curmudgeonly if that’s what he wants. By the time he’s closing the door on his train car, the eyes April was feeling have moved on. It’s just as well, because the electric kettle’s just finished.

Donnie hasn’t moved at all by the time April brings everything over, and he doesn’t react when she nudges his shoe with her foot. He still hasn’t removed the ragged flowers from his goggles, and his upward stretch is causing the hem of his shirt to partially un-tuck from the waistline of his pants. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing so slowly and evenly April suspects he’s fallen asleep.

“Dee, you still in there?”

One eye cracks open, and April can see he’s ready to be dismissive. When Donnie sees what she’s carrying, though, his entire demeanor changes. Now fully alert, he props himself up on an elbow and regards her with an interesting mix of awe and flattery. The move causes his half-buttoned shirt to gape widely, revealing even more of his plastron. “You actually brought a hot water bottle and ibuprofen.”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?”

Donnie swings his legs off the armrest and accepts the meds and heat pack with a soft, “Thank you.” He keeps looking at her like there’s something about her he’s only now seeing for the first time.

April’s about to tease that he’s acting like she’s never done anything nice for him before, or maybe crack another joke about his old man hips. Then there’s a swoop in her stomach, and her heart squeezes in her chest. Donnie’s sincerely touched by this gesture, and it’s—it’s not bad, it’s just… disarming.

“That sore, huh?” she says instead, dropping onto the couch next to him.

“Not in the grand scheme of things, no.” He still lets out a happy sigh when he wedges the hot water bottle between his lower back and the couch. He also readily takes the pain meds and downs the water.

“I’ll wear eight-inch stilettos next time,” says April with a grin.

One of Donnie’s drawn on eyebrows quirks up. “Have you ever worn heels that tall?”

“Naw, all my normal heels are maybe three inches?” Generally speaking, she doesn’t need heels because she’s ‘tall enough’ already. Sometimes, though, a girl just wants to feel like an amazon warrior and tower over all and sundry. “But, bonus: pretty sure eight inch stilettos count as daggers. How’s that for built-in weaponry?”

“Ah, yes, precisely what one needs to consider when one talks about dancing: will my shoes count as deadly weapons? It’s all the rage these days.”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps complaining about how short I am. I’m problem solving on your behalf, Dee. How ungrateful of you.”

“Oh goodie, someone else to think for me! Just what I’ve always wanted.” He does a pretty good job of keeping a deadpan demeanor until April laughs, and then he smiles.

“Food’s ready!” Mikey announces. “Come get your late-night ramen!”

It’s all April needs to remember she’s still hungry from all the dancing. The smell has fully permeated the living room and kitchen, too. Something whipped up at the last minute at three in the morning has no right being so heavenly.

At the same time, Casey tromps back into the living room in his pajamas, scrubbing at his hair with a towel. “Okay, next up!” He immediately spots the ramen and grabs a bowl from Mikey to start serving himself.

Oh, that’s not fair. How’s April supposed to choose?

Nobody else is jumping on the open shower, called away by the temptation of Mikey’s cooking. Being clean and in her pj’s does sound pretty amazing…

“Oh, fine, I’ll go next—but you bottomless pits better leave something for me, you hear?” April hauls herself to her feet and scoops up her overnight bag from behind the couch. As she does, she points at the crew in the kitchen and makes her best Threatening Face.

“Wait, before you go,” Donnie says. One of his arms flops over the couch to poke her elbow, and he tips his head back to look at her. April knows what he’s about to say the moment he breaks out the baby turtle eyes. “Wanna bring me some ramen first?”

April groans, exasperated, and sets her bag down again. He knows she can’t say no to baby turtle eyes. “Fine, but only because you’re a decrepit old man.”

Donnie grins, looking very pleased with himself. “I want two eggs.”

As if on cue, another arm sticks up in the air, this time from the pile of blankets on the floor. There’s a pathetic whine of “April...”

“Leo, you can get your own.”

Donnie cackles. “Yeah, ‘Nardo, stop being so needy.”

Leo’s sound of indignation lets April know she’s started something and this will not be the end of it, but he does roll laboriously to his feet, so at least there’s that.

“Seriously, save me some?” April implores to Mikey as she puts together a bowl with two soft-boiled eggs.

“I promise there will be some leftover when you come back.” The promise is magnanimous enough, she supposes. Mostly Mikey’s just preening about people fighting over his food.

“One side, chica—Leon’s getting his own ramen.” Leo hip-checks April out of the way more roughly than he would normally. April yelps as hot broth sloshes over the bowl in her hand and stings her fingers.

“Leo, watch it!”

“Watch what, you not getting me ramen ‘cause I’m not your favorite?” Leo flashes a sulky look over his shoulder. The movement knocks him off-balance. With a noise of surprise, he pitches to the side and stumbles into the counter. Catching himself, he mutters a bewildered, “Where’d that come from?”

April sighs as she rinses off her hand. There’s no arguing with him when he’s like this; the man’s barely functional.

“Here, Leopold,” says Mikey sweetly. He presses an empty bowl into Leo’s hands and guides him back to the pot of ramen. “Try again.”

“Thank you, Michael—you’re so nice. Wish some other people could be nice.”

“You know you’re never gonna live down this slight against his ego, right?” Casey tells April around between slurping mouthfuls of noodles. He’s leaning back against the island counter and watching Leo struggle the same way anyone else would watch reality TV.

To be fair, it is pretty funny. For some reason, instead of using the tongs next to the stove Leo’s chosen to attempt fishing his ramen out of the pot with a ladle, to predictable results. Each time he starts off with a full utensil, and as he pulls the ladle out the noodles slide off and shluck back into the broth.

“Naw, Leo ain’t gonna remember any of this,” is Raph’s prediction. “He’s gonna see that new katana and think Donnie replicated it or somethin’.” He’s perched atop one of the barstools on the other side of the island with Casey, also watching with amusement. He’s opted to eat his ramen out of a medium-sized salad bowl instead of the normal soup bowls the rest of them are using, though in his hands it looks proportional.

“Not possible. Replication technology doesn’t exist because matter can’t be created or destroyed!” calls Donnie from the couch. Despite his injuries allegedly preventing him from getting his own ramen, he’s somehow worked up the bravery to twist around and prop his chin on his folded arms to watch Leo’s battle against wet noodles.

When April passes him his two-egg ramen and chopsticks, he murmurs thanks and beams like a thousand-watt lightbulb. Her heart skips a beat.

“Blue’s gonna cry,” Casey observes as Leo pours a bowl of broth back into the pot and picks up the ladle again. Next to him, Mikey’s got his knuckles pressed into his mouth and his shoulders are bouncing with suppressed giggles.

“Or just start eating out of the pot,” says Juan, voice saturated in amusement. April does a double take at where he’s leaning his hip against the side of the kitchen island with his arms looped together. When did he get here?

“You’re not going to help?” asks April, though she’s pretty sure she already knows the answer.

Juan gestures at the scene playing out in the kitchen. “He’ll figure it out eventually. Probably.”

“Our master tactician and leader, everyone,” Donnie mutters to the soft-boiled egg he’s just picked up with his chopsticks.

“Ugh, what is going on?” Leo says to nobody in particular. He pours out another empty bowl of broth—and Casey’s right, he does look about ready to cry. “Why did this work for—hic—everyone else and not me?” He raises his voice. “April, did you curse the ramen?”

Alright, it’s funny, but April’s starting to feel a little bad now. She gently bumps him out of the way and takes the bowl from him. “Here, let me.”

“Spoilsport,” Mikey mutters the same time Leo exclaims happily, “April, you do care!”

“Of course I do, dummy. One egg or two?”

“Two!” Leo slings a heavy arm around her shoulders and leans in to see what she’s doing. When he sees her pick up the tongs he says, “…Tell me those weren’t there the—hic—whole time.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

The giggling that breaks out behind them is hardly subtle. Leo doesn’t seem to notice.

“Will you do the honors, Lee?” April presents him the bowl and the ladle with flourish.

Leo laughs as he adds his preferred level of broth and accepts his fully prepared bowl of ramen with both hands. “Finally, I am so hungr—” he spots Juan and brightens like the sun’s somehow found a way to shine on him, despite being underground and past three in the morning. “Diego! When did you get back, cariño?”

Okay, now that the drunk and the injured are taken care of, April can finally get back to what she’d been trying to do either. “Right, showering. I’m doing it.” April looks to Mikey again. “I’m holding you to that promise you made earlier.”

Mikey rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re not gonna go hungry, April—now shoo.”

April doesn’t need telling twice. The sweat’s fully dried on her skin now, and it’s making her itchy. She retrieves her overnight bag from behind the couch again and keeps her time in the bathroom short out of consideration for the others in the queue. That being said, she unapologetically cranks the hot water and sighs as it beats down on her tired muscles. If there’s one thing a lair of reptilian mutants is never short on, it’s hot water, and bless them for having such good taste.

By the time she returns to the living room the cushions and blankets have been dispersed across the floor and the dishes have been cleaned up. Casey’s brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink to keep traffic out of the bathrooms.

As promised, there’s a bowl of ramen waiting for her on the kitchen island.

“Thank you, Mikey!” She looks around, but she doesn’t see him anywhere.

Casey spits. “He just left for the shower.”

That’ll do it. April hops onto a barstool and digs in, making a mental note to say it again when he’s in earshot.

Behind her, there’s a long, rumbling snore. She was so zeroed in on the food that she hadn’t even noticed some folks had already laid down. It’s actually Raph, which is embarrassing given he’s kaiju sized. He’s curled up under the largest blanket in the lair in his favorite pink pajamas, snuggling a stuffed penguin and sawing logs without a care in the world.

Oh—actually, Juan looks like he’s fully conked out too. His face is smeared over a pillow, and one of his legs just twitched sharply. April recognizes the oversize t-shirt he’s wearing as one of Leo’s.

Her late-night snack is still warm as she digs into it. It’s salty and the broth is rich and the thin slices of beef are flavorful. Mikey also managed to save her one of the soft-boiled eggs!

April’s still slurping noodles as Donnie, Casey, and Leo filter back from their respective trips to bedrooms and bathrooms. Leo in particular has gone from goofy and stumbling to cuddly and sleepy. He hangs on Donnie until the latter grumbles and brushes him off, and then latches onto Casey as soon as she makes herself comfortable amongst the blankets.

“Ohh my god, I always—hic—forget how warm you are,” Leo sighs as he does his best to burrow into her side. Casey puts her arm around his shell and rubs it companionably. “Hey. Hey, Case, you’re real good at this, you know that?”

“My cuddles are superior, it’s true,” says Casey confidently. She notices the way Casey’s hesitating on the sidelines and holds out her other arm. “Junior, you want in on this?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. There’s some grunting and shuffling as he worms his way into Casey’s other side, and in less than a minute he’s fully passed out. Leo’s not far behind, blinking slowly. Casey’s more alert, albeit not by much. Mostly she just looks smug that her cuddling skills are being acknowledged again.

“Impressive,” April remarks as she bites into her soft-boiled egg. She glances over when Donnie slides something her way. He’s in a pair of loose, striped pajama pants that hang low on his hips to avoid cinching around his shell and a long-sleeved shirt, and his mask and goggles are put away for the day. April’s been looking at him with flowers around his head too long; he looks strange without them. “Oh, hey, my phone! I was wondering where that’d gone off to. Thanks, Dee.”

Donnie doesn’t smile. Without his eyebrows, his expression’s closed off and hard to parse. Given the good mood he’s been in all evening, his demeanor’s unexpectedly cold. Did something happen while he was getting ready for bed?

Mikey’s back from the shower. When he sees the cuddle pile, he immediately worms himself in between Casey and Leo.

“Mikey, get off! I was comfy!” complains Leo, words slurring from both grogginess and drunkenness.

Mikey’s unsympathetic as he bodily shoves Leo away and eagerly takes the warm spot he was forced to leave behind. “You have a boyfriend, go cuddle with him.”

“I can’t! Diego kicks—he literally fights ninjas in his sleep!”

As if on cue, Juan rolls over—and, sure enough, his leg shoots out to connect with the back of Leo’s knee. The man’s still blissfully unconscious, entirely unaware of whatever twitch or reflex is controlling him. Leo grumbles and scootches further away, not hurt but certainly annoyed. His efforts have him partially clambering over Mikey, who refuses to budge. “Mikey, move, I gotta get out of range!”

Casey Jr. lets out a sleepy giggle and mumbles, “World’s greatest ninja…”

Leo chuckles despite himself, though he still manages a, “Shut up, Jones.”

“If you don’t shut up and settle down, I’m not cuddling anyone!” Despite being half-asleep herself, Casey still manages to keep a sharpness to her voice. That’s an actual talent.

It also works. There’s some jostling as Leo and Mikey work out who goes where, but in short order everyone who wants it is being snuggled by Casey in some capacity.

The sound of a throat clearing calls her attention back. “April, call your mother,” Donnie says so seriously that April’s heart stops until he elaborates. “It looks like most of your notifications are from her.”

April frowns as she unlocks her phone to an avalanche of missed texts and calls. The last one was from less than twenty minutes ago. “Oh, yikes, you ain’t joking.”

Then she remembers. Shit, she’d promised to touch base with her mom after the reception. April hadn’t mentioned the Hamatos would also be at the wedding for the same reason she hadn’t mentioned that Sunita would be getting married without her cloaking broach. Wanda thinks she went alone, and now she clearly thinks something bad’s happened.

It’s like the wedding was a dream, some kind of fantasy world—now she’s crashing back to the hard planes of reality. Guilt gnaws sharply at the base of April’s skull. Fuck, she’s the worst daughter in the history of daughters.

Her mother answers on the second ring, voice strangled with worry. “April, where are you? Are you okay? What happened?”

April hunches her shoulders and ducks her head. “I’m fine, Mama,” she says in her best placating voice. “A bunch of us are staying at the Hamato’s place tonight. I’m with them.”

She grimaces at the sound of frustration and relief that registers on the other line. “The Hamatos—have they been with you this whole time?”

“Erm, yes?”

“That would have been useful information to have, April. Do you have any idea what time it is? I thought you were on your own. I thought you’d been hit by a bus, or kidnapped, or—or murdered in some alleyway!”

Of course she’d fear that. There’s no way she couldn’t, after all the work April’s done to make herself seem demure and normal. Her mother’s current level of alarm is directly related to more than a decade of subterfuge, and April’s only got herself to blame.

Shrinking in on herself even more, April mumbles, “Sorry.”

“April, why can’t you just be—” Wanda cuts herself off and lets out a hard sigh. When she speaks again, it’s stiffly. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

April doesn’t hear her, though, she’s too busy finishing the rest of the sentence.

Why can’t you just be better?

Why can’t you just be normal?

Why can’t you just be someone who makes me proud?

Her lips tremble, and her throat closes up. She takes off her glasses and rubs at her stinging eyes, pushes away her half-eaten ramen. Suddenly, she doesn’t have much of an appetite. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll do better next time.” It’s a promise she knows she won’t be able to keep, but what else can she say?

There’s a long pause on the other line before her mother says tiredly, “It was a good wedding, then? Sunita seemed happy?”

April knows an olive branch when she sees one. She lets out a long, slow breath as her hand drops to the island countertop. “Yeah, Sunita and Nasha are really good together, and it was beautiful. Sunset at the gardens was like something off the travel channel. Couldn’t have asked for a better day.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’m happy for them. You’ll have to send me pictures.”

“Oh. Uh.” April clears her throat, clammy fingers flexing against the cool quartz. “I, um. Didn’t take any. Part of why I missed all your calls and stuff, I wasn’t using my phone at all.”

“Uh-huh,” Mom says, and April flinches. “And all the friends that were with you today—I suppose none of them took any, either?”

“They might’ve taken photos of the setup, I don’t know. I can ask?”

It’s as close to the truth as she can come without saying too much. If she mentions Donnie was taking drone footage of the ceremony, or there’s video of Raph and Casey decorating each other with flowers, (or all the group photos they took before heading to the ceremony, or all the selfies their group took on the dance floor), then her mother will ask to see them, and April won’t have a good excuse for why she can’t share.

“No, don’t bother.” Mom doesn’t sound angry, she sounds tired. She sounds done. “I’m glad to hear you’re safe, April. Get some sleep.”

“Night, Mom,” she mumbles, just as the little beep in her ear tells her that Wanda’s already disconnected. April sets her phone face down on the counter and jams her glasses back onto her nose, and it’s only then that she notices the conspicuous silence in the room. Even Raph’s snoring has ebbed. The hairs on the back of her neck are prickling.

Even if they didn’t hear both sides of the conversation, they would have heard enough to know April was caught in a lie, and that she’s been thoroughly lambasted.

Something cold drops into the pit of her stomach as a lifetime of social anxiety rears its persistent, ugly head. April knows this silence from her time in the New York City public school system—it cuts her straight to the core. She swallows and doesn’t dare look at where her friends are in the living room behind her. If she sees the way they’re staring, the question or accusation in their faces, it will destroy her.

Instead, she slides to her feet and packages up her ramen for someone to snack on later. Then she goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Even when she’s alone, she can’t look her own reflection in the eye. There’s this foreboding heaviness in the back of her mind that tells her something broke while she was one the phone. She just doesn’t know where the break is: with her mother, with her friends, or within herself.

April lingers in the bathroom, taking way too long flossing, fussing with her curls. Much as a part of her wants to try, she can’t spend the rest of the night here. So she takes a deep breath and resolves to just act natural. She’s just being anxious; she’s lost in her own head. It’ll be fine.

The living room is mostly dark when April comes back, lit by only the string of fairy lights on the same wall as Splinter’s dark and silent TV. She can’t shake the notion that her friends had been talking just before she came into earshot. They aren’t now—actually, most seem to be fast asleep—but the words feel like they’re still misted in the air, just beyond her grasp.

Donnie’s the only exception. He’s laying on his back, hands folded together on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. April would say he seems lost in thought, except for the firm set of his mouth. April keeps stealing looks at him through the dimness as she takes the last available cushion and blanket combination, which happens to be closest to him.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look over at her. The silence feels… cavernous. Quelling. April almost asks what’s on his mind, until the words shrivel on the tip of her tongue.

So April lays herself down, pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, and tries not to take his non-reaction personally. It’s late, and it’s been a long day. They’re all tired. That’s probably it.

“Night, Dee,” she murmurs.

Donnie rolls over, turning his back to her. There’s a brief, violet glow as he taps something on his gauntlet, and the fairy lights turn off.

It’s there, lying in the darkness, surrounded by her best friends without being touched or acknowledged by any of them, that April feels more isolated than she has in years.

Chapter Text

Things haven’t been the same since the wedding.

The notion that something’s broken has persisted, tender and ever-present like a toothache. April’s not being completely shut out the way she was when she didn’t invite them to her graduation from Eastlaird. It might have been easier if she was, frankly, because this is strained. Her friends respond to her texts and memes with clipped, monosyllabic words—or, worse, only react with emojis. They don’t kick her out of the lair when she drops by, and they don’t spurn her when she joins group activities, but they don’t go out of their way to include her in whatever they’re up to, either.

It sucks. It sucks so much, and April doesn’t know how to fix it. She focuses on honoring plans and commitments that were made prior to the wedding and showing up with a sunny attitude. It doesn’t fix anything, and she knows that. It’s just not actively making thing worse, and until she figures out a better strategy she’ll settle for that.

Enter tonight’s plans. Casey’s been working part-time at a mixed human and yokai gym as a kickboxing instructor and Raph hasn’t been able to stop raving about the place. Spots for classes fill up fast; April was only able to secure hers by booking over a month in advance.

Has she done kickboxing before? Nope. Raph and Casey make it sound like fun, though, and her work still hasn’t found a new office space, so she’s been stuck teleworking from her apartment all day. April’s getting antsy from being cooped up, she’s looking forward to stretching her legs.

She’s actually just finishing up with packing up a gym bag when she receives the text from Raph.

‘Actually plz don’t come to class today’

There’s no further explanation, and no accompanying emojis to give proper context. Something heavy and uncomfortable drops in April’s gut, a sense of foreboding prickles the back of her neck. She has so many questions.

If she wants to make it to class on time she’s gotta leave in the next couple of minutes, which means they don’t have time to hash things out over text. She calls, but Raph doesn’t answer. There’s definitely something wrong. Is it better to let things be or try to address them now?

April doesn’t know. She just calls Casey next.

“You don’t look like you’re on the subway. What’s wrong?” asks Casey by way of greeting. There’s a slight delay as she turns her own video on, and then April can see the other woman’s eyes darting between April and the familiar background of her apartment.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Raph just told me not to come to class—did something happen? Is everyone okay?”

Casey’s puzzled frown and furrowed eyebrows are not reassuring. “There is nothing amiss here.” She proves it by leaning out of frame and panning the camera to show the punching bags and workout mats. There are posters of recommended stretches and workout routines on the walls, and a water station on the far side of the room. A relatively even mix of humans, mutants, and yokai are mingling and exercising in the background; it looks like a happening place.

The camera settles on Raph, who’s standing next to a weight set and shaking out his limbs. He looks up at Casey’s, “Hey, Red. April’s saying you told her to skip class today?”

The visuals are suddenly a disorienting smear, presumably as Casey waggles the phone. When they settle, Raph’s expression is one of determination. “I did, yeah. I don’t—April, sorry, but Raph don’t want you here right now.”

He may as well have reached through the phone and punched her. April chokes on her own air. Since when has Raph not wanted her around?

“Finally!” Casey comes back into frame, her expression an unsettling mixture of extreme exasperation and protective ferocity. “Don’t come here, April.”

“Wait, what?” April squawks.

“You heard the man! He’s expressed that he does not desire your presence at this location.” The camera shifts, and April knows that Casey’s about to hang up.

“Wait, wait! Can you give Raph the phone so I can talk to him?”

To her credit, Casey does look over and point to the screen with her free hand. Whatever Raph does in response has her nodding. She turns back to April and says plainly, “No.”

“What? Why? Is he mad at me? What did I do?”

Casey’s low chuckle is utterly devoid of actual mirth. “Nothing. That’s the problem, April. You’ve done nothing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you remember the conversation we had when I lived with you three years ago?”

It takes April a moment to understand what Casey’s referring to. She’d lived with April for several weeks and over that time they’d had many meaningful conversations. Also, it’d happened three years ago. A lot’s gone down since then.

“Are you talking about my mom?” she says incredulously. “Casey, my mom doesn’t need to be brought into—”

“Your mother is representative of a much larger inaction,” Casey interrupts. Her tone is as sharp and unyielding as any blade, and the set of her features is hard. This is not a gleeful takedown; she is not relishing saying any of this. She soldiers on with the stern determination of a doctor resetting a broken bone. “You claim Raphael is one of your best friends, yet you bar him from parts of your life you let me see at a time when we were not especially great friends ourselves. Why should he tolerate being treated like a second-class citizen?”

April sputters. “There’s no—I don’t—if this is such a huge damn problem, why’m I only hearing about it now, huh? And why is it only coming from you?”

“Simple: because Raphael refuses to say something he thinks will hurt you, even if not doing so hurts him instead. I have no such reservations.”

April’s breaths are coming in short. Her mind is a revolving door. There’s no way her choices about her personal life have had that much of an impact on her friends, right? It’s not like she needs her mom’s permission to hang out with them anymore. April’s an adult who’s capable of making her own choices, and her mother doesn’t influence her day-to-day life.

But can she live with herself if she doesn’t make sure?

“Casey, I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

“I know.” Casey doesn’t say it outright, but it’s clear that she believes hurt has been inflicted regardless.

This is spiraling out of control. How did this start as a discussion about kickboxing? April can feel herself floundering, grasping at straws to placate the tide of dread that’s rising up the back of her throat.

“If something I’ve done—or haven’t done—has hurt Raph, then I want to apologize. Can you please get him on the line?”

Casey mutes herself and turns the camera away, presumably as she passes the message along. April waits, sweating, her heart thundering in her ears. Her knees buckle in relief when Raph comes into view. His beak’s wrinkled in a grimace of discomfort, but he’s still there.

“Hey, April.”

The words come out in a rush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your feelings were still hurt about not meeting my mom. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal anymore. I’m really sorry.”

He blinks in surprise. Something tentative and optimistic enters his expression as he says, “Thanks for sayin’ that.”

April waits. Raph doesn’t add anything more.

“So are we cool again?”

“Are you gonna let us meet your mom?”

The icy terror that slams into the back of April’s head is no joke. Chills trickles down her spine and cause her lungs to seize. The very thought of her mother finding out that her only daughter’s a magnet for weirdness—that April’s a liar and a phony and nothing like she’s supposed to be—makes April wanna puke. Sure, her relationship with her mom’s tense right now, but if Wanda O’Neil finds out who her daughter really is they won’t have a relationship left at all.

Her mom’s the only family April has. She can’t lose her. She has to be a good daughter, has to make her proud. How can April do that when she’s come out so wrong?

Then she looks at her best friend and his sliver of hope, and she wants to crawl under her bed and never come back out. This isn’t fair. She’s being forced to choose between being a good friend and being a good daughter; making one happy shouldn’t come at the other’s expense.

But it’s her mom. What else is she supposed to do?

“Uh.” April’s tongue is leaden and clumsy behind her teeth. She forces it to work anyway. “Well… no, that’s not…”

Raph’s face falls. He’s not shocked or angry. If anything, he’s deeply, deeply disappointed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he says quietly. “And that’s why I’m gonna keep some distance for a while. It ain’t—I’ve been workin’ on speakin’ up for myself, and Raph don’t like how it feels, bein’ hidden away.”

Her mouth works soundlessly for a moment or so before she says weakly, “Raph, I’m not…”

To his credit, Raph does wait to see what she’ll say. It’s April who fails to utter anything worthwhile, in the end.

He sighs and rolls his great shoulders, uncomfortable. “We’ve gotta go, April. Class is startin’ soon. Try not to pick fights with Casey, yeah? She’s just lookin’ out for me.”

The implication that April isn’t goes unspoken, but he doesn’t need to say it aloud for the sentiment to knife her through the chest.

She spares Raph the anxiety of hanging up on her by pushing the button herself.

The plan had been to go out for food and beers after kickboxing. April figures Raph and Casey will likely stick to that, since there’s no reason for them not to.

She’s even less keen on staying in her tiny-ass apartment now than she was before Raph cancelled on her. The walls are crowding in, and she can’t stand how quiet it is. She needs company. She needs a distraction.

It’s less of a conscious choice and more reflex that takes her to the lair, the same automatic draw that drags iron filings to a magnet. Out of respect for the distance Raph’s asked for, she intends to clear out before he gets back, but that still gives her a few hours.

