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Chapter Text

In a flash of light, Leo falls. He can feel himself hurtling towards the ground, blinded, and dreads the impact 

Only, it never comes. Between one moment and the next, his view changes from the starless city sky to a view of the street from a nearby rooftop. He stumbles slightly, feeling a rush of vertigo as he tries to regain his balance. 

That was—strange. How did he get here? One moment, he was falling. The next, he was on his feet, his vision shadowed at the edges. 

He shakes his head. Whatever. Figuring it out could wait. He needed to get back into the game. 

Only, when he reaches to pull out his swords, he’s stopped at the sight of two big human arms instead of the green he was expecting. Leo stops, pulling them down to stare at the gloved hands. 

He flexes his fingers—his five fingers—and jolts when he hears someone call his name. 

“Leo! Where are you, bro?” 

Instinctively, he calls, “I’m here,” and finds his voice is wrong now, too. He covers his mouth, as if that will stop the wrongness from coming out, but his hand meets a barrier of resistance. 

His head, he was—he was wearing something on his head .

Leo rips it off. In his hands (not his, they were wrong, so wrong ) was a shiny red helmet, gleaming menacingly against the city lights. 

In the reflection, Leo could see a face. 

A square human face, with surge green eyes and a streak of white amidst black locks. 

Damian knows instinctively to shield his eyes when the flash occurs. Because despite whatever could happen to his body, vision was much more important to preserve. It was an easy choice. He lowers his arms quickly the moment he feels it subside, blinking spots from his vision. 

He is no longer out on the street with Batman, facing the false warlock. Instead he was perched on a fire escape, tucked away in an alley. Damian pushes to stand with the express intent of orienting himself, only to nearly fall head first the moment he’s upright. It’s with quick reflexes that he reaches and grabs onto the stairwell. It was not a death drop, but he certainly would’ve broken something.

But now he puzzles, because why had he nearly fallen? Learning and understanding his centre of balance was one of the most basic of basics, something he learned the moment he could walk. It takes a lot, such as an injury to the head, to throw that off. 

A piece of the puzzle falls into place when he turns his head away from the drop to his hand still gripping the rusted railing. He pulls himself up completely, forgoing the perch for the wider net of balcony to stand in. His eyes stay on his hands, large and dumb and green as they are. They’re knotted up in the wraps of a fighter, bearing also elbow pads when he looks. 

A glance down at his body makes it all even stranger. On his chest was something hard and immovable, like armour. He could feel something on his back weighing him down, and he could distinctly feel the metal grating on his mostly-uncovered feet. 

“Robin!” 

Damian’s head snaps up at the sound of Batman’s voice. No, Father’s . His voice holds an uncertainty that has something lurching in his chest. He twitches towards it, wanting to reassure him that he was fine. Instinctively he reaches for his grapple, before remembering that there was all… this …going on and he likely wouldn’t have one to—

Oh. It was just, it was on the other side of his… his belt. A belt. Very much not his. 

Well, it would have to do. 

There Tim was, arguing with a… turtle. Some hybrid species that had more brains but about the same temper as Killer Croc. It was dressed battle-ready too, wielding sais as if it—he, she, they?—knew their way around it intimately. 

They had a far more extensive vocabulary than Croc, that was for sure. Tim was getting the dressing down of a lifetime as the turtle continuously attempted to maim him. He’d been forced to crack out his staff just to avoid getting stabbed. 

Then, as he was in the middle of parrying an attack, the world whites out completely. When he’s finally able to see again, he’s in the air, throwing what looks to be some sort of chain and sickle. In order to not go splat, he continues the motion, keeping a firm grip on the chain as it snags on to the rooftop it’d been heading for. 

He grunts when the momentum of the chain snagging yanks at his arm. It takes as much strength he can muster to keep a firm hold on the chain as he swings. 

Tim lowers himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a collision between his hip and a trash can. Planting his feet on the ground isn’t as graceful as he expects it to be, but he pushes that aside to instead head back in search of the turtle. 

“Robin!” 

His instinct to jerk towards the sound of Batman’s call is not one he likes to think about. It wasn’t his title, hasn’t been for awhile now, but it didn’t fail to prick his ear. 

Tim hesitates for only a moment. If something was wrong with Damian, B could likely use some backup. 

He runs towards where Batman and Robin are huddled together on the road. 

“Hey B—”

“Batman!” 

Tim stops, his steps stuttering when the unfamiliar voice calls out so seriously. He glances across the street towards the new voice, everything halting completely when he sees yet another turtle, this time wearing purple. 

What is going on?

“Raph?”

Mikey calls out to his brother unsurely. His brain has suddenly gone sideways up, somehow teleporting (without even trying to this time). 

His feeling of weird and off only grows as Raph across from him blinks and shakes his head, as if also disoriented. Was he teleported too??

When Raph meets his eyes though, he doesn’t respond. His eyes go all wide while his brows furrow. 

“Wh—Ti—Uh, Red Robin. Did you just get transported too?” Raph(?) strides forward, glancing around as if searching for a threat. He comes in so fast and so wrong that Mikey can’t help but take a step back, dodging the hand that was to land on his shoulder. 

Not Raph frowns, his hand hovering in the air. “Red Robin, what’s—?” His (not) brother pauses then, seeming to only now notice something was off. He inclines his head to meet his eyes now that they were close. 

Mikey takes another step back, then another. He books it out of there, jumping the next rooftop over. Worriedly, he glances behind him, but his incorrect brother doesn’t follow him. 

He skids to a stop on a ledge, searching the streets below. The spooky dude in the cape was huddled around his sidekick on the ground. Oddly, as Mikey looks at them, he’s reminded of Wingnut and Screwloose. 

Focus, Mikey, focus. 

He sticks to the rooftops as he looks for his other brothers. Hopefully they weren’t wrong too…

“Donnie? Leo!” He calls once. Then again, “Leo! Where are you, bro?”

Mikey jolts when he hears someone call, “I’m here.” It wasn’t Leo’s voice. 

Still, he follows it. What he finds instead of his brother is a huge guy, holding a red helmet in his hands and wearing wayyy too much leather. 

The guy looks at him sharply when he lands, eyes a green not unlike Raph’s. Except maybe… glowing? 

Mikey chuckles awkwardly, swinging his arms. “The name Leo common down here in Jersey?” 

The strange guy straightens up the moment he hears that. He squints at Mikey, eyeing him over carefully. 

Then, hesitantly, he asks, “Mikey?”

Chapter Text

Five minutes earlier…

“And what does this have to do with us, exactly?” 

“Raph,” Leo starts, sighing. 

“What? Seems like these freaks in spandex got it all covered. I’d hate to step on any toes.”

“Raph, you love to step on toes,” Donnie interjects dryly. “As for your question—“

“—the answer is, we should offer help should they need it. It’s called being kind.” 

Donnie clicks his tongue, fiddling with his scrapheap tech. “The real answer is that my scanner picked up a trace of mutagen in the area. The flashy wizard is unrelated.” 

“Isn’t it kinda fun to watch?” Mikey asks, peeking over the edge of the roof. “I wanna know how the pros do it.” 

Leo crouches down beside his youngest brother, observing. “They do seem highly skilled for a group of humans. Have we ruled out superpowers?”

“I think it’d be fairly obvious if they were on the same level as Superman.” Donnie pauses. “But I haven’t ruled it out, no.” 

“Whoa!” Mikey gasps, catching their collective attention as he lurches forward. “Did you see what Batdude just did? That was so cool!” He grins wide, enraptured by the scene below. A rough hand pats his shoulder, joining him at the edge. 

“I missed it. What happened?”

While Mikey and Raph watch over the fight, Leo peers over Donnie’s shoulder. The display admittedly didn’t make much sense to him, but he could guess based on how centred the blinking dot was that they were fairly close to the suspected mutagen. 

“We’ll have to do a sweep of the surrounding area,” Donnie notes. “It could be in one of these buildings, for all we know.” 

“What’s the chance that it’s laid in plain sight on a feathered cushion for us?” Leo intones. His taller brother snorts. 

“With our luck? One in one hundred.” 

“I thought so.” He sighs. “Okay. Mike, Raph.” He nods them over, putting his hands on his hips. “We’ll start with a sweep of the alleys. Spread out, but keep your T-phones handy. And stick to the shadows.” 

“You got it, Fearless Leader.”

“Right on!” 

“You betcha.” 

He nods, firm. “Good.”

Twenty minutes earlier…

“‘Wing, Hood, Double R, we need some reinforcements for a magic situation.”

“Got it. Location?”

“You’re asking me… why?”

“Uh oh. Magical mishap? Should I get Zee on the phone?” 

“Location is west of Upper East Side, couple blocks away from Miller Harbour. You’ll know it when you see it. Hood, you are on the list for any medium-large to apocalyptic level threats, in case you forgot. And no; I’m trying to contact her now.”

“What the hell is a medium-large threat?”

“If you’d bothered to read B’s threat scale, you’d know.”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are if you believe I would willingly subject myself to that thing. I like reading. But that thing is long and dry. Like a saltine. Do you want me to die choking on a saltine?”

“If it’ll get you to stop complaining.”

“Oracle, is there any info you can give us on what we’re stepping in to?” 

“Right. Well, I caught a minor disturbance about half an hour ago, and sent Batman and Robin to check it out. From what I can see, there’s only one person involved. But whoever they are, they’ve got some pretty nasty magic.”

“Mind-altering?”

“Not that I can tell. So far, they’ve managed to rip up all the surrounding concrete to use as projectiles.”

“Ahh. Ground-breaking.”

“… It’s lasting a bit too long for my liking, hence why I’ve called in the cavalry.”

“I’m crossing through Robinson Park now. ETA should be in ten.” 

“Roger that.”

“Stop.” 

Batman steps in front of Robin, using his adult form and dark cape to cover the boy still on the ground. He looks to either side of the street, where two humanoid turtles have emerged. They carry weapons, tucked away in belt straps reaching across their shells.

He uses his height advantage to appear looming in attempts to make them think twice about approaching him further. 

“State your identity and purpose.” 

Both creatures look at him with brows furrowed. He’s not sure how much clearer he needs to be. That was pretty straightforward.

The taller one, off to his left, takes a step forward, looking torn. It stops when he widens his stance. 

The smaller one, clad in an orange bandana to rival the former’s purple one, is suddenly clutching at its head like it’s feeling it for the first time. 

“Am I green???” The turtle in orange asks incredulously. Its young voice throws Bruce off a little. How old was this turtle? 

The turtle in purple sneers. “What, haven’t looked in a mirror all your life?” Its nasally voice oozes condescension. 

The latter scoffs in outrage. “Look who’s talking!” 

The tall turtle shuts its mouth with a snap, frowning. 

Bruce’s attention is pulled from the arguing when he feels Robin shift behind him. He turns slightly, looking at the boy. 

“Robin, stay back. We’re dealing with unknowns here.”

Robin doesn’t appear to be listening. He stares, slack-jawed, at the scene before him. Bruce has half a mind to pull him back, but there’s something happening. He wants to find out what. 

Robin mutters then, in complete bewilderment, “What in Newton’s Law…?” 

…

?

“Mikey?” He takes faltering steps forward. “And…” Bruce watches anxiously as Robin walks up to the taller turtle. Its glare has turned on his boy, now. It could snap at any moment. 

And just like he predicts, the turtle snatches Robin by the front of his suit, hoisting him into the air. Bruce is running forward, close enough when the turtle hisses, “Give me back my body, pretender.” 

Bruce snaps his hand out grab at the turtle’s wrist, growling at it to “Let go of Robin.” 

The turtle is frozen with a struck face, no longer looking at Robin but him. It left Bruce with questions, even if he kept his grip steadfast. 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” the turtle in orange cuts in, coming in quick. “B, it’s me. It’s Red Robin.” The young voice that speaks to him is at odds with the words that form to hit his ears. He stares at the turtle, eyes narrowed. 

“Give me a definitive reason why I should believe you,” he demands. 

The small turtle immediately responds with, “Code B3S5.” 

Bruce feels himself bristle a bit. 

As if reading his thoughts, the turtle starts, eyes wide, “Identification code R-74-R.” 

He lets go of his hackles upon hearing that, mollified, until,

“Father, it is I as well,” comes the taller turtle, “Your son. Code B3S5, identification R-08-15.”

Okay. That was… both proper codes from his sons. His sons who were turtles. Somehow. 

Bruce turns his gaze back on Robin, taking a closer look with fresh eyes. Upon closer inspection, the boy’s demeanour was far from Damian’s confidence and certainty. The boy blanches under his scrutiny, ducking his head until it’s practically receding into the collar. 

“Who are you.” 

“I’m— I’m—“ The voice of his son trembles. Bruce watches him visibly swallow, before, “My name is Donnie. I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“Your consciousness has invaded Robin’s body.” The face of his son grimaces. Nodding to Damian, his son sets the boy down, though careful to watch his body language in case he bolts. Gesturing to the turtle entities holding Tim and Damian’s consciousness, he asks, “Is one of these your original body?” 

The mystery invader gingerly points to the body Damian now inhabits. 

“Hybridized turtles,” Tim notes in that distinctly younger voice, “I met another one earlier. That one was in red. Wielded some sais.”

“You ran into one,” intones Bruce. Tim shrugs and nods. “Why didn’t you report it?” 

“I was a bit preoccupied with not getting stabbed. They’re deceptively fast, for turtles.” 

The mystery consciousness chimes in then, informing them, “While we’re technically genetic hybrids, our creation was a method entirely unrelated to gene splicing.”

“Yeah?” Tim raises a brow. “And what method was that?” 

The mystery boy’s mouth opens to respond, but immediately cows upon noticing he’s got the attention of all three vigilantes. He laughs nervously. 

“I feel like… I shouldn’t answer that…”

“Why?” Damian presses, glaring, arms crossed. “Have something to hide?”

“If you look at it one way, we all have something to hide—“

“Donnie?!”

Leo could count on his human hands (which he had now, for some reason) the number of times he’d encountered magic. Arguably on his turtle hands, depending on how you felt about the use of chi. 

He was not very fond of the instances when they occurred. See: cultists reviving their worst enemy and simultaneously ripping open a hole to the underworld. 

Swapping bodies with human vigilantes in a city they’ve never been to before was solidly swinging into the ‘dislike’ column. 

He swings down along with Mikey (in the body of a skinny, shaggy-haired human) using the grappling hook mercifully affixed to his belt. Down below, Donnie and Mikey (but not Mikey, because his little brother was to his left. Gah!) stand close with the mysterious Batman and his sidekick Robin. It sends his heart into a bit of a stir, seeing them so out in the open like that. 

The four on the ruined street glance their way as he and Mikey land. He watches them through the helmet (because it seemed important to wear) as they straighten, all except the little boy who stays with his shoulders at his ears. 

Batman watches them approach, his face impossible to read through the cowl. 

His brothers, though, will always be easy to read. Donnie(?) watches them like a hawk, wearing a menacing glare that scrutinizes their every move. (Not) Mikey wears a plastic expression, frozen in place as it processes the information in front of him. 

Not Mikey gives a flat laugh. “This just keeps getting better and better.” 

Meanwhile, the actual Mikey looks absolutely delighted. “Dude, is that what I look like to other people? I have such squish-able cheeks…!” He gushes over himself, pressing his gloved hands to his face in awe. Not Mikey looks visibly disturbed by this, his expression melting into one of abject horror. 

“What is happening to my face. What is happening.”

Leo clears his throat. Eyes draw back to him. 

“Hood,” Batman greets without a lick of inflection. 

He shifts on his feet, feeling a bit like he’s being dissected. Batman cut an intimidating figure, even at Leo’s newfound height. 

“B… Batman.” His hesitancy has him sweating. Did the man think he was this ‘Hood’ guy? No, definitely not. Right?

Batman gestures to his sidekick, who stands in the middle of everything rather awkwardly. “Robin was just telling me something interesting.”

On cue, Robin steps forward, shoulders shrugged up to his ears. He plays with the fingers of his gloves as he confesses, “My name is actually Donnie. It seems my mind has been transplanted from my body to this one. I don’t really know why.” 

His heart skips a beat the moment he hears Donnie’s name. So that’s where he was. But where was Raph? 

He realizes after a second that Batman and likely two of his team members (in his brothers’ bodies) were looking at him expectantly for an answer. To confess his identity so openly had him jittery, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. The secret had already been revealed. 

Leo takes a breath. “I’m—“

The leader is abruptly interrupted by a clang. He stops and glances back, along with everyone else, to the alley just off to their left. 

Someone hisses in pain, audible, then— “Oh shi—!” Before several more crashes and bangs can be heard. Whoever it was, it sounded painful. He and Mikey wince at every crash. 

His heart goes for another marathon when Raph emerges from the alley, wincing and rubbing his head. He very sternly has to remind himself that likely wasn’t his brother, to stop himself from running over. 

Not Raph stops a good distance away, looking them all over. With an airy sigh, he props his hands on his hips and says, “That has got to be my worst dismount ever.” 

Batman doesn’t twitch even once. “Nightwing?” 

Not Raph grins. “In the flesh,” he replies. Then pauses, tilting his head. “Scales?”

Not Donnie seems to lose his patience, gesturing as he hisses, “Nightwing, get over here.” Not Raph complies easily. 

Their little congregate is getting bigger, but they were still missing some, namely Raph—“Red Hood.” 

Leo hesitates, noticing Batman’s attention back on him. “Where is he?”

Frowning, he resists the urge to puff up. This guy was awfully demanding. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “but we’re missing a brother as well. Why don’t we spread out and search for the both of them?” 

Batman only grunts in reply. He shifts to the side, calling for “Oracle.” There is only silence in response, but it doesn’t seem to faze him or his team. 

Mikey leans in close. “What are they doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers back, “Just keep watching.” 

Donnie joins them at their side in the brief pause, glancing up at them warily. Despite the foreign face, the expression is all Donnie. It brings Leo to smile, just a little, even with the circumstances. 

“Nightwing’s body was last seen close to the fight,” Batman informs. “That was eight minutes ago.”

His voice alone commands you pay attention to him. It has this no-nonsense inflection, with an edge of high expectations for good measure. But unlike someone like Master Splinter, who always found an opportunity to impart a piece of wisdom, it was just all command all the time. 

Suffice to say, Leo won’t allow this guy to walk all over them. His brothers were his team, his responsibility. Not Batman’s. 

He crosses his arms over his chest. “My brother knows how to remain unseen. Your typical methods likely won’t work.” 

Donnie nods, adding, “And considering he doesn’t have his phone on him, we have no way to contact him.” 

“I may have a solution.”

All three turtle brothers jump, to varying degrees of height. Mikey slaps a hand over his ear, looking around. 

“Dudes, I’m hearing voices!” His mild distress has Leo placing a calming hand on his shoulder, despite his heart also racing. 

“Oracle,” Batman acknowledges the voice, ignoring their collective surprise, “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it’s simple. If his consciousness is in Nightwing’s body, he’ll have access to comms. All I need to do is reach out.”

Donnie’s eyes widen in understanding. “Right! If you’re all hooked up to the same frequency, we should be able to get ahold of Raph no problem!”

“There is a problem, though,” Leo interjects. “Raph is a very suspicious guy by nature, twice that when it comes to humans. There’s no way he’ll react well.”

Not Mikey pipes in then, brow raised. “Is there something wrong with the suit’s tracker?”

“Oracle is experiencing some interference,” Batman answers. “The comm line is our quickest option.”

“What does ‘comm’ stand for?”

“Communications,” Donnie answers Mikey quickly, before plowing on, “If you’re going to use it to contact him, it’d be best if we’re included as well.“ 

Leo nods his agreement. “He’s more likely to answer if he thinks it’s us.” It was also the best way to maintain some semblance of control over this issue. Letting Batman and his unknown number of resources handle something like retrieving his brother…it didn’t sit right with him. Their reputation for helping Gotham was one thing, helping some unknown mutants was another entirely. He needed to remain cautious and alert. 

The Bat simply grunts, while this enigmatic ‘Oracle’ gives their own assent through the earpiece. 

Donnie rightfully points out that “We’re still in the middle of the street. Perhaps we should move?” A glance around proves that, while there weren’t any people walking by to see them, they were still fairly out in the open. Nodding, Leo nods towards the rooftop. 

“We should move to the rooftops—“

“Head for the roofs—“

He and Batman stop at the exact same time, looking at each other with equally unreadable expressions thanks to their respective headgear. But underneath the dumb red helmet, Leo narrows his eyes. 

“Rooftops?” Not Raph chirps, “You got it.” He hightails it out of there, pulling out the grappling hook from Raph’s belt and using it to zip up towards the closest building. Not Donnie follows suit, rolling his eyes before grappling away.

Leo pulls out the one clipped to this body’s belt. He’d already made note of it, but it was best to use it considering he wasn’t sure how this body would handle climbing his way up. 

It was a lot more advanced than their own, he’ll give it that. The thing was compact and sleek. A design that has the actual Donnie visibly salivating over it. He blushes when Leo nudges him, muttering a sheepish apology when told to get a move on. 

Leo watches him go, then turns to see what the rest are doing, but—

“Yo! I’m missing a chuck! Where’d it go?!” Mikey approaches Not Mikey, in obvious distress. Just like he pointed out, Not Mikey is very obviously lacking one of the nunchucks in his belt. But he doesn’t seem to get the fuss, frowning and eyeing Mikey’s hovering hands. 

“I think I might have left it back there.” He jabs a thumb behind him. 

“Well go get it?!?” Mikey flails his hands wildly. It looks odd, feels odd, to attribute Mikey-isms to a completely different face. Just like how it was odd to look at his brother’s face and not quite recognize him. He still couldn’t quite believe it; the oddness had yet to truly sink in. 

“How old even are you?”

“Huh?” 

Leo finally steps in. “Mikey, if you want to grab your nunchuck, go.” His little brother looks at him with a pouty lip, but trots off to find his missing weapon. He keeps a keen eye on him, frowning just a fraction as he disappears into a neighbouring alley. 

Not Mikey shakes his head with a sigh and follows after everyone else with his grapple. 

It just leaves him and Batman standing there. He has a feeling the man has something to say, but waits for Leo to make the first move. 

It’s nearly impossible to get a read on him. He stands completely still, his body swathed by his pitch black cape, essentially hiding any tells that might give him away. His mouth stays in a firm line, cutting off any chances of guessing his expression while the rest of his face remains entirely hidden. Even his eyes are hidden, shielded by white lenses like the domino-shaped masks the others wear. 

Leo didn’t like it one bit. 

“Donnie,” the man suddenly rumbles, which Leo refuses to admit startles him, “Mikey, Raph. Do I want to guess what your name is?” 

Leo suddenly frowns. Did he…? There was no way he could guess their namesakes with that information alone. That would be ridiculous. 

Batman leaves it at that, turning away just as Mikey bounds up. 

“I found my nunchuck! I also found this!” 

Leo gets a blurry object shoved into his face, clinking against the helmet. He goes cross-eyed trying to look at it before just pushing Mikey’s arm back. A transparent, orange-tinted gem quickly comes into focus, about the size of a turtle finger. His first thought is that it’s quite beautiful. 

His second is, why isn’t it reflecting light? 

Mikey twists his hand, showing it to Leo in as many angels as possible. But despite there being a street lamp shining from above, there isn’t a single twinkle of the light bouncing back. 

It’s almost like the gem absorbs light itself. 

“That’s interesting,” he says earnestly, “We should show it to Don.” Beaming, Mikey grapples to catch up with everyone else. 

Leo casts a furtive glance Batman’s way, but the man remains passive. 

He just decides to go on ahead. 

Chapter Text

The seven of them stand coalesced together on the rooftop of an apartment, overseeing the road where police cruisers have now parked. Officers walk around, attempting to inspect the scene as much they can. Given that what was left was all broken and crumbled asphalt, they wouldn’t gather much. 

Leo pulls back from the ledge as Batman starts talking. 

“Oracle is ready.” His teammates all stand at his side, filed in a line. 

Unlike them, he and his brothers stand staggered. Even when he walks up to join them, they become more of a tightly formed semi-circle than an assembly line. He glances at Mikey and Donnie, making sure they’re all set, before nodding his assent. “We’re ready.”

Oracle’s voice comes in crisp in his ear. “Okay, connecting you to the Nightwing comm line in three, two, one…” Silence follows. He’s not sure what he was expecting, maybe a click or a beep. But when nothing comes, and he gets expectant stares, he realizes that that’s his cue. 

“Raph?” He calls, “Raph, it’s me… Leo.” Turning half away, he ignores that feeling of exposure, and the weight of Batman’s stare. 

Mikey abruptly cuts in, much to his relief. “Dude, where are you? This isn’t Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, we’re gonna have to give these bodies back.” They pause, waiting. 

Nothing. 

Donnie sighs. “Not enough? Fine. You tried to make us orange juice using your sais one time and it squirted right in my eye from 16 feet away.”

Still nothing. 

“You make fun of Captain Ryan, but don’t think I don’t notice that you steal my mint condition issues.” 

Zip. Zilch. 

“Oh oh!” Mikey exclaims, “One time, you made out with an ant—“

“Alright, ALRIGHT! I GOT it! Assholes.”

Three matching grins, looking at each other as they share a couple of high fives. Leo is the one to stop and finally ask, “Where are you?”

“… Just in some building,” Raph mumbles, sounding far more pouty than Leo is used to. 

Donnie’s harrowed sigh is staggering. “Well could you come out here, please? We have things to discuss.” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Now, you idiot?”

“Keep your shell on, I’m comin’.”

Watching his own body walking around without him in it was not on Dick’s list of plans for tonight. He figured patrol, wind down, and maybe squeak out a movie night while he was still in town. 

It was incredibly jarring to watch his body—which was a disorienting thing on its own—as it walks away from him and glares at him from afar. 

He offers the body double a smile, waving. “I’m Nightwing,” he greets cheerfully, “That’s my body you’re in.” 

The response he gets is crossed arms and a deeper glare. Joy of joys. 

“Okay, we’re all here,” Jason’s body double says, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Well, not all, ” Damian’s body double points out. Dick finds his gaze stuck on him, noting how even the way he speaks has changed. His accent has disappeared, the inflection completely off. 

B clears his throat to gather their attention. “Yes. Red Hood’s whereabouts are still currently unknown.” He abruptly stops, his sentence halting, listening to what Dick can only assume is Oracle. His mouth opens to ask, “Oracle, can you—” but appears to be cut off from the other end. The body doubles begin snickering, much to Dick’s curiosity. 

“What did Oracle say?” 

B gets that look on his face, the one where it looks like he sucked on a lemon, and a grinning Damian body double informs them that “Red Hood has made it to a safe house and, in his words, ‘will send Batman’s ass to space if he thinks there’s a chance in hell he’s going out again tonight.’” 

Tim sighs off to his right. “At least we know his wits are still intact.” 

“He’ll be listening in, so we will proceed.” 

The Jason double nods. “I guess some introductions are in order. I’m Leonardo, and these are my brothers Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo. We’re from New York City.”

Damian hums, giving the doubles an appraising look. “The Italian renaissance.” 

Michelangelo smiles a rare Tim smile, soft and fond. “They’re our dad’s favourite.” 

Tim is the one to ask what they’re all thinking, “Why are you in Gotham if you live in New York?” 

Leonardo glances at his brothers. “It’s, well…”

“It’s a long story,” Raphael answers snappily. His scowl has barely budged since he arrived. Dick recalls them saying he was the most suspicious of people, which so far seems to be true. His stance is completely stiff, arms crossed firmly over his chest. Dick wonders idly if this is what finally gives him forehead wrinkles. 

Batman grunts, in that ‘I will accept your answer for now but will come back to it later’ way. “I’m Batman.” He ignores the ‘obviously’ that gets interjected by Raphael. “This is Nightwing, Robin, and Red Robin. As well as Red Hood and Oracle on the other line.” 

Leonardo copies his brother, crossing his arms. “Interesting names.” His tone is a thin veil, barely hiding the under layer of judgement it carries. 

Bruce recognizes it just as much as he does, and informs the other, “We don’t give out personal names on the field.” Donatello is the only one who seems to, if not appreciate, understand the importance of the rule. (Maybe Michelangelo too, but he seemed preoccupied with searching Tim’s utility belt). Raphael didn’t hide his skepticism one ounce, scoffing to himself. With Leonardo it’s hard to tell, given Jason’s helmet. But his silence doesn’t feel positive. 

“It’s smart,” Donatello acquiesces, turning towards his brothers. “A secret identity would be a must-have, if you’re a human vigilante. Getting personal and professional life mixed up could potentially be dangerous.” 

“Oh!” Michelangelo’s head snaps up. “Like in Arachnid-Man, where his girlfriend Maya Jack gets tied to the top of the Chrysler Building because Squidnaut figured out they were classmates!” Dick blinks. He could’ve sworn he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. 

“Yes, Mikey, exactly like that.” 

“We’ll deal with that later,” Leonardo dismisses. “We need to talk about the wizard.” 

“Warlock,” Damian interrupts, garnering their attention. “It was a warlock.” Impressive as ever, he doesn’t balk under the four stares directed his way, holding his head high. 

“The warlock started off as a small disturbance initially,” Batman explains. “We assessed him as a low threat, and were prepared to just have Robin and I handle it. However, he possessed far more skill than he let on, and so we called in Red Robin, Nightwing, and Red Hood as reinforcements.” 

“His threat level increased when he started using the road as ammunition,” Damian sniffs, arms crossed. His disdain presented very differently in this form, much to Dick’s amusement. Less like a prince alphabetically itemizing your faults, and more like a teenager who’s decided your entire existence is cringeworthy. 

“… Yes. The warlock became increasingly frustrated with our efforts, which led to him releasing a spell prematurely.” 

“Wait, prematurely?” Donatello frowns. “This wasn’t the intended effect?” Damian shakes his head. 

“Just before it was cast, there was a disturbance. It caught the warlock’s attention, and he lost control of the spell.” 

“Which direction was he facing?”

“He’d been facing us, until he turned to look behind him,” B turns to Tim. “We weren’t able to see what he was looking at.” 

“You said…” All attention turns on Michelangelo. He stands there, touching his fingers together sheepishly. “You said he looked behind?” His brothers turn to him, wearing various befuddled expressions. Donatello in particular looks incredulous.

“Mikey…” He calls warningly. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t ‘do’ anything!” The other defends, “I was just swinging by, and…!” And the rest can be assumed from there. The warlock gets distracted by something behind him, and fumbles the spell. Simple cause and effect. 

“MIKEY!” Both Raphael and Donatello shout at the boy, who shrinks under their collective irritation. The only one to not shout is Leonardo, who just heaves a mechanical sounding sigh and places a tired hand on his helmet. 

“Okay… so we know the how,” he breathes out tiredly. 

“The question is ‘why.’” The four brothers glance at Tim. He clarifies, “Why were you in the area in the first place?”

“We…”

“We were looking for something.” Donatello speaks for his brother, who seems to hesitate on giving an answer. An answer that obviously doesn’t satisfy Tim (or Batman), as he then asks, 

“What were you looking for?” 

His own voice bites out across the rooftop, “None of your business, skippy.” It’s admittedly a bit funny to watch Tim frown, mouthing the word ‘skippy’ in confusion. Raphael doesn’t seem the tiniest bit amused. 

Nor does Batman, as he reigns in the conversation. “We’ll have to run some diagnostics to understand exactly what we’re working with. In the event that we can’t reverse it ourselves, we’ll call in an expert.” Dick doesn’t miss how the four brothers share glances, wearing similar frowns. 

Donatello asks, “What… kind of diagnostics?” 

“We’ll run some cognitive tests, fitness assessments, a general health examination. Just to begin with.” 

“Hah!” Raphael barks a laugh, smiling maliciously. “Gonna keep us in cages? Poke and prod at us ‘till we pop?” 

Dick frowns at the accusation, stepping forward. “Whoa whoa, hold on, that’s not what—”

“You can shove it,” Raphael hisses. “All of you. Take your merry band of spandex and get lost.” 

“You are foolish if you think we will let you go.” 

Dick swears he sees an eye twitch as Raphael stares hard at Damian. “… Excuse me?”

“The vessels you are stationed in are our bodies. We cannot allow you to run off with them and do as you please. You will come with us.” 

He watches his own face get redder and redder by the second. Which is, wow. He hadn’t realized his face could turn that red. 

“Honestly. Do you really believe we would risk our wellbeing over simple scientific curiosity?” Dick winces. 

“Okay, Robin, that’s not—” Too late. Raphael stalks away from the group, fists clenched and shoulders fraught with tension. He doesn’t leave the rooftop, but he breaks from the group far enough to not hear them and to not be heard. 

A look at the other three doesn’t show much of anything good. Michelangelo and Donatello look visibly unsettled, refusing to look in their general direction. Meanwhile Leonardo has his head hung. 

“… I’ll go talk to him.” He heads in the direction of Raphael. Donatello and Michelangelo stay, though they still won’t look them in the eye. 

Damian bristles at the awkward tension now hanging in the air. “ What? Nothing of what I said is untrue. It would benefit neither of us to go our separate ways.” He shrugs his arms up, looking incredulous. And while Dick understands the problem clear as day, his Robin is obviously genuinely confused. It wasn’t malicious. 

“It’s not that simple.” Donatello keeps his gaze low, but speaks to them with a hardness in his tone. Like his words came from the heart, and he knew them to be true, but still found it hard to look them in the eye as he said it. “Unfortunately, the problem is... it's just how we are, isn't it? It’s, uh, difficult to trust—very difficult, actually. I mean, it’s not something we just... do. And, well, there’s been a... a history of, you know... and, I suppose, after all that, it does make it hard to... trust at all. It's just, uh, a bit tricky—”

“We’ve had really bad experiences,” Michelangelo explains solemnly, tapping his toes into the ground. It breaks Dick’s heart a little bit.

“That—it’s—yeah…” Donatello deflates, suddenly seeming exhausted. “So, for our safety… we have to be cautious.”

“We understand,” he assures, “And I can promise you that we have no intentions of treating you lesser-than. Right?” He turns to stare his family down, attempting to communicate with his smile ‘if you mess this up, I swear I will release enough blackmail on all of you to make a grown man cry.’ Thankfully, his very wise family catches on. 

B grunts an affirmative, Damian ducks his head but nods, and Tim simply responds with “Of course.” The tentative smiles he gets from the two boys is worth it. 

Leonardo and Raphael join them then, the latter looking marginally less angry than before. The former has a comforting hand placed on his brother’s shoulder when he says, “We’ll go with you.” 

Dick beams, relieved. “Great!”

“I’ll bring two cars around.” 

“Oh no, don’t worry,” Donatello assures B, “We’ve got our own ride.” 

Tim raises a brow, “You do?” Michelangelo beams wide in response. 

“Yeah! The party wagon!”

…

“Come again?”

Chapter Text

“Soooo.”

“Mikey…”

He holds out an invisible microphone for his brother, wearing an impish grin. “D to the T, how does it feel to be the shortest of them all?” 

“I will skin you alive.”

“Come on! It’s not every day we get bodysnatched and end up as completely different people.” 

Up at the front, driving the party wagon, Leo frowns. “When did you even watch that movie?”

“I didn’t.” 

“I don’t feel anything, because being short is not that big of a deal!” The van goes quiet. 

“… Says the shortie.”

“I swear to—” Thumps and shouts can be heard in the caboose, which Leo diligently keeps a half eye on as he focuses on the road. His attention splits further when he glances over at his quiet brother, who keeps his gaze out the window. 

Chancing it, he asks, “How you holding up?” It’s quiet enough that the two roughhousing in the back don’t catch it, but loud enough for Raph to hear. 

His brother grunts. “It’s weird and I hate it.” 

“It’ll take some getting used to.” Leo drums his fingers against the steering wheel, listening to the added beats it produces. 

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Raph grumbles. 

“You understand why I agreed though, don’t you?” 

The turtle slumps a bit more in his seat, watching the scenery go by. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Leo huffs a sigh. 

The Batmobile cruises ahead of them, the red taillights a beacon in the otherwise unlit underground they drive through. 

Leo points out that, “Batman’s a part of the Justice League. He can’t be all that bad.”

“He could be that bad, you don’t know.”

The leader rolls his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, this isn’t like past experiences. We have a bit of info on them. So it’s not like we’re going in blind.” 

Donnie chooses that moment to pop his head up from the back, the Robin costume askew and hair rumpled. “Technically speaking, we have information on the Justice League. Batman is one of the more elusive members, so what we have is fairly limited.” 

“… Yes, thank you, Donnie.”

“Just saying.” 

Mikey comes in, wrapping his arms around Raph from behind as he interjects. “Dude, anything goes wrong, we ninja their faces off then get the shell outta Gotham! They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Another hefty sigh from Leo. “Let’s just… see how it goes.”

Do-dee-do-dee-do-d-do-d-do!

Damian frowns, feeling a vibrating against his side. To his right, Tim turns to look at him. 

“Why did your side just ring at me in 4-bit?”

He shoots Tim a glare. “I know as much as you do,” he answers irritably while reaching to pat at his side. He fumbles blindly in the dark, searching for the source of that noise. A minute later, it goes off again. Tim is quick to grab it. 

They squint in the dark at the object in his hand, until Tim turns on the light. In his hand seems to be some sort of tiny replica of a turtle shell, fitted with a screen on the flat side. 

“No way.” Tim laughs a little, turning it over in his hands. Dick turns to look back at them at the sound of excitement. 

“What? What is it?”

Tim holds up the device for Dick to see. “I think they made their own smartphones.”

“Really? Let me see.” The device gets handed to the front seat, where Dick turns it over a couple times just as Tim did. He hums pleasantly. “Staying on theme. I like it.” Tim rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you do. Now, give it.” He reaches forward to grab it back from Dick, only for the device to be pulled further from his reach. 

“Hold on, looks like it’s a text.” Dick pushes Tim’s hand away with his free one, eyes glued to the screen. “‘How’s it going? See any killer clowns?’” Another chime. “‘Red says hi Bee Tee Double U.’”

“Oh my god,” Tim groans, pained, “just say it normally.”

Dick ignores him. “It says it’s from ‘That Puckhead.’”

Bruce, still looking at the road ahead of them, hums. “An ally of theirs.”

“Way to say ‘it’s their friend’ in the most normal way possible, B.” Dick gets a grunt back. When the unfamiliar, chubby-cheeked face of Tim appears between the front seats, Dick nearly jolts in surprise. 

“Another hybrid animal?”

“It’s possible.”

“From the way they spoke, it didn’t seem like they’d choose to have a lot of contact with humans.”

“You’re right. But on the other hand, look at this wallpaper.” He holds the phone up for both backseat passengers, sliding the notifications out of the way to reveal a bright and smiling red headed girl alongside a dark haired boy who seemed to be mean-mugging the camera. Both are freckly-faced, and look roughly the same age. 

“Huh. I stand corrected.” Tim’s eyes scan over the faces, committing them to memory. 

“Put the phone back,” Bruce rumbles, catching everyone’s attention. “We’re coming up on the cave now.” 

“Whoooooaaa…”

Mikey spins in a slow circle, mouth agape. The Red Robin cape twirls around him in swathes of dark fabric. 

He keeps spinning, while his brothers simply walk. It’s only when his circles start to go a little too wide that Leo stops his brother with a simple hand placed on his head. 

Quickly recovering, Mikey smiles wide, thrusting his arms in the air. “This is so cool!!” He rushes on ahead, much to his brothers collective amusement. 

A fair distance away, Batman calls, “Everyone,” they suppose as a way of calling them over. 

Batman stands in front of what looks to be a supercomputer that Donnie immediately starts salivating over. Many screens line the wall, varying in size, with an almost 180 degree panel of buttons and keyboards. His hands itch to play with it. If only Batman weren’t in his way. 

“Now that we’re in a secure location, we’re free to discuss more openly.” Batman nods to his team, who have congregated by his side. “Starting with introductions, we have,”

“Dick,” He gives a nonchalant wave, leaning against the computer behind him.

“Damian,” Standing beside him, Robin lifts his chin.

Red Robin has his arms crossed over his chest, his expression flat. “Tim,”

Batman pulls off his cowl to reveal a tired-looking middle-aged man.  “And I’m Bruce.” 

“Bruce,” Donnie echoes flatly. “As in Bruce Wayne?” Leo and Raph both whip their heads in Donnie’s direction, but the man just sighs. 

“Yes.” 

“So that makes you Dick Grayson,”

“Yep.”

“And you Damian Wayne.” 

“Naturally.” 

“And I’m sorry, you’re—?”

“Tim Drake.” 

Donnie puts a tired hand to his head. “Hah. It figures that a bunch of billionaires make up Gotham’s heroes.” 

“Wait, he’s right?” Raph asks incredulously, pointing at his brother. 

“I’m afraid he is.” The four turtle brothers turn at the new voice. An elderly man stands off to the side, back straight and dressed in a crisp tailcoat. “Alfred Pennyworth, at your service. I oversee things here at Wayne Manor.” 

The four of them can’t help but stare. Manor. This guy lived in a manor.

Just what did they get into?

“Hey old dude, I’m Michelangelo! But you can call me Mikey.” Their most sociable brother barrels through the revelations like they’re nothing. Like they weren’t in the presence of someone with more money than they could ever dream to have. 

They swear Alfred’s moustache twitches on his rather stony face. “… Well met, Michelangelo.” 

“That aside,” Bruce steps in, “I’d like to—”

“A hem. ” Everyone’s eyes draw back to Alfred, who is giving Bruce a lethal side eye. The turtle brothers watch with keen eyes as Bruce, Batman, seems to cow under the old man’s stare. 

“I’d like… to… show you to your rooms.” His faltering words end with an awkward, grimacing smile that looks like it physically pains him. Dick and Tim off to the side barely try to conceal their snickers. 

Mikey lights up, while Raph and Leo exchange glances. Something unspoken passes between the two, while Donnie has other concerns. 

“Um actually, before that, I’d like our things back.” He looks from Bruce to the other three, playing with the fingers of the Robin gloves. 

“Oh right!” Dick reaches for his sides, pulling out the sais strapped to his belt and Raph’s T-phone. This prompts the others to do the same, holding out the items to their respective owners. 

As Damian hands Donnie his bo and his phone, Tim makes a noise. “Oh right. Your phone was going off earlier.”

Donnie raises a brow. “It was?” He turns his phone over, turning it on. He scans the messages keenly, before snorting and rolling his eyes, turning the screen off. 

The only one who remains empty-handed is Leo. He looks visibly discomfited, hugging his arm in a self-soothing manner as he watches his brothers get their things returned. His expression only smoothes out when Bruce’s eyes turn on him. 

“We’ll get your personal belongings tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Something is… not exactly settled, but feels less uncomfortable than before. He misses his phone, sure. But that wasn’t what he felt incomplete without. 

“Thank you.”

Donnie is acquiring armfuls of their equipment, including the smoke bombs they keep stashed in their belts. 

“What are those?” Tim asks as he watches Donnie continue to pull things from Mikey’s belt stash. 

“Proprietary,” is all he answers, turning to deposit the smoke bombs in Raph’s arms. 

“They look like eggs.” 

Popping up from who knows where, Mikey grins. “ Smoke -filled eggs.” 

“Smoke-filled—?” Donnie walks off without answering, joined by Raph as they walk back to the van. As soon as Mikey thinks they’re out of hearing range, he whispers to Tim, 

“They let us disappear whenever we want, and then reappear, like wa-poosh!”

“Mikey!” The boy ducks his head, grinning, before running after his brothers. 

“They’re ninjas.” 

The expected stares Tim gets aren’t nearly as judgmental as he thought they might be. 

He comes in closer, leaning in to whisper. 

“They carry shuriken and smoke bombs in their belts. They wield sais and nunchucks and the like. Need I say more?”

Dick hums, tilting his head to make it less obvious that he’s staring over at the turtle brothers. “Jay says he had two katanas strapped to his back. Nicely made, apparently.” On a smaller screen of the batcomputer, one that can easily be hidden if they all crowd together, is a couple images of a katana. The hilt is wrapped in black, with an intricate hand guard that almost looked like petals. 

“Huh. A symbol?” 

Dick nods at the Batcomputer. “That’s what B’s trying to figure out.” From his fixed point at the computer, Bruce grunts an affirmative. His thoughts seemed to be fixated on something. What that was, Tim wasn’t sure. 

“Heads up,” Dick murmurs, “They’re walking back.”

“And you’re sure it’s secure?” 

“Leo, if anyone so much as tampers with the thing, I’ll know. I have it connected so it sends notifications to my T-phone, like a Ring camera. It’ll be fine.” 

There’s a unsatisfied twist to Leo’s mouth as he takes in that information, much to Donnie’s chagrin. But it was just unreasonable to have Leo take post in the party wagon just on the chance that someone would try to go through their stuff. As if Donnie didn’t have layers upon layers of security measures rigged to the thing already. At that point, it would just be excessive. 

Aside from that, he was pretty sure it was bad practice to display such an obvious amount of distrust with your tentative allies. Doing it secretly was fine, Donnie had no qualms about that. But he’d like to at least keep up a show of good faith. 

The four at the computer turn to look at them nearly all at the same time. A subtle tell, Donnie observes. These guys like to keep keen eyes on their surroundings. 

Bruce’s eyes sweep over them in a quick manner (as if assessing, Donnie notes to himself) before he tells them, “When you’re ready, we’ll head upstairs and show you to your rooms. It’s been a long night.” 

“We’re ready.” “I’m ready.” “Yup yup! Ready!” “… I’m ready, let’s go.” The turtle brothers talk over each other in a jumbled mess, not even pretending to consider Bruce’s question before answering. Unlike their swift response, they receive only a raised eyebrow in return. 

Raph bristles immediately at the look, snapping “What?” When the man fails to make any further comment. 

“You need to get changed first. No suits are allowed upstairs.” 

Donnie, along with his brothers, glances down at his borrowed body. The Robin suit sits rather comfortably on him, even if the cape was a little distracting. But changing hadn’t even occurred to him.

“Right,” he sighs. “Where do we do that?” Tim straightens up, gesturing for them to follow as he begins to walk away. 

“I’ll show you. Come on.” 

They’re brought into a locker room, where they’re told to simply deposit the suits in the hamper and put on the clothes left behind. Except for Leo, who is told they’re finding some spare clothes for him to wear. (Something Donnie mentally notes; Red Hood doesn’t have any spare clothes here. Very curious). 

After they spend a reasonable amount of time figuring out and getting dressed into their respective clothing, and an unreasonable amount getting Mikey’s head out of the arm of his sweater, they leave the change rooms feeling covered and cozy. Donnie can’t help but run his hand along the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt as he walks out. It was unfairly addictive. 

Maybe he should try and find sweaters that would fit over his shell after this. That would be pretty awesome. 

Dick is waiting for them when they emerge. He’s the only one there, excluding Bruce sitting at the supercomputer. 

Wearing a bright smile that still looks odd on Raph’s face no matter how many times you see it, Dick walks up to them. 

“I’ll show you guys to your rooms. It’s easy to get a bit lost here.” 

Leo nods, curt. “Thanks.” Dick simply beams at them and walks on ahead. 

