#imagionationstation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daboyau · 12 days

Text

And another rise hunger games chapter! Wow, just training and interviews to get through, and then the real fun begins. First person to correctly guess who the president is gets a prize or something idk

tag list! as always, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. 💚 thank you to everyone who reads and interacts with my stories. I definitely wouldn’t be updating as often or as eagerly without you guys.

@boots-with-the-fur-club @theonlybrightowl @dandywonderous @dandylovesturtles @elijah-doodle @fredquinn @sady-is-secretly-an-alchemist @heckitall @beannary @brightandfullofglory @purplepixel @pomelined @imagionationstation @daughterofskylark @eb177 @lilysplash @burritello3000 @midwesternvibes @justchillininthebackground-06

The roar of the crowd is deafening as they emerge into the City Circle. Donnie doesn’t drop to his knees and cover his ears, no matter how much he may want to. Kendra presses herself subtly closer to his side, making his skin crawl as she tests her weight slightly against his arm, and once she’s confident that he isn’t going to let her fall, she lifts both arms high in the air in a dramatic flourish that has the crowd going wild.

Well, that just won’t do. The competition for attention (and for their lives, though he’s trying not to think about that right at the moment) has begun, and Donnie has been a middle child for far too long to let someone else win. With a hand still bracing her, he lifts his free hand high to call attention to himself, then sweeps into a graceful bow as he uses that hand to flip the train of his costume and show off the way the scales shift and change with his movements. The excitement that gets him makes Kendra elbow him hard, digging into the leftover bruises from when Kendra had tackled him. Despite the slight sting, he turns to smirk down at her, smug as she glares back. He’s grateful for the distraction. It makes it feel a little easier to ignorr the ever increasing urge to start screaming.

White and yellow chrysanthemums rain down all around them, carpeting the streets and getting crushed beneath the wheels of the chariots. Donnie sputters as one nails him in the face, and when Kendra tilts her head back and laughs, he forces himself to do the same, all too aware of the eyes and the cameras trained on them. Kendra plucks it from where it had fallen to his shoulder and tucks it behind her ear, grinning at him with a gleam in her eyes before turning a bright smile towards the cameras. More cheers, and suddenly the flowers raining down around them feel a lot more intentional. Oh, she is good.

There’s not much room in the chariot for them to do much more than wave or bow, or make a few subtle gestures at one another as they try to disguise jostling and thrown elbows as incidental closeness. Every time either one of them does a little half-twist or bows, the crowd goes crazy as their costumes ripple and change in a complimentary dance of beautiful colors. For one stupid moment, Donnie can almost forget what’s at stake; this just feels like hassling April or his brothers over the last piece of a birthday cake or for their dad’s attention. It is stupid and childish and all the meanness without any of the malice. It’s almost nice.

And then the feeling of a new set of eyes on him sends a prickling up his spine. This gaze is different. It is not the attention of the thousands of cheering fans, or even the grave watchfulness he can almost imagine he feels from the District people settled in their homes, watching the proceedings on their holoscreens. It is cold and dangerous and close.

Donnie snaps upright from his latest sweeping bow, careful to maintain his facsimile of a smile as sharp eyes sweep the crowd for the source of the gaze. He knows that it is foolish to actually believe that he can pick out or even feel a single glare amongst a crowd of over one hundred thousand, but he doesn’t know how else to classify the sudden creeping, choking sensation that has crawled up his spine and circled his neck like a noose. Alarm bells are ringing inside his head, drowning out all other sounds.

He scans the crowd, taking in the gleeful smiles and hungry excitement, before his eyes finally settle on the massive raised platform that they are barreling towards. The presidential mansion looms above them, bright and beautiful and utterly sterile. Lights are projected onto its side, fake fireworks exploding over the bone white surface in a colorful facsimile of true celebration. Standing high above them all, the president stares out with an expression that Donnie can only think of as regnant. He is impassive as he watches the proceedings, and indifferent to the fact that he holds so many lives in the palms of his hands. He is completely confident in his control of the situation and the people as he stares down at 24 soon-to-be killers. The distance between the procession and the presidential manor is still far too great for Donnie to delude himself into thinking that their eyes can meet, but he still shudders when that cold gaze passes carelessly over him. He knows where that sense of danger is stemming from now.