Leo’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and half-heartedly stabbing leftover sauteed brussel sprouts and ham with a fork. Playful chiptunes fill the living room from a paused platforming video game. The lack of attention Leo’s paying to the projection indicates it’s not his game, though his presence suggests he’s been spectating. The platformer’s got enough widespread appeal within their group that April can’t pinpoint who’s playing it based on the title alone. The glass of water and dark smartphone on the coffee table could be anyone’s.

This is good, though. A few hours of video games and banter will be nice. Just what the doctor ordered.

Except there’s this edge to Leo’s tone as he remarks, “I thought you were doing a kickboxing class.”

April casts back to their last few rounds of texts. She didn’t have to cancel or reschedule on Leo for anything recently. In fact, it’s been a bit since she and Leo have hung out one on one—so why does he seem so pissy?

April drops the little strap-bag that serves as her purse down on one of the kitchen barstools. “I was, until Raph decided he didn’t want me there.”

This catches Leo’s attention. He sets down his fork and leans his hand against the countertop, feet crossing at the ankles. The other hand gets propped onto his hip. “Oh, did he now?”

“Yeah.” April lets out a breath and gestures helplessly. “I don’t really know what to—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Leo interjects. He isn’t apologetic about it.

April’s taken aback. Of course she is. It feels like Leo’s looking for a fight, and that’s not like him. “Um, okay? Why?”

“Because I’m not interested in hearing you pretend like you don’t understand what’s going on.”

Trepidation settles about April’s shoulders like a wet, ice-cold blanket as she stares at her best friend. Out of his line of sight, she grips the seat of the barstool for stability. “Alright, I’ll bite. What the hell crawled up your ass today?”

“Better question: why haven’t you gotten the message yet?” Leo’s gaze is cold and closed off. Challenging. April’s not used to seeing him this serious outside of genuinely dangerous circumstances. She’s not used to him being this mean.

“What, are you mad about my mom too?” April realizes. She throws her hands in the air. Why is this suddenly such a problem? “Newsflash, boys: I’m an adult who—”

“Who’s capable of making her own choices, yeah,” says Leo. “Which means you, April, are choosing to try eating your cake and having it too. You are choosing to only be authentic when it’s convenient for you—but that’s not how authenticity works! You either are, or you’re not.” When April takes a step back from the shock, he lets out this awful, provoked chuckle and smacks his palm on the counter. “And you have the gall to be upset when someone says they’re done being caught in the crossfire of whatever you think you’re gaming out! That’s rich, you know that?”

“You—you know, what’s rich is I’ve barely walked through the damn door, and you’re immediately jumping down my—”

“This is my home, April, not yours.” Leo’s eyes are chips of ice, frigid and sharp. “You brought you here.”

Okay, that stings. It stings real fucking bad.

“What’re you getting out of tearing into me like this, Leo?” April gestures roughly and lets her hands clap back to her sides. “What do you want?”

“You see, that’s the thing.” His voice is oddly tremulous, torn between anger and something that feels uncomfortably like grief. “I finally got what I want. I’ve got people in my life who won’t pretend not to know me when it’s inconvenient for them. I’ve already met Carlos’ entire family, did you know that? His abuela fucking loves me. His cousins tag me in memes. He takes me to hang out with his friends and he’s introduced me to the neighbors who’ve known him since he was a baby. I never needed to ask, he never made me beg, he just did it because he wanted me to be part of his life. Imagine that!”

April’s not sure whether she wants to shout or cry. “Leo,” she says warningly.

“No, I can tell you’re still not getting it,” he says roughly. “You’re about to say how nice this is to hear, but it’s complicated for you. Right? Well, guess what: it wasn’t easy for Mateo, either. No one else in his family’s dating a mutant, so the first couple times were fucking excruciating, and it still gets awkward. He’s lost friends because they turned out to be bigoted shitstains, and his favorite auntie’s still being a total cunt. But he’s never, not once, put any of that on me. We’ve barely known each other two years, April, and Alvaro’s already done all of that—but I’m still waiting for you to let me in, even after everything we’ve been through. We’ve known each other how long now?”

Just over fourteen years. Leo doesn’t need to say the number for it to cast a pall over them. This part of the lair doesn’t have windows, yet somehow things within the kitchen feel dimmer, as if the sun’s passed behind a cloud.

It’s not like April’s blind to how bad this looks. She never set out for her life to be split between two different worlds. This arrangement doesn’t make her happy, either—doesn’t he realize that she’d change things, if she could?

But too much time’s elapsed. April’s far, far too late. If she’d been more proactive when they were kids, things would no doubt look a lot like Leo’s relationship with Juan’s family and friends.

She wasn’t proactive, though. She’d been stupid and scared and now it’s been fourteen fucking years. It’s the elephant in every room April occupies, and one wrong move’s going to start a stampede that’ll destroy everything. Having the biggest regret of her life shoved in her face like this isn’t April’s idea of a good time.

It takes a couple of tries for her to get her mouth working again. Her throat feels raw and tight, and when she finds it, her voice is hoarse. “I didn’t introduce you to the human world when we were kids because it was dangerous for you.”

“You’re right, it was. Past tense. It stopped being dangerous years ago—and even when that excuse held water, exposure was far riskier for us than it ever was for you.” Leo smacks the counter again and pushes himself upright, begins pacing irritably in front of the sink. “All you had to do was let us be your friends, and you couldn’t even manage that!”

Leo’s lost the cruel, icy composure he had when he originally picked this fight with her. His demeanor’s quickly devolving into the kind of hot, reactive fury that strikes sparks against everything it hits. The kind that could cause irreparable damage, if they aren’t careful.

Leo doesn’t get angry like this. He just doesn’t.

And, unfortunately for him, April doesn’t take kindly to being yelled at. “Oh, you can fuck right off with that attitude, Leo. How many times have I dropped everything and come running when any of you needed something from me? How many—”

“How many of your human friends have we met? How many times have we gone out partying anywhere that wasn’t Seahorse Hill? How many personal accomplishments have you let us celebrate with you?” Leo’s relentless, there’s no way April’s getting a word in edgewise. “The only reason your new work knows we exist is because the damn building collapsed, and we showed up to help. Where does it stop?” He throws out his arm. “If you win an award, do we get to congratulate you? If you’re hospitalized, can we visit? We all just went to a wedding two weeks ago—if you get married, are we invited to that, or are you gonna throw some other piss-poor excuse at our feet and expect us to be thankful you even bothered to think one up?”

Here's the thing about being backed into a corner: no one likes it. You drive someone into a corner, and they’re gonna get defensive. April’s no exception.

“So what is this, then?” Her words are painfully scathing, even in her own ears. “If I’m such an irredeemable piece of garbage, then why even bother with the lecture? Cut your losses, toss me out—that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Leo looks ready to grab her by the collar and do just that, but a new voice interjects. “No, April, it’s not.” They both turn as Casey comes into the kitchen. He shrugs, seemingly impervious to the high-octane emotions flying around. “If that was where Leo was going with this, he would’ve done it already. Or you wouldn’t have been allowed into the lair at all. Donnie’s been home this whole time, he could’ve locked down when he saw you coming.”

Casey steals one of the brussels sprouts from Leo’s abandoned plate. He pops it into his mouth without regard for how cold it’s gotten or for how they gawk at his casual behavior.

“Then what’s the point?” April bites out. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest. It doesn’t feel like Casey’s joining Leo in tearing into her, but she’s ready for anything.

Casey blinks, surprised, and then shrugs again. He speaks plainly, as blunt as if he were relaying items on a menu. “Your behavior’s hurtful and if you don’t change it, you’re going to lose everyone.”

For all that Leo’s been lashing out this entire time, it’s Casey’s apocalypse-grown intolerance for anything he perceives as superfluous drama that really hits home.

You’re going to lose everyone.

It’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of snowmelt on April’s head. The skin on her arms prickles, and she has to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering. She’s been flirting with her flight or flight response throughout this showdown with Leo, but it’s well and truly been activated now. Fire coils in her belly and something small and terrified crouches in the back of her mind, whimpering ‘they’re already gone.’

“Yeah, exactly!” Leo marches up and slings his arm around Casey’s shoulders in a blatant show of solidarity. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

April barely hears him. Still, the part of her that’s itching for a fight pushes the words past her numb lips, “No, you’ve been too busy tearing me a new one!”

Leo starts to retort, only for Casey to interrupt again. “I don’t understand what you’re so afraid of. This isn’t hard—we’ve been talking about this for years. What’s holding you back?”

He’s fucking earnest, is the problem. April can handle derision, and she can handle anger. She doesn’t know what to do with how genuinely baffled he is.

It’s true, they have been talking about this for years. Casey already knows what she’s afraid of, he just doesn’t agree that a lifetime of making the same mistakes actually results in a situation so fucked up that it can’t be untangled.

Frankly, it’s a blessing when Leo jumps in with a catty, “She’s a coward, Case. Us coming up to the surface and showing the people of New York that mutants exist was way worse, but April’s gotta make it all about her.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, I have never said—”

“You’re not addressing the core issue, though,” says Casey. “You’re acting like the consequences of letting us be part of your life would be dire, and they won’t.”

“Good point, Case.” Leo leans against his nephew, really hamming up their chumminess. “Come to think of it, what’s the worst possible outcome you can think of, just off the old dome-piece?”

“Making choices that result in a hostile alien scourge decimating the planet and slowly eradicating any and all sentient life.” It’s really hard to tell if Casey knows what Leo’s building up to and is cosigning onto it, or if he’s just answering the question.

“Yeah, you’re right, that would be pretty fucking bad! Now, if you had to guess, what do you think the worst-case scenario would be to April’s mom learning that her friends are mutants, or her being seen with us literally anywhere in New York City?”

“Some awkwardness, maybe? Even I can see it’s gotten leagues better the last few years.”

Okay, yeah, Casey’s doing this on purpose. He’s aiming to provoke her.

“It has, hasn’t it? Such a salient point, Caserino. Now, one last question—and this is a real doozy—does it make any sense at all to throw out over a decade of friendship for a little bit of awkwardness?”

“None.”

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!” Leo shakes Casey in a mockery of joviality, and Casey permits it, his messy man-bun wobbling on the top of his head.

“That’s it,” says April. She snatches up her strap bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I don’t need this.”

“Oh, would you look at that, cowardice! I never saw it coming.”

“All you had to do was say you didn’t want me around, and I would’ve fucked off a long time ago. You think I’m a pile of shit? Fine, go ahead, but I don’t have to stand here listening to you waxing poetic about how much you regret knowing me.”

She’s already spun about and started stalking from the lair when Casey’s soft voice breaches the divide. “April, that’s not what he said.”

Provoked, April whirls back around and thrusts her finger at Leo. “Then why isn’t he denying it?”

“Because I’m pissed, obviously! And—also obviously—you’re not listening to anything I’m saying anyway, so what’s the point?”

Casey’s shaking his head like someone’s just given him an insanely complicated riddle. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.”

“No, Casey, ruining everything I’ve ever tried is exactly like me. You’re thinking of Commander O’Neil.”

“But you’re the same person.”

“Clearly I’m not, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” April gestures to Leo again. “Just ask him, I’m sure he’d be delighted to pull out the receipts.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You can be better than her!” Casey bursts out, throwing Leo’s arm from his shoulders.

April and Leo exchange twin looks of bewilderment in a sudden and bizarre truce.

Casey’s continuing before anyone can ask a follow-up question. “Commander O’Neil had to make choices like this, too. She threw people out for bigotry, and she had to do it during times when we badly needed the numbers. You think there wasn’t backlash over that? You think that never blew up in her face? You don’t have any of those problems—choosing to be real isn’t going to get anyone killed!” Casey gestures around, indicating the non-apocalyptic nature of their current circumstances. It’s a remarkably sobering point. “If she could stick to her principles in the middle of a losing war, even when the consequences were dire, I refuse to believe you’re incapable of doing better here. All you have to do is try.”

Casey doesn’t say that April obviously isn’t trying. He doesn’t have to; she hears him loud and clear.

The pause and slight grimace from Leo says he hadn’t known this about Commander O’Neil, either. That makes two of them.

Leo recovers faster. He pulls one of his ever-present katanas from the holster strapped to his shell. “Exactly what I’ve been saying this entire time: it’s high time you shaped the fuck up, April.” With that, he carves a portal into existence. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going literally anywhere else, and you’re not invited. Case, you might wanna grab your phone.”

There’s a brief delay as Casey looks between the bright blue portal and his paused video game, weighing the ramifications of both choices. Then he swipes his cell from the coffee table with a mutter of, “Sorry, April.”

He’s ducking through the portal before April can reply—which turns out to be just as well, because Leo suddenly says, “That’s right, I’m not done yet.” He whirls back around to her. They’d be nose-to-beak if they were of a comparable height. As things are, it’s more nose-to-plastron, and Leo’s clearly relishing how much he towers over her.

“If I catch you fucking with my twin’s feelings again, I’m disowning you on the spot,” Leo says, voice a low growl. His eyes are narrowed, back to the icy intensity that he had at the start of this confrontation. “You got it?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you for trying to intimidate me.” April shoves at him to get him out of her face. In practice, it’s more like she’s pushed herself off a wall than moved another person, but she gets a foot or so of space back and that is technically an improvement. “And secondly, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. In what way am I messing with Donnie’s feelings?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” he snaps. “I was at Sunita’s wedding too, remember? Everybody saw how you were dancing! You can’t seriously be trying to tell me all of that was platonic. How stupid do you think I am?” Leo puts his hand in her face, causing her to retort to stall on her tongue. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I’ve got a pretty good idea.” He slaps his palm on the island and leans down until they are actually eye to eye. April’s never seen him work this hard to be threatening. “It was one thing when whatever you’re trying to work through only made you miserable, but dragging Donnie into it is a bridge too fucking far. He doesn’t need it, and he doesn’t deserve it. If you can’t figure out your bullshit, then figure out how to keep him out of it, or you’d better stay the fuck away from him. I mean it.”

Yeah, April can tell. She’s seen a very different side to Leo today, and this is the most serious he’s been. It’s certainly the most actively hostile. If there were ever any lingering question whether his brothers’ health and wellbeing meant more to Leo than his own, here’s the proof.

He doesn’t wait for her to reply, of course—that’d be too easy. Instead, April finds herself scrambling not to let him get off scot-free as he finally stalks to the portal. The “Oh, screw you, Leo!” is hardly her best work.

Leo flips her off just as the portal closes, so she doesn’t even have the luxury of saying she got the final word.

If Donnie’s surprised she’s marched up to the lab, he’s hiding it well.

The heavy metal doors have scarcely hissed open to reveal him standing at the operating panel just off to the side before April’s demanding, “How much of that were you paying attention to?”

She doesn’t mention she’s specifically referring to what Leo said at the end. If Donnie’s been monitoring the situation the entire time, as April suspects he has, then there’s no point in wasting her breath. In a similar vein, there’s no point in scolding him for tuning into the prime-time drama—had their positions been reversed, April knows for a fact her nosey ass would’ve done the same.

He doesn’t even have the decency to act sheepish for being called out. “Enough.”

“So, is Leo right?” The tinny chiptunes of Casey’s paused video game are suddenly replaced with the hums and whirs of tech as the lab doors close behind her. April can’t decide if the change in ambiance is distressing or if she’s grateful for the lack of distractions. She presses on anyway, throwing her arms out to the side and asking bluntly, “Have I been fucking with your feelings?”

Donnie starts to answer, but then he stops. There’s a long, slow exhale, and then he’s gesturing for her to follow him. “C’mere. There’s something I need to show you.”

It’s not a lot to work with, reaction-wise. Donnie’s strides are as even and confident as ever, and there’s no hunch to his shoulders. April isn’t picking up on any other indicators of upset, no jerky movements or rapid stimming or excessive info-dumping. If anything, he seems closed off, any tells locked firmly behind a thick wall of deadpan.

His calm is—well, not reassuring, exactly. April is a cable pulled taut, liable to snap at any moment, and Donnie being cryptic as hell isn’t helping. After Raph shutting her out and Leo going for the jugular with Casey as a de facto wingman, she’s bracing for more attacks. Some kind of video compilation of her worst moments, maybe. A video diary of how much they’ve all secretly resented her for years. A big ol’ sign saying, ‘April’s an Asshole: Time to Get Gone, Bitch.’

Part of her feels like she’s walking straight off the proverbial plank by having Donnie take her to whatever this is. The rest is just desperately clinging to the familiarity of let me show you something—and that’s where Donnie’s behavior has been oddly steadying. Even though everything else about this afternoon has felt topsy turvy and hurtful and wrong, Donnie’s still feels like Donnie.

He leads her past the main computer terminal with its monstrous eight-monitor setup—the one he does most of his vigilante work from—and to one of his minor computer stations. This one has only two monitors and runs on hardware that had been the latest and greatest two major upgrades ago. Donnie’s got another, much nerdier name for it, but April thinks of this as his personal computer. It’s the one where he makes his Spoofy mixes and where he saves all his favorite photos. It’s also flanked on either side by the Shelf of Shame, where he keeps every hokey piece of pseudoscience April’s ever given him.

Actually, ‘shelf’ is a bit of a misnomer. These are ostentatious display cases, complete with locked glass doors and LED lights installed on the underside of every shelf tier. The Moon Rock™ from the planetarium is on a mini pedestal, still in its original packaging. The Magic Levitating Ball she found at a novelty shop is fully set up, the magnetized ball bearing spinning gently in its polarized suspension. Even the goop-instead-of-snow globe from the Hidden City giftshop has its own spotlight. There are probably two-dozen of these stupid trinkets, some of which had to be rescued from the ruins of the old lair after the Shredder wrecked it, and each one of them is being shown off like they belong in a museum. For a guy who claims not to care about the souvenirs she brings him, Donnie sure treats them well.

This is what makes this his personal computer, in April’s mind. It’s surrounded by sentimentality in a way the rest of the equipment in the lab simply isn’t.

Which is why April’s so nonplussed when Donnie brings up an extremely detailed looking spreadsheet. This isn’t the computer he typically uses for data crunching. “Before you look, you need to know this is highly personal,” he warns.

“Uh, okay? I guess I… promise to be respectful?” says April. “I’m confused how a spreadsheet’s gonna answer the—”

“It will.” Donnie enters a highlight cell command for ease of reading. A handful of cells turn green. Then he’s stepping aside and pulling out his phone. The implication that he’s prepared to wait while she sorts through this data—whatever it is—is clear.

It’s… very weird. Usually the things Donnie’s sharing come with elaborate walkthroughs, or at least flashier reveals. He eagerly watches for awe or excitement, goes out of his way to point out details you haven’t discovered fast enough. For him to chuck her at this and then immediately mentally check out on his phone isn’t like him.

It’s deeply unsettling, actually. Topsy turvy day isn’t over after all.

This workstation was made to accommodate Donnie’s sitting height, which translates to being a relatively decent standing height for April. She only has to stoop a little to get a good look at the monitor. What she finds isn’t what she expects, insofar as she was expecting anything.

The title of the workbook is simply Compatibility. It’s a list of names, organized by descending chronological Date of Appearance. April immediately spies her own name—she’s at the top of the list, and the year listed is the same one she met the Hamatos, which explains the significant time gap between her and the next name.

Then there’s a long list of succinct headers. Aesthetic Appeal (Fashion) is self-explanatory, as are Communication and Hygiene, but Physical Contact has an asterisk next to it, and some of the cells below the header have been split into two. Conveniently, there’s a hover-over comment which explains, ‘previously a reflection of the subject’s preference for physical contact, this has since been expanded to include an evaluation of the subject’s willingness to compromise/alter expectations. This is not retroactive and will only be applied after the following date.’ The date listed is from late last year, right around the time of the Lair Games.

Other headers April investigates further are Pun Usage (defined negatively—which is hypocritical, given he named the T-cycles “Amphibious Axe-shell-erator Battle-Cycle 4500s”, but whatever), Interests: Similar (defined as ‘bonding fodder’), and Interests: Conflicting. She finds the last one particularly intriguing, as the hover-over comment details several layers of qualifiers and speculative statements. People being interested in different things makes for fun conversation, but it leads to problems if interests differ too much, because then it’s hard to find common ground and can lead to disharmony. The comment concludes that everything coming out of this category will be weighted at 75% in the final calculations, whatever that means.

A note outside of the data explains that everything is evaluated on a 1-10 scale, with ten being ideal. Whole numbers only (though the values themselves are subject to re-evaluation). It makes the series of numbers following each name easy to digest at a glance. No one name has tens across the board, though Donnie’s highlighted anyone within fifteen points of the maximum value.

April’s starting to understand why Donnie said this was personal. Sure, it’s no diary entry filled with hopes and fears, and the data itself is horrendously dry, but April can’t think of a more honest representation of his thought process. Finding a way to quantify and measure something as deeply subjective as compatibility is the most Donnie thing she can think of.

April also has the highest score. Her lowest evaluation is Use of Puns, for which she’s been given a five (spoilsport). Everything else is seven and above. There’s a comment by her name that defines her as the control, initially, because they’ve been friends forever, but subsequent remarks rescind that designation on the grounds that ‘the control should not be outperforming every other subject.’

Something April hasn’t defined stirs in her gut. A realization is beginning to dawn upon her. She checks the other names on the list, expecting to see other people they both know. Draxum and Todd and Piebald, for example. That’s not what she finds. There are several names she doesn’t recognize, of course, but those she does?

Jericho. Tarek. Seychelle. That PhD student with the pet snake she dated her junior year of college—Donnie specifically mentions the snake in a comment where he speculates uncomfortably about an unrecognized scalie kink, so April knows it’s the same person. There are others, too, a small but not insignificant cross-section of the crowd that frequents the same hookup apps, clubs, and bars.

Romantic partners, all of them.

That’s when April notices the final scores are static cells, and they’re actually blocking other headers from view. The category that immediately leaps out as she scrolls to the side is Sex Appeal. She’s somehow scored a ten, and the associated comment simply says, ‘Sunita’s wedding reception.’ Right next to Sex Appeal is Sexual Performance for which April naturally has no score, since she and Donnie have never given that kind of interaction a test run. Everything in that column is weighted at 150%.

And even without it, April’s still top of the rankings.

This isn’t a stark evaluation of platonic compatibility, as she initially thought. Donnie’s not sharing this to prove that she’s well-liked by her friends and will continue to be, if she could only get her shit together, he’s…

Actually, April doesn’t know what his angle is.

Panic is starting to buzz at the base of her skull. Her fingers feel clammy. When she speaks, her voice is small and quavering and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it, “I don’t understand.”

Donnie shifts, putting his phone away and looping his arms together. “Is it the data itself, or the results?”

“Neither.” No, it’s clear she’s somehow ended up top of the heap in a competition she didn’t even realize she was part of. April turns to face him, bracing herself on the lip of the desk. “I don’t understand why.”

“You asked if you were fucking with my feelings.” He nods to the spreadsheet. “Technically I would say no, since this wasn’t done intentionally. But we still have a problem.”

There’s something about his matter-of-factness that sends a chill down April’s spine, and not in a good way. He’s far too composed for someone who’s putting his innermost thoughts on full display.

And he’s calling this a problem.

“What does that mean?”

“This means,” He gestures to the spreadsheet, expression grim. “That I’m in love with you.”

Donnie says it the same way someone might share they’ve been diagnosed with cancer. His voice is flat, and his eyes are hard. The confession is not accompanied by nervous shuffling. It’s not blushing and sweet, and there’s certainly no joy in it. If anything, Donnie’s deeply upset.

“Which is a problem?” she says softly. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s unhappy, so it isn’t supposed to be a question. April just never expected someone to treat confessing they’re in love her like it’s a curse, and it’s not doing great things for her self-esteem.

“Yes, April, I’ve got several problems with this whole situation.” Donnie’s voice changes on the last word—not quite a break, but the air punches out of his chest as if he’s been struck. April watches his composure fail in real time, the careful mask cleaving apart to reveal something far closer to defeat. “Even if I knew where you stood on this—which I don’t—you’re not exactly prime partner material right now.”

April’s breaths are coming in shallowly and the buzzing at the back of her skull is getting louder. Every nuanced thing she can think of fizzles out before it can pass her teeth. The only thing she manages to do is wheeze out an “Ouch.”

“It sucks, right?” says Donnie frankly. “Nobody likes being told something inherent about them isn’t good enough, and that’s what you’ve been doing.”

It feels like April’s been zapped with a live wire. Her entire body jerks, and she yelps. “I have never said—”

“Yeah, that’s the thing: you never had to say it, April. That’s all part and parcel of the message you send when you say someone’s your best friend and then spend the next decade purposely carving them out of your life for not being human enough.”

Genuinely, it might have been kinder if he’d roundhouse kicked her through the wall. Donnie’s always been blunt, but this is giving the concept of ‘brutal honesty’ an 00’s-era makeover montage and sending it strutting down Broadway feeling like a whole new woman. From this perspective, it’s really tough to see how Leo thought Donnie needed any sort of extra protection.

The idea that her best and oldest friends think April’s ashamed of them for the so-called sin of being mutants is nearly enough to break her. That’s what Donnie’s implying, here. Somehow, they’ve taken her deep-seated insecurities about being normal enough to make her mother proud and interpreted it as racism.

If that’s really what they believe she’s doing, then why are they still here?

“Donnie, hold on, that’s not—”

Donnie doesn’t let her finish. He simply jerks his thumb over his shoulder and says, “Leo already went there on the whole ‘where does it stop’ thing, and he was plenty specific, so I don’t have to belabor that point. Also, before you say it—” he adds when April opens her mouth “—I realize you’ve made several positive moves recently, between changing jobs, changing friend groups, and working with Stockboy on the Matthias Matterson takedown. Frankly, you putting in that work is the only reason I’m bothering to bring any of this up, because you’re already almost there. I like Gwyn and Priyanka, by the way. Ernesto, too. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that.”

“You haven’t, no,” says April faintly. She’s so completely bowled over that she doesn’t know how else to respond. A part of her feels like she’s somehow failing upwards in the worst job interview of her life, and the rest just feels like she’s being put through a woodchipper. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and disorienting.

“Didn’t think so. Anyway, that aside, when I tested the viability of a relationship results were green across the board, except for—”

“Hold up, tested for viability?” April interjects. “Donnie, when the hell did that happen?”

There’s a short pause before Donnie says slowly, “At Sunita’s wedding. Did you not realize?”

“I—I don’t know, I just thought you were having a good day or something!” Her hands flap through the air, fingers grasping at… well, nothing. It’s all just air.