The ridiculous amount of stairs is a hilarious precursor to the experience that is Wayne Manor. They exit through an entrance hidden behind a clock, let out into a study made of shiny, polished wood and expensive-looking furniture. He looks around with thinly veiled awe, and knows without even looking that his brothers are doing the same. Everything, even down to the smell, was just… fresh. Plush. He didn’t know how to describe it, but the furniture was bullying him for living in a sewer just by standing next to it. 

Dick leads them out of the study and down the halls, which are just as grand (if not more so). The path he leads them on is winding and, try as he might, Donnie gets a bit turned around at the fourth turn while attempting to make a mental map of the floor plan. There are an unnecessary amount of stairs, and he has entirely lost the plot, but Dick eventually stops outside a door. 

“These next four rooms are yours to stay in. Feel free to just pick whichever, they’re all pretty much the same.” He gestures down a good length of the hall, where several more doors stand with fairly wide spacing in between. 

“Thanks.”

Dick pats Leo on the shoulder, still wearing that same friendly smile. “I’ll leave you to settle in. If you need anything, just come find one of us. My room is upstairs.” He points them in the direction of the stairs up, while Donnie mentally jots him in the ‘not out to kill us’ column. They’re left there, watching Dick walk away and eventually disappear around a corner. 

They stand in stilted silence for a minute, before Mikey suddenly can’t take it anymore and busts through the first door. 

“Let’s check out our new digs!” 

The ‘new digs’ consist of another very nice room. Spacious, for one thing. It also carries the theme of feeling extremely expensive. The bed—a four poster, king size—has blankets in a rich, dark colour in intricate detail. It matched the window, which was framed by a thick curtain. The outside held no light, not even from streetlights (how far from the city were they?) so the room was instead bathed in a warm glow by a table side lamp. 

Raph whistles low. “This is blood money rich.” He’s drowned out by Mikey, who launches himself onto the bed stomach first. 

“This is so. awesome.”

The door to the room shuts with a click, with Leo firmly pressing it shut. His grave expression has Donnie immediately on edge. 

“I need to tell you guys something.” 

A little while earlier, before the swap…

“Why can’t we have more rogue street magicians instead of world-ending crises?” 

Leo mumbles to himself, looking down at the street below. The fight was slowly ripping up more and more of the road, used as concrete bullets to throw at Batman and Robin. They held their own, flipping and dashing out of the way before either could get seriously injured. 

He finds himself drawn to the battle. The synergy that didn’t falter between the two heroes, like every move was second nature to them. That kind of balance doesn’t come from thin air; it’s forged through trust, through countless hours of training to hone your skills. It took him and his brothers a long time before they reached that level of fluidity. 

Between one second and the next, Leo’s awareness buzzes, itching at his senses. He tenses, that uncanny feeling of being watched washing over him. Twisting around, Leo readies his swords. 

“Show yourself.”

The sounds of the fight behind him continue as he waits two seconds, then five. 

A ninja in all black rushes out from their hiding spot, launching to the next rooftop over. Leo doesn’t hesitate to give chase. 

They make it a couple of buildings over before the mystery ninja finally stops. Leo holds his swords at his sides, looking over his adversary carefully. Why did they stop?

“Finally decided to face me instead of running away?” The ninja wears full garb from head to toe, covering everything but their eyes. Leo scans for some kind of symbol, a marking of a clan, but finds nothing. 

From the shadow, more ninjas emerge. Varying in shape and size, wielding various weapons, but all in the same black garb. 

His adversary had gone for backup. 

Leo steels himself, standing tall. “Didn’t think so.” 

They come at him fast, weaving together like the heads of a serpent in attempts to surround him on all sides. Nothing is spoken; they let their blades do the talking. 

Leo is hardly given a chance to think. They come at him, and it’s just one blade after the other. However, despite the barrage, they fail continuously to land a true blow on his body. 

It’s just when he locks blades with another, in a furious battle of strength, that he gets knocked off balance. 

Literally. 

One of the bigger ninja comes barreling in, his frame twice the size of Leo’s, and checks Leo with full force. He goes flying—unable to do much else besides fall—and starts plummeting to the ground. 

The starless sky is the last thing he sees before his vision goes white. 

“So you’re sure it wasn’t the Foot?” 

“It wasn’t,” Leo assures firmly, shaking his head. “They didn’t bear any clan crest, and weren’t even in red.”

Mikey, who has since sat up to sit cross-legged on the bed, wonders aloud, “Maybe they’re just trying to expand their ninja wardrobe.” 

“Maybe Karai finally realized that wearing red isn’t exactly stealthy,” Raph tacks on, arms crossed. Their leader simply sighs.

“I’m telling you it isn’t. I’m sure of it. Their fighting style was… different. It barely resembled Japanese ninjutsu at all.” He shakes his head, frowning in deep thought. “It was something else.” 

Donnie taps his chin, pacing the room slowly as he turns that information over. It was doubtful that Karai would suddenly switch the way the Foot fought, considering she was as much a loyalist for tradition as Leo was. If it wasn’t Japanese, then…

What was it?

“So we have a mysterious, new clan of ninja at play.” He pauses in the middle of the room, with his brothers all looking his way. Surreptitiously, he glances at Leo, who narrows his eyes. “Maybe—”

“Don’t say it—”

“Batman—”

“Donnie—”

“—might know something about them.” Leo groans, thunking his head on the door. “Think about it, Leo. If we haven’t seen these guys before, maybe they stick to Gotham. If there’s anyone who will know about this turf, it’s Batman.” 

“No, no, we don’t need Batman,” Leo dismisses. “We can handle this ourselves.” 

“To be honest,” Raph says, “It seems like a Gotham problem to me. Let them handle it.” He fakes checking his nails, wearing an air of indifference. Mikey shuffles up to him on the bed, peering around his shoulder. 

“Raph choosing to not fight? Are we sure your brain didn’t get swapped out too?” 

He swings his arm around to trap Mikey under, ignoring his little brother’s squawk as he noogies his head. “That doesn’t mean I’m not totally gonna hand their asses to them if I run into them. The only one who can beat up Leo is me.” 

“I’m touched, Raph,” Leo says in his flattest tone. His answer is a roguish grin, aimed directly at Leo. 

Waving a dismissive hand, Donnie moves on. “Raph’s violent tendencies aside, I’m most concerned about the mutagen. We can’t just leave it out there.” Leo nods. 

“Agreed. We’ll have to go back to search for it.”

“How are we gonna do that when our every move is watched like a hawk?” Raph asks. “They’re not just gonna let us leave whenever we want.” He finally lets Mikey go, who had been tapping out on his arm with increasing ferocity. Mikey flops back on the bed, huffing. 

Their leader rounds closer, naturally gathering them as a sly expression crosses over his face. 

With full-chested confidence, Leo tells them, “They can try to stop us. Whether they succeed is a different question entirely.”

Chapter Text

For a brief, floating moment, Jason has no idea what’s going on. What day is it? Who knows. What time? Who cares. All that matters is drifting back to sleep and getting fifteen more hours…

Then the burden of thought returns to him, and he remembers that he isn’t in his own fucking body. 

He lifts his hands, and sees dappled green. 

Fucking— “God da—” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence. His throat squeezes around nothing, suddenly spasming as he struggles for air. Jason sits up then, forgoing any pretences of sleeping to clutch at his aching throat. 

For a couple of minutes, he just sits there, wheezing and occasionally coughing. An odd tickle sits at the back of his throat, one that doesn’t go away and even gets worse when he tries to clear it. 

He sits there for a long time, wondering just what the hell that was. Did he sleep funny? Was he catching a cold?

His ears catch a distant chime from his computer in the next room. Standing, he walks out to check his messages. 

‘Alfred will swing by in an hour.’

Frowning, he shuts his computer down, rather than answer. It wasn’t like Bruce was making a suggestion . He’d already decided it would happen, so it wasn’t like he wanted Jason’s approval. 

In the bathroom, he’s faced with his new look in the mirror. A soft ovalish head, wrapped in a blue bandana. Blue eyes stare back at him in the mirror, which match  the deep sea more than the sky. 

Staring at himself while simultaneously not recognizing anything about him leaves all kinds of squirming discomfort in his chest. He would move his hand, make a face, and not fully connect that he was the one doing it. 

When he looks a bit closer, he sees scars. A different array than he was used to, that usually littered his arms and torso. 

His hand grazes over his throat. Three long slashes stretched from one side of his neck to the edges of his shelled chest. A nasty injury. His sore throat made a lot more sense now. 

Small nicks here and there, all looking like they came from blades. The shelled part of his body is not unscathed either, bearing both shallow and deep scratches. 

The thing he expects the least is stepping to leave the bathroom, and feeling his leg buckle under him. 

Jason catches the door frame with a grunt, causing a slight twinge in his throat. But it’s overshadowed by the sudden ache in his knee. He looks down, and narrows his eyes at the faded brown knee pad he hadn’t bothered to take off last night. It comes off with some finagling. 

He isn’t surprised, but he does sigh.

Those three slashes on his throat matched the ones on his knee. The same enemy, looking to destroy from top to bottom. 

Gritting his teeth, Jason moves out of the bathroom and over to the kitchen. 

The first thing he does is flip on the electric kettle sitting on the counter. Hopefully by drinking something warm, he could ease the ache that was his larynx. 

The second thing he does is make sure all of Leonardo’s stuff is gathered. He hadn’t bothered taking off all the padding or the bandana, but he’d set the swords and other equipment aside. 

He knew his text to Dick would likely be shown to the others, but that was sort of the point. There was something to the swords, some sort of story there. They were well crafted; slender yet sturdy katanas that fit well into the grooves of his palms. 

The hand guard was a bit of a mystery. A blacksmith wouldn’t add it for a bit of flair. No, there was a purpose. It was a sign. 

Good thing he could leave that up to the annoying ones. 

His attention is pulled away when he hears the kettle click off. Favouring his better knee, he walks over and puts together a nice cup of English Breakfast (which Alfred had gotten him hooked on, the sly devil). 

He barely waits a minute for the tea to steep; he needs that hot liquid now .

It’s with immense relief that he takes his first sip. Like magic, the warmth eases the strained grooves of his throat. The drink washes over him like a balm, and he can only sigh. 

Jason sips at his tea and allows himself to zone out completely. Enjoying the lasts of his freedom before he’s taken to the manor, to be holed up there for the foreseeable future. Goodbye, late night chili dogs and general gastronomic liberty. Goodbye, privacy. 

Hello… Wayne Manor. 

Alfred comes one hour on the dot. Jason can see the car pull up through his window, sleek black and obviously freshly waxed. 

He suits back up with all the little things that get tucked away in pockets, like the weird egg things. Everything gets slotted into place as he remembers them. The swords he doesn’t strap on, because it would be rather awkward when getting into the car. 

Jason stares at his clothes for a minute, then decides, ‘fuck it,’ and tries to put them on. The guy is only a little over five foot, so it shouldn’t be too hard. 

Unsurprisingly, the biggest hurdle is getting his hoodie over the shell on his back. It takes a fair bit of reaching his arms back at awkward angles, but once he’s gotten it over the lip, it falls perfectly into place. 

Pants are a bit more awkward. Number one, below the shell or on it? Number two, if he went under the shell, how the hell does he account for the amount of extra space left in his sweatpants?

In the end, he just shimmies his pants over the shell. He still has to tie the drawstrings really tight, but less than how much of the waist he’d have to fold inward if he left it below. 

He slings the scabbard over his shoulder, and leaves his safehouse (locking it all down before he goes). 

Alfred, smart man that he is, parks as close to the side alley as he can get. It allows Jason to simply slip out the side door and hop in. 

“Hello… Master Jason.” The man’s tone is prim as always, if a little bemused. Jason doesn’t blame him; being an anthropomorphic turtle is definitely one of the more weirder things to happen to them. 

Jason is happy to see him all the same. “Hey, Alf.” He sets the swords aside as he tries to figure out putting on a seatbelt. “How’re things at the house?”

Alfred patiently waits for him to buckle in, before pulling out into the street. “Everyone is a bit out of sorts at the moment,” he admits. “Master Bruce had a bit of a scare this morning.” Jason can’t help but grin. 

“Really? What happened?”

“Well…”

“Morning, Alfred.”

“Good morning, my boy.”

His ward shuffles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes barely open. Alfred shifts what he’s doing, setting down his whisk in search of a mug. By the time Bruce slides his way onto the breakfast nook’s bench, Alfred is handing him his cup of coffee. 

Bruce hums gratefully, grasping the mug close as he takes a deep inhale. 

Alfred returns to his whisk and bowl, smiling just a bit. 

Barely twenty minutes pass before Young Master Damian enters the kitchen. His green fist rubs at his eye, ridding himself of the dregs of sleep. 

“Good morning Father, Alfred,” he greets them politely. It is a very curious thing. His manner of speech is distinct, which he kept. However, Donatello’s voice held a nasality Master Damian’s simply didn’t. Youthful in an alternative way he wasn’t accustomed to hearing. 

“Good morning to you, Master Damian,” he responds in kind, turning over the batter in the metal bowl. It was time to set the skillet out. 

He can’t help but pause when there’s no response from Bruce. The sudden clack of ceramic has Alfred glancing over to the table where Bruce sits. The boy stares with eyes wide open, face frozen in bewilderment, as he stares at the anthropomorphic turtle across from him. Alfred can see the pieces slot back together in his mind, smoothing his expression over as he clears his throat. 

“Yes. Good morning.” He hides his slip up well. That, and Master Damian was more willing to ignore such things when it came to his father. 

Alfred turns away from father and son, his lips curling.

Jason huffs a laugh. “Sounds about right.” The cityscape passes by at a calm pace, a steady thrum when he glances out the window. In really no time at all, it would turn into the large lawns and fancy houses of Bristol. 

He sighs. “So, how did the interrogation go?”

“I halted that process in its tracks before it could begin.” Yikes. Sounds like Alfred wasn’t in the mood for Bruce’s shit either. “So we have yet to truly glean anything from our guests.” 

“That won’t last long.”

“Indeed.” 

“This is the worst day of my life.” 

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“You’re really gonna say that to me? Right to my face?” 

“Raph, you’re being dramatic.” 

“Touch that thing and tell me again I’m being dramatic!” 

Watching with keen eyes, Raph inspects his brother’s face as he picks up the fluffy cardigan thing that Alfred guy had left for him. Unfortunately, it is genuinely awful. One of the worst things he’s ever felt. 

Leo doesn’t so much as flinch, turning the cardigan over in his hands. When they meet eyes, he lifts an eyebrow. 

“You’re being dramatic.”

He huffs in exasperation, throwing himself back on the bed in defeat. 

Donnie twists around from where he’d turned away to put on a shirt. He walks up to them, reaching out to feel the cardigan. 

“I think it’s shearling,” he hums thoughtfully. From his position on his back, Raph glares. 

“Whatever it is, it deserves to be burnt.” 

Mikey army crawls his way over on the bed just to feel the cardigan. 

“It’s so fluffy .” He strokes it with his hand, fascinated. 

“I’d imagine it would be, if it’s real.” 

“What’s the difference?”

“Real shearling comes from taking both the wool and skin of a sheep.”

“AUGH?!” Leo and Mikey both rip their hands away, staring in horror. 

“Of course, it could be fake shearling. But given that these people are rich, I wouldn’t bet on it.” Donnie lets go of the cardigan with much less vigour, gaze impassive. Everyone now gives the cardigan a wide berth, eyeing it sideways, which Raph finds thoroughly vindicating. 

“… Well,” Leo sighs after a moment, “you can just wear the shirt they gave you. You don’t have to wear the sweater.”

“Yeah? Not so dramatic anymore, am I?” Mikey pats him on the shoulder from behind, wearing a sympathetic expression. 

“Nah, bro. You’re still dramatic.” Raph grabs his little brother’s hand, bending it back until— “OW! Mercyyyy!!” He lets go with a huff, turning away. 

The shirt left for him was a band style tee, promoting the Black Canary world tour. He would never admit it, but he was actually pretty pumped. Black Canary merch was pretty hard for him to come by. Any posters were usually not in good quality when he found them, and he couldn’t even hope to find a shirt that fit over his shell. 

It was good to know that this Nightwing guy didn’t have entirely awful taste. 

“Leo, why does that… not look like this guy’s clothes.” Mikey catches his attention, turning to see his little brother squinting at the eldest over the edge of the bed. 

And yeah, the clothes left for Leo didn’t look like they belonged at all. Last night, the guy was out in full leather. Brown leather jacket, black leather gloves, all of it. With that and that thick metal dome on his head, it didn’t exactly communicate ‘I like turtlenecks’ in its presentation. 

Leo glances down at his outfit, inspecting his attire, and Raph smirks as a thought comes to him. 

“It suits you, though.” His older brother looks over at him, already suspicious. He grins wider. “It’s like… classy nerd.” 

“Oooh, yeahh!” Mikey sits up, smiling. “You’re, like, a professor of psychology or something!” 

“Yeah, all you need is some glasses.” Leo looks increasingly unimpressed with him, which only makes him more delighted. 

“Hey!” Donnie protests suddenly, “That’s my desired aesthetic, okay? Leo can’t have it.” 

“Sharing is caring, Einstein.” 

“I’ll share my foot up your a—”

“Hey guys?” Someone knocks at the door. “You in there?”

Collectively, they glance at each other, silently arguing on who would open the door. Leo sighs, turning and cracking open the door. 

“We’re here.”

“Oh, great!” Raph shivers, getting the heebie-jeebies as he hears his own voice talk. Unable to help himself, he steps up to peer around Leo’s shoulder. His own face smiles back, the traitor. “Did you guys want to come down for breakfast? Alfred made pancakes.” 

“Oooohh, pancakes?!” Mikey shoves his head under Leo’s arm to peer out at Dick. “Now you’re speaking my language!” 

Dick grins. “Alfred makes the best pancakes. Get ready to have your minds blown.” 

“I’m so ready!!”

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Leo smiles politely, shutting the door on Dick before turning around. “You guys finish getting dressed. Make sure you have your stuff on you. Or at least hidden out of sight.” 

Although Raph has the intention of doing just that, he still remarks, “Bit paranoid, Fearless?” He’s grabbing his T-phone as he says it, stuffing it into the pocket of his pants. 

Leo crosses his arms. “I prefer the word ‘vigilant.’” 

“Whatever keeps your shell on at night.” He snickers when Leo purses his lips in annoyance. It was somehow just as satisfying to see it on Red Hood’s face. 

They all grab (or hide) their stuff, sharing a nod with their leader when they walk up. Dick is waiting for them when they open the door, leaning against the wall as he frowns down at his phone. He keeps tapping frustratedly at his screen, exhaling harshly through his nose before trying to tap at it again. The expression melts away when he looks up at them, slipping into that easy-going smile he always seems to wear. 

“Ready? Great, I’ll show you the way to the kitchen.” He nods for them to follow, and they fall into step around him. 

The silence only lasts about ten seconds until Mikey blurts, “So how does it feel to be a turtle?” He sidles up to Dick’s right, peering at him curiously. 

“A bit odd, if I’m honest.” Raph can’t see his expression from behind, but his tone remains light and friendly. “Still trying to get used to the hands.” He sees, from his position at the back of the group, Dick holds up his hands and wiggle them. “I tried to do a handstand earlier, and I barely lasted a minute!”

He can hear Donnie’s frown in his voice. “Why… were you doing a handstand?”

“To see if I could,” the man replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“… Well, the hands are probably not the reason you couldn’t hold a handstand.” 

“It’s because of the weight distribution of the shell.” Donnie’s walk visibly stutters, thrown off by Dick’s answer. He speeds up to match his step. 

“… Yeah, it is. You’re likely not used to it, so it’ll sort of be like relearning how to do it.” Dick nods. 

“I’ll need a little bit of practice, and then I’ll be able to hold one again, no problem.” 

“No doing weird things with my body, happy feet.” Dick glances back at him, meeting his glare with an impassive stare back. 

“Nothing wrong with a little gymnasticism, Raph!” Mikey swings an arm around his shoulder, jostling him, while he’s still in his stare off with Dick. 

“Gymnasticism isn’t a word.” 

“Your face isn’t a word.”

“Hey??”

“Talk shit, get hit, Dee.”

The squabble gets abruptly halted when Dick turns to face him fully. “How about this?” There’s something about his expression, on his own face, that just irritates Raph even more. But he listens anyway. “Every time you scowl, I get one hour of practice.” 

…

Raph’s scowl deepens. “That’s a terrible deal.” 

Dick shrugs, nonchalant. “You don’t want me doing gymnastics as you, and I don’t want to develop forehead wrinkles early. Seems fair to me.” 

“How old are you, like forty?” 

“I’m thirty-one!” Raph snorts. 

“Suuuuure.” But he has to admit, a part of him wants to accept. Maybe it’s the guy’s cockiness; he’s soooo sure that Raph won’t be able to help himself, and will just start racking up hours by the dozen. Jokes on him, though, because he’s not about to be beaten. “Alright, whatever.” He grins sharply down at the man. “But better prepare to be stiff as a board, ‘cuz I don’t lose.” 

Irritatingly, Dick only shrugs it off, smiling. “Whatever you say.” He turns to continue walking, casual as can be, when,

“That’s one hour, by the way.”

“Wh—?! Hey!!”

“Fhese awr wheally goof, whister ow’ ood!”

Mikey gets several hundred looks in his direction, including from the old dude who makes expressions with his moustache instead of his face muscles. But he couldn’t just let these pancakes be! Why aren’t his pancakes ever this awesome? 

“I believe it would be wise, Mister Michelangelo, to keep one’s food in one’s mouth. Lest someone else lose theirs.” 

“Fhaddya mea’? Isff in ma—oh.” As he’s speaking, chewed up pancake falls out of his mouth and onto his plate. He sees a couple of bat grimaces, while Donnie and Leo both facepalm.  

Someone kicks his shin. He yelps just as Raph jeers, “He’s saying don’t be disgusting, stupid.” Pouting, Mikey kicks him back. 

“Shut up!” They glare at each other, zaps sparking in between. Both ninjas feel an itch of challenge, but they’re halted in their tracks. 

“There will be no horseplay at the table.” Alfred is suddenly looming over them, frowning disapprovingly. Both Raph and Mikey duck their heads on instinct, getting a surreal sense of deja vu as they look up at the old man. 

“Sorry, mister old dude.” 

“… Sorry.” 

Mikey spoons up his clump of chewed pancake as Alfred walks away. It was still good, even as mush. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick leans over to Raph, just to say, “That’s two.” His brother slams his fists against the table in outrage, but shrinks when he casts a wary glance in Alfred’s direction. 

Dick grins at Raph. “Keep it up, and it’ll be three.” Mikey witnesses his brother’s face fight to remain neutral, the muscles in his forehead twitching. 

He says, as calmly as possible, “I hate you.” 

Mikey can’t help but snicker; Dick’s grin widens in response. 

From across the table, Leo clears his throat. His eyes are set on Dick, doing that thing where he holds himself all proper and stiff. “When will my stuff be returned?” 

Humming, Dick glances over at Alfred. “Alfie, you picked him up this morning, right?” 

“Indeed I did, Master Dick.” The man nods, turning back to Leo.

“So you’ll get your stuff back today. Jay is—”

“Right here.” Everyone, including Mikey, is drawn to look over at the kitchen’s doorway. There stands that Red Hood guy in Leo’s body, looking particularly grumpy for so early in the morning. He did the exact same thing the others have so far, which was squeeze themselves into any type of clothing they could. It’s pretty funny, actually. Mikey would pay to watch the process of getting their clothes over their shells. 

But what’s important—particularly to Leo—is the swords hung on his shoulder. There’s no mistaking the way his brother’s eyes latch onto them, like a moth to a flame. He pushes out of his chair, approaching the Red Hood guy and either not noticing or not caring how closely he’s being observed. 

Red Hood slides the belt off his shoulder, holding it out for Leo. Mikey can’t help but watch, his pancakes forgotten for the moment as his big brother takes his swords back with gentle hands. There’s the slightest click as Leo pushes the hand guards up with his thumb to inspect the blades. They must be fine, because he lets them slide back into place with a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he tells Red Hood. The guy’s expression shifts slightly, looking off to the side in discomfort. 

“Yeah,” is all he says in return, like he didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t linger on it, though. His gaze shifts back to settle on Leo, something slotted into place. Suddenly, Leo’s getting his equipment back. His T-phone, smoke bombs, shuriken, even his grapple hook. “Here’s the rest of your shit.” 

Leo fumbles, struggling to keep everything in his arms. “Th- thanks.” The guy grunts, passing him by to sit over at the island counter. As if on cue, a plate of pancakes is placed in front of him. 

“Thanks, Alf,” he sort of mumbles. With Leo’s voice, it was sort of hard to tell. 

“You’re very welcome, Master Jason.” The old dude responds. Then, “Now, I understand you’ve just had your belongings returned, Mister Leonardo, but I’d ask that you keep your weapons out of the kitchen.” 

Leo stops mid-step while trying to smuggle his stuff over to the table. He looks sheepish, similarly ducking his head under the old man’s scrutiny. “Right, sorry.” Very carefully, the stuff gets set by the door, taking the extra second to prop his swords against the wall. He returns to the table with just his phone, instantly glued to it.

“We’ll have to stop by the party wagon to drop off your equipment.” Donnie cuts his pancakes into perfectly even pieces as he points it out. While Leo nods absently in agreement, Dick perks up. 

“That’s great. After breakfast, we can all head down to the Batcave together and—” Dick is cut off by the clattering of silverware on ceramic as Mikey stares at him in awe and delight. His brothers around him all look at Dick with varying incredulous expressions.

“It’s actually called ‘the Batcave’?” Raph stares in disbelief, with a layer of disgust to his tone. His incredulity pales in the face of Mikey’s excitement, though. 

“I knew it! I told you guys, Doctor Namenstein never gets it wrong,” he gloats proudly, ignoring his brothers’ collective eye roll. Unable to contain himself, he leans closer and closer to Dick. “So, do you have a Batsub? A Batcopter? A Batcycle?”

Although he shifts back to avoid their foreheads colliding, Dick continues to smile at him instead of getting annoyed. “We also have the Batmobile.” He looks incredibly pleased to be sharing this information, just like how Mikey is incredibly pleased to be hearing it. 

He squeals, flapping his hands. “This is so awesome! I knew someone out there had to share my creative genius!” 

“Careful,” Red Guy—Jason, or something—quips, “he won’t be able to fit through doors if his head’s too big.” He shoves a forkful of pancakes in his mouth, pretending as if he hadn’t said anything. 

Mikey gasps loud, looking back at Dick. He clasps his hands under his chin. “You came up with it?” The man’s expression turns incredibly gleeful.

“Yep. Before I came along, nothing had a proper name.” The man sighs woefully. “It was so sad and dreary.”

“So—so if Batman is swimming, does that make it Batswimming?” Dick tilts his head. 

“Uh—”

“Or, or, if he burps, is it considered a Batburp?” 

“I don’t—”

“OH! I know! How about—” 

Chapter Text

Everyone stands more or less congregated in the cave, with a silence that’s only broken by occasional far-off drips of water. Tim stands by Bruce with his arms crossed, overlooking their guests with a critical eye while the latter types away at the batcomputer. 

Rather than sleeping, he’d wanted to do a full anatomical analysis, hoping to figure out just what kind of turtle he was. However, next thing he knew, he was waking up slumped over his desk at eleven in the morning with a really bad crick in his neck to the sound of Alfred knocking on his door. 

But today, they were going to get some answers. The tests would include a health checkup— a baseline for the turtles, to compare and contrast with themselves— with some physical and mental tests to try and identify where the switch has occurred. Obviously, it was their consciousness that had been displaced. But if they could determine how their functions have changed, then they could determine if they could reverse it themselves. 

Bruce would do literally everything before contacting Zatanna. 

A laptop is pushed into his hands. “Take that with you, so we can document results,” Bruce instructs. He is quick to tuck it under his arm with a nod, as Bruce turns to the group. 

“We’ll move over to the medical wing for the first half of the tests.” There’s no hesitation from their group, pivoting to head in that general direction as instructed. Tim only notices the turtles standing stock still because he’s at the back of the group.

Michelangelo crosses his arms with a downturned look. “Only if you say please,” he counters imperiously. Everyone stops, Dick, Damian and Jason glancing back. 

His brothers stand tall on his either side, wearing similar expressions of defiance to contrast Bruce’s neutral stare. Raphael’s is the most blatant, carrying with it a heavy amount of disdain, while Leonardo and Donatello share a more subtle look of distaste.

Tim watches as Bruce considers them with a thoughtful glint, before he—astonishingly—relents. 

“Would you please join us over in the medical wing?” He gestures to the medbay, somehow managing to keep a straight face all the while. Michelangelo exchanges meaningful glances with his brothers, wordlessly communicating something between them, before he looks upon Bruce once more. 

“We shall,” he acquiesces in what can only be described as a child’s approximation of an English accent. Though Raphael rolls his eyes, he guides Michelangelo by the shoulder as the four brothers turn and head over to the medbay. 

The rest watch them go, disappearing through the doorway. 

“Who knew it was that easy,” Dick wryly comments. With an eye roll, Jason strolls away, following after the turtles. 

Bruce’s eyebrows twitch downwards. “What do you mean?”

“Father, please.” Damian shakes his head, tired. “This situation is fatiguing as it is.” 

Dick’s expression twitches, attempting to suppress a grin. Tim, for his part, has to stop himself from laughing, especially because the kid seems entirely unaware of how fucking funny he just was. He watches Dick try to sling an arm around Damian. For a second, Tim can see his older brother realize with horror that he can’t comfortably reach Damian’s shoulders. He takes it in stride though, instead choosing to wrap it around his back to lead him into the medical wing, his impish grin sliding back on. 

His snickering dies down as Bruce joins beside him, looking puzzled. 

“Tim?” He asks, clearly hoping to get an answer. 

Too bad Tim doesn’t feel like giving him one. 

With a pat to Bruce’s arm, he feigns sincerity to get the man moving. “Come on, B, let’s go. Can’t keep everyone waiting.” Thankfully, Bruce doesn’t protest, mostly seeming to just quietly puzzle as they walk. 

They enter just in time to witness Donatello smack Michelangelo’s hand away from touching a defibrillator. Tim watches with an uncanny feeling as his own face pouts. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. 

The laptop gets set to the side, opening up so that Tim can start creating new files for the turtles. He frowns as his huge fingers press down on multiple keys at once, messing with the password he’d been trying to type. He tries again using only his fingertips, which seems to work. 

“We’ll start with checking BPM,” he notes out loud. Several new patient records are created, denoting who is in what body at the time of recording. 

“What’s a BPM?” Michelangelo asks off to the side. 

Donatello is quick to respond. “It means ‘beats per minute.’ They’re going to check our heart rate.” Tim listens only halfway, typing as fast he can with his stupidly large fingers. He pauses when Donatello suddenly shouts, “Oh! Wait!” Before running out of the room. 

Tim glances up from the laptop. The brothers don’t seem particularly fazed, shrugging off Donatello’s sudden departure. Which is all Tim needs to simply go back to creating the rest of the patient files. 

Donatello comes back carrying a brown leather bag, skidding to a stop to hold it up. “I have some of my medical devices in here.” The contents clang around a little as he holds it up, smiling proudly. 

Damian, standing beside Dick, crosses his arms. “We have more medical equipment than you could possibly fathom. What could we need from your little bag?” 

Astonishingly, Donatello doesn’t seem the slightest bit insulted. He actually grins, unclasping the metal fasten to dig his arm into the bag. “Sure, you could have as many medical devices as you want, but do you have… this?” He produces an odd-looking stethoscope, holding it up for everyone to see. 

“A stethoscope?” Tim asks flatly. “Yeah. We have a couple of those.” 

“This isn’t just a stethoscope!” Donatello clicks his tongue, waving his finger disapprovingly. “This is a specially-built, one-of-a-kind, stethoscope for turtles!” 

“A turtlescope!” Michelangelo interjects. 

Donatello nods agreeably. “A turtlescope. See, regular stethoscopes for humans work fine. But they have difficulty going through the solid bone of a plastron.” As he talks, he walks up to Dick to knock on his chest. It makes an almost wooden sound, the thick layer of bone. “So in order to have it work for our needs, I modified a regular stethoscope into a super one! With its extended hearing range, I can hear my brothers’ heartbeats perfectly.” 

His voice has gone completely animated, talking fast and excitedly about his creation. Using large gestures with his hands as he talks, and circling steps around the room to look at everyone. It’s clear how much his inventions mean to him. And his brothers know it too, judging by the way they’re watching him with small smiles. 

“That’s very resourceful,” Bruce compliments. Donatello beams. 

“Why, thank you! Now we can proceed with the physical. I just need to… hm… yep, there we go.” He fumbles a bit trying to put the earpieces in, but figures it out just fine. “Alright!” He holds the diaphragm up. “Who’s first?” 

When did this become Donatello performing the checkup? Tim glances between him and the others. 

Jason, who has been sitting quietly off to the side, asks with a raised brow, “Do you even know how to use that?” 

“What? Of course I do.” Donatello frowns a bit. “I’m the one who does the yearly checkups for these bozos.” He jabs a thumb behind at his brothers, who all look vaguely insulted. So he’s the family doctor? Something to note…

Michelangelo is the first to stop frowning, leaning his arm on Donatello’s head with a grin. “Yeah, he’s the one who goes all mad scientist and jabs us with mysterious needles.” The latter glares at his brother, pushing his arm away. 

“I keep telling you, they’re not mysterious! They’re to prevent deadly illnesses that you’ll no doubt track in with you, Mikey.”  

“Hey! You callin’ me a disease magnet?!” 

Donatello taps his chin. “Hmm, let me think. How many times have you picked something up off the ground or fished out of a dumpster and tried to eat it? Oh, yeah. A LOT!” His shout seems to physically push Michelangelo back with its sheer intensity, making him fall back to his other brothers. As if it had never happened, he turns back towards them, smiling pleasantly. “Any volunteers?” 

Biting the bullet, Tim raises his hand. “I’ll go. But I’d like to ask you some questions.” He catches how Donatello’s smile goes wooden for a second, before smoothing out. 

“I’ll answer to the best of my ability,” he hedges. “Now, come sit.” 

“Breathe in deep… and then slowly breathe out.” 

“…”

“Wow. You’re at 95 beats per.” 

“I drink a lot of caffeine.” 

“Ah, that explains it.” 

“How old are you?”

“… We’re 18.” 

“You’re all the same age?”

“We’re from the same clutch, so yes.” 

“Same clutch… what species—?”

“It’s a bit up in the air, but we most closely resemble the diamond back terrapin. Lift your sleeve.”

“… How could you not know? You said last night that your DNA was a mix of a turtle’s and a human’s. Were you also spliced between a tortoise and a sea turtle?” 

“Stop talking for a second. Breathe normally.” 

“…”

“… The nature of our mutation was caused by something very unstable. We were normal tortoises, but as we are now, we can hold our breath underwater for upwards of fifteen minutes. By all scientific accounts, it should make no sense. And yet here we are.” 

“…” 

“…”

“… You said… ‘mutation.’”

“… Yes. We are mutants. Blood pressure is 123 over 77. I would keep an eye on that.”

“Thanks… how were you—”

“I need you to open wide. Say ‘ah.’”

“But—”

“Say ‘ah.’”

“… Ahhhhh.” 

“You never answered my question.” 

Donatello glances over at him briefly, but it doesn’t last long as he focuses on pressing the end of the turtlescope to Dick’s chest. For a second, Tim is sure he’ll have to try again. 

“Technically, you didn’t ask it,” he retorts, knowing full well that he shut Tim up. 

But a second later, he sighs, as if he’s releasing something heavy.

“It’s a substance known as ‘mutagen.’” 

Tim exchanges blank looks with the others, confirming they did not recognize the name. Bruce doesn’t seem to either, but he listens with intense focus. 

“It’s a glowing ooze that has DNA-altering properties. Functionally, it can fuse two or more species together into a singular entity.” Donatello pulls the diaphragm away, calling out “50 beats” for his brother. Tim jots it down. 

Bruce is frowning. “It was created to mutate people?” Watching as Donatello rolls up Dick’s sleeve. 

“Yes,” he shrugs, “and no.” 

“Ohhhh snap,” Michelangelo whispers to his brothers, “he pulled a—!” But they quickly shush him. 

“Like I said, it’s incredibly volatile.” Donatello shakes his head. “It’s never been known to work the same way twice.” 

Leonardo interjects, “It’s essentially Russian roulette. We were mutated, and we have our wits intact—”

“—Some of us more debatable than others,” Raphael says in Michelangelo’s direction. 

“—But the mutation can sometimes mess with your mind. You can’t think straight.” 

“Or you’re left only with pure animal instinct,” Donatello adds. “125 over 67.”

Jason asks, “How is it made?” He’s watching Donatello closely, just as they are, with a heavy amount of apprehension. 

He visibly hesitates, glancing over at his brothers. “It’s…”

“Made…”

“From…”

“Worm whales!” Michelangelo finishes. Tim doesn’t miss how both Leonardo and Raphael give him a side eye but say nothing. 

Dick pushes the penlight Donatello was holding away from his mouth. “I’m sorry, you said ‘worm whales’?”

“Yeah! And it comes out of their—” Michelangelo starts to gesture at his chest, only for Raphael to smack his hands down. 

Their eldest blinks blankly. “I can’t tell if you’re lying to me or not.” He doesn’t put up a fuss as he’s made to open his mouth again, Donatello shining the penlight once more. 

Michelangelo preens. “Dude. I am amazing at that.” 

Damian, who has remained rather silent, asks what they’ve all begun to wonder. “How many of you are there?” 

And Donatello? He confirms what they were all suspecting. 

“More than you’d think.”

These ‘guests’ of theirs, they certainly know how to irritate. 

Father and Drake spend upwards of an hour attempting to gain as much information as they can, with varying levels of success. Some are answered, while some become lost behind their poor attempts at smoke and mirrors. This Michelangelo character in particular, it seems to be all he is made of. Damian hesitates to say there is any substance. 

And he supposedly wields nunchaku? How absurd. 

There is that nagging voice, though. The one that sounds suspiciously like Richard, telling him to withhold his immediate judgments. Because he may discover something unexpected. 

“Haha! Lookit this, hahaha!”

He highly doubts it. 

The fool is doing something peculiar with his hands, up ahead with his brothers as they all walk towards the sparring mats. Something like holding his hands with his fingers interlocked, except two which wiggle out on either side. 

He glances down at his hands curiously, but quickly looks away with a scoff. 

The turtles sit at the edges of the mat on their knees in matching seiza. He meets eyes with Michelangelo when he sits opposite to them, remaining unreactive even when the other smiles at him. 

“You got somethin’ to say?” Raphael prods with narrowed eyes. The most appropriately cautious out of all of them, it seemed. 

Well, since he asked... “Why are you in Gotham?” He zeroes in on Leonardo and Donatello shifting about nervously. The silence stretches as he waits for their answer, watching as they grow more and more uncomfortable. 

“We have… reasons…” Leonardo keeps his gaze cast to the floor, his hands rested stiffly on his legs. 

“What are they?” 

“They’re… very good reasons…” 

“I’m all ears.” 

“The reason… is…”

“The reason is it’s none of your BUSINESS!” Raphael explodes, eyes blazing. He refuses to squirm under the intensity of Richard’s rarely-seen rage, especially considering it wasn’t even truly Richard. This person seemed quick to anger, to snap defensively. Much like a certain zombie Damian knows. 

“If it’s for a good reason, then surely you’d be able to tell me.” He meets Raphael’s eyes unblinkingly. “It shouldn’t be that hard, should it? Unless you have something to hide—”

“Who’s ready for a good old-fashioned workout!” Damian is suddenly hit with several pounds of turtle, barely managing to stay upright. He shoots Richard a glare for interrupting his interrogation, but the man is unrepentant, with a wide and shining smile. 

“It’s not just a workout, it is to test our strength and distinguish any changes to our abilities.” 

Drake sits on Richard’s other side, sloping lazily to the floor. “It’s a glorified workout.”

“You—”

“Gremlin.” Clearly Todd craves a second death, seeing as he decides to interrupt Damian. “It’s a workout routine.” He sits a good distance away from them, back hunched and legs crossed. A terrible posture to hold. What Mother saw in him as a pupil, Damian will never know. 

He lifts his chin. “It would be a waste of my time trying to explain the intricacies to an ape like you.” 

“Sure would,” Todd answers uncaringly, much to his surprise and annoyance. Usually the oaf can’t help but retort against a slight at his expense, like he’s physically incapable. But this one seems to have just bounced right off him. Damian refrains from retorting when Father joins them. 

He carries a Wayne tablet with him, likely to document their results as they proceed with the testing. When his gaze sweeps across all of them, Damian straightens fully. 

“We will go one at a time, starting and ending with endurance. I will document as we go, so simply focus on the tasks at hand.” His gaze lifts to glance over at the turtles, where Donatello has raised his hand. “Yes?”

“Exactly what are you documenting?” He holds Father’s eye without hesitation, lowering his hand back to his lap. Father gazes back shrewdly. 

“… We will be looking for the levels and limits of your current capabilities, and comparing them with past results. This way, we will determine whether there’s been any significant changes since the swap.” Donatello’s forehead crinkles as he frowns. 

“You keep a record of individual strength?” 

“Yes. This is so we can keep a close eye on progression and setbacks.” 

Damian catches a grumble from Raphael; “A very normal thing for a family to do.” He doesn’t so much as flinch when Leonardo elbows him in the side.

It seems as though every one of them is determined to keep a tight lid on their true intentions. Raphael is the most explicit and forthright, while Donatello skirts on the edge of an answer without giving anything he wants to hide away. 

Leonardo is an abysmal liar. He couldn’t even come up with a small white lie to hold off Damian a minute ago! Perhaps that would be how he gets his answers. If he just pricked the balloon hard enough so it would pop…

Or he could try Michelangelo. He seemed an individual who would let something slip once his guard was down. If Damian endeared himself enough to gain the other’s trust, maybe he would reveal something crucial! It couldn’t be hard. One could say it might even be easy. 

All he would need is to find his moment. 

Bruce, from beginning to end, writes every little detail he notices. And with eight people to document, he writes for awhile. 

When it comes to Leonardo, it is plain to see that he is used to working with a lighter body. Due to the amount of muscle mass Jason has built, certain techniques require some tweaking in order to make work. He notes that while it does throw the young man off, he is quick to adapt and adjust accordingly. 

Raphael carries himself confidently throughout his entire test. He conducts his tasks with aggressive vigour, a stubborn set to his jaw that is very familiar on Dick’s face. Although, Bruce notes, his flexibility test is taken with a certain level of caution. Which… is admittedly hilarious, considering how many times Bruce has seen Dick bend and twist in all sorts of unnatural and fascinatingly disturbing ways. 

It’s most obvious that there will be a significant change for Donatello. Becoming a whole head shorter is bound to throw off one’s equilibrium, and it shows. It’s clear he’s not quite sure how to handle this body. His speed is significantly decreased from Damian’s average, and the weights he reaches for far too heavy for Damian’s age. It’s almost like watching gears turn, witnessing Donatello attempt to adjust. 

Michelangelo makes full use of his, and Tim’s, abilities. It doesn’t even seem to give him pause, going from one test to the next completely unfettered. In the middle of his strength test, he decides to balance the weights on the backs of his hands. And succeeds. It isn’t so much the show of strength and balance that surprises Bruce—though it does get written down—but the complete and utter lack of concern over the danger such an act brings. Furthermore, the only member of his family who seems even remotely perturbed is Leonardo, who tiredly tells him to cut it out. 

Bruce underlines several times that muscle memory is the key to answering his question: what exactly has changed? The constitutions of their bodies remains the same from before the swap, which leads him to believe the true change is the brain. This is further backed by the fact that while their voices did not switch, their manner of speaking did. Given that knowledge of speech and articulation is stored in the Broca’s Area of the brain, he feels pretty confident about this conclusion. 

But a brain swap. That… could potentially be fixed without the use of magic. If he recalled correctly, there was that device they’d confiscated after that incident with Clark. It wouldn’t take much time to zeta over to retrieve it. 

He’s relieved to see his sons taking the swap in stride. Of course there was no doubt they would, but it was nice to have that reassurance. 

Dick watches everyone deflate over several hours of tests. His own brothers included, who have all been subjected to Bruce’s rigorous methods at one point or another. He can’t help but snicker as even Damian, strong-willed boy that he is, seems to melt closer to the floor as if to become one with it. This may earn him a swift kick to the shin, but he regrets nothing. 

He takes this opportunity to observe the turtles in their more unguarded state. The perfect sitting posture they’d all organized themselves in was abandoned for leaning against each other or, if you’re Michelangelo, laying on the floor. Raphael uses Michelangelo as a backrest though still manages to keep everyone within eye line. All the while, Leonardo and Donatello speak quietly to each other, inclining their heads just enough that Dick can’t read what they’re saying. 

Completely on accident, he catches Leonardo’s gaze. They lock eyes and, since they do, he offers a smile. Leonardo doesn’t react in the slightest, though he doesn’t tear his gaze away. The expression held on Jason’s face isn’t outright hostile, but bathed in a heavy dose of caution. Eventually his eyes tear away when Donatello taps him on the arm, startling as if he’d been lost in thought. 

It’s odd watching Jason and Damian whisper to each other conspiratorially, even though he intellectually knows it’s not them in there. Both everything he’s ever hoped for, and the stuff of nightmares. 

At Bruce clearing his throat, everyone looks up. 

“That will be all for now. You may go.” 

“Thank fuck. ” Both Raphael and Jason groan out in exasperation, only to meet each other’s eye to look the other over critically. Dick outright laughs at the exact same time Michelangelo does, both of them obviously finding glee in the competitive edge lining their brothers' stares. 

Still lying down, Michelangelo inches over to him like a slug, grinning. “Bet you five bucks they duke it out by the end of the week.” 

Dick grins wide. “I give it three days.” 

“Deal.” He holds out his hand and Dick shakes it. The feeling is very odd, shaking someone’s hand with only three fingers. At times, it feels like he’s missing something, similar to how someone missing a limb can still occasionally feel it. That feeling had severely messed with his equilibrium when he’d tried his usual morning practice. But he was very curious to see how long it would take for him to get used to it. 

Michelangelo retracts his hand and, after only a beat, asks, “Did your parents name you Dick on purpose?” 

This makes Dick snort. Normally people ask this question maliciously, thinking they’ve got a good joke on him or something. The way Michelangelo asks it is genuine like he’s sincerely just curious. 

“They named me Richard,” he explains. “Dick is just a nickname. English wasn’t their first language, so they didn’t know. By the time someone pointed it out, it was too late, I already knew that as my name.” 

“Ohhhh.” He nods earnestly, and Dick can’t help but smile. “So, your parents were immigrants?” Michelangelo asks, once again completely genuine without any undertones. 

“Nope.” Dick smiles. “They were circus acrobats. The Flying Graysons.” The sting, although not completely gone, is a lot gentler now and gets overshadowed by his fondness for the memories. 

He flinches back a bit when the younger boy sits up to get right in his face, with sparkles in his eyes. 

“The circus?!” Dick nods. “Whoaaaaaa…” He sits back, giving Dick some space. His grin is absolutely blinding. “That’s so cool! I wish I was in the circus.” 

With a quirk of his lip, he tilts his head. “How come?” It’s worth it to watch the way Michelangelo throws his arms up incredulously, scoffing. 