Though his features are wizened and long greyed with age, the president still cuts an imposing figure. He has not let power make him soft. The cushion of Capitol living hasn’t done anything to dull his sharp edges.

Not that Donnie is surprised, really. The man has been in power since before papa was born; an impressive feat, considering the immense power struggle that had occurred after the first rebellion failed. From what papa has told him - and what the cobbled together and highly sanitized history lessons have conveniently left out - there were an impressive number of assassinations during that time. He would have had to be sharp to survive. Unless, of course, he was the one ordering said assassinations in the first place.

Donnie narrows his eyes as they draw closer to the man who has created an age of prosperity for Panem, and has kept the Districts crushed thoroughly beneath his heel. He’s always looked minatorial during every holoscreen appearance he’s made, and papa used to warn them all of his propensity towards cruelty in hushed, fearful whispers. Donnie had never questioned his father’s words, but he hadn’t realized before now just how accurate those statements had been.

He keeps the smile in place, even as the lump in his throat grows and threatens to stop his breathing. He can’t tear his eyes away from the platform, or the figure standing atop it, flanked by his counsel. They watch the procession with a detached interest, like the children they are sending to their deaths are nothing more than pawns to be moved across the board.

Those cold eyes settle upon their chariot, raking over the beautiful costumes and sparkling gems, assessing the Tributes encased within. The president doesn’t seem impressed. He turns his attention on to the next set quickly, and Donnie feels tension prickle across his muscles as their chariots begin to slow, raising goosebumps across his bare skin as each one settles upon its predetermined spot before the presidential mansion.

The crowd falls silent as the president steps closer to the podium, the slight electronic feedback of his microphone enough to have the entirety of the Capitol holding its breath. Donnie does his best not to wince at the sound as it needles at his skin and scratches uncomfortably inside his brain. The president’s eyes sweep over the gathered tributes again, slow and thoughtful. He does not smile, but he does incline his head at each chariot, as if acknowledging each individual District.

“We gather today, to welcome our tributes,” he says, his deep voice soft but commanding the attention of the crowd with enviable ease. Donnie can almost feel each onlooker sit up a little straighter. “We salute each of you for your courage and your strength.”

The crowd erupts into applause, more subdued now than the previous raucous cheers and screams, but no less enthusiastic. The president smiles, just the slightest tick of his lips, and his gaze moves slowly over the crowd before snapping back towards the gathered tributes once again.

“We honor our tributes,” he says slowly, as his eyes come to rest directly upon Donnie. “—and their families. We recognize the sacrifices made for the sake of peace and prosperity. We thank you.”

His gaze moves on, but the feeling of it lingers. Donnie stays frozen, fingers digging hard enough into the handrail that he can almost feel the flimsy metal warp beneath his grip. His heart is pounding. The lights are too bright. Everything is so loud.

He just wants to curl up in the familiar comfort of his own bed, tucked beneath the weight of his blankets. He wants Mikey to sit on his thighs to to provide much needed pressure while he hides away in the darkness of his covers. He wants Raph to hum and rub careful, comforting circles on his back. He wants Leo—

Well. He just wants to be home. He wants his family.

“We wish you all a happy Hunger Games,” the president says serenely. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The crowd cheers. Fanfare plays. The fake fireworks pop and explode all across the walls of the mansion, painting it bloody red and fire orange. Donnie stares at the bursts of color, wishing the fires were real. The president stares back, eyes narrowed like he knows the thoughts inside his head.

The chariots begin to move with a lurch that nearly sends Digi and Gizmo stumbling off the back of theirs, and has Kendra clutching at his arm to keep her balance. He can almost feel that chilling gaze lingering as they ride away. Kendra bumps him gently with her shoulder, and when he turns to look at her, she gestures for him to lean down. He obliges, mostly out of the desire for a distraction from the creeping unease.

Her lips brush the shell of his ear as she whispers, “That speech was total bullshit, huh?”

His smile feels a little more real all of a sudden.

