Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Precious little creatures!” Yoshi held them gently with his bloody, shaking hands. One of the creatures stared back at him with a smile, eyes brightened, hand reaching out for the warmth of his face. Poor thing, it was so oblivious to the destruction that was happening.

Yoshi didn’t know what the four creatures he was holding were, nor did he care what Draxum did to them. All he knew was that he helped create them. All he knew was that they needed him.

A rain of ashes and debris poured down on them. Just his luck, not only did he have to deal with a crazy sheep-goat-thingy mutant that wanted to use his DNA to destroy humanity, but now for some reason, the lab caught on fire.  Yoshi tucked the turtles close, eyes darted around wildly, searching for any way out. A big red button… surely, that’s a good thing to press right? Who would put a giant red button in the middle of an evil lab without it being important?

So Yoshi slammed his fist onto the button, and the whole situation, as if it hadn't been chaotic enough, got worse. All the cages containing whatever monstrosity that Draxum created were wide open, the building was soon filled with screeches and rampaging footsteps.

“You too, my friend!” Yoshi pulled out his best friend for the past 3 years from within his collar: Rat Jitsu, a grumpy old rat with a haido similar to himself, and a tendency to bite. And the rat did bite, at the worst time possible, onto Yoshi’s thumb.

“Why you -” Yoshi yelp, flinging his hand as the rat bounced away and disappeared into the flaming chaos. Something broke above his head, and green neon liquid poured onto his body.

It was a slight tingle at first, but then a shot of pain ran through the tip of his fingers and toes, and sharp claws sprouted from it, piercing through the fabric of his gloves and shoes. ‘God, why can’t I just catch a break?’ He screamed internally to himself, but his brain was too panicking to care. ‘No Yoshi, one thing at a time! Get to safety.’ a mind version of himself urged him, and Yoshi kept his eyes widened for any chance of escape. 

Through the green smoke and mystic flame, the human warrior and the sheep yokai meet eyes. Yoshi hunched his back, as he clutched the children closer to his chest, shielding them from Draxum’s vision. With gritted teeth and bloodshot eyes, he gave the Baron a look that could kill. ‘Don’t you fucking dare’ was the message.

___________

Draxum bit his lip, clearly still tense from his injuries. His eyes while focusing on Lou Jitsu, was starting to get heavier and heavier the more toxic fumes he was breathing in. He clenched his fist, a mystic vine readied under his hand.

But he saw how Lou, instead of positioning himself into a more battle ready pose, or even raising his forearms to block a potential upcoming vine, was clutching, wrapping the four turtles closer to his chest so protectively. Lou’s message was clear, the fool was absolutely going to fight and die for those turtles.

The turtles that Draxum mutated.

The turtles that are Draxum’s.

“Unhand them!” Draxum barked viciously, a large vine pierced through the green flame and headed right for Yoshi’s unarmed body.

Lou gasped, just for half a second, and with his warrior prowess he did a shaky, but still flawless jump flip and landed on the nearby debris. He glared back at Draxum, a mixture of horror and confusion in his eyes, clearly not expecting Draxum to actually take action.

“And let you turn them into monsters? Never!” Lou barked back, and then bolted for the exit.

Draxum grunted, lunging himself forward. Vines rapidly sprouted from the crackling flaming ground, furiously chasing after Lou’s fading silhouette. The martial artist didn’t even look back, he only ran faster and faster toward the light, arms still clutching the turtles close to his chest. But then it caught him, a singular vine managed to wrap itself around his ankle, and then he tripped. 

Lou landed on his side, his skin burning against the hard ground. Before he could recollect himself, another vine knocked him hard behind his back, forcing him to do the unthinkable: letting go of the turtles.

The four little creatures flew onto the ground, just a few feet away from Lou’s trembling body. There was a squeal, weak and tiny, but guttural and painful. It was then followed by loud sobbing, too human to be mistaken by any mere creature. A baby’s cry.