“Dude! All those stunts?! They’re so cool! And you get to travel all over the place. I’ve never even been to Wisconsin! Do you know how sad that is??” 

He has to twist his mouth a certain way in order to not smile, but it proves difficult. “No?” 

“Me neither!” Michelangelo throws his arms up again, this time in defeat. “I don’t even know what I’m missing, but I bet it’s awesome.” 

This kid is hilarious. He reminds Dick a bit of Wally, though without the speed force to chalk up some of his hyperactivity. That was all personality, here. 

As he leans back on his hands to get more comfortable, he guesses, “so you and your brothers don’t travel that often, huh?” 

The other matches his pose, blowing a raspberry. “No. I’m lucky if we even get to drive out of the city. Sometimes we go upstate, but rarely.” Upstate? Wonder why they were there. “We’ve never even left the country! Oh, except for when we ended up in feudal Japan, and that time we all were vampires in Transylvania. And I guess there was also that time we were in space… does that count? Oh, and…” 

Dick listens to the continuous ‘oh and’s’, the kid listing places he and his brothers have somehow been. Logically he knows the lives of mutant turtles can’t exactly be normal, and logically he knows that the number of impossible things he’s experienced in his many years of vigilantism could also happen to other people as well, he still can’t quite discern if Michelangelo has a crazy active imagination or if all these things really happened and they just somehow never caught wind of it. Worms the size of whales that lactate a gene-modifying substance? Spontaneous vampirism in fictional character Dr. Frankenstein’s castle? It was almost so absurd you couldn’t make it up. 

“But Canada? I’ve never been to Canada!” He’s still going, jumping to his next train of thought, “At first, I was like, ‘ew, Jersey?’ but then we got here and it was like whoaaaa!! And I realized, Gotham’s crazy, ya know?” 

Dick smoothes a smile over his face. “Yeah. I get it.” 

Whatever the truth was, they’d definitely figure it out. 

Chapter Text

Escaping that Splinter-forsaken cave makes Raph understand how Rapunzel must have felt escaping her tower. He wanted to just run out of the freaking mansion and kiss the ground. 

… Except he still had to prove that they were the normal ones in this equation. Frolicking like an angel in the grass was decidedly not a sane activity. 

They wander their way back to the bedrooms, just to hole up in one and sit around the room. Leo is the only one who doesn’t sit, deciding he’d rather pace instead. 

He’s just about to ask if his brother has ants in his pants, when he finally decides to speak. 

“Now that we’ve got some free time to ourselves, we should use it and investigate.” Mikey immediately groans from where he’s lying on the bed, splayed flat on his back.

“Dude, can’t we just chill? Those tests sucked out all of my energy.” 

“No, Mikey—”

“—Like a vampire.”

“… No, Mikey, we can’t just ‘chill.’ We need to do reconnaissance. Since we’re going to be here with these humans for however long, the last thing we need is to be caught off guard. We need to understand our environment.” His voice takes on that Sensei tone, the one he uses when he’s trying to sound serious. Trying his absolute best to project the same authority their father had, even though it mostly just grates on Raph’s ears. It wasn’t that far off from his Leader tone, but showed up ten times more these days. 

He’s actually in agreement for once, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

Mikey rolls over on his side to pout at them sideways. “But I thought we were gonna look for the mutagen—" He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as they all quickly shush him. They all glance towards the door, as if someone was going to burst in and go ‘aha!’ 

Leo relaxes fractionally, turning back towards them. He gives Mike a quick glare. “We are,” he insists. “Tonight. We’ll go after dark, when no one is paying enough attention to notice we’re gone.”

Donnie cuts in, perplexed. “Are you saying we’re sneaking out?” 

Leo shrugs. “In a sense, yes. But it’s not like they’ve specifically barred us from leaving.”

“But planning to leave in such a covert way means that we're essentially sneaking out.” 

Leo puts his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow. 

“Do you want to be the one answering questions on where we’re going? Because I sure don’t.” Donnie’s response is to sigh, which is close enough to a concession from him. 

From where he sits on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the bed, Raph tries to move things along. “So what’s the plan?” Leo’s relief comes in the form of a nod, visibly shifting back gears.

“We split up. Each person gets a floor, and we explore from top to bottom. Then, we meet back here and discuss what we found. Raph, you take main floor, as well as checking outside. Donnie, you get second. Mikey, third. I’ll take fourth and fifth.” They all nod as they’re given their assignment. He ends it with, “Text if anything comes up.” Donnie slowly raises his hand. “Yeah, Donnie?”

He lowers it, joining his two hands in his lap. “Are we purposefully leaving out attic and basement? And… cave, I guess?” Leo’s eyebrows knit just a bit in thought, but he shakes his head. 

“For now, let’s just stick with the main floors. If we really don’t find anything, we’ll revisit it.” There’s a contemplative pause. He sees Leo take a breath, his brain no doubt moving a mile a minute as he thinks. “But as for the cave… I’m not sure we can go about that undetected. They seem to like tight security. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some surveillance cameras.” 

“There are,” Donnie answers immediately. “I could see a few while we were down there. They’re hidden quite well.” 

Mikey reaches up to sling his arms over Donnie’s shoulders, hanging off of him. “But not hidden well enough for our Dee!” Though Mikey is essentially crushing him, Donnie smiles. He gets that mix of shy and proud on his face like he always does when he gets complimented. 

With his own private smile on his face, Leo pipes in to say, “We’ll table it for now.” He gets no protest from Raph, or the other two, so he quickly moves on. “Everyone clear on what to do?” 

“Yup!”

“Mhm.”

“Loud and clear.” 

“Good.”

It’s an ordeal in itself to navigate down to the first floor, but he manages. The rooms he checks are large and empty. Decorated—so obscenely rich looking it disgusts him—but unused. This remains a fact when he stumbles across not one, not two, but three ballrooms.

Checking every room takes a stupid amount of time, but only because he keeps discovering more. Every twist and turn seems to reveal something new. But he can’t find anything overtly suspicious, so he moves on. 

The fresh air is nice. A little nippy thanks to the clouded sun, but one hundred times better than being smack dab in the centre of the city. That stank followed you everywhere, especially in the sewers. 

He notices the front is enclosed with a large stone brick wall, with sleek black metal bars for a gate. It’s formidable, though likely not anything that would withstand a battering ram move by a mutant like Slash. Considering the place belongs to literally Batman, he hopes he’s wrong for once. He passes by trimmed hedges and flowerbeds lining the manor walls. It’s pretty, and looks well-maintained. 

All of it does, both inside and out. Back when it was just the six of them living on a farm, getting the place spotlessly clean was impossible (and mind-numbing). They came to a tentative chore chart—including cleaning and maintaining the chicken coop that always smelled no matter what you did—but it was a struggle to maintain. 

Unlike the farm, this place doesn’t seem to have anything out of place. Not even a single stray blade of grass missed by the lawn mower. It stays this way the entire walk around the side of the house. Thanks to its size, it’s a bit of an ordeal. 

“Rich people,” he mutters to himself. “How did we get mixed up with rich people?” 

The backyard has a couple of things he can see at first glance. A massive pool, patio, a shed, and a barn. Casting off into countless trees, densely packed and looking to go on for awhile. 

The pool is nice, and he’s sorely tempted to jump headlong for a swim. But the barn sticks out more; Leo would definitely want to investigate it. 

He wanders in that direction, when he hears a sharp whistle, followed by a voice. 

“Ace! Come!” A familiar voice calls way ahead of him, followed by a dog’s bark. Raph walks a little further, following with a curious edge. 

He’s rounding a bump in the building, about to see who it was he heard, when a hulking form of a dog appears. Tall, with lithe limbs on a short, black silky coat. Thin ears stand proud, the tips flopping ever so slightly with its trot. 

They both pause, staring at each other. The animal bristles subtly, the fur on its spine raising. But ever so carefully, Raph crouches, holding out his hand. 

“Hey, buddy,” he greets softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m a friend. Promise.” 

The dog has an eery sort of stillness, like he’s measuring Raph. His big black eyes seem to stare through his human surface, almost as if he can tell who’s really underneath. Raph keeps his hand out, hoping his previous turtle status works in his favour for once. 

After a considering moment, the dog walks up and leans in to sniff his hand. It’s a very thorough check, with Raph occasionally feeling the cold and wet nose trail towards his arm, before it licks his palm. 

Seems like he passed the test. 

He can’t help but grin, reaching forward to tentatively stroke the dog’s head. His hand smoothes back the ears for a brief moment, quickly popping back up the second they’re no longer pinned. The dog seems perfectly content to receive some head rubs, leaning into it just a bit. It drifts close enough that he can stroke at its sides. 

He’s never really pet a dog before, unless socking Razhar in the face counts. Probably not. He thinks he might remember how people in movies do it, but there was a chance he could be horribly wrong. Still, he feels like he should try. 

Slowly, he starts scratching his blunt nails against the dog’s side. He scratches up and scratches down, a little surprised but relieved that his head isn’t immediately bitten off. 

Rather than that, the dog groans, an odd creaky sound, and he’s quickly retracting his hand when the animal collapses onto its side with a heavy whumpf . It looks at Raph expectantly, lifting its hind leg. He grins. 

“Alright.” 

Several minutes later, he’s shifted to better pet the dog’s underbelly, using both hands as the big lump lays back on the grass. A couple of times, its tried to push itself into lying completely on its back. But with its big, heavy limbs, it just falls back onto its side. Eventually, it just stops trying.

“Titus!” Someone calls. The same voice he heard earlier. “Titus?” The dog lifts its head up, ears perking. 

Raph doesn’t even have a second to decide how he’ll handle this, before Donnie’s turning the corner with that kid Damian inside. It takes a moment to clock the difference, mostly because the kid isn’t wearing that downright snobbish expression he’s regarded them with up until now. He looks startlingly normal. The hard edges come a second later, and Raph bristles readily. 

“What are you doing?” Damian asks with a downright accusatory tone. His hands clench at his sides. 

The way he talks makes it seem like he’s caught Raph doing something terrible . He tenses at the tone. “Petting. Heard of it?” Even still, he retracts his hands, feeling self-conscious. The dog—Titus, he guesses—pushes to stand and lumbers over to Damian’s side. 

Rather than answer him, the boy looks down at his dog and says, “I’d expected better from you, Titus.” The dog doesn’t really seem to care, sitting proud at the boy’s side. 

Pushing himself to stand, he’s able to marginally relax once he’s not in such a vulnerable position. He brushes the grass off his pants before folding his arms across his chest. 

Damian mirrors him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “What are you doing out here?” Raph scoffs. 

“Didn’t realize I was on house arrest,” he remarks dryly. “Can’t a guy explore?” 

“‘A guy’ can. But you are not that.” Raph tenses, opening his mouth to retort. But Damian smiles, and he pauses. “You are a guest. If you’d wanted a tour, you should have just said so.” It’s not a friendly smile. It’s full of teeth, like he wants nothing to snap and bite. On Donnie’s face, it’s a clear sign of danger. Damian, unperturbed, slides past him with his head held high. “This way.” He doesn’t look back. As if he’s sure Raph will follow. 

Without anything better to do, Raph follows. 

Look, it’s all very strategic, okay? Justice League or not, he doesn’t trust these guys as far as he can throw them. If he can keep them in close proximity, they won’t have a chance to pull something. Do that long enough, they’ll have this situation sorted, and they can all move on and pretend the other doesn’t exist. 

“You’ve already seen the pool,” Damian says dismissively. “I assume, with your mixed turtle nature, that you’ll have no problem helping yourself to it. There are changing rooms just inside.” His tone makes Raph itch. Not even Leo, at his most condescending, had Raph wanting to pitch him into a tub of cacti. But he was sorely tempted. 

“You’re the one with a ‘mixed turtle nature’ now,” he points out, staring holes into Damian’s head. “Don’t you think you should be talking to yourself?” The glance he’s given is sidelong, with a look that could peel paint. He’s not ashamed to admit that he’s been on the receiving end of that look from Donnie a couple times, which is why he knows it well. 

The little snot doesn’t even acknowledge what he said. He just moves on. 

“What’s up with that?” He asks as they move closer to the structure. It was nicer looking than their own, with fresh paint and everything. 

Damian gestures to the barn dismissively. “That is where animals that cannot be allowed in the house live.” 

His imperial tone has Raph holding back a growl. “I. Know. What. A. Barn. Is,” he grits out. His hands clench into fists at his sides, gritting his teeth hard enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if they crack. 

The kid stops walking to glance back at him then, looking over his stiff and barely concealed rage with a critical eye. 

Then the kid smirks. He smirks.  

Oh, that little rugrat’s lucky he’s not still punting size. Just you watch, he—

“My apologies,” he replies, sounding anything but apologetic. “I’m still not sure what level of education you equate to. We have a cow, that is all.” And like nothing happened, Damian continues walking. Putting a tight lid on his simmering dislike, he follows. 

“Not much option for formal education when you’re a mutant turtle,” he retorts. “Why do you have a cow?” 

He can hear Damian’s eye roll even without seeing it. “If you must know, she’s a rescue.” Raph pauses. A rescue cow? “She was raised in a slaughterhouse. Destined to become packaged meat on a shelf.” His stride loses some of its fire, while Damian’s seems to gain it. This time, it’s the kid clenching his fists, tightening his hold on some well and true deep anger. 

Raph winces. “… I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” Damian snaps, “it’s not as if you put her there.” 

… He’s right. But suddenly he’s thinking of the chickens back at the farmhouse, and he starts to feel a tiny bit queasy. He thinks he understands Damian a bit, if just for this one thing. 

Raph marvels at how this switched up so fast. First it was Damian enjoying taking the piss out of him, now it was this awkward moment of maybe too much realness. He wants desperately to just go back to before. At least it’s something he’s familiar with. 

“… Can I meet her?” He can tell easily that Damian isn’t expecting that, with his quick frowning glance. Hell, Raph wasn’t expecting it either. But he finds that he stands by it, and doesn’t take it back. 

Damian seems to consider this, turning away slowly. “… You may,” he shockingly agrees. “But if she finds you at all upsetting, I will dispatch you so fast you will not have time to even blink.” 

He holds back a snort. Like hell he can. “Fine by me.” 

Raph never thought he’d get to meet a cow, but seeing one up close and in person is now in his top five experiences. When he holds out his hand for her, she takes a moment to consider him before nudging her large nose into his hand. He can’t help his smile; her nose is smooth and fuzzy. 

Off to the side, he can feel Damian watching him. It doesn’t dampen his mood, but he does remain conscious of it. Rather than address it, he asks, “What’s her name?” He glances over at Damian while smoothing his hand down the bridge of her nose. 

The boy assesses him quietly, eyes unable to keep from drifting to the gentle hand he’s using to pet the animal. Adjusting his stance, he replies simply, “Batcow.” 

Raph blinks. “Batcow?” Maybe he didn’t hear right. 

“Batcow,” Damian confirms. He seems almost proud, holding his head up with chin high. 

He quickly turns his head away, holding back a grin. This kid names things just like Mikey.

As he returns to petting Batcow, he hears a rolling clucking noise off to his far right. It sounds odd enough that he looks over, just as Damian does. 

A turkey, of all things, saunters its way out of a far stall. Damian, for his part, seems exasperated as he sighs, “Jerry, you know you’re not supposed to be in here. Go home.” ‘Jerry’ seems unreceptive, preferring to bob his way around the barn. 

Eventually he asks, “is Jerry a rescue too?” 

The kid’s silence seems more like he’s weighing Raph’s intentions rather than considering his answer. After a moment, he quietly replies, “Yes.” Rather than say anything, he nods. 

It’s a shockingly kind gesture from the boy who’s done nothing but spew insults since they met last night. Raph figures the kid is just an asshole, but if there is anything you can trust, it’s animal instinct. So if Batcow and Jerry trust the kid, maybe he isn’t so bad.

“Stop, stop. You’re petting her entirely wrong.” 

Raph still sort of wants to punt him though. 

Elsewhere, in the manor…

“YES! Eat shell, sucka!” 

Tim grunts, leaning away from Michelangelo (“Dude, just call me Mikey!”) to avoid another shoulder check. His character on screen is still spinning on its tires, falling behind from first to seventh in five seconds flat. 

“I thought you said you’ve never played Krazy Kart 8,” he grumbles, watching his kart accelerate forward at an agonizing pace. 

“I haven’t!” Meanwhile, Mikey zooms ahead in first place, swerving and drifting like he’s been playing for years. “But my bros and I have the original Krazy Kart, and I’ve played that thousands of times.” 

Go figure. “Does the original game have Crystal Circuit?” 

“Nope!” 

Of course. Of course he challenges someone who’s just naturally gifted at Krazy Kart. Tim has half a mind to shoulder check Mikey back. Just to, y’know, even the odds. 

“My hands are cramping,” he complains. “How do you do this? There aren’t enough fingers for all these buttons!” 

Mikey snorts. “I dunno, bro. Just lock in?” He doesn’t notice Tim stop driving, too focused on finishing the final lap to catch the head slowly turning in his direction. 

Between one moment and the next, controllers are thrown to the floor and someone is shrieking. What results is a slap fight none would suspect to come from two trained individuals. 

Tim has no regrets. 

Chapter Text

Night falls, and the noise of the manor quiets to nothing. They all listen for footsteps outside their door and above their heads; nothing. Even still, Leo is insistent they hug the shadows as they head down to the Batcave. 

Donnie could point out that, in a house this large, they have no real way of knowing if anyone was still awake without checking every single room. It’s larger than some malls. 

He could point that out, but he gets partway through his sentence when Leo shoots him a withering stare. So Donnie wisely shuts up. 

Oh, the things he could create if the had this kind of space and money at his disposal. Things that seemed destined to stay forever on paper, made into reality. Although, admittedly, it was kind of fun to come up with ways to hide his creations around the city. But the idea of the resources he could get alone has him salivating. The fact that Bruce Wayne uses none of it, and keeps himself restricted to a cave system (on purpose ) has Donnie weeping at all the wasted potential. 

He should be grateful he gets to see it at all. He just needs to keep telling himself that. 

“What was the key to getting in here?” Leo asks once they’re standing in front of the grandfather clock. He rubs his chin as he squints thoughtfully, trying to remember. 

With a hand fisted in Mikey’s shirt to prevent him from wandering, Donnie points out, “They moved the hands of the clock to ten forty-eight.” Which seems ridiculous, at least to him. If it were his choice, he’d involve multiple layers of biometric scans (and probably a few more non-biometric ones). Not something as flimsy as a specific time on a clock . 

Raph, with his arms crossed over his chest, asks, “What’s so important about ten forty eight?” The three of them watch as Leo pulls open the glass case to the clock face. He starts turning the large hand with his finger. 

“Gee, that’s a good question, Raph,” Donnie says animatedly. “Why don’t we forget this, turn around and march upstairs to ask one of them?” He meets narrowed eyes unflinchingly, smiling just a bit too wide in the way he knows unsettles them. 

“Why the hell’re you so pissy? I can’t ask a single question?”

“No.” 

Leo hisses at them, “Would you guys quiet down? This isn’t the time for chatter.” He turns his attention back to the clock face after shooting them a glare—green eyes seeming a little greener than before, weirdly—and stops when something clicks. Taking a step back, Donnie’s brother sizes up the grandfather clock carefully before reaching to pull at its edge. The thing shifts easily, taking with it a part of the wall to reveal the cavernous staircase downward. “Okay,” he breathes, relieved. “Let’s go.” 

The very minimal lighting as they make their way down has Donnie gripping the railing just like last time. It’s even worse going down than up. When you go up, at least you can catch yourself pretty easily if you trip. Falling down is just asking for disaster, one that ends in bumps and bruises. And he can get a lot of those now, with his squishy human body. 

Thankfully, even when Mikey bumps into him from behind, he doesn’t fall down the stairs. They make it just fine, and Donnie can breathe a sigh of relief. 

They’re all a little startled when some lights turn on rather suddenly, but quickly realize that they’re the automatic kind and continue their route to the van. On their way, they pass the life-sized T-Rex model and giant penny, marvelling at it once again for its sheer absurdity in contrast with the rest of the cave. 

Mikey thinks it’s the best thing since pizza gyoza. 

Navigating their way out of the tunnels and back into the city is simple enough with the GPS in their phones. After a while of driving in the dark, they emerge onto an empty road in Otisburg. From there, it’s just a matter of navigating the streets—and crossing a bridge—to reach the Upper East Side. 

As they’re turning from Dillon Avenue, Donnie glances over at the mutagen detector only to do a double take. He sets his phone down, picking up the device with a frown. 

“Something the matter, Dee?” Mikey asks off to his left. He can feel his brother shift closer, peering over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, look.” He holds up the device for Mikey to see. His brother squints. 

“Uhhh… not sure what I’m supposed to see, gotta be honest.” Donnie huffs, leaning forward and tapping at the blinking dot. 

“See this? This is what we’re following. The faster it blinks, the stronger the signal.” Mikey’s forehead crinkles in a frown. 

“But it’s blinking slow.” 

“Ex actly. It wasn’t like this yesterday. Which means something must have changed in the couple of hours we were gone.” Pulling the device back into his lap, he stares at it. Just last night, the signal was strong enough that it blinked in half second intervals. Now, it was barely managing a sluggish beep every four seconds. “This isn’t good…” Donnie raises his hand to rub his head absently, but flinches when his fingers meet locks of soft hair. Oh right, that whole thing. He lowers his hand back to his lap. 

From the front, Leo asks, “Is everything alright?” He keeps his eyes diligently on the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It reminds Donnie that technically he’s supposed to be navigating, and he grabs his phone once more. 

“Not really,” he admits. “I’ll explain once we get there. Turn left onto Rudolph Drive.” 

They stop a street away from the site of last night’s fight, and hop out to continue on foot. 

“So, what’s the problem?” Leo stands at the front of the group, his head on a swivel as they navigate through back alleys and side roads. Raph encases them from behind, keeping Donnie and Mikey in the middle. 

He can’t help but sigh. “The signal is getting weak. I’m not sure what happened, but I’d say we don’t have very long until the traces of mutagen disappear completely.” The expression on Leo’s face is pensive, but he only hums in thought. 

He backs away from the mouth of the alley. “Let’s go, then.”

It’s entirely natural that they shift their attention to climbing upwards. There are less obstacles, and they won’t have any chance of running into anyone on the way there. Leo goes first, shifting the straps of his scabbard to better sit on his back. Even after adjusting the clasps to fit to his bigger body, they’re still not quite right. 

They watch as Leo crouches down to leap up. A simple jump should allow them to get a foothold on the dumpster and use it as a springboard for the windowsill above. They’ve done it thousands of times, and there was no indication that this would be any different. 

So, imagine Donnie’s surprise when Leo not only fails to clear the distance between the ground and the top of the dumpster, but misjudges where his feet will go and rams his shin into the dumpster’s edge. He winces as Leo’s face slams into the dumpster lid, before going still. 

They all glance between each other, wearing similarly wary expressions. Mikey is the first one to approach. “Leo…?” 

All of a sudden, Leo sits up. They all jolt back slightly, but watch as he touches his nose. His fingers come away with blood—in stark contrast against his pale, scarred hands—and he frowns at them. “Ow.”  

Raph scoffs a laugh, now that he’s seen Leo’s alright. “What the shell was that? Didja forget how to jump?” Leo glowers down at him.

“No, I didn’t.” They watch as Leo pushes himself to stand, wiping at his nose with his wrist. He smoothes out his expression into something neutral, but his hands are clenched at his sides. 

His face—or, more accurately, Jason’s—is an intimidating thing to be faced with, especially towering over them with his broad shoulders and thick limbs. It doesn’t help that his face is now smeared with drying blood, and there’s something just on the edge of threatening in his eyes. Donnie takes a second longer than he’d care to admit trying to find his voice. 

“It’s—well, just like I explained earlier today, your equilibrium is all off. You’re compensating for a shell that is no longer there, so your balance is bound to be a little off.” With a sheepish smile, he adds, “And we’re used to the strength that comes from being mutants. There are bound to be differences.” 

For a stretching moment, Leo is silent. Donnie watches his eyes trail away, unreadable, before settling on the fire escape on the adjacent building. His brother says nothing as he takes a step back—already adjusting to his different weight, he can see it in the silent way he calculates his jump—before launching across the small gap. The clang of his landing is a lot heavier, but he lifts himself up with ease and starts walking up the steps. 

There’s no calling in to question what they, as individuals, are able to do. What Leo is able to do. Donnie’s eldest brother is extremely capable; he’s faced down entire armies all by himself, and he’s led them into battle when all hope seemed lost. Hell, he faced the Shredder alone not once, not twice, but several times and lived to tell the tale. But something about this experience is rankling him, and it’s frankly hard to watch. It was reminiscent of the days after waking from his coma. 

Donnie bites back a sigh. 

They all follow suit, climbing up the fire escape rather than scaling up the side of the building like they usually would. Leo is waiting for them, the Gotham Knights hoodie he’s wearing blowing with the wind. 

The three of them stop when he looks back. His expression is no longer forcibly blank, which—he doesn’t know about his brothers, but—has Donnie’s shoulders relaxing. His brother’s fine. 

He jerks his head imperceptibly. “Let’s go, ninjas.” 

He takes a running start, and leaps to the next building. Donnie exchanges glances with his brothers, and matching grins slide onto their faces. 

There’s nothing left. 

They find the building with the signal. Leo says it’s where he initially was before he chased after the mysterious ninjas. Upon entering, it’s plain to see even with little to no lighting that it’s been cleared out. 

Only trace amounts of mutagen in a vat remain, which is what keeps Donnie’s signal alive. The glow in the otherwise dark of the building tells him as much. 

“I can’t see shit.” Somewhere off to his right, Raph complains. There’s a clang, and he curses up a storm under his breath. 

Using the screen of his T-phone as a source of light, Donnie shines it on his brother. “Could you be any louder, Raphael?” His brother stands there, shaking his arm out from hitting it against something. He squints at the pale light. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll make sure the whole neighbourhood hears you squawking when I ring your neck.” Donnie watches him fish out his phone and turn up the brightness, only to turn it back down when it blindsides him. 

Somewhere deeper into the room, Leo snaps at them to “Just find the stupid light switch.” They go simultaneously quiet. 

He walks about the room, his phone in one hand. Even though it’s hard to see, he makes his way to the vats. Globs of mutagen lay about its bottom, likely left behind after the vast majority was drained from the container. He reaches for his belt, initially fumbling when he remembers he’s wearing a sweater, and pulls out a squeeze dropper. Just enough to get a sample…

“Ah! Got it!” He gets only that second’s warning from Mikey before the lights come on. With a wince, he shuts his eyes, seeing only blocks of light when he opens them again. 

“A bit more warning next time, thank you,  Michael.” 

“Sorry!” 

As soon as he blinks the lights out of his eyes, he takes a chance to get a good look around. Five vats sit lined in a row in front of him, only some with trace amounts of mutagen. They’re tall, but not especially wide. It strikes him, after a moment, that they’re the perfect size for a human body. 

He shakes his head. Gather the sample first, speculate after. 

It’s just as he’s trying to figure out how to open one of the vats that there’s the sharp whistle of a ninja star flying through the air. Donnie jolts, whipping around to look at the source. He catches Raph and Mikey doing the same in his peripherals, realizing the source of the sound came from Leo. 

Leo, who’s looking up at the rafters with a critical eye. His arm still extended from throwing the star, he frowns up at the shadows as they split apart to reveal a looming figure. 

Batman stands far above them, holding his cape up in front of him with Leo’s thrown ninja star embedded in the fabric. With his other hand, he plucks it out. 

“You followed us.” Leo glares up at Batman. Outwardly, the Bat doesn’t react. 

However, he does say, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” In a menacing, low baritone. It sounds more like a threat than a question, effectively sending chills down Donnie’s spine. 

“Yes. I’m pretty sure we’re doing something that’s none of your business—” Leo stops short when Batman jumps down from the rafters, landing with very little sound as his cape moves like fabric ink around him. The way he approaches feels like he’s squaring for a fight, and Donnie finds his hands itching to grab his bo. A glance at Mikey and Raph reveals they’re thinking of doing the same. 

Leo’s face is steely as he looks at Batman head on. It must be a lot different, Donnie thinks, when you’re the same height as someone you’re facing off against. Often times, they have to look up to meet someone’s eye, but not here. Batman and his brother are on equal standing. 

“It is my business,” Batman insists. “These are not your bodies, you have no right to walk about in them as you please. In doing so, you are putting us all at risk.” 

And that’s when Donnie realizes he’s an idiot. 

Because, duh . They have disguises for a reason . Otherwise, they’d be jeopardizing their civilian lives every night. It was superhero rule number one. And yet here the four of them were, jumping across rooftops with the faces of Bruce Wayne’s children. Just, you know, one of the most influential men in the State. 

Stubbornly, Leo persists in his argument. “We know what we’re doing. We’re not so careless that we’d get ourselves caught by walking around. How do you think we survived the past eighteen years?” 

“Sheer luck.” Donnie grimaces, watching Leo’s jaw tense. Then, in a tone that brooks no argument, Batman tells them, “We are going back to the cave.” 

Suffice it to say, they have a few opinions. 

“?! Like HELL we are!” Raph shouts, bearing his teeth. 

“Yo, what??” Mikey looks at the rest of them, his brows raised in worry. 

Donnie narrows his eyes. “You can’t just decide that for us.” His hand clenches around the dropper tightly. He can’t leave without that sample. 

“This is not up for discussion. You four are entirely unprepared for Gotham at night. You’re not even wearing armour to protect yourself in case of an attack.” He and his brothers shift on their feet uneasily. That was something they couldn’t argue; they no longer had their shells to protect them. Without even really thinking about it, they’d left in hoodies and sweatpants. Things that definitely wouldn’t withstand a slash of a knife or the whack of a lead pipe. Batman gestures to them, his cape swishing with the movement. “All of this is unnecessary risk. Not just for my team, but yours as well.” 

From a couple feet away, Donnie watches Leo silently take in these points. There was undeniably some truth to them, even if none of them liked it. He could practically see the gears turning in his leader’s head as he deliberates carefully. 

“Give us twenty minutes,” he finally says. “We still have more to investigate here. I’m not going to simply leave without checking it over.” Batman stares at Leo for a long time. It’s not easy to tell what’s exactly going on in his head, but Donnie’s sure he’s thinking over Leo’s words carefully. 

“… Ten minutes,” he rumbles. There’s another tick in Leo’s jaw as he works it. 

“Fifteen. Final offer.” 

Batman grunts. There’s another moment of pure silence—considering it, perhaps—but: “Fifteen minutes,” he agrees. A fraction of the tension releases, but doesn’t completely dissipate. At least Leo doesn’t look like he’s ready to start throwing punches (and how odd is that? He gets prickly when his authority is called into question, sure, but to get angry enough he becomes physical?). From his belt, Batman procures four masks. He offers them to Leo, handing off a small bottle along with it. “Put these on,” he says. “It will provide at least some cover.” Leo takes the offered items, glancing up at the man unsurely. He nods the three of them over, handing them each a mask. 

Donnie takes his, along with the bottle Batman handed over. He opens up the bottle to get a sniff, blinking when it burns his nose a little. Alcohol and… something. He can’t put his finger on it. 

“Is this adhesive?” He glances over at Batman, who hasn’t stopped watching them the entire time. 

He grunts what Donnie thinks is an affirmative. “Similar to Spirit Gum.” 

Well, good enough for Donnie. If this is the typical stuff they use, it shouldn’t be too harsh on their skin. Still, he decides to be the one to apply the adhesive to the masks. Knowing Mikey, he’ll somehow manage to get it everywhere including his eyes. 

Once the masks are on, they spread out in search of clues. Donnie finally takes the time to get the samples from the vats. He gets a couple test tubes filled with the leftover mutagen, then starts looking elsewhere. 

A couple feet away from the equipment, he finds a charred spot of concrete. He kneels down and pushes his finger through the soot, rubbing it between his fingers. Looking closer, there seem to be little flakes amongst the char. 

“They must’ve burned any physical evidence before they left,” he mutters to himself. He wipes away the soot on his pants, standing and taking a look around. 

“Anything on your end, Donnie?” Leo asks from across the room. 

“Some,” he hedges, glancing surreptitiously at Batman. “You?” 

“Just empty filing cabinets.” 

“Well, I’ve got nothing from any of these shelves,” Raph calls. He emerges with a sour face, brushing off his shoulders. “Either they didn’t use ‘em, or they cleaned up good.” 

Donnie frowns, crossing his arms. They know how to hide their tracks, whoever they are. Paper trail gone, and not a machine in sight he can use to retrace their steps. It’s all incredibly organized. 

Leo glances around with a frown. “Mikey?” No response. The three of them exchange similar concerned looks. Wherever their brother was, there was bound to be trouble. “Mikey!” 

Thankfully, he calls back a second later. “Uh… back here!” His voice echoes from deeper in the building. When they follow the sound, they find an open door to a hallway. 

Instantly, they’re hit with a wave of smell . Donnie slaps a hand over his nose and mouth, hit with sudden nausea. Beside him, his brothers gag before following suit. 

“Ugh…” Raph‘s groan comes muffled from behind his hand. “It reeks of piss and shit.” 

“God, that’s just—that’s just awful.” Understandably, Leo looks a little green. Donnie can’t blame him. He already wants to leave, even though he’s sure there are answers to some questions here. 

He glances down each end of the hall. “I thought the place smelled off… but I wasn’t expecting this.” 

“Mikey!” Raph shouts, “Where the hell are ya?!” 

Down the hall, they can hear a faint, subdued, “Over here.” They exchange quick glances, but walk towards it. 

They find Mikey inside a room of ice box containers. Tens of them, lined neatly in storage shelves all through the length of the room. The temperature also notably drops once they’re past the threshold. 

Mikey sits strangely still on the floor. In front of him is an open cooler, which he stares at. He doesn’t even glance their way as they enter. 

Leo tries calling their baby brother’s name. He remains still and quiet, as if he didn’t even hear them. Not even as they get closer, stopping to peer over his shoulders. 

Immediately, they realize why he wasn’t responding. 

They’re quiet for a long, painful moment. Words don’t feel quite right for what they’re seeing. 

Raph is the first to break it. “Are those….?” But he trails off. 

“Rats?” Mikey guesses. He sighs. “Yeah.” 

Frozen rats, neatly lined up within the freezer box. No space is wasted. At least twenty rats kept in there, while excess space is filled with bags of packaged ice. Perfectly preserved for… for…

“What about the other rooms?” Donnie finds himself asking. He’s mortified, but he wants to know. No, not wants, needs.

“Empty,” Mikey responds hollowly. Donnie releases a breathe he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Mostly, anyway. You can smell it without even going in.” 

He bites back a grimace. Yeah, that was pretty bad. It was bearable in here, only thanks to the cold. 

But Mikey isn’t done. “They forget to take their shackles with them.” He says it so plainly, so evenly. Perhaps it’s the shock. It sounds like the numbness is setting in. 

Shackles. Vats of mutagen. Frozen rats. It didn’t take a supercomputer to calculate that math. 

“Okay,” Leo says. Then he says it again. “Okay.” He says it one more time, for good measure. “… Okay. I think… we’ve gotten all that we can from here.” None of them point out the shake present in his voice. If they did, they would have to admit that theirs would be too. 

Their leader puts a gentle hand on Mikey’s shoulder. For the first time since they entered, he looks up. His brows are knitted, easy to tell even with the domino-shaped mask. 

“Are we just gonna leave ‘em here?” His voice doesn’t quiver, but it’s a near thing. Just his quiet, still appearance makes it feel like he could shatter with one touch. 

Leo isn’t immune to it either. One look from Mikey, and he immediately softens. “I’m not sure what we’d even do with them, buddy.” He switches his touch on Mikey’s shoulder to card his fingers through his hair. The long, dark strands comb easily through his fingers. He stops when he reaches the ends, down by Mikey’s shoulders. 

It seems to do the trick. Sniffing, Mikey gently shuts the case to the freezer box. He’s very careful when he sets it back on the shelf. Leaning into Leo’s hand, he stands and follows them as they leave the room behind. 

Batman is waiting for them, when they enter the main room. They stay huddled together, with Mikey tucked under Leo’s arm and Raph resting his on Donnie’s shoulder. If he notices the somber air around them, he doesn’t mention it. 

The Batmobile is apparently parked close to the van, so it isn’t a hardship to walk there. They still stick to side streets and dark alleys, largely because walking down the sidewalk alongside Batman was a surefire way to attract attention. He asked Leo to pull his hood up, which he did. But mercifully, the streets are fairly empty. 

Batman seems convinced they’ll peal off in the other direction if he doesn’t watch them. They get to the van and he tells them to wait, and then stands completely still. Donnie’s starting to think he might just keep them there all night, when the Batmobile suddenly turns a corner and drives up to them. 

Donnie wonders for a moment, did he bring someone with him? Were they just waiting in the Batmobile this entire time? But then he opens the door on the driver’s side and steps in. That’s when Donnie realizes—

“He has a self-driving car.” He stares in complete shock. “I can’t believe it. He has a self-driving car.”

“Donnie?” He turns to Raph, grabbing his arms to shake him. 

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” 

“I- I dunno, Dee.” Raph’s eyes are wide and are looking down at him like he’s crazy but he doesn’t care. He’s busy trying to figure out what it would take to convert all their vehicles to be entirely self-driving. Sure, the Shellraiser has an auto-pilot ability but it still required some amount of intervention. And it definitely couldn’t be called to your location, what the hell that’s so—

He’s suddenly being pushed by the shoulders into the van. “Alright, Donnie, you can brainstorm it on the drive back.” Donnie doesn’t protest, crawling to his seat and reaching for the notepad on the floor to flick through and start drafting. He hears the others pile in, the van door shutting before the engine starts. Looking at his empty hand, he realizes he’s missing something crucial. 

“Hey, does anybody have a pen?”

Bruce is not put out that Donatello stays in the cave instead of following his brothers. He isn’t. It just means he has to work a little more cautiously while he’s down here tonight. No big deal. 

He switches on the garage camera for the tenth time since he’s sat down. Hard to see if there’s any movement from the angle, but the van (the thing they call ‘the party wagon’) remains still and unassuming. 

His first guess is that the teenager’s analyzing the samples he collected from the abandoned lab. Some glowing substance he scooped into some test tubes. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s curious. Could it be the mysterious mutagen they mentioned earlier today? Was that too much of a leap? 

He sighs, finally pulling off the cowl so he could set it on his desk. It didn’t feel right to leave. If it weren’t for his sensors alerting him of movement in the cave, he wouldn’t have known they’d ever left. Now he has to stay here and make sure nothing is tampered with. 

… Well. He has another reason for staying down here now, anyway. 

From his belt, he produces a four-pointed shuriken. Simple in make, but deadly in the right hands. Just like the katanas, they have a symbol painted black on each side. Something like a flower, but similarly adjacent. There are five petals, each with holes in their centre. It’s surrounded by a thick banded circle. 

He can’t shake this feeling. A sense that this isn’t the first time he’s laid eyes on this symbol. 

Chapter Text

Now that he’s a turtle, Dick’s choices for exercise are severely limited. It sucks, and it’s not even really about the exercise thing; they have all they could ever need within the manor. 

But going to the gym was an excellent excuse to get out of the house. 

When he stays in Gotham—in Wayne Manor—long enough, he starts to go a bit crazy. Maybe it’s the long, echoing halls, or maybe it’s the company (because he loves his family, he really does, but he left this house behind for a reason). And now he’s about to be in Gotham for the foreseeable future until they get this whole body switch fiasco sorted. 

Yaaaaaay…

Still, exercise is exercise. And if he doesn’t work out his excess energy, he’s going to actually start climbing the walls. Then they’ll have another chandelier incident, which nobody wants, least of all Alfred. 

So, Dick sucks it up and heads to the cave. 

All is quiet when he makes it down, which isn’t surprising. It’s rare to see anyone up (aside from Alfred) before at least eleven. But there’s a jitter deep in his bones, so he’s up two hours earlier. 

Dick starts with a warm-up stretch, popping tunes into his ears (because the cave’s silent drip-drip would make him go crazy). He’s still surprised to find how flexible he actually is with this shell on his back. Folding into a backbend is awkward, but not impossible. 

He avoids the trapeze for today. Partially, it was because he knew he wasn’t yet used to how different it felt to move. But technically, he’d also struck that deal with Raphael. He had a feeling the other would want proof he’s keeping his word. 

Switching to pushups, he snickers quietly. 

Somehow, they’d managed to run into quite the group of personalities. Michelangelo is a fine example. Excitable and strange, but not entirely clueless. His eyes can take on a rather sharp quality, if you’re looking for it. And he certainly knows how to get people off track. Either that, or he seriously just switches his train of thought that fast. 

(“We need to ingratiate ourselves with them. Learn as much as we can.” Bruce regarded him seriously, after explaining he was suspicious of their motives for being in Gotham. This was after they’d finished running the tests. “Michelangelo might very well be our ticket to finding out the truth.”

With a snort, he’d patted his father’s shoulder. “If you want to decipher him, you can certainly try.”) 

Raphael wasn’t too difficult to understand. At least, for the most part. The protective anger was familiar, like a worn out hat. But he has a sneaking suspicion there’s an incredibly gentle side to him (or maybe that’s just Dick’s wishful thinking, wanting a second chance so bad it hurts). 

Making that deal with him was a bit of a gamble, but he’s nothing if not a risk-taker. A little healthy competition goes a long way. It’s helped him, in the past, break the ice when tensions were high in a group. It’s how he got his little brothers to engage with him. Why wouldn’t the same rulebook work here?

Leonardo was keeping them all at a distance, that much was clear. The most amount of personal preference he’s shown was towards his belongings being returned; a ripple of emotion that swept across his face when he had his swords back in his arms. In the face of everything else, he was stoic. 

With his brothers, he seems incredibly attentive. And in turn, they seem to trust him implicitly. ‘Leader’ in every sense of the word. Dick didn’t even have to guess, because he could see it. Had been it. But it just seemed to never turn off, for this kid. Dick gets exhausted just looking at him. 

Donatello… he admittedly doesn’t have a good read on. Incredibly smart, enthusiastic when it comes to his work, but incredibly cagey and critical at times. He’d given them a fair bit of information to work with, yet none of it revealing too much on themselves or why they were in Gotham. A smart tactic to give them just enough to satiate, especially with his brothers’ help. 

Hopefully with time, they’ll be more willing to place trust in them. There’s not much else to do, really, when you’re stuck in each other’s bodies. Dick already had to call out on paid vacation time back in Blüdhaven. 

For the next hour, Dick works through his reps thoughtlessly. When he starts to get too lost in his head, he decides it’s time to hit the showers. 

It’s when he’s walking over, that he hears a loud bang. Dick stops, lowering his towel from his head as he slowly glances over towards the cars. The modified Volkswagen the turtles brought in sways back and forth like someone’s in it. 

Is there someone in it? 

He decides to investigate. At worse, it’s one of his family (likely Tim, or Bruce) and at best it’s one of the turtle brothers. Though he feels like he would have noticed if someone came down while he was working out. 

Just as he’s close enough to take a peek inside, a flurry of paper hits the narrow window. He pauses, reassessing his approach. 

There’s wordless, muffled cursing coming from inside. The vehicle rocks for a couple more seconds, before the van door slides open with a slam. Donatello stands in the car doorway, black hair a tousled mess and eyes a little crazed. He glowers intently at Dick. “Does this place have replacement parts for a microscope?”

“Uh…” Dick blinks. “We might.” 

Despite his tempestuous demeanour, his words are very polite. “Can I use some? I’ll pay it back.” 

Dick bites down on his amusement. “Sure, come with me.” With a hand wave, he walks away from the cars. He hears the van door slam shut, and the scuffle of shoes following after him. 

They don’t join at his side. Rather, they stay behind him. At first he thinks it’s his pace, but when Donatello slows down as well to match his lax pace, he realizes his assumption is wrong. 

Okay, new strategy. 

“So, what are you working on?” He looks at Donatello to hopefully catch his eye. This works, and soon they’re matching pace. 

“… Just science stuff,” he mumbles, glancing off to the side. His fingers play with the long sleeves of his shirt, toying with the seam. “I was working on something else, but I hit a wall.” 

Curiously, he asks, “what other stuff?” 

Donatello meets his eyes for just a second. Sheepishly, he looks away. “I wanted to recreate Batman’s self-driving feature from the Batmobile,” he admits. 

Dick tilts his head. So he’s the family doctor, programmer, and possibly mechanical engineer…? Oh, and with an interest in science. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” he admits. He comes by it honestly; knowing enough to maintain the Wingcycle does not a mechanical engineer make. “But I could help you with the science stuff.” 

He looks up at Dick with mild surprise. “Really?” 

“Yeah, I’m fairly good at it.” He shrugs with a grin. “At least, that’s what my grades in high school say.” 

“What’syourfavourite?” Donatello suddenly asks, his words fumbling together. His cheeks pink immediately, as if he’s embarrassed. 

“Hmm,” Dick thinks out loud. “Probably between physics and chemistry.” 

“Really?” Green eyes gaze curiously at him. “I didn’t think you’d be into chemistry.” 

He shrugs. “Why not? You can create some pretty cool things with chemistry.“ 

Donatello grins. Maybe it shouldn’t be shocking, but it is. Damian Smiles (patent pending) aren’t so rare these days, at least not to him. But it was the person behind the smile that made him stop a little. 

“I agree,” he says like he’s divulging a secret. “I tried recreating Arachnid-Man’s webs one time. It’s a load of crap.” 

Suppressing his grin—he didn’t want it to seem like he was laughing at him—he hums. “Oh really?” 

“Yeah. There are different formulas depending on where you look, but no matter how you slice it there’s no way to make thin adhesive that needs to both be strong enough to withstand a lot of weight and soft enough to hold a person in the event of a fall. It would harden in the cartridge before it could even be used! So, you would need it to function like a cement mixer with in the cartridge, but make sure it can…” Donatello pauses, trailing off with a lost air. When Dick looks at him questioningly, he laughs sheepishly. “Usually someone stops me by now.” He’s fidgeting again, his shoulders hunching like he’s folding in on himself. 

“No, I’m listening,” he reassures, noting with a hint of satisfaction that Donatello straightens up again. “It actually reminds me of a conversation I once had with Tim. He spent the better half of two months trying to create a real lightsaber.” 

Donatello snickers. “That’s not possible.” 

“You try telling that to a fifteen year old hopped up on too much soda,” Dick rebuts wryly. He’s pleased to see the other looking more comfortable now. More sure of himself. The dark cloud that clung to him since exiting the van seems to have dissipated. 

Changing the subject, he asks, “So what parts are you looking for?” He leads them to look through bins of labelled spare parts. From copper wire to motherboards, they have it all. 

Donatello peers into one of the labelled bins. “One of the lens is cracked. And the fine focus joint is rusted beyond all repair.” 

Maybe they could take one apart to use for spares. Or, better yet, he could just give them one. It’s not like Bruce can’t buy more. “Well Donatello, you’re in luck. We’ve got spares aplenty.” He pats him on the shoulder before turning to looking for the shelf of full-sized equipment. As he’s peering into a rubber bin, his attention is pulled away by movement. 