There is a stranger waiting for them when the elevator doors slide open to reveal their fourth floor apartment. He is seated primly upon the pristinely clean and stupidly shaped sofa, ankle crossed over his knee, hands folded in his lap, head held high. He is invading the only marginally safe or private space afforded to them within the Capitol, and it rankles how much he looks like he belongs within this stupid fancy apartment.

He assesses them as they pile off the elevator, Donnie and Kendra both shuffling awkwardly forward as they clutch at the trailing fabric of their costumes to keep it from getting caught in the elevator door. They each keep a wary eye on him, suspicious of the interloper in their apartment. Atomo goes silent when she sees their visitor, her excited chattering about their Chariot Ride and the burgeoning sponsor interest cutting off with a sharp gasp. Donnie glares at the stranger, who surveys him with an expression that he has no idea the meaning of in return. He looks…excited, maybe? But that doesn’t quite fit. Certainly not upset, but not happy either. There’s a strange shininess to his eyes as they focus on Donnie’s face. He wishes Mikey or Leo were here to tell him what that expression means.

The stranger doesn’t stand until papa steps out from behind the cover of their small crowd. His eyes light up, yet his lips pulls down into a frown. He smoothes the fabric of his skirt and crosses his arms, muscles bulging in a way that even Donnie can tell must be purposeful. Yikes and gross. Talk about desperate.

“Draxum,” Yoshi says, his voice low and full of a quiet rage that Donnie rarely gets to hear. His hands flex at his sides before curling into tight fists. Donnie steps to the side, train dragging in his wake and shimmering even in the dim apartment lights, intent on keeping both of them in his sights. As if sensing the brewing danger, Kendra and Atomo both hurry to join him, standing a few feet back like they hope he’ll act as a buffer.

“Yoshi,” the man returns, sounding more amused than angry, which tells Donnie all he needs to know about who holds the power between the two of them. The stranger’s eyes narrow as they move slowly up and down Yoshi’s body. It’s something that he’s seen done to his father before, but it makes Donnie’s skin crawl worse than usual this time. “I see you are as pathetic as ever. Maybe even moreso than usual, considering the…special guest this year.”

Donnie stiffens as those sharp golden eyes drift towards him once again. Draxum’s lip curls, and if he didn’t know any better Donnie might have said that it almost looks like a smile. He stares back, too exhausted to bother trying to force even the barest hint of emotion into his expression. His papa hisses between his teeth, sharp and deliberate, and Draxum’s attention snaps back towards him immediately.

“What do you want?” he snaps, and though Draxum has a significant height advantage, he somehow manages to look down his nose at him in the way only someone who knows their own strength can. This time, the twisting of Draxum’s lips can only be a smile, small and cruel as it is.

“There has been a report that your son requires medical intervention,” Draxum says, slow and soft, and Donnie feels his stomach drop at the way those words make his father’s face go all twisted and pale. He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

So he won’t.

“I’m going to shower,” he announces, refusing to meet any of the eyes that snap towards him. “If you’re still hanging around when I’m done you can look at my back then.”

And then he turns and stomps away, ignoring the voices that call after him as he goes. It feels good to slam the bedroom door behind him, and as silence falls over the room he finally feels like he has a chance to catch his breath. Leaning against the door just in case anyone decides to follow him, he takes a moment to just try to breathe. His eyeballs feel hot and his chest feels tight. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears as his heart pounds, echoing the dull throbbing at the base of his skull. There is an uncomfortable tingling in his fingertips.

Thankfully, no one tries to follow him. There is no pounding at the door or jiggling of the knob. He’s not sure what he would have done if someone did try to get in, but he’s sure there would have been blood. Exhaling slowly, Donnie steps towards the bathroom, mindful to stay close to the wall and out of the range of the camera’s ever watchful eye. Glittering gems trail in his wake, silent as they fall to the carpet. The sting as they’re pulled from his skin feels good. It feels real in a way very little else has today.

He leaves the beautiful, glittering gown in a heap on the bathroom floor. His hands are steady as he turns the faucet, water gushing forth and filling the air with steam almost immediately. For a long while, he sits on the side of the tub and just watches the water as it circles the drain, breathing in the steam and the lingering smell of the shampoo he used when he last showered.