“April, I let you stick flowers all over my head,” says Donnie flatly. “We spent the entire night dancing together. I grabbed your ass at every possible opportunity, and you always reacted positively. You asked me what I thought an ideal wedding would look like.”

You know, when he puts it like that, it sounds pretty fucking obvious.

“Everything was going so well, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me this whole time—until I realized you hadn’t even told your mother what kind of wedding you were going to, let alone who you were going with.” Bitterness enters Donnie’s voice. “You act like you’re protecting something. I don’t know what you think it is, or why it scares you so much, but I don’t appreciate it happening at my expense, or my brothers’. So I’m gonna ask you up-front: do you have plans to change this behavior in the near future? Preferably within the next seven-to-ten business days?”

April knows it’s not the point—she knows—but she still finds herself saying defensively, “What’s with the deadline? Don’t I get a say in this?”

“You’ve had more than a decade to do things on your own,” says Donnie. His tone is firm; there is no sympathy in his demeanor—likewise, however, there is no glee. He’s taking no pleasure from this. “That’s an extremely generous window, by any metric.”

She can’t help the way she bristles. For as brisk and nigh on professional as he’s being, there’s something deeply condescending about the unspoken sentiment of, ‘You wasted all your time, but you’re not going to waste mine.’

“Okay, here’s what I don’t understand: if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met, if I’m the racist asshole who doesn’t respect any of you and has been putting you down for years, what’s the point of any of this?” April throws up her arms not at the lab, but everything that’s happened today. Raph pushing her away while still coming to the phone to explain himself. Leo tearing her apart for being a shit friend but still demanding she shape the fuck up like that’s something he’s willing to wait for. Casey calling her out in one breath and telling her she can be better than Commander O’Neil in the next. Donnie and this whole spreadsheet thing. It’s nothing if not a series of signals that oscillate wildly from one extreme to the other. “If I’m such a lost fucking cause, why bother even giving me all these chances?”

For several prickly seconds, Donnie just looks at her, utterly gobsmacked. Then he bursts out, “Because you’re not a lost cause. Have you listened to what anyone’s been saying?” Alright, now his movements are getting jerky. He’s started pacing and shaking his hands, trying to work out the worst of his agitation. “What you told Leo isn’t wrong—you do drop everything and come running if someone asks. You’ve let us break into basically every workplace you’ve ever had and lost at least half your jobs indulging our whims. Dad’s still got one Lou Jitsu Dojo on the map to wax poetic about because you helped him save it, and you’re still the only one of us who knows the Seven Deadly Vipers move. You’ve been to every one of Mikey’s art shows. You were body on the table for all of Raph’s nursing practicums, and the sole volunteer subject for his human anatomy class. Leo—” Donnie pauses, considering. “I actually don’t know what thing you’ve done for Leo, specifically, but I’m sure it’s something. He loves getting catty whenever you watch Drag Race. Sure. And you’ve been there every time I—”

Donnie falters in a way April’s never seen before. He stops shaking his hands to flex them like he’s trying to pluck the phrasing he’s looking for out of the air, looking lost. After seeing him so closed off this entire conversation, this display of vulnerability feels shockingly intimate. Something squeezes in April’s chest. “I’ve never even had to ask—you always just...” His fingers curl into fists, and his gaze flicks to the spreadsheet before he lets out a sigh and goes back to shaking his hands out. “Doesn’t matter. Where was I going with this? There was a point to this rant, hold on.”

And April just... does. She should probably be yelling back, or storming out of the lab, or getting defensive, or doing literally anything to prove she’s not complacent in this vent sesh, or intervention, or whatever the hell he wants to call it.

Except she does none of those things. The panic is still rattling the base of her skull, and her hands are still cold and sweaty, and everything about this afternoon has sucked so fucking much, but there’s also a fist squeezing around her heart, and a whirlpool roiling in her guts. The ire that had been burning so strongly earlier has well and truly fizzled out. She can’t bring herself to walk away because she respects Donnie enough to want to hear what he has to say.

Even if it’s devastating. Even if it’s final.

“Right, I got it back.” Donnie clears his throat and slips into a line of dialogue that sounds very well rehearsed, “The problem isn’t that you’re the worst person we’ve ever met, April, the problem is you’re one of the best. I—we can’t imagine our lives without you, and it fucking hurts that that sentiment’s not reciprocal. Whether you meant to or not, that’s you saying that we don’t matter to you in the same way, and you don’t care enough to fix the discrepancy.” He looks her in the eye for the first time this conversation, and the fist around April’s heart squeezes just a bit more. “Tell me you understand that much, at least.”

Whatever argumentative leg April’s been standing on is cut off at the knee. It doesn’t matter that it was never about them; it stopped mattering the moment her actions inflicted real harm. She’s helpless to stop the proverbial collapse as she mumbles, “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Donnie clears his throat again, eyes flicking away from her and back to the computer monitor. There’s an instant where he almost appears remorseful—and then the walls are back up. Composure re-established. He moves on from the spreadsheet as if he never cared about it to begin with. “So, are you gonna fix things?” he asks.

And there’s her old frenemy, the corner she keeps getting backed into. The flight or fight response hits differently this time. Leo had been all fire and vitriol, so it had been easy to respond with the same. Donnie’s not like that. Now that he’s closed himself off from the conversation, emotionally, what’s left isn’t agitation or anger as much as unyielding stone.

April tries to imagine how she’d fix things. She really does. But doing that would require fully letting her friends into every aspect of her life, which means bringing her mother into it.

As soon as Mom enters the chat April’s limbs freeze and her brain shuts down. The buzz of the panic becomes a deafening maelstrom.

“What if I can’t?” she says softly.

It’s impossible to tell whether Donnie believes she’s testing him or if she’s given her final answer. “Then this whole thing’s a write-off,” he says simply. “As in, ‘it’s been a good ride, but it’s time to get off now.’ I’ve got too much self-respect to accept second-rate friendship I don’t deserve, and insofar as that goes—” he flicks his finger to the spreadsheet in a way that’s nearly dismissive “—Setting aside the obvious matter of reciprocation, I’m not interested in pursuing anything with someone who expects me to hide in the shadows. Not only is that not how the world works anymore, but I enjoy being shown off.”

First of all, the kind of clean break he’s describing sounds devastating, and second of all, he literally just said he was in love with her like ten minutes ago. April’s “Can you do that?” is less snarky comeback and more genuine inquiry into his mental fortitude.

Donnie levels a chillingly detached look at her. “It’s not like I haven’t had practice.”

April’s thoughts flash to the size of the spreadsheet and how callously he’d been dismissing potential partners when they were breaking into Stockboy’s server room. She suppresses a shudder. This isn’t a bluff she’s willing to call.

He’s also right. Donnie doesn’t deserve sub-par friendship, and the basis for any good partnership should include not making your significant other feel like a dirty little secret as a baseline. April may be shit at romance, but even she knows that much.

The realization sinks to the pit of her stomach like a stone, heavy and cold. Despite her best efforts, she’s well and truly fucked this up. April never set out to make her friends feel like they don’t matter, or like they aren’t human enough for her. If this is the result of her trying to do right, and she still failed, where do they go from here?

She doesn’t know the answer to that. All she knows is she loves them all too much to keep subjecting them to a situation that’s hurting them.

“You’re right,” she tells Donnie. “I’m sorry.” She wishes there was a more impactful way to phrase it, some other way to impart how much she means it, but that’s all she’s got.

Donnie doesn’t stop her when she turns and leaves the lair. At this point, he seems to understand that giving him a reprieve from her is the least she can do.

By the time April’s on the train going back to her apartment, all the thoughts are jostling and crowding together inside her head, pressing against the backs of her eyes in a growing migraine. April can feel herself spiralling into a mess of guilt and anxiety. Her hands are quaking so badly she drops her phone twice before she can operate it.

In all the years they’ve been friends, April’s never taken Mikey up on the ever-present offer to talk to Dr. Feelings. She doesn’t know what it says about her that she’s calling him up for it now.

Dimly, she thinks she expects him to be surprised. What she doesn’t expect is for him to go so quiet.

“Mikey? Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.” While there is no questioning the gentleness in Mikey’s voice, there’s also something unyielding behind it, just out of her comprehensive reach. “But you don’t need me to tell you anything, April. You already know what to do.”

Then he hangs up.

Chapter Text

Unlike Donnie, Wanda O’Neil wasn’t expecting to see April on the welcome mat. Thankfully, she’s also the one person in Manhattan who would still welcome a surprise visit from her daughter.

This is the same apartment April grew up in, with its scuffed baseboards and wobbly ceiling fans. The TV’s new, though, as is the round dining table with its shiny, polished veneer. It smells like old carpet and home cooking and her mother’s favorite apple-cinnamon candles, and the scent is so damn nostalgic that it has April’s throat cinching up.

She did a good job of not making a scene on the subway. The intention had been to keep collected during this impromptu visit as well, but that may end up being a losing battle. After being torn down by her friends and ousted from the only other space that’s felt like home, April’s eggshell fine at best.

She doesn’t even know why her feet carried her here. It’s not like she can tell her mom what happened, because doing that would…

It would involve everything her friends are asking for, and everything April can’t give. After all this time, the worst is coming to pass: the best people in her life are about to leave her. April’s about to end up all alone, just like she always feared.

And she’s got no one to blame but herself.

“April?” Her mother touches her wrist, features creased with concern. “Baby girl, are you okay? Did something happen?”

April swallows. “Just—just a ‘lil fight, mama. That’s all. I’ll be good in a bit.”

“A fight with who? Did you have to punch somebody?”

Her mother’s wide eyes of anticipatory dread draw a fragile giggle out of April. “Naw, wasn’t that kind of fight.”

“Well, I’m sorry this is what it took, but I’m glad you stopped by anyway. Have you had supper?”

April hasn’t, since she’d been planning on grabbing a bite with Raph and Casey after kickboxing. Her mother brings out the pork chops and swiss chard she’d packed for her work-lunch tomorrow, and when April protests she waves it off. “I wasn’t looking forward to this, anyway. Now I have an excuse to buy something!”

April doesn’t know why Mom wasn’t looking forward to the meal, because everything tastes amazing, but her mother’s scoping lunch places around her work and muttering about menu choices, so at least they’re both happy with the arrangement.

“So was it a friend-fight or a friend-fight?” her mother asks once April’s scrubbing her plate and fork at the sink. Apparently, the dishwasher’s busted and the landlord hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet, something about a part on backorder.

April rolls her eyes as she plunks her plate onto the dish drainer. “Real subtle, Mom. No, I’m still not seeing anyone.”

Of course, this mention of her non-existent love life reminds her of Donnie. What she saw in that spreadsheet hasn’t fully sunk in, she doesn’t think. The knowledge feels far away, something that’s happened to someone else. Honestly, when she thinks of Donnie right now the thing that stands out most is his ultimatum. Either you change your behavior within the next seven-to-ten business days, or this whole thing’s a write-off.

Which just has her replaying Leo’s anger, Raph’s gentle rejection, Mikey’s ‘you already know what to do.’

And round and round she goes on the world’s worst carousel. April scowls at the silverware she’s scrubbing. It’s been clean for a while; she just wants something to do with her hands.

Mom touches her shoulder, and April startles. She was so lost in her own head she didn’t even notice the approach. “Seems like it was pretty bad, whatever it was,” she remarks.

April sighs as she finally lets the fork go. “Yeah, I guess there’s no hiding that.”

“No offense, baby girl, but you haven’t looked this gutted since I picked you up after your first day of kindergarten.”

Now that she brings it up, that’s about as gutted as April feels. She hasn’t thought about that day in years—now she doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob. “That bad, huh?”

She promised herself she wouldn’t go back to being that lonely little girl. So much for that.

Mom hums, rubbing her shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

Yes. Yes, so badly. Maybe April brought this on herself, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling stomped down, isolated, unwanted. Her friends haven’t even left her yet, and she’s already mourning them. Now that she’s gone and pushed every other friendly face away, she wants nothing more than to let her mom take care of her.

Except this is rock bottom, and when you fuck up this badly even a mother’s love comes with strings attached.

“I wish I could,” she says softly, squeezing water out of the sponge. “A lot of people are mad at me right now, and honestly they’re right. I’ve been…” She swallows. “I didn’t mean to, but I’ve been really shitty to them, for a long time. And now I… I don’t know how to fix it, even though I want to.” She licks her lips, thinking of Casey’s matter of fact ‘you’re going to lose everyone.’ Her eyes burn and her next sentence squeaks out around the painful lump that’s abruptly lodged itself in her throat. Wanda must be so disappointed to see what a trainwreck her daughter’s become. “I’m not sure I can anymore.”

It's as much as she can say without getting into specifics. Not a bad summation, all told. April still may be able to get the advice and support she so badly needs without ruining everything with her mother.

“I see.” Mom’s hand still hasn’t stopped rubbing her shoulder. “This is about the Hamatos, right?”

If April had been holding anything fragile, it would’ve slipped from her fingers and shattered. She chokes—on air or her own spit, she can’t say, but it takes her a moment to stitch what’s left of her ragged composure back together. “No, why would—how did you—” April pulls away, turns to face her mother directly. Her voice quavers as she says, “I never said anything about the Hamatos, Mom.”

“No, you usually don’t anymore.” Mom grabs the hand towel that’s wedged in the door of the cabinet below the sink and mops up the excess water that’s splashed on the laminate countertop from April’s too-intense scrubbing. When she’s done, she flops the towel down next to the dish drainer and leans her hip on the counter. “But when you’re upset and being vague, that’s usually who it’s about.”

April’s mouth works soundlessly. There’s a sensation at the back of her skull that’s almost white-hot. It’s feverishly burning up every thread of cognition she’s still got left at the end of this terrible, no good, very bad day. No. No, this is too close to the truth. Way too close. Mayday—start backpedaling! Make something up!

“I-I…”

Her mother waits for her to pick her jaw up off the floor and lie, one hand braced on her hip. When April ultimately fails, she lets out a hard sigh. She looks so tired, so annoyed. So done. “April, how stupid do you think I am?”

No. No, please, not her too. Not this. Not today.

“Mama, please,” she chokes out. Her eyes have become brands within her skull. When she blinks, searing hot tears roll down her cheeks, scalding all the way.

“No, I wanna know! Who else have you known this long that you’re still friends with, except the Hamatos? Do you think I’m not paying attention?”

April shatters. There’s no other way to phrase it. Her knees give out and send her crumpling to the yellowed linoleum, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the pathetic wail that rips from her chest.

Her mother’s blurry visage is sympathetic but ultimately not persuaded. “I can’t help noticing that the crocodile tears come out whenever you don’t wanna talk about the Hamatos.” She squats down, arms propped on her thighs. “And it ain’t working on me this time.”

April tumbles back onto her rump as she scrambles away. The only thing that stops her from going further is her shoulders bumping into the door of the corner cabinet. She’s got one quaking hand over her mouth and the other held out to keep her mother from coming any closer. Her ragged sobs hang heavy in the space between them. It may only be a few feet in reality, but it feels as impassible as taking a flying leap across the Grand Canyon.

“You only show up when things have gone from bad to worse, and you never tell me what’s really going on,” she tells April, her tone harsh with warring aggravation and anguish.

This is it, the moment Wanda O’Neil throws her out. April gave up everything to please her, destroyed the best relationships in her life, tied herself into knots bending over backwards to be the daughter her mother wants and deserves, and none of it was enough.

What made April think anything she tried would be, anyway? She’s never been good enough—not at work, not at school, not with friends. Someone even managed to fall in love with her, and April’s only ever treated him like a second-class citizen. Everyone she tries to care about walks away worse off than how they started.

Case in point: she’s never seen her mom so upset.

“You tiptoe around the truth like I’m some kind of bloodthirsty monster—what did I ever do to make you so scared of being honest with me?” There’s a beat, and then she shouts, “Goddamnit April, will you answer me just once?!”

April’s still crying hard, and she sees no end on the horizon, but the raw anger in her mother’s voice sparks something in her. A rebellious flame kindles in her chest, gives her just enough strength to clap back, “No, because you’ll hate me!”

Mom flinches as if struck. For one, wretchedly long moment, she just stares as April hyperventilates and shoves herself back into the cabinet. Then she visibly sets her anger aside. “April,” she says softly, reaching out. “Baby, no. I could never hate you. Is that really what you think?”

When her hand gets too close April knocks it away, and she doesn’t try again. Instead, she folds her legs and makes herself comfortable sitting on the floor too.

April sniffs hard and wipes the excess snot draining from her nose with the cuff of her sweater as she retorts, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.”

She means to stop there, she thinks. That bitter, cryptic comment is more than enough of a comeback. Her mouth’s got other ideas, though, and it just starts running off without her. “There’s a reason nobody ever stays. I suck. I’m the biggest asshole in New York—all I do is lie and make people feel bad about themselves, I’m not a good friend, I’m an even worse daughter, I’m a phony and a loser and I hate myself, so why should you—”

“April.”

Wanda’s sudden, sharp tone stops April cold. It’s her Mom Voice, and despite not having used it in years it’s still frighteningly effective. April suddenly feels very small and young, like she’s a kid climbing too high on the monkey bars at the playground.

She stares, sucking in a shaky, sullen breath. A fresh sob rattles around in her chest, and her eyes are puffy and sore.

Mom braces her palms on the linoleum and leans in close, until there’s no choice but to look her in the eye. “I want you to listen to me, once and for all,” she says firmly. “There is nothing—and I mean nothing—that could make me hate you. Lately I’ve been frustrated, and there’s been some hurt feelings, but I have never, ever, ever stopped loving you, baby girl. Not even for a second.”

April’s curled in on herself, knees hugged tightly to her chest. An achiness radiates from her very bones and causes her breath to hitch. She wants so badly to believe what she’s hearing, but those words aren’t for her. They’re for a version of April O’Neil that doesn’t exist, the one she spent her entire life trying to convince her mother she could be.

If April were actually anything like that person, there’d be hope for her redemption. April’s not, though. She’s everything she shouldn’t be, a tragedy of Oops! All Bad Choices, and the people in her life are better off without her.

“You really wanna know the truth?” April says, and the challenge in her voice is clear despite how phlegmy the words are.

She receives only an expectant stare in response. That’s fine, the question was rhetorical anyway.

“I’m not the good, normal girl you always wanted me to be. I’m a weirdo magnet and an adrenaline junkie.” She’s talking faster now, getting louder. This is everything she’s spent her entire life avoiding, and she knows she’s actively ruining what’s left of her relationship with her mother, but there’s something rapturous and cathartic about finally, finally being honest. “I trawl around the city with stupidly overpowered mutant ninja turtles beating up bad guys with my mystically enhanced baseball bat, and I love it. I love the banter, I love the action, I love making a difference! I helped save the world twice, I know the Hidden City like the back of my hand, and I’m in love with my mutant best friend!”

It isn’t until the words have slipped out that April realizes what she’s just said. Her lips tingle, and her breath catches in her throat. Her arms turn to stone from where they’re wrapped around her legs.

The realization isn’t violent, doesn’t feel like a building’s coming down on her head. It’s not even a proper epiphany—rather, it’s finally putting a name to something that clicked into place a long time ago, so softly that April didn’t even register the shift.

Years of interactions are recontextualized in an instant. Getting him a souvenir every time she goes somewhere new. Reaching for him on her worst days, not because he’s objectively the best at providing comfort, but because he’s the person she always wants to be around. Splitting three different desserts while holding his hand. Flirting in Baxter Stockboy’s server room. The way her heart stutters every time he looks her in the eye. Dancing with him at Sunita’s wedding, relishing his closeness, pulling him in for more.

Her newfound understanding doesn’t come as a shock, and no wonder. Falling in love with Donnie is the easiest and most natural thing April’s ever done.

You’re looking for something a little closer to home.

Sunita had been right all along.

“And it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles. That’s the realization that gores her through the chest. All the fight gets pushed out of her by the pain and regret of too little too late. “Because I’ve fucked everything up so royally I’m not even sure he’ll talk to me anymore. I—” her voice cracks, and a fresh sob wracks her shoulders. “I’ve ruined everything, Mama. My friends all kicked me out, I failed at being a good daughter—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that. Look at me.” This time when her mother reaches out, April lets her. Warm hands cup her face, and soft thumbs rub the tears from her cheeks. “You have never failed me. All I ever wanted was for you to happy, baby girl. That’s it. If happiness is running with vigilante mutant turtle ninjas and saving the world, then own it—and come back home in one piece so you can tell me all about it. Deal?”

April doesn’t know what to do. It’s the moment she’s always dreaded, her greatest fear come to life, and here her mother is, still accepting her anyway. Rolling with the weirdness like it’s nothing. There’s no way she deserves this after all she’s done. There’s no way this can be all that a lifetime of anxiety and failure amount to.

She looks at her mother. Wanda’s eyes are overbright and pink around the edges as she looks into April’s broken, lonely soul and offers nothing but unconditional love in return.

If this is a bluff, it’s a damn good one, because when April collapses in her mom’s arms and bawls her heart out she’s held tight, and she isn’t let go.

Chapter Text

April bawls until she’s raw and hollow, a stained old mug someone’s finally scrubbed at with steel wool. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this. She feels pathetic, allowing herself to be sucked into the undertow of fear and self-pity and guilt—she’s hurt all these people, and she’s the one falling apart?

“I’m sorry,” she croaks. Her face had been buried in Mom’s shoulder, but she pulls away now and rubs at her face. “God, Mom, I’m so sorry. I gotta—I should go. You don’t need this. Nobody needs this.” Her knees knock together as she pushes herself to stand. They don’t give out on her, though, and that’s enough. “I’m going, I promis—”

“The only place we’re going,” Mom interrupts. “Is to your apartment to get whatever you need for the next few days, and then we’re coming back here.”

April watches her mother find her own feet, flabbergasted. “But—”

“No buts. That’s what’s happening. Come on, get your keys.”

She’s not using her Mom Voice, exactly, but it’s damn close. And April’s so unmoored that she just… does what she’s told.

It isn’t until they’re swaying together on the subway that she finds her voice again. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Mom says bluntly. She nonetheless puts her arm around April when she cringes. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or that I’m giving up on you. So we’re gonna work things out, okay?”

Just like that, there’s an extremely painful lump in April’s throat. All she can do is nod and lean in when her mother’s arm squeezes her.

They don’t talk much the rest of the trip. What little they do say is simply an exchange of logistical information about clothing and toiletries and grabbing the charger for April’s laptop so she can telework tomorrow. April doesn’t know what else to talk about. She had been so convinced she would be kicked out and abandoned that having her mother deliberately bringing her back home completely knocks her off kilter.

At least, until something weird enough shows up to summon her voice. On the walk back she spots a flyer stapled to a telephone pole in her Mom’s neighborhood. It’s advertising a potluck-slash-birthday-party happening next weekend to draw the city’s attention to an eight-inch-deep pothole the next block over. The flyer features a somewhat hazy photo of the pothole with a birthday hat photoshopped on top of it and a little speech bubble declaring “I’m two years old—and I get bigger every year!”

The photo helps, but honestly April hadn’t needed the additional context to know exactly which pothole the flyer’s referring to.

“They still haven’t fixed that?” she says in disbelief.

Wanda groans. “Of course not. Nobody’s come out to look at it, so they just think we’re exaggerating.”

“Are you going?” asks April.

“Of course I am. We’re planning on making the news, and I wanna be there!” She pauses. “And I already called dibs on the potato salad. Tom and Genie would drag me if I skipped out with potato salad on the line.”

“Yeah, they probably would.” April snorts in laughter, thinking of her mother’s closest friends. After everything that’s gone down tonight, the laugh feels rusty and ancient.

Mom nudges her with an elbow. “You should come. It’d be good for you.”

“I…” April falters. How does she describe the visceral, knee-jerk reaction that sees anything good for her and immediately slaps it away because she hasn’t earned it? “I’ll think about it.”

Thankfully, her mother seems to understand this is a compromise. She bumps their arms together. “Alright. I’ll be checking in.”

April’s childhood bedroom’s been partially converted into a craft room. There’s a sewing machine set up on April’s old desk and a standalone ironing board propped against the closet door. The closet itself now features bins of patterns for clothing and quilts and folded stacks of cutely patterned cotton fabric. Mom’s got a partially complete quilt spread out over the bed, where patchwork fabric squares are arranged in different patterns to see what will be most aesthetically pleasing. They all clash with the current bedspread because the comforter’s still the one April picked out in high school.

“How long have you been working on this?” asks April as she helps Mom shift quilting things around for her temporary stay.

“On and off for the last year or so. I just keep picking away at it—actually, this is what finally got me to understand why everyone loves podcasts now.”

April can’t help the way she smiles. Confessing to a belated understanding of trends is, quite possibly, the most mom thing her mother’s ever done. “What have you been listening to?”

If Mom thinks she’s stalling by keeping the conversation firmly directed away from herself, it doesn’t show. She readily shares her newfound interest in book and movie reviews (“So much easier than doing all that myself. I ain’t got the time or the patience!”), and how she keeps stumbling into random journalistic deep dives (“One was about the history of opioids in ancient China. I don’t even know how I found it, but it was so interesting I listened to the whole thing.”) She’s a regular listener to a podcast run by a mother and daughter duo that she thinks April would like because they have nuanced conversations about current events, and also have silly segments where they play games and give intentionally bad advice.

“I didn’t realize any of this was going on with you. That you were trying all these new things,” April admits after a while. She’s heard the adage about parents becoming people as you get older, but this feels different.

“How could you?” says Wanda, not unkindly. “You’ve been cutting me out of your life for years, baby girl.”

And that—yeah, that hurts to hear. Is there a single person in April’s life who doesn’t feel like she’s been keeping them at arms’ length?

She has a sinking feeling she knows the answer. It casts everything she’s been trying to do in a deeply unflattering light: if she’s been keeping her friends out to maintain peace with her mother, and her mother’s telling her she’s upset and feels left out, then what’s the point of any of it? Who is April benefiting, really?

No one. Not even herself, because living like this has caused her pain and discomfort from day one.

“I’m sorry for that, Mom.” April swallows down the glass shards that have suddenly appeared in her throat. “I was trying to—” she stops. Sighs. “No, that’s making excuses. I fucked up and I have to own it.”

“You do, yeah,” she agrees. Then she nudges April with her knee. They’re on the couch in the living room, legs sprawls over one another, the TV dark and silent before them as they talk. “I’d still like to know what you were trying to do all this time.”