“Just call me Donnie.” He wears a shy, lopsided smile. 

Dick grins back. “You got it, Donnie.” 

Dick tries subtly asking several times what he’s working on as they search for spare parts, and he’s subtly redirected every time. They discuss what high school was like, in which Donnie sounds excited and downright awestruck at all the things Dick got to do at Gotham Academy. 

“So you’re self taught?” 

“For the most part.” Donnie shrugs. “Master Splinter taught us basics, but I was more interested in learning than my brothers so I sought stuff out on my own.” He’s sorting through a bin when he says it, likely not even realizing. Dick, however, pauses for a brief moment as he takes it in. 

Keeping his tone purposefully light, he asks, “Master Splinter?” But it’s for naught. Donnie’s movements freeze, like he’s playing back through their conversation. 

Donnie’s sigh is very controlled, keeping his gaze focused on the bin. “… Our father,” he eventually says, sounding reluctant. Clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. 

He decides to just leave it at that. Dick goes back to searching, letting the first thought that comes to mind spill out. “Having gaps in your education can be tough. I remember having trouble keeping up with American history at first.” From his periphery, he sees Donnie look over at him. 

“You’re not American?” 

Dick grins. “Nope. I was born in a hospital in Turkey while Haly’s was performing there. Then, I went wherever they went.” 

Discarding his earlier discomfort, he turns to face Dick with full interest. “I’ve always wondered how things like that work, legally speaking. There had to have been places you couldn’t perform due to passport restrictions.” Dick shrugs. 

“Things were different back then.” Or so he’s told, anyway. Not like he can remember it. “But you’re right. Ultimately, that’s how I ended up in the foster system here, rather than returning to the troupe after my parents died. That, and there was an active murder investigation going on at the time.” He says it dryly. Even if he wouldn’t trade in his current life, he’s still a little bitter that they kept him away from his first family. But what’s a nine year old to do besides let it happen?

… Well. He knows what he did. But that’s beside the point. 

After that, Donnie gets a little quiet. People usually do when you bring up dead loved ones. Truthfully, he prefers it over the simpering sympathy that’s just hot air. At least then, he doesn’t have to reassure them yes he’s alright, it barely even stings now, he’s living his life to the fullest. 

He has to shake his head of that train of thought. No use feeling sorry for himself. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. 

Donnie makes a small, pleased noise. “I found them.” He digs his hands into the bin searchingly, tilting it precariously on the edge of the shelf as he stands on his toes. Dick sees a disaster waiting to happen and steps in. 

“Here, why don’t we take this off the shelf to get a better look?” He’d hoped to play it casual, but a sour look appears on Donnie’s face. 

“This is so humiliating,” he mutters. Dick’s sure he’s not meant to hear it, so he doesn’t say anything. He sets the bin onto the floor, stepping back to lean against the shelf so Donnie can dig his hands in and grab the parts he needs. 

Donnie parses through everything very quickly. It’s clear he knows what he’s looking for, taking only under a minute to pick out what he needs. When he sits back with a satisfied grin, Dick can’t help but smile as well. 

“Find everything you need?” Green eyes snap up like they forgot he was there. The kid clears his throat, his cheeks dusting a light pink. 

“I did.” With a heft, he picks the bin up. “It’s amazing. With these parts, I can be a bit more confident in my results, thanks to their high quality. I won’t have to replace them for awhile.” It’s with a stubborn grunt that he pushes the bin back onto its shelf, before Dick can even try to offer help. He dusts his hands with a sigh, picking up his handful of microscope parts to cradle in his arms. 

“You replace them often?” He guesses. They walk out of the storage room together, walking a roundabout trajectory back to the cars. 

Donnie hums in affirmation. “That’s what happens when you acquire everything secondhand; everything you own is already halfway broken.” It feels like he wants to sigh again, the way he talks. He just looks so resigned, so tired, like he’s constantly fighting a losing battle. The look is ill-placed on the face of a fourteen year old, even when you know it’s spoken by an eighteen year old. 

Was Dick so worn down at that age? He’d felt like his life was just beginning, searching for independence away from Bruce and the weight of Robin. Learning how to spread his wings wider with no one restricting them. It’d been a long time since then, but how was Donnie sounding exhausted with life when it was only just beginning? Why was he so tired? 

Questions, questions, but no answers. 

“Still,” he counters lightly, “you have to be resourceful to create something new out of broken, thrifted items. Creative, too. I think that’s really impressive on its own. You should be proud!” Donnie turned to look at him as he spoke, wearing a look of vague bemusement that quickly turns shy. His mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile, glancing away. 

“I am.” They walk in comfortable silence, with Donnie looking like he’s contemplating something. Dick, for his part, is content to let the silence be. But then he speaks again, like he’s decided on something. “I don’t actually mind using… ‘ thrifted’ junk to make things,” he admits gently. “It’s like a challenge.“ 

Dick smiles softly. “You sound exactly like Tim.” He watches Donnie’s eyebrows shoot up, expression surprised. 

“I do?” 

“Yep.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, nodding his head. “He also likes a good challenge. Once he sets his mind on something, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.” Leaning in, he half jokes, “I have the bite marks to prove it.” 

Donnie’s puzzled laughter is immensely satisfying. “Bite marks?” 

“I tried to get him to go to bed.” Tim’s jaw snapping at him like a rabid shark will never not amuse him. But he also learned a lesson that day to never try the direct approach again. “I’m pretty sure I almost lost my finger that day.” He’s pleased to watch Donnie snicker, even at his expense. Especially after witnessing that peek into exhaustion he carries. He decides it’d be nice to see it more.

They arrive at the van, where he opens it to let Donnie set down his armful of stuff. The smile he sends Dick’s way is friendlier than before. Lighter. 

“If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always around.” Donnie laughs softly, like he said something funny. 

“Thanks.” He crawls into the van, shutting the door as Dick stands on the other side. For a moment, he watches the movement inside curiously, but ultimately decides to leave it alone. He still needs to shower. Then, maybe, something to eat. 

Some time later, after his shower, he emerges into the cave proper to find- “Oh, Jay.” He pauses in drying his hair, letting the towel rest on his head. His brother pauses mid-step. “G’morning.”

“Afternoon, Dickface,” comes his greeting. Green hands rest on hips, expression flat. 

Unbidden, his eyes fall to Jason’s throat “Is it already?” He asks faintly. “I didn’t notice.” 

He remembers the initial alarm upon seeing the body littered with scars. On Jason he was used to it, sure. On all of them, really; it came with the job description. But he’d had to cover up his initial surprise the other day when Jason walked into the kitchen with the three deep gouges across his neck. Leonardo’s neck, he means. It was a deeper green than the rest of his emerald skin, and it looked old. Faded by a couple years, at least. Which meant he’d gotten it at, what, sixteen? Seventeen? It was a disturbing thought, twice that when you notice how deep the scars truly are. That wasn’t any old scar.

That was an intent to kill .

The thought still makes him a little nauseous. He doesn’t want to think about how it must have looked fresh. Nor does he appreciate the overlayed image of Tim, broken and bloody and terrified and so young.

Doesn’t matter who did it. Dick would still like a couple rounds alone with them, make them see how it feels. 

“Yeah. The whole house is awake now.” Jason’s voice abruptly pulls him out of his thoughts. His brow is raised like he can tell Dick’s mind is elsewhere, but he doesn’t mention it. 

He grasps at the ends of his towel, feeling vaguely disjointed. “Is that why you’re down here?” 

When Jason looks off to the side, but doesn’t confirm nor deny, he laughs. 

“Whatever,” his brother grumbles. Dick decides to leave it be. 

“Were they all having breakfast without me?” He continues towelling his hair, giving his hands something to do. Jason grunts. 

“Last I checked, Timbo was trying to figure out how to hide in his shell.” Dick pauses, hands hovering over his towel. 

“Can he do that…?” Can Dick do that? What a fascinating yet vaguely disturbing thought. Now he kind of wants to try. 

Jason simply shrugs, apparently not sharing his sentiment. “We’ll see eventually.” 

He should hurry up and see Tim’s progress, then. And grab something to eat. 

“Alright, see you later?” Dick nods his head towards the gym, assuming that’s where his brother’s trying to go. He gets waved off. 

“Yeah yeah, see ya.” Jason walks off, still favouring his right leg over his left. Hm.

He makes his own way, climbing up the stairs two at a time to leave the cave as his mind races. Just as he reaches the top, he realizes. 

He never did figure out what Donnie needed the microscope for. 

Chapter Text

A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle, and standing in the middle of the room, cried —

"Silence! To your seats!"

Jason settles further into his seat with a drawn-out sigh. The cushions allow him to melt, becoming one as he flips to the next page. 

Jane Eyre was one of those stories that he never grew tired of. He could always go back to it and enjoy it like it was the first time, which didn’t always happen with books he’s read. Some stories made it hard to pick back up, but not this one. It was always like an instant transportation; he felt like he was right there in Lowood. 

He figured so long as he was stuck here, might as well take advantage of the material available to him. There were his copies back at home, sure, but he hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to bring them. 

Flipping another page, he readjusts his leg over his knee. He bounces his foot lightly as Jane begins to speak, —

The far door swings open suddenly. Jason already has his place bookmarked and knife at the ready, listening as it clicks shut and someone sighs. It’s more instinct than anything else, because as complicated as his feelings are about this place, it is incredibly secure. The only people to be wary of were its inhabitants. 

His question of who is answered when his own face rounds the corner. He— doesn’t really know what to feel. It’s uncanny how he knows very well the face in front of him, and yet he doesn’t quite recognize it. Honestly, he could’ve gone this entire process without having to literally face himself. Because he hated it. 

“Oh.” Leonardo lifts his eyebrows in light surprise when he realizes Jason’s there. Then he’s looking askance, avoiding his gaze altogether. “Sorry. It was empty in here when I came in yesterday, so I thought— um, never mind, anyway.” The kid clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll be… going.” He turns to leave, and Jason’s about to let him. But, actually — 

“It’s fine.” Jason purposefully opens his book and glues his eyes to the pages. In his periphery, he sees Leonardo pause. “I came in here to do the same thing.” 

In spite of his feelings, there were things he wanted to know more. 

Maintaining the facade of reading, he watches Leonardo so very obviously deliberate on whether to stay or go. His feet shuffle on the spot like they’re trying to keep up with his mind. But, evidently, staying wins, and Leonardo gingerly settles on the other loveseat. 

The minutes tick by, in which Jason does actually continue reading. He gets a page and a half in before he decides Leonardo’s uncertain fidgeting is too pitiful to ignore any longer. 

He lowers his book into his lap. “You can pick out anything you want. I guarantee there’s something you’ll like out of the hundreds of books.” Jason watches Leonardo tap his feet idly on the floor as he glances around. Mostly joking, he asks, “you can read, right?” 

Leonardo sputters. “Of- of course I can read!” He sounds offended, but it does the trick of loosening up his stiff shoulders. Jason shrugs innocently. 

“I thought it was only fair to ask. Your brother didn’t know what Fahrenheit was.” He sees Leonardo grimace. 

“Mikey?” He guesses, but Jason shakes his head. 

“Raphael.” This only makes the other press his hand to his face in a facepalm, seeming embarrassed. 

“I swear to… okay, fine.” The kid sighs. “But we do know how to read.” It seems important to him that he gets that across, so Jason just shrugs and accepts it. 

Leonardo gets up and starts to roam. Scanning the bookshelves, occasionally pulling something out to check it. He steers clear of the rolling ladder, opting to look only at the books within his reach. Jason’s content to leave him alone, returning back to the passage in his book like reaching for an old and worn hat. 

An untold amount of minutes pass before Leonardo returns with a slim, blue book. Though he couldn’t see it as the kid kept trying to find a comfortable way to sit and read, as soon as he pulls it up to open, Jason sees it. 

“That’s a good one,” he finds himself blurting. His own unnatural blue-green eyes glance over at him, before Leonardo is pulling back the cover to glance at the cover of Watership Down like he hadn’t seen it when he picked it. “It’s a really good story,” he reiterates, confidently this time. 

“Oh,” Leonardo mumbles, looking a bit lost. “I just thought… the description was interesting.” He says it sheepishly, like he was no longer confident in his choice. But Jason just said it was a good choice. 

“I think it’s worth a read.” Whatever his opinion is good for. If Leonardo wants to find a different book, that’s none of his business. 

But, after a considering moment, Leonardo sets his eyes on the pages and begins to read.

They sit in pure silence, only incrementally broken by the shuffle of a page being turned. Jason goes back to Jane Eyre, immersing himself back into the pages. He’s sure time passes, but he barely notices it. 

It’s only when his phone buzzes in his pocket that he reluctantly tears his eyes away from his book. 

It’s from Dick. 

‘B just got back from JL storage. He wants to try something.’

Jason sighs through his nose. That was quicker than he thought. To be honest, he’d expected finding the damn thing would take a bit longer, but maybe he should be glad. They could get on with their damn lives, should it work. 

Pocketing his phone, he glances over at Leonardo for the first time in possibly over an hour. 

The kid is completely zeroed in on his book. He sits tucked into the corner of the sofa, reading in utter captivation. There’s a bit of a frown to his brow as his eyes scan the pages. Although he looks physically tense, he seems fully immersed in his reading. Honestly, Jason is a little surprised. He hasn’t seemed that enthusiastic about reading, so he figured the book would quickly get set down. But there the kid was, proving him wrong. He wasn’t actually wrong, though — the book was incredibly good. So, in a way, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Leonardo flips to another page, and Jason clears his throat. Nothing. That furrow deepens, shifting to hold the book closer. 

Jason tries again. “Hey.” He actually has to clear his throat again, this time to fix the catch in his voice after he speaks. Even going a while without using it seemed to trigger the body’s old injury. 

The kid’s head jerks up in surprise, his frown quickly turning confused before smoothing out. He clears his own throat (perhaps out of habit). “Yeah?” 

He watches Leonardo shift to a stiff upright position. “We’re wanted in the cave.” 

“For what?” 

Slipping his bookmark into place, he explains, “Bruce thinks he might able to switch us back.” Leonardo’s eyebrows shoot in at that. 

Watership Down gets set on the couch (without so much as a bookmark). “Really? How?” 

Jason is quietly in pain over it. “Superman once got swapped with a civilian using this machine. It was in Justice League storage.” He has to ask. “Did you just lose your spot?” 

“Huh?” Leonardo glances down at the set aside book then back at him. “No, I remember the page I was on.” 

“Gotcha.” If he says so. 

Leonardo absently scratches at one of Jason’s old forearm burns. “So, this machine will switch us back?” 

“… Probably.” The kid immediately frowns. 

“Wait, ‘probably’? You guys don’t even know?” His tone is suddenly accusatory, matching the look of anger he’s sending Jason’s way. Jason can’t say it isn’t fair. 

Still, he explains. “It’s a little bit different since it was caused by magic.” Fucking wizards. “So, it’s not a guarantee. It’d be better if we had a magic user do it.” 

Leonardo’s frown gets deeper by the minute. “So why don’t you?” 

Wryly, “Bruce wants to try this first.” He feels a sense of mutual understanding when Leonardo scoffs at that. Him too, kid. Him too. 

“Well, whatever,” Leonardo dismisses. “Let’s go.”

Bruce briefly explains the machine’s function to the turtles. 

“- Superman and the civilian were able to switch their minds back with the flick of the lever,” he asserts, gesturing to the machine’s lever. From his spot, Jason sees the four brothers glance between each other. 

Michelangelo sounds like he’s grinning when he says, “Crazy that Superman got brainjacked.” 

“Not so ‘Man of Steel,’ is he?” Raphael crosses his arms. With major amusement, he watches Bruce silently remind himself to have patience, keeping his expression blank. To his left stands Donatello, who has silently listened to Bruce’s explanations. 

He hums in thought. “It’s worth a shot.” This, it seems, is what causes Leonardo to voice his concerns. 

“Donnie, we don’t even know how this device operates. It we swapped because of magic, then logically magic should fix it.” Jason watches Donatello toss his head back in an eye roll. 

“Leo, please — You know how I feel about ‘magic.’” 

Michelangelo shifts to lean on Leonardo. “I say we try it. I mean, we’ve done it bef—” His brother clasps a hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence with a look of warning. Raphael, to the other side, looks vaguely uncomfortable. 

“Fine,” Leonardo concedes in a harsh tone. “We’ll do it.” Though he still looks wholly and truly against it, he allows Bruce to start setting up the machine. His brows seem permanently knitted, scowling as every one talks around him. Jason simply watches him with mild interest because after sitting in companionable silence for few hours, he’s curious to see where this will go. 

“I want to go first,” Michelangelo blurts amidst all the conversation. “I want to be zapped like Frank!” Who the fuck is Frank?

“Absolutely not.” “No way.” “Not a chance in hell.” All three brothers protest vehemently in quick succession, while Michelangelo’s expression falls into a pout. This quickly devolves into an argument with everyone, including Jason’s own brothers, about who will go first. 

Damian, at some point, steps forward and announces loudly, “I will be the first to go.” Jason watches Dick turn a paler green, protesting immediately. 

He decides to interject, then, to back up Dick’s argument because like hell. The glare he receives after he says, “let the adults handle this, gremlin,” is thoroughly unwarranted, in Jason’s opinion. 

This goes on for a couple more minutes, until it seems like Leonardo has had enough. 

“Stop.” He projects his voice loud enough to grab everyone’s attention, which it does. It’s silent in the cave as everyone looks over at him. His frown has disappeared. “Enough arguing. I’ll do it.” There’s finality in his tone, along with something else. 

Despite him calling for no more arguing, his brothers are immediately all talking over each other to dissuade him. 

“It’s fine,” he tells them a bit quieter. “As the leader, it should be me. Donnie, you said it would be fine, right?” 

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s fine.” Then Leonardo smiles, soft and reassuring. It’s the first time Jason’s seen it, or anything other than a calculating stare or displeased frown. It makes his own face look horrifyingly young, and he has the sudden urge to tell the kid to cut it. 

He doesn’t. 

The smile fades away into smooth blankness as he turns to meet Jason’s eye. It feels like he’s being assessed and for a second, he wonders why, when he realizes this is Leonardo waiting for a token of protest. And yeah, he doesn’t necessarily want accidental electrotherapy, but he finds he has little protest to give. Not when it feels like he’s looking at Dick at his most protective.

“Let’s get on with it.” Leonardo stares at him a second more, then nods. 

“Why’d you say yes?” Tim asks him this as they set up a couple chairs. He’d been fiddling with the machine alongside Bruce for a bit, but obviously felt the need to check on him for whatever misguided reason. 

Jason raises a challenging brow. “Was there a reason to say no?“ 

“No, there isn’t,” Tim answers quickly. “It just seemed… decided for you, so I thought…” He trails off, glancing off to the side with a tinge of guilt. Suddenly realizing, Jason snorts. 

“You guys thought I’d raise hell over it.” It’s all but confirmed when Tim’s glance slides his way only to quickly avert. He knows he should feel angry, usually would, but frankly he’s a bit amused. He leans back in his chair. “Sorry to say, Timmers, but I’m not particularly bent out of shape about it. No Jason haymakers today.” A crinkle appears in Tim’s brow, a protest immediately following. 

“That’s not—”

“It clearly doesn’t matter as much to me as it does them.” Though he can clearly see the annoyed flash across his face over being interrupted, Tim follows the nod of Jason’s head to the huddle off to his right where the four brothers have been muttering to each other for the past several minutes. The three listen raptly to whatever Leonardo’s saying. 

Tim notices it too. “It feels like he’s the oldest. They seem to defer to him a lot.” 

Jason recalls Leonardo referring to himself as ‘the leader.’ So all he says is, “yeah, feels like.” 

By the machine, Bruce turns and clears his throat. “Everyone, into positions.” He pauses for a moment. “Please.” Everyone but Jason and Leonardo step back, joining at the taped line a few feet away. Nodding, he glances between them. “Are you two ready?” He and Leonardo both say yes. “Alright. Switching it to active in three, two…” Jason takes a deep breath. “One.” The lever makes a loud clank as Bruce flips it to the upright position. He can hear a faint hum — 

Then, Jason’s no longer in the cave. 

Suddenly, he’s in deep space, and the glass of his helmet splinters and cracks open. He tries to gasp for air even though he knows it’s useless, you can’t hope for air in the vacuum of space—

Except he’s not in space. He’s standing in the cold as a man in metal armour towers over him, his breath puffing out as his heart hammers in his chest. The man in armour raises a fist donned in metal claws and swings down—

And his breath is stolen from him, watching a body drop in a free fall from the highest building, coming closer and closer and—

And he’s back in the cave. He thinks. All he knows is he sees green palms stretching from his body to brace against the floor, and someone’s calling his name. It doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to convince air to return to his lungs, because he sort of needs it to live dammit. 

When he finally gets his wits about him, he’s able to look up and see his family hovering by him. They’re wearing similar concerned frowns, asking him again if he’s alright. 

“Just dandy,” he croaks. God, he needs some water- oh. 

He gets handed a glass. Downing it in one to, he heaves a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Tim answers absentmindedly. He helps Jason up, helping him sit back in the chair as he continues to reel a little from the tightness in his chest. 

Jason rubs at it (but all he feels is plastron) as he speaks. “Something went wrong.” Obviously , he doesn’t say. “It was— that wasn’t swapping us back. That was something different.” 

“What happened?” Someone asks. Bruce. 

He shuts his eyes, trying to recall. “I was— I think I was in space. My helmet was cracking, I was definitely going to die.” If he thinks about it enough, he can almost recall the sudden rush as air escaped him. The weightless, hopeless feeling of floating. “Then someone was in front of me. I couldn’t see his face. But he had a metal helmet and claws—” A voice interrupts.

“What did you say?” He, as well as everyone, glances over, eyes landing on a stricken-looking Donatello. Michelangelo looks a little haunted. Donatello confirms again, “you said metal claws?” There’s an anxious edge to his voice. Something like alarm bells goes off in Jason’s head. 

He confirms it. “Yeah. I was in the cold, and he stood over me and swung.” Donatello lifts a hand to start biting at his nails, eyes flicking all over the place as if thinking. His brother gently pulls his hand down, holding on firmly. Something like dreads starts to creep into the painful tightness in his chest. “Why?” 

His question goes almost completely ignored. Instead, Donatello asks, “did- did you see anything else? Was that it?” It’s like he’s wishing for a ‘no’. Aching for it. 

He feels a bit like a criminal for not giving it to him. “I saw a body.” And it — “It was falling. Like someone threw it.” His own gut twists as he watches Donatello and Michelangelo go simultaneously sickly pale. It only gets worse, with Michelangelo pressing his hands to his mouth to suppress some kind of choked noise, and Donatello losing the battle to support his body with his legs under him. 

Dick, very obviously distressed, rushes forward. “What? What is it?” He takes a knee, resting his hand on Donatello’s shoulder as he tries to get a good look at his face. 

It’s only then that Jason notices that Leonardo is gone. Raphael, too. He glances over to meet Tim’s eyes, asking his question silently. His brother presses his lips into a flat line. It isn’t good.

“We’ll… halt this for now,” Bruce announces stiltedly. “Dick, could you…?”

He doesn’t even need to finish. Without another word, Dick eases Donatello to stand, gathering Michelangelo with his other arm, to lead them away. They disappear around a corner, still Jason gives it another half a minute before he asks. 

“It wasn’t good,” Tim answers morosely. “Whatever it was. You both started convulsing at the same time, and were unresponsive when we called you. Then you fell out of your chair, and Leonardo fell back and nearly hit his head.” His brother rubs his arm, as if trying to chase away a chill. By the way he chews on his bottom lip, Jason knows it’s bothering him. 

Damian hands him some more water. He takes a thankful sip. “Leonardo left immediately upon recovering. He did not seem in his right mind, so Raphael went after him.” Not in his right mind…? Something about that made Jason uneasy. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know if his hunch was correct. 

Damian glances sideways where Dick disappeared with Donatello and Michelangelo, adding, “but that was not before insisting that those other two stay put.” 

Jason holds on to his water tightly, wondering what was going through Leonardo’s mind right now. Anger? Fear? He also sort of didn’t want to know. 

What a mess this day has become. 

“Leo! Leo?” Dammit, where is he? “Leo!” 

Raph runs around wildly, trying to find his wayward brother. Even though he’d been right behind him, his brother had managed to disappear faster than you could say pizza. 

In normal circumstances, this made sense. He wasn’t Splinter’s successor for no reason, you know? 

But right now, he’s got the build of a damn rhinoceros. How did he get away so fast?!

So he’s running around like a loon, calling out for his stupid older brother. It was bad enough to watch him writhe like he was in pain, to have to see him scramble out of his chair like something was chasing him. But now he was hiding somewhere, alone, dealing with the aftermath of a thing Raph still doesn’t fully understand. 

“Mister Raphael, Is there something I can help you with?” 

Alfred appears out of thin fucking air, and he does not shriek. He doesn’t.

He presses his hand to his chest as he eyes the guy warily, feeling how it thumps like it’s trying to break out and run away. “Christ on a stick,” he breathes. “What the hell are you?” 

The old man remains unfazed. “Merely a butler, sir.” Raph scoffs at that. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Now that his heart’s calmed down, he lets himself take a look around. He’d done a wild chicken run straight out the gate, searching for Leo without really much of a plan. But since he asked… “Have you seen my brother?” 

He doesn’t have much hope. If Leo didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be. 

“If you’re referring to Mister Leonardo, I believe he is in the backyard.” 

Uh- “What?” 

“I believe he is getting a dose of fresh air. Perhaps you should do the same.” The old man then turns and leaves, claiming he has work to do. Raph blinks dumbly, watching him go. 

Well, that was unfairly easy. “Should’ve asked him before running around like an idiot.” He grumbles to himself, but heads for the backyard. 

Just like Alfred said, he finds Leo outside. His brother sits on the stone step by the door, shoulders hunched inwards and head lowered. Though he immediately turns and looks up when the door opens. 

“Hey,” he softly greets. His brother doesn’t respond at all. There’s a blank, strung out look on his face. It hits Raph dead on—his brother shouldn’t have that expression on his face, it wasn’t right—and he knows in that moment that he can only wait. 

Sitting beside Leo, he places a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. The muscles jump at the touch, but he doesn’t shrug off Raph’s hand. 

They sit together and breathe. It was the easiest thing to do, but still so important. Sometimes Leo couldn’t complete that step. Not on his own. (But you would still find him trying, squirrelling himself away where no one can see). 

Five minutes have passed, when Leo finally speaks. 

“I…” His expression twists painfully. “…I was dying. I could feel… I could feel my body breaking.” 

Raph frowns, holding Leo’s shoulder a little tighter. “Breaking? Breaking, how?” His brother shakes his head. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. Just that I was hurt, and afraid. And I could hear this… laughter. ” He watches Leo’s expression shudder, an odd gleam in his eyes before he squeezes them shut. “I think… it was a memory.” 

Raph frowns. “But that’s never happened to you before.” When could that have possibly happened? How did he not notice something like that?

Leo denies it with a short shake of his head.   “It isn’t mine.” 

‘It isn’t mine.’ ‘It isn’t mine,’ he says. What the hell does that mean?

He thinks back to earlier, calling to Leo only to realize his brother couldn’t hear him. How Jason’s family was doing the same, calling for Wayne to shut the machine off. Just like Leo, Jason seemed to be somewhere else entirely, his chest rising and falling way too fast. 

Ohhh. Ohhhhhh.

Leo cuts through his realization, voice strained. “Then I blinked and I was in total darkness. It was so quiet. I…” With a twist in his heart, he watches his brother grimace, seeming unable to complete his sentence. His chest was rising heavier again, like it was a Herculean effort. Not hyperventilating, but far, far worse. 

His brother was an untold pillar of force. Unmovable and sturdy, like a mountain, but as swift and as effortless as a breeze. On good days, Raph believed he was the best of them. On bad ones, a complete moron. 

Right now, he felt like neither. The way he spoke, the jittery quality to his movements, it scared Raphael. For the second time in his life, he’s reminded that life is fragile, and Leo isn’t exempt. 

“There was just so much dirt,” he murmurs shakily. “I kept digging, but it was never enough. So I just kept choking on it. I felt like I was gonna suffocate, so I dug faster, and faster , but it was useless, and I—” 

“Whoa, whoa, Leo, calm down.” He hushes his older brother gently as his speech starts winding into a tight, frenetic frenzy, getting a look in his eye that Raph really didn’t like. It honestly seemed like Leo would jump up again and run, or do something equally reckless. The white-knuckle grip he had on nothing make his scarred fists tremble with force, and that weird gleam was back in his eye. “It didn’t happen, remember? You’re okay.” 

“It did happen,” Leo snaps at him, far harsher than he’s ever heard. “Are you even listening?” It’s so accusatory, so sudden, that Raph falters, though he wants to say ‘of course I am.’ His brother frowns at him, angry, before all at once it crumbles away. He watches Leo lower his head into his hands, clutching it tight. He doesn’t say anything more. 

Raph gives Leo’s shoulder a hesitant squeeze. Asks, “Leo, are you okay…?”

And in a tightly controlled voice, his brother hisses out, “I’m fine.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t care what they say. We’re not doing that again.” 

Mikey quietly fidgets with the lightweight crystal in his pocket, pressing his thumb into the ridges as he watches Raph and Donnie converse in angered hisses. It’s been going on since they all returned to their room. Their anger bounces between each other like they’re playing volleyball with it, but it’s definitely not fun like volleyball. 

“I know, Donnie. I know.” Raph smoothes his hair back as he runs his hand over his head. There’s a tired edge to his voice, but he doesn’t disagree. Meanwhile, Donnie gestures wildly as he paces the room like a caged— well... 

“How could I be so stupid? Not checking the machine first, I basically have no one but myself to blame!” He laughs without humour. “I just put our lives into the hands of a middle-aged man who dresses in a Bat suit! Luuudicrously stupid! Stu-pendously stupid!” 

He finds it in him to speak up. “You’re not stupid, Dee.” 

His brother pauses mid-step. For a second he worries he might’ve said the wrong thing, or maybe put himself in the line of fire, but Donnie smiles. “You’re right, Mikey. I’m not stupid.” He says it in a pleasant, calm tone, that quickly explodes. “THEY’RE the absolutely moronic, imbecilic, brain-dead—”

Raph catches Donnie by the shoulder, cutting over his ranting. “Donnie. Can’t you see that Leo’s trying to sleep?” They all glance over at their eldest brother, who lays in the large Queen-size bed on his side facing the wall. He hasn’t moved once, not even to shift, since he and Donnie got here. Mikey wasn’t even sure he was actually sleeping. His brother was too still, too rigid. 

In any case, there was no way he, the chronic light sleeper, stayed asleep through Donnie’s angry tirade. 

His genius brother deflates with an exhale. “Sorry. You’re right.” Suddenly, he sounds as exhausted as Mikey feels. Internally, he wished he had the ability to wring his brain out like a sponge. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have to deal with all the bad memories leaking out. 

“What do we do now?” His voices comes out weak, but still catches the attention of his red and purple brothers. Just a little harder, he presses his thumb into the pointy end of his crystal. (The crystal was a nice shape. Easy to hold in his hand, and felt smooth to the touch). 

They look at each other, and Donnie sighs. 

“Nothing much, I suppose. We still can’t go home like this.” He lifts his brown, five-fingered hand to stare at, wiggling them a little. His frown returns as he lowers it. “But we’re still not using that machine again. I don’t care how much ‘The Batman’ demands it.“ 

Mikey really didn’t want to use it either. Sharing your scariest memories with someone… it wasn’t that he didn’t like Tim, because he did, but he didn’t really want anyone seeing the worst times in his life. He barely likes to think about it. That time was way better spent eating pizza and playing video games, anyway. 

Donnie goes for the door. “Well, I’m going to continue working on those mutagen samples. I’m only two fifths of the way through them all.” The door barely makes a sound when it opens, which still fascinates Mikey. Everything he knew usually creaked on its hinges. 

But that’s a good idea. An activity! He should find an activity, like skateboarding. Oh man, he wished he had his board. All the railings here would be perfect for grinding along. 

He hops up, hands still in the pouch of his hoodie. Raph raises an eyebrow. “Where’re you going?” Mikey shrugs off the suspicion easily. 

“I’m bored. Maybe I can beat their high score on pinball!” He waggles his eyebrows, because he has hairy ones to do that now, and Raph’s suspicions seem to ease. Before he goes, though, he realizes that his red brother isn’t moving from his spot. He seems fairly glued to his seat on the edge of the bed. 

“Gonna stay here,” he mutters, “maybe update Casey and April on what’s going on.” His T-phone gets turned over in his hands absently. He won’t look Mikey in the eyes, resolutely staring at the wood floor like it's got something interesting. It doesn’t. He checks. Casting a glance over to Leo, he sees that his big brother still hasn’t moved. 

He accepts it easily with a smile. “‘Kay! See ya, Raph.” 

“See ya.” 

He actually forgoes beating their high scores on pinball, though he’s sorely tempted. But that temptation is washed away entirely at the idea of running into any of the Bat guys at the moment. 

And it wasn’t like he was upset with them! Sure, the whole thing with the switchtron was… but he didn’t think that was their fault. 

It was more… well. These guys seemed to like asking a lotta questions, and if they asked who exactly it was falling from a building in Leo’s memory, he didn’t think he could keep his stuff together and answer like anyone wanted him to. They’d want the truth, and his brothers would want them to have anything but. Mikey mostly wanted to move past it all (and never be reminded of that lifeless body, hearing it hit the ground, ever again). 

He decides he wants a swim. Because why not, y’know? 

Mikey tiptoes down the stairs, hoping to find the outdoor pool Raph told him about. Though he finds himself turned around once or twice, he finally locates the back doors and all but throws them open. 

A pool! It was nice and spacious like he’s never seen before. 

“Canonb—!” He takes a running head start with his heart set on jumping in, but remembers at the very last second that he’s got his phone in his pocket. Donnie boy’s promise to maim him if he irreparably destroys his T-phone while they’re away from home comes to mind—particularly, he promised that all his high scores will be erased from existence. Does he even know the amount of sleep Mikey sacrificed to get some of those?! The monster! 

So, he pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it on the stone brick pavement. He hears the shell of his phone clack with his crystal and winces, but figures it should probably be fine. 

With a running leap, he shouts “CANNONBALL!” just before hitting the water. 

It’s weird. For the moment that he’s under water, sinking deep before surfacing, he can feel the pressure all around him. But when he surfaces, and everything is still, he feels… nothing? Not no-thing, but the water is oddly still and quiet in a way he isn’t used to. Floating there, feeling the ripples but not feeling them, it’s empty. He can’t feel the tremors all the way down to his toes like he should. 

Was swimming always this boring for humans?

It’s so… lonely. 

But the water still feels nice, and he still doesn’t want to go inside, so he stays. 

It’s as he’s swimming in a back float, marvelling to himself how wet clothes feel like an anchor dragging him down, when his purple brother’s off-kilter voice drifts in from the edge of the pool. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A glance up gives him a view of his upside down brother, with Damian behind the wheel, scowling down at him in confusion. 

A bit confused himself, he laughs and replies, “swimming, little dude. You ever try it?” 

“I can see that you’re swimming,” Damian answers snappily. “But why are you swimming in your clothes?” 

Mikey rotates onto his stomach, shifting to swim upright. “Was I s’posed to get naked?” 

“No! Just—” There’s a wordless huff of frustration from Damian, and Mikey hides his impish grin under the water. “Drake has swim trunks. You could have worn them.” 

“I coulda,” he acquiesces. “But when you’re hit with sudden inspo, you just gotta go for it. Y’know?” Evidently the little dude doesn’t know, as he shakes his head in wonderment. 

“I don’t understand you.” 

Mikey sighs wistfully, letting his head tip back and his overgrown dark hair dip back into the water. “They rarely do. They rarely… do…” He imagines he’s like a mysterious figure in the rain with a dark and gritty past, that the main character is too intimidated to speak to. 

“Is there something wrong with you?” 

Nevermind. Illusion shattered. 

Mikey gives him a stern glare. “Bounces off of me and sticks to you.” The kid’s face can only be described as ‘flabbergasted.’

“What?” he asks incredulously. 

“What?” he parrots back. 

The sheer amount of incredulity on this, what, twelve year old? Something like that? Is giving Don a serious run for his money. He should run another bet, but this time for how many looks of horror he can extract from his brother and Damian. 

Man, he’s gonna make bank .

“Since you seem disinclined to leave the pool, I shall provide you company.”  

“Hm?” He glances over to see Damian sitting down at the edge of the pool, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his ankles. “Oh, thanks, little dude.” Though he didn’t really need it. 

The kid makes a sour face, he thinks at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he watches as Mikey floats around a bit more, brick red eyes following his every move. 

It continues to be like that. Silent. He feels how the eyes continue to observe him, like a heavy weight on his mind. Though he would’ve been fine in silence on his own, when someone’s there it just feels weird. 

“Uugh, the sound-feel is so empty.” He swishes around aimlessly, enjoying how the water feels as it threads through his fingers. 

There’s a palpable hesitation from the edge of the pool. “… The ‘sound feel’?” He sits upright again. 

“Yeah! The womwomwomwomwomwomwom.”

Damian looks at him like he’s insane. And yeah, maybe he is! But not about this. 

“C’mon,” he encourages. “Put your hand in the water. I’ll show you!”

The look Damian gives him is dubious, but he still sticks his right hand in the water. Without moving closer, Mikey pushes at him small waves of water. Not breaking the surface, but creating a little ripple in the process anyway. He watches Damian’s expression morph from skepticism to wonder, no doubt feeling the low pressure of womwomwomwomwomwom.

It feels so good to be proven right. Is this how Leo always feels? 

“… I see.” Damian leans a bit forward, sticking his other hand in to join his right. Through the warped underwater image, Mikey can see him wiggle his fingers. “I understand now. What you were describing was your ability as a turtle to sense vibrations in the Earth.“ Mikey grins. Heck yeah! That vibro-nonsense Donnie’s always talking about! 

“Without it, it just feels like the water is missing something.” He floats closer to Damian, watching the kid nod distractedly. 

“It’s incredibly strong under water. I’m sure Drake would froth at the mouth over learning this informa—HEY!” Damian is quick, but Mikey is quicker. With a yank, he pulls the kid into the water by his wrist, laughing as he pitches in head first. There’s a lot of flailing, and then a lot of cursing as soon as Damian surfaces. 

“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY BRAIN DEAD?!” Mikey laughs. Now he sounds exactly like Donnie! But, oops, now Damian’s mad. And he knows this, because not five seconds later he has to dodge grappling hands trying to choke him. 

Thankfully, he’s an expert ninja. He only gets his head shoved under once! (Who’d have thought that hair is an excellent way to grab people?) 

Damian chases him around the pool for some time, spewing death threats like they’re vomit and he’s got the stomach flu. He’s not expecting Mikey’s Corkscrew 5000, or Blue Lagoon Typhoon, so he always falls just short of grabbing him. 

This kid is hilarious! 

That Michelangelo is infuriating! 

Now, thanks to him, Damian is forced to return to his room to change clothes after that unexpected dip. He has half a mind to grab the itching powder he knows Richard has hidden in his closet. See how that fool likes it. 

But, if he thinks about it, there are far better options within the cave. The fool won’t even know what hit him. 

Just before he leaves his room, he scoops up the fluffy ball of black and white fur and gives it a kiss on the head. Alfred the Cat gives a low murr, lifting his head and yawning sleepily. But he simply sets Alfred back down on his favourite sun spot and whispers him goodbye. He lingers long enough to watch him flip onto his back, exposing his white belly to the sun peeking in from the window. Smiling, Damian closes his door (but leaves a sliver open for Alfred). 

Descending to the cave, he catches the tail end of what sounds like a furious argument over the batcomputer. Whatever it was, the screen turns blank just as he pushes off of the stairs. 

“What’s going on?” He asks Richard rather than Father, who sits at the computer with a tired expression. 

“Oh Dami, hi,” Richard happily greets. Then he snorts. “Bruce just got off the phone with Zatanna.” 

Damian raises a brow. “And what did she say?”

“Well, she scolded Bruce for about twenty minutes.” Bold of her. “And she explained that the machine never would’ve worked, since it’s a misfired spell. That apparently changes fundamentally how the spell works, like mixing up a chemical formula.” Richard shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve known her for years and still can’t really tell you how any of it works. But long story short, we have to wait for her to get here.” 

Damian didn’t like that tone. “And when will that be?” 

Richard winces. “By the end of the week.” His spine snaps straight at that. A week? There was no way he just said a week.

“I do not accept this. A week? She’s gotten here the same day previously.” 

“She’s across the world on a mission right now, and has stressed very clearly that she needs to see it through.” Damian throws his hands up in exasperation. 

“I can’t believe this. What about the city? Who will cover our patrols?” He does not appreciate Richard’s sideways look. 

“Bruce has been fine doing it so far. He was doing this way before he met any of us, you know.” But Damian is having none of it. 

“Not even Batman can be everywhere at once,” though he knew Father would still try. “Zatara must cut her mission short.” 

Richard places a comforting hand on his shoulder, smiling. “Baby Bat, it’ll be okay. Worse comes to worst, we’ll call in the cavalry. Sound good?” 

He huffs. They could do better simply on their own without ‘the cavalry’ that are currently all busy elsewhere. Who needed them? Certainly not Damian. 

“Whatever.” He has more pressing matters at hand. “Now, give me your worst ideas to exact vengeance on someone.” 

Richard’s answering grin is both promising and frightening. 

Chapter Text

Never in his life did Donnie think he’d experience a three-course meal. That was for people who could be seen out in regular society, and that was something they were not. Yet, here it’s presented with the same nonchalance as he and his brothers eating instant ramen at the kitchen island for dinner. 

It was nice, though, to eat something neither pre-made nor experimental. 

“Alfredo sauce, we’ve got to exchange recipes.” 

Donnie grimaces, exchanging a brief glance with Raph. That would be less of a recipe exchange and more embarrassing them all with Mikey’s idea of food. Then again, maybe the old man would teach him what toppings were and weren’t acceptable on pizza. 

“Splendid, Mister Michelangelo,” Alfred replies in the most dispassionate tone imaginable. It’s genuinely impressive. “We shall convene over tea.”

Mikey beams at the butler before continuing to loudly slurp his carrot soup. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose a bit in distaste. When he thinks of tea, he ends up thinking of their father’s home blend that’s like a punch of grass to the face, or the sickly sweet iced stuff Casey sometimes buys. Both are awful (and yes, he is aware more types exist, but he doubts he’ll ever want to try them. He’s perfectly content with his coffee, thanks). 

Against the clinking of silverware, Donnie takes a moment to glance around at everyone. Mostly busy eating, but that’s a given. Mr. Wayne sits at the head of the table with a thoughtful furrow to his brow, which seems to be a permanent fixture on his face. Dick is in the seat to his immediate right, splitting his attention between his food and chatting with Damian, who does the same. Tim is left of Mr. Wayne, picking at his soup and mostly just dipping the accompanying bread into the broth. There is an entire chair of space kept between him and Jason, who has already drained his bowl and patiently waits as Alfred serves the roasted chicken. 

His brothers naturally stuck together when picking their seats, with Mikey on one end and Leo on the other. It wasn’t intentional, at least not for Donnie. It would just feel weirder to split apart and sit scattered around the large dining room table. 

“However, I must warn you that if you proceed to throw that water balloon, we will be having words.” 

Donnie glances over just as everyone else does, but only he (and Jason) can see the water balloon balanced in Mikey’s hand just under the table. His little brother goes from shocked to pouty in a manner of seconds, lowering the balloon. Across the table, Damian and Dick’s conversation has halted. 

Mikey glowers at them. “Doctor Prankenstein cannot be stopped.” He’s still clearly itching to get back at them for the little ‘grease and glitter’ surprise they’d rained down on him earlier. Donnie could still see grease lingering in the dark strands of hair atop his head, making it limp and sad. Maybe they should have helped him when he washed it earlier…

“The good doctor can wait until he is in a suitable location for pranking.” Alfred looks pointedly at him with sharp eyes, cool judgement and promise in his tone that makes Donnie suppress a shiver. He sounded just like their father when he was incredibly done with their baloney. 

His brother, wisely, acquiesces, deflating like a balloon. It seems he’s not immune to the tone either. 

“Where did you even get that?” Jason suddenly asks. He lifts the tablecloth a bit to peer under, but finds nothing for his efforts. No secret receptacle. Just Mikey’s strange ability to smuggle items around. 

Lifting his nose up, Mikey imperiously spreads butter over his bread as he replies, “A suspicion never reveals his secrets.” There’s a choked snort from the far end of their table’s side, while Jason looks at Mikey like he’s grown an extra head. 

“Sure,” he responds faintly, simply accepting it. 

Alfred’s chicken is good. Good with a capital G, even. Perfectly cooked, with a hint of smoke and… zest? Something citrus-y? Whatever it is, he finds himself going back for seconds, and even thirds. 

Off to his left, Raph’s phone goes off. A little curious, Donnie tries to peer at it as he chews on his chicken, but it’s just a text from Casey. 

Bruce speaks for probably the first time since they all sat down, startling Donnie a bit. “No phones at the dinner table,” he chides. His face remains a blank slate, but he’s so clearly looking at Raph. 

His older brother glances up, a crinkle appearing in his brow. “Piss off,” he bounces back. Swiftly, he begins typing a reply to whatever stupid thing Casey said. 

All is quiet. Donnie spears another piece of chicken on his fork, for a lack of anything better to do. Really, it was their fault for thinking they could get Raph to do anything he disagreed with. His brother was as stubborn as a rock. 

He only just sees the grin that spreads across Dick’s face when— “that’s three.” 

Raph jerks his head up, scowling fiercely in confusion before deepening into a glower over at Dick. Startlingly, Donnie watches him reach for his fork and jerks forward to snatch him by the wrist. No murder at the dinner table!! 

He gets dislodged with a scoff. Say what they want about him, Donnie gets results. Raph no longer looks five seconds away from poking Nightwing’s eye out with a kitchen utensil, and he puts his phone away. 

As things settle back down to peaceful eating, Donnie chances a glance over at Leo. 

His brother has not uttered a word since they sat down; he’s barely lifted his eyes from his plate. Aside from answering Donnie’s questions with “fine” and “okay”, he’d not said a word in hours. There was just this… subdued air about him, while simultaneously feeling as if something was brewing. He’d figured he’d just leave his eldest brother to process the day’s earlier events, but something wasn’t right. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a tempest on the horizon. 

Dick opens his eyes with a sigh of frustration. 

He couldn’t sleep. It just wasn’t happening. There was a jitter in his bones; a bunch of tiny bees buzzing around that made it impossible to lay still long enough to slip into unconsciousness. And he’d tried. Has been trying for hours. 

Rolling out of bed, he stumbles towards his door. The manor is dead quiet, unmoving and dark in a way that’s always been a blessing and a curse. It nips at his heels, haunting his low-lit shadow as he leaves the sanctity of his room. 

He’d go for a walk. Maybe pit stop for some hot chocolate? 

Unless, of course, he just so happens to catch a glimpse of Bruce acting incredibly suspicious. 

“It’s at times like this,” he mutters, “that I curse having been raised by you.” 