The water burns when he finally steps beneath its strong spray. His back tingles at the heat and the pressure, but it does not hurt. He thinks about the stranger in the living room, and wonders what he plans to do during the so-called medical intervention. His hands do not shake even though his lungs feel too small inside his chest. He takes his time. Thankfully the Capitol never runs out of hot water.

When he leaves the quiet sanctity of the bathroom, he’s not surprised to find Draxum in his room. The man is standing by the floor to ceiling window, which has been made clear again, and is staring at the city beyond. There’s something thoughtful and fond in his gaze, though Donnie couldn’t begin to guess at what he might be thinking as he looks out at the glittering expanse of white and silver. He clears his throat, impatient to get this over with, and Draxum turns slowly to face him.

“I’d rather this be fast,” he says simply, arms crossed tight over his chest, refusing to look Draxum in the face.

“It should be a simple matter, as long as you haven’t caused any undue damage to yourself,” Draxum concedes with a tip of his head. Dark pink hair cascades over his shoulders with the movement, silky and long. Teal lines his eyes and lips, a strangely vibrant pop of color against his dark skin and dull grey clothes.

“Close the window.”

Draxum arches an eyebrow at being ordered around but thankfully complies, and the late evening sunlight is dampened as the window goes opaque again. Donnie grits his teeth and stands by the foot of the oversized bed, wishing there was a chair or a desk or something besides a bed in this stupid room. He feels vulnerable. He hates it.

“Shirt off,” orders Draxum, and the cold clinical tone he uses is actually almost enough to soothe some of the nerves sparking inside Donnie’s chest, screaming that this situation holds the hallmarks of both stupid and dangerous. Donnie shrugs his shirt off, but keeps it clutched tightly in his hands. Draxum slips on a pair of gloves, not looking at him. “Turn so I can examine your back.”

There is no gasp of shock as he takes in the scarred expanse of flesh and the metal exo-spine. He doesn’t even hum with interest or ask how a boy from the Districts could have come into possession of such a piece of technology. All he does is press forward, far too close for Donnie’s comfort. He can feel each of the man’s cool breaths on his back and feel the press of latex covered fingers as he examines the seam where skin and metal meet. Donnie grits his teeth and tries not to snap.

“You don’t seem surprised by it,” he says instead, eyes trained on the ceiling, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself. Draxum scoffs, and his fingers press a little harder, almost to the point of pain. His gloved hands trace the metal spine, and Donnie feels his legs tingle. He hates it he hates it he—

“Why would I be surprised?” Draxum demands as he prods at one of the keloid scars on his shoulder. “I made it, after all.”

#Rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #the hunger games #rise hunger games au #my writing #rise of the tmnt #The chariot ride scene kicked my ass #I’ll probably do some edits before i post it to ao3 lol #Side note i love flower language #If i ever mention a flower by name in my writing there’s probably a meaning I like for it

53 notes · View notes

imagionationstation · 3 months

Note

OKAY— so like, we had scenarios of which the B-Team were raised by the Shredder, but what if it was the A-Team??

Shredder telling both Leonardo and Raphael (who now goes by Takeō and Akihitō respectively) lies about their younger littermates (Donatello and Michelangelo, whom he named as Junkō and Kōta)— telling them that their younger siblings have been ruthlessly killed by Hamato Yoshi, who had deemed them as an abomination.

In fact, Shredder wasn't even aware of the existence of the younger two; at least, not until both Takeō and Akihitō brought it up a few months after they were officially able to carry out missions and daily patrol. However, he couldn't deny that it's truly a blessing— there's a chance that they might know of Hamato Yoshi's location, and even then, Shredder can expand his army of powerful mutants.

Donatello and Michelangelo, on the other hand, aren't so thrilled about having to 2v2 their older brothers at just about everytime. There's also that the two have the tendency to play dirty. Stalking their friends and whatnot, it's driving them up the wall.

I don't know if Karai should be with the Shredder, because her rivalry with the A-Team over the younger onces is delicious.

What do you think?

I love this. No, no, wait, see my vision, look-

Takeō and Akihitō are everything that Shredder needs them to be. They took up training from the moment that their little legs could walk and they excelled past anything that he’d ever seen before, and one of Shredder’s greatest fighters happens to be blind, mind you, so he knows what greatness looks like.