“What have you done?” Lou whispered. He tried to reach out for them, before another vine slammed against his torso, sending him closer to the exit, but further from the children.

A large beam of metal fell and pierced the ground between the human warrior and his children, just inches away from them. Both Draxum and Lou look up, eyes widened in horror. They had forgotten how much destruction a flame can get, and time had chased up to them. Several more metal beams fell from the ceiling, narrowingly missing them, a storm of ashes and dust clouds formed around them. 

Lou Jitsu watched.

Lou Jitsu screamed.

Lou Jitsu ran away.

Draxum had won, just for a single second, before a large shadow casted over the four turtles. The rest of the tower rumbled furiously, as it drew out its last breath, in the form of a giant chunk of concrete that would absolutely squash the four babies like a shoe on top of tiny little bugs. 

Now, there were not a lot of options for the newborn turtles, whose limbs are barely functioning, but there were a lot of options for Draxum to choose. And Draxum could’ve done this a millions different ways, the smartest option would probably be dodging to the side, or slingshots himself out of the burning building using his vines. He, instead, jumped forward and landed on top of the turtles.

For hundred of years in Draxum’s life, he had never done something so idiotic. Fighting a losing battle inside a soon collapsing building, risks dying for four little turtles. He didn’t know what drove him, but he assumed it was pride. The pride that urged him to take down Lou. The pride that urged him to take back what is his. 

But does pride alone justify the fact that he was going to die for them?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care, all he remembered was cursing to himself quietly under his breath, as the entire tower collapsed on him.

_____________

He felt the pressure being removed from his back. And god, was it painful.

Raising his head slowly, the bright, artificial light of the Hidden City pierced his skull, making him winced. But in front of his eyesight were the scrawny and plumby gargoyles, grunting as they tried to push a piece of the building from his shoulder.

“Boss, I’m so glad you’re not dead!” The bigger gargoyles said nonchalantly, until the other one poked him against the elbow. “I mean, of course you’re not dead! We know you would pull through, boss. No boss of ours is gonna die on our watch.”

“Also, we’re like, so sorry, that Lou Jitsu destroyed your place. That’s L-O-U-J-I-T-S-U.” The scrawny gargoyles added. “But luckily, your hardworking gargoyles are here to save your life!”

Draxum blinked, the cogs in his brain turning, reviewing all the events that happened before he got knocked out. Lou Jitsu escaped. Lab caught on fire. Tower collapsed. Oh, right.

As he tried to move, a sharp pain shot through his spine, and he bit back the urge to scream. A shard of his mask fell from his face, crimson blood dripped onto it. But he felt something moving… Something squirmed and kicked him softly to his stomach, so he got onto his knee, as slowly as he could.

They were trembling, all four of them, but safe and sound. Not without some bruises, not without some burns, but safe nonetheless. 

The littlest one was hiding in its shell, and on top was the one with red stripes, its hand rubbing the shell of its sibling, cooing softly, as if it was trying to lure the little one to sleep. The biggest one, its shell rigid with spikes, was holding the one with the flat, soft shell close. Softshell’s eyes were wet with fresh tears, and Draxum noticed a long gash running across its vulnerable shell. The gash that was probably caused when Lou dropped them onto the ground, riddled with fire, metal and glass.

Draxum traced his finger along the gash, examining it, but was surprised when Softshell instead grabbed his finger, holding onto it as if it was looking for comfort. It cooed softly, a small reassuring smile form on its face. And then the other three came along, grabbing onto each other, onto his hand, starving for the warmth and softness his hand gave.

Draxum scooped them up… gently. He cradled them in his arms, something he never thought he would do for any of his creations. Something that he had never done for anyone. 

“I’m glad your children are okay” He heard one of the gargoyles say as they peeked behind his shoulders. “They are your children, right? Or creations? Whatever you want to call them?”

Draxum winced at the word ‘children’.