Dick follows. 

“Watcha doin’, B?”

Bruce has the gall to look confused glancing back at him. “Dick. You should be sleeping.” He turns towards the attic door where Dick stands. 

He leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms. “And you should be doing what you usually do. Not… whatever this is.” Nothing immediately stands out to him in the room, though he didn’t really expect it to. Most of this stuff belonged to Martha and Thomas Wayne, while the rest is purely storage. Dick can count on human fingers the number of times he’s been up here. A lot of them were from Alfred asking him to grab Christmas decorations. 

“I’m just looking for something.” Even now, he seems a little distracted with searching the room with his eyes. 

Consider his curiosity piqued. Not that he’s telling Bruce that. “Did you have to dress as Ebenezer Scrooge in order to find it?” He bites down on his cheek as Bruce glances down at his robe and slippers. But really, it’s the fake gas lamp that does it for him. 

“That was a gift from Jason,” Bruce defends sullenly, which is about as close to a pout as you’ll get from him. 

“So I have Jason to thank. Noted. What are you looking for?” He tries to find something in the room that sticks out but comes up short. Just boxes and furniture draped in dust jackets. But Bruce seems to be looking for something specific, if his darting eyes are anything to go by. 

“Just… ah.” His explanation gets cut short as he lands his eyes on something. Stepping forward, he runs his hand over a support beam, looking it over. Whatever it is, he seemed satisfied at finding it. “Chum, could you bring me that ladder in the corner there?” Bruce gestures with a wave of his hand and Dick follows the general direction to, sure enough, find a step ladder resting against the wall. He pushes off from the doorframe to grab it, because Bruce isn’t going to settle unless he sees whatever this is through. 

Bruce takes it with a “Thanks, Chum,” and sets it just left of the wooden support. He watches as the man climbs to the near top, reaching up into what surely is a dusty, cobwebbed mess that is the ceiling joist. Dick watches, only somewhat impatiently, as Bruce seems to blindly pat around for something. 

He’s just about to ask what the fuck Bruce is looking for, when the man makes a small triumphant noise. His arm shifts around above, doing things Dick can’t see, before pulling back to reveal… “a wooden key?” Bruce climbs down the step ladder, holding the key in his incredibly cobwebbed hand. 

They both stare at it, one confused and one knowing. Finally, Dick raises a brow and asks, “do I get to know what this is for?”

There’s a determined glint in Bruce’s eyes when he meets them. “To the Batcave.” 

“So this is a trainee Bruce time capsule?” Dick watches over Bruce, now settled in the cave. It’s still just the two of them. 

Bruce gives a grunt. “Yes.” Dick sips at his hot chocolate loudly. 

“Aaaaand… you seriously didn’t think making the key wooden would tremendously backfire?” 

With a frustrated huff, Bruce tosses the lockbox onto the ground for the fifth time. “It seemed like a good idea at the time!” 

With a hum, he takes another sip. It was good to know that not even Bruce was exempt from twenty year old stupidity. But he hadn’t considered that the key could snap off in the keyhole? It seemed like such a massive oversight. 

(“I swear I’ve opened it before and it didn’t do that,” Bruce had said, miffed. 

“Well, that’s what happens when wood ages, B,” Dick had replied, unsympathetic.)

Twenty odd minutes had passed, and the lockbox was still staying strong. At least it was doing its job. 

“Maybe we should get a hydraulic press.” Now he’s just voicing his various ideas out loud, even the more ridiculous. Fire had been immediately vetoed. 

Bruce seems to consider it for a second, before shaking his head. “It still wouldn’t crack. Much too solid.” Damn. He was kind of hoping to watch it crumple like a tin can. Back to the drawing board. 

Swinging his legs, he curls his palms more firmly over his mug, enjoying the warmth. Idly, he brainstorms. 

“Ooh!” He lights up. “Do you have a Mr. Freeze gun lying around? You could try freezing it, then smash it on the ground.” 

He watches Bruce open his mouth, only to pause. It’s still very funny, after all these years, to watch the cogs turn in his brain as he considers one of Dick’s harebrained schemes. Bruce turns abruptly and walks off. “I’ll be right back.” 

Dick grins wide. 

“Okay,” Bruce says, once he’s come back with an ice ray. “Attempt number six.” From his perch, Dick watches Bruce set the lockbox onto the cave floor, far away from anything important. A low thrum of energy can be heard as the gun powers up, even from his distance. Bruce’s mouth settles into a grim line as he aims, and fires. 

It freezes the box without a hitch. Of course, that also means it freezes part of the floor along with it, effectively fusing the two together. That won’t stop Bruce though, who switches the ice gun off and sets it aside to reach down and grab the frozen lockbox. 

As always, Dick is very helpful. 

“No, no, not that way. Grab it the other way. Yeah. Put your back into it. C’mon! Are you even trying?” 

Bruce grunts. “Commentary unhelpful.” 

He drains the last of his hot chocolate. “I’m not here to help. I’m here to read your diary.” The man widens his stance, still trying to yank it from the floor. 

“It is a progress log of my training.” Bruce insists. 

Progress log his foot. “It’s a diary.”

“Hn.” Bruce says nothing more, his displeasure known but disregarded. 

Eventually, he realizes that kicking it has a better chance of success, and does just that. The sound of ice cracking and shattering sends an unpleasant tingle up his spine. The lockbox goes skidding across the cave floor. 

Dick hops off the Batcomputer desk, making sure to set aside his mug before striding over. “Finally! That took forever.” He picks it up before Bruce can, turning the ice cold object in his hands. “Show me your secrets, O Box.” 

“Dick hold on, let me—” Bruce is cut off as the lockbox goes sailing through the air. Thanks to the sheer cold freezing the exterior, it shatters on impact with the cold, unforgiving stone wall of the cave. Pieces of the lockbox stuck together with ice go flying, as well as the contents in a flurry of journals and photos. 

“—do it in a controlled manner…” He gazes at the mess littering the floor forlornly, but Dick is too busy gathering the scattered notebooks from the ground. 

They’re well-loved, leather-bound things. Clearly opened many times, and one cursory flick through the pages reveals every page has been filled. Bruce’s neat handwriting stares back at him. 

“So which one are you looking for?” The notebooks get snatched out of his hands, gathering everything still on the floor to bring over to the Batcomputer’s desk. Dick trails behind. He’s hung around all this time, he deserves to see what’s in there. 

Bruce sits in the swivel chair, and Dick forgoes proper seating to hop up on the desk. Out of the stack of leather notebooks, his father plucks a red one and cracks it open. 

He starts reading. Dick, for a couple seconds, waits. When it’s clear Bruce isn’t going to acknowledge him, he huffs. “Bruuuuuuce. Bruuuuuce.” Big gulp of air. “BRUUUUUUUUCE—”

A messy stack of photos gets shoved into his hands. “Look through these.” 

Shuffling them into a neat stack, he asks, “anything I’m looking for in particular?” From the first picture, he can see a young, twenty-ish Bruce standing in front of a temple. 

God, he looks so young. 

There’s a small clink as a metal object is placed on the desk. He glances down to find a four-point ninja star; on it, a black insignia. 

“Look for this.”

Chapter Text

He was drifting. He was on his back, under a nothing sky, and he was floating. 

He didn’t understand it, but did he really have to? He was simply drifting at sea. Where else would he possibly be? 

But when he turned his head, he was met with a sea tinged in toxic green. It seemed to emanate from the depths, bathing everything in its eery glow. 

Whispers echoed in his ears like little gnats buzzing around, too fast to catch anything. But they sunk to his very bones. Suddenly, he realized; he was beginning to sink. 

His heart filled with terror, he started splashing frantically, desperate to stay afloat. Whatever happened, he could not sink under. To sink was to die. 

No matter how much he flailed, he only proved to sink deeper. One final breath, and he was submerged. 

The whispers grew. Suddenly, he could understand them. 

Isn’t it unjust?

Isn’t it cruel?

You know what to do.

You know what must be done.

Sink your teeth in.

Tear with your claws.

Raze it all to oblivion.

Win.

He couldn’t get away from it. The voices surrounded him on all sides, clinging and soothing and burning him apart.

The sky was long gone. He was only sinking deeper, falling further into the world of green below. It surrounded him on all sides. Started to seep into him through his very pores. 

There was nausea, and then dizziness. It was becoming harder to tell if those voices were the water, or his own. Was there even a difference? 

Was there ever a difference? 

Glowing eyes pop open, tinging their immediate surroundings with its hue. A heart pounds against its cage, intertwining with blood rushing between ears. 

Leo gasps quietly, like he really had been holding his breath. 

There was no voided sky. There was no eery, green ocean. He was still Leonardo. 

But nevertheless, he raises his hand and presses it to his chest. Waiting, listening. The faint thump-thump of his heart is a welcome feeling, even if it’s beating just a little too fast. 

While he continues to catch his breath, he turns to look to his left. A shrouded figure in the dark of the room, laying with the covers pulled up to his shoulder. Donnie was still asleep. Thank goodness. 

Leo closes his eyes, turning his face back to the ceiling. Through the thundering of his heart, he tries to reach with his mind to the two presences in the next room. Two slumbering auras, red and orange. Calm and peaceful, as they should be. No one in danger. Nothing to worry about. 

Everything is okay. 

To say Gotham was a shithole was a massive understatement. 

It was miserable. It was cold. And now, it was wet. Raph woke up to heavy rain, after he’d pushed Mikey off the bed for jumping on him. The droplets plunked loudly against the windows with intermittent rumbling spaced in between. 

Everything seemed to be tinged in grey. A sickly colour that washed out anything it could reach, down to the clothes on his back. It was nothing like New York, that would simply fall into a slumber as it rained. Gotham seemed to only get grittier. 

He hid in his room for as long as he could. Raph had nothing to say to those jokers. At least, nothing nice. But eventually the call of food grew too strong to ignore, so he wandered down with Mikey to scavenge. 

It’s oddly quiet, but Raph chooses to ignore it. 

He tells Mikey he’s going to make use of the home gym in the cave, and his little brother quickly abandons him for “funner” activities. 

As he makes his way, he finds himself—at multiple points—grinding his teeth. His jaw aches from the force of it, but he just keeps doing it. Thoughts churn in a circular motion, hissing angrily and gnashing for blood. 

No, he still wasn’t over it. How could he be? Leo was still acting strange, Mikey refused to even acknowledge it’d happened, Donnie was off in his own little world, they were still stuck in human bodies, and there was nothing Raph could do to change it. If there was something he could throttle to make it better, he would. In a heartbeat. As it is, he only has the Bats to direct his anger towards. And maybe that fuckface wizard that landed them here in the first place. 

Squeaking overhead abruptly pulls him out of his thoughts. Though hidden in the shadows of stalactites, he could hear bats shuffling overhead. 

He takes a breath. 

Redirect. That’s what Master Splinter and Leo were always telling him, weren’t they? He didn’t have a face to punch, so put your energy elsewhere. 

Their home gym is disgustingly nice, even for being in a cave. It was like having your own personal YMCA. He had half a mind to try and make off with some of it. 

He spies a weight rack and bustles over. Yes, this is what he’s looking for. They even have full sets! 

…

They wouldn’t miss a couple dumbbells, right? 

Shaking his head, he lifts up twenties and walks them a few steps away. Don said there were probably cameras. He would just get caught. 

For the better part of an hour, he lifts. Starting simple—bicep curls—before easing in to harder territory—renegade rows—to feel the burn. He’s covered in sweat, and he’s not sure where the towels are, so he uses the collar of his shirt. 

After an hour and a half, he puts the weights away and sits on the floor to cool down. Every so often, his eyes drift to the bench press. He wanted to, but with no spotter… well, when did restrictions ever stop him? 

He turns to look behind him when he suddenly feels a prickle at the back of his neck. A couple feet away, Leo—no, that’s Jason, idiot—approaches. Amusingly, his clothes drape awkwardly over his shell, hanging and clinging in equal measure. 

Jason pauses a couple feet away. 

Despite his earlier musings, he realizes in that moment he doesn’t actually have beef with Jason. He was the other half of that fucked up equation; not like he had any hand in causing it. 

So, Raph does the gracious thing and pretends he’s not there. 

Pulling out his t-phone, he checks his texts and admires the pictures April sent of Chompy. He smiles just a bit, glancing surreptitiously at Jason to check he’s not watching. Raph misses the little guy, so much that it hurts. It was only a patch job to scroll through endless photos of his little guy napping or eating or, one time, wearing a little cowboy hat April bought. He just wanted this whole thing to be over so they could go back home. 

But there was no way he’d ever bring Chompy here. Gotham was no place for a baby turtle. 

A clank pulls him out of his thoughts, attracting his gaze to the leg press Jason’s messing around with. He observes the guy set the weight extremely high, raising an eyebrow. 

It’s not that he thinks Jason can’t do it. But…

… Well, whatever. He’ll figure it out soon enough. 

He’s just sending Casey a middle finger emoji when he hears another clank, followed by a curse. Lifting his gaze, he watches Jason massage his right knee, sitting in the machine now. Raph’s close enough that he can see how Jason works his jaw, clamping down on another curse before it can spill out. 

He scrolls through his album of Chompy photos as he comments, “Should probably do some stretches before trying again.” He pauses. “And maybe lower the weight.” Raph pretends not to see the glower sent his way, tapping open a picture of Chompy burping flames. He saves it to his favourites album. 

Jason doesn’t directly respond to him. But he does mutter “Fuck it, doin’ somethin’ else.” The leg press is swiftly abandoned. 

It’s been a few years since Leo’s injury, but he knows it still bothers him from time to time. It only took the first five lectures from Donnie to their older brother to understand that such a traumatic injury takes a lot of upkeep. Add the personality of a particularly stubborn rock and the inherent danger of their lives, and you’ve got a lifetime of risking re-injury. 

If it wasn’t for the gruesome scar constantly reminding them of the past, you could easily forget it’d ever happened, what with the way Leo still moves as swift as a fox. Raph knows, for a fact , that Leo spends hours obsessively working through exercises just to keep his knee up to snuff. He’d stumbled across it one sleepless night, when he noticed the lights in the dojo were on. The ensuing argument about this habit had been bloodthirsty, and Leo didn’t stop. 

So they all know way more than Jason ever could about taking care of Leo’s knee. Not his fault. Not anyone’s, except Shredder’s. 

He observes quietly as Jason switches to a pull-up bar. Focusing on his task, using the correct breathing technique. Guy knows what he’s doing. And he seems to be doing just fine, mood wise. There’s not a direct sign that he’s at all affected by yesterday’s disaster. Raph can only imagine what he saw in that switchflip (“Mindmeld!” Mikey corrects in his head) yesterday. And considering what Leo says he saw, he maybe, sort of, actually feels a little bad. The barebones picture his brother gave him wasn’t pretty, so he couldn’t even imagine living it. Buried alive? How the fuck does that happen? 

Jason moves on, and Raph splits his attention between him and the t-phone. Casey is busy regaling him with his taste test of these mystery flavour mozzarella sticks, which turned out to be normal mozzarella with some food dye and way too much black pepper, and Raph wars with himself internally as he stares at the bench press. 

Finally, he pockets his phone, standing up and marching over to Jason. The guy eyes him as he draws near, slowing down his lat pull-down reps. 

“What?” Jason asks shortly. 

For a moment longer, Raph eyes him critically, just because it seems to piss him off. Then he jerks his head towards the bench press. “You a good spotter?” 

In no time at all, the cave goes from empty to bustling. He and Jason have traded back and forth on the bench press, spotting each other, before it turned into a contest. If Jason lifted twenty, he was lifting thirty. If he was planking for a minute, Jason was planking five. 

Off to the side, he can hear Mikey arguing with Dick. Something about ‘if exercise counts.’ He doesn’t bother guessing. 

“Getting tired?” He taunts, feeling sweat drip down his nose. 

Jason grunts, focused straight ahead. “You wish, kid.” 

His thighs are beginning to feel the burn, threatening to quiver as they remain squatting. He’s really, really hoping Jason’s at that point too, otherwise this’ll be embarrassing. 

Mikey is egging him on in the background, which is both distracting and hilarious. Leo joined at some point, watching with his arms crossed over his chest (but he’s not fooling Raph, he can see that amused smile). Meanwhile, Dick is the only one around to root for Jason, with Tim and Damian nowhere to be seen. 

Just a little longer, he tells himself. Just hold out a little longer. 

“Hey.” He grunts at Jason in response. “Next time you want to talk to your girlfriend or whatever on the phone, do it somewhere more private.” 

Raph jolts, his heart damn near stuttering out of his chest. With a curse, he feels his back slide down the wall and tenses up his entire body to stop it from sliding further. What the hell? Where had he been? He’d hidden in the library because he’d figured no one would be in there. 

“Fuck!” He was in a terrible position now. It was only a matter of time before his legs gave out. 

“Gettin’ tired?”

Raph hisses in anger at Jason. “Shut up,” he retorts hotly. He has to keep his head in the game. 

Donnie has appeared from nowhere, standing alongside their other brothers. He’s recording with his t-phone. The prick. 

His legs really burn now. And they were starting to shake. Clenching his fists, he presses them into his thighs, hoping sheer willpower will keep him upright. 

He doesn’t get a minute farther. With a whump, he collapses onto the floor. His tense muscles can finally ease, much to his relief. 

Man, he was definitely gonna feel this tomorrow. 

While he’s down on the floor catching his breath, Jason rights himself with a shit-eating smile. It only widens as Dick comes to roughly pat him on the back. 

“Knew you could do it, Little Wing.” Raph glares. See, he was already ticked off, but now they were talking as if Jason earned it. Shakily, he stands, socking the guy’s shoulder. 

“You’re such a cheat. Can’t play on equal terms?” Jason is looking at him, unfazed. 

“Who said anything about equal?” He crosses his arms over his plastron. “I play to win.” 

Raph resists the urge to growl in frustration. It was still a dirty trick and he knows it. But a larger part of him fights the warmth wanting to rise to his cheeks. His conversations with Mona are private. Now he has to think back to that call and remember all the things he said with the added context of an eavesdropper. 

Scratch what he said about having no beef with Jason. This guy needs to take a long walk off a short bridge. Immediately. 

“This ain’t over,” he declares hotly. Jason quirks a brow at him. “You, me, sparring mats. We’ll see how long your smug face lasts before I wipe the floor with it!” 

Jason snorts. 

“You want to do that after the workout you just had?” 

He scoffs. “I could go all day!” Raph only mildly startles as an arm loops around him to herd him away. 

“But you won’t be doing that,” Leo asserts calmly. “Break time.” He starts to pull Raph away, and he forgoes calling him a hypocrite for raising his middle fingers at Jason (the one good thing about being human). Automatically, Japan raises his hand to gesture back, but realizes in a moment of clarity that he can’t. He laughs triumphantly. Jason - 1, Raph - 1! 

The first thing Mikey does when they join is complain at Leo. “Bro, you’re a lifesaver. Could you keep doing that, I dunno, for a couple more days?” He smiles innocently as Leo narrows his eyes at him. 

“Mikey’s shady dealings aside,” Donnie segues smoothly, “we have some things to discuss.” Both he and Leo raise an eyebrow. 

“‘Things’?” Leo questions. Donnie stares back at him hard. 

“Important… things.” 

His older brother clears his throat. “Right. We’ll discuss that a bit later.” When they’re alone, Raph translates in his head. It had to be something about the abandoned facility from the other night. 

“Dudes, they have so many board games,” Mikey interjects abruptly. “Let’s play Clue.” 

“What the hell is Clue?”

“I dunno, but it looks fun.” 

“Don’t ever play Clue with Tim.” Dick pops up out of nowhere, grinning. “He cheats.” 

Donnie raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you cheat?” He looks about as pleased that their conversation was invaded as Splinter did when Mikey would initiate a game of ‘Got Your Nose’ in the middle of a lesson. 

Lifting his shoulders, Dick raises his head. “I am a perfectly upstanding member of society, shut up—” He shoots that in Jason’s direction when the guy snorts. “—And I would never cheat. Want me to teach you?” It’s an innocent enough proposal. But there’s a look in his eye that causes Raph’s to narrow. Something’s off.

“Does it not come with instructions?” Dick’s eyes flicker to Donnie. 

“Well, it does. But who wants to read all that?” He waves it off as he starts walking. Both Mikey and Donnie follow, falling into Dick’s orbit like it’s natural. Raph hangs back to meet Leo’s eye, not surprised that he’s also doing the same. 

What do you want to do?, he asks with a jerk of his head. 

Let it play out. I want to see where this goes, Leo responds with an answering shake. Nodding, he and Leo turn to follow the group. 

“Hey!” Dick calls. “We have room for one more player in Clue. Anyone wanna join?” Like gophers, both Tim and Damian seem to pop into existence, one at the Batcomputer and the other sitting on the floor polishing some knives. 

“Clue? Sure, I’ll join.” 

“Pass.” 

“Tim, you’re banned from Clue.” 

“What?!” The guy straightens, actually looking surprised. “Why? Since when?” Dick levels him a flat look. 

“You know why. And since today. They’re new players, I’m not going to inflict you on them.” 

“This is biphobic. You’re hatecriming me.” 

Jason appears on the rear end of their group. “Shut up, white boy. Stay in your lane.” 

“Pot, kettle!” 

They all sort of snicker at that, walking through the general area to reach the stairs. It’s just as they pass the supercomputer that they all hear a firm “Wait,” coming from Wayne as he steps out of the shadows like the weirdo he is. He looks as serious as ever, his face giving nothing else away. Dick, at the front of the group, is the first to stop. Jason does too, a second later. 

Raph subtly glances between them, as well as Tim and Damian. Nothing seems immediately off, but none of them look confused. 

“What is it, B?” Dick asks in such a natural cadence that it borders on eery. Nothing about is strange per se, but it’s the unwavering stare that rings a little warning bell. 

But Leo doesn’t falter, and neither does he.

“You four,” Wayne starts, voice certain, “are ninjas.  You belong to the Hamato clan.” The four of them straighten. Any playful atmosphere that was there a second ago is gone, leaving only stone cold silence. 

Leo has gone completely tense, muscles pulled taut like a bowstring. He wrestles with whatever emotion he’s feeling as his eyes stare down Wayne. Raph feels much the same. He mentally prepares himself. For what? He’s not entirely sure. But he won’t be caught off guard. 

A tense second passes before Donnie tersely asks, “How do you know about the Hamato clan?” He and Mikey have inched closer, ready to become four against five at a moment’s notice. 

Wayne pauses thoughtfully before he collects something from the desk; an open notebook, with something tucked into its pages. He walks over and holds it out to Leo. 

Raph watches the split second a wave of emotional something crosses Leo’s face, and his gut immediately drops. He and his other two brothers are quick to follow, and they quickly learn what made Leo get so pale. 

The page the notebook is open to seems to be a journal entry. He skims it, but to be honest the writing isn’t what catches his eye. It’s the sketched Hamato symbol scribbled in pencil on a sizeable chunk of the page. It’s the grainy photo of an ancient looking man in a traditional red gi, hauntingly familiar, with a young-looking Wayne standing beside him. It’s the confiscated shuriken Leo threw at Batman the other night. 

“You…” Leo licks his lips, swallows. “You knew Hamato Yuuta.” 

“I was under his tutelage for a time,” Wayne confirms. 

Batman knew Master Yuuta? He knew their grandfather. Had met him personally. 

…What?

“Hold on.” Donnie’s voice floats in from the right. “Batman’s first confirmed appearances… and Spl—…” He cuts himself off. Then starts again. “Did… did you ever meet a Hamato Yoshi, by chance?” Raph’s gaze snaps up, first to Donnie then to Wayne, unable to hide the shock sliding onto his face. 

Wayne’s eyes glint with something unknowable. “Yes, I did.” 

Raph’s brain stops and starts several times as he processes this information. 

He’d been there. He’d been in Japan, training at the dojo. Before the fire, before the Shredder killed all those loyal to the Hamato clan. 

A glance proves that Leo is having the same experience. A look of devastation and confusion have his eyes blown wide, and just on principle Raph decides he needs to scoop out Wayne’s insides and feed it back to him. 

Leo swallows heavily, closing the journal shut (and slipping the shuriken out to pocket it). He silently gathers his thoughts, his gaze never once straying from Wayne. Subtly, Raph feels their younger brothers draw closer. 

His voice and face are utterly calm, not a hint of his turmoil present. “Clearly, you have a reason for bringing this to us. So don’t hold back.” Wayne rolls his shoulders back, straightening to full height. 

“Did your Masters order you to come here?” To his left, Leo smirks humourlessly. 

“You’ll have to be more specific.” 

The man continues, unwaveringly calm. “Did Master Yuuta send you? Or Hamato Yoshi?” 

“Neither.” 

“Then who did?” Wayne presses. “Who is your Master?” 

And he feels like everyone holds their breath, waiting for an answer. He does too, wondering just what Leo will say. 

He watches as Leo bolsters himself up, standing tall with his chin up and shoulders back. Replacing Leo, their brother, with Leonardo the leader. The same face he’s used while staring down entire armies and even the Super Shredder himself. 

“I am.” His voice rings like a gunshot. It carries throughout the entire cave. “I am the surviving Master of the Hamato clan.”

Chapter Text

Wayne presses. “Who is your Master?” 

And he feels like everyone holds their breath, waiting for an answer. He does too, wondering just what Leo will say. 

He watches as Leo bolsters himself up, standing tall with his chin up and shoulders back. Replacing Leo, their brother, with Leonardo the leader. The same face he’s used while staring down entire armies and even the Super Shredder himself. 

“I am.” His voice rings like a gunshot. It carries throughout the entire cave. “I am the surviving Master of the Hamato clan.” 

Wayne is silent for a grating moment. If this news shocked him, he didn’t let it show. In fact, he barely moves at all. He’s like a statue. 

But he doesn’t need to say anything at all, in the end. Because Mikey steps forward, gingerly holding the notebook in his hands (when did he get that?). In a small voice, he asks, “do you have more stories? About Master Yuuta, or, or Hamato Yoshi?” There’s so much hope in his voice, holding out hope that Batman remembered a time from over a decade ago. And yeah, maybe the idea has Raph curious too. But at least he’s realistic about their chances—

“I do.” His thoughts stop in a careening car crash. “Would you like to hear them?” 

Mikey pauses. He looks back at them, as if waiting for permission. They all look between each other, torn on what to do. Something about the confrontation rankles, he can see that it bothers Leo too, but none of them could lie and say they weren’t just a bit curious. A firsthand account from someone who had met their father back when he was human. Could they really pass up an opportunity like that? 

No, they couldn’t. They really, really couldn’t. Least of all Mikey, who was practically vibrating on the spot. 

“What’s the catch?” Leo still asks, because he has to. 

“Think of it as an exchange of information.” Wayne offers in a rumbly voice. “I have some questions.”

No doubt questions they won’t want to answer. Raph can almost see Leo’s inner turmoil playing out in real time, considering his options carefully. 

A nod. Leo relents. 

Wayne mirrors it. “We can move to a sitting room upstairs. This will likely take some time.” And off he goes towards the stairs, simply expecting them to follow. The audacity makes Raph scoff. 

But he follows. They all do. 

He feels, more than sees, his brothers linger near him, the four of them watching their guests retreat upstairs. 

“Something the matter?” Tim asks curiously. Dick glances over at his brother. 

“Hm? Oh. Not really, I guess, just…” Dick taps his finger against his leg in thought. “The other day, Donnie mentioned a Master Splinter. Their father.” 

He can imagine how Jason’s brows raise. “Their father?” 

Tim snorts. “I wonder if he’s like Master Oogway.” 

He hums back, amused at the image of a wide, old turtle master. “Maybe. It’s just strange that it didn’t come up.” 

Damian chimes in. “Perhaps he was the Master of New York’s branch. It would be understandable why Father does not know of him.” 

Dick considers this. It was a possibility, but he feels like he would have heard of a ninja clan in all that time he spent living with the Titans. 

Unless, maybe, they were hidden where others couldn’t find them. 

Jason huffs shortly. “I guess we’ll see.” 

“I guess we will.” He replies, tucking away that thought in his back pocket. 

Bruce sits in one of the more comfortable lounge rooms in the manor, wrestling with both grief and resignation as he weathers four pairs of eyes on him. 

Grief, learning that Yoshi and Master Yuuta are dead. 

Resignation, because he’s staring at the surviving members of the Hamato clan. Four children (babies, they’re just babies ) who bear the weight of its legacy on their shoulders. One of which is the head of the entire clan, if his answer is anything to go by.

He’s only eighteen. 

The world is just too cruel. Reluctant to give, and quick to take away. When would it ever be enough? 

(Never. The answer is never.) 

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Raphael asks impatiently. He twists around in his seat, as if unable to settle down. His knee knocks into Michelangelo’s side, eliciting a squawk. 

Dick, leaning on the arm of Damian’s seat, answers for him. “I asked Alfred to make us some hot chocolate. It seemed appropriate for the occasion.” He drapes himself over the loveseat’s back, choosing to do this rather than find himself a seat. At least Jason and Tim have found themselves some. 

His youngest grumbles. “You always think it’s a good time for hot chocolate. Not everyone has a sweet tooth like you do.” 

“I do!” Michelangelo interjects. “I’ll never say no to some chocolate-y goodness.”

Bruce witnesses the instant an idea crosses Dick’s mind. His lips quirk but, in a flash, he pulls on an innocuous, concerned expression as he leans towards Damian. 

“If you don’t want any, Dami, I can let Alfie know. Here, I’ll go tell him—” His eldest turns to get up and leave, but lets himself be stopped by Damian yanking on his shirt. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He glares at Dick fiercely. Biting back his own amusement, Bruce returns his attention to their guests. 

“We can begin now.” 

And so he tells them. He discusses his arrival at the Hamato dojo, meeting Master Yuuta and the others for the first time. These boys cling to his every word, even the more skeptical of the bunch. Leonardo seems to have forgotten his earlier suspiciousness for the moment, replaced by something far more earnest and vulnerable. It looks far more natural on him than that look of a soldier he’d worn earlier 

“You said you are the surviving Master. What happened to the rest of your clan?” This has been weighing heavily on his mind since he heard it. What had happened to the place he left behind? 

Leonardo glances at his steepled hands. “We know that, before we were born, there was a fire. The dojo burned down, taking a lot of people with it.” A specific choice of words. They were concealing something; a portion of the truth behind the tragedy. 

However, it isn’t a complete lie. Leonardo has enough regret in his eyes to tell Bruce that his feelings were genuine. The fact of the matter is that he’d not known about this, and that’s a problem. 

He should have paid more attention. He should have checked on them, not been so tunnel-visioned on his first crusades as Batman. 

Still too late, Bruce Wayne. That phrase should be engraved on his headstone, for how truthful it is to his life. 

“So it’s just you four?” He catches how they all glance at each other, deciding what they should say. 

“… There are some more,” Leonardo admits reluctantly. “But yes, it’s just us.” 

“How many?” 

Leonardo exhales harshly through his nose. “A few.” 

“Can you give me an exact number?” 

“Why is it so important to you?” He snaps at Bruce, anger etched into the lines of his face. Visible shock ripples out among the brothers, glancing at Leonardo uncertainly. Confirming his theory that such outbursts are atypical coming from him. 

Dick calmly smoothes things over. He’s always been a natural at the interpersonal contact side of their job. Where Bruce is awkward, he excels. “We’re just trying to make sure we understand the situation as best as possible.” Though Leonardo looks suspiciously between the two, the harsh lines on his face soften. Still seeming unhappy, he answers. 

“There’s five.” Raphael’s response is instant. 

“No, there are six!” Donatello scoffs, he can only assume at the addition of this sixth member. 

“That is in no way official.” 

Michelangelo perks up. “If we’re including honorary members, there are way more.” 

“No, we’re talking official members only.” 

“But what makes them official anyway?” 

This goes on, the four brothers debating amongst themselves who to include in this clan member count. It’s between five, six, and twenty. He’ll just… include all three numbers in the official report, as well as having many potential allies. 

His sons attempt to hide varying expressions of discontent. Damian, Dick, and Tim’s are the closest to his own feelings, like they’re grasping hard at air for answers. Jason, however, is focused solely on Leonardo. It’s a level of intensity Bruce has grown accustomed to from him (though the lack of angry aqua swirling in his eyes is a welcome change). 

“What was your training like?” 

Bruce casts his mind back to that time to search for an answer to Donatello’s question. 

He’d been out on his own, travelling the world and learning everything he could. That grief that still felt so fresh even as time had crawled by. Batman was still barely a concept. A hope. A dream. 

Their training had forced him to stop, to slow down.  

(“Such a turbulent storm inside you. But can you temper it?”)

He’ll be the first to admit that he lacks a lot in terms of spiritual power. It was one of the first things they tried to teach him, and the very first road block. The existence of turning inner calm into pure energy just made no sense to him. No matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t ever fully grasped the depths of chi. 

Still, they were kind to him. They housed him, fed him, taught him everything they could. He would go to bed exhausted, but feeling so more in tune with himself than ever. 

“Everything was a lesson,” he settles on. “No matter the time of day, or the circumstances, they always had something new to teach me. And I’m very grateful to them for that.” He’s not blind to the fact that it’s not just their guests that listen intently. As much as they’d deny it and say they’re there for the interrogation, his sons clearly were curious to hear about his time travelling. He’d like to think he catches this because he’s their father, but realizes it was more than likely to be detective instinct. 

There’s something in their guests’ eyes, something that glimmers with fascination. Something so terrifyingly young in them, and so terrifyingly familiar.

How many times has he seen that look? Has worn it? 

Breathe.

Michelangelo nudges Donatello with his elbow. “That sounds painfully familiar.” He tries to joke, but it comes out strained. 

Similar teaching styles, he notes. So their teacher was intimately familiar with Master Yuuta’s philosophy. 

…Yoshi?

It seemed implausible. But not impossible. 

So he asks. “What is your teacher’s name?” 

Leonardo only hesitates for a split second. “Master Splinter.” 

That…is not a name he recognizes. Perhaps an alias? But that raises the question of why. Why would this Master Splinter choose to hide his identity? 

…It couldn’t be Saki, could it?

“Hold on.” Dick forces them to pause. “He’s your teacher?” 

“Yes?” Though Leonardo frowns, it doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice how Donatello begins to look uncomfortable. Interesting.

His son passes it off smoothly with a smile. “Just wanted to clarify.” However he might want to, though, he can’t quite hide the downward tilt of his lips once the attention is off him. Always so, so expressive, even when he tries not to be. (He’ll need to talk to him later. Clearly, he knows something.) 

So their master is dead, leaving Leonardo to take on the mantle. That position would typically go to the eldest son, which confirms what he already knew about the dynamic between the brothers. Brother and leader, and head of their entire clan. 

A light knock at the door draws his, and everyone’s, gaze. Alfred enters a moment later, carrying a tray of teacups, a large thermos, and cream. 

He sets the tray down on the coffee table, setting out the teacups. “I hope I am not interrupting.” 

“Not at all.” Bruce reassures him, his sons sharing similar sentiments. To his pleasant surprise, Leonardo and his brothers do so as well. 

“We’re just talking.” Leonardo assures, smiling kindly at the man. “Thank you for the hot chocolate.” Alfred starts pouring the drink into the teacups, assuring, 

“It is no trouble at all, dear boy.” Leonardo’s smile falters ever so slightly, but just softens a second later. As if he were reminded of an old memory. 

They pause their discussion for the moment to enjoy the hot drink. Alfred’s hot chocolate is a balm on the soul, and is great for difficult conversations. He and his sons greet it like an old friend, sipping at their beverages even though it is still piping hot. Bruce watches the four boys in front of him pick up their cups nearly in synchronized form, just seconds ahead and behind each other as they lift their teacups up. Michelangelo takes the first sip, sticking out his pinkie finger, much to Bruce’s amusement. 

“Mmm!” The boy lights up. “Whoa! It’s like a river of chocolate in my mouth.” His brothers side eye him, and then all go in for a sip. 

It’s a bit adorable, watching how all their eyes light up. They can’t gulp it down, since it’s just too hot, but—

“MMMGH!! Ahh!! Hoth hoth hoth hoth!!!!” Michelangelo fans his mouth as he sticks his tongue out, cringing and squirming in discomfort. Bruce blinks in bewilderment. 

“That’s what you get for not waiting,” Raphael snarks. He holds his cup close, cradling it. 

Leonardo simply blows at his own cup and gently admonishes, “Careful, Mikey, it’s hot.” 

Tim snorts. “Yeah, I think he got that.” Leonardo merely shrugs, unfazed, while Alfred caps the thermos and sets it down. Pointedly, he sets the cream in front of Michelangelo. 

“While I’m flattered that you enjoy my hot chocolate so much, Mister Michelangelo, there is no need to rush. It will still be there in a few minutes time.” He seems satisfied when Mikey picks up the container of cream, grateful that he’s listening—

Oh. He’s… he’s drinking it. 

“Mikey!” Donatello hisses, reaching over to slap his brother on the arm. The boy jolts, lowering the ceramic cup with a confused frown, a milky moustache sitting on his upper lip. 

“What?” 

“That’s to cool down your drink, you blockhead!” 

“Oh.” He looks down at the cup, which seems to be near empty now, and grins guiltily up at Alfred. “Sorry, mister old dude.” 

Alfred does well to hide his amusement. “No matter,” he says. “I shall go fetch some more.” Taking the cup from the boy’s hands, he makes a swift exit to go fetch more cream from the kitchen. The room has taken on utter silence. 

“Well.” Tim clears his throat to hide a chuckle. “Back on track?” He nods at his son. Both in acknowledgment, and thanks. 

“Yes. Is there anything else you’d like to know?” He makes sure to look each of them in the eye. Both because he’s been told he’s forgotten to do that in the past, and to show they have his full attention. They felt it was a serious matter, so he would treat it as thus. 

He can see that they deliberate to themselves, searching for their next question. All except Leonardo, who seems to have already decided. 

“What were they like?” He asks with eyes solely trained on him. “Master Yuuta and… Hamato Yoshi.” 

Again, that hesitation. Yoshi was a significant figure to them in some shape or form. And not one question about Saki at all. 

Still rolling that over in his mind, he answers. “Master Yuuta was very wise. He often understood things before others did, and believed strongly in spiritual guidance.” His mind draws him back to long days spent training. Repeating the same exercise over and over, given minimal breaks until he could get it right. He recalls watching the Master demonstrate lessons with Yoshi and Saki, commanding with a sharp voice that made both young men straighten instantly. “… He was very dedicated to teaching. Sometimes to a fault. But I believe it was because he understood when to push, and when to ease up.”

He chooses his next words carefully. Whatever the connection, this mattered to them. “Yoshi was extremely confident in his abilities. I believe he and his brother started learning ninjutsu at a very young age.” The four boys shift in their seats, something he notes. “Sometimes his confidence worked against him. He never expected to be caught off guard, so when he was, he would lose his temper.” Yes, he remembered how Yoshi would turn red in the face. How he would demand a rematch (often against Saki. Their relationship wasn’t the most stable). “But he had a tactician’s mind. I remember him being very clever, despite sometimes getting in his own way. An excellent strategist in a fight.

“He also had a strange sense of humour. I once caught him squirting wasabi up a new recruit’s nose.” There’s a sudden cackle, and Bruce stops himself from jolting even if his heart does a little jump. This, in particular, seems to have tickled Michelangelo. The boy laughs and laughs, nearly kicking over his hot chocolate as he reels back and clutches his stomach. His brothers shush him, but there’s no hiding their baffled grins. Bruce takes the opportunity to continue. “Most of all, I remember him being wise, just like Master Yuuta. The only thing he truly lacked was experience. He’d ask Master Yuuta time and time again to start integrating technology into ninjutsu, so they could keep up with the times.” Donatello’s eyes sparkle, so he wryly adds, “but he could barely get Master Yuuta to use a handheld.” 

Bruce takes a sip of his own hot chocolate to soothe his dry throat. He can’t remember the last time he talked nearly so much. His public speeches weren’t even that long. 

It also gives him a moment to gauge the room. 

His sons are all in various states of contemplation. Jason, still, doesn’t look away from Leonardo, and Dick still wears a small frown like something’s bothering him. 

Leonardo holds onto his teacup but doesn’t drink from it. Actually, his mind seems to be elsewhere, tracing the rim of his cup with his forefinger as he stares at a particular spot of the coffee table. Raphael frowns in thought, gripping his cup hard enough that Bruce starts to worry it will shatter. Otherwise, Donatello sips at his hot chocolate, and Michelangelo is still recovering from his bout of laughter, wearing a wide smile. 

Gently setting his cup down, Bruce contemplates his next question. But in actuality, he’s already decided. 

“Do you know anything about Oroku Saki?” 

All four immediately tense. Any ease they’d found is gone, replaced by wariness. 

Leonardo, predictably, is the one to answer, coming in a clipped, “Yes.” 

Danger, warns his thoughts. He’s treading into dangerous territory. But that’s all the more reason to investigate it. 

“What can you tell us about him?” 

He sees the boy clench his jaw. His brothers beside him fidget uncertainly at the shift. 

“He is no longer of any concern.” 

They’re connected, somehow. They’ve carefully avoided mentioning anything about him or his clan’s existence, but it’s all the more damning of an answer. 

The Foot clan popped up around nineteen years ago, if his estimates are correct. Quickly establishing connections across the world, including trying to lay claim on Gotham. Obviously, he hadn’t let that stand. But his investigations bore no fruit, and were left to collect dust amongst his other cases. Time passed, and it hardly mattered. (He’d been much more preoccupied with a small, vengeful child that ran circles around Bruce for years on end. He sort of missed those simpler times.) 

Upon coming face to face with the Hamato clan crest, he’d pulled up that old file. Their first sightings lined up almost by the month to the fire that took the Hamato dojo (referred to as ‘unknown private family dojo’ by news outlets that had no clue of the ninja clan’s existence). He remembered Yoshi and Saki, in that moment of discovery. Angry and spiteful, always competing, always arguing. And he knew that the reports of this elusive Foot clan head, “The Shredder,” had to be Saki. He couldn’t hazard a guess as to why other than petty revenge, but that’s what he was trying to find out now. 

Tim asks Bruce’s next question. “How can you be so sure?” He resists the urge to narrow his eyes at his son. Sounding sure of his questioning, he must have looked at Bruce’s files. And of course, Tim won’t look at him. Bruce will have to check how will he hid his tracks. It would be a good exercise for Tim. 

“He just is. Understood?” Bruce can see Leonardo trying very hard to remain composed. Though he remains physically tense, his eyes are unburdened and sharp. They challenge Bruce to refute him, to ask that question. Even as they flicker turquoise every so often. 

“No, not understood.” Jason retorts tersely. He seems to have an understanding of just who they’re talking about. Which doesn’t surprise Bruce, given his connections to the League of Assassins. He’d have to see how much his son knows. “Stop beating around the bush. What happened to him?” 

They’re all looking at Leonardo now. But it’s not him who answers. 

“He was beheaded.” They all look at Donatello, who, despite his unassuming demeanour, matches Leonardo’s gaze in fierceness. He’s still staring at four young boys, but now equally staring into the eyes of hardened fighters. 

Why? Why can’t kids ever just be kids? 

Damian sits poised and coiled, agitated by the speaking in circles. “Who killed him? Who?” Leonardo meets him eye to eye. 

“I did.” Plain and simple. No room for misunderstanding. The boy’s gaze sweeps across the room, staring them down. 

He’d begun to suspect. No, he’d begun to know. All the obfuscation, all the dancing around the topic. What it spelled out was an awful truth, but truth all the same. 

It’s quiet, in the lounge room. This information sinks in, as they rewrite the past few minutes—and days—with this knowledge. 

Leonardo sets down his teacup with barely a sound. “We’re done here.” He stands and makes a swift exit, not once looking behind. 

His brothers hesitate, communicating something to each other with just their eyes, before making their exit as well. The door to the lounge clicks gently shut, leaving him and his sons in the aftermath. 

Bruce closes his eyes. When would this cycle ever stop?

Chapter Text

“He’s their father.” 

Tim’s gaze snaps up from its fixed point on the floor to zero in on Dick deep in thought. And troubled. Very, very troubled. 

“Who?” He chances to ask, since several people were just brought up in conversation. His first thought fills him with dread—it’s Oroku Saki, isn’t it? But he realizes a second later that, no, it must be—

“This Master Splinter.” Dick holds onto his cooling hot chocolate, frowning at the floor like it would change this revelation. 

Bruce’s gaze is shrewd as he stares at Dick. “How do you know?” It wasn’t a doubt or an accusation. He was genuinely asking. Still, Dick’s gaze briefly flickers up to check before glancing away. His finger absently traces the handle of the teacup. 

“It was something Donnie let slip the other day in conversation.” He looks into his cup as he takes a sip, licking his lips afterwards. “So their father and teacher.” 

Tim raises his brow. “Who’s dead.” He watches his brother deflate into his chair. 

“…Who’s dead.” He feels a little bad when Dick frowns heavy, like some sad puppy, but really. They’re not the only orphans in the building. 

…Okay, that sounds bad. What he means is they’re obviously not helpless or defenceless. They seem to be doing just fine. 

Unless they aren’t. You haven’t really checked, have you? Haven’t looked too close.

Shut up, self. 

And it makes too much sense. Because that must be an alias, right? Someone who survived the Hamato dojo fire had to lay low, so they moved to New York. Assumedly, based on their own answer, he bought four baby turtles at a pet store, and somehow they got mutated into humanoid turtles. Someone who followed Hamato Yuuta’s teachings closely, enough for them to be instantly recognizable by their students. It could be Oroku Saki, if you didn’t think too hard. But considering how hostile they acted towards even the mention of his name, he had his doubts. 

“Jason, you’ve been quiet.” Bruce tries to coax Jason out of whatever deep spiral he’s in. He hasn’t looked away from where Leonardo sat even once, and he looks constipated. Or frustrated. Or both. “What are you thinking?” 

He runs a hand over his head as if to thread through his hair, before remembering he doesn’t have any right now. Jason opts to lean his chin heavily on his hand. 

“I know what you’re searchin’ for and no, I don’t know much about the Foot Clan. I wasn’t included in those kindsa talks.” 

“Of course not,” Damian sniffs. “Why would Mother include brainless muscle in business tradings?” That makes Bruce turn to Damian then though he doesn’t look at all surprised. 

“So they’re still working together.” It doesn’t surprise Tim at all to learn that the LoA has dealings with a ninja clan. Ra’s likes to keep an eye on anything that could pose a threat to or benefit him. (He knows it, firsthand.)

The moment Bruce’s attention lands on Damian, the kid stiffens, losing his snappy demeanour altogether. He tries to make himself bigger, like the chair he’s sitting in. 

“As far as I’m aware.” He fidgets with his hot chocolate but then abruptly stops, like doing it is a crime. “Though with their leader beheaded, I am not sure what has happened to them now. It’s very likely that Mother commandeered their ranks to absorb into the League.” 

“Hm.” Bruce’s eyebrows furrow shallowly in thought. It did sound like something the League would do. A bunch of skilled, wayward ninja? Even if they didn’t, it’s likely they’d turn to a similar field, like mercenary work. In which case, they’d still end up with ties to the League of Assassins. 