He knows it has to relate to the fact that they’re mutants, but he couldn’t care less. With one student who bears a determination to please and the other with the violent fury to be molded like his own, they’re better than an entire legion of Foot soldiers. Takeō makes sure every command is followed and Akihitō leaves no enemy unpunched- what could be better?

They’re perfect. No, they’re better than perfect. They’re a miracle.

One that he never hesitates to take advantage of. If Yoshi had done one thing right in his lifetime, it was leading him to them.

And then- AND THEN-

Enter Mikey and Donnie.

The universe throws out two turtles with on obvious ignorance of surface life and an instinct to defend those that dwell on it. Leo and Raph’s world is thrown out of whack the first time that they spot them- considering Mikey is a younger-shaped replica of them with freckles. They keep an curious eye on them from a distance, but uncertain what to make of them, don’t interact.

They inquire about it to their father and (considering Saki likely stole them from Yoshi) he fabricates a story that horrifies them. They already know about Yoshi and how he killed Karai’s mother- but he tore apart their family too?

Afterward, it takes about five seconds to connect the dots on who these mutant turtles are. They go out to track down and reconnect with their brothers. *insert canon plot stuff*

When Donnie and Mikey try to save a kidnapped April, they fail pretty badly. The Saki brothers step in, stop the Kraang from taking the girl before Donnie and Mikey’s brains get blown out, but don’t really do much about them taking the dad. They don’t really care about the humans. They’re far more interested in prodding the turtles.

And, after taking April to her aunt’s, prodding absolutely happens from both sides.

The childish giddy air of the Junkō and Kōta upon finding their siblings obviously cements them as the younger siblings in the Saki brother’s minds. They don’t doubt for a moment that they are who they say they are because Splinter told them that they had two missing brothers as little kids.

Mind made up, Leo insists that they come home. Mikey insists that they have a home and Donnie admits they shouldn’t really wander off with strangers. They both vocalize that their rat dad needs to meet them first since he’s the one who lost them and he’s misses them and they don’t have to abandon their dad or anything, they just really want them to meet Splinter! (The Foot symbols on their gear mean nothing to the Hamatos and the name Splinter means nothing to the Sakis. Oopsy.)

And so they wait around for Mikey and Donnie to collect Splinter and then Splinter comes across his sons and Leo and Raph are tolerant until he introduces himself as Hamato Yoshi and then it all clicks that the man who Shredder thought killed their brothers and he had stolen them away instead and he’s the reason that they haven’t see them for fifteen years-

They don’t even give Yoshi time to explain before they’re attempting to eliminate the threat. Donnie and Mikey are insanely confused until one of the brothers lets it slip that their dad is Saki and- oh wait are they evil?!- so now there’s fighting, attempted forced reasoning and kidnapping of little brothers, but the Hamatos manage to get away.

So now Leo and Raph’s are simply DISTRAUGHT because the madman had stolen and brainwashed their little brothers so how were supposed to focus on anything else when they’re out there but actively on the wrong side of this war??

It trashes their game and suddenly his miracle team is no longer a shinning example of perfection. Once again, Yoshi has ruined something great and, instead of seething, Saki gets creative.

He fakes an understanding with what his sons are going through and expresses a wish that he knew where Yoshi was so that he could put an end to the threat. If only, they could find the lair where he was keeping their brothers prisoner, maybe then they rid the world of the rat and bring them home. Once they’re free from Yoshi’s dark influence, they could all be one happy family.

And Leo, like the helpful little leader he is, realizes that they could find the lair. Him and Raph could totally find a way to convince the brothers to take them home, or even find a way to get in without their knowledge. They were ninjas, masters of deception and lies. They could do it, Master, if only he would give them a chance?

So he does because an end to Yoshi and two new powerful warriors is more than he could hope for. Exactly what he deserves.

And the rest of the series is just Raph and Leo doing everything in their power to inch their way into their brother’s trust. They stalk them in a desperate itch to make sure they’re okay, which leads to them intercepting and assisting on a bunch of Kraang mission.

They run into each other when Donnie and Mikey try to stop the Foot from being evil, and Leo and Raph are more concerned with making sure nothing happens to their brothers that the Hamato brothers end up completing their mission more often than not.