“Protecting you,” April mumbles. She’s cringing, shrinking into herself. It sounds so stupid when she says it aloud. “I didn’t want you to—I mean, I just thought you wanted…” Her wrist flicks in a helpless gesture. “Someone normal. I’m all you have, and you deserve a kid that makes you proud. But I’ve always been this weird girl with no friends, and I never got good grades in school, and adding all the mutant ninja stuff on top of it just felt like—like the exact opposite. And it’s like the more I tried to shape up, the weirder everything got.”

Mom’s quiet for a while, her cheek propped up on her knuckles. “I wish I knew,” she says carefully. “Where you got it in your head that you had to be ‘normal’. Some wires got crossed, and I don’t know when or where it happened—‘cause I ain’t normal either, you know.”

April makes a face. “Uh, is there somethin’ I’m missing? No offense, Mom, but you’re like the definition of a stable, well-adjusted adult.”

“Yeah, someone who got pregnant with a friend because I wanted to be a mom but didn’t care about all the relationship stuff,” she says bluntly. With her free hand she gestures around the apartment. “This is my space, and I like it that way. I love my friends, and my community, and I don’t need anything else. You try explainin’ that to folks in the 00’s when everyone’s going ‘oh no, single mother, can’t believe the dad ran out on you, don’t worry honey, you could get a new man if you just tried’.” Wanda rolls her eyes with the kind of tired exasperation that can only come from hearing the same stupid shit for decades.

Okay, listen, April’s all for her mother apparently being an ace-aro icon, but she’s floored that she didn’t know. “I never knew that,” she says numbly.

“You never needed to.” Mom shrugs one shoulder and bumps her knee into April’s leg again. “The only reason I’m bringing it up now is because you’ve gotten it in your head that you need to be like everyone else to make me proud. It ain’t true, baby girl. The moments I’ve been proudest of you are when you chose something for yourself and saw it through to the end, like college, or when you introduced me to Sunita back when you were a thing.”

“Yeah, about that.” April takes a breath, then comes out with it. “Sunita’s a yokai.”

Her mother blinks. “Did that change? She looked human when I met her.”

“She wears a cloaking broach when she’s up here. She, uh—so, you know how she just got married and I said I didn’t have any pictures?”

It doesn’t take any more prompting for Mom to catch on. “You didn’t want to let on that she was yokai,” she says.

April nods and fumbles with her phone. Her hands are shaking, and there’s a voice in the back of her head wailing that she’s making the biggest possible mistake—but if her mother’s taken this much without tossing her out, then maybe this won’t make a difference.

Wanda leans over when April shows her one of the photos from the wedding, pulling on her reading glasses to see better. “And Sunita’s the…?”

“The green one.”

Mom’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah, I can see how a cloaking broach might be easier in some situations. Beautiful dress, though—so wait,” she realizes. “All those people you were seeing that you never introduced to me, were they all yokai?”

“Not all of them. Mostly I just suck at relationships. People don’t…” April shifts uncomfortably. “Tend to stick around.”

There’s a pause as her mother’s gaze softens. She reaches over and rubs April’s leg. “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve got a lot of love to give.”

It sounds like she means it, and that’s just has April choking up all over again. She makes a small sound as she holds back the sudden sob rising in her chest, eyes stinging.

Maybe it’s true that she has love to give, but at this point she can’t imagine anyone accepting it.

“Oh, come here, baby girl.” Mom doesn’t wait for April to decide whether she deserves the affection before she’s pulling her in, and once she’s in the circle of her mother’s arms April can’t help the way she clings, shoulders trembling. Her mother murmurs to her and rubs her back, and she doesn’t let go until April’s calm.

It’s the beginning of a pattern that plays out over the next couple of days. In fits and starts, they talk—really talk—for the first time in… ever, maybe? The honesty is terrifying, at first, but the more they work at it the easier things become.

And every time April says something she’s certain will drive her mother away, it never does. Every time she thinks Wanda’s going to let go, her mother holds fast. Mom’s surprised, sometimes—or belatedly worried, as she got when she heard how involved April was in the Krang attack on the city—but never repulsed or angry. Not even when April shares photos.

“I knew you were up to something,” she says when April asks. “I just didn’t know what, and I was going crazy trying to figure it out. I think the closest I got was that you’d gotten sucked into a gang or the mob, maybe that you’d met some famous people and they were forcing you to keep it on the down-low?” She flicks her hands out to dismiss all those theories, her gaze traveling back to the group selfie April just showed her. “Somehow, superpowered ninja vigilantes wasn’t on my bingo card.”

That’s when she looks right at April, and April’s heart stops because she knows exactly what her mother’s about to say. “So, now that I know the big secret, are you ever gonna introduce me to the Hamatos?”

It is at once better and worse than April imagined. Mom knowing the truth and still asking to meet her friends anyway is immensely heartening, but if the guys are washing their hands of this friendship, then April doesn’t want to subject them to her presence. “I… I don’t know, Mama,” she says finally. “What went down the other day was really, really bad, and I don’t… they may not want anything to do with me anymore.”

At first Wanda’s exasperated and hurt, but her expression clears as April explains. “What was the fight about, anyway?” she asks. “You never said.”

April can’t meet her eyes as she mumbles, “Pretty much the same thing you were mad about.”

It takes a moment for that sentiment to hit home, and then Mom’s nodding. “Ah, I see. Have you tried talking to them?”

“Not since the fight, no,” says April with a cringe. “I’ve been trying to stay out of the way, mostly. Give everyone space.”

“And how long were you planning on giving all that space?” It’s not really a question. Wanda knows her too well not to see that April’s plan had tentatively been to keep this up until someone else cracked. She wilts under her mother’s flat stare. “April, I realize you have no power over whether or not your friends will forgive you, but you do have the power to apologize. Keeping silent too much longer is gonna stop feeling like respectfully keeping your distance and more like neglect. Is that what you want?”

Of course it isn’t, and of course Mom’s right. It’s just intimidating. Terrifying, really. If they’re not talking, it’s easy to pretend as though they might start up again. Calling and confirming her friends don’t want her anymore dashes all hopes for redemption, even if the results are functionally the same.

It takes another day for April to work up the courage. Then, while her mom’s out and she’s alone teleworking, she mutters, “April O’Neil is not afraid of a phone call,” and forces herself to dial Leo before she loses her nerve.

The phone rings twice before he sends her to voicemail. Honestly, she should have expected that.

“Um. Hey. So, my mom knows pretty much everything now. You’ll be happy to know she’s doing a great job of making me feel like an idiot for letting things get this bad. Turns out she’s ace-aro! Wait, that means nothing out of context. She—um. You know what, that doesn’t matter right now. You were right to get so mad at me, I’m the asshole here. I—” She’s cut off as the voicemail times out. Her phone screen goes dark as she stares at it, debating how bad it’ll look if she calls again for Voicemail Two: Electric Boogaloo.

If this is the last Leo ever hears from her, she wants him to know everything.

April hisses out an embarrassed curse as she sends the call through again. This time Leo doesn’t even wait for the first ring before ignoring the call, but that’s fine. It’s actually easier to talk to herself in the empty apartment than having to have a conversation. “Right. Me again. I’m sorry, Leo. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about how you wanted to be more integrated in everything topside, and you’re right. I knew how much you wanted it, I think, but I didn’t do anything about it. That wasn’t—”

She’s cut off again. “Son of a bitch—how small are these recording slots?”

Okay, last one. Maybe. “As I was saying,” she continues, even though her momentum is well and truly shot and she keeps fumbling. “I wasn’t being fair to you. I should have done more to show you how much you matter to me. Regardless of whether it would have backfired or not, I should have tried, because having you in my life is important. I should have realized that sooner. So, you don’t have to call back. I just… wanted to let you know I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and realizing, and I wanted you to know how sorry I am for sucking so much. Okay, bye—”

Aaand she’s cut off a third time. April scowls at her phone, though ultimately decides a fourth call isn’t necessary. Close enough.

Aside from some lingering embarrassment over needing so many voicemails to get her point across—and maybe some regret over not having written things out first, to sound less like an idiot?—April’s palms are tremulous and clammy, and her heart’s beating a hundred miles an hour. She’s vaguely lightheaded from the stress and anxiety.

There’s a weight off her shoulders, though. At least she was honest. For everything else she’s feeling, and regardless of what Leo chooses to do, she’s glad that she did the right thing.

At least until she remembers that she needs to do this three more times, and the anxiety starts jittering in her limbs again.

“Just rip the band-aid off,” April tells herself. “They’re gonna start talking to each other about this. Might as well get ahead of it.”

It still takes several hours of obsessively checking for a response from Leo that never materializes before she ramps herself up enough to call Raph.

“April?”

The moment April hears his voice her nerves get the better of her, and she screeches, “HANG UP, HANG UP RIGHT NOW.”

Of course, her panic immediately sends Raph into a panic. He screeches back in kind, “Why did you call if you didn’t want me to pick up?!”

“Hang up, you weren’t supposed to answer! Send me to voicemail!”

Raph yelps, and April does not hear a dial tone right away. Rather, there’s an unceremonious clatter. “Did you just throw me?” she squawks.

That’s when she hears Casey’s snickering coming closer. “Good luck, O’Neil.”

The line finally goes dead. April spends the next several minutes catching her breath and trying to soothe her frayed nerves. Maybe she’s annoyed at the teeny tiny voicemail box size, but she’s absolutely not prepared to actually talk with anyone just yet.

“Okay, so Raph knows what’s coming, probably. No big deal,” she tells herself. Somehow, it’s still worse that he knows she’s trying to reach out.

Too late, though. He already knows, it would look worse if she didn’t follow through.

This time Raph ignores the call right away, as he’s supposed to. “Okay so these have the smallest recording slots in the world, so it’s probably gonna take me a couple of tries to say everything,” April says as a preface. She then reiterates the basics about Wanda having the gist of things and how she’s been helping April realize the extremeness of her behavior.

This time she’s not surprised to be cut off. On the next round she says, “None of this is to say you should want to talk to me. I completely understand and respect if you still need space, or if you’re done. I just wanted to say you’re right, I shouldn’t be treating you like a second-class citizen. You’re worth so much more than that, and if I want to call myself your friend, I should be putting my money where my mouth is. I haven’t been, and I’m really, really sorry. Thank you for listening.”

For all that Raph probably had a good idea what she was doing, he too neglects to respond. April tells herself that’s okay. He has every right not to accept what she’s offered, and he’s got every right to leave her hanging.

(Not being acknowledged still kinda hurts—but then, isn’t that what she did to him for years? Karma’s rough like that.)

Despite being two apologies down, it’s still no easier to muster the gumption to call Mikey. She manages it after a few more hours of angsting and trying to rehearse a few lines. (And doing her actual job, of course. Maybe she’s got time for a few phone calls here and there, but she’s still technically on the clock.)

She can probably get her apology to Mikey out in two voicemails, if she doesn’t fumble her words. Her mom should be home any time now. That’s good, April could use the comfort of her presence.

Of course, the little stinker answers his phone too. “I’m glad you called, April.”

April tumbles ass over teakettle back into a flustered mess once more. “No, no you’re not—hang up, Mikey! Send me to voicemail!”

“Nuh-uh,” he says. He doesn’t sound upset, or angry, or anything like that. In fact, he almost sounds pleasant.

“Hang up!”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “I don’t think I will. It’s nice hearing from you.”

“That’s not—there’s no way that’s true.” April’s free hand is fluttering about, and she can’t stop pacing. Having him insist on keeping the call live makes her jittery and self-conscious. She feels like a loser and an inconvenience, something he’s suffering through because he’s too sweet of a person not to. “I’m gonna hang up.”

“If you hang up, I’m just gonna call you right back and tie up your line.” She can almost hear the impish grin in his tone. “Might as well talk to me.”

“Mikey, I’m trying to say something important. I want it to come out right, and I don’t know if I can say it to your face properly.”

“Sure you can. I believe in you!”

April’s torn between curling up into a ball from the sheer torture of having a live audience and slumping on the couch with relief, because even if Mikey’s being a stubborn shit about it, at least he’s talking to her. Isn’t that what she’s been craving all damn day?

She settles for dropping on the floor next to the couch and drawing her knees up to her chest. “Are you sure? Last chance, pal.”

“I’m sure,” Mikey says, his tone unexpectedly and irrationally warm. “It really is nice hearing from you.”

April groans and presses her forehead into her kneecaps. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice, I know I’ve been a giant asshole to everyone for years.”

“You sure have,” Mikey hums genially. “And?”

It’s not that April hasn’t clocked the way he’s chastising her even as he prods for her to keep going. She realizes what’s happening. It just feels like he’s earned this level of cattiness, especially if he’s taking the time to listen to an apology in real time.

“And I realize how badly I’ve messed everything up.” She fills him in on the things that have changed and how her mom’s been involved. “I just—I’m sorry. I wish there was a better way to say it. I’m so sorry for being such a shitty friend.”

There’s a pause on Mikey’s end that goes on so long April has to check he hasn’t disconnected. “Thank you for apologizing,” he says finally, words carefully metered. “I’m glad to hear you owning up to your actions and changing things for the better.”

That’s when April hears Mom’s key in the lock, and something about no longer having to be in the apartment alone has her on the verge of tears once more. She can’t hide how thick her voice is as she says, “Okay. Thanks for listening, I’m gonna go have a nice cry now, so I guess I’ll talk to you later? Or never. Your choice.”

“We’ll talk later,” Mikey promises. Then he’s gone and her mom’s coming through the door.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks as she takes in April’s waterlogged fetal position on the floor. “Did something else happen?”

“Just doing some apologies,” April sniffles, setting her phone aside and brushing tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Oh.” For being the lady who got her started on the apology train to begin with, Mom sure looks surprised to find out she’s still on it. April can’t decide whether she should be offended by this reaction. There’s a jingle as Mom drops her keys into the bowl by the door, and then she’s crouching in front of April and petting her cheeks with both hands. “I’m proud of you for taking responsibility, April. I know it’s scary, but you’re doing the right thing.”

It doesn’t feel like something worth being proud of—it feels like damage control, at best—but April supposes she can’t do much better, short of finding a time machine. It’s not like she can use Casey’s method of going back in time, even if Mikey consented to the risks of opening a time portal.

She leans into her mother’s palms with a little hiccupping sound. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are, baby girl. I can see it.” Wanda brushes a curl off her forehead. “Did you talk to everybody?”

April shakes her head and has to wait for a moment as the air in her lungs seizes. “Still one left. The hardest one.”

“I see,” she says. Her thumbs rove over April’s cheekbones. “Well, I was gonna hop in a shower and then get dinner started, but that can wait if you want moral support.”

The warmth that cascades through April is effusive and undeserved. Things between her and Mom still aren’t fully mended, yet here Wanda is, offering to support her. April has never appreciated her so much. “Nah, that’s okay. You go take your shower.”

“Okay.” Her mother’s knees creak as she stands, and she flashes April a teasing grin. “You don’t need me to take an extra long shower, right?”

April’s not easily embarrassed, but the implications of that have her burying her face in her hands. “No, Mom, you don’t! All I’m gonna do is leave a groveling voicemail.” Honestly, knowing how completely Donnie can shut people out, April’s pretty sure she’ll be lucky to even get that far.

Wanda chuckles to herself as she heads down the hall. “You know where I am if you need me!”

“You’re not funny!”

This just earns some more self-satisfied tittering. Clearly, Wanda very much believes she’s funny.

April’s not crying anymore, though. Had that been the plan? It is genuinely so hard to tell.

She waits until she hears the shower running to pick up her phone again. No messages, of course. What was she expecting?

Her heart’s in her throat and also simultaneously thudding hard enough for her to understand how hummingbirds feel. Her stomach’s in knots. April hasn’t given much thought to this being her first conversation with Donnie since the spreadsheet and her own realization, but Mom’s well and truly hauled the idea to the forefront of her mind. Has she ever felt this nervous and faint?

April shakes off the tendril of hope that curls around her windpipe. Not the time, not the place. It may never be. She’s apologizing for being a shit friend. If the spreadsheet comes up, she’ll deal with it, but that’s not the point of this conversation.

She’s rapidly losing her resolve, so she forces herself to hit the call icon before she can talk herself out of it. It takes three rings before she hears the usual, “You’re conversing with Donatello,” and at that point she’s about ready to throw up. Just hearing his voice has her breaking out in a sweat.

“H-hey, Donnie,” she says, voice fainter than she intends. “I don’t suppose you’d consider sending me to voicemail.”

He snorts, but the sound is too ambiguous for her to tell if it’s out of derision or amusement. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I didn’t think so.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing. I’m calling because I wanted to apologize for—”

“Actually, before you do that,” he interrupts. “Look out the window.”

April does, confused. Then she just about has a heart attack, because if it isn’t Donatello himself crouching on the fire escape.

Chapter Text

April chokes on her own air as she tosses her phone aside and scrambles over to the window. She’s scarcely heaved it open before she’s spluttering, “Why did you—I thought—Donnie, how long have you been here?”

“Not important,” he says with a flick of his fingers. Then he puts his phone away and looks between her and window meaningfully. “Are you gonna let me in?”

April falters. “I—yeah, I guess, if you want to?” she says, baffled. “I didn’t think you… actually, Donnie, are you sure you can fit? The last time you climbed through the window we were teenagers and, uh, you’ve gotten a bit taller since then.” More like an order of magnitude larger, actually. #JustTurtleThings, April supposes.

This question gives Donnie pause, which makes April think either he wasn’t expecting to be invited in, or this appearance was spur of the moment. Considering the state of things right now, both feel equally likely.

“Yeah, it should work,” he decides at length. “Just be a little tight.”

“You could circle around and use the door, too.” Far be it for April to suggest the obvious but, you know. Doors are a thing.

“I’m already right here, though.” He sticks one hand through the open window and pushes his bō at her. “Hold that for me?”

‘Just a little tight’ April’s ass; he gets stuck in the window and needs her to yank him in the rest of the way. As soon as his shoulders are through all the force April put into tugging him through the window frame becomes too much. Donnie tumbles face-first onto the carpet in a mess of long limbs.

“Note to self: no battle shell next time,” he mutters, spitting out carpet fibers.

“Or just use a door.” April tries to keep a straight face, she really does, but the drama and mystery of his sudden appearance being so completely broken by a faceplant through the window is quite possibly one of the funniest things she’s ever seen. Her shoulders quake as she covers her mouth, trying to suppress her mirth. This is the advent of a serious moment! They’re about to have a high stakes conversation!

Nah, the first giggle’s already escaped. April’s doomed to double over wheezing with hilarity, hands on her knees.

Except she’s forgotten that she’s still holding onto Donnie’s bō, and she’s gripping it in such a way that when she doubles over she clonks herself on the head with it. The weapon tumbles to the floor as April jerks back, disoriented, and then nearly knocks the floor lamp over and has to catch it at the last second. That gets Donnie laughing, and then it’s all over for the both of them. The humor of physical comedy is quickly eclipsed by the kind of soul-rattling laughter that’s only possible when things are at their worst. It doesn’t exist in lieu of crying, but rather as its own form of catharsis. April laughs until a painful stitch forms in her side and she’s gasping messily for air, until she has to cross her legs to keep from peeing herself. The tears that flow down her cheeks are incidental. Any glance in Donnie’s direction shows he’s in similar straits, and for a while that’s all it takes to start the cycle over again.

When they’ve finally managed to pull themselves together, they’re both gasping and leaning on one another. A soft breeze sneaks in through the window and ruffles April’s curls, and in the distance a car alarm blares on. Within the apartment, the shower’s stopped running, and the refrigerator rumbles as it begins a fresh cooling cycle.

It’s almost too easy to pretend that nothing’s wrong, and that’s the problem. April’s missed him, and she wants things between them to be okay, but that’s not for her to decide.

Coming to terms with the idea that some things are just too broken to be repaired, and that April can’t be the person to make that call, has an immediate sobering effect. Right. This isn’t just a casual visit from one of her best friends. She’s not even sure she can call Donnie that anymore.

It hurts.

April scrubs at her face, digging her fingers into her aching eyes and smearing around the last of her mirthful tears. “I really, really fucked up.”

“Accurate,” says Donnie. He shifts until they’re facing one another, his kneepads pushing against her legs, and he waits expectantly for her to say the rest.

And it sucks. It sucks so much to look directly at him and own up to everything. April suspects that’s exactly why he’s making her do things this way. She wants to do better, though—she wants to be better, and she wants even the smallest chance of keeping her friends in her life. If this is how Donnie wants her to apologize, she can hardly deny him.

“I’m so sorry, Donnie. For everything.” April’s hands drop to her lap where she clasps them together and rubs at the back of her own thumb for comfort. She relays what she’s worked through with her mom, how her mom’s been pushing her. She tells him about the other apologies, too, just in case that’s something he’s interested in knowing. Then it devolves into babbling because she’s lost the ability to shut up. “I want to find a way to make it up to you—to everyone, but obviously it’s up to you whether that’s something you even want at this point, and I understand if you don’t. Honestly, why would you? And obviously what I say or what I want doesn’t matter, but if there’s even a chance—”

April stops cold when Donnie reaches over and brushes aside an errant curl that’s apparently been stuck in the dried tears on her cheek this whole time. Her entire body goes rigid as she gapes, breath catching in her throat. Her heartrate doubles.

“It’s been bugging me,” Donnie says by way of explanation. Yet instead of pulling away once the distraction’s been dealt with, he stays, fingers lightly tracing along her hairline. He cups her cheek and April’s brain stalls out. Her lungs burn from lack of oxygen. She forces herself to start breathing again with an undignified squeak. A part of her wants to lean into the touch, but what if that’s not okay?

How is this level of tenderness even something he still wants?

“Um. S-so should I keep going, or…?”

“You never answered,” says Donnie. Then, when April remains wide-eyed and nonplussed, he clarifies, “About the spreadsheet. I’ve been trying to figure out what you thought, but you gave me nothing to go off of. I’m going crazy over here—so you can start making things up to me with that.”

The fact this is something he cares enough to ask after is boggling. April genuinely hadn’t thought this was a topic they’d broach. At least, not any time soon. Determining whether they could still be friends had been more important.

“Oh. I didn’t realize that was still…” She trails off in the face of Donnie’s intense, probing look, heat in her cheeks. Her shoulders are getting stiff from how tightly she’s holding herself. April clears her throat, feeling abruptly laid bare. “Um. I have been thinking about it. Positively, I mean. But ball’s in your court, Dee. This isn’t—well. You’re not the guy who screwed up, so.”

Donnie’s thumb roves over her cheek, though he doesn’t seem consciously aware of it until April’s breath hitches. Expression inscrutable, his gaze flicks to his hand, and then back to her face. He’s heedless of the nervy squirming happening within her as he withdraws, nodding once as though in conclusion. “That’s true, I’m not. And you’re nowhere near done apologizing.”

April waits. Donnie does not elaborate. “You want me to keep talking?” she says uncertainly.

“No, I mean actually apologizing.” Donnie gestures to her. “This is the bare minimum. I appreciate knowing where you’re coming from, but you have to follow up with tangible actions to prove you mean it. I’m not looking for lip service, I’m looking for consistent and sustained acts of service.”

On one hand, what Donnie’s saying makes a lot of sense. He should expect April to put her money where her mouth is. He shows he cares by doing things for others, so it stands to reason that he would want someone to demonstrate they care in a similar fashion.

On the other hand, he just brought up the damn spreadsheet, and having these two subjects back-to-back is scrambling the wiring in April’s head. “Alright, you’re gonna have to define ‘acts of service’ so I know you don’t mean what it sounds like you just said.”

Donnie’s eyebrows come together as he frowns. “What are you talking about? I was being perfectly clear.”

She can’t look him in the eye. Not when she’s apparently the only one with her mind in the gutter during a moment of earnestness and culpability. Heat scorches April’s cheeks as she grips her ankles and forces herself to explain. “We were just talking about the spreadsheet, and now you’re talking about acts of service…”

“Yeah, I know. I was also there. What are—” Donnie stops as the insinuation finally clicks. There’s a moment where he just sits there, wide-eyed and blinking rapidly. “So you thought I was—yeah,” he realizes, bringing his fist up to his mouth. “Yeah, I can see where that would be…” He looks to her, conflicted. “I wouldn’t say it’s off the—no. No, that’s not right. What I should be saying is no, that is not what I meant.” His head ticks to the side as he visibly debates with himself over that answer. Ultimately, he decides, “And I am being sincere.”

April doesn’t know whether to laugh or crawl under the couch cushions and die. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “That was so inappropriate, I didn’t mean to—”

“Now I know y’all are both smart enough not to be doing inappropriate things in my living room,” says Mom.

April and Donnie’s heads both snap up to see Wanda O’Neil leaning on the wall with her arms looped together, looking very proud of herself for that joke. She only becomes more amused when they both start stammering and scrambling to their feet.

“No, Mama, that’s not what was happening—”

“Ms. O’Neil! This isn’t what it looks like. Not that I think this looks inappropriate! We were just—that is, April was—um.” At this point Donnie marches right up to April’s mother and thrusts his hand out. “Hello. I’m Donatello Hamato. Donnie. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Mom’s grinning as she shakes his hand, and she holds onto it so he can’t escape as she says pleasantly, “You’re much taller than I expected—how did you fit through my window?”

April groans and rubs at her face. Of course her mother clocked the window-entrance, it’s not like having to bodily drag him in had been subtle.

Donnie, realizing he’s well and truly caught, admits, “Poorly.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Just use the door next time, okay? There’s no need to sneak around.” Wanda releases his hand and pats his elbow with a warm, though still vaguely teasing, smile. If she thinks this introduction is a total trainwreck—which it unequivocally is—then it’s not showing.

“Right. Thank you.”

“Will you be sticking around for a while, Donnie? I was just about to make dinner, and you’re welcome to join us.”

Something about this inquiry immediately sets Donnie at ease, though April can’t fathom why. He checks his ever-present bracer, the screen briefly glowing to life. “Actually, my brothers are about five minutes out with pizza.” That’s when April understands—Donnie’s always more comfortable when things are going according to plan.

Wanda’s a little taken aback, initially, but she quickly recovers and flops comfortably onto the couch. “Less work for me, I like it.”

“When did you send them out for pizza?” April asks Donnie incredulously. “I was right here the whole time, and I didn’t see you send a single text!”

“That’s because I’m a ninja and I did it while you weren’t paying attention.” Translation: probably before he even got here, or at the very least before she called him.

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about the ninja thing,” says Mom, propping her chin on her knuckles. “So that’s legit?”

“Completely. Our father’s Lou Jitsu,” says Donnie proudly.

“Oh, that name’s familiar! Where have I heard—” Wanda snaps her fingers and gestures to the cabinet under the TV, where several DVDs and VHS tapes are. “That’s right, the 80’s action star you love so much, right, April?”