Bruce, effectively, has his detective eyes on. And they’re especially eery without the cowl, so when he fixes them back on Jason, Tim shares a thimble of sympathy. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Exhaling harshly through his nose, Jason really does run his hand over his head this time. “I think he and I are overdue for a conversation.” He finally answers, vague though it may be; it’s not difficult to guess who the ‘he’ is. 

They’ve all been carefully watching Leonardo. With no precedent, it was hard to predict how swapping bodies would affect Lazarus Pit triggers. There’s not much you can do. And, to his credit, he has been proving to have an amazing amount of restraint and control to counteract the Pit Rage (It’s taken Jason years to figure out how to ground himself). But the fact is this: it’s still there. And it’s steadily winning. Every annoyance, every argument, it adds weight to that invisible scale. In a way, it’s worse than the Jason of today. Because Jason is fairly easy to predict, even when he’s going off the rails in a moment of green rage. But they don’t know Leonardo like they do Jason. Who knows what will finally make him snap? And how much damage he will cause?

“Maybe give them some time to cool off,” Dick tries to suggest lightly. But all it does is make Jason roll his eyes. 

“Thanks, Big Bird, I’m not stupid.” 

Bruce stands from his seat, which effectively halts whatever Dick was going to reply with. He knows that, just like him, they all look immediately, waiting. It’s not even that they necessarily mean to do it, but after years of working at his side, it’s a hard instinct to detach from. 

“We need to keep them occupied and within the Manor grounds. That way, we’ll have him in close proximity and can monitor any drastic changes in his behaviour.” 

With a hum, Tim adds, “we still don’t know why they’re in Gotham.” Bruce nods sharply once. 

“Learn as much as you can.” Then, “I’ve put together a comprehensive report of the building they snuck into. Make sure you all read it.” 

That sounds like a good task to do after this debrief. It wasn’t going to leave his mind after everything that’s happened, and he’d already done his schoolwork. Hadn’t Bruce mentioned something about a lab…?

“Well, this has been predictably unpleasant.” Jason injects false cheer into his voice as he talks, standing. “Don’t talk to me for the next several hours.” His stalking out of the lounge is impeded by the fact that he refuses to slam the door on his way out, lest he incur the wrath of Alfred. Well, none of them want that. But Jason really crumples like a wet piece of paper when it comes to Alfred’s disappointment. 

Damian slides out of his chair, dusting off his clothes once he sets his cup down. “I will take my leave as well. It is time to feed the animals.” He watches as Dick perks up like he’s just gotten a great idea. Damian must see it too, because he stiffens. 

“Oh, Dami, I’ll help y—” The kid hightails it out of there, scurrying like a dog’s nipping at his heels. Watching his older brother deflate like a parade balloon is admittedly a bit funny, but he doesn’t chase after Damian. The kid wants some space, that much is clear to see. 

Bruce leaves soon after, waving a silent goodbye to the both of them just before he slips out. He pulls out his phone to check his notifications, swiping a couple of them away. There’s a couple in succession from Bart about his newest """Retro""" game (which are all this year’s releases, but of course they seem novel to him), with blurry pictures taken of his computer screen and everything. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dick slide from his perch on the chair into the proper seat, landing with a soft ‘oof.’ He can see Dick adjust to accommodate the shell on his back, squirming around until he’s laying on his side with his legs hanging ridiculously off the back and arm of the chair. That cannot be comfortable. 

He ignores Dick’s stare for as long as possible, replying to Bart with a couple thumbs up. 

“How are you doing?” He finally lifts his gaze to see Dick’s face is a cross between concern and curiosity. Tim doesn’t appreciate having that look turned on him (this is true) and wishes it would just stop (this isn’t) so he brushes it off. 

“Doing great.” His gaze slides back to his phone, opening his chat with his team as he asks, “You?” Dick’s staring feels a lot like he’s waiting for something else to reveal itself. He might not even realize he doing it, but often times it feels like he’s trying to develop telepathy just to read his family’s minds. 

He lets out a windy sigh, looking up. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” 

“I told you guys they were ninjas, day one.”

“I know, Timmy, and I did believe you.” Tim shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth. How long had he spent, wanting to hear that one phrase? ‘I believe you.’ The only thing he’d wanted just as much as getting Bruce back. ‘I believe you, you aren’t crazy.’ 

No, it’s definitely not still a sore spot, why do you ask? 

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just… Leonardo doesn’t seem the type.” 

“The type to kill?” He didn’t see where his brother was coming from. These guys were still pretty much strangers to them. But Dick sits up, staring him in the eye. 

“The type to kill without reason.”

“There’s no good reason to kill someone.” 

“No, I know, but we should at least find out what he deems acceptable to cross a line.” Sitting up fully, Dick crosses his legs under him, holding his ankles. “He doesn’t seem like someone who just snaps and kills someone.” Tim raises a brow. 

“Even under Pit Rage?” 

The question leaves Dick looking like he sucked on a lemon, but he can’t deny it. The Pit leaves a part of your humanity behind when it resurrects you, that’s why Ra’s is absolutely nuts. It completely scrambles the brain. He doubts that even Superman could win against the homicidal rage. So no matter how strong-willed Leonardo might be, they have no choice but to consider him a threat. 

And if he was willing to kill under free will, who knows what he would do when released from his inhibitions? 

“Oh dear.” They both look at the doorway where Alfred now stands, taking in the empty room. He comes bearing a new cup of creamer to replace the one Michelangelo had chugged, but it’s pretty much useless now. “It seems I was gone too long.”

Leo shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, it’s what?” Hoping over hope that getting his brother to repeat it will change the answer. Donnie looks dismayed at even having to share it once, but he obliges. 

“Someone is experimenting on mutagen, and it isn’t the Kraang.” 

“Donnie,” Raph frowns at him. “You’re sure?” Despite knowing that the chance of the Kraang returning was at a complete zero, with both Prime and Sub Prime dead, none of them could quite reconcile the existence of an alternative. 

The genius waves his hands wildly. “Yes, I’m sure! There was not a single trace of Kraang in that lab, and they’d never stoop so low as to use inferior human technology. It would be a complete waste of their time. The only logical conclusion is that it’s someone else.” 

“But what do you mean they’re experimenting on mutagen?” Leo presses for a clear answer. “We know they were conducting experiments on humans. That’s why they had dozens of rats in cold storage.” With a shake of his head, Donnie continues pacing the length of the guest room—which has effectively become their safe zone, aside from the Party Wagon. 

“No, but, see? Their goal wasn’t to create rat mutants, it was to refine the chemical composition of the mutagen. You can see it on the diagram here.” He strides over to his laptop sitting on the bed, open but asleep. With a wiggle on the touchpad, it lights up on several microscopic images of mutagen. Several points are circled in red. “I’ve never seen it look like this before.” His brothers crowd around him to get a better look, glancing over his shoulders as he explains. “We know that the Kraang went to great lengths to perfect the mutagen, in order to terraform the Earth. But this doesn’t look anything like that. Right here,” he taps at a circled point on a zoomed in image, “you can see what’s happening here is different. It’s like they’re trying to make it work with something.” 

Raph frowns at the images, unsure of what any of it means. “Work with what?” Donnie’s sigh is dismayed. 

“I don’t know. Not totally.” With a tap on the arrow key, it flicks to an even closer image. “This, this little thing right here. I don’t recognize it at all, but it’s completely foreign to the mutagen.” The next tap brings up a video. Mutagenic molecules pulse in tandem rhythm, surrounding the newer, darker cells. It’s clearly been sped up and, over the process of a couple seconds, they all watch as the molecules completely eat away and break down the foreign cells until they’ve completely disappeared. 

“It’s… rejecting it?” Leo guesses. 

“Yes, it is.” Donnie flips to the next image, showing the mutagen is completely rid of any traces of the compound it was mixed with. “Whoever they are, they must have been at this for awhile. Slowly introducing bits and pieces at a time so that they would bond. But the mutagen is stubborn.” He shuts the laptop, sitting back on his heels while his brothers give him a bit of space. Donnie stares at a single spot on the bed, thinking. They all do, lost in their own heads as they contemplate what this exactly means. 

Leo chuckles flatly. “I would ask if you could find a way to isolate the unknown substance, but…” The genius shakes his head. 

“It’s entirely gone. I have nothing to work with.” The leader’s face falls, though he suspected as much. Joining Mikey, he sits on the edge of the bed with his brow furrowed. 

The youngest casts a worried glance around, growing uneasy at the tense air. None of his brothers speak, stewing on their thoughts and stuck in their heads. It’s absolutely unbearable to watch. Hyping himself up, he jokingly suggests, “hey, how crazy would it be if it had something to do with those ninjas Leo saw the other night? Heh. Heh…” He attempts to laugh off his own joke, but it quickly peters out as they all turn to stare at him blankly. Mikey shrinks just a bit. 

“Mikey…” Donne breathes out in disbelief, his eyes blown wide. He braces himself, only to still be caught off guard when his face is suddenly squished between Donnie’s hands. “You’re a genius!”

“I am?” He asks. 

“He is?” Raph asks as well. 

“That…” Leo’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, hidden by the white shock of hair on his forehead. “…That’s not entirely impossible. We were on that building, before they ran off.” 

The red brother shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?” 

“Think about it, Raph,” Donnie urges eagerly. “We have a strong signal when tracking the mutagen, then Leo encounters the ninjas on that building and he chases after them. We’re not back for several days, and suddenly the signal is weak. The place is cleared out.”

“Our encounter must have spooked them,” Leo observes with a hand on his chin. “If we could somehow find them, we might learn more.” 

“Or we’ll find nothing,” Raph counters with crossed arms. “Because we’re grasping at straws here.” He bristles at Leo’s challenging glare, drawing himself up to full height when Leo’s suddenly towering over him by several inches. 

“It’s our only lead. Are you trying to give up? That’s not like you, Raphael.” At his full height, Leo stands menacingly tall. His eyes sharply cut Raph down to size, carrying something dangerous within them. It’s not just that; his taunt is mean, snide and cruel in a way Leo rarely is. 

Raph shifts on his feet, but refuses to back down. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Leo.” 

“Of course.” All at once, the look disappears. It no longer feels like a stranger took his place, which was easier to do when staring at a stranger’s face. But Leo is all calm and assured, patting him on the shoulder. “And I confirmed with Karai, she hasn’t sent any of the Foot to Gotham. She said, and I quote, ‘that cesspool isn’t worth my time.’” 

“Well, that settles it.” Donnie draws them out back to present, clapping his hands together. “When are we doing it?”

Leo grins. “Tonight. I have a plan.” 

Chapter Text

Jason ended up stewing on his thoughts for awhile. In fact, several hours pass as he sits and paces and everything in between, attempting to work out this problem. 

The problem: Leonardo is definitely, 100%, feeling the effects of the Lazarus Pit. He knows it despite not knowing the kid for very long, mostly because he’s lived it. The madness that sets in, feeding on your worst thoughts and amplifying your emotions, the unbridled urge that follows to make everything run with red.

He knows it. And he knows that it needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. 

The solution: he… is still working that one out. 

It’s easier said than done. Not only is Leonardo unaware that his mind isn’t entirely his anymore, but his distrust of them is as sharp as a barbed wire and could set him off at any moment. He’s a bomb waiting to explode, and probably just as destructive as one with those swords of his. 

And Jason’s aware that his family knowing him hadn’t exactly given them many advantages. It actually made things worse.

God. Why did he have to be the one forced to have a heart to heart with a prickly, cagey eighteen year old? He sucked at it. Hard. Dick should be the one to do it. 

…No. As much as Dick is good with people, he’s not the one who can do this. Only Jason is, because he’s the only one who has any idea of what could be running through Leonardo’s mind right now. As unequipped for emotional garbage as he is, only he can do this and have a chance at success. 

Not for the first time, Jason’s thoughts wander. He thinks back to the conversation in the lounge, as Leonardo finally revealed to them that the Shredder was dead. 

He knew very little about the former head of the Foot Clan. It wasn’t something he needed to know about while training with Talia. However, he knew enough to understand that he was not someone to simply dismiss as afterthought. Talia, and even Ra’s to some extent, viewed the ninja clan as a threat, and therefore a crucial ally. If the Daughter of the Demon and the Demon himself considered Shredder important enough to keep an eye on, then he was likely incredibly dangerous. 

Jason is only able to speculate as to why Leonardo’s clan was at odds with him. Simple rivalry was possible, but he doubted it. The vitriol in the kid’s eyes was too bitter and personal to be just that. He recognizes that look, especially on his own face. Layers on layers, years upon years, of hatred and anger. Of hurt. 

This confession complicates things; opens up more questions. He knows how his family feels. ‘Murder is never justifiable,’ and all that. But Jason? He’s done his fair share, and is not sorry. The only thing that really holds him back is stupid fear that he’ll lose this, his family. He has only just recently started to feel like he could belong here. 

Hell, murder might be another thing only he and Leonardo can bond about. Wasn’t that just grand? 

“Stop stalling, dumbass, and just go do it.” His angry hiss to himself spurs him forward, yanking open his door 

and immediately, a blur flies past his room. 

Jason blinks in a daze as he watches Tim’s retreating back race down the hall. A confused frown works onto his face before he calls out, “Hey!” Michelangelo, somewhat distant now, stops and glances back. Then, still facing away from Jason, he jogs backwards until he’s right in front of him. 

“Jason! Hey, big J—can I call you big J?” The kid beams at him, bright as the sun. Jason pretends he isn’t charmed by it.

“No.” He quickly shuts that down. “What were you doin’ just now?” 

Michelangelo beams somehow even brighter. “Running laps! This place is so huge, it’s like a racetrack.” He continues to jog in front of Jason, like this is a pitstop before he’s off to the races once again. 

“Don’t let Alfred catch you calling it that,” Jason warns. An unhappy Alfred was something nobody wanted. 

The head tilt he gets is not cute. Because Tim is not cute. He’s a goblin that needs to be kept in a kennel. But Michelangelo uses it without remorse, and it triggers an awful instinct in Jason to ruffle his hair. “Why?” He asks curiously. “He didn’t have a problem with it when I ran by.“ 

That was news to Jason. In all these years, he’s been the one insurmountable figure that no one, not even Bruce, can get past. But he let Michelangelo’s shenanigans slide?

“Bullshit.” There’s no way.

The kid puffs up indignantly. “It’s true!” 

“You’re lyin’.” 

“I’m not!” His voice goes up an octave trying to defend himself, frowning. “All he told me was to not break anything. And I haven’t!” Jason squints suspiciously because that doesn’t sound like Alfred at all. The kid was lying to him in some way, he just didn’t know which. 

Whatever. Not his house, not his problem. If something breaks, Bruce can cry about it. 

Abruptly, Michelangelo complains. “Stop looking at me like that.” His cartoonish indignation has lowered to a grumpy pout, squinting back at him, arms crossed over his chest and everything. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re Leo tryna read my mind.” Michelangelo shuffles on his feet and, ah. Visibly unsettled to be under his brother’s scrutinizing gaze, even if it’s Jason. That’s useful to know. 

He leans on the doorframe, taking a considering look. The kid continues to squirm. “He do that a lot?” 

“…Yeah.” Michelangelo rubs his arm, as if he’s warding off a chill. The sweater he’s wearing wrinkles under the movement. “He’s always doing that. Thinking. Reading people. Sussing ‘em out.” For a moment, his expression hits Jason. Something achingly lonely, but also knowing and resigned. He wonders what the kid is thinking about. 

Then, like it was never there, he grins wide. “So, do you think Batman would let me drive the Batmobile?” 

“Absolutely not.” He’d fucking riot if Bruce did. “He barely likes to let any of us sit passenger side. Not a chance you get within ten damn feet of the wheel.” 

Michelangelo pushes out his bottom lip in a pout. “Aw, man.” But he doesn’t look all that bothered. His mind seems to still be lingering on something else, though exactly what is unknown. But he gets the sense that he shouldn’t bring it up. 

“Why were you doing laps anyway?” He decides to change the subject. He watches him shrug. 

“Just wanted to get some exercise. Raph kicked me out of the room because I was moving around too much. That’s when I had this genius idea.” 

And you didn’t think to go outside? Or use a treadmill? But Jason lets it go. That isn’t what he wants to talk about anyway. 

“Right. So where’re the rest of your family?” 

“Dunno,” he hums. He rocks on his heels idly. “They don’t tell me what they’re gonna do.” And that’s… fair. Normal, even. You don’t usually tell someone what you’re going to do every second of every day. 

What a fresh thing to experience. Especially after being surrounded by lunatics all this time, who like to know everything they possibly can. He’s reminded that this is probably how most people live. 

“Right.” Time to go look elsewhere. “Nice chat,” he says flatly, closing his door behind him and already plotting his next move. He’d try the guest rooms first. Then maybe the library? 

But it’s as he’s walking away that he realizes…

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” He glares at the kid following him, though some of the impact is lost now that he’s near exactly Tim’s height. Why couldn’t he have swapped with Donatello instead? The universe really does hate him. 

Michelangelo doesn’t even seem to register the hostility. “Wouldn’t want you to wander around alone, big guy. You might get lost.” Stupefied, Jason stares at the completely unfettered, guileless expression he wears. 

“This is literally my dad’s house.” It comes out before he can course correct it, and he stops himself from glancing around to check if any of his family heard. He’d never hear the end of it if they did.

“Well, yeah,” Michelangelo concedes. “But you’re looking for one of my brothers, right?” And. 

And yeah. Okay. Maybe he hadn’t been the most subtle about asking. But the look the kid’s got right now can be likened to a shark that has backed its prey into a corner, teeth bared with a smile. It’s falsely innocent and all too knowing. 

They’re gonna have to be extremely careful around this one, aren’t they? 

“I can give you pointers to where they are,” the kid offers, still looking sly. Jason, still rooted to the spot, frowns at him suspiciously. 

“I thought you said you don’t know where they are.” The kid exaggerates a shrug. 

“I don’t know -know, but I know.” He nods confidently, like that made all the sense in the world. It takes a bit of contemplation to realize that he means he’s gonna make some educated guesses.

That sounds like more work than it’s worth. “No thanks. I’ll look on my own.” He starts walking again, moving just a bit faster to gain distance. There’s a squawk behind him, and the shuffle of feet as Michelangelo hurries to catch up with him. 

He matches Jason’s stride easy. “Hey, if you’re just gonna bother my brothers, I’m warning you, you’re not gonna like what happens next.” His eyes bore into Jason’s skull as he continues to stare ahead. His tone has shifted ever so slightly, dropping some of that playful cheekiness for a serious edge. Letting Jason know he’s not messing around. 

Jason suddenly stops his stride. When he looks at Michelangelo, he sees Tim. It’s hard, in that moment, to separate the two, faced with an expression he has seen time and time again (and aimed at Jason on many occasions). They blend seamlessly until, if Jason was a more simple-minded man, they’re near indistinguishable. 

The kid gains a little respect from him in that moment. He can’t quite articulate it, not without delving into some things that are better buried, but something in him eases at the opposition. 

Resting a hand on his shoulder, he says plainly, “don’t worry, Michelangelo. If there’s anyone I’m gonna bother, it’ll be Bruce.” And with glee, too, he adds in his head. 

Michelangelo studies him, and doesn’t stop studying him for a full minute. Despite what he’d lead you to believe, there’s doubt and suspicion constantly swirling around him. Jason can see it now, plain as day; he’s just like his cagey brothers. Unlike them, though, he doesn’t seem to lose that spark of hope. A little candle that refuses to go out. 

(“Protect it fiercely,” he wants to tell him. But it remains trapped within Jason’s chest, where his heart lays in old blood and broken glass.) 

A small, satisfied smile eases onto the kid’s face. “Just Mikey is fine.” He says it like a little olive branch, extending it towards Jason with the care of sharing a treasured item. Why him of all people, he’ll never know. But the least he could do is protect it. 

His search eventually leaves him at the doorstep of a guest room. Leonardo and Donatello’s, because apparently they’re sharing. Jason doesn’t hear anyone inside, but Mikey is insistent that Leonardo’s in there. 

He feels wholly unprepared for this, despite being the one to decide it had to happen. 

Jason turns his head, only to find empty space beside him. Further down, Mikey’s back is to him, arms stretched behind his head as he walks. 

“Hey! You aren’t hangin’ around?” He asks because the squirt had been so insistent on tagging along, not because he cares. The brat could do what he wanted. 

Said brat turns to face him, walking backwards with a grin. “No way! Damian n’ I have a momentary truce so I can go meet Batcow.” He sounds positively giddy with excitement. Which is strange to Jason, since he’d seemed pretty incensed and ready to go for the jugular after the whole ‘oil and glitter’ incident. But, well. If there was anything Damian got protective over, it was his personal zoo. It’d probably be fine. 

Maybe he’d never actually intended on following Jason in (though it sure seemed like it). Maybe he’d just wanted to sus out for himself Jason’s intentions; he’d be surprised if they weren’t all at least a little wary after That conversation. 

Which is why he’s here. He needs to see this through. 

That just leaves him and his thoughts in front of this damn door. “Okay,” he sighs and raps on the door. 

(Please let him not fuck this up long enough to get his point across.) 

He hears the soft click of the door a second before he sees Leonardo. Jason sees the instant his presence registers, expression shuttering closed. The door is barely opened a couple inches, revealing only a sliver of the room behind. 

Regarding him neutrally, if warily, he questions Jason. “Do you need something?” 

In an effort to look nonchalant, he shoves his hands in his pockets. He half regrets the action, watching how Leonardo’s gaze flicks down and quickly back up. But it’s too late, he’s already committed. “Yeah. Mind if I come in?”

The kid seems to consider this for a second, but eventually nods, opening the door to let Jason in. He steps in and hears the door shut, busy glancing around. 

It was pretty standard, as far as rooms in the manor go. Devoid of any personal touch, but comfortable and grossly spacious. His cursory glance allows him to see some scattered items around the room: some tossed aside clothing on the floor and bedpost, miscellaneous things scattered on the desk. A lone glass of water sits on the bedside table, half full. The unidentifiable “things” on the desk are scooped up by Leonardo, shoved unceremoniously into a beat up backpack that’s definitely seen better days. 

Jason turns his attention away to find a seat. An armchair sits in the corner by a bookshelf, so he takes it, resting his elbows on his knees. Leonardo moves to sit on the bed’s edge, mirroring his pose. 

They sit in silence. 

Leonardo raises an eyebrow at him and his mind goes unhelpfully blank. How the fuck does he start this? Where does he start this? 

He clears his throat, and pretends he doesn’t sound awkward when he asks, “So… how’s it going?” Jason inwardly cringes, but it’s too late to take it back. 

That raised eyebrow only arches higher. But if Leonardo’s having any thoughts questioning his intelligence, he keeps it to himself. “…Fine.” His eyes, still Jason’s calm blue, search questioningly for some kind of answer. “…What about you?” 

“Oh, I’m doing just dandy,” Jason finds himself answering. “I’m stuck in a body that’s not mine, stuck in a place I don’t want to be in, and saw shit I wasn’t supposed to see.” Irritation bleeds out of him in thick waves, appearing out of thin air when he’d only meant to reply back with a bit of sarcasm. It seems to have taken Leonardo by surprise too, not that he blames him. Some sort of weight seems to settle on the kid, his gaze trending downward. 

“…Yeah.” He plays with his fingers, absently tracing along scars Jason’s collected over the years. Some faded, while some still were a bit pink in the middle. Leonardo picks at them before switching to his nails. His eyebrows suddenly furrow as something seems to cross his mind. “Isn’t Mr. Wayne your father? Why are you upset about being here?” 

“Kid, genuinely, that’s a loaded fucking question.” He throws an arm to rest on the low back of the chair, throwing one leg over the other. “And you can drop the ‘Mr. Wayne’ thing. Nobody here cares.” 

Leonardo’s frown doesn’t dissipate, the downward tilt to his lips basically a reply in itself. “Why are you here, anyway?” He swiftly moves on. “It’s not to ask how I’m doing.” 

“It is and it isn’t.” He explains seriously. Jason threads his fingers together as he weathers Leonardo’s gaze. He meets it head on. “Couldn’t help but notice you got real upset earlier. Pissed, even.” Inwardly, he notes how the kid twitches; remembering the same conversation, no doubt. 

Leonardo does his best to pretend it doesn’t bother him. “Your point?” He challenges evenly. 

“My point,” he replies, “is that something’s not right, and you know it.” Jason watches very, very carefully, so he notices how uncomfortable Leonardo suddenly looks. He presses on. “Things feel bigger than they are. You just wish everyone would shut the hell up.” 

“No, I don’t—”

“I’m not sayin’ that’s what you think all the time,” he cuts Leonardo’s protest off, appeasing him a little. But he sees it. The slight tick in his jaw. “But a part of you wants it. And it wants to make them shut up.” He leans forward, hissing his words. “Violently.”

Leonardo starts to look a bit ill. But he tries very hard to maintain his composure, gripping his knees. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Bruce pissed you off.” Jason keeps pressing, ever watchful. “He just kept digging for more, kept prying. He’s stubborn like that. Now he has this information on you, and you can’t take it back.” That reminder seems to really hit him hard. There’s a flicker of green that Jason just barely sees in the lights of his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t you be?” Leonardo challenges, scowling. “If it felt like he was trying to peel you back, later by layer?” He can’t help his bitter laugh. 

“Oh, believe me. Bruce and I have had it out many times over his obsessive habits.” Among other things, he doesn’t add. Jason continues on unbothered. “But here’s the thing: things that piss you off shouldn’t make you want to stick someone’s head on a pike. Shocking, I know.” 

“That’s not—” He stops at Jason’s raised brow, jaw clenching as it shuts. He’s unable to refute it. But he tries anyway. “It was just an intrusive thought. It didn’t mean anything.” 

“I know what intrusive thoughts feel like.” Sneaking onto the roof of the manor late at night, choking on smuggled cigarettes when he suddenly felt as if he could toss himself over the edge. Could viscerally imagine how he would splatter on the ground. He’d turned and retreated in terror back to his room, afraid of what exactly he would do to himself if alone. “That ain’t it. And you wanna know why?”

Leonardo chews on his cheek, looking regretful. “…Why?” He makes sure the kid is looking him in the eye for what he says next.

“Because you coulda actually done it. Coulda stood up right then and there, and used the fire poker to skewer Bruce’s head. Coulda let that sickenin’ voice in your head steady your hand, and it woulda been done. You wouldn’t have even realized it’d happened until you could suddenly see again, and there was blood on the floor.” 

“Stop,” Leonardo gasps quietly, clutching his head. He blinks rapidly as his chest starts to rise a little faster, acid green intermingling with sky blue. “Please, I can’t—“

“Can’t control it?” Jason guesses. Leonardo goes silent, focusing solely on wrestling his mind back into submission. They sit in silence as the kid bends at the waist, his unsteady breaths the only noise between them. 

Three minutes pass before Leonardo stops struggling to keep his thoughts in order. He slowly sits up, lowering his hands carefully to rest in his lap, his expression now wrought with worry. 

Finally, he asks, his voice barely above a whisper: “What’s happening to me?” He looks to Jason, that wariness having given way to a vulnerable fear. Something in Jason’s chest aches. 

“…It’s a result of being dipped into a Lazarus Pit.” He goes on to explain, at Leonardo’s confused brow furrow. “I’m sure it’s not hard to guess, considering you probably saw it, but I died.” The kid hesitates, but slowly nods, not looking surprised. He’d likely guessed as much. “A Pit has the ability to heal anything. Even death. A byproduct of that, though, is you come back… wrong.”

“Someone put you into a Lazarus Pit?” Funnily, the look the kid wears now is one of concern. Not just plain concern, but concern for Jason. He could laugh out loud, if he didn’t want to hurl himself out the window. 

“Yup.” He dips his head in a nod. “It took my anger and amplified it, made me nothin’ but a rage-fuelled monster. I was barely myself.” Jason pretends his hand isn’t shaking as he reaches to push his hair back, only to remember he doesn’t currently have any. He settles for running it down his face. “I’m pretty sure I tried to kill everyone in the family at one point or ‘nother.” And doesn’t that just make him wonder? Wonder why the hell he was let around here at all, why they still talked to him? 

“But you didn’t?” Leonardo asks hopefully, trying and failing to not look distraught. He lets a gusty sigh relax the tension in his muscles. 

“… I didn’t,” he admits. Quieter, “But I was close.”

Closer than he ever wanted to think about. Close enough that, if he were his family, he would never have forgiven them. 

So why did they?

He chances a glance, to find the kid is looking off into space. There’s a certain tension to him as he repeats a motion of clench release clench with his fist, a faraway look in his eyes under a shallow frown. 

Jason lets him be for a moment, feeling himself like he needs a breather. Even though the effects of the Pit weren’t currently messing with him, he still feels the need to wrestle his emotions under control, just in case he lashes out. That would have the opposite effect of what he was trying to have with Leonardo. 

But even after he’s sufficiently calmed down, Leonardo is still elsewhere. His eyes have taken on a glazed over quality, his body so completely still he could’ve passed for a statue. 

He hesitates, then chances to ask, “You okay?” Hoping he hadn’t just sent Leonardo into a trauma spiral over his brothers. 

But he blinks and returns to the present, looking vaguely disoriented. “What? Sorry… it just reminded me of something. Sorry.” Leonardo tries to shake himself out of it, but whatever it is still seems to be on his mind. 

“It… did?” Jason tries not to think about the implications of that, and fails. 

Leonardo waves it off. “Yeah, my friend sort of got possessed and tried to kill us. It’s fine now, though.” 

Fucking concerning, but okay. He could tackle that later. 

“… Right.” He tucks that knowledge away to lose his shit over later. “Anyway, that’s what I’m here to warn you about. Pit Madness is dangerous, but you don’t have to let it control you. There are ways to control it.” 

“How?” Leonardo looks eager, desperate even, to hear his wisdom. Thinking about what he’s seen of him and his brothers so far, he’s not surprised. 

“You’re already doing a pretty okay job,” he admits. Leonardo perks up a bit. “It sounds stupid as shit, but mindfulness goes a long way to keep it controlled. Breathing exercises, meditation, that kind of thing.” To his mild surprise, the kid nods like this makes all the sense in the world. Not an ounce of protest or bellyaching, which is what Jason would have done if told this at a younger age. “‘Course, I’ll also be around, so if you need help, just find me.” He scratches his chin, feeling a bit awkward as he offers his help to Leonardo and just a bit stupid. 

“Okay,” Leonardo replies, though. He doesn’t even hesitate. “Thank you.” The kid looks genuinely relieved, and Jason. Ugh. Jason feels guilty now that he hadn’t offered it sooner. 

“You’re… you’re welcome.” Now he feels even more stupid. 

He’s seriously considering making his escape now that he’s said what he wanted to, but his hesitation stalls him long enough for Leonardo to start speaking again. 

He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the floor rather than Jason. “I sort of thought you were here to kick us out.”

That makes Jason raise a brow. “Me? Kick you out?” Leonardo nods sheepishly. “Why?” 

Jason doesn’t get an answer, so he’s left to puzzle over what exactly could’ve made Leonardo think that. He thinks back to the conversation in the lounge, mentally ticking through to find some sort of explanation, and—

He heaves a sigh. “Look, kid. I can’t answer for the others, but I’m not here to condemn you over what you’ve done. That’d make me a pretty big hypocrite.” Jason watches how Leonardo lifts his head in surprise, watches it ripple across his face. He smiles wryly, just a bit, as it’s replaced with recognition. 

“Oh. Right…” Leonardo does his best (and fails) to not look uncomfortable with the sudden reminder that Jason had once been considered one of Gotham’s Rogue Gallery. Still is, depending on who you ask. A bag full of heads and a hostile Crime Alley takeover does not an innocent man make. Even if he’s calmed down some, he’s still considered a crime lord by most. 

“Yeah,” he agrees with Leonardo’s sentiment. He sits back in his chair, hiding a grimace as his knee twinges when he tries to adjust it. (Don’t cross one leg over the other, noted.) “I don’t know the circumstances, kid, and I’m not gonna ask.” Despite looking a bit more uncomfortable now, Leonardo nods in relief. So, Jason thinks he made a good choice. 

“Thanks, Jason. Really.” Jason is… hm. He isn’t sure what to do with this sudden gratitude coming from Leonardo. Acting like he did some huge thing, when all he really did was tell the kid to try some yoga. 

“Don’t mention it.” Eager to get out of this weird feeling, Jason stands to leave. His bad knee twinges, still aching from his poor decision to sit how he usually does, and he does his best to not limp his way to the door. 

He gets within inches of it, when he hears the kid mumble something. 

“What?” He turns and asks. Leonardo glances over at him, acting shifty with fidgeting hands and eyes that won’t stick to one spot. 

“Um…” The kid looks as if he wants to say something, but he stops himself. Shaking his head, he waves it off. “Never mind.” 

Jason stares a couple seconds longer, but it doesn’t garner him a better answer so he leaves. He shuts the door behind him, and lets out a sigh. 

He got what he wanted across. Thank fuck. Now all they had to do was wait for Zatanna. 

Chapter Text

“And this was your grand idea?”

Leo pauses in pulling on Red Hood’s leather jacket, narrowing his eyes at Raph across the room. 

“Why’re you saying it like that?” 

“‘Cause your ‘genius’ plan has me dressing up in a freaking leotard!” Raph, short of stomping his foot like a child, complains at them as he stands awkwardly in Nightwing’s suit. The thing was skintight, with a geometric bird design on its front leading up to the shoulders and running down the arms in blue stripes.

Donnie, for his part, observes the bickering from his seat on a bench. He preoccupies himself with figuring out the laces on the combat boots Robin wears as he points out, “Technically, what you’re wearing is closer to a surf suit than a leotard. But even then, neither of those are this heavily armoured.” Raph hisses at him, not appreciating his commentary. 

“Shut it, shortie.” 

“Yes, this was my plan. Why, did you have a better one?” Leo’s tone is snippy as he fully shrugs on the jacket. The red crest of Batman sits on the Kevlar-weave turtleneck’s chest angrily, poking out underneath the unzipped jacket. 

Like a cranky child, Raph grumbles. “Anything is better than this.” He refuses to say anything on whether he could come up with a better plan. 

“It’ll work,” Donnie reassures with confidence. He manages to haphazardly tie one boot and switches to the other. “The distraction is set, and Mr. Wayne will be too busy figuring out what’s setting off the security alarms outside to notice we’re gone.” 

“Yeah.” Mikey pulls off the partial Red Robin cowl from his face for the nth time; the skin around his face is red with irritation thanks to the adhesive, and bits of the stuff are dried and flaking off. “Have some faith, dude.” He starts spreading more adhesive onto the mask. 

Leo heaves a bit of a sigh, looking over at Mikey. He makes a quick scan of the locker room, snagging a towel hanging off a rack and running it under the tap of a nearby basin. Making quick work, Leo gently scrubs at Mikey’s face, holding his chin still as the other grunts in annoyance. 

Out of the four of them, Mikey expresses the most joy in wearing the vigilante suit. He turned in circles after initially putting it on to grab at the black and red cape hanging off his shoulders. Of course, that was after struggling to get the suit on for several minutes. 

“I guess it’s nice that Mikey looks just as dorky as me,” Raph observes. He flexes his fingers and watches how to suit moves along with it. Over on the bench, Donnie mutters to the floor.

“Small mercies,” he mutters sassily. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, Raphael. Nothing.” 

“Well, I’m not sure how to clean this.” Leo holds up Red Robin’s cowl, staring at the slopped on adhesive with thinly veiled disgust. He holds it up to Raph when he approaches to get a better look. 

Raph places a hand on Leo’s shoulder, peering at it. “Can’t we just run it under water?” With a considering noise, Leo looks over at Donnie. 

“I don’t know, can we?” He asks. 

He’d just finished tying his other boot, giving up on making the long and thin laces look nice, so he stands to join them. One glance, and he hums a negative. 

“It wouldn’t be advisable. But we don’t have to worry about that.” He pats Raph’s shoulder and makes his exit out of the locker room, the other three close behind. Together, they make their way to the Party Wagon and load in, starting up the vehicle. 

Curious, Raph asks. “What’ve you got for us, Don?” Their purple brother lights up with an excited grin. He suddenly pulls out four domino masks, each a different colour: red, blue, purple, and orange. 

“I custom made us some of our own,” he admits smugly. He hands them out one by one, letting his brothers turn their mask over in their hands. 

Leo asks in a pleasant surprise, “When did you make these?” He turns the mask over to hold up to his face, glancing in the centre rearview mirror to check himself out. 

“Oh, you know, I had some time after setting up the distraction. Figured might as well.” He takes the spirit gum out of Mikey’s hands before another disaster can occur, taking his mask as well and just opting to apply it for him. Mikey’s hands grasp his wrists as he leans to press it on his face, lining it up carefully with his eyes. His little brother is still for a couple seconds, likely adjusting, but gives him a thumbs up in response to his inquisitive look. 

“Good work, Don.” Leo praises, and Donnie beams. 

“Yeah,” Raph agrees, pressing the mask onto his face. “I was beginning to miss red.“

“Everyone ready?” Leo asks once they’ve all had a minute to adjust to their masks. They all sound off their agreement, and he nods, shifting into first gear. “Then let’s go.” 

Gotham is a cacophony of noise. Cars and people and, worryingly, gunfire, assaulted them on all sides. The worst was across the bridge, where the poorer districts sat. They had to pass through in order to reach the city proper, the tunnel they took spitting them out into Otisburg. It wasn’t even the worst of the districts, but it was enough. 

The four of them returned to the Upper East Side to scope things out. Of course, the abandoned lab was a dead end, but there was still plenty to investigate within the district itself. 

“Should we split up?” Raph asks, looking out over the sprawling city landscape with the rest of them. It was a lot of ground to cover for just four; they would only be slowed down by sticking together. 

“I think we should get a lay of the land first.” Leo counters. “We don’t want to get in over our heads because we underestimate the city.” 

“Gotham has the worst crime rate in America, rivalled only by its sister city Blüdhaven.” With clear apprehension behind his words, Donnie eyes the city landscape like it’ll manifest and bite him without a second’s notice. In the distance, several cars honk angrily at each other. 

Raph scoffs. “This city’s got nothin’ on us. I mean, come on. What’s a criminal gonna do that’s any worse than mutating an entire city? Or summoning a literal demon?” With a hiss, Donnie smacks his arm. 

“Don’t tempt fate, idiot!” The red brother remains unfazed, holding his arms behind his head. 

“We beat all those easy peasy. This’ll be a cakewalk.” 

With a shake of his head, Leo continues to look out over the city. Things for them are rarely ever easy, and they can’t afford to underestimate a city known for its deranged megalomaniacs and bloodshed. The tides could turn against them in the blink of an eye. 

“We won’t split,” Leo asserts. “For now. Let’s get a handle on things first.” Though a certain brother grumbles, they agree easily. No solo missions. 

They take to the rooftops. Though they had been clumsy in their new bodies the last time they were out, all four brothers were starting to get a handle on how to operate. The missing weight of their shells was still jarring, but to adjust and adapt was a key component of their childhood they now shoulder comfortably. Mikey even lets out a whoop of delight as he flips in the air to the next building. 

“Hey, do you think we’ll meet that Joker guy?” On the next landing, Mikey asks a pressing question that’s been weighing on his mind. His brothers glance at him, but no one stops running. 

Donnie answers first. “Thankfully, no. The Joker is still locked up in Arkham Asylum.” His reply is confident, and when Leo glances at him questioningly, he admits a second later, “I checked.” 

“That’s too bad,” Raph muses. “I kinda wonder what would happen if I broke in his stupid, smug grin.” 

Ignoring his red brother’s violent musings, Leo asks, “why were you checking on the Joker, Donnie?” 

“Have you seen his kill count?!” Donnie replies incredulously. “I don’t want to get anywhere near that guy.” Leo becomes quiet with understanding, hopping over an A/C unit deftly. The Joker is incredibly dangerous, as is common knowledge. Even coming all the way from New York City, they knew this. He’d pulled one too many public stunts for them to not take notice. However, it wasn’t as though they ever thought they’d be close enough to risk running into him. A revitalized fear nestles in the leader’s chest. 

Considering Donnie’s words, Raph guesses. “Probably like, a couple hundred?”

“It’s laughable how wrong you are.” 

“Five hundred.”

“Not even close.”

“Ooh, ooh, are we placing bets? I bet seven-fifty.” 

“Okaylet’sstoptalkingaboutbodycounts.” His words come out in a breathless rush, jumping ahead to avoid his brothers scrutiny. Leo tucks and rolls on his next landing, forcing his lungs to take full gulps of air as restless energy crawls up his back and down his arms. Their feet scuff against the gravel as they come up to join him. 

A second’s pause is all they mean to take, but this move proves to be the right one as an alarm starts to wail just a few buildings down. All the brothers do is share silent glances, nodding at one another before heading towards the sound. 

They come to find a local business being broken into across the street. The storefront glass has been shattered entirely, and it allows them a plain view of the perpetrators climbing in to wreck havoc. A group of four, it seems like. 

“Just a simple B ‘n E,” Donnie muses, his arms crossed. He glances at Raph, who leans on his shoulder with an elbow. His grin is razor sharp. 

“Coupl’a small fry, should be no problem for us.“ He holds out a fist, which Donnie bumps. The genius matches Raph’s grin with one of his own. 

By the ledge, Mikey crouches, watching the scene across from them with hawk-like eyes. A restless energy simmers beneath the surface, threatening to fizz and burst like someone has taken a bottle of soda and shaken it. 

Leo observes it all on high. A couple of robbers were like child’s play. But he remains ever vigilant, all too aware that they weren’t at full capacity as they were now. 

“Let’s settle this quick.” His voice draws three pairs of eyes. “In and out, before any cops arrive. Nothing fancy.” His stoic expression cracks just a bit as Raph groans teasingly. 

“God, you’re such a buzzkill.” Even with the mask in the way, it’s easy to feel how Leo glowers in the other’s direction. Amidst it all, the alarm continues to wail. 

“Yeah well, at least I’m a buzzkill that’s still alive,” he shoots back sharply. The eyes on him now rankle, feeling a certain crackle in the air as his brothers stare at him. Leo stops himself from crossing his arms tightly over his chest, huffing as he reaches for his belt. “Let’s just go.” He pulls out his grapple gun and shoots a line, quickly leaving his brothers behind. And while they do share a glance between each other, communicating silently, they soon follow. 

The inside of the store is lined with racks upon racks of clothing. There’s a musty quality to the air, emanating from the clothing that surrounds you on all sides as soon as you enter the building. The brothers don’t even blink at the smell, stepping in through the window and carefully avoiding the strewn glass. Deeper inside, the burglars haven’t noticed them, busy tipping over clothing racks and taking baseball bats to the squat CRT televisions lining the walls. 

“Well they’ve certainly got a style,” Donnie’s murmur gets shrouded by the sound of breaking glass but they hear him all the same. Disgusted, Mikey shakes his head. 

“What a waste of some good TVs.” 

The group of intruders are chattering gleefully to each other, revelling in the chaos spreading around them. They continue to move around the store, looking for new things to smash and ruin. Leo sees this and silently raises his hand to signal instructions to his brothers. Scattered nods, and Mikey disappears down a far aisle towards the back of the store while Donnie hangs to the right. He and Raph approach head on, masking their footfalls in the echoes of destruction. 

They’re too busy turning the whole store upside down to even notice them. But sloppy, careless criminals make for quick work, and Leo knows better than to uselessly complain. 

Their shadows get swallowed by the shroud of the store moving further in. And yet, they still cut intimidating figures as they block the aisle completely from escape. 

“Now, I’m all one for smashing things,” Raph raises his voice to catch the attention of the crowd. The burglars whip around to look at him, freezing. “But this seems a little excessive.” Standing beside him, Leo uses Red Hood’s height to make them think twice about charging to attack. 

“Oh shit.”

“It’s the Bats!” 

The burglars begin to sweat bullets under their combined scrutiny, backing away as if Leo or Raph would snatch them at any moment. 

“Fuck this, I ain’t stayin’ for this shit.” One of the vandals hiss. They make a break for it, running off to reach the store’s back exit. Leo and Raph let them be, hearing them yelp in surprise not a minute later. 

They come back facing the wrong away, refusing to take their eyes off of Mikey as the youngest ninja herds them back to the centre with their friends. His nunchucks swing near-silently, the rattling of the chain links mixing with the whispy whistle of air being cut through again and again as they twirl. 

“Stay for the party, bro!” Mikey grins at the man with all teeth, predatory and angular. The person in the centre who keeps glaring at Raph pauses, turning to look over at Mikey in bewilderment. 

“Did Red Robin just call you ‘bro’?” 

A shout followed by a thump stops anyone from responding. Gazes draw to the right as another human trying to escape scrambles on their hands back out of an aisle. They stare, pale, as Donnie herds them back into the centre, his bo drawn and pointing. 

Boxed in, the two still standing start to get antsy. They can’t find a way out, not without going through one of the brothers. Leo catches the man holding the bat tightening his grip. 

“Why are there four of them?!” One of the runners privately freaks out. 

“What the fuck is going on?” The man with the bat demands. The criminals get backed against each other, surrounded by the brothers with only one way out. 

His friend leans in a little to tell him, “we must’ve found something big.“ He glances at them confused, and then considering. 

“Did we accidentally uncover a gold mine?” Hearing him, Leo immediately shuts that thought down. 

“No. We just think we work better as a team.” Four disbelieving looks are passed around between each other, making him sigh. 

Mikey’s runner warbles, “we didn’t do anything super bad! Just trashed the place!” Donnie’s runner elbows his friend from behind. 

“Chance, smashing up Josie’s store to get back at her is the definition of bad.” His friend - Chance - groans miserably. 

“I didn’t even want to do this! It was all Socks’ idea!” 

The person - presumably Socks - whips their head to glare at Chance. “Don’t you dare pin this on me. I would’ve been fine slashing her tires-”

“All of you shut the fuck up.” Bat Man snaps. No one listens. 

“- But noooo. We had to break into a perfectly good thrift store and wreck it. This is all Jordan’s fault.” Donnie’s runner sputters. 

“Me?!” 

Losing patience, Leo interrupts their squabbling. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. You guys still broke in and ruined the place.” With his arms crossed, he glares at the now silent group of friends. “All for, what? Petty revenge?” 

Chance raises his hand. “Is it petty to trash someone’s store because they overcharged your weed?” 

“Yes.” Everyone, Socks, Jordan, and Bat Man included, responds in loud unison. Chance wilts. 

No longer pointing his staff at the group, Donnie leans on it with a sigh. “Whatever the case may be, we can’t just let you go.” 

“Why not?” Jordan dares to ask, looking like a petulant child. The effect of Donnie’s eyebrow raise is slightly nullified by his mask, but the intent comes out the same. 

“Have you already forgotten the crime you committed?” With a glance around, his eyes lay on a clock on the wall. He muses, mostly to his brothers, “The police will be here soon.” The group of friends shift nervously. 

“Listen.” Bat Man calls their attention with a put-upon sigh. He still grips his bat tightly. “Let’s just forget this ever happened, yeah? We’ll get out of your hair, and we won’t do it again.” 

“We won’t?” Chance asks. 

“We won’t.” Bat Man confirms. 

Listening to them, it was clear their good intentions were about as shallow as a kiddie pool. They were just as likely to turn around and vandalize someone else’s place of business as they were to follow through on going straight. Leo squints his skepticism. 