“Ohhh Muninn, they are precious! Boss, you gotta have to keep us around, we are awesome at babysitting.” 

Draxum steered his eyes away, and looked around solemnly. This rubble used to be the great laboratory of Baron Draxum. His data, his machines, his creations… his great plan to restore the yokai’s glory, to erase humanity and all of their sin… now gone, swept away because of a certain human TV star whose movies he doesn’t even enjoy. Everything.

‘Well, not everything.’ He thought to himself, looking down at the four children - no - four future warriors that he had in his arms.

“It will take years to rebuild all of this.”  Draxum muttered with a hoarse voice, his finger still danced around, playing with the four turtles’ little grabbing hand. He couldn’t help but be amused, a small smile curled up on his face.

“But with you four by my side, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that Draxum heard in the morning was a loud crashing noise. It then followed by a muffled yell from about 3 floors away.

Draxum gingerly blinked his eyes, his head heavy after a night of not enough sleep. And god, he wanted nothing more than just to return to his warm bed. He did not want to deal with them this early in the morning. After pinching the bridge of his nose to ease away the migraine, he reached out by his bedside for his mask.

“Coat, now.” He beckoned, stretching his arms out and slumping his head forward. Draxum awaited for a response, he expected the gargoyles’ wings flapping, maybe even some half hearted banter as they pulled his coat over him for the morning routine. It took a few seconds for the baron to realise that the dog bed by the fireplace was empty.

‘Doing everything by myself today I see’, the sheep yokai muttered, teeth bared. With a scowl, he dashed out of the comfy of his bed and out of his room, ripping the coat from the side of his closet in the process. 

The peacefulness was soon filled by dissonance, the rumbling of machineries and sizzling of steam. Harsh neon green filled his vision, and his head stung even more from the familiar smell of whatever mystic-science-ish substance that was being pumped by the giant machine in the middle of his tower.

The sounds of his hooves echoed through the whole tower as he hurried downstairs. If he guessed correctly, the loud ‘bang’ and ‘crash’ that rudely pulled him out of his sleep should be at the bottom floor. The floor where his four little warriors reside.

“Hurry Munie!” He heard the muffled but unmistakably high pitch squeal of Spotty in the next room. The main laboratory. The room that, while not forbidden to the kids, he would very much prefer them not to enter, especially for an acrobatic maniac like Spotty.

“Bucket, coming up!” Ah, so that’s where his gargoyles went. Covering up for the kids, again.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna tell Draxum? These stuffs are dangerous.” The other gargoyle, the scrawny one he assumed, spoke up. “Besides, you guys are toast either way when he wakes up.”

“Dude, Hugie, relaaaaaax.” The smug voice of Stripe rang in Draxum's ears, and he couldn’t help but slam his palm to his face and groan. “We’ll just be quick, and then I can bribe Softy into replacing this ol’ thing. I mean how much does this even cost, right? He got like hundreds of these.”

So Stripe was in on this. Of course.

Draxum gave himself a deep breath, mustering up the most angry expression he could, while all he wanted to do was just cry and go back to bed. He kicked the door open, hard.

The rest of the lab was still intact, luckily, but one of the large tube tanks containing his ooze had a large hole. Something blunt and heavy had crashed into it. Glass and green liquid spilled onto the floor, and onto his important notes and machines.

The red eared slider mutant gave him a sly nervous smile, his hands behind his back desperately hiding something. But Draxum could clearly tell it was the mystic odachi, newly crafted just last night that he kept inside the weapon vault, locked. 

‘So he steals now’ Draxum thought, anger growing in his chest.

Draxum turned his head and spotted Spotty, crouching down on the floor,  in towels, green ooze and glass, with a bucket of water next to him. His small frame shaken lightly as he chuckled, steering his eyes back and forth trying to dodged the gaze of the sheep mutant.