April nods. Now that Donnie’s out and said it, there’s no point in lying. “He looks a bit different these days, but yeah. That’s Splinter.”

“No kidding.” Mom takes a moment to digest this information, gazing between them as though impressed. “I can’t believe you were able to hide actually knowing him for this long. You see, Donnie, when April was little, what she’d do every time I put one of them movies on was—”

“Mom, I really don’t think he needs to know.”

“I firmly disagree.” And doesn’t Donnie just plop himself down onto the couch next to Wanda. He twists so that his leg is folded between them and leans in with an obnoxious level of interest. “Please, Ms. O, spare no details.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” says April.

“Sorry April, can’t hear, too busy getting your mom to tell me all your most embarrassing childhood stories.”

Fortunately, the rest of the guys choose this moment to show up.

Unfortunately, instead of knocking on the door like normal people, they choose to portal into the middle of the living room.

Of course Wanda yelps and leaps fully onto the couch like she’s just seen a mouse. She’s never had anyone portal into her home before (that she knows of). If you’re not used to them, portals can be terrifying.

“Hello O’Neil family, we come bearing pizza!” announces Mikey, brandishing the stack of ten large pies that he’s carrying with ease. He immediately makes himself at home setting them on the dining table.

Raph’s so tall that he has to crouch to keep his head from smacking the ceiling. He quickly finds a spot on the floor and plops his raptor butt down, which puts him more at Mikey’s eye-level, so a little over six feet. The apartment’s not that big, which means he’s still able to reach over to Wanda and offer a massive claw in greeting. “Hey, Ms. O! Raph here. Hopefully you recognize my voice from all the calls we used to do with April back when we were kids?”

Mom’s still shaken by the method of their appearance, but she clearly recognizes Raph’s distinctive accent, if not how deep it is these days. It brings a smile to her face as she puts her comparatively teeny hand in his and gives it a shake.

Then she’s swept up in an enthusiastic hug from Mikey that lifts her clear off the couch. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Wanda! It’s been too long! Oh, I’m Mikey, by the way.”

Wanda shrieks as she’s held aloft, which immediately prompts Mikey to set her back down. She bursts out laughing. “I haven’t had anyone pick me up and swing me around like that since I was a little girl!”

“Okay, full disclosure, we have no idea what kind of pizza you like, so we just ordered one of everything,” says Leo. He’s so nervous that he’s talking a mile a minute, and he’s doing everything he can to avoid looking at April’s mother directly. “I really hope you aren’t gonna tell me you’re gluten free or something, because that’s the one thing we didn’t account for.”

As soon as she hears Leo’s voice Mom’s eyes get big and her jaw drops. “I knew I recognized you!” she exclaims. “You know that young man whose family owns the florist shop and the pharmacy—Castillo-Olivares, right?”

At first Leo looks cagey, then sheepish, and finally he smiles and offers a shy wave. “Yeah, Juan Castillo-Olivares Pérez del Corral is my partner. Um. Sorry I never introduced myself properly before. I wanted to, but…” His gaze flicks meaningfully to April, and April feels like even more of an asshole. “Anyway. I’m Leo. Surprise?”

“Wait, Juan’s family lives around here?” says Raph with disbelief.

“That’s news to me, too,” says Mikey. “Small world, huh?”

“I knew,” Donnie boasts, sprawling his arm over the backrest of the couch and leaning back.

“Of course you did.”

“Yeah, Raph’s not surprised to hear that at all.”

“You know, I thought your voice sounded familiar,” Wanda tells Leo. “But I didn’t want to assume anything. Now I wish I’d asked earlier.”

Leo lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, it might’ve helped. I could’ve done more, too, though.”

“Well, I’m really glad to finally learn your name,” Mom says with a smile. Then she looks around at all three new arrivals. “And I’m gonna tell you all the exact thing I told Donnie: use the door next time. No more funny business with these entrances, got it?”

There’s a sheepish chorus of, “Yes ma’am.”

Raph raises a tentative hand. “Can Raph portal in? I don’t think I’ll fit in your door.”

Wanda reaches out to grip his finger and give it a playful little shake. “I’ll make an exception, but only because you’re very polite.”

At this point April doesn’t know whether she feels more self-conscious or superfluous. Despite her friends being a lot, her mother’s doing remarkably well taking their chaos and enthusiasm in stride. The fact they collectively don’t possess enough brain cells to use a proper entrance is a bigger point of contention than the fact they’re mutants. It’s almost as if…

Almost as if everyone moved on from mutants being a big deal years ago, and in her bullheadedness April completely and utterly blew everything out of proportion because she was the only one who refused to see the truth of the situation.

She doesn’t mean to call attention to herself as she groans in mortification and lets her face fall into her hands. The flurry of conversation pauses when she does all the same.

Mikey takes that as his cue to sidle up and tug her into a gentle hug. He doesn’t seem to mind that April’s curled in on herself and leaning into his painted plastron instead of hugging back. “There we go. Finally joining us in this decade, April?” he asks, and while there is a certain level of teasing to his voice there’s affection, too.

“I fucked up so bad,” she says hoarsely.

“Yes, you did.” He rubs her back and leans down to rest. “You finally got there, though, and I know I prefer this result over kicking you to the curb—no, stay here,” he says when April flinches and tries to pull away. The arms around her tighten and his chin rests on the top of her head as he doubles down. “I’m not done hugging you yet, because I’m glad we get to keep you.”

You’d think April would be done with crying at this point. You’d be wrong. The water works start up all over again as she sniffles and throws her arms around Mikey. Over the years he’s gotten stockier instead of taller, so her arms can’t make it all the way around him as they used to. She squeezes hard anyway, even if she doesn’t have the proper leverage. He smells like herbs and olive oil—or maybe that’s just the smell of pizza permeating the room from the stack on the dining table? Come to think of it, it’s probably that.

Considering how cuddly most of the people in this room are, it’s hardly a surprise this single embrace turns into a group hug that lasts so long April starts sweating from the combined body heat, which is impressive given that a solid two thirds of the group are cold-blooded.

Sweat notwithstanding, this was something April badly needed. It doesn’t indicate forgiveness, exactly, but rather the willingness to give her the chance to heal the hurt she’s caused. April plans not to squander that.

It’s only when the group hug finally breaks apart that she and Leo finally make eye contact. If he’d been avoiding looking at Wanda, April might as well have been in quarantine, because he hasn’t so much as acknowledged her existence up until now. April doesn’t blame him. The last time they were in the same room resulted in the worst fight they’d ever had. It’s hard to bounce back from that, and she doesn’t blame him if he still needs time.

They’re too similar, is the problem. When their pride is on the line, one is just as likely to stonewall for the sake of proving a point as the other.

Fortunately, April doesn’t have much pride left at this point, so she just jumps right in with, “I’m so sorry. You had every right to be mad at me. Still do.”

To her surprise, Leo says at the same time, “I’m not sorry for calling you out, but I am sorry for coming in guns blazing. I know better than to confront someone like that.”

For a few heavy seconds they just stare at one other, stunned. Then Leo lets out a small huff of laughter and opens his arms. “Alright, so we’re both stupidly hot headed. Wanna hug it out?”

April would like nothing better. Launching herself into Leo’s plastron sparks Group Hug 2.0, but she’s not complaining.

Next is Raph. April’s hardly opened her mouth before he’s yanking her into a hug. “I listened to your voicemails. A couple times, actually,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re finally doin’ the right things, April. Raph hated bein’ mad at you.”

April lets out a little moan as she tumbles into the somewhat spiky embrace, because she hated having Raph mad at her, too. This time she’s fully expecting Group Hug 3.0, though it’s cut short by Donnie declaring loudly, “I’m officially hugged out.”

This inspires a round of chuckles. It’s just as well, anyway—the smell of the pizza has fully permeated the apartment and April can see it affecting everyone.

“So what’s the plan, boys?” asks Wanda as they sprawl out around the room with their plates of food. She’s sitting at the dining table with Donnie while April, Mikey, and Leo take over the couch. Raph insists he’s fine as-is on the floor, but Leo still makes a quick portal to the lair to drag in a bean bag chair for him, and he looks much happier with it.

“Oh, we’re not big ‘plan’ people, Ms. O,” says Leo, hooking his elbow over the back of the couch so she can hear him better.

“Disappointed sigh. Unfortunately, it’s true,” Donnie mutters.

“We be we, baby!” says Mikey, cheerful and unabashed.

“At this point tryin’ to plan stuff just gums things up,” Raph concurs.

“Right,” says Mom slowly. At least she seems amused. “Let me rephrase: is this gonna shape up to be the pizza slumber party y’all never had as kids or what?”

The collective gasp that circles around the room is clear evidence that nobody had considered the potential for this. “Ohmigosh, we have to! As a kid that’s all I ever wanted!” cries Mikey. He hops nimbly to his feet, plate in one hand and phone in the other. “I gotta cancel some stuff real quick!”

Without waiting for confirmation from anyone else, he takes himself as far as the kitchen before he deems that private enough to ring up whoever he’s gotta.

Leo waits until Mikey’s on the phone to say amiably, “I guess we’re doing this. I’ll do a run to the lair for pj’s and such in a bit, so everyone just text me what you want me to grab.”

“Ohh, yeah, lemme do that before I forget.” Raph balances his plate on his thigh as he pulls out his phone. “Should also probably let Casey and Casey know nobody’s killin’ each other, either. I can do that, too.”

“I’ll let Papa know so he doesn’t stay up all night waiting for us. Again,” says Donnie.

“Sorry, I know it’s last minute,” Mikey’s saying in the kitchen. “But my sister needs me. Family comes first, you know?”

This doesn’t feel like something Mikey’s doing deliberately to get a reaction out of her. That’s why it’s such an emotional sucker punch, April thinks as her eyes suddenly fill with tears. She makes a tiny noise around the lump that lodges itself in her throat.

April always figured she wasn’t good enough to be Mikey’s sister, yet here he is saying it so casually, even after everything she’s put him through. How long has he been calling her that, and she just never realized?

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” asks Leo, who’s closest. “I thought we were past all the drama and moving onto the happy fun part. Three group hugs in a row, remember? I’m pretty sure we set a record!”

She knows Leo’s trying to get her to laugh, and it’s working. Giggles eke out between ragged, weepy breaths. “I know,” April blubbers, shaking out her hands and bouncing in her seat. “I can’t turn it off!”

“I see,” says Leo, nodding sagely. He tilts his head against the back of the couch and says, “Hey Dontron, you got a fix for this?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“I dunno, just seems like something you’d have an answer for,” says Leo with a shit-eating grin. He bumps April’s leg with his own and waggles his non-existent eyebrows. “Right, April?”

April kinda hates the way her, well, everything responds to that provocation. Her nervous system’s immediately going haywire at the very suggestion of Donnie—what? Handing her a tissue? It was a joke. Leo’s teasing her to let her know she’s no longer on his shit list, not because he’s actually trying to imply anything. There’s nothing to be implied.

Then she pauses, because the urge to start bawling again has passed. When she squints at Leo, he grins. And then he winks.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” April tells him.

Leo takes this opportunity to become grievously offended, reeling back with his hand over his heart. “Moi?”

“I’m stealing your pizza.”

“Good luck with that, it’s Hawaiian.”

April groans and throws her hands in the air, much to his delight. Leo at peak shit-stirring energy is impossible. He’s not even doing it to be distracting anymore, he just thinks it’s funny.

In the background, Donnie mutters disapprovingly, “Ham and pineapple are not compatible.”

“Amen to that,” Wanda says. She and Donnie share a fist-bump.

“My schedule’s officially clear, baby!” cheers Mikey. “Also—and I hope you don’t mind, Wanda—I was poking around the cupboards, and I noticed you got the stuff for fresh brownies a la mode. Every good slumber party needs a nice dessert, right?”

“That sounds right, but bein’ that we’ve never been to a slumber party I could just be makin’ that up,” says Raph dubiously.

“Sure, go nuts,” April’s mother says. She’s sitting in her chair with her legs crossed at the knee and her arm draped over the edge of the dining table. “I don’t think there’s enough ice cream for everyone to go a la mode, though. Might have to run to the bodega.”

“According to this article I found,” says Donnie, reading from his bracer. “Ideal slumber parties typically include games, movies, fashion montages and/or experiments with cosmetics one would not typically use, hair braiding—and yes, pizza and ice cream. Michael’s being a little extra with the from-scratch dessert, but he’s got the right idea.”

“I don’t mind being a little extra if it means brownies,” says Mikey decisively.

“Ix-nay on the ontage-may,” says Leo, making an X with his arms. “The last time we had a fashion montage we were stuck in an illusion, and I missed out on how cool the Magic Town House was! I don’t trust ‘em anymore.”

“Good point, Leo,” says Raph around a mouthful of pizza. “I was just gonna say I’m not feelin’ the cosmetics thing. For starters: April can’t stop cryin’, and if she gets goin’ long enough, I’m gonna end up cryin’ too. So makeup’s out. And every time I try paintin’ my nails it just chips off the next day, especially when I’m goin’ to the gym. Raph ain’t about showin’ up to the gym with chipped polish. That just ain’t professional.”

“All solid points, Raphala,” Donnie says as he keeps scrolling through the article. “April’s also the only one of us with hair, so—”

“Excuse me, Donnie, I’m standing right here!” says Mikey. He points to the crown of his head, where there is, indeed, some dark fuzz. It started growing in some six months ago and Mikey’s quite proud of it. “I have hair!”

“It’s not braidable, hermano. It’s barely two inches long.”

“It’s still hair, Leo!”

Wanda, either noticing the constant fidgeting happening all around her—Mikey’s nosing around the kitchen because he can’t sit still, Leo and Raph are both jiggling their legs, and Donnie’s still doing things on his bracer—or catching onto the swelling tidal wave of group indecision, snaps her fingers and gets to her feet. “Actually, you’ve reminded me. I’ve still got the beads I’d put into April’s hair when she was a little girl—and, talk of April as a little girl reminds me I have photo albums.”

“Mama, no!” says April at the same time all four of her friends get stars in their eyes and go, “Mama, yes!”

Wanda’s already disappeared down the hallway.

“How chubby were you as a baby, April?” says Leo. “Might as well tell us now, since we’re know real soon anyway.” He puts his hands up to his cheeks. “Like this chubby?”

“Actually gentlemen, Ms. O’Neil had been about to tell me the things April would do when she watched Lou Jitsu movies as a child,” says Donnie slyly. “Mayhaps I should remind her when she gets back?”

“Ohmigosh—April, did you have a Lou Jitsu ritual? Does Splinter know about this?”

April buries her face in the backrest of the couch with a loud grunt. It’s not even that baby photos are super embarrassing (who doesn’t love cute baby photos?), it’s all the attention the concept’s getting. At this point any and all actions will be used against her. She makes a scene? Just more fuel for the fire, because obviously there’s something worth reacting to. Toning down her reaction would only mean she’s hiding something.

“Got ‘em!” says Wanda, marching proudly back into the living room with two overstuffed photo albums and a plastic container of rattling hair beads, along with multiple rat tail combs of varying sizes.

“Ooh, they’re so pretty!” says Mikey as he takes the container. He selects a bright neon yellow bead. “I like this one! Can you put it in my hair, Wanda?”

April’s mom chuckles. “Of course I can. Bend your head?”

There’s some fiddling required, because Mikey’s hair is way too short for any proper styling, but Mom manages to wrangle the longest strands into a little puff at the front of his head. He looks like someone’s beloved terrier ready to be stuffed in a purse.

Mikey loves it, of course. He sets his phone to selfie mode and takes several goofy photos.

Meanwhile, Leo and Raph are crowded around one of the photo albums. Donnie’s commandeered the other; now that Mikey’s hair is as styled as it’s going to be, he’s flopping across the dining table to peer at the pages over his brother’s shoulder.

“You were so cute, April!” crows Leo. “What happened?”

“Leo, I’m chucking your Hawaiian pizza off the fire escape.”

“No you won’t, you’re supposed to be making things up to me.”

He’s got her there. April imagines he’ll be milking that comeback for all it’s worth in the coming weeks and months, the bastard. Judging by his smug grin, he also knows she can’t do anything about it.

April huffs, and he laughs. That makes her smile. She can handle a couple of good-hearted knocks if it means she can keep him as one of her best friends.

She’s not expecting her mother to lean down over the back of the couch and rest her cheek on the top of April’s head. “You doing okay, baby girl?” she murmurs, something that goes unheard by her distracted friends.

April nods. “I’m used to their nonsense. How’re you?”

“It’s funny,” she says with a contemplative hum. “It feels like they’ve always been here like this. I guess it’s just from hearing them in the background for so many years.”

Her mom’s complete and utter serenity squeezes at April’s battered heart. She’d always been too afraid to hope for a best-case scenario, where her mother loves her friends as much as she does, but she’s obviously never given Wanda O’Neil enough credit.

“You dressed her up like a hamburger for Halloween?” says Leo with such impish delight that his voice cracks. “Hold it up, Raphie, I gotta take a pic of this for posterity!”

“Send it to me, too!” Raph insists.

Wanda laughs so hard she snorts into April’s hair. “Yeah, I did. Best thing about babies is you can treat ‘em like little dress-up dolls. I put April in all kinds of silly outfits.”

“Baby Jupiter Jim over here,” says Donnie. He’s taking a high-res scan of the photo with an app on his phone, of course.

“She’s got a Red Fox plushie and everything!” coos Mikey, his chin in his hands.

“Oh, I’ve still got that,” says Mom. “She’s lost an eye, and one of her arms is coming off, but Foxxie’s still around.”

“Mom, they don’t need to know about Foxxie.”

“On the contrary, Raph absolutely needs to know about Foxxie. You got a needle and thread, Ms. O? I can fix her arm.”

“You sew?”

“More that I’m fixin’ plushies on the reg,” says Raph with a gesture to his overall spikiness. “Basically a full-time gig.”

“Actually, though,” Leo agrees as he snaps photos of baby April cosplaying as JJ from over Donnie’s arm.

If April’s mom needs or wants any further context than that, it doesn’t show. “Yeah, gimme a sec and I’ll grab—” she’s interrupted by the wailing of the same digital alarm clock she’s had since April was in middle school. “Oh, for shit’s sake, you would go off now, wouldn’t you,” she mutters as she rushes back down the hall to silence the racket. She’s only just returned with Foxxie and a travel-sized sewing kit when the alarm goes off again. “Really?”

“Is there something going on with your alarm device, Ms. O’Neil?” asks Donnie when she returns.

Everyone already knows what he’s winding up to, but Wanda’s in the dark as she responds, “Yeah, I think the last power surge did something to it, because it just keeps going off? I don’t wanna find a new alarm clock, but this one’s ten years old, so maybe it’s time.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Donnie flashes his most charming and helpful smile and passes the photo album off to Mikey. “I happen to be something of a handyman. I can take a look at it, if you like.”

“Oh, if you can stop it from going off at all hours I’d be so grateful. Let me grab it.”

Just like that, Donnie’s found a project to keep himself occupied—and a way to endear himself to April’s mother. He’s trying to establish himself as the favorite, April just knows it.

“Ugh, suck-up,” Leo grumbles while Wanda’s retrieving the clock.

“What can I say, dear brother? Get good.”

Mikey’s finished flipping through the photo album and has wandered back into the kitchen. Judging by the bowls and ingredients he’s laying out on the counter, he’s making good on the threat of fresh-baked brownies.

“I just want to clarify that none of you are required to do all this work,” Mom says as she comes back, the cord of the alarm clock trailing on the carpet behind her. She’s nonplussed by the array of tools Donnie seems to have procured from the ether (or, more likely, his battle shell).

“I think that was the most April thing you’ve ever said, Ms. O,” Leo teases.

Meanwhile, Donnie flicks his goggles down as he’s handed the problematic clock. “Oh, loose wire. That’ll do it.”

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Raph jokes without looking up from where he’s reattaching Foxxie’s arm. “You can see the problem from here, clear as day.”

Donnie frowns across the dining table. “No you can’t.”

“Sarcasm, Dee,” April says as Raph snickers to himself.

“Oh.” Donnie’s expression clears and he starts disassembling the alarm clock without further comment.

“Wanda, Imma use the last of your milk. Is that okay?” calls Mikey from the kitchen.

“Use whatever you need, baby, you don’t have to ask,” Mom says with an affable wave of her hand. She pulls the combs and bin of beads close and motions for April to sit on the floor. “C’mere. I wanna give you a couple of braids for old time’s sake.”

“Mama, those are baby beads. I’m a grown-ass woman.”

“A grown-ass woman who’s been slumming it in her childhood bedroom for the last few days,” Mom retorts. She gestures again. “Humor me, baby girl.”

What’s April supposed to do, say no? With a wordless and ultimately ceremonial grumble, April drags one of the throw pillows to the floor and plops down on it. Her shoulders are bracketed by her mother’s knees as the two of them adjust themselves, and it’s not hard to feel like a kid in elementary school again. A shiver skitters down her spine as her mom uses the spike on the rat tail comb to separate a small section of curls. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, April’s just sensitive because her hair and scalp don’t get a lot of attention from other people.

“Oh, so she can bully you into letting her touch your hair just fine,” Donnie gripes without looking up from the alarm clock.

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s my mom,” April retorts. “Don’t be weird about this, Donnie.”

“We also have the same curl type, which is helpful,” Wanda hums. She tilts April’s head to the side and deftly begins stretching her curls into a tiny braid, complete with a couple of beads on the end.

April checks the time on her phone. It is way too late in the day to start a process that can easily take six to eight hours. “Mama,” she says, pointedly thrusting the phone screen up for Wanda to see. It’s not like braids like this come out easy once everyone’s done playing around, either. If they’re going in, they’re gonna be a prominent feature for weeks.

Before Wanda can reply, Leo’s plopping down next to her on the couch, jostling everyone in the process. April can tell from the way he’s leaning that he’s watching her mother work with interest. “Whoa, April, your hair’s way longer than I thought.”

“Curls are deceiving like that.” The spike of the comb slides through April’s curls again, and Wanda explains, “So I’m trying to keep my rows nice and tidy, since you’ll be able to see them once everything’s done.” She goes on to share the way she finesses the curls apart as she sections things off, her rationale behind the size of the braids—the whole freaking enchilada.

It isn’t until she tells Leo, “Now you try,” that April speaks up. “Hey, hold on, it’s one thing when you do this, but—”

“April,” Leo says. It’s supposed to be admonishing, except his tone is far more playful than it should be. “This is a bonding experience between me and your mom. Are you really gonna get in the way of that?”

The varying levels of snickering and giggling this receives lets April know that she’s officially been overruled. And listen, it’s not that she’s defensive of anyone else touching her hair because she thinks they’re gonna be weird about it—April’s got hands on her friends’ scales all the time, and even Donnie’s let her touch his shell once or twice—it’s just that she’s not keen on being left with curl damage control when the coils inevitably get tangled by inexperienced fingers. Honestly, this whole thing makes April feel extremely vulnerable, something her mom is no doubt fully aware of. She can’t deny that it feels like an olive branch in and of itself, though, and she suspects that’s the point. (Well, that and leaning into the whole slumber party thing.)

But what’s a couple of finnicky knots compared to the way she’s treated her friends until now, really? They’ve already shown her so much grace, and this is a little gesture that sounds like it will mean a lot to them. Besides, with Mom supervising things shouldn’t go too off the rails, right?

With a sigh, April resigns herself to having a numb butt for the next several hours and mumbles to Leo, “No, I’m not.”

“Didn’t think so.” There’s a mischievous grin in Leo’s voice as he gives her leg an affectionate bump with his foot and then leaves it there. April props her arm across both his and her mother’s knees as she leans to the side to give them better access to the part of her head they’re braiding. She scrolls through her phone as Leo fumbles through his first braid, only speaking up when he pulls too hard.

“Hey, this is kinda fun once you get the hang of it,” says Leo.

“I wanna try!” calls Mikey from the kitchen.

“Me too,” says Raph. “And, since Mikey’s still makin’ the brownies, and I’m the oldest, I think I should go next.”

There’s a collective groan from his three younger siblings.

“How is it always Oldest Rights only when it’s convenient for you?” Mikey complains.

“Because why would I call Oldest Rights when it’s inconvenient?”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” April says. She holds out her fist. “Eldest powers unite!”

Raph grins and bumps knuckles with her, even as Donnie says, “Actually, you can very much argue with that logic. It’s a classic double-standard! Either it’s age before beauty in all circumstances, or none of them.”

“And you’re trying to establish a universal rule when nothing is universal, Dee.”

Of course, Raph manages to distill their shared sentiments into something even more pithy. “Yeah, that ain’t it.”

“Excuse you both, I’m just over here trying to establish some consistency, but if you’d both rather embrace entropy—”

“That does tend to be our M.O., yeah,” says Raph without any irony.

“Do you think our band would’ve gotten better traction if we’d named ourselves Embracing Entropy?” Mikey wonders.

“A rad name like that certainly couldn’t have hurt our chances,” says Leo. He’s already getting faster and more confident with sectioning off and braiding, April can feel it.

“You had a band?” asks Wanda.

“Hoo boy, now you’ve done it,” mutters April. Nobody hears her as they eagerly regale her mother with the tale of that time their techno-glam rock-R&B-rap fusion band caused all the malicious animatronics within Albeartoland to unceremoniously tear themselves to pieces. They’d attempted to play on a few other occasions, to similarly disastrous results.

“On one hand, we never found our audience,” says Leo sadly. “On the other, we did an amazing job of weeding out all the malicious AI in the city. You win some, you lose some.” ‘Not finding their audience’ is putting it mildly, but April’s fine with letting her friends keep their fond delusions so long as they don’t get the band back together.

“The world wasn’t ready for us,” Raph agrees with a shake of his head.

“It’s that way with all the greatest artists,” says Mikey sagely. There’s some clanking as he slides the tray of brownies into the oven, and beeping as he starts the timer.

“I see,” says Wanda, nodding. She’s doing a poor job of hiding her deep-seated amusement, and an even poorer job of hiding her surprise as Mikey vaults over the back of the couch and lands on her other side.

“I’ve got twenty minutes before the brownies are done and I’ve gotta hit up the bodega for ice-cream. Show me next!”

“Hey, she’s still showing me!” protests Leo. “My tension’s off, I can tell.”

“That’s something you can only improve with time and repetition,” says Wanda. “There’s no secret technique to it. Otherwise, you’re doing very well, Leo!”

“Good, so you can teach me,” says Mikey.

“Hey, Raph was supposed ta’ be next!”

“I can show you both at the same time,” says Wanda. “All three, if Donnie wants to join us.”