“No?” The guy tuts. “Didn’t think so.”

Fast as a shot, the man swings his bat, narrowly missing Raph by a hair. The room breaks out in shouts as everyone startles, before shattering into chaos. 

Fists are flying and, in an effort to not chop anyone’s arm off (and make the world go red, red, red—), Leo forgoes his swords to engage in hand-to-hand. Socks comes at him armed only with their fists, but their sheer ferocity keeps him well on his toes. He throws his arms up in time to block several punches, taking advantage of a brief pause in between to reach out and grab them by the arm. Leo shoves his shoulder into their stomach, rolling them over his back to fall into a heap of clothing. 

Raph duck and weaves, avoiding getting absolutely brained by a baseball bat as he searches for an opening. Once or twice, he has to block with his forearms, and he can already feel the bruises beginning to form on the soft flesh. The Bat Man manages to hit everything in his immediate vicinity, not having as much control over his weapon as he probably likes. Sweat is already beginning to beat down his brow, and he huffs and puffs through a focused scowl. Raph, on the other hand, is still going strong.  

“What the hell are you holding?” Bat Man spits. “Forks?” He throws his whole body into another swing, which Raph dodges easily. 

He gives an incredulous scoff. “What kinda forks are you using?” His sais come together to block another attack, the grind of metal on metal grating on his ears. 

“Baby tridents, then.” Raph growls. 

“There’s nothin’ ‘baby’ about ‘em!” With a lunge, he grabs Bat Man by the middle and starts bum-rushing him to the wall. With his bat rendered useless, the man tries hitting him with elbows and fists. Though his back is merely flesh at the moment, it barely leaves any damage. 

He smacks Bat Man into the wall, hearing his head smack painfully against the plaster. The man goes limp in his arms, and he carefully lowers him to the ground. 

“Serves you right. My sais are awesome.” Raph grumbles, twirling his weapons in his hands. 

Over on the right of the store, Donnie and Jordan face each other in a standoff. Neither break their gaze, silently battling. 

Making a break for it, Jordan runs left—only to be blocked by a staff. He backtracks and runs right. But—same problem. The wooden staff moves in a blur, and he lets out a yelp as it smacks him in the stomach. Another blur, and he’s practically jumping in the air as wood smacks into his calves. No matter how he moves, he can’t seem to escape Donnie’s reach. 

Finally, Jordan goes down as he runs straight into the staff again—clotheslining him and sending him falling on his ass. He groans, flopping on his back in defeat, while Donnie watches over him. 

Over on Mikey’s end—

“Ice Cream Kitty sounds so cute! I wish I could show you mine, but, y’know…”

“Want me to grab it from your pocket?” 

“Oh, could you? I should also text my roommate that I’ll prolly be late tonight.” 

“Sure thing, man.” Mikey reaches around and fishes for Chance’s phone, pulling it out of his back pocket. Chance sits perfectly still, wrapped up in Mikey’s chains, perfectly content to sit out the fight while the others brawl around him. 

Mikey coos as soon as he turns it on. “Awww, is this him?” He holds the phone out to Chance, showing off the image of a calico cat laying with its belly up on the lock screen. With a grin, Chance nods. 

“That’s my boy Finks. Isn’t he awesome?” 

“Where did you come up with the name Finks?” Mikey pulls the phone back and starts tapping at it. With a hum, Chance twists to sit more comfortably. 

“It’s ‘cause he thinks real hard. But he doesn’t just Think, he Finks. Y’know?” He lights up when Mikey beams at him, flushing proudly. 

“That’s hilarious, dude! I love that.” His brows furrow as he holds up Chance’s phone. “Hey, what’s your password?” 

“Oh, it’s 1234.” 

“Cool, thanks.” Mikey fiddles with the phone some more, gasping as he unlocks it to see another photo of Finks. “Is he riding a skateboard?!”

“Yeah! My little man is so talented. He rides my roommates’ skateboard all the time.” Chance leans forward to look at the phone, grinning down at the homescreen as if seeing it for the first time. Holding out the phone, Mikey leans closer to let him see. 

“He’s gonna go pro for sure.” The vigilante taps open the phone’s messaging app, scrolling through a bunch of unread texts. “Which one’s your roomie?” 

“It’s the one with fire and alien emojis.” The chat opens to several pictures that look positively deep-fried, all sharing the same basic default ‘bottom text’ headers. Mikey snickers and opens up the keyboard, typing as Chance starts prompting him. 

The others are rounded up one by one, joining Chance tied up on the floor. All but one are conscious, though no less worse for wear. 

As Raph deposits Bat Man with the group, Jordan glances over his shoulder to check on him. 

“Is he okay?” Socks cranes their head to look Bat Man over, wincing at their own aches and pains. 

They assess, “he’s fine. I don’t see any blood.” The four ninja observe this interaction as they watch over them. 

Raph crosses his arms over his chest. “Your buddy’s gonna have a pretty nasty lump on his head, but he’ll be fine.” 

Socks turns a glare onto him. “And whose fault is that?” But Raph just shrugs, unrepentant. 

The sound of sirens approaching draws everyone’s attention. Red and blue flashing light starts to light up the street, and the four ninjas tense up. 

“That’s our cue,” Donnie announces. They all store away their weapons, ducking out the back door as a couple cops step in through the broken window. 

Skirting around the scene, the boys watch from above as the criminals get packed into police cruisers and shipped off. Two officers are called to watch over the store, warding off anyone thinking of taking advantage and robbing the place. Satisfied, the boys leave and continue further into the district. 

With no leads, all they can do is (strategically) wander. They stop a few more crimes as the night progresses, all met with the same bewildered reaction upon seeing four of Gotham’s vigilantes on the scene. Leo starts to get the sense that regular team ups are rare with this group; having witnessed the kinds of interactions that occur between people who are supposed to be family—awkward at best and volatile at worst—he’s inclined to believe it’s true. 

Leo stops with a sigh, peering over the edge of a warehouse to look down at the docks. They’d reached the edge of the district, and still no signs of those ninjas. Short of checking inside every single building, they’d looked everywhere. Checking his t-phone lets him know that it’s nearing one a.m., and they’d have to head back soon. 

“Well, now what?” Raph asks moodily as he stands off to the side. His arms are crossed over his chest, his foot tapping impatiently. “We’ve been out for hours and so far turned up squat.” 

The leader fingers the bridge of his nose. “I know, Raph.” He resists the urge to sigh again. Because he was keenly aware. 

Sensing a brewing argument, Donnie interjects. “We can spread out and search the other districts. I’ll even look into any possible online clues when we get back.” The red-masked brother snorts, his expression morphing into amusement. 

“Weren’t you afraid of Gotham like, five minutes ago?” 

The slight toss of his head indicates a rather large eyeroll hidden behind Donnie’s domino mask. “Thank you for the reminder, Raphael. But if we want to settle this quickly, we’ll all have to make some sacrifices. Enduring Gotham’s… everything, included.” 

“We have to assume they’re still in the city.” Leo asserts. “It’s only been a couple of days, and they probably had to move a lot of equipment. That kind of thing doesn’t just go unnoticed.” 

“Why don’t we ask around?” Mikey straightens under the three dismissive looks sent his way. “I’m serious! Isn’t being human, like, a major advantage? People won’t run screaming when they see us.” 

“…” The brothers contemplate this. It wasn’t even something they’d considered; even if they logically knew they were in human bodies, their minds still operated as mutants who’ve had to hide away their entire lives. 

“It…” Donnie’s expression is unsettled, anxiousness leaking into his tone. “It’s worth a try.” He looks to Leo for guidance, finding his brother contemplating it just as hard. 

“We’ll discuss it on the way back,” Leo decides, settling on neutral. “Either way, it’s not happening tonight.”

“What’s not happening tonight?” 

Three out of the four of them freeze. Mikey frowns, replying, “dude, weren’t you listening?” Before he, too, freezes in realization. 

The brothers all slowly turn towards the new voice, hands inching towards their weapons as they look towards the edge of the warehouse rooftop. Standing there, a figure cloaked entirely in purple watches them, hands on their hips. 

Cheerfully, the masked individual chirps, “hey, guys! You miss me?” 

Chapter Text

The four brothers blink owlishly at the purple-clad stranger, who stands tall and confident well a way’s across the rooftop. A mask entirely covers their face, concealing their expression from sight, while the rest of their suit covers every inch of their body. With not a sliver of skin in sight, one could almost believe they weren’t human at all. 

First to recover, Leo clears his throat. “Yeah. We weren’t… sure when we’d see you again.” He answers stiltedly, trying desperately to remember how Jason acts. 

The purple stranger scoffs. “Come on, you know nothing can keep me down for long.” Their voice comes out vaguely mechanized as they speak. It makes their scoff sound more like a blitz of static, but the intent is the same. 

They continue, “Besides, I’ve been itching to get back out there and kick some butt.” Ignoring their stiff postures, the stranger sidles up beside Mikey, leaning an arm on his shoulder. “So? You guys working on a new case?” The brothers side eye each other for help, at a loss of what to do or say. Their most confident brother, however, isn’t held back for long.

“Yes, actually,” Mikey replies calmly. The other three startle at his confession. “Have you seen any ninjas around lately?” His tone of voice has entirely shifted, replacing loose inflection for something much more rigid and formal. His brothers only barely hide their shock, realizing he now sounds incredibly like Tim. 

“Ninjas? Hmm…” The purple stranger rubs their masked chin thoughtfully. “Not with my own two eyes.“

“Mi—um… Red Robin.” Leo stutters, sweating. “They wouldn’t have seen anything, since they’ve been… out of the field.” It’s a guess, but it seems to be the right one when the stranger doesn’t refute it. 

“Why?” They ask, “there some trouble?” 

“It’s being handled,” Donnie assures calmly, not liking how interested they sound. He begins to sweat under their beady, white-lensed gaze, tilting their head subtly when they look at him. 

But it’s off him on the next beat, crossing their arms over their chest with a shrug. “That’s fine. I’ll catch up on the case file in the cave once I get the chance.” 

“It’s a new case,” Leo says quickly. “There isn’t a file on it yet.” 

They hum. “Really?” 

“Really,” Raph agrees gruffly. 

“Hmmm.” The purple stranger takes decisive steps forward, peering up at Raph to stare him down. The red-clad brother leans back ever so slightly at the unnerving, unblinking eyes of the mask. 

“Something about you is different.” They go on to say. 

Raph suppresses a grimace, biting back a snappy retort. Instead, a smile stretches on his face, the corner twitching uncomfortably as he attempts to emulate Dick. “I’m the same as always.”

The stranger snorts a laugh barely three seconds later, the sound coming out staticky. They step back and give him some space. “Whatever. Where’s Batman?” 

No answer is forthcoming from the brothers, and they begin to sweat as the stranger clad in purple looks between the four of them curiously. There wasn't anything they could say, nothing that wouldn’t seem at least a little bit suspicious. 

“Wait, don’t tell me…” Donnie and Mikey shift nervously on the spot, watching as the stranger points to all of them. “You four are keeping this case from him?” Despite them trying to look it, they don’t seem all that shocked. The note of surprise in their voice comes out… strange. 

They laugh. “Well, now I’m curious. A case you don’t want Batman to know about, involving ninjas in Gotham. And you’re asking me for leads, which means you really must be lost on what to do.” There’s no mistaking the grin in their voice. They’re searching for some sort of reaction as they rest their hands on their hips. “That’s hilarious.” 

Leo interjects. “We just want to figure it out ourselves—”

“Oh of course, of course.” They accept easily, waving him off. “We’ve all done it. I guess I’m just surprised.” 

Donnie swallows, his curiosity getting the better of him as being the one to ask, “surprised about… what?”  

“That you’re involved at all, Hood.” They look at Leo. “What, had a sudden change of heart?”

Leo is a bit taken aback by the amount of mockery leaking into their voice, aimed at him no less. Unlike with Raph and Mikey, they keep a fair distance from him. Given what he’d learned just today about Jason, he immediately understands why. 

He scrambles for a suitable answer. But they don’t allow him time to give one. 

“It’s just, I happen to recall that you declared whatever happened outside the Alley was none of your business. Unless it was, like, a crisis of some sort.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he decides to try something. “It’s your fault for believing me.”

“…Hah!” The stranger’s barked laughter comes out of the blue, like it was startled out of them. 

But then they’re pulling something from their belt, revealing it to be a three section staff that they seem all too familiar with. With a snap, they straighten it out in their hands. “I almost don’t want to beat the shit out of you.” 

Leo curses inwardly, reaching for his weapons as his brothers do the same. He’d thought they were an ally of the Bats, but maybe he’d judged wrong…? His brothers are just as taken off guard, aside from Raph who hadn’t relaxed even a fraction. The air is fraught with danger as they stand off against the stranger.

“Spoiler.” 

Everyone on the rooftop stops, glancing to the side to find Batman on its edge. And while the brothers are surprised to find him there, the stranger - Spoiler - notably is not. In fact, they seem relieved. 

“About time you got here,” they jeer, readjusting their grip on their staff. “Help me out with these guys.”

Batman strides forward, stepping between the brothers and Spoiler despite their raised weapons. His wide frame blocks them from seeing each other, with his unwavering back turned to the turtles. 

“There’s been a complication.” He informs the vigilante seriously in a low baritone, but providing no more. It seems to be all he’s giving them. 

“Complication…?” They trail off thoughtfully, suspicion suddenly in their voice. 

“…”

“…Shit! You knew!” There’s a dull thud, like a boot kicking a shin, as they swear vehemently. “You fucking knew they were imposters and, like a dick, kept it to yourself!” Batman says nothing in response, simply letting the vigilante tell him off. The brothers, however, are reeling from this new information.  

“You knew?” Donnie asks in a concerned, high voice. From around Batman, Spoiler pokes their head out to see them. 

“Of course I knew! I’m not blind!” They return their attention back to Batman once more, staring holes into his face as they simmer. “So, who are they?” There’s a hesitant silence from Batman before he replies. 

“They’re guests.”

“Guests?” They parrot incredulously. “Like, guests-guests? Shit, and none of you were gonna tell me.”

“You’re still on medical—”

“I can walk around just fine, so spare me the lecture.” Batman doesn’t continue. Perhaps disagreeing, though his truly feelings remain unknown. “Would it kill any of you to send a ‘hey this weird thing happened’ when stuff like this happens?”

“Stuff… like… this?” Mikey asks wonderingly. 

“Bodyswapping, mind control, amnesia, all that mental stuff.” Spoiler answers matter-of-fact, to Mikey’s curiosity. Hearing such a casual explanation of a crazy thing from someone else felt a bit like he was seeing a three-headed unicorn with gills. 

“Cool,” he says to no one in particular. 

“…” Batman still doesn’t speak, seeming to silently stare at the vigilante. From that, Spoiler seems to understand it as a response, and retorts snappily. 

“Don’t even try to give me that excuse. It’s not gonna work. You should’ve done it immediately, and I am not going to let this go for the next six months.” 

Confused by the weird telepathy the two’ve got going on, the four of them can only watch. It must be a Bat thing to understand the man’s silences and stares, because all it seems like to them is he’s doing his best imitation of a stone wall. 

That is, until they try to quietly make a break for it. He barely turns in their direction, looking over his shoulder as he orders them to, “Stay.” They all jump, stopping mid-step in their escape. 

“Dudes, I think he might have eyes in the back of his head.” Mikey whispers to his brothers as he eyeballs Batman warily. His brothers don’t verbally respond, but they watch the man just as cautiously. 

Spoiler snorts. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to escape his notice.” The ‘believe me, I’ve tried,’ is very much implied at the end there. Now with a new target for his ire, Raph narrows his eyes at the purple vigilante and points. 

“Who are you really, anyway? How come we haven’t seen you before?” 

Sidestepping Batman, Spoiler presses a hand to their chest and informs Raph, “I’m the coolest vigilante currently in Gotham and, unlike the rest of them, I actually have a life outside the cape. That’s why you haven’t seen me around.” 

Turning fully, you could almost hear a note of amusement as Batman interjects. “Spoiler has also been recovering from an injury, so she’s been on bedrest.” 

She waves a flippant hand at him. “Not important. I want to know about you guys.” 

Batman interrupts Mikey just as he opens his mouth. “That can be discussed back at the cave.”

“Seriously?” Asks an exasperated Donnie, but Batman seems completely serious. 

“You never know who could be listening,” he reasons. 

Sighing, Leo barely attempts to hide his annoyance. “We were heading back anyway.” Without a proper reason to argue, they have no choice but to agree.

“Cool,” Spoiler chirps. “One of you’s gonna have to go in the trunk.” 

“Ooh ooh! Me!” Mikey raises his hand excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to ride in the trunk. Second best shotgun.” The purple-clad vigilante tilts her head curiously. 

“What’s first?”

“Top of the car. Duh.”

“No one is riding in the trunk.” Donnie shuts that idea down quickly, much to Mikey’s disappointment. 

“Aw…” 

Leo pats his baby brother’s shoulder and looks to Spoiler. “We have our own ride.” Then, as if thinking of something, he smiles, turning his attention to Mikey. “But maybe if you ask him nicely, Mikey, you’ll get to ride in the Batmobile.” 

Brightening, Mikey slowly turns to stare at Batman with a beaming smile. He starts to vibrate excitedly on the spot, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Hm,” Batman grunts knowingly. He sees what Leo’s doing. But perhaps he too isn’t impervious to Mikey, as he tells him a second later, “No pushing buttons.” 

Short of squealing loud enough to break the sound barrier, Mikey expresses his excitement with a couple of punches to the air before he skips over to Batman’s side. And after a nudge from Leo, Donnie soon follows - albeit at a normal pace. 

“I’ll stop him from pushing anything,” is what he says in response to Batman’s stare boring into him.

Rather than nod, Batman, with a sweep of his cape, hops over the ledge of the rooftop to descend onto the street below. The thwi-snick of a grappling gun being deployed is heard before his shadow can be seen soaring through the air. Spoiler looks at the four of them and gives a friendly wave, before following after Batman into the night. 

Donnie and Mikey glance at each other then look back at Leo. Nothing verbal is exchanged; they don’t need to. All they do is nod firmly between each other, and the younger two brothers are off to follow the two Bats. 

“Think it’ll be fine?” Raph asks after a moment spent in silence. He checks on Leo, who seems to be contemplating something. 

All he says is, “they’ll take care of it.” 

“So, you and Mondo Gecko beat Fishface in the race?”

“Yeah! And—“

Donnie isn’t sure what exactly Leo wanted him to do other than stop Mikey from divulging their plans, but this seems like something he should probably intervene with. Unfortunately, Mikey couldn’t care less about any of his shushing. 

“—it was so totally awesome, you shoulda seen it.” 

“I really, really wish I did,” Spoiler tells him mournfully. “You and Timmy should race, see who’s the fastest.”

“He skateboards?!” Donnie has to pull Mikey back into sitting down when he suddenly launches forward and clutches the headrest of Spoiler’s seat to peer at her. He can hear the grin in her voice as she responds. 

“He’s even been in some competitions.” 

“That’s awesome! Yo Donnie, d’you think Leo would let me enter a competition??” Even in the near dark of the Batmobile’s interior as it drives underground, Donnie can still see the hope on Mikey’s face clear as day. It leaves a bit of a sour taste in his mouth, though he can’t really articulate why. 

He hopes Mikey can’t see the doubt likely plainly plastered on his face. “I don’t know, Mikey…” Spoiler pokes her head out from the passenger seat. 

“Who says everything has to go through Leo?” She challenges defiantly. Which shouldn’t really matter, except when you suggest such a thing to the most impressionable of all of them…

“…Well, uh—”

“Leo is the decision maker, which means everything has to be run by him,” Donnie states firmly. It’s just the way things are, even if Leo is sometimes less than level-headed. 

But Spoiler doesn’t seem to want to let it go. “But what makes him more qualified than the rest of you?” She asks. “You said you guys started off as turtles, so even if Leo hatched first, he’s only oldest by, like, a couple of minutes at most. So it’s not about age. What is it?” 

“He’s just—” He stutters. “He’s the leader. That’s what he does.” 

“But who decided that? Who decided he should be leader?”

Donnie’s heart stutters, thinking about Splinter. It feels like several lifetimes have passed since he first elected Leo as leader; so much so that the memories are fuzzy. But the grief that comes with remembering is still like a fresh wound. 

“Spoiler.” Batman, who has otherwise remained silent during the drive back, warns her calmly. 

“I’m not trying to be a bitch,” Spoiler defends strongly. “I just want to understand.” 

“It’s okay,” Mikey says, even though it definitely isn’t. “Our dad made him leader. It means a lot to him, so he takes it super seriously.” 

“Huh. Okay.” Apparently not having more to add, Spoiler turns to look out her window. 

Donnie has a hard time believing that she has no follow-up questions. But maybe she’s electing not to ask any more because she can tell it’s a sensitive subject. 

“Why not just enter a competition posing as Timmy?“

Or maybe not. 

They arrive back at the cave before Leo and Raph. Batman asks them to stay (well, more like tells) just as Donnie was about to herd his baby brother to the change rooms. 

So here they all stand, still dressed in costume. 

Spoiler takes the opportunity and safety of the cave, though, to lower her hood and take off her mask. Whatever he was expecting, it pales in comparison to the real thing. 

With frizzy blonde hair tightly braided back and clusters of freckles on her face, Donnie has to admit that Spoiler is incredibly pretty. Her smile is confident and her eyes sparkle as she looks at them for the first time without the mask. 

“I’m Stephanie, by the way. But don’t bother with that, just call me Steph.” 

“Okay, Steph,” Donnie replies, trying not to stutter. “Well, you already learned our names, so…” He mentally kicks himself for sounding so lame. But Steph either doesn’t mind or doesn’t care, seeing as she holds out her gloved hand for him to shake. Donnie does so nervously. 

“Sure did, Donnie boy.” He can’t help but flush. Does she get comfortable with people really quickly? How was he supposed to handle this? 

He gets jostled by his brother as he reaches to shake her hand as well. “You’re cool,” Mikey blurts, much to Donnie’s mortification. But Steph just laughs. 

“Thanks.” 

About five minutes later, the Party Wagon pulls in to the Batcave. The car doors slam shut as Leo and Raph exit, and the two walk over to join them. 

Steph holds her mask under her arm, turning as they walk over. “Hey, the name’s Steph. Leo and Raph, right?” Leo slows in his walk, seeming a little off-put by the introduction. But he takes it in stride, reaching out to shake her hand. 

“Yeah.” He studies her pensively, taking in her features. Even when she shakes hands with Raph, he’s still watching her. 

She grins as if something amuses her. “I like the colourful masks. They really do not compliment the suits at all.” Donnie tries not to take it personally; but it’s their signature colours! He couldn’t just go with plain black like the other ones. That would be like, like, putting vegetables in a fruit drawer in the fridge. 

He can’t help himself, so he explains, “they’re the colour of our usual masks. Most people can’t tell us apart without them.” Listening to him, she considers this with a tilt of her head. 

“Hmm. So you guys are identical?” He shakes his head a little. 

“Not really.” 

Raph feels the need to say, “humans are just too stupid to tell the difference.” Feeling an incredible heap of second-hand embarrassment, Donnie facepalms and sighs. 

To his surprise, Steph grins sharply. “You including yourself in that too? You’re human just like the rest of us, now.” Donnie’s hotheaded brother bristles.

“I’m still a turtle in every way that matters.” The domino mask crinkles as he scowls at Stephanie. Donnie can sense animosity crackling in the air between them, and just feels incredibly exhausted. 

Batman walks up near-silently, in such a purposeful way that Donnie recognizes he’s deliberately making his presence known. His cowl is missing, leaving his black hair slightly mussed and hanging down onto his forehead. 

Everyone looks in his direction with mixed reactions. His brothers all close off a little bit upon laying eyes on him, and Donnie is not exempt from this. He has a few theories as to how the man is continually finding them as they were out and about. Steph, however, regards him completely calmly. 

Tension is rapidly rising, with nobody uttering even a word to break the silence. 

“You deliberately disobeyed my orders.” It’s Leo who’s bristling now, puffing up like a dragon when you encroach on its horde. 

“What orders?” He retorts. “All you said was to not risk your secret identities. Which we didn’t. We took precautions, and we dressed up as you all would. No one’s identity has been compromised.” 

Either not having a retort for that, or not bothering to respond to it, Batman moves to another issue. “You four aren’t trained for Gotham, and haven’t been vetted by me. You could get yourself, or others, killed with these careless actions.” They all react with varying levels of incredulity, Donnie scoffing a laugh.

“Vetted?” He asks. “This isn’t a job, and we’re not your employees.” Donnie is halfway between a smile and a scowl.

“What do you think we’re doing out there, fighting for fun?” Leo goes on to ask, a certain intensity in his voice. For his part, Raph is no help.

“Yeah, hold on, guys, I’ll be right back. I think I forgot to punch a couple more babies.” 

Mikey adds on, then, “You kinda do know us, though. You know who we trained with and stuff.” 

“Exactly,” Leo affirms. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“…” The man doesn’t grace that with a response. He continues to stare with his square jaw set, stewing in his thoughts. Donnie tries to think of what could possibly make him so incredibly distrustful of them. 

For the first time since the conversation started, Steph interjects. “He wouldn’t dare believe something unless he’s confirmed for himself it’s true.” 

“It’s a necessary precaution in this line of work.” 

“Yeah, but you seriously overdo it, B.”

“…” Once again, silence. And his silence is the type where you just don’t know what they could be thinking. Even with his face plain to see, Donnie couldn’t tell. When the purple-masked brother glances around at the others, he catches Steph’s eye. She proceeds to shake her head, point to Batman secretively, and mouth ‘control freak.’

Leo stresses strongly, “I— we —protect people just like you do.” He silently implores Batman to understand, a test of patience Donnie can see starting to weigh on his shoulders. “We’re not about to suddenly turn evil and kill people.” 

The air itself pauses the moment those words are uttered. Something clicks into place then, just from having Leo say it out loud. Raph, Mikey, Steph, and—hell, Donnie too, stiffen. Leo, though, seems to almost go slack with realization. 

“…That’s what it is.” It isn’t a question. He knows. 

A sick, heavy feeling settles in the pit of Donnie’s gut. 

Mr. Wayne’s mouth twists downwards. His voice comes out quiet but intense, the sound gravelly. “… Leonardo, to take someone’s life, is to disregard life entirely. It is an action you can never take back—”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!” The shout bursts out of Leo. Possibly louder than Donnie’s ever heard him, which is why they flinch at the outburst. His fists clench at his sides, shaking with the force of it. “Do you think I didn’t consider what it meant to take a life?”

Batman remains silent, so Leo continues on, ranting vehemently. 

“But I did it! I killed him, and I don’t feel sorry that he’s gone. It’s not like I can take it back. But even if I could, I wouldn’t, because in the end, it would have been my brothers he went after. I made the decision so he couldn’t, ever again.” His chest heaves with every breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he bares his teeth like a caged animal. “So don’t you dare talk to me about actions and consequences.” 

The intensity is bubbling over, leaking out in a confusing but undeniably angry mess. Donnie’s never seen Leo this angry, not even from the corrupting force that drove the Aeons mad.

The air is stifling. No one seems to know exactly what to say, not after a response like that. Donnie didn’t… he hadn’t ever really considered Leo’s thoughts on defeating the Shredder. Yes, the consensus had been they needed to defeat Shredder for the greater good. And yes, it had largely been about avenging their father. But they’d gone there intending to turn him back from the mutantized monster he’d become. It was only when the retromutagen didn’t work, and he’d isolated Leo on the roof of the burning building, that they knew there was only one way out. 

Now that he thinks about it, Leo had been the one to propose going after Shredder. Granted, none of them had disagreed in the slightest. They’d all been chomping at the bit for revenge. 

Had Leo intended to kill Super Shredder all along? 

“Get off your high horse, Batfreak.” Raph’s snappy retort pulls him out of his spiralling thoughts. “It’s real easy to judge us when you haven’t lived it.” Predictably, he isn’t all that pleased with Batman. Less so now that he’s called their integrity into question and upset Leo. And if there’s anything Raph hates, it’s those exact two things. Donnie can’t say he’s too pleased either. Even with all the confusing behaviour Leo was exhibiting. 

“And stop following us,” he adds, because they hadn’t even addressed that yet. The other night, he hadn’t been sure just how Mr. Wayne had found them. He’d chalked it up to the man being in the right place at the right time to notice they’d left, but now he was finding them regardless of distractions. Now he’s suspecting the man’s tracking them, somehow. 

Nobody tracks Donnie and gets away with it. He wants to play with tech? Donnie can, too. 

Mikey remains silent, but that by no means indicates he doesn’t care. He’s taken off his mask by now, and Donnie watches how he looks upon Mr. Wayne icily. No jokes, no sly jabs. Just silent resentment. That, perhaps, is the most dangerous. 

Without another word, Leo turns on his heel and stalks towards the change rooms. He, Raph and Mikey are quick to follow, casting similar irritable glances back. Just before he can step through, though, Batman tells them one more time,

“No more sneaking out. You all need to stay inside.” 

Leo scoffs. He shoves the door open and steps through. 

Bruce and Stephanie watch the angered teens go to change, 

“Have I ever told you you have a knack for pissing people off?” She shifts her headgear further under her arm, not even looking at him as she says so. Bruce hums. 

“No, but you would not be the first.” He does not even miss a beat when he next asks, “How much did you hear?”

“All of it. They’re looking for a group of ninjas,” she tells him, emphasizing the word with great importance. Bruce does well at hiding his feelings on the matter, but his understanding is palpable. Steph continues. “Something about having too heavy equipment so they must still be in Gotham. But get this: they were planning to ‘ask around.’ Like asking your neighbour for a cup of sugar.” She grins, incredibly amused.  

Completely ignoring her joke, “I’ll look into it. Can you—”

“Write a report, yeah yeah. Big whoop.” Steph waves him off, setting her stuff on the desk and slipping into the rolling chair with a sigh. 

“I’m also telling Alfred you broke bedrest.” 

“Asshole.” She says it completely deadpan. “I was a couple days away anyway. I’m basically better now.”

“Then you can explain that to him.” She flips him off without even looking his way. As she begins to write her report, Bruce looks towards the change rooms where he can faintly hear agitated voices. He looks a bit mournful but quickly wipes the expression away for placidity as he turns and walks away. 

Chapter Text

There Tim is, minding his own business, when he hears vehement whispers coming from within the den. Three familiar voices, and one that sends him straight into a canyon of uncanny. As expected he finds their guests, huddling around each other and discussing something with great distress. 

Try as he might, he can’t make out what they’re saying. So he steps through the doorway with an unassuming smile. 

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” They whip around to look at them, fast enough that he hears someone’s neck crack. 

He hears someone say “Nothing” just as Mikey runs up to grip him by the shoulders, shouting, “Timbot, we need your help! Something’s wrong!!” 

He skips over the strange nickname after thinking ‘that’s weird’ to calmly pull Mikey’s hands away and ask, “What is it?” Could there be a delayed reaction to the spell? Was there some danger he didn’t know about? Is—

“You’re going bald!” Mikey wails, utterly distraught. Tim can only blink. 

“I’m going bald?” If he could, he’d look at the top of his currently bald head. For now, he only raises his brow. 

“Yes! look!” He watches Mikey abruptly comb his fingers through his hair, loose and hanging down his shoulders while looking slightly wet, before pulling away, his hands now covered in dark strands. 

“Oh.” Tim stares blankly, processing. Then he stops himself from bursting out laughing like he wants to, because that would be rude. But he can’t quite hold back a smile. 

“You’re going bald, bro!” Mikey sounds genuinely crushed. Poor kid. 

“It’s still a bit early for you to be experiencing significant hair loss, so it can still be remedied.” Donatello explains delicately, like he’s worried Tim will grow upset. “But it may be too late for Jason and Dick. I’m most concerned about Damian experiencing hair loss at such a young age. He should consider seeing a doctor.” He reaches up into his hair and comes back with shorter strands laying on his palms. There are fewer than Mikey, but they’re still there. 

“I thought this only happened to really old guys,” Raphael admits warily. He must be having the same experience as Mikey, what with Dick’s longer hair. “You know, like Mr. O’Neil.”

Tim mentally jots down this Mr. O’Neil on their list of the turtles’ allies. Meanwhile, Donatello continues his fairly educated speech on male pattern baldness. “Generally, you’ll start to see signs of androgenetic alopecia in a human male’s mid to late twenties. Treatments to slow down the process are also fairly effective.”

“Why didn’t Mr. O’Neil use any, then?” Leonardo asks curiously, his arms crossed against his chest. Frowning, Donatello seems to struggle with the answer.

“I can probably answer that,” Tim chimes in, garnering all eyes on him. “Most treatments are pretty expensive for your average person, even some of the cheaper ones.” He tacks on, just because they seem confused as to how he knows that, “my father tried some different treatments a while back.”

He sees Raphael’s eyebrows raise in surprise and maybe… delight? “Wayne is going bald?”

“No, not Bruce.” Tim corrects, already regretting bringing it up. He watches Raphael’s expression drop a bit. 

“Oh.” 

“But you guys don’t need to worry,” he swiftly moves back to the topic at hand, “This is completely normal.” They all frown at him, surprised and dubious in equal measure, so he smiles reassuringly. 

“This… is normal?” Donatello gestures to the mess that is Mikey’s hands, still held out for Tim to see and riddled with long, black strands of hair. 

“Yeah. Humans naturally shed old hair over time. It’s a part of the growth cycle, so old hair makes way for new hair. That’s why you’ll also see hair get stuck in hair brushes.” The more he explains, the less distressed they become. Raphael nods in understanding, rubbing his chin. 

“So humans are like dogs.” The bluntness, and seriousness, of this observation Tim finds utterly fascinating. He finds a renewed interest in asking all the questions he’d been told to hold back on, about the logistics of being anthropomorphic reptiles. Maybe now would be a good time, considering there’s such an easy segue?  

“Not how I would put it, but yeah there are similarities. We’re both mammals after all.” Donatello’s nodding, brows furrowed in deep thought as he absorbs this clearly new information. He chances to ask, unable to help himself, “so you guys don’t have any hair?” 

“Scales only, baby!” Mikey declares proudly. Shaking his head, Donatello looks vaguely disturbed. 

“I shudder to think how hair growth would look like with scales. It’s not exactly as porous as human skin.” 

“I’d rather not look like an ape, thanks.” Raphael rejects the idea outright, arms crossed over his chest. 

“So I’m guessing you guys don’t get acne.” What a dream that would be, to be acne-less. Tim is fairly lucky in that department, but his skin’s not without the occasional breakout.

Strangely, they look between each other like they’re thinking of something. Specifically, their eyes land on Mikey, who pouts silently to himself. Tim raises his brow, his interest piqued. 

“No, we do,” Donatello finally answers. He looks like he’s between an eye roll and a fond smirk. 

Curious! And a bit horrifying. Did their scales lift? Was it painful? Scratch that, it probably was. But if you popped it, would it leave a scar? They already had all kinds of scars littering their skin—scales?—so it wasn’t out of the question. 

“Interesting,” he says instead. “I wonder what things are different and what are the same between us.” Hadn’t they said they’ve got human DNA? So some processes still apply to them. But what?

Raphael juts his thumb in Donatello’s direction. “He’s the brainiac, so he can probably answer any questions you’ve got.” He looks at the boy just as he sighs, but doesn’t deny it. 

“What do you want to know?”

They get to talking about all the differences between humans and turtle mutants, like if they sweat (“we don’t”) or if they still have a third eyelid (“we do”). Apparently they aren’t quite as affected by the cold as regular turtles, but it does make them drowsy. 

Apparently his brothers couldn’t care less. They leave him and Donatello to their back and forth to play games on Mikey’s phone. He’d still like to get a closer look at those. They seem special-made, with the turtle theming and all, and even though they’re pretty chunky they seem to work really well. That’s probably something Donatello made as well. 

“What are you doing with this, exactly?” His attention is pulled back from the turtle phones to the suddenly shrewd stare from his conversation partner. It’s a look he knows all too well coming from Damian; that being skepticism. 

“How do you mean?” He asks, covering his caution with ignorance. It doesn’t seem to work. 

“Will you be putting what I tell you into files of us on your computer?” Tim is silent, unable to deny it outright. Which is basically confirmation. “I know the answers. I’m my family’s healthcare provider, so I know all of this stuff. But anything beyond surface level, I don’t just give that out. And I don’t know what you’ll end up doing with it.”

“It’s not malicious,” he tries to explain, tucking away that saddening but unfortunately not surprising tidbit of information. ‘Healthcare provider.’ Just how much did this kid do? “I’m genuinely curious. Considering you guys were created from a process we’ve never even heard of, we just want to know.”

Donatello leans in a bit, looking him dead in the eye, “Tim, at the risk of sounding cliche, that’s what they all say. It always starts out as curiosity. Then it’s blood tests. Then it’s brain scans. Then, before you know it, you’re cutting us open ‘just to see what our insides look like.’” He raises his hands to make quotation marks, sounding as blasé as possible, while Tim starts to feel a little ill. For too many reasons (don’t think about it, just don’t). Donatello leans back in his seat, resting his hands on his lap as he continues to watch Tim with a scrutinizing eye. “We’ve heard it all. And, as a man of science, I can understand and appreciate your curiosity, but I have to draw the line.“

He really had just wanted to learn more, but he can’t deny the fact that he had planned to add it to their files. They knew so little about them. The revelation from yesterday proved as much. 

“And, for the record, even if you guys didn’t intend to use the information maliciously, someone else could and would. Anyone with good enough hacking skills could gain access to this private information.”

He straightens up then, feeling a bit defensive. “Our database is secure. Oracle made it.” 

“And you trust Oracle?” 

“With my life.” 

“So you’d stake your life on the claim that it’s 100%, totally, completely impenetrable.” 

Tim opens his mouth… and then says nothing. He hates that he does. And he hates that he can’t back up Oracle like he should. But even Babs herself says that no system is without its flaws; she is no exception. Even with her constant work, always trying to improve and refine the network, there is always that 0.000001%. And that’s what stops Tim from responding. 

“That’s what I thought,” Donatello replies to his lack of answer. It doesn’t even sound smug, just knowing.

“We do have safeties in place. Passwords within passwords,” he defends, which Donatello concedes. 

“I can tell you guys know what you’re doing. But you don’t know what you’re doing with our information, and I can’t just look past that.” 

“I get it,” he assures, meaning it. They have their secret identities to think about with every decision they make. These guys may not live double lives, but they have just as much at stake. 

What he had wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Bruce, but hopefully the others could get more out of them. For now, with Donatello, he feels he’s met a wall. 

He should move on to something lighthearted. “So how good are you at games?”

Donatello blinks. “What?” 

“Mikey tells me that no one’s ever beaten him at Krazy Kart. So are you just not good at it, or…?” He grins as Donatello huffs, looking a bit put out.

“Okay, for the record, the reason no one’s beaten him at Krazy Kart is because he dedicated a whole summer to refining his ‘skills’ and therefore knows all the exploits. That’s not the only game we own.” Tim is a little mystified watching Donatello make a sullen face, because this is probably the only time he’ll ever see Damian even close to a pout. It’s a bit like seeing a unicorn. 

“So you guys all play games?” He hedges, to which the other shrugs. 

“Yeah, for the most part.” 

“Great!” He stands abruptly, raising his volume to catch the others’ attention. “I challenge you guys to a Brawl League Ultima tournament.” It proves incredibly effective, as the three brothers not paying attention whip their heads up at the sudden challenge. He grins as he catches their eye, noticing a spark of challenge in them. 

“Ohhh, you’re on, Timster!”

“A tournament? Bring it.”

Leonardo grins a bit, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he seems to accept the challenge. 

As they’re all clamouring to get to the game room, Donatello informs him with dry amusement. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” To that, he just grins. They’ve heard of Brawl League, clearly, but Mikey had said they don’t own any modern consoles. He was going to completely own their faces with this game. 

Tim stares blankly at his character standing in second place. 

“I… I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Phew!” Leo sits back against the beanbag with a satisfied smile, setting down his controller. “That was a close one. Didn’t think I’d make it.” His brothers look equally a bit miffed, with a mix of downright flabbergasted on Mikey’s end. Still coming to terms with ending up in fourth, probably. 

“Leo…” Donnie draws Leo’s attention. “When was the last time you played a game that wasn’t Space Heroes pinball?” Leo seems to think on this question for a moment, scratching his cheek. 

“Oh, uh… I don’t know.” Inevitably, he just shrugs. “Awhile, I guess.” 

“And you’re not secretly entering Ultima tournaments?” Raph asks, sounding more than just a little bitter. Turns out mashing random buttons isn’t a viable strategy. 

“No?” Donnie gives a defeated sigh, even though he’d gotten third place. 

Really, the biggest shock for Tim is not winning. And now he’s learning that he lost against someone who rarely plays games (these days, he mentally tacks on; there’d been an implication that he used to).

Unable to help his curiosity, “What’s Space Heroes?” And Leo whips around to look at him like something startled him. Apparently, it was Tim. 

“What’s SPACE HEROES??” He near shouts, incredulous. All his brothers groan but he doesn’t seem to hear it, yanking out his phone to show Tim his Lock Screen wallpaper. “This is Captain Ryan, he’s the main character of Space Heroes. His ship is called the Dauntless—” Leo’s excitable chatter is a far, far cry from the stoic soldier he’d been putting forth all this time. Even the slightly more relaxed version from a minute ago had nothing on this one. He absorbed as much as possible, as Leo described to him the various crew members on the Dauntless and the various alien species that exist in the show’s universe. 

“Sounds interesting,” he says. “I should watch it some time.” It didn’t really sound like a show he’d enjoy, but it would be worth it if Leo opened up a bit more as a result. Then again, he doesn’t really watch that many shows, so what would he know? 

“If you value your eyeballs, don’t.” Raph intones. He’s hanging off the arm of the couch, his arms dangling in front of him. 

“It’s a show only a Leo could love.” Mikey says dreamily, but his grin is teasing. 

“Not true! There are plenty of Spaceniks out there,” protests Leo. It was a little funny, actually. Not too long ago, Jason had been just as vehement in defending that musical from that Stephen King novel. Same expression and everything. 

“Might as well try it.” And if he dislikes it, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

“Awesome!” Leo, and by extension Jason, is almost unrecognizable with the boyish excitement on his face. It makes Tim, who’s never really known that side of Jason, feel a little wrong-footed. Finally, he sort of understands what Bruce, Dick and Alfred constantly mourned after Jason’s death and eventual resurrection. 

As if summoned, Bruce pokes his head out from around the entryway. “Ah, Tim, there you are,” he says, as if he couldn’t have heard him and the others talking just a second ago. 

The temperature in the room drops severely the moment he pokes in. Where they were happily chatting and joking a second ago, is a series of stone-cold faces and frosty silence. Tim can see how Bruce sweeps his eyes over the five of them, assessing.

“Hey, B.” He greets for a sense of normalcy. “What’s up?” Something obviously happened. What, he didn’t know. But it was probably Bruce’s fault. 

Bruce stands in the doorway, his arms awkwardly at his sides as if he’s trying not to cross them or tuck his hands in his jean pockets. “I have some things I need you to clarify from your report yesterday.” 

What report? Yesterday? The only thing he’d done down in the cave yesterday was read the files on Oroku Saki, his clan, and the Hamato clan. So it must be something he can’t discuss in front of everyone. 

“Oh sure,” he answers easily. The others look at him when he half turns, and he smiles to reassure them. “You guys feel free to play whatever you want. I’ll be back in a bit.” He can feel eyes on his back as he goes, and their low voices as soon as he and Bruce are out of sight fade away piece by piece until it’s silent. 

“What were you up to?” Bruce eventually asks. It comes across like an interrogation, but Tim brushes it off like every other time. That’s just how he sounds. 

“We were playing some games and chatting. Just hanging out.” 

“Did you learn anything?”

Tim thinks back to earlier, talking with Donnie. He’s quiet for a moment. 

But, “yeah, just a couple things.” 

“Good.” Bruce asserts. “Make sure to update their files.”

“I will.” He rolls back his shoulders, lifting his head higher. That’s just how this is. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Steph?”

Stephanie waves animatedly from her seat on the medical cot, her shirt rolled up as Alfred rewraps bandages around her midsection. “Boyfie!” She greets, but otherwise remains still, lest she incur the butler’s wrath. Tim takes the last few steps two at a time, leaving Bruce behind to join her side. 

“When did you get here?” He leans a bit to get a better look, but her wound is already dressed and covered. 

“Last night. Went on patrol and ran into your new friends.” Her barbed tone makes him glance up to check and confirm that yes, she’s ticked. He backs up a bit to give her some space. 

“Ah… and how… was that?” He grimaces a smile, deepening when her eyes narrow. 

“Well, I trailed them for a bit, then when they finally stopped I confronted them, acting like I didn’t know anything was wrong.” She thanks Alfred as he finishes up, rolling down her shirt.

“But you called B, right?” Steph nods. 

“Yeah. I signalled him, and stalled as much as I could until he showed up.” She exhales in annoyance, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “Then he says ‘there’s been a complication’ and that you all already knew they were in your bodies so there I was, making a fool out of myself.”

“I meant to tell you,” he tries to explain, “but you were still—”

“Bruce already tried that,” she interrupts him flatly, making his mouth shut. “Anyway, I met them, and they seem like interesting kids. The one who’s wearing your face has some pretty wild stories.”

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” Tim cringes at the mental image her words spring forth. But he quickly gets distracted by a thought. “Wait, how did you know it was me?” She didn’t even hesitate when greeting him. 

“Mikey described himself as ‘cute, and with freckles.’” She shrugs, sliding off the cot. The two of them walk over to the Batcomputer where Bruce is working, talking to Dick about something. “Everyone else, I just have to guess.” 

“Right…” A cursory glance shows neither Damian nor Jason around, though likely not for long. Just to help her, he says, “Damian is the tall one.” 

“Tall one?” She parrots questioningly, but stops short when, lo and behold, Damian descends into the cave, Titus at his side. “Huh.” Steph stares as he walks up, surpassing her by a few inches. He raises a brow. “I don’t know how I feel about having you taller than me.” 

“Grow used to it, Brown,” Damian says. “One day, I will surpass all of you in stature.” 

“Hmm.” She squints at him, clearly thinking. “Hey Timmy, does breaking someone’s legs stunt their growth?” Damian glares, raising his fists as if she was about to strike now. 

Tim is stuck between laughing and asking ‘what the fuck.’ He notices Alfred glancing their way. “I…don’t think I should answer that.” 

Damian glowers. “Try it, Brown. You won’t like the result.” 

Steph considers him closely. But then she snubs him entirely, turning to join Dick at the Batcomputer. She punches him in the arm in greeting and he smiles while rubbing the spot, as if it had already been punched once before. 

His little brother looks put out, unsure what to do with his fists now that his target has left. Tim, risking it, pats him on the arm. “It’s alright, Dames. She was just kidding.” His helpful pat gets brushed off, the glower turning on him before stalking away. Tim watches Titus trail behind. 

Jason stalks up from behind and joins the group, hands stuffed in his pockets. The area under his eyes is a darker shade than the fern green it should be, but no one comments on account that it’s so common among them. 