The two gargoyles were there too, and one of them waved at him with a smile. “Told ya.” The big one looked at Stripe, nudging his elbow, then they both promptly flew away and perched onto Draxum’s shoulders.

“Boss man! Hey hey, whatzup?” Stripe, like always, was the first out of the two to open his mouth. “Just a little bit of rough housing yeah? No biggie, we were just cleaning up - “

“You better have a good explanation for holding that in your hand.” Draxum barked, pointing at Stripe with an accusing finger.

“You’re worrying about that? Not the fact that Spotty over there crashed into one of your super important green thingy?” 

“It was Stripe’s idea!” Spotty grasped out with a panicked tone. “He told me if I can do 7 backflips in the air he would let me hold the sword!”

“You snitch - “ Stripe sneered with his usual dramatic flare, his hand tapping on his chest. “I would never! Am I holding the odachi right now? Yes. Did I tell Spotty to do 7 backflips? Maybe. But did Spotty do those backflips on his own free will? Absolutely!”

“So tell me then, you young moronic buffoon. Did you or did you not steal that odachi from my forbidden weapon vault that I specifically told you not to enter?” 

Stripe was about to run his mouth again. Whatever it was he was about to say, a joke, an excuse maybe, but quickly shut it up upon seeing Draxum’s furrowing eyebrows and big snaring teeth behind the mask. He smiled again. The same stupid smug smile on his face, that just clearly told Draxum how little his authority means to this hotshot kid. God, he hated that smile.

“Give me that.” The yokai stepped up to Stripe and ripped away the odachi. The young teen’s smile immediately turned into a frown, as he flinched away from Draxum’s harsh gesture. It made Draxum almost feel bad. Almost.

“When I tell you to do something, you obey.” He hissed, his voice was devoid of the authoritarian calmness it usually has, and replacing it was full blown anger. “And now you have the guts to steal from me!” 

He grip tightening onto the odachi - the odachi that he so carefully crafted so he could give it to the boy. Just for him to disregard his order. Just for him to take his goodwill for granted.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it honestly hurt.

The young slider looked away, his hand rubbing his other arm - the hands and arms that are still wrapped in bandages from the many crashes and falls he caused to himself. The boy looked so small compared to Draxum, and sometimes they both forgot that he was supposed to be a teenager. Draxum’s soul consuming eyes pierced through him, examining every single shift and twitching of his facial expression. He was desperate for any hint of guilt, any hint of sincerity, maybe even concern.

But all Draxum got back in return was a mask of fake apologeticness, and hiding behind it was pure ignorance and bliss. 

“Hey uh, boss, maybe we go easy on the kid.” He heard one of his gargoyles, the chubby one, whispered, glaring pitifully at the young teen. 

“Yeah, you know anger is a bad look on you.” Flying directly into his eye view, the scrawnier gargoyle purposefully tried to steer his attention away from the young mutant. “How about we get you some coffee, get your morning routine ready, and then - “

Without waiting for him to finish, Draxum raised his hand, slapping the gargoyle hard. The gargoyle hit the hard ground with a “splat”, earning a yelp from his fellow gargoyle, and a winced from Stripe. Huggin gave Stripe a thumbs up, seemingly being too familiar with his boss’s random tendency to violence, and slowly flapping his way back up Draxum’s shoulder. But Stripe stared at the ground with furrowed eyes, frustrated at the way his favourite gargoyle was being treated.

“Look at me when I am yelling at you.”  

“Yea- yeah. I’m sorry.” He responded, realising he did it a bit too bluntly. Immediately, the boy clamped his jaw shut, eyes shotted upward at Draxum fearfully.

“I’m sorry master, won’t happen again!” He said quickly, too quick for Draxum to consider slapping him on his bald head. Only after seeing Draxum’s face soften up, half satisfied with his apology, did Stripe give himself a long, relieved sigh.

“Don’t ever do that again, or I’ll punish you for it.”

Stripe quietly nodded.