Leo and Raph are still dedicated to the Foot but their priorities are skewed every time their brother come into play. Nine times out of ten, baby brothers take first priority. And Saki lets these mishaps happen because his sons are insistent upon gaining the Hamatos trust.

It doesn’t take Donnie and Mikey long to realize what Leo and Raph are doing, protecting-them wise. They don’t quite understand it, but they assume that even though they have been misguided and brainwashed by Shredder, they still are good people deep down. It’s incredibly annoying that they are always in the way and can’t seem to realize how what they’re doing is obviously evil, though.

Like plotting younger siblings do, they adapt to use the brother’s new apparent weakness against them, putting themselves in situations where the Saki brothers have no choice but to interviene- even if that means slicing their own bots or preventing their own missions from succeeding. And the best part is that the Saki brothers have no idea that they’re being played- they really just believe that their baby brothers are kinda bad at their jobs.

Which really doesn’t help with the whole PROTECT alarms constantly ringing in their brains.

As for Karai, I think she would still be with the Foot, but instead of a doting older sister, there would be jealousy vibes. She’d been overshadowed her entire life by these ‘perfect’ brothers and she jumps at the opportunity to impress her father when they start slipping. She could even play an antagonist role- actively trying to dissuade her father’s approval of Leo&Raph’s activities in order to get a better standing. She doesn’t want them murdered at the stake or anything, simply taken out of the favoritism role so that his actual human daughter (or so she thinks) can have a scrap of his attention.

I WAS GOING TO STOP HERE BUT YOU HAVE ME THINKING ABOUT PLOT AND SUCH NOW-

Like, Donnie would now be the eldest with the responsibilities of genius and leader, which means that he probably feels like his baby brother’s one line of defense against an entire universe. Splinter didn’t train his boys for war- but Saki did. Imagine the pressure on his shoulders to keep his family safe while actively on deadly missions with brothers who could turn on them at any second, stuck under the weight of wanting to get April reunited with her missing family.

Leo’s side of the spectrum is spent worrying that two of his brothers are under the abusive care of their kidnapper. He desperately hones the “but I can totally bring them to our side and make them see things our way!” attitude that he has for Karai during the canon series. He does everything in his power to keep the blame from falling on them when missions go wrong, fabricating stories for their father, like he’s always done to keep Raph out of trouble. He doesn’t care for the Hamato’s missions, but he cares greatly for their safety, so he makes sure they tag along at every opportunity, whether they are wanted or not. Stalking is never out of the question, even if it doesn’t take long for the Hamatos to adapt to their presence.

I CAN’T SHUT UP ABOUT THIS SUDDENLY:

So there’s this song “Our Word” from 36 questions that absolutely has the vibes from this au that has taken root in my brain and when I think of Leo being a sneaky little guy and keeping Raph out of trouble- IT FITS. Well, these specific verses anyway:

When I was a little [boy] Like really little, like eight or so I was playing in my father's study A place in the house I wasn't supposed to go

My father fancied himself a sailor His study was filled with nautical decor He kept a boat in a bottle on the top of a shelf And it shattered on the ground when I slammed the door

I told my [brother] everything I told [him] I was so, so sorry [He] told me, "Don't cry, When he comes home tonight We can make everything okay This is all we have to say"

"We don't remember a boat in a bottle It must've fallen off its shelf alone We know you loved it, we're so sad it's broken But neither one of us was even home"

And it's our word Yes, our word Against his

HOLY MOTHER OF MUTATIONS I AM DEVOURING THIS AU AND NOW I HAVE RETURNED WITH CONCEPT:

“You shouldn’t be out alone.”

Donnie lands as irritation crawls up his spine and becomes fuzzy little ambers in his brain. He has a few irrational thoughts, such as giving the nuisance a taste of throwing stars, but they’re dismissed as he pretends to check his t-phone. He can sense one entity behind him, but his partner doesn’t seem to be hovering nearby.

He turns, t-phone at his side, the cheese phone on speed-dial. He doubts the Foot ninja wants to kill him, but if this is another kidnapping attempt…

Well. Better safe than sorry.

“Apperently, I’m not. Need something?”