“‘Do I want to join,’ she asks.” Donnie pushes himself back from the dining table and towers over the back of the couch. It’s only then that he notices Wanda’s look of confusion. “Sorry if that sounded like sarcasm, it wasn’t. I thought my participation in these ad hoc lessons was a foregone conclusion.”

“It did sound like sarcasm,” Mikey says helpfully. He leans against Wanda’s arm. “Donnie does that sometimes. He almost never means it, though.”

“Almost,” says Leo, securing a bead in April’s hair.

“Leo, move your big head to the side, Raph can’t see!” He’s even moved his bean bag chair closer and everything.

“I’m trying to make it look nice!”

“Easy, boys. If I have to repeat myself so Raph can see later, I will,” says Mom patiently. Fortunately, that’s enough to settle the crowd. April’s used as a model and a test subject as her mother walks through the sectioning and braiding process again. Leo takes advantage of the lull in action to make a couple runs to the lair for everyone’s sleepover stuff.

Mikey picks up quickest, which isn’t surprising considering his penchant for crafts. “Ooh, Leo’s right, this is kinda fun!” he says as he starts zipping right along.

April puts her phone into selfie mode and sticks her arm out to check out the progress so far. There’s something to be said for working in numbers. She may only need to sit here for five hours instead of seven!

Then Donnie catches her eye through the lens of the camera, and her stomach lurches so hard she nearly drops her phone on her own face. It’s not even that he’s got a particular expression—certainly nothing like the eyes he’d been making during Sunita’s wedding reception—he’s just looking. He’s curious about what she’s doing, if he’s anything.

Doesn’t matter. April’s nervous system is in shambles anyway. Her heartbeat pounds in her eardrums as she averts her eyes and says a bit too loudly, “Y’all are making good progress, actually.”

Oh, she’s got it so bad. How in the hell did she not realize what he does to her?

“What about a group selfie, since we’re all already here?” Donnie suggests. “I think it’d make a good social media post.”

Just like that, the nerves are gone. April doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful. Donnie’s tone is mild enough, sure, but there’s no mistaking the undercurrent of challenge in his body language. Here is an opportunity for tangible action and proof. While it’s no act of service, it is certainly an act of acknowledgement.

It’s funny. Now that April’s on the same page with all the people who actually matter, her fear is completely gone. If he wants a social media post, he’ll get a social media post.

Donnie’s not the only one. There’s a general clambering of approval for this idea, and the group’s already constricting around April’s partially braided head in preparation for her to take the picture. Bringing her phone back up reveals that Mikey and Leo are holding two of her braids across their snouts like the world’s thinnest moustaches and grinning like this is somehow a prank. April rolls her eyes as she grins up at the camera and lets them keep doing what they’re doing as she snaps a few pics. “Any specific handles you want me to tag?”

She captions the image with ‘Never too late for your first slumber party’ and posts it without any regrets. If there’s anyone following her who would take issue with her sudden departure from photos of food or scenery into a face reveal of all the people she’s been tagging for years—and April can’t think of any who might be left, she’s done a pretty good job of scrubbing her socials since her final conversation with Cerise—then they’ll just have to deal.

Nobody remarks on this, specifically, and she is certainly not congratulated for such a small gesture. But April does receive several warm pats on the shoulder, back, or knee, and that’s enough. Acknowledgement for acknowledgement. She’s not going to make her friends regret giving her this chance at redemption.

(Art by Rhinocio!)

Sunita’s texting her less than fifteen minutes later. ‘You. Me. Bitch tea. ASAP!!’ They spend the next several minutes going back and forth trying to figure out a date and time that works for both of them, which is just as well because April’s stuck on the floor within a crowd of working hands.

Mikey and Leo get bored well before the brownies are done baking. Mikey entertains himself instead by going over all the dusty DVDs and VHS tapes in the entertainment cabinet while Leo ferries pillows, blankets, and pj’s into the apartment from the lair (with Wanda’s grudgingly amused permission). The group collectively decides that, of the films there, Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn is the best Lou Jitsu movie of the bunch, and Donnie reminds Wanda she still hasn’t revealed what April would do at the start of every Lou Jitsu film as a child.

This time April’s saved from her mother’s storytelling by the oven going off. Mikey scampers off into the kitchen and hollers to ask Wanda where he can find the toothpicks to test the batter is cooked through. “And I hope you people don’t think I’m doing dishes on top of making us all brownies,” he declares. “’Cause that’s not happening.”

“Nose goes!” Raph, April, and Donnie all say in tandem, which just leaves Leo.

“Oh, come on!” he yelps. “I just got done running portal errands!”

“Too bad, Leo, you lost.”

“You know the rules, ‘Nardo.”

“I can—” Wanda starts to say.

“No Wanda, we’re your guests! We made the mess, so we can clean it up. Leo, you aren’t going to let April’s mother do all these dishes, are you?” says Mikey with a strong undercurrent of—well, not quite suggestion, but certainly intensity.

“Of course not!” Then Leo realizes what he’s just said. He marches over to the sink, grumbling under his breath about being bamboozled, and starts scrubbing dishes.

“Having troubles, Raph-able?” asks Donnie, who has gone back to fixing the alarm clock.

Raph is the only one still braiding, besides April’s mom, but he’s having a hell of a time with it. From what April can see, he’s doing good work, he’s just unbearably slow. She suspects it has something to do with how large his hands are. For his scale, this is about as delicate as threading a needle.

“I wouldn’t say trouble,” he says, voice saturated with concentration. “It’s just not as easy for Raph as it is for the rest of you.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” says April. In case he needs to hear it.

“But I want to.”

“Then go at the pace that works for you, honey,” says Wanda above the running water and clinking of corningware in the sink.

“Okay fam, I’m running to get ice cream!” Mikey announces. He’s already undoing the locks on the apartment’s door. “Anyone need-slash-want anything else?”

There’s a flurry of requests, as there always are, though Mikey’s unfazed. He nods and disappears down the hall with a, “Got it! Be back in a bit—don’t start the movie without me!”

While Mikey’s out, Leo finishes up the dishes and gets all the pizza packed up. There are still three whole boxes’ worth remaining, though April figures there’ll be significantly less come morning due to late-night snacking. April’s mom looks over the repairs to Foxxie with a delighted, “Oh, Raph, she looks great! You weren’t joking about being a professional.”

“Thanks Ms. O!” Raph says, pausing in his painstaking braiding. “Red Fox plushies ain’t as common as they used to be, so we gotta keep her goin’!”

“Did I hear you mention you also worked at a gym, too?”

“Naw, I’m just there all the time. My girl’s the one who works there. Cassandra Jones, goes by Casey—I wanna say you met her before, back when she was bunkin’ with April?”

“Yes, of course! I don’t think I could forget Casey if I tried. She’s an extremely memorable character.”

This gets everyone else muffling their giggles—not because it isn’t true, but because it’s such a drastic understatement. Raph doesn’t seem to notice. “She is, yeah!”

“So if you’re not at the gym, where do you work?” asks Wanda.

Raph tells her about his nursing job at one of the urgent care clinics in the Hidden City—but only part-time, so he can still do vigilante stuff with the fam and help Cassandra search for missing persons in her independent work braced off the Hidden City Detective Agency’s info. Leo’s upfront about being a vigilante full-time, and Donnie pretends not to hear the question as to how he can possibly afford all his fun tech by brandishing the fixed and lightly refurbished alarm clock, much to Wanda’s easily distracted joy. She wastes no time finding her feet and returning the clock to its rightful place on her bedside table.

“You sure that thing ain’t gonna come alive and try to eat her or nothin’, Donnie?” asks Raph knowingly.

Donnie steals Wanda’s seat on the couch, climbing over the back and sliding down to fold his legs tailor-style on the cushion behind April’s shoulders. He takes up a comb and starts sectioning off curls for a braid. “I confess I was sorely tempted to upgrade everything, but I resisted.”

“Wouldn’t that be one hell of a first impression,” says Leo as he flops onto the floor with his head propped on his knuckles and one knee up in the air.

“I don’t wanna hear that from you, Mr. I-already-met-April’s-mom-loads-of-times-already.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that, Leo?” asks April. “I had no idea.”

He flashes her a dry look. “And whose fault is that?”

April lets out a short breath of defeat. Yeah, she should’ve seen that one coming.

Leo snickers. “Man, I love abusing this power.”

“Such heartwarming and encouraging sentiments coming from our dear leader,” said Donnie in a deadpan as he secures a few beads in April’s hair. She kinda hates how much her pulse jumps. Donnie’s not defending her, he’s taking an easy potshot at his brother because they both think the banter’s funny.

Leo scoffs wordlessly; April doesn’t miss his sheepishness.

The tips of Donnie’s fingers brush the back of her neck as he sections out the curls for the next braid, and goosebumps erupt down the length of April’s arm.

“You’re cold, April?” asks Raph.

There’s no sense pretending he’s not seeing her raised skin, but she’s not about to point out what actually set them off, so April just rubs at her arm and mumbles, “Maybe a little, yeah.”

Leo, who’s closest, biffs a blanket at her. She sputters as she gets a face full of soft fibers. “Shit, sorry! I actually didn’t mean to hit you there.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she says with a grin. “I can’t believe Leo’s abusing his social power and bullying me on the same day.”

“One might almost say those are the same thing,” Donnie remarks mildly. His brothers snicker.

Mom comes back from installing the alarm clock in her bedroom and Mikey returns from the bodega with probably way more snacks than any of them will consume tonight. The fresh baked brownies a la mode are stupendous, as are most things Mikey makes these days. Everyone settles in with their dessert as Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn starts playing.

“Don’t you dare drop ice cream in my hair, Dee,” April warns, since he’s still sitting right behind her.

“I won’t!”

He doesn’t, to his credit. As soon as he’s done with his brownie he’s right back to braiding. Raph drops out midway through the movie, saying that dim lights plus too-big hands makes for some challenging logistics, but Donnie keeps right at it. Based on what April can feel—her hand gets swatted away every time she tries to check—he’s making remarkable time, and the tiny braids are impressively uniform. There’s something to be said for the sheer productivity of people with busy hands. Knowing Donnie, he would’ve found something to putter with anyway. This task is just as good as any other.

It feels nice, too. He doesn’t tug too hard when he’s braiding, and there’s something soothing about the way the combs drag across her scalp. At some point Donnie unfolds his legs and sets his feet on the floor on either side of April’s shoulders, much like her mom was doing earlier. April drapes her arms over his knees and leans back against the couch like she’s on a throne; her butt’s long since gone numb from sitting on the floor, despite the throw pillow, but otherwise she’s extremely comfortable. Donnie doesn’t react, which she takes it as a sign that he doesn’t mind the contact.

They aren’t the only ones making themselves comfortable. Leo’s gotten tired of the floor and climbed up onto the couch, where he’s slumped into Donnie (much to Donnie’s grumbled chagrin), and Mom’s claimed the other corner of the couch and casually thrown her legs over Leo’s thighs. Mikey’s sprawled out across Raph’s lap with his head on April’s leg and every time April stops giving him head scritches he drags her hand back to the silky fuzz growing on his dome. Raph’s using Mikey’s bulk as an armrest. It’s not quite a fully-fledged turtle pile, but it’s close.

Mom starts yawning in the last ten or so minutes of the movie. Whether it’s contrived or not is up for debate. Either way, she announces that she’s headed to bed once the credits start rolling. As soon as she stands up Leo spreads out, flopping against the armrest and drawing his knees up so he can tuck his toes under Donnie’s thigh. He squeaks in surprise when Wanda leans down and kisses the top of his head.

“Wha—?”

“Good night, Leo. Happy to officially meet you.”

Leo’s not the only one who gets this treatment. Wanda makes the rounds, giving each person a head kiss, a gentle murmur of well-wishes, and a comment about her general happiness in finally getting to know them in person. April’s used to her mother’s expressions of affection, and so takes the gesture in stride. Raph and Mikey soak it up, and Donnie—who’s last—actually tilts his head Wanda’s way so she doesn’t have to come in from a funny angle. He still hasn’t stopped braiding.

“Good night, Donnie. You take care of my girl, okay?”

That gets Donnie faltering. His hands jerk on April’s hair as he sputters wordlessly.

April’s right there with him. They recoil from one another in unison and spring apart. April scrambles to the other side of the room by the TV and Donnie’s feet leave the floor like it’s suddenly turned to lava. Mikey rolls over to mute the credits music so the peanut gallery isn’t distracted from the show.

“Mama, no, it’s not like that!” April’s dimly aware of her friends’ exasperated vocalizations as she continues. “This isn’t the right time, there’re way too many hurt feelings, I’ve still gotta prove I’m a good friend!”

“Yes, exactly!” says Donnie, a little too loudly. He thrusts an arm in April’s direction. “April’s still got far too much to make up for anyone to even think about going there.”

“What he said! I’ve still got apologies to make!”

Leo groans loudly and scrubs at his face, dislodging his mask. “We were so close, but there’s always something. I’m literally dying. I’ll tell Gram Gram everyone says hi because I’m about to ascend to the Hamato fucking spirit plane.”

“How does this keep happenin’?” Raph asks no one in particular. He’s utterly beside himself.

“What if we said nobody cares about the right timing?” asks Mikey, half-desperately. “Would that make a difference? Please tell me it would.”

“Excuse you, Michael, I have higher standards than that.”

“As he should!” says April frankly.

“Yeah, yeah, blahblahblah—are you two knuckleheads together, or ain’t ya?” asks Raph bluntly.

Wanda chuckles to herself and gives a little wave to the group. “’Night, kids. Try not to yell too loudly, okay? I got work in the morning.”

It isn’t until her mother saunters down the hall, so very proud of herself, that April realizes she’d stirred the pot on purpose. No, she didn’t even stir it, she just went and upended the contents of the pot all over the floor then skipped out on the cleanup.

“Mom!” April hollers after her accusatorily. Her entire face is burning. Is there smoke coming out of her ears? She wouldn’t be surprised if there was. This is—it’s beyond mortifying.

Wanda merely giggles and closes her bedroom door.

“The answer to your question is no,” Donnie tells Raph.

“Not yet,” Leo corrects.

“Nobody’s saying that!” April’s talking around the heart that’s just launched itself into her throat, because of course she wants the answer to be not yet. Of course she does. The longer she stews in this new understanding of her feelings for Donnie, the more keenly she wants to do something with them. This isn’t about her, though. That level of selfishness is what got them all into this situation to begin with! April’s not the injured party here; it’s not fair for her to call the shots. She can have her desires, but she meant it when she said the ball was in Donnie’s court.

She also meant it when she said she was focusing on being a good friend again. April wants to be the kind of friend the people in her life deserve, and if they’re willing to gift her the time then she’s willing to work for it. As much as she wants to do something with the feelings burning a hole through her chest, right now they’re an unnecessary complication.

Of course, then Donnie has to come in with an uncharacteristically rattled, “Fine, not yet. Happy now?” Leo snickers, and Raph sighs. Donnie doesn’t let anyone else get a reaction in. “Mikey, I saw Get Macho Gazpacho’d earlier; you should put that on next.”

“Sure!” says Mikey. There’s a lilt to his tone that April instantly recognizes as waggish satisfaction. He’ll put the movie on, but he knows this is merely a detraction from feelings, and he’s not going to let anyone forget it.

April risks trying to meet Donnie’s eyes and finds him just as flustered as she is, which is a rare sight these days. There’s a wonderful solidarity to knowing they’ve both been knocked off kilter, though. At least they’re in this together.

The movie is distracting enough that the conversation doesn’t continue, which is a relief because April’s face still feels like it’s on fire. She reaches up to touch her hair. Donnie might have been making remarkable progress, but the job’s still only half-done. She decides to give them both a much-needed breather and kneels off to the side with a comb so she can start sectioning off the next braid herself. Mikey pitches in once he sees what she’s up to, and after a while Leo gets antsy enough that he taps in and has April plop onto the floor in front of him. He gets maybe four braids done when the couch creaks as Donnie leans over to check his progress.

“Your tension’s still off, Leon,” he says as yet another Macho Gazpacho Fury kick flashes across the television screen.

“I was putting too much on earlier,” Leo explains.

“But now your braids are wavy. You want them to be straight and even. It helps if you lean back.”

“Then I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.”

“It’s braiding. What’s there to see?”

Leo makes a sound of annoyance. “Fine, then why don’t you just take over? I’m getting hungry, anyway.” He doesn’t wait for Donnie to answer before giving April a companionable pat on the shoulder and heading to the kitchen. Mikey immediately steals his spot and makes himself comfortable.

“Bring some for me too, Lee!” calls Raph.

“Si, hermano mayor.”

“You callin’ me the mayor?”

Donnie ducks under the bilingual disaster happening over their heads and taps April’s arm. He motions for her to scoot closer so he can resume his braiding duties. “C’mere, I wanna fix the ones ‘Nardo didn’t do right.”

April complies with a murmured, “Thanks.” This time she makes a point of sitting with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She’s not trying to put anyone into an uncomfortable situation.

That being said, she ain’t about to protest when Donnie rearranges so that she’s sitting between his legs again. He doesn’t bother to justify or explain his actions, just goes right back to work, and bit by bit April relaxes back against the side of the couch. He gently tilts her head to the side so he can start braiding the hair by her ear, and when April rests her cheek on his knee (since she’s basically already there) there’s this quiet pause above her head. Then the pad of Donnie’s thumb roves over her temple and down along the shape of her ear. It’s a wholly gratuitous gesture, and there’s such a tenderness to it that April’s breath hitches and her heart thuds against her ribs in an attempted jailbreak. Turning her head or looking up at him will probably shatter the moment, so she just licks her lips and keeps her eyes forward, directed at the TV.

She feels more than hears Donnie’s little hum of amusement. He goes back to braiding like nothing’s happened, but April could swear there’s a fondness in his movements that wasn’t there before. The very thought sends a pleasant warmth cascading down her limbs and keeps heat high in her face.

Not yet, he’d said. All things being fair, it probably should have been not ever. April’s going to do everything she can to make sure he doesn’t regret giving her the opportunity to redeem herself.

When Donnie’s knuckles pass softly down the length of her inflamed cheek, it’s hard to dismiss the notion that he also very much wants her to make the most of this second chance. April’s stomach swoops and she turns her face into his knee to hide her smile.

Despite Donnie’s industriousness, it still takes the entirety of Get Macho Gazpacho’d and half of Hottest Soup in Town before he finishes with April’s hair. The baby beads clack and rattle together whenever she moves her head. A part of her feels like a pet wearing a bell, and the rest is deeply nostalgic. It’s been years since she had a full head of braids, and the weight of them swinging around her head is kinda fun.

“Thanks, Dee,” she says, except the two words are rudely interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. She’s been lowkey nodding off for most of Hottest Soup and that’s not just because it didn’t make her top five Lou Jitsu movies.

“You’re welcome,” he says proudly, cracking his knuckles.

Mikey shudders. “Eugh—Donnie, you know I hate that sound!”

“Shh! You guys, I love this part!” Leo whines.

April folds one leg under her butt and pulls her knee up to her chest so she can rest her chin on it. The unfamiliar weight of braids cascades around her shoulders. Is this like how some people get bangs after a breakup? The idea makes her smile a little. It’s not inaccurate to say she’s broken up with her old way of life. Maybe it’s fair to think of this as a rite of passage, of sorts.

She glances over when Mikey nudges her. He scoots to the side and gestures for her to join him and Donnie on the couch, which she does readily. At that point he reveals his true intentions, which is to pitch into her lap and demand more head scritches. April provides them without complaint, though she makes a point of leaving the little beaded puff on the top of his head alone.

She and Donnie would be shoulder to shoulder, if he weren’t so tall. As things are, his shoulder’s at the perfect height for her to comfortably lean her cheek on it. April lets out a long, slow breath and relaxes when his head tips to the side and rests atop hers. It doesn’t last long, only a few minutes before he gets distracted by something on his phone, but it’s enough.

Everyone’s fading by the time Hottest Soup in Town finishes. There’s a collective stretching of muscles and popping of joints as the group fumbles around for their toothbrushes and pajamas. Leo’s forgotten something at the lair, which is just as well since Raph can’t get into apartment’s bathroom, so they briefly portal back while April, Mikey, and Donnie lay out all the pillows and blankets and futon mattresses. She leaves the guys to the post-midnight snacks they’re rooting around for in favor of changing into her own pjs. The bathroom’s open by the time she comes back out, so she takes the chance to brush her teeth as well.

The braids are definitely different. Not what she woke up this morning expecting to end up with, but not bad either. Her mother taught her friends well. Everything’s tidy and uniformly sized—and alright, the beads are cute, too. Overall, April likes it. It’s the first time in a long, long time she’s been able to look herself in the mirror and not resent the phony staring back at her.

It’s a feeling she’s glad for.

“One last selfie before catchin’ the train over to Snoozetown?” she suggests when she returns from the bathroom.

“Ooh, yes!” says Mikey.

“Promise to never say ‘the train over to Snoozetown’ again, and I’ll agree.”

“Aw, c’mon Donnie, that was clever!”

“You would say that, ‘Nardo.”

“You’re not gonna be postin’ it, right? ‘Cause Raph don’t know how he feels about havin’ a retainer on for that…”

“Doesn’t have to be posted,” April promises. “I just want a pic of everyone together.”

“In that case, let’s do it!”

They all cluster together, and the resultant photo—taken by Leo, since he was at the edge of the group this time—almost feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone at home in her own skin and with the people around her. Someone happier, more at peace with herself.

Someone who will hopefully be familiar one day.

April brought a pillow and blanket from her childhood bedroom so she could join the pile on the floor at the end of the night, but those things were hardly necessary. They end up arranging themselves in the turtle pile to end all turtle piles. Raph’s the foundation, since he’s the sturdiest. He scoops April up so she’s laying on him instead of the swathes of pillows and blankets on the floor, causing her to squeal with surprise. Leo follows up by leaning against her back, and Mikey squirms in until she wraps her arms around him like he’s a teddy bear. Donnie, meanwhile, is in his preferred place on the edge of the pile, his head pillowed on Mikey’s side and his legs thrown over one of Raph’s.

City lights leave haphazard streaks on the ceiling, and the blind covering the window clacks softly when wind blows through the tiny gap in the pane. Everyone’s breathing begins to slow, goes heavy and peaceful. April’s heart is overflowing with love for her friends. For all their years of knowing each other, she’s never felt quite so at peace amongst them as she does now, piled together on the floor of her childhood home in the pizza slumber party they never had as kids.

Despite the darkness, and the tangle of limbs, and the fact that four-fifths of them are extremely cuddly people, when someone’s fingers curl around her hand April knows exactly whose they are. After all, Donnie learned the thumb-petting thing from her.

Chapter Text

Does April want to be awake at half-past six in the morning? No, not particularly. She’s technically on the clock in two hours, though, and she knows she’ll oversleep if she tries to climb back onto the turtle pile—so getting through the day with an overabundance of coffee and tenacity it is. Mom should be up soon, anyway. Even if the guys are still snoozing, April’s been enjoying having breakfast with her mother the last few days. Starting the day chatting with someone has been really nice, especially after living alone for the last several years.

Gazing at her friends brings a soft smile to April’s face. All four of them are completely zonked. Raph’s snoring and Mikey’s burrowed himself in the hollow between his huge, spiky arm and his side. Leo’s sprawled comically on top of them, with Donnie using him for a pillow and fully drooling on his plastron. Twitching limbs are sticking out in the air, and Raph’s tail keeps swishing across the floor and knocking into the leg of the coffee table. They may as well have not even put out all the blankets and pillows, because nobody’s using them.

It's still so strange, seeing them in her childhood home. Strange, but good. Very much worth having to drag her exhausted ass through virtual meetings and emails today because they stayed up too late last night.

April’s still adjusting to the sound and weight of her new braids. She experiments with tilting her head this way and that as she digs through the fridge for something she can make for breakfast. Already she’s turning the concept of ‘acts of service’ over in her head, searching for other opportunities. Breakfast is a good start!

Mikey, smart man that he is, appears to have already prepped for this. There are two dozen eggs, a couple loaves of bread, three pounds of bacon strips, and a couple boxes of breakfast sausage tucked under the containers of leftover pizza on the bottom shelf. No wonder last night’s bodega trip ended up being so bulky.

April hauls it all onto the counter along with the largest skillet her mom’s got and gets started on the bacon, since that’ll take the longest. The beads in her hair click and slip over her shoulders as the first pieces sizzle.

Maybe it’s the sound that rouses Mikey, or maybe it’s the distinctive bacony scent. Either way, he’s the first to wriggle his way out of the turtle pile and trudge into the kitchen. He’s still blinking slowly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he hip checks April away from the stove and steals the spatula from her.

“Hey, I’ve got this! Go relax, Mikey.” He hasn’t even put his mask on yet, which is weird enough in its own right. April’s seen him without it before, of course, but it’s like looking at herself without glasses. Still recognizable, just… odd.

“Nope, heat’s up too high,” he stifles a yawn with one hand and turns the heat down with the other. “They come out all crinkly and burnt this way.”

“Then I’ll cook them with lower heat.” April tries to herd him away from the stove. Unfortunately for her, just because Mikey’s the smallest of his brothers doesn’t mean he’s easy to push around, and he’s absolutely not budging right now. Might as well be stapled to the floor. “Mikey, c’mon!”

How is she supposed to do acts of service if he steals the job from her?

“No, I got this, shoo—if you wanna help, you can get a pot of coffee going.” His tone is fond and the hand that nudges her towards the coffee pot is gentle. At least there’s that.

April definitely doesn’t pout as she sets up the percolator to make a full pot of coffee, she’s merely expressing her displeasure over being bullied out of her redemptive task.

“What do you think, french toast or just regular ol’ eggs and toast?” asks Mikey as coffee starts hissing through the percolator. Something about either standing upright or doing an activity he loves has kickstarted him to full alertness, and also full bubbly energy. The stark contrast to how he’d been just a couple minutes ago is impressive.

“Which is easier?”

“Not the point, April. The point is which one sounds tastier.”

They both look over when they see movement coming from the pile on the living room floor. It’s Donnie, extricating himself with bleary eyes. He pads into the kitchen on somewhat unsteady feet and leans against the counter in front of the coffee pot.

Ah, so that’s what’s summoned him from sleeping like the dead.

“Did I hear something about french toast?” he says without looking away from the coffee. His voice is muzzy with sleep.

“You did! Got a preference, Donald?” asks Mikey.

Donnie stoops down and rubs at his face without lifting his elbows from the counter. “Depends. Is there some kind of berry compote lying around, or can you make the cinnamon and sugar ratio I like?”