“As for you.” Draxum turned to the other teen, still knees and hands deep in green oozes. Spotty’s head retracted further into his shell, the same widened, big eyes staring back at him as if they were about to be filled with tears. Ah of course, the old puppy dog eyes trick. It’s a trick that Draxum is very familiar with… yet it still works every time.

“You smell like acid, go take a shower.”

“What about the mess boss?” A gargoyle asked.

“Let Stripe clean it. And tell Softshell to replace the broken tank.” Draxum waved his hand dismissively, and then left the room. 

__________

Stripe’s face morphed into a weird amalgamation of expression between bewilderment and frustration. “That’s so unfair!” he wanted to yell out on the top of his lungs, but since the Baron was still in earshot, he only gave out a breathy mutter.

Spotty got up from the floor, grinning widely. “That’s what you get for messing with the All Time Champ, baby!” He jumped right up into Stripe’s personal space, flinging slimy green liquid onto him in the process, while fingers repeatedly jabbing. “Who’s the sore loser that got yelled at by the Baron? You are, yes you are!”

“Oh god, ew! You smell like acid!” Stripe shuddered, pushing Spotty away. But his gaze softened, upon seeing the younger’s wide toothy grin. It was like any frustration or fear built in Stripe’s chest in the last few minutes simply melted away, his face brightening up completely, returning to his default cheery self. 

“Alright, you won this time, Champ.” He chuckled, rubbing his knuckle at Spotty’s head. “But only because you have the youngest privilege, you little scamp.”

“What’s wrong? Jealous because you aren’t Draxum’s favourite?” Stripe simply rolled his eyes.

“Whatever” Stripe grabbed the nearby mop, not forgetting to spin it around in his hands for the flare. “Remember, I was the one who memorised the weapon vault’s password. You should be thanking me for even letting you join in on the fun.”

“May I suggest staying out of the lab the next time you two want to have fun?” A flat but loud voice caught the attention of the two young turtles.

The third turtle, namely ‘Softshell’, was standing at the doorway, holding the large replacement glass tank. He was still in his working apron, stained with colourful chemicals and burnt marks, and he also had his metal shell on, which meant he was busy. By the look of his face, which had an agonising frown and eyes squinting in disdain, Stripe and Spotty can only guess that their antics had rudely dragged him out of his lab while he was hyper fixated on something. And knowing Softshell’s thinner than paper temperament, he was not happy about it.

Passing by the two other turtles, a snarl now imprinted on Softshell’s face, he crouched down to the tube’s base, screwdriver in hand.

“Every time, I swear, every single time!” Softshell hissed the words between his teeth, fingers working furiously as he tried to get the broken tank off the base. 

“Oh Softshell, fix the broken monitor because Stripe threw his sword at it! Oh Softshell, redo the chemicals because Stripe keeps knocking them down! Oh Softshell, replace the tank, because you dumb and stupid turtles broke it for no reason!” He turned, eyes stared intensely at Stripe, pointing the sharp point of the screwdriver to his face. “I am trying to get work done here!”

“Dude, chillax, it’s not like - “ Stripe offered a hand to Softshell, only for him to poked it away with the tip of the screwdriver. Stripe gripped his hand, returning Softshell with an offended glare. “Like I was saying, Softy, it’s not our fault that you got Draxum’s smarty pants genius gene.”

For a few moments, a prideful smirk spread across Softshell’s face. “You are right, I am a genius. And you’re also right, I do inherit all of Draxum’s best qualities.” But his smirk quickly turned back into a scowl. “However, call me ‘Softy’ one more time and I’ll bite your face. Hard.”

“Softshell, we’re sorry we caused more trouble for you” Spotty wrapped his ooze-covered arms around the smart turtle, smiling gently. 

Softshell shuddered from the sudden touch, fingers twitching as he felt the slimy sensation creeping all over his coat, but he made no movement against it. He simply patted on Spotty’s back, letting him