“You almost got caught tonight.” Takeō cocks his head, face passive. “You shouldn’t be breaking into military junkyards. There have to be safer options. There’s a place in Chinatown. Less guns.”

“Well, as soon as civilians throw out this kind of equipment,” Donnie pats the bag on his hip. “I’ll consider it.”

He frowns. “You’re taking risks.”

“Weren’t your men trying to slit my throat last week?”

“That was not my doing.”

“Oh, sure, Shredder doesn’t want to lure Splinter out of hiding and you would never kidnap me or Mikey, right?”

“I didn’t know about Bradford’s scheme until it was to late.” Takeō scans his face and Donnie denies the sincerity any thought. “You have to believe us- why else would we help you escape?”

“To earn our trust? For future blackmail? As some part of some evil Foot plot to hurt Sensei?” Donnie sneers. “I don’t care what your excuse is when you made my brother bleed.”

“I told Bradford to back off, but I can only do so much.” The tone is defensive, but his frown softens guiltily. “I can’t stop the bots from doing their programing. Maybe if my clan did not see you as a threat- if you would rethink your position-”

His grip tightens over the t-phone. “This is not a conversation that I am entertaining. Goodbye, Takeō.”

“Wait-”

He does not.

And then Takeō is across the rooftop and roughly taking hold of his arm before he can take more than two steps. The t-phone clatters, adrenaline surging as he stops dead in his tracks. His attention shoots from the weapon on the warrior’s hip and then to the blue gaze that is drilling holes into his skull.

He swallows, proud that his voice doesn’t shake. “Let go.”

Takeō tightens his hold. He steps forward, their gazes locked, face unreadable. Donnie thinks it might be an intimation tactic, but he’s not scared, per say. His gut squirms in discomfort and he feels weirdly small despite being inches taller. He expects a low warning, or some kind of dark threat to cut the air between them.

Instead, he gets a soft promise laced so heavily in passion that it might as well have been shouted across the rooftops.

“I would never hurt my brothers.”

Donnie is silent for several seconds.

“You’re hurting me right now.”

Takeō tears his hand away as though he just found out that Donnie was radioactive. Donnie rubs the area, mostly for show, in the hopes of dissuading him from trying that again.

“…I-I meant…” Donnie looks up. No hesitation crosses his face, but his words come with uncertainty. “Not like that. Never like that.”

Donnie humphs.

“Is- Is Kōta-”

“Mikey.”

Takeō stares and Donnie glares back.

The warrior relents. “How is he?”

“It was a flesh wound.” Donnie picks up the t-phone, unsure why he’s telling him anything. “He’s already back to being a hassle.”

A beat of quiet. “I suppose that means we’ll be reunited soon.”

“To kick your shells in? Yeah. Probably.” Donnie puts away his device, looking somewhere over Takeō’s shoulder to the bulky shadow who has been inching closer through the extent of their conversation.

“You know, family means more to me than biology. Shocking to hear from a scientist, I know.” He pauses for effect, considering. “A family with differences is still a family. You might be serious about this whole hurting thing when it comes to Mikey and me…” He narrows his eyes and trains the hostility on the piercing gaze. “But if I find out that you even thought about touching my father again, you can forget any chance of brotherhood. I might seem like a weak joke to you, but I promise that I can make your life a living hell.”

Donnie stares him down, grip tight over the strap of the bag filled with weaponry that he’ll use to make Metalhead truly surface worthy so nothing can harm Mikey again, and dares Takeō to challenge him.

“There’s no stronger warrior than one whose greatest virtue is their loyalty.” Takeō decides simply. “And there is nothing more that I’d expect from a brother.”

Donnie is pretty sure that’s a compliment. He’s not sure what that he to do with backing off his father, but he accepts it.

He releases the bag. “Glad we understand each other.”

He turns his back to the ninja, looking over his shoulder. “And don’t have Akihitō follow me home.”

Takeō stiffens, eyes widening. He smirks. “See you later, bro.”

With a burst of speed, he takes off.

To their credit, they don’t follow.

Donnie knows better to assume that this’ll be the last time he has eyes on his shell. But, for the first time, he thinks he won’t mind.

60 notes · View notes