“What’s the ratio?” wonders April as she opens one of the cupboards.

“Two parts cinnamon to one part sugar, otherwise it’s too sweet,” he replies without lifting his head from his hands. All told, he sounds a bit like he’s sleepwalking.

Mikey, who is unsurprised by this specificity, hums thoughtfully and rummages through the fridge, then the spice cabinet. “I can do the cinnamon and sugar, no compote.”

“Then I vote french toast.” Donnie glances over when April slides her mother’s biggest coffee mug across the counter towards him. It says #1 Mom on it. He gives the text a look of groggy amusement before telling her, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’s not expecting his gaze to linger on her—at least, not so openly. Donnie observes unabashedly as April crouches down to retrieve a whisk and casserole dish for Mikey to make the french toast batter with. She also plunks the next biggest skillet down on the stovetop before Mikey shoos her again.

“You’re very helpful, April, and I appreciate it, but get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not even your—” Mikey pointedly hip checks her again “—okay, I’m going, I’m going!”

Donnie’s still not hiding the way he’s watching her as she retreats to stake out the coffee pot with her own mug. The drowsiness is clearing from his features, only to be replaced by unabashed interest that sends shivers down her spine.

He'd said not yet, and frankly April agrees that now’s not the best time to try figuring out what they can be together. All the hurt she’s caused is still too fresh, and she herself is still far too raw from the events of the last week to even consider diving into the delicate tangle that is realizing she’s been in love with one of her best friends for years. She’d figured ‘not yet’ included flirting, too, because why risk the extra complication? Apparently, that’s not how Donnie sees things. It doesn’t feel as though he’s changed his mind about delaying things between them. April’s been gazed at like this enough times to know when someone wants something or if they’re just enjoying the view, and Donnie’s firmly in the latter category. He’s not looking for anything specific, he’s just… looking.

It's not really a risk when you’re reasonably certain you know the answer. Nevertheless, April feels like she’s going out on a limb as she props her hip against the counter and asks, “See something you like, Dee?”

He’s not the least bit embarrassed. “I seem to recall you already knowing you’ve got a great butt. I was simply appreciating it.”

On one hand: hot damn that was forward. On the other, when Raph had unceremoniously locked them in a walk-in freezer a couple years ago and they’d crawled through dusty ventilation ducts, April had been teasing Donnie about looking at her butt purely for the entertainment factor. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but for Donnie to reference that now must mean…

(Wait a second, had Raph locked them in that freezer in a misguided effort to get them to realize…? Oh, dear god, he definitely had.)

April starts laughing. “I knew it! I knew you were looking above that butcher’s shop!” Sure, it’d been a joke at the time, but still. Obviously, her instincts are finely honed and incredibly accurate.

“In my defense, it had literally been right in front of my face.”

“Doesn’t matter, I was still right!” cackles April triumphantly.

The coffee pot beeps to announce the percolator’s done running. Donnie’s immediately pouring some into their mugs, remembering to leave room in April’s for cream. As he does, he mutters, “If I’d known that having your ass checked out made you so happy, I would’ve done it more often.”

April can tell he’s partially saying it for the banter. The other part, though? If she’s reading him right, he’s genuinely pleased to hear his attentions are being received so positively.

The fact there’s room for Donnie to be pleasantly surprised—that this isn’t something he implicitly knows—is exactly why jumping feet-first into exploring this thing between them isn’t a good idea. April doesn’t want there to be a question hanging in the air, not even a little one. That’s what she’s working to fix.

April leans in as she curls her fingers through the handle of her mug and murmurs a clarification, “I’m not into it when it’s just anybody, only when it’s you.”

Fixing things takes honesty and consistency, but nobody said she had to go about it in the most dutiful, somber way possible. Donnie’s indicated he’s okay with a bit of flirting in this in-between space, so April doesn’t feel like telling him she likes being flirted with is going too far.

The spark in Donnie’s eyes sends her stomach swooping, and the sly grin that creeps over his lips is unfairly handsome. “Good to know,” he says, lifting his steaming mug in a small salute just before taking a sip. Only a second or so passes between them, but it seems to last minutes as he holds her gaze. Then his eyes deliberately flick to the tank top and cotton shorts she’s wearing. He doesn’t stay there long, and he doesn’t have to. By the time Donnie’s looking at her face again a quick moment later, April’s entire body has already gone warm and tingly with interest.

She may have very well met her match in the flirting game, because it should not be possible for three words to be so damn effective. Game on.

Inspiration for her next move strikes after she fetches coffee creamer from the fridge. She needs a spoon to mix the creamer into her coffee, and Donnie happens to be right next to the silverware drawer. Sure, she could be polite about it, ask him to shuffle out of the way, or even scoot him nonverbally, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, April braces herself on the counter with one hand and reaches across him with the other, her arm brushing along his torso and her chest pressing into his side.

Donnie stalls as the drawer next to his hip rattles open, mug frozen midway up to his mouth. He keeps looking between her face and where she’s pressing herself against him so she has the reach to grab the spoon she’s looking for, expression inscrutable. He’s not moving away, though, so April suspects he’s just waiting to see how far she’ll go with this.

So April sticks her tongue out and taps him on the beak with the bowl of the spoon as she withdraws, complete with accompanying, “Boop!”

That gets him letting out a heavy breath and a wordless grumble. “I didn’t sign up for this harassment,” he says as he slurps his coffee.

April’s getting the impression he’d expected something a little more suggestive. For all his complaining, Donnie doesn’t appear legitimately upset—on the contrary, April catches him hiding a tiny, amused smile behind the porcelain of his drinking vessel.

She can’t blame him. The ease in which she was able to slide from flirtatious teasing to regular teasing is nice. She likes that one feels just as comfortable as the other.

“Is getting booped a form of harassment these days?” asks April with a brazen grin. If he’s going to try and be curmudgeonly for the bit, she’s gonna go in the opposite direction.

“It is when you do it.”

“Poor Donnie! Here, let me make it up to you.” He has somehow managed to drink half his coffee already, so April very kindly pours him some more. Then she boops his snoot again.

Donnie jerks his head back and vigorously rubs at his snout. “You smell like bacon grease and coffee grounds.”

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” asks April, putting a fist under her chin and affecting an air of wide-eyed innocence.

“There are better combinations of scents, yes!”

Mikey lets out this giggle from the stove, inadvertently interrupting their banter. “I’m so glad you’re finally together.”

“Incorrect,” says Donnie.

At the same time, April says, “Um, Mikes? We’re not.”

He turns about to face them and gestures with the grease spattered spatula. “Maybe not in your world, but in everyone else’s you are,” he says.

“We live in the same world, Michael. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Unfortunately, it does make sense,” says April. “But he’s still wrong.”

“If he’s wrong, then how does it make sense?” says Donnie with exasperation.

Mikey just laughs.

April’s mother’s alarm goes off at the end of the hall. It has the added benefit of awakening Leo as well as Wanda (one assumes, because the alarm is turned off mid-beep). Raph continues snoring. April’s not too worried; either the bustle of everyone around him or the smell of breakfast will eventually rouse him.

“What’re you kids up to?” asks Leo dazedly. Interestingly, he’s the only one among them who fumbles for his mask the same way April fumbles for her glasses. He quickly secures it about his head and slumps over Mikey’s shoulder as he inspects what’s happening on the stovetop. “I don’t know why I expected we’d just have cold pizza for brekkie.”

“You still can, if you can’t wait,” says Mikey. “But don’t spoil your appetite. We’re having french toast along with all this! And probably some scrambled eggs, if I don’t use them all up.”

“Can they be fried eggs?” asks Leo.

Mikey considers, then shrugs the shoulder Leo isn’t half-sleeping on. “Sure.”

“Sweet,” says Leo with a dozy smile. He rolls his cheek over Mikey’s shoulder. “That coffee?”

“Sure is, Leon. Fresh made.”

April’s already pushing a mug into his hands. “There’s creamer and sugar, too,” she says, pointing to the makeshift coffee station next to the percolator. Leo’s a big fan of doctoring his brews with sweeteners and dairy.

“What, no silver platter?”

April gives him a dry look. “I left it back at my place, so you’ll just have to make do with this, pal.”

Leo snickers. April rolls her eyes as he jostles her out of the way and heads for the coffee pot. Between her and three large mutants, things are getting cramped in the little apartment kitchen, so April swipes her coffee off the counter where she left it and retreats to the couch with her phone. Mikey soon kicks Leo and Donnie out as well. They pile onto the couch with her, Leo on the other armrest and Donnie in the bitch seat. He stretches his arm out behind April’s head, across the backrest, and swings his ankle up onto his knee, resulting in his leg layering over April’s. April’s got her drink propped on the armrest, and he’s got his balanced atop his knee. She fits into the space he opened up at his side quite comfortably; it would have been far more cramped if he hadn’t put his arm on the back of the couch.

April doesn’t think anything of this arrangement until her braids shift over her shoulder. Donnie and Leo are talking about the various things they want and need to do after breakfast—mostly vigilante stuff, though Leo apparently promised Juan he’d help with a grocery run—but then Donnie starts casually playing with the beads in her hair and brushing his knuckles against the bare skin of her shoulder. He’s not looking at her, not giving any acknowledgement at all of what his hand’s doing.

If he were literally anyone else, April might have said this was an unconscious action. Except that’s not how Donnie works. Unconscious gestures of affection like that don’t happen on accident with him. Just like the thumb-petting thing, there’s no way this could be anything except deliberate.

It has April’s heart thumping hard against her breastbone, her insides twisting themselves into pretzels. She hadn’t even been looking for an extra gesture of affection, she’d been on her phone dismissing emails. It’s flattering and sweet that Donnie’s taking the time and brainpower to do this, and she likes it.

There’s an easy response, too. April makes herself good and comfortable lounging against his side and treats his thigh like an arm rest. In any other circumstances this would be a pretty bold display, but since she and Donnie were already sitting quite close they’re not actually touching any more than they were before. It’s just more obvious now.

Leo glances over when he notices her shuffling and instantly smirks. “You never play with my hair, Dontarino,” he whines, slumping over Donnie’s free arm and causing his coffee to slosh dangerously. “Why does April get special treatment?”

Donnie scowls and lifts his mug out of the danger zone. “Leo, you don’t have hair.”

Mikey cackles from the kitchen. “Yeah, get good, Leon!”

“I really don’t feel as though that should be a reason to discriminate against me.”

“Explain to me how that works. Do I glue a wig to your head?”

For some reason, that has Leo shuddering uncomfortably. “No wigs! Especially not blonde ones.”

“That’s a shame, Leo, you’d make a good blonde,” says Wanda as she strides down the hall, securing an earring. She stops when she sees Raph still snoring on the floor, and then gingerly tiptoes around him to get into the kitchen.

“Oh no, I make a fantastic blonde,” says Leo, twisting around on the couch. “It just turns out having hair is far more responsibility than it’s worth.”

“Are you talking about the time you got scammed into growing evil hair by some creep in a haunted hotel?” realizes April. She leans around Donnie to see Leo’s expression—and yup, got it in one.

“Hey now, ‘scammed’ is a strong—”

Mikey’s laughing. “I forgot about that!”

“I’d say that being scammed into growing evil hair would be difficult to forget, but given all the stories I’ve already heard I’m starting to see why you might,” mutters Wanda. “Mikey, are you cooking breakfast for everyone?”

“Sure am! Do you have time for me to finish up the french toast and eggs, or do you have to jet soon?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got time—hey April, do you know where my big mug ended up, baby girl? I’m looking in the cabinet and I don’t see it.”

“Oh. Uh, I didn’t realize it was gonna be a big mug day,” says April sheepishly. “Donnie’s got it.”

“Indeed, I am Number One Mom now,” he intones with a lazy salute. “Though I will point out April’s the one who gave it to me, so if you’re annoyed it’s actually her fault.”

Leo snickers. “You know what? I take it back. The only special treatment April gets is getting thrown under the bus!”

“If sharing my big mug is the price to pay for meeting all of y’all, then I got off pretty easy,” says Wanda affably. She grins as she retrieves a different mug. “I just use that as an excuse to say I only drink one cup of coffee a day.”

“I can respect that.”

Leo coughs loudly. “Suck-up.”

“I am not!” protests Donnie, also loudly. “That was a sincere answer!”

At this point April’s mom looks over at Raph—but no, he’s still blissfully sawing logs. “How that man has managed to stay asleep through all of this, I will never know, but I’m impressed,” she says as she sits at the dining table.

Something about that has Leo springing to his feet. “Well, if neither of you are gonna keep Ms. O’Neil company, it’ll have to be me,” he sniffs to April and Donnie.

“Now who’s the suck-up?” says Donnie as Leo tucks himself into the other chair at the dining table.

The bantering (and bickering) continue like that as Mikey finishes up with breakfast. Raph only stirs when plates are pulled from the cupboard and fistfuls of silverware rattle together as they’re retrieved from the drawer en masse. Even then, though, it’s just to stick his snout in the air, eyes closed, sniffing audibly.

“Is he sleepwalking?” asks Wanda.

“Nah, he’s awake. He just doesn’t wanna be,” says Leo. He jerks his plate out of the way of Raph’s jaws as the latter attempts to snag his breakfast out of the air.

“Too early,” Raph rumbles in a voice so low and gravelly with sleep that it’s almost outside of human hearing range.

“Seven is normally the latest you ever sleep in, Raphala,” Donnie points out from where he and April are doing the precarious dance of reaching across one another for different serving utensils. So far they haven’t had a mid-air crash that’s made them drop everything on the floor, but honestly it’s only a matter of time.

“’S diffr’nt,” Raph mumbles. “Normally Raph gets a full night’s sleep first. We stayed up real late.”

“We can get you some coffee,” says Wanda helpfully.

“Naw, coffee ain’t Raph’s thing. Thanks, though.”

“He gets wired,” says Leo in a stage-whisper.

“And then he crashes for several hours,” says Donnie without bothering to modulate the volume of his voice. He ignores the narrow-eyed look Leo shoots him for making his own efforts to be discreet entirely moot.

“’S true. I ain’t stoked about the diuretic part, neither,” says Raph, yawning and swiping one of the neglected pillows to make himself comfortable. The lack of snoring is the only sign that he hasn’t actually slipped back to sleep.

Mikey, who’s been piling food onto a large serving plate, tops the stack off with one last round of sausage before approaching Raph and tapping the back of his hand with one foot. “Food time, big bro!”

The tap has Raph opening his mouth and tilting his head back, prompting Mikey to dump everything down his gullet like he’s a garbage disposal. Wanda gasps, but after chewing a bit Raph swallows with nary an issue. Seeing that he’s okay causes her to relax again. Mikey’s already circling back to the kitchen to load the plate up again, humming cheerily. It’s unclear whether he’s prepping it for Raph again or for himself.

“Peak efficiency,” Donnie says with admiration. He shuffles behind April and reaches around her to grab the small bowl of cinnamon and sugar for his french toast. “You gotta respect it.”

“Thanks!” says Raph. He looks significantly more alert now, though the grin he flashes is still a bit sleepy.

“I’m just glad nobody needed the Heimlich,” says Wanda with relief. “I had to do that at a block party a few years back and it was the most adrenaline I felt since those aliens attacked the city!”

“Nice goin’ with the quick thinkin’, though, Ms. O,” Raph says. “Usually folks just panic. You see it in the clinic all the time. Too much epinephrine and they just kinda lock up.”

At the same time, April’s struck with an idea. “That’s it!” she exclaims. Most of the food is laid out along the back wall of the kitchen, so she’s facing the wall instead of her friends. She whirls about—and rams face-first into Donnie, who’s still standing behind her with the bowl of cinnamon and sugar (which he has miraculously not dropped). She bounces off his plastron and knocks back into the counter and ignores the hand that snaps out to steady her as she forges onward. “You should come to the pothole potluck!”

There’s a pause amongst the group.

“The what now?” asks Raph.

“Is pothole the theme or something?” asks Mikey.

“Wait—who’re you asking to come?” says Leo. “Just Donnie, or…?”

April’s gaze darts to Donnie and for an instant their eyes meet. The contact hits her so hard she may as well have been struck by lighting. He’s shaken by her suddenness, and the hand on her shoulder suggests he believes she’ll try launching herself across the kitchen again, but ultimately he’s just as baffled by what she meant as his brothers.

Over his arm, she sees her mother smiling. At least someone here knows what she’s trying to say.

April shakes her head, beaded braids clacking against her neck. “No, everyone,” she says, and she explains the block party slash pothole protest that’s happening this coming weekend. “The whole neighborhood turns out for these things, and they’re really fun! Plus it’ll be a great chance to introduce you guys to all the neighbors.”

Does April have a particularly strong connection to the people in the Burrough she grew up in? Eh, debatable. For most she never really got beyond Wanda’s weird loner daughter. Pleasing them isn’t the point, and neither is the vindication of revealing the boys she’d always talked about as a kid had been real all along. The point is that April’s no longer being controlled by fear of what others think of her. These are the most important and precious people in her life; she’s going to start treating them like it—and that means inviting them to block parties and introducing them to everyone she’s known for most of her life.

Understanding ripples through the apartment. Her friends exchange enigmatic looks before they smile.

It’s Leo who speaks up. “I think we can make time for that—text me the deets, April. We’ll be there.”

For his part, Donnie moves thoughtfully. He finishes dusting his french toast with cinnamon and sugar and moves so that he’s next to her again, instead of behind her. He keeps giving her these darting glances—not suspicious, though not especially pleased, either. Rather, April gets the notion that he’s taking this promise to introduce them to everyone and tucking it away so he can measure it against what she actually ends up doing. April feels as though she’s being teed up for a test, and it’s up to her to decide whether she will succeed or fail.

April gazes back with determination. She means to succeed.

This garners no reply, verbal or otherwise. Donnie does, however, make a point of staying by her for the rest of the morning, his leg bumping comfortably into her knee on the couch, drying the dishes she washes when she volunteers to clean up the kitchen. April, noticing this, does the same. She pairs off with him to fold blankets as they put away all the bedding that didn’t get used the night before, joins him at the dining table when he settles there to keep out of the way of the portal Leo opens to transfer sleepover stuff back to the lair.

Donnie doesn’t draw attention to the way they’re orbiting around one another, and neither does anyone else. That is, not until the guys are heading out.

April’s mom left for work about twenty minutes ago, and April herself has about ten minutes before she needs to log on to her work laptop. Despite their promise to use proper doors from now on, her friends are portaling out of the apartment. It’s easier, for one, and even if they had left through the door, they’d just be portaling away from the hallway or the lobby of the apartment building. There’s no point pretending they’d do anything else.

April’s not sure what she’d been expecting from the guys as they were departing, but it wasn’t a series of hugs. Mikey’s the first. “I’m glad we finally got to do this,” he says, holding onto her elbows. “We’re gonna have to do it again sometime and have a Jupiter Jim marathon!”

“Your mom’s awesome,” says Raph with a big grin. “Raph’s happy to’ve finally met her!”

On Leo’s turn, he says, “You took forever, but I’m glad we finally got here. Now you’re never allowed to pull this shit again.”

To which April can only let out a weak laugh. “Deal.”

Donnie doesn’t offer a long hug, or an especially intimate one. Considering how much contact he’s been initiating over the last twenty-four hours, April doesn’t blame him for keeping things brief. It’s honestly a wonder he hasn’t gotten twitchy yet. “Forewarning that Splinter will likely be showing up sooner rather than later to demand an introduction. Casey Jr. will also probably be tagging along. I’ll text when they’re en route.”

“I expect nothing less, but a little warning would be great. Thanks, Dee,” says April with a smile.

When Donnie turns expectantly for Leo to make the portal, his brother’s incredulous. “What, that’s it?” says Leo. “What kind of goodbye is that?”

“An effective one,” says Donnie.

“You’ve been all up in each other’s business all morning, no sense being shy now,” says Mikey as he gives Donnie a push back towards April.

April sees Donnie’s scowl and speaks up. “This really doesn’t need to be a whole thing, does it?”

“Nuh-uh,” says Leo, pointing at her. “You don’t get to talk, either. You’re just as guilty.”

“It’s literally been years,” Mikey agrees.

“But nobody likes havin’ an audience, so maybe Leo can portal us outta here and double back for Don in a few minutes?” suggests Raph.

Leo and Mikey capitulate, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Donnie watches his brothers leave him behind with crossed arms and a flat expression of annoyance. When the portal sizzles shut, the silence that falls between Donnie and April is loaded and awkward. Her hands flex at her sides, uncertain of where to go next.

“I’m almost impressed. I can’t think of anything that could possibly be more ham-fisted than this,” Donnie says, still eyeing the place where the portal had been.

April tries to keep things light, despite the way her heart’s leapt in her throat with sudden nerves. “Turns out subtlety’s dead. Who knew?” She immediately grimaces at the cringe-worthy remark. Woof, this is rough.

Donnie’s gaze flicks to her. Either he’s unmoved or intrigued by her faltering; right now April feels too put on the spot to be more specific. “April, I’m annoyed at my dum-dum brothers, not you,” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” She rolls her shoulders. “They really can’t take a hint. Since when did ‘platonic’ mean ‘wink-wink, nudge-nudge’?”

Donnie groans and rolls his eyes. One of his arms unfolds so he can gesture with it. “Since they decided to take it upon themselves to be matchmakers—which I, for one, do not appreciate.”

Something about his exasperation immediately puts April at ease. They’re on the same page, they’re okay. “Exactly! We know what we’re doing.”

“Speaking of knowing what we’re doing—this pothole block party. Did you mean to invite all of us, or is that just how it worked out?”

April blinks. “If you’re asking whether or not inviting everyone was premeditated, then no, not really, it was a spur of the moment kinda—” that’s when she realizes Donnie wasn’t asking about the block party in general, he was asking whether she’d intended to invite him, specifically, and had gotten guilted into inviting the rest of the fam. His fingers are drumming against his leg, stimming restlessly, and he keeps shifting his weight. April can’t tell which answer he’s looking for. The obvious uncertainty, though? That’s got her smiling and asking, “Were you hoping it’d just be you?”

Ironically, flirting with him is easy now that she knows they’re on the level. Donnie’s not going to take the teasing as something it isn’t, or asking for something neither of them are ready for. It’s as effortless as exchanging appreciative looks in front of the coffee pot had been earlier.

Donnie hums. “Naturally, I’ve got several months of penitent acts of service to collect first,” he muses, though not without an edge of humor.

“Of course.”

“After that, though?” He makes a show of considering, then shrugs a shoulder and flashes a crooked grin. “I suppose I’ll let you take me somewhere nice.”

“How gracious of you,” says April with a wry grin of her own.

“It’s true, I’m extremely benevolent and you’re extremely lucky.”

There’s a pause as they both gigglesnort over how dramatic they’re being. At the same time, though, Donnie’s not wrong. “I am lucky,” April echoes, gazing at him softly. “Really, really lucky.”

It’s more than just the obvious, that she’s lucky to have a chance to redeem herself. She’s lucky her friends cared enough to stick by her when she was at her worst, lucky they’re willing to give her their patience now. Honestly, April’s lucky she found them at all, because knowing them has only ever made her life better. They saved her in so many ways—from loneliness, from the mundane, from herself.

Her heart skips a beat when Donnie gazes right back at her, hand wiggling at his side. Understanding of how long she’s loved him is still hitting her in waves, but none of the thoughts are destabilizing. It’s suddenly not such a mystery why none of her previous relationships worked out, and that she’s somehow not too late fills her whole body with gratefulness and warmth.

She’s so, so lucky.

“I’m looking forward to being able to take you out, Dee,” April murmurs, and she means it.

Then her gaze drops, and she notices the pilled ball of dryer fuzz on the shoulder of the shirt he’s wearing. April reaches out without second thought, aiming to pluck it off.

She freezes when Donnie catches her by the wrist, and only then does she realize what this probably looks like. Blood roars in her ears as she gapes at him, fingers flexing. The hold he’s got on her isn’t rough by any means; it’s the symbolism of being caught that’s really got her thinking she’s crossed a line. “Sorry, I just—it’s not what you think, there’s a—”

Donnie uses his hold on her wrist to tug her in and leans down to press their foreheads together. He’s long since geared up for the day, so her forehead’s pushing against his mask instead of his skin, and his goggles are glinting in the light of the floor lamp off to the side. He brings her hand to his cheek as his other arm winds around her waist to hold her against him.

“Hey,” she says faintly, her lips barely moving. It might be a question. Donnie leans into her palm as the pad of her thumb traces along his jawline. His scales are cool to the touch, their texture rounded and smooth like river rocks. His thumb caresses her side in a way that makes her chest constrict. Since Donnie’s instigating, there’s not really a question of whether he wants this contact from her.

Her senses are almost entirely taken up by his presence. Her vision is filled with green and purple and dark eyes boring into her own. He smells like cinnamon and coffee. His plastron’s hard against her front and the arm he’s got around her is bulky and strong. The vibrations she can feel emanating from his chest indicate there’s a sound coming from him, and it’s either too quiet or too deep for her to hear.

All told, April should probably be overwhelmed, but she’s not. Donnie just feels like home.

When she tries pulling back to speak properly he follows her, gently bonking their heads together again. April doesn’t get the sense he’s upset or annoyed from too much conversation. This is fond; this is intimate in a way she can’t quite quantify. The way Donnie responds when she uses her hold on his cheek to guide him into a nudge of her own—how his arm tightens around her, how he pushes into the contact—has her aching.

Such small actions shouldn’t make her feel so close to him, yet they do. April lets out a slow breath as she nuzzles her nose against his beak.

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that Donnie would move that little bit more and kiss her. She is, though. April’s breath catches in her throat, and her mind stutters and sparks like a wet power outlet. None of that stops her from grasping his cheek in one hand and his arm with the other and pulling herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss right back. The arm wrapped around her waist helps to lift her with nary a grunt of effort.

Maybe Donnie doesn’t have lips in the traditional sense, but he certainly doesn’t let that stop him from being a phenomenal kisser. Between the texture of his scales and the soundless vibrations emanating from his chest, she’s got goosebumps, and the way he sinks his teeth into the flesh of her bottom lip has April making a noise of encouragement in the back of her throat.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Donnie’s got game—but oh man is he dangerous with that mouth.

Lucky her.

Both of Donnie’s hands have just slipped down her sides and taken firm fistfuls of her ass when they hear, “’Not yet’, huh?”

They don’t break apart, exactly, but they do pause. April cracks an eye open to confirm what she already knows: that Leo’s standing in front of a portal with his arms crossed and a huge, knowing smirk on his face. “I left you two alone for all of six minutes,” he says. “That’s all it took to break your self-control? Six minutes?”