“Now that you’re all here, we can begin.” Bruce turns in the chair, facing them as a group. 

“So, what’s this about?” Steph asks. Gesturing to the screen, Bruce shows them her report from last night. 

“We’re here to discuss what the turtles have been searching for in the Upper East Side.” 

“I feel like there’s a better way to describe them then just ‘the turtles,’” she mutters to Tim, while Bruce continues on. 

“Up until last night, we didn’t have a ‘who.’ Just a ‘where.’ The abandoned laboratory pictured here,” Bruce clicks open another file which showcases the empty and messy laboratory he’d followed the turtles to the first night they left the manor. Everyone takes in the pictures, glancing from the empty containment vats to the cells where test subjects were clearly held, to the ice cold storage featuring frozen rats, and finally—

“Shit.” Someone mutters. 

A familiar symbol stamped on a page fading from abuse and water damage, left innocuously on the floor under an emptied shelf. It’s easy to overlook. 

Steph chews on her thumbnail as she stares up at the screen. “They’d said they were looking for a group of ninjas, but I was hoping…” She stops and curses softly. 

“Yes,” Bruce answers. “They’re looking for the League of Assassins.”

Dick stares hard at the screen, his eyes jumping from image to image as he tries to connect them in his mind. “Do we know why?” 

“It’s unclear as of right now. Donatello collected a few samples from the vats in the warehouse,” explains Bruce. “Likely for testing.”

“So their point of interest is the experiments, not necessarily the LoA.” 

“That’s only what we can assume,” Bruce points out. “It is just as likely this is a dispute between rivalling clans.” 

Jason leans against the desk, a frown on his face. “Considering the LoA is connected to the Foot clan, it’s not impossible to say they’re attempting a take down.” At the mere notion, Damian scoffs. 

“They’ll be killed before they can even get close.” 

“You sure about that, Dames?” Steph challenges. “They killed that supposedly super strong Foot clan leader, didn’t they?” 

“The Foot Clan is not nearly comparable to the League.” 

“Regardless,” Bruce interrupts before that argument can devolve any further, “the Hamato clan were never known as conquerors. They only ever acted in retaliation against their enemies when provoked.“ Stephanie raises her eyebrow, dubious. 

“Peaceful ninjas? That seems a bit contradictory.” 

“Not peaceful,” Bruce corrects. “Just not confrontational.” 

“But why?” Tim asks. “Why not expand your forces as much as you can?” 

“According to their lessons, the clan was formed by a mix of martial artists and ronin. They preferred establishing allyships, basing their trust on mutual give and take.”

“Thus establishing loyalty,” Dick surmises thoughtfully. He taps his chin thoughtfully as he looks over the data, considering this new information. 

“Yes.” 

“So the question is, did the LoA provoke them somehow?” Questions Steph. 

“And how do we handle this going forward,” Tim adds. 

Bruce sighs, looking back to the computer. “We still don’t know enough. We shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.” He folds his hands together, laying them on the desk. “However, avoiding a confrontation between the two groups should be our priority.” 

“There’s not much we can do, Father. Not from within the manor.” Damian poses a good point, crossing his arms. 

“We learn as much as we can from them.” Bruce asserts. “In the meantime, I’ll ask Oracle to look into the League and see if we can’t find out what mission they’ve been operating in Gotham.” 

Steph raises her hand. “And I can tail them whenever they go out.” 

“There’re about to be some weird rumours about us going around.” Dick sighs, attempting to lighten the mood. Jason jabs him in the side. 

“When are there not?” 

Chapter Text

Five days. 

It’s been five days since they’d become unwilling participants in a magician’s stage trick. Five days since Damian has been in his own body. And it’ll be at least one more until he gets to go back. 

If they hadn’t lost that hack of a magician in the commotion, they likely could’ve resolved this whole mess quicker. As it is, if Damian sees him, his revenge will be swift and just. 

Now he’s been relegated to espionage. In his own home, no less. 

Loathe it as he does, he must still do it. The League, while not even remotely vulnerable, is a player to this equation they did not need. If they can stop a plan before it comes to pass, they should. 

“I hear you are an inventor.” 

Donatello looks up from his laptop, a hodge podge mess of mismatching parts. 

He sits up a bit more, a curious look in his eye. “I guess you could say that.” 

“You wouldn’t?”

“I hardly could say I invent things, mostly reinvent things,” he explains with an unassuming smile. 

Damian hums, glancing at the laptop again. It certainly looked to be made of scrapheap parts, so that seemed to be true. But the device looked to be working perfectly normal. 

“It takes a certain skillset to turn nothing into something.” It’s certainly a useful resource out on the field. A tactical advantage, his mother would say. 

His conversation partner smiles, beaming with pride. More than just an occupational hobby, then. Something he seems to genuinely enjoy. 

“Thanks.” Donatello sets his laptop aside, closing it before Damian can catch a glimpse of anything. “What about you?” 

“Me?” He tears his eyes away. There could be useful information stored away in that computer. Perhaps there needs to be an “emergency” that pulls Donatello elsewhere. 

“Yeah,” he answers cheerfully, “what do you like to do?”

Damian blinks. He supposes he can share something…

“…I like to paint,” he confesses after another moment of thought. One of those indulgences Richard had encouraged over the course of time. Art was oddly methodical, while still encouraging a part of his brain to wander as if he were on a winding path. He used painting in particular as a form of challenge; you couldn’t erase mistakes as easily as you could a sketch. Your brush strokes needed to be steady and sure. 

“Really?” The other asks with mild interest. “So does Mikey. Though it’s more street art than traditional painting.” 

That wasn’t much of a surprise. Michelangelo seemed the kind of scoundrel to tag up perfectly fine walls. 

Still, he hums. “So he does graffiti?” 

“A bit, yeah. He does it with our friend Casey a lot. But I think he actually prefers murals.” 

Murals. He’s seen a couple around the city. Some that genuinely made him stop in awe. He wonders what kinds of murals Michelangelo creates. 

‘Casey.’ That’s a name that’s not come up before, at least to his knowledge. So they have this Casey, and the mysterious ‘Red.’ Or was that their nickname? Come to think of it, the texter’s name on the phone had been ‘That Puckhead.’ So at least two, or more. He’d figured they kept their allies anonymous as a tactical decision, but now he has to reconsider. 

“Who is this Casey?” He feels it’s innocuous enough of a question to not raise suspicions, as long as he continues his act of mild interest. 

Donatello snorts. “Casey is an idiot. He’s loud, disruptive, and thinks more with his fists than his brain.” Despite the harsh criticism, he is clearly smiling. It seems he doesn’t mind Casey’s failings all that much, for one reason or another. Foolish. You can’t trust someone like that to have your back in a fight. They would be better off cutting their losses than aligning with him. 

But he doesn’t stop there. “He’s also a pretty good friend, and really savvy with cars. We built one together as a… summer project.” It sounds like there’s more to this “summer project” than Donatello lets on. But, at least to him, there is merit to knowing this Casey person. 

“What was your summer project about?” He decides to ask. If it’s actually nothing, then Donatello shouldn’t have a problem explaining it to him. 

“Oh, it was just a personal pet project. We both wanted to revamp this old car we’d come across, so we worked on it together.” 

How does one just come across an old car? He’s providing so little detail, it’s starting to grate on Damian’s patience. Pushing the matter might cause Donatello to clam up tight, but not doing so would lead them nowhere. If only this was a proper interrogation where Damian didn’t have to worry about being civil.  

“Can I see?” He asks, emulating the way Richard would always ask to see his art. Like there was no intent behind it; just a genuine curiosity. It was a lot easier because Donatello didn’t know him. 

“Oh, sure.” With a cheerful chirp of assent, Donatello pulls out his turtle shell phone. The thing is bulky, unlike most cell phones currently on the market, but he knew that it was more than just an elaborate phone case. It was clearly built into the phone. Richard and Drake thought it was the best thing ever, but he couldn’t see the appeal. It would stick out unnecessarily in most pockets. 

After fiddling around with the phone a bit, Donatello turns the screen towards him to show him a very modified version of an old-looking car. Its long snout leads to some modifications of very questionable, not-of-Earth origins. The body of the car looks like it was barely touched, though it’d clearly been touched up and waxed. But, most notably…

“What is that thing in the back?” He scrutinizes it heavily, trying to make heads or tails of this…gun? It’s in the shape of a rocket, with what looks like test tubes attached. Not only that, but there was a bird cage sitting right in front of it. 

“Oh, that’s the cannon,” Donatello explains rather simplistically. It didn’t help explain the marshmallow-looking attachment inserted in the rocket’s nozzle. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at. 

“Cannon?” He raises a brow as Donatello scratches his cheek.

“It was just… an experiment,” he explains to Damian. “All it shot was pressurized air and foam.” His words reek of a bad lie. It’s obvious that he’s entirely downplaying how dangerous the rocket is. Damian can tell that much.

Swiping to another photo, he shows Damian a closer look at the detailing on the car’s door, which is a flaming skull. His taste is certainly… unexpected. 

There’s also the very obvious fact that these photos don’t take place in New York City. Several images showed a green open space in its background, as well as a rustic barn just off to the side. He mentally notes this for further inspection. 

He almost misses it. Between one photo and the next, he nearly misses a hidden clue. As he’s taking a closer look, he sees that there is nothing attaching the front wheels to the car. The legs sticking out of the hood stay no closer than a couple inches. There is simply air. 

He’s trying to process what he just saw when a notification slides down at the top of the screen. There’s only a few milliseconds where he gets to see the message, seeing the name ‘Apes’ followed by an unnecessary amount of emoticons asking “hey, when a—”  before Donatello is pulling his phone away. 

“Sorry, one second.” He presumably messages that person back, and Damian is left to freely stare while the other doesn’t notice. He realizes just how much he’d been leaning forward and subtly shifts himself into better posture. 

Some of the technology on that car is recognizable, but some of it… is most definitely alien. There’s no doubt in Damian’s mind that it’s anything else. Which begs the question, how did Donatello and his teammates gain access to such a thing? It’s not a make that Damian recognizes, and he’s made sure to study every known species in their database. 

The idea of an unknown alien species roaming around New York has him wondering. Why hadn’t the Titans reported anything? Surely they’ve come across it, seeing as they’ve been stationed there for years. 

This definitely required further investigation. If aliens are involved, they need to prepare. As well as reassess the turtles’ threat level. 

“Are you guys still looking for that warlock?” Donatello’s question snaps him out of his thoughts, sitting a bit straighter. He watches the other set his phone aside, turning his full attention onto Damian. 

“Yes, we are. Father has been busy searching for him while out on patrol.”

He thinks he hears him say “Not busy enough,” under his breath, but before he can ask Donatello to elaborate, the other continues. “How long will that take, do you think?”

“How would I know?” Damian retorts, feeling contrary. “I’ve not been allowed outside the property since this all began.” 

Donatello sighs, seeming disappointed by the news but not particularly angry at Damian for his attitude. “Right. You’re right.”

“Why do you ask?”

The other fidgets with his fingers in his lap, watching them tumble and interlace with little coordination. “I was hoping to be back home relatively soon for something, but if the warlock is still nowhere to be found, I guess we’ll be here for awhile.” 

Had no one told them about Zatara? He considers doing so, but a particularly petty side of him decides this is the perfect counterbalance for all of the secrets they’re keeping. It’s not like they won’t find out when the magician arrives in just a few more days. 

“Only time will tell,” he shrugs casually. Not feeling even a bit of remorse when Donatello’s shoulders slump a little more. They should just be more honest if they want honesty in return. It really wasn’t that hard. 

In the meantime, Damian has some intel to share with his family. 

-

“They got out again? How??”

-

“Donnie, how is this gonna be any different from last time?” Raph asks with exasperation. 

The four of them stand gathered in one of the many tunnels leading out of the Batcave, while the van stands idling beside them. They already know they’re on a time limit, so having their smart brother stop them as they’re escaping feels more than a little counterproductive. 

Donnie, however, has no such worries. “Aha, I’m glad you asked, dear Raphael!” He hefts up a mess of wires and circuitry for his brothers to see, an amalgamation that he looks upon with pride. “With this! A machine that emits electromagnetic pulses strong enough to take out any piece of technology it hits. EMP, for short. Excuse the crude appearance, I didn’t have any of my usual equipment—”

“You’re excused.”

“—thank you, Michael. But it’ll do its job perfectly fine.” Donnie doesn’t even break mental stride from the interruption, continuing swiftly. “With it, we’ll be able to successfully move around without being followed.”

“Does that mean you know how they were doing it?” Leo asks curiously. There’s a glint in his eye that Raph doesn’t like. The question spurs Donnie on, finally able to discuss his findings. 

“I have a strong suspicion that they’re tracking us. At first, I didn’t mention it, mostly because I wasn’t sure how. But now I have a feeling it’s connected to these.” At the emphasis, he tugs on the black and red cape hanging off his shoulders. It whishes with the movement. 

Raph tilts his head with a grow , arms crossed over his chest. “They’re tracking… the clothes?” 

“They’re tracking the devices sewn into the clothes,” he replies succinctly. 

“What??”

“Hol’ up—”

Leo holds out a calming hand, equally frowning at this news. “How would they do that? Wouldn’t it be too easy to notice?” 

It’s clear that Donnie is eager to explain. He gesticulates wildly, still holding the EMP device in his hand. “It’s really not that hard. These costumes have a certain amount of bulk to them in order to act as body armour, so there’s more than enough space to add small tracking devices here and there between the seams.” Fingering the hem of his top, he finds a particular spot and latches onto it. He lifts it and holds it out for his brothers to check. “I found one. See?”

Mikey takes the offer first and feels the spot Donnie indicates. His eyebrows go up. “Whoa. That little button thing is a tracker?” 

“Yup.” 

Drawn by curiosity, Leo reaches out and feels for the tracker. Unlike Mikey, his eyebrows go down. “They could put trackers like these on any number of things. We wouldn’t even notice.” His eyes train on Donnie. “Have you checked—”

“Yes, I’ve checked the Party Wagon and no, there aren’t any trackers as far as I can tell. I have a very sensitive car alarm, remember?”

“Mm.” Don’s reassurance does very little to actually reassure their older brother. He looks to contemplate hard as he stares at the floor beside Donnie. 

Unable to watch his brother get lost in his thoughts any longer, Raph abrutly inserts himself. “Not that this isn’t enlightening and all, but we only have a matter of time before the distraction turns off or they find it.” Three pairs of eyes turn to stare at him, blinking owlishly. Leo seems to stir to life, straightening his back as he snaps into action. 

“He’s right. We’ve got a head start, so we should take advantage of it while we still can.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. But we need to do this!” Donnie holds up the EMP-whatever, shaking it with importance. 

“Right.” Leo sighs and nods. He places his hands on his hips, nodding his head at Donnie. “Well, whatever you need to do, do it. Then, let’s hit the road. We have a long night ahead of us.” 

“Right.” Donnie nods in return. “Okay.” He glances down at his device then at the space around them, his eyes shifting back and forth in assessment. Instructing them to stand together, he messes with the switches of his electric wave machine and turns some knobs. 

“We’re ready,” he announces. But instead of turning it on, he glances surreptitiously behind them back at the car. “But let’s just… take a few steps away from the Party Wagon.”

“Why?” Mikey asks, even as he does so. 

Donnie guides them several feet away, herding them to one spot. “If the electromagnetic pulse hits the van, it will totally brick it, and we’d be stranded,” he explains. “And, like I just mentioned, I have none of the necessary equipment to fix it.” 

“Right,” Leo clears his throat. “Ready now?”

“Ready,” Donnie confirms. They stand together, the three of them watching their genius brother mess with the machine some more. Finally, he places his fingers on the final knob and begins to count. “Three, two…” Small inhale. “One.”

When the pulse hits, Raph barely feels a thing. There’s a moment where he’s hit with a sudden dizziness but, other than that, nothing. He glances at his brothers and finds them in a similar condition. Leo blinks rapidly, shaking his head like there’s something rattling around in there he’s trying to force out. Mikey, on the other hand, looks about normal. And Donnie is already busy shutting off his electric-magno-generator thing. 

“That should do the trick,” he says. “Now they won’t be able to track us.”

“Then let’s head out,” Leo announces. “We’ve used up enough time already.”

-

“How. And why. And how.” 

Spoiler cheerfully waves from her perch a couple feet above Raph. She sits there like she’s been expecting him, even spending her time eating a comically large churro. He can see her grin thanks to the bottom of her mask being rolled up. 

“Hiya, Nightwing,” she greets cheekily, like she knows it’ll annoy him. Which it does. 

He glowers up at her, crossing his arms. “You know, I don’t appreciate being stalked.” It looks like she holds back a laugh. 

“Too bad, so sad. Want a churro?” From behind her, she procures a second ginormous churro. Raph wrinkles his nose on reflex. 

“Was that on the ground?” If this were Mikey, he’d take it no questions asked. But Raph is a turtle with standards, and floor churros are the opposite of appealing. 

Spoiler’s eye roll can be felt all the way from his vantage point. “Relax, it was in a paper bag. Now, do you want it or not?” She wiggles the churro tantalizingly over his head to the point that if dropped, it would definitely smack him in the face. 

He contemplates just ignoring her and continuing the rest of his patrol around the neighbourhood. But he had a feeling she would continue to follow him anyhow, and screw him for being curious alright? She didn’t have to show herself. Yesterday proved that she knew how to remain undetected, so why bother? 

“Just to be clear,” he tells her as he climbs up to join her, “I don’t care about the churro.” Maintaining a fair bit of distance, he sits beside Spoiler, folding a leg up to his chest and resting his elbow on it. 

Spoiler lowers the proffered churro. “Oh, okay. Guess I’ll eat it myself then—” She lifts it up to take a large bite, but comes up with only empty air. He takes a bite before she can think about snatching it back.

At her stare, he twitches his shoulders in a shrug. “What? I never said I wouldn’t eat it.” He takes another pointed bite, chewing harder than he needs to. 

She stares at him for another couple seconds before just snorting, lifting up her own churro to take a bite. Her gaze shifts out towards the rest of Coventry. When it becomes clear she isn’t going to say anything more, he does the same. 

He still thinks Gotham sucks. The city is covered in a nasty-smelling smog, the people act just as nasty, and it feels like no matter how much you do it’ll always be bad. 

But he can’t totally begrudge the loyalty they have to it. New York certainly isn’t a bunch of peaches and cream. It’s crowded, it’s sketchy, and the people hate mutants like him. But goddamn it, it’s his city and he swore to protect it come hell or high water. Maybe it’s the same for the Bats and Gotham…?

Minutes pass, and their churros are more than halfway gone. Spoiler hasn’t made so much a peep, seeming content to just sit and watch the city. He doesn’t feel nearly so calm, having way too many questions and not enough answers. About everything, really. But these Bats are up there with many of them. As the silence stretches, he thinks about asking several, but he’s never quite sure how to phrase them. 

Man, what’s he getting all in his head for? Overthinking is Donnie’s shtick. 

He huffs. “Why fight for Batman?”

Spoiler clearly wasn’t expecting that question. Neither had he, really. But now it’s out there, and he’s not planning to take it back. 

“Fight for Batman?” She asks, sounding a bit perplexed. With a shrug, he digs in further. 

“Yeah. Why choose to work for him? He seems about as friendly as a pile of rocks. So, what’s your reason?” Before meeting him, Raph definitely thought he’d be cooler. His whole thing was about being ‘one with the shadows’ and acting as this big deliverer of justice. That’s all anyone talked about when the enigmatic Batman was brought up, anyway. But Bruce Wayne, Batman? Now he just seems like some rich guy with way too much time on his hands. 

“Okay, just to be clear, I do not work for Batman. I deign to work with him, when I feel like it.” Spoiler insists, sounding incredibly prickly with every word. “But, since you asked…” She sighs, and all that tension that just built up in her bleeds out as she leans back on her hands. 

“I do it for myself,” she tells him. “I do it for the kids living in the Narrows, scared just like me about what kind of future is in store for them. I do it as proof that people care, people matter. And there aren’t nearly enough women slugging criminals in the face here in Gotham.” A tinge of humour is injected into her voice, trying to lighten up her words, but it falls away a second later when she continues. “It’s kind of like my personal hate letter to all the people who said I couldn’t.” 

“And because it’s the right thing to do, and all that junk,” she tacks on at the end. 

That… wasn’t the explanation he was expecting. Granted, he’s been under the assumption that Batman’s their boss or whatever, always just taking his orders.  But there was a lot more personal stake to it than he’d assumed. He vaguely recalls the Narrows being on the more dangerous side of town, when Donnie and Leo were dividing the districts between the four of them. 

There’s something that bothers him, though. 

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ with a well-off guy like Batman?” It feels like more than just coincidence. Then again, what does he know?

Spoiler’s sudden laugh catches him off guard. “Buddy, I ask myself that every day.” 

He’s about to ask what the hell that means when she abruptly stands, crumpling the wrapper her churro was in between her hands. “You guys really should’ve stayed home.” 

“What?” Raph stands, frowning at her. “Why?” He sort of thought they were becoming chill with each other. Now he feels like an idiot. 

Spoiler turns to look him in the eye. With the lower half of her mask tugged up still, he can see how her mouth is set in a grim line. 

“Red Hood’s been injured.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

“WAH!” Donatello nearly drops his junk parts and screwdriver in surprise. He jerks his head up to stare. “Leo?!”

“Try again,” Jason says.

He watches from the doorway of the kitchen as the cogs chug in the kid’s brain. It’s clear he hasn’t slept much, if at all, what with his jittery movements and slightly unfocused gaze. Now, he’s used to seeing this on Tim… but it’s a bit unnerving seeing Damian so disheveled like this. 

“Right, sorry.” Donatello shakes his head a bit, maybe trying to wipe his previous thoughts away. “Jason. You’re Jason.” 

“Yep.” He helps himself to a stool at the island, placing himself across from the kid as he sets aside the project in in front of him. 

Donatello slots his tools into a leather-bound case with meticulous care. Screwdrivers of varying sizes, as well as all sorts of other tools. He notes a couple torque wrenches in the mix. 

The kid rests folded hands on the counter. “You look well-rested,” he notes. Jason shrugs a shoulder.

“Something like that.” He finds himself glancing away. It’s definitely strange and foreign. Nightmares that typically got exacerbated by the Pit were a lot less…everything. He’d felt a normal amount of overwhelmedness instead of the all-encompassing deep green sea that he had no choice but to drown in. He nods his chin in Donatello’s direction. “You don’t.” 

“Impressive observation,” the kid drawls sarcastically. He observes the slow, languid blinks blearily focused on the marble countertop and knows immediately that the kid is struggling to stay in the conversation. 

He decides to make a gamble, “Coffee?” 

Donatello sighs deeply. “Please.” Jason takes that win and goes to make a pot. 

For sure, he knows he would get chewed out for giving the kid coffee. It’s not so much that it’s Donatello, but that it’s Damian’s body he’s introducing caffeine to. He’s pretty sure the brat has tried coffee before though, probably just to say that he has. So long as Alfred isn’t the one to find out, he couldn’t care less. 

“How do you take it?” He personally doesn’t take his with any sugar, but he’ll put in a cream or two most days depending on the state of his life. 

“Black.” Jason pauses mid-pour of Alfred’s fancy coffee beans. He contemplates the tone… and adds a little extra into the grinder. 

He makes sure to warn him before grinding up the beans. As he watches them turn into dust, his mind can’t help but stray. Things here are... if he could, he’d nick one of Bruce’s many cars and wait it all out somewhere else. But the reason he can’t is sort of the whole problem. 

Donatello mutters to himself in what sounds like “of course they grind their own coffee beans.” It makes Jason smile to feel so justified. Out of everyone that hangs around here, Steph and Duke are the only ones who understand what he means when he says that grinding your coffee beans is a privileged people activity. Dick didn’t care about coffee because he was too busy being a happy kid in the circus, and then he was being raised by a billionaire who always had his beans ground for him. Tim grew up rich, and Damian is enough of a snob that he thinks it’s only right that they have freshly ground beans every morning. And Alfred is Alfred. 

He’s more than happy to serve up Donatello’s no cream no sugar coffee, put in a mug that is designed to look like it’s cutting through the table like a glitching video game asset. Even the handle is cut off weirdly. Donatello reaches for the mug with a muttered thanks, but pauses as he realizes there’s something incredibly wrong about it. 

“That’s deeply unsettling,” he mutters and lifts it up to sip anyway. Jason sets his own down—a deep navy mug with the titles of classic literature written all over it—and joins him once more.  

He feels eyes on him as he’s lifting his mug and taking a tentative sip of the scalding hot coffee. It’s as he’s setting it down that Donatello decides to share his thoughts; “How come you slept so well?” 

“I didn’t,” he takes another sip of his coffee. “But that’s for a different reason entirely.” Donatello tilts his head but he doesn’t elaborate. The kid doesn’t need to know the grim details of his constant nightmares. 

Thankfully, he lets it go. In fact, he seems to be thinking about something else entirely. Jason can’t really blame him. Even aside from the obvious, it was a tough night. 

The van veers into the Batcave on screeching tires, ignoring the parking spaces completely to meet its residents halfway as they anxiously wait. Throwing open the van doors, Donnie rushes to the driver’s side door to wrench it open. But his next move is extremely gentle, helping Leo out of the car and supporting him as best he can. Mikey joins them not a second later, supporting their leader’s other side. 

Meanwhile, Steph helps Raph out carefully, supporting him as he takes ginger steps out of the van. He tries to wave her off but she ignores it entirely, stubbornly gripping him tighter. 

“Up you get, young man,” Alfred orders with a swift pat to the first of two rolling cots lined up in front of him. “We need to treat your back.” He reluctantly lets himself be guided to the old man, still grumbling even as he goes. 

“I’m fine,” he grouches. Steph steps away as soon as he’s sitting stable. “Don took care of it.”

“You may be surprised to learn that there’s a vast difference between quick on-field treatment and actual procedure,” Alfred responds without missing a beat. His attention doesn’t remain on Raph for long, snatched away as soon as Leo comes into view. 

The wound to his side continues to bleed, even when it should have stopped. Leo winces but tries his best to bite it back as he stumbles forward in a state where he’s basically being carried. 

“Oh dear.” Alfred moves over to the other cot and positions himself to receive Leo at the foot. In all, it takes the three of them to handle Red Hood’s bulk and get Leo laying on the cot. All the while, he murmurs apologies and tries to ease their burden (until he’s sternly told to stop and give up control). 

Donnie hovers nervously as Alfred begins cutting away at Leo’s top layer. “I think sitting upright and driving may have aggravated the wound. Should I be worried about him losing too much blood? I feel like that’s something I should be worrying about.” 

“Well, it would certainly be better if it was in his body,” Alfred comments dryly, his hands never halting. Soon enough, the entire side of Leo’s shirt is peeled back, allowing them to pull it off him very carefully. The man tuts upon getting a proper look at the wound. 

“What’s—what’s the damage?” Leo wheezes in question. “I— can’t sit up, so…” 

Pulling medical gloves from a mysterious, unknown place, Alfred takes off his regular gloves and slips them into his pocket. The latex ones are put on with a snap! as the butler prepares himself. “The ‘damage,’ so to speak, is not as bad as it could be. I daresay you are quite the lucky young man. Any farther, and an organ would have been hit.” 

“Awesome.” Leo looks dazedly up at the cave ceiling, catching a bat flutter and land on a stalactite. “Turtle luck takes the win.” 

“Actually, sir, I don’t mind doing Leo’s stitches.” Donnie’s eyes twitch between the curved needle in the old man’s hand and the wound site as he wrings his hands over and over. The raise of a pencil-thin eyebrow has him stumbling to continue. “It’s- it’s just, I know my brothers fairly well, and I know how to handle them when they’re in pain.”

“Wonderful,” Alfred muses dryly. He doesn’t pause in his disinfecting of the needle. “You can aid Mister Raphael with his back.” Donnie blinks, his mouth shutting with a stupefied click. The old man pauses his task for a moment to meet his gaze, his eyes twinkling. “And please, just call me Alfred.” The young man nods absently, seeming at a loss. 

“R-… right.” He turns to go, when Leo calls to get his attention. Donnie stands by his side, taking his offered hand. 

“I’m sorry I got blood on your seats, Don.” Leo grins, but it quickly turns into a wince as his side aches. His brother strengthens his hold on his hand, holding it closer. 

“Never mind the stupid seats, you idiot. I’m just glad you’re okay.” His smile comes out lopsided, unable to muster the energy for anything more. 

A hand touches his shoulder and he lets Leo’s go. Jason holds out a first-aid kit, nodding in Raph’s direction to indicate it’s for him. The young man takes it gratefully, giving his thanks. He casts one last glance towards Alfred and Leo, lingering on the wound as Alfred begins to work. He lets Jason guide him towards Raph’s cot, clutching the first-aid kit in his arms. 

-

He’d thought it was a pretty good place to hide. Tucked up high in a shadow where no one can see him, eating one of Alfred’s lemon bars (which are a religious experience every time) and a box of cookies he found stashed away. No one would normally see him, not even his brothers (if he was quiet enough). 

So would someone tell Mikey how Tim does?

“Where’d you find those?” He stops a couple feet away with eyes zeroed on the double stuff Oreos he’s been helping himself to. It feels like a bad idea to snitch, so he keeps eating. Tim takes another step forward, fixated on the hand Mikey has reaching in the box for another cookie. “No seriously, how did you get that?“ 

“Fffoun’ ih’ behin’ a paintin’,” he explains around his mouthful. “Fecond foor hawhway, wight of the staiwrfs.” Tim tersely approaches and snatches the box away. 

“I know where they were, I put them there,” he hisses. He pries the box open to take a look inside, his brows furrowing. “It’s almost empty.” 

“Yeah. I also had a lemon bar.” There’s still that lemony tang left on his tongue, mixing in with the Oreos. He’d go get another, if it hadn’t been the last one. 

Tim lowers the box to glare at him. “Do you know how hard it is to sneak these in here?” Tim asks incredulously. He shakes the box at Mikey frustratedly. “These are contraband! Alfred would throw a fit if he saw them.” 

Mikey blinks a little in surprise. “Mister old dude doesn’t like Oreos? Does he hate happiness?” The old man had seemed nice up till now, even though he told Mikey a lot to mind his manners. But if he hates Oreos…

Tim rubs the top of his head with a sigh. “He prefers to cook food himself, so anything like junk food or pre-made meals he takes personally. He says it’s about not ruining your appetite, but really he’s just very judgemental over food.” 

“Bummer,” Mikey murmurs. He couldn’t imagine his life without frozen pizzas. That would be like Leo without his swords, or Donnie without his lab… Raph without Chompy. It would be like Casey without any hockey sticks! 

“Yeah. So now I have to go get more.” Tim sets down the Oreos between them and joins Mikey on the floor, legs crisscross applesauce. He props his cheek with his hand, elbow to knee, and a pang of guilt hits. Mikey hadn’t meant to eat so many Oreos, let alone Tim’s special stash ones. If he were to purposefully eat all of someone’s Oreos, it would be, like, Gaston or something! 

Man, his bros weren’t kidding! He has an awesome sad face!

“…I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to steal from your stash.” He finds himself playing with the laces of the sneakers he’s wearing, twirling the little plastic piece over and over. Tim eyes him, the contact intense enough that he wants to look away. But he can’t. 

Finally, Tim’s gaze drops. “It’s fine.” He quietly picks at a loose thread, not seeming upset anymore but definitely not happy. Mikey chews on his cheek, wracking his brain for a topic to get things back to normal. Then it clicks. 

“Oh yeah! How’d you find me up here?” He grins at Tim when they meet eyes. “I’m like, way hidden up here.” 

For the first time since they started talking, Tim smiles. Actually, it’s more of a smirk. 

“I’ve been using this outcrop in the cave as a hiding spot way longer than you have. No one can find me while I’m up here.” He pauses. “Except you, now.” 

“Yo, I didn’t know this was your pad!” Mikey excitedly looks around, seeing the shelf they’re tucked into in a new light. It’s pretty empty but, now that he’s looking, he realizes there’s been a blanket pile and a pillow right there this whole time! 

Tim’s smirk loses its edge, turning into a crooked smile as he follows Mikey’s gaze. “Yeah. I would come up here all the time when I didn’t want anyone to know where I was.”

Mikey tilts his head. “You don’t anymore?” 

“Sometimes.” Tim shrugs. “But Bruce figured out where I was, so it’s kind of moot.” Something in this quiets Mikey. Maybe it’s simply Tim’s expression, which just looks sad. Or maybe it’s the way he talks about his family. A squirming feeling sits in his chest, feeling like it wants to burst out. Why does he feel this way? What about Tim reminds Mikey so much of himself?

At least he’s not the only one who wants to avoid Batweenie. 

Mikey maintains a bit of distance, watching his brothers as he sits on the edge of the van’s sliding door bay. His hands quietly turn his little prismatic jewel around again and again, pressing its pointy end into the pad of his thumb. After doing it so much, an indent has formed in the skin. Still, he presses harder. 

He looks to his left as Batman walks up. 

“Yeah?” He asks when it’s clear the man has no intention of starting the conversation himself. Standing perfectly still as he is, he seems more like a statue than a man. 

“I’d like an action report,” he borderline orders. Mikey frowns. 

“Action report?” 

The man clears his throat. “Tell me what happened tonight.” 

“Oh.” He looks down at his gem, turning it over a couple times more. Clearing his throat to speak, he keeps his gaze on his hands. “Leo got hurt while he was in Crime Alley, and sent out a distress signal. But I was on my way over when he texted me and said to go pick up the car for a quick getaway. I stopped a guy from stealing a piece of pizza from a rat, ‘cause some of ‘em are still smart like Falco and they hold grudges.”

“Hrn.” His grunt sounds kind of confused. But he doesn’t interrupt, so Mikey continues. 

“I bought him some jerky from the corner store and then went to where we parked the car.“ He pauses to take a breath, gasping slightly. His lungs take a second to settle, but he eventually continues. “Driving it was hard, but I only hit a street sign and like, a couple of gang dudes.”

“You hit someone?” If there’s a way to sound startled and calm at the same time, Batman manages it. Mikey shrugs it off. 

“Yeah, but only, like, a little.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I got there and Leo switched so that he was driving. The end.” With a splay of hands, Mikey glances over now that he’s finished his recount. But Batman stands there, staring like he’s expecting more. Frowning, he asks, “what?”

He doesn’t get any reaction. Instead, “You didn’t mention what happened before Leonardo got hurt,” the man points out, to which Mikey groans. Loudly. 

“Am I supposed to tell you every single thing?” He leans back on his hands with a frown, tilting his face up to stare at the van ceiling. 

“I need a full report in order to understand tonight’s events,” Batman explains evenly to the young man. 

“Yeah well, you can shove your report up your Bat butt.“ 

Bruce hovers there, seeming conflicted, when Tim comes and pats him on the shoulder. A silent exchange is passed, watched out of the corner of Mikey’s eye, before the man acquiesces and retreats to his desk. Taking his place, Tim leans against the side of the van, arms crossed casually over his chest. The two boys eye each other, shrewd and expectant. 

“I’m not answering your questions either.”

“Okay, fair enough.” 

-

“You’re really doin’ okay?” 

Leo huffs a laugh. “For the third time yes, I’m okay. Alfred did a really good job stitching me up.” He holds out his arm for his brother to check for fifth time in half as many minutes. Raph takes it without a peep of defiance, turning it over to check the butterfly stitches carefully applied to his forearm. 

Inspecting it closely, he avoids looking at Leo. “…He’s Alfred now?” His voice barely raises over a mumble but his brother hears it anyway. His smile turns crooked as Raph lets him have his arm back. 

“He insisted.“ His fingers delicately touch around the wound on his arm, feeling the tiny prickles where the hair was shaved away. Leo shrugs a shoulder, “what was I gonna do, say no? He had a needle in me.” He laughs, but Raph shudders in disgust. 

Raph sighs as he sits up and back down for what must be the fiftieth time. The urge within himself kept reforming, talking him into finding his brother. And every time, he has to grit his teeth and talk himself out of it. What would he do, anyway? His thoughts were all over the place. He’d only fuck it up. 

But still, he keeps landing in the same place. It’s a vicious cycle that he’s getting incredibly sick of. 

A knock at the door pulls Raph out of his head once more. He reluctantly goes and opens it, coming face to face with Dick. The man’s expression falls a fraction, but he covers it up well. 

“Oh. Sorry. I was hoping to talk to Leo.” He tries peering in and around Raph, but he’s more than happy to use the height he currently has and block him. 

“Leo’s not here.” He’s not sure where Leo is. Actually, he’s not sure where any of his brothers are other than within Wayne Manor’s grounds. It’s something he’s been painfully aware of. But he doesn’t have to know where they are every second of every day. That’s stupid!

Yeah. 

“Why aren’t these wrapped?” Raph frowns. “They shouldn’t just be out in the open like this, even I know that.” His hands reach to touch Leo’s side, where the larger wound sits and stops his brother from sitting up fully. Leo allows him to inspect it, looking to his right. 

“He said whoever was supposed to restock the medical supplies forgot to put gauze. I think he’s going to get some himself.” He cranes his neck to try and see where the old man went, ultimately giving up with a shrug. His eyes catch something over Raph’s shoulder, dimming just the slightest bit as his expression neutralizes. It leads Raph to look behind, spotting Dick as he approaches. 

“Hey.” He greets them with a smile. His eyes flit down, snagging on Leo’s stitches. “How’s the arm and side?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Leo replies succinctly. “Can I help you with something?” 

Dick does a good job keeping his positive expression on against the cold treatment. He keeps it casual, joining Raph beside the cot while standing tall. “Wanted to make sure you were doing alright, not in any pain or anything.” The man gets a blank stare in return as a couple silent seconds stretch. He takes a breath, “and also—”

“Here it is,” Raph mutters. 

“—I know you probably have your reasons for going into Crime Alley tonight,” he continues in a gentle tone. “It’s okay, I understand. I’m just a little…concerned…”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” Leo cuts sharply, frowning. “You think what I did was stupid.” 

“I think maybe you didn’t realize what you guys were in for,” Dick replies calmly. “Which is understandable.” With a groan, Leo rolls his head back in exasperation only to snap back up to glare at Dick. 

“Cut the crap! Stop patronizing me or I’ll seriously punch you.” His unexpected threatening remark doesn’t go unnoticed by his increasingly concerned brother, but is left to stew and sit as Dick defends himself. 

“I’m not trying patronize you, Leonardo, I swear I’m not. But those districts, especially the Alley, are way too dangerous to handle alone,” he gestures to Leo’s stitched up wounds. “You saw it for yourself, it’s not safe. Not for anyone.” 

No rebuttal from Leo is immediately forthcoming. He stares down at his lap with a pensive look on his face, conflicted and resigned in equal measure. 

“Oh. Okay. Do you know where he is?” Dick asks hopefully, only to get his dreams crushed. 

“No.” Raph crosses his arms over his chest. So far, he’s unimpressed with the guy’s attempts to endear to them. The down-to-earth big brother shtick isn’t working as well as he thinks it does. 

“Okay.” Dick deflates a bit but doesn’t seem to let it get him down for long. He rights himself quickly. “How are you doing? I know last night was—”

“Look,” Raph cuts him off before he can continue down that pitiful path. “You and I aren’t buddies. We’re barely above strangers. What makes you think I’m gonna talk to you about anything?”

Dick points out, “you were on my side last night.” 

“That was to prove a point. Nothing more.”

Alfred returns with a few rolls of gauze in hand. The conversation falls by the wayside and they stand by while the butler does his work. He gently eases Leo up from reclining to wind the bandaging around his back, working swiftly to wrap it a couple more times before Leo starts to really feel the strain on his stitches. A small sigh of relief accompanies his easing back against the cot, at Alfred’s allowance. 

The arm is next, both Dick and Raph making way for the butler as he rounds the cot. He sets to work wrapping Leo’s forearm with quiet focus. 

“…I know you all think what we’re doing is stupid,” Leo starts after a minute. He meets Dick’s eye solemnly. “And I know Gotham is extremely dangerous. Tonight… wasn’t great.” He admits this with great heaviness, like his very soul is weighed down. “But no one was gravely injured, and we all came back safe and sound.”

“You were gravely injured,” Dick points out carefully, to which Raph nods.  

Leo doesn’t acknowledge it. “Regardless. We may not have succeeded, but we didn’t fail.” He nods his thanks as Alfred fastens the end of the gauze, walking off to take care of something else. 

“Are you sure?” Suddenly, Raph interjects, having silently listened as the conversation progressed onwards and sideways. Leo looks at him sharply, seeming upset. “We’re no closer to figuring anything out. Even after several days of searching, we’ve got squat. What do you call that?”

“A roadblock,” Leo answers automatically. He doesn’t even blink. “Nothing we can’t overcome.” 

“Oh, sure,” Raph replies with a snort, “just a roadblock. Except this roadblock is miles wide and armed to the teeth with guns. Face it, we have no idea what to do or how to do it. We don’t even know who we’re fighting.” Turquoise eyes narrow. 

“Raph.” Leo warns, but Raph dismisses it. 

“What the hell’re they gonna do? They don’t know what we’re talkin’ about.” 

“Maybe we can help?” Dick suggests, drawing their gaze. “If it’s something in Gotham, it’s likely we know something about it.” Although Raph seems to actually consider his offer, Leo is quick to refuse. 

“Thanks but no,” he says outright. “We don’t need your interference any more than we did a few days ago.”

“Why not?” Raph asks. When he gets another sharp look, he presses on. “I’m serious. Aren’t you always the one saying ‘use what’s available to you?’” The leader scoffs. 

“Of course you choose now of all times to quote my lessons. This is different, Raph.” 

“Why?” He challenges. “Why is it different?” The room gets colder by the minute, but Leo’s becoming red hot. 

“It. just. is.” 

“But Leo—”

“I said no, alright?” Leo snaps. At first, on his face, there’s shock. Then anger as Raph’s nostrils flare and his hands clench into fists. 

“What’s with you, asshole? Why’re you acting like this?” He squares his shoulders as he stands over Leo, daring him to react. But Leo turns his face away stubbornly. 

“I’m not acting like anything.” His hands clench on his lap, shaking ever so slightly. Dick catches the action and his jaw clenches in worry. 

“You’re acting weird, and you know it! You’ve been in a shitty mood for days!” He starts to garner attention of those scattered around the batcave as his voice starts to increase in volume. While he’s ignorant of it, his brother is most certainly not. 

Tersely, “Why don’t you cool off?” Raph pauses at the tense command, faltering. 

“What…?”

Leo turns his head sharply to look at him, his eyes bright green. “You’re letting your emotions get the best of you, so I’d suggest you go dunk your head into some cold water or something. Maybe then you’ll have your head screwed on right.” 

“So you don’t think you guys could use some help?”

Without answering, Raph looks off to the side. And Dick takes this as the go-ahead. 

“Maybe we should slow down and talk this out—”

“Shut up!” Leo snaps with bared teeth. His ire turns on Dick now, his temper like a car rolling down a hill with no brakes. “You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Maybe I should slice it off.” The others begin to gather at the commotion, forming a loose semicircle. 

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he sidles up next to Dick. His eyes jump from Leo to Raph back to his brother, watching their moves very carefully. 

“What we worried would happen,” Dick mutters back. Bruce pushes through the sparse crowd, putting himself between his sons and Leo. His gaze is stormy as he stares the young man down. 

“You’re letting it overtake you,” he grounds out. His voice cuts through the voices of the others, and everyone grows silent. “Don’t let it win, Leonardo.” A growl builds from the base of the boy’s throat. 

“I said, shut up!” Bruce dodges the knife aimed for his eye, not daring to turn his back on Leo for even a second. Scattered yelps follow the knife’s trajectory as they too avoid getting sliced. It clatters on the ground a couple feet away. 

“What is going on?!” Donnie pushes his way to the very front, his face creased with stress. “What could have possibly possessed you to throw a knife at an innocent man’s head?!” He pauses as bright green eyes turn on him, leaving him frozen to the spot. 

Leo glares at him with the eyes of a stranger. “Stay out of this.” His body is coiled tense on the cot, gripping its edge and shifting himself as if readying to strike 

“Leonardo. Leonardo, look at me.” Dick steps forward, his hands raised in front of him as Leo glances his way. “No one here wants to fight. We are not your enemy.” 

“We’re not trying to hinder you guys. We just want to understand.” Gone is the simpering affectation from a second ago. Now Dick stares him in the eye all the way down to his soul, wearing a tense frown and straight-set shoulders. “Things wouldn’t have nearly progressed this far if you had just been open with us.” 

Raph’s jaw clenches. “Like you guys have?”

“What’s happening?” Raph whispers, a mix of perplexity and horror. He turns to Bruce, his best hope for an answer. “What’s happening to him?” 

His question, eked out in a vulnerable and angry voice, draws Bruce’s glance. Regret lingers there, etched into the creases around his eyes. It lingers in his voice as he speaks. “…He’s caught up in the madness that comes from the Pit.” 

“The Pit?” 

“No time.” Bruce rushes forward, breaking between Dick and Donnie as they try to talk Leo down. He catches the young man’s wrist just as it comes down to take a swipe with another small knife. The growl that comes out of the boy is near feral, yanking and twisting to get out of Bruce’s grip. 

“It wasn’t our place to tell you.” Dick explains tensely. “It was Jason’s, and he’d already told Leo.” Raph straightens. He had? So then, Leo knew about this Pit thing? 

Why hadn’t he said anything?

Bruce’s eyes narrow, maintaining his grip. He looks at the face of his son, contorted and twisted from anger. It’s not the first nor even the second time he’s seen it, but one of too many to count. But how could one acclimate to seeing such hatred on their son’s face?

He tries for another swing, this time with his other hand, but Bruce catches that too. Leo is left bucking and thrashing to get out of the man’s grip, so much so that he misses Alfred entirely. The butler slips in behind, syringe in hand, and quickly subdues Leo. His eyes flutter shut within seconds, closing away the eery glow that bathed everything before him. His brothers rush to his side immediately, worry on their faces. 

“He’ll be alright,” Alfred reassures. “Just in need of some rest.” They accept this with staggered nods, barely glancing up as Dick joins them. He pats Raph on the shoulder. 

“I think we could all use some.” 

Raph stares down at the floor. Leo knew. He knew, and he hadn’t said anything. Why does he keep doing that? 

Weren’t they supposed to be a team? Mikey and Donnie he could get, but him?

“Raphael, I want to help.” Dick gently pulls him out of his thoughts. He stares at the man with wide eyes. “And I know the others do too. But I think that starts with getting everyone on the same page.” 

Feeling numb, Raph can only nod silently. He’s stuck, rooted to the floor. He can’t even muster up the strength to react to the way Dick stares at him so kindly. Is it weird that he wants to cry?

He hears something buzz, coming from Dick’s pocket. Dick doesn’t immediately answer it, looking Raph’s face over like he’s searching for something. Slowly, he reaches and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He tears his eyes away to glance down at his phone. 

Dick tenses up. His feet shift like he wants to run, but he’s torn. 

His patience wears thin. “…I’m sorry, I have to go.” And Raph barely nods before he runs off, booking it down the hall. 

Raph wonders where he goes, but he… he has a lot to think about.