“I seem to recall everyone complaining about literal years of waiting,” says Donnie without embarrassment. “So, in actuality, our self-control is herculean.”

April starts laughing. She can’t help it; technically, they’re both right, and that’s genuinely funny somehow.

“You’re confusing self-control with obliviousness, dear brother—now come on, April’s already late for work and you were telling me you had all this stuff you absolutely had to do today.”

She only laughs harder when Leo snags a scowling Donnie by the battle shell and bodily drags him back. Since she and Donnie had been left alone her telework start time hadn’t even been a blip on her personal radar. It’s like being a teenager all over again.

Donnie swats his brother’s arm away, but Leo grins and dodges out of range. To April’s continued snickering, Donnie rolls his eyes. “You realize ‘Nardo’s talking to you too, right?”

“Sure, but it’s a fair hit.”

“You don’t tell him that!”

“Too late,” says Leo smugly. Alas, smugness doesn’t stop him from relentlessly herding Donnie to the portal. “Normally I wouldn’t care, but I told Diego I’d be there already, so vámanos, hermano. Portal now or forever hold your peace.”

April checks the time on her phone. “Ah. Yeah, I probably should log on, considering it’s ten after. We’ll text later?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re gonna have to, Mikey was saying he wants your mom’s potato salad recipe, and he’s not above breaking in to make sure he’s around to help her make it.”

Well, any doubts she might’ve had about whether they’d want to keep talking to her are suddenly gone. April snorts and says, “Duly noted.” She gives them a wave as they disappear through the portal.

Without anyone else to cause chaos or distract her, April’s keenly aware of how quiet the apartment is. It’s just her and the wheezing old refrigerator—well, and all the city hustle and bustle happening out on the street outside, but that doesn’t count when it’s nothing more than white noise. Being on her own in this apartment is very familiar, even if this time her lips are tingling and her heart’s fluttering behind her breastbone.

The difference is that, for the first time in a long time, being on her own doesn’t feel lonely.

Chapter Text

It’s a pleasant early summer afternoon. The sun keeps darting behind large, fluffy clouds, though it never stays hidden for long. Party organizers have cordoned off both sides of the block with the birthday-pothole, and someone’s stapled a birthday hat to a traffic cone and plunked it into the middle of the veritable crater in the middle of the road. Someone else has strung streamers between two ladders and erected a backdrop on a frame of PVC pipes for folks to take pictures with the hazard. A sandwich board proclaims ‘tag me! #BirthdayPothole.’ It’s all very tongue-in-cheek.

Cheeky or not, the plan’s working. Neighbors and their friends are lining up to snap selfies with the pothole, and the hashtag is trending on social media. It’s only a matter of time before local news crews roll up to see what all the hubbub is about.

In the meantime, the air is filled with the squeaking of folding plastic chairs, laughter and conversation, and the smoky scent of barbeque. A line of plastic folding tables boasts enough food to feed an army, and there’s a cluster of coolers filled with ice and every manner of canned and bottled drink. There’s a small platform with a microphone for announcements, and a robust sound system playing music loud enough to vibrate through the asphalt.

When April’s friends arrive, they aren’t in the hoodies they used to skulk around the city in when they were being quote-unquote incognito. Neither are they in their usual gear—and that’s how April knows some genuine thought went into this. The colorful array of casual streetwear isn’t something her friends always bother with.

Everyone said they’d turn out for this, not just the guys. Splinter will be coming, as well as Casey and Casey—and of course Juan, who apparently lives around here (how had April not known that before?). All eight of them don’t show up at once, but rather in staggered groups that join the party from different directions, ostensibly as they break away from whatever disparate activities they’d been doing prior to this. And they blend right in. April shouldn’t be surprised that her friends aren’t the only mutants at the block party. Sure, they’re not in the majority or anything like that, but they’re far from the only ones here. If ever she needed more evidence that the city had moved on without her…

Casey’s the first to arrive—fresh from work, if the patch on her jacket proclaiming Hidden City Detective Agency is anything to go by. Well, it’s been modified with a giant embroidered C and a patch of a skull, along with some other pins and embroidered details as Casey pointedly asserts her individuality, but the basic idea’s still the same.

The moment she sees April she marches right up and squashes her face in both hands. April’s taller, so Casey has to drag her down a few inches so they’re eye to eye, which she does with an alarming amount of strength. “I almost terminated our friendship because of your years of harmful inaction,” she informs April. “And I was pleased to hear that I didn’t have to. I’m proud of you for finally getting your shit together!” With that, Casey kisses April on the forehead and both cheeks, and then releases her face to clap her on the back hard enough that it knocks the air out of April’s lungs.

“Thanks, Case,” April wheezes.

“Everything good over here?” asks a bemused Leo as he approaches hand in hand with an equally bemused Juan. “Is there a reason we’re smacking April around?”

“As you know, Blue, I am working to be more emotionally expressive and available!” says Casey. “Just now, I was clearly expressing to April my relief that our friendship was not destroyed.”

“You sure were,” says April as she’s finally able to gasp in a fresh lungful of air. “Are your pats on the back usually that forceful?”

“Only if I’m enthusiastic.”

“Right.” April’s glad she can take a walloping, then.

“You get air back faster if you straighten your spine,” says Juan helpfully.

April does that, bracing her hands on her hips and tilting her head back. Doing so gives her a good vantage point from which to notice Mikey and Donnie arriving. She offers an upside-down wave. “Hey guys.”

Donnie points to his own cheek. “Got some lipstick on your face.”

“That is unsurprising, considering I kissed her there in a display of friendly affection,” says Casey as April rightens herself and rubs the lipstick off.

“See any more?” April asks Donnie.

“You’re good.”

“You’ve never kissed me in a display of friendly affection!” says Mikey in a display of mock-offense. He’s got his hand splayed over his cheerfully decorated plastron and everything.

Casey either does not register the joke or thinks playing it straight is funnier, because she asks, “Would you like me to?”

Mikey considers for a moment, and then says, “Sure.” He leans down and points to his cheek.

If this is meant to be a game of chicken, then Casey’s the wrong person to be playing with. She leaves a smacking kiss on his face without hesitation. This does not seem to surprise Mikey.

“Now you’ve got lipstick on you,” says Donnie as Mikey straightens up.

“I’mma leave it and see how long it takes anyone else to notice.”

“Notice what? That you got lipstick on your face?” asks Raph as he joins the group with Splinter and Casey Jr.

“I’m making excellent strides in showing more affection to the people I care about,” Casey informs him proudly.

“Hell yeah, babe, great work!” And Raph fist-bumps with her. As one does.

“Hey April, who's with your mom?" asks Casey. He points over April’s shoulder. He and Splinter showed up at the apartment with Casey to introduce themselves the other day; Wanda had insisted they stay for supper.

April turns to see her mother headed their way with two others. It’s easier for her mother to move than for April to herd a group of eight, so April let's them do their thing. "Oh, that's Tom and Genie."

“Why’re those names familiar?” asks Raph.

“They’re her best friends,” says April. “Mom’s known them since I was a baby, I think. Maybe even before? They’ve known each other forever, anyway, so I’ve probably talked about them.”

“You have,” Donnie confirms.

“After we meet them we’re taking a group pic with the pothole, right?” asks Leo.

“And April’s gonna tag all of us on her socials?” says Mikey.

“What’s so special about a pothole?” asks Splinter.

“Yeah, I haven’t figured out why we’re celebrating its birthday, either,” says Casey.

“We’re celebrating a birthday for a hole in the ground? Is that what all this is about?” says Splinter incredulously. “Why?”

“It’s grassroots political action,” Juan says. He proceeds to catch them up on all the ways the neighborhood had tried to get the pothole filled in prior to this.

“I think I have been underground too long,” Splinter says at the end of it. “It surely cannot be that I am too old to understand the youths.”

“Okay, I know you’re just saying it like that to make yourself seem more outta touch than you are,” says Mikey. “Just because you think it’s funny doesn’t mean it’s helping your case.”

“It’s also entirely possible that you’re too old to comprehend the popular trends of the day, Papa, sorry to say,” adds Donnie. Splinter whaps him on the back of the head with his tail for that one, and while he complains there’s a general murmur through the group that he deserved what he got.

Funnily enough, everyone snaps into their best behavior when Wanda leads her friends over.

Out of all the other people here from the neighborhood, Tom and Genie are the ones April knows and likes best (though, admittedly, it’s a pretty low bar to clear). She wants them to like her friends because doing so will reflect well on her mother, and also on April herself as a judge of character. She’s more nervous about this than she should be.

“Okay—so everyone, these are my mom’s friends, Tom and Genie!” April does some ‘ta-da’ jazz hands and then proceeds to introduce her side of things. She’s talking kinda fast, and she’s definitely flapping her hands around more than usual, but otherwise she does okay. They already know Juan, and they at least recognize Leo, but meeting six people at once is still a lot. They blink in befuddlement upon learning that Casey and Casey share a name. There is also some confusion upon learning that the four mutant turtle-men are the mutant rat-man’s sons—not because they’re mutants, but rather because of the whole reptile-vs-rodent thing. Understandable stuff that Tom and Genie are nonetheless too polite to question.

April’s trying not to overwhelm her mother’s dearest friends, so she doesn’t go into the fact that Casey’s from the future, or that Casey was his mother there, or that Splinter’s actually action film star Lou Jitsu, and she kinda glosses over the whole ninja vigilante thing. What she does want to hammer home, however, is how important her friends are to her.

“They’re the best friends anyone could ask for,” April says of the guys. That’s the easy part. What has her faltering is when she looks to Donnie. She’s not trying to obscure what’s going on, she just… doesn’t know how to succinctly characterize what they are to each other right now. “And Donnie, um. He’s…”

Of course, now that she’s started the sentence there’s no backing out of it. All eyes are on her. Never has April so keenly lamented not sending a quick text asking for clarification prior to an event. If she plays things down too much, it’ll look like she’s trying to hide him again. If she claims too much, she’s not respecting Donnie’s boundaries. She doesn’t know how to toe the line.

Sweat is beading on April’s upper lip as she glances desperately in Donnie’s direction for some—any—indication of what he’d be okay with.

He does her one better, saying simply, “I’m also April’s date.”

The phrasing is clever, identifying that there’s something extra there without committing to any serious labels. Hell, being someone’s date for a singular event doesn’t even commit you to a follow-up.

“Yes! Thank you, Dee, I was blanking on the word,” she says hastily. It’s a poor attempt to save face, and if Leo’s small snort is indicative of anything then she’s not fooling anyone, but she’s sticking to it.

Wanda raises her eyebrows at the term ‘date’, though she keeps her opinions to herself. What follows is a standard slew of small talk and getting-to-know-you chatter. What do you do for work, do you have family around here, which Burrough are you from. Splinter gets deep in discussion with Tom and Wanda about gentrification in New York while Genie rolls her eyes, clearly having heard it all before.

Everyone else uses this opportunity to sneak away to the pothole photobooth, leaving the adults to their conversation.

“I didn’t realize Dad had so many opinions on gentrification,” says Mikey as he hops down into the pothole.

“It’s like a rite of passage,” Leo theorizes. “You know you’re officially old when you start talking about real estate non-ironically.”

“To be fair, New York real estate is a mess,” says Juan. He’s prevented from saying anything more when Leo pushes a finger against his lips.

“Shhshh, Alvaro. You’re young and cool, remember? These are the vibes we’re channeling, not Dad-vibes.”

“I thought we already determined Juan wasn’t cool,” says Casey. “It had something to do with catching virtual creatures for fun?”

“That’s how Raph remembers it.”

Juan spreads his hands in a ‘what can you do’ sort of gesture. “You keep trying to give me more street cred, cielo, but no one believes you.”

“Because nobody calls it street cred, Mateo.”

“Ah. Just more evidence against me, I’m afraid.”

“You’re both giant dweebs, how ‘bout that?” says Raph. “Now come stand in this hole in the ground so we can take a selfie.”

Raph’s not factually wrong. However, his phrasing, and the intensity in which he demanded the group to stand in the pothole, is extremely funny. The group clusters together, and Donnie whips out the selfie stick. It’s easy to get a nice photo, since everyone’s still giggling about the ‘stand in this hole’ comment, Raph included.

“That’s gonna be my caption,” says April as she preps the social media post. “Stand in this hole.” And #BirthdayPothole, of course. Gotta join the trend!

“Join us in the hole,” snorts Casey, and he’s definitely trying to make it innuendo. It doesn’t really work, but points for effort, April supposes.

This, of course, inspires a steady stream of yes-and-ing from the rest of the group as they try to improve upon the innuendo.

“The hole needs you.”

“We got a hole big enough for everyone.”

“C’mon in, the hole’s great!”

“Time to fill the birthday hole!”

That stops the game cold as an even mixture of raunchy humor and distaste ripples through the group.

“Welp, that’s it. Can’t improve upon perfection.”

“I hate it here.”

“You’re not actually making that the caption, are you?” asks Donnie. He props his arm on April’s shoulder and peers at her phone’s screen from over her head because he’s so tall he can do that without even going on tiptoe. He’s completely ignoring the commentary happening behind them.

“Of course not.” April snorts. Then she gets an idea and switches over to front-facing camera mode. The sun moves out from behind a cloud and glints off Donnie’s goggles and the beads in her hair. They seem to glow in its light. “Can I have one of just us?”

Donnie’s eyebrows dip together in the phone screen as he tries to figure out what she’s doing. They smooth out after a second or so. “Yes, but not when you’ve got the camera pointed right up my nostrils.” He takes the device from her and brings it up to an angle that’s more flattering for him.

“Now I look like an ant,” says April.

“That’s because you’re too far away, the camera lens is warping you.”

“No, it’s because you’re holding the camera half a mile up in the air.”

“You think I haven’t figured out how to take selfies with short people?” Donnie loops his arm around her front, just under her bust, and tugs her in until her shoulders are flush against his plastron. “Move your head back.”

The back of April’s head bumps against the curve of his shoulder, and both of them are treated to an unflattering view of the underside of her chin in the phone screen. She fixes the visual by tilting her head to the side and pressing her forehead into the side of Donnie’s neck. That’s better. They’re nicely framed by sunlight and blue sky, and honestly? They look good together. April smiles and relaxes into him, comfortably layering her arms atop the one he has around her.

And if doing that has her stomach summersaulting and her heart stuttering, then so be it. She likes it here.

Something in Donnie’s expression on the screen changes, and the arm around her ribs flexes. He doesn’t appear to be upset, merely—is that surprise? Oh no, he didn’t notice the heartbeat thing, did he?

Except he doesn’t say, and April’s a little too nervous to ask. After a second or so, she says through the smile she’s still mulishly maintaining, “Dee, are you gonna take the picture?”

That snaps him out of it. Donnie offers the camera a smoldering, close-mouthed smile as he snaps the picture. He returns her phone to her somewhat woodenly, as if he’s forgotten how to work his limbs, and he doesn’t release her as he nosily watches her navigate back to the social media application. April’s enjoying the reassuring solidity of having him behind her, and she still has both hands to type with, so she doesn’t mind.

‘+ a moment with someone special’ she adds under the photo of them. She offers a questioning hum, wordlessly asking if Donnie wants to veto anything. It’s another fine line, and she can’t tell if this is too much or too little.

Donnie makes a considering sound before taking her phone and adding purple and yellow heart emojis at the end of the sentence. “If you want this to count towards your penance, you need to simp harder than that,” he explains.

April bursts out laughing. “I should’ve guessed. Do I need to slide into your DMs, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, April. I need to save something for the second date.”

She laughs again as she publishes the post. “You’re right, you’re right. Simp harder, but not too hard. I clearly got carried away.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Very cringe of you, frankly.”

April snorts and finally (reluctantly) extricates herself from his hold. Once she’s turned around she can clearly see that even Donnie—who can usually keep a straight face through this kind of banter—is grinning with humor.

“Oh my god,” they hear. “I know we were joking about it earlier, but it finally—did you actually…?”

It’s Casey. He’s looking between them with wide, overbright eyes, utterly beside himself. It’s the most concentrated version of his puppy-eyed Commander O’Neil Face that April’s ever seen. Why is it happening now, though? What part of what just happened felt or looked like the apocalyp—

That’s when it clicks. April’s gaze snaps to Donnie with a totally new context, heat rushing to fill the apples of her cheeks, only to find him furrowing his brows at her uncomprehendingly.

Okay, okay. One thing at a time. “To answer your question, Casey: no, we’re not together.”

“Not yet, anyway,” says Donnie, to which April nods her agreement.

The absolute rollercoaster of emotion that crosses Casey’s face is truly a sight to behold. In a matter of seconds he goes from disappointment, to elation, to complete confusion.

“Can I ask you something?” April says to Casey.

He’s suspicious, but he nonetheless offers a slow, “Yeah. What is it?”

April flicks her finger between Donnie and herself. “We were a thing in your time, weren’t we.”

Okay, so she doesn’t actually say it like a question. Based on every time she’s ever seen Casey’s Commander O’Neil Face, April’s pretty sure she knows the answer. She just wants to make sure of it.

“Melodramatic sigh. Frankly, I don’t see how that matters one way or the other,” says Donnie. “We’re clearly not the same people as our post-apocalyptic counterparts.”

April and Casey both ignore this. He’s slipped up and called her Commander O’Neil too many times over the years for the resemblance not to be significant, but he only puts on the Face when Donnie’s around or part of the conversation.

Casey looks between them, expression carefully blank, for all appearances debating the repercussions of answering. His gaze settles back on April and he confirms what she already knows, “Since way before I was born, yeah.”

Actually, scratch that. April hadn’t had any guesses about how long, and that’s a significant surprise. She’s gonna have to tease out the implications of that later, when she’s got the time.

“Oh,” says Donnie faintly. Apparently, that’s enough of a contrast to have captured his interest, too.

Casey nods and shrugs helplessly. “Glad to see you’re finally starting to work things out?” he tries.

“Since before you were born,” Donnie repeats.

“How are you two only figuring this out now?” says Leo, who’s clearly been eavesdropping. Both April and Donnie start to answer. Leo does not permit either of them to get a word out. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. I can’t in good conscience let you two melonheads get off scot-free when you’ve made the rest of us suffer for years. Other people need to know you’ve got fucking spaghetti for brains. I need a podcast with an audience of thousands, I need a stage! I need a—”

“Hey Lee, what about a microphone?” calls Mikey from the little stage area. There’s a thump and a screech as someone plugs the cables into an amp.

Leo immediately lights up. “That’ll work.”

April and Donnie have only a split second to realize what Leo’s about to do before he’s sprinting full tilt to the stage, nimbly dodging around stunned partygoers.

They give chase. “Leo, get back here!”

“’Nardo, I swear to Einstein—”

Leo doesn’t listen, of course. A couple of kids start racing alongside him purely for the thrill of it, forming an inadvertent blockade. April’s got no qualms about tackling Leo himself, but she draws the line at squashing children.

In a similar vein, Casey and Casey and Raph have no qualms about tackling her and Donnie.

“Oh, no ya don’t!” Raph grunts as he and Donnie slam to the ground, causing it to tremble. They’re both fine, of course. Donnie squawks and flails wildly, to no avail. Raph’s simply too big and too strong. It only takes him a minute or so to pin Donnie’s arms to his sides and heft him up under one arm like an unwieldy football. Donnie tries kicking out to dislodge himself, which doesn’t work either.

For her part, April’s been apprehended by both Caseys. They didn’t have to take her to the ground, which is great because April wasn’t looking forward to dealing with road rash. On the other hand, Junior’s got her arms twisted behind her back, and Senior’s just swept her legs out from under her.

“Throw them in the hole!” Casey declares over April’s yelps of offense. This inspires some gleeful snickering from her co-conspirators as they comply.

Meanwhile, April can hear Leo’s magnified voice ringing out. “This thing on? Great! So first off, my condolences for the crater in the middle of your road, that’s pretty gnarly.” There’s a pause as someone hollers a question at him. “Am I the emcee? Hell yeah, brochacho, I was born to emcee! And we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled programming in just a minute, but there’s something that’s been bugging me about as much as this hole’s been bugging you lovely folks, and if you hear me out, I think you’ll agree that my brother and our best friend need to be put on blast. That’s them over there, about to be dumped in the hole.”

April’s face is burning. She doesn’t know whether to laugh, shout back at Leo, or curl up as small as possible and hope for divine intervention. This is a lot of unwanted attention from the community she grew up in. She’s not particularly interested in her ramshackle romantic history being revealed to all these people, nor this new and precarious thing between her and Donnie being trotted out like a freakshow.

This is also the epitome of the Hamato clown troupe striking again. Were this any less personal of a topic, April would have been equal parts amused and annoyed, but she wouldn’t have felt nearly as vulnerable as she does now. It occurs to her, as she’s bodily deposited back into the pothole, that this extreme display of attention-grabbing buffoonery might be a test of her resolve. April says she’s going to fully let her friends in, and she’s not going to hide or reject them—well, here’s her chance to prove it.

“You see, these idiots have been in love with each other for years. And when I say years, I mean over a decade, okay? Like, you think this pothole’s bad, but imagine five of them. Or one mega pothole that’s been around for ten-plus years. I don’t know which is worse. Point is, they finally realized they’re perfect for each other the other day and now I can finally talk about how frustrating it’s been.”

Despite the initial plan to throw April and Donnie into the pothole, Casey and Raph and Casey have also ended up back in there with them. It’s partially because they’re still being restrained; the rest is just their friends snickering at the combined ridiculousness of crouching in a hole with Leo’s ranting in the background. Mikey even skids over to join them in an unnecessary show of solidarity, though for which side April can’t say.

A part of April’s still mortified at being put on blast. She can’t bring herself to even think of looking Donnie in the eye right now. Casey’s got his arm around her shoulders, though, and Mikey’s plopped himself down at her other side so he can sling his arm around both her and Donnie. Raph’s just scooped them all up into his huge arms, and Casey’s stretched herself out over all their laps like a cat basking in a puddle of sunlight.

If this truly is a test of April’s resolve, then they’re going easy on her. Being publicly dunked on ain’t her idea of a good time, but surrounded by all this love and affection is fortifying. Even though she’s made mistakes, even after everything she’s done to hurt them, they’re not giving up on her. She’s not going to be abandoned.

Unconditional love. That’s what this is, what it’s been all along.

Admittedly, April doesn’t listen much to Leo and his grievances after that point. He doesn’t go on too much longer, though, and soon he’s jumping into the pothole with them and sprawling out over Casey on their laps while Juan, Splinter, and her mother stay on the edges of the crater.

“Comfortable?” asks Juan with clear amusement.

“Surprisingly, yes,” says Leo, which doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone.

“I’ve had worse,” Donnie mutters.

“Come join us, Dad!”

“I will not be jumping into this admittedly impressive pothole with you, Orange.”

Mikey makes a noise of disappointment. Casey shouts over it, “Leo, you’re squashing me!”

“Sounds like a skill issue to me. Get good, Casey.” Leo squirms for emphasis, causing Casey to grunt and writhe when she gets an inadvertent elbow to the torso. She scrabbles at Leo’s shell, trying to haul him off. It not only doesn’t work, but it jostles and bombards the rest of them as limbs start flailing either in reaction or retreat. April gets bopped in the face by Mikey’s arm, her thigh’s stabbed by Leo’s sharp ass elbow, and then she and Junior clonk their heads together.

Overall, April’s starting to understand what a box full of rowdy kittens feels like.

“Anyone want a popsicle?” asks Wanda over the bickering. She holds up the brightly colored box to indicate she’s not fibbing.

As expected, this garners immediate enthusiasm. The impromptu turtle pile—because that is, in fact, what they’ve done—breaks apart, all memories of jostling and discomfort evaporated in an instant. April and Donnie, who’d been in the middle of the pile so they wouldn’t escape and strangle Leo while he was at the microphone, are tossed around the most. April’s not entirely sure who knees her in the gut, or whose mask tails slap her across the mouth, but she’s left sprawled out in the middle of the road in a daze. Glancing over, she sees Donnie slumped against the side of the pothole in a similar state.

Something cold and crinkly lands on her lap. It’s a popsicle in her favorite flavor: green. A similar crinkling sound announces that Donnie’s just been served one, as well, though it hits him square in the plastron instead of his lap. His is purple, of course.

“Thanks,” she groans, reaching up to rub her face with one hand as she pushes herself to sit up properly with the other.

Mikey responds with a chipper, “You’re welcome!”

Conversation has started up on the road proper, and Raph snickers as he snaps a photo of her and Donnie sprawled out in the hole. That’ll be fun to stumble across on social media later. Aside from that, it’s quiet down on the ground. A broken chunk of asphalt digs into April’s hip as she shifts. She doesn’t know what she can say to Donnie. Even if she didn’t listen to all of it, she heard enough of what Leo said to feel thoroughly exposed and hesitant on where to go from here. No amount of unconditional love from friends and family obscures the fact this new and untested in-between thing she and Donnie have going on was basically just trapped in a jar and wildly shaken up.

It also seems like Donnie doesn’t know where to go from here. He’s gazing at something off to the side, subconsciously picking at the crumbling edge of the pothole. So much for treading delicately.

April holds up her popsicle anyway, because one of them’s got to break the tension somehow. “Cheers?”

Donnie flicks his eyes her way without turning his head, expression impenetrable. At first it seems like he’s not gonna bite, like he’s too locked up to remember how to relax around her. Then he offers this little smile and stops picking at the asphalt to tap his popsicle against hers. “Cheers.”

Small as it is, that’s the gesture that works. It’s like that moment they shared at the end of last year’s Lair Games, this little instance of mutual understanding. April shuffles until her shoulder presses against his arm and is rewarded when Donnie presses back. They eat their popsicles like that, leaning against one another in their own little instance of solidarity, only moving when Donnie reaches out to righten the traffic cone with the birthday hat that got crushed by the turtle pile.

“Uh, are you two gonna spend the rest of the party down there?” asks Raph at one point. He’s looking between them and the pothole, clearly wondering if there’s something he’s missing.

Right. They’re still sitting in a hole in the ground.

“Dismissive scoff. Of course not, Raphala,” says Donnie.

April clambers to her feet to prove it. “Yeah, we were just leaving.” She turns and offers Donnie her hand to help haul him up. He doesn’t need the assistance, and she knows that. He lets her tug him to his feet all the same, and then he pays it forward by pulling her out of the hole.

There’s a metaphor there, April’s sure of it, but she’s having trouble pinpointing it, too absorbed with the fact that he hasn’t let her go.

This chapter got FANART??!? 

A massive thank you to LovelyLadyLavie on Tumblr for the wonderful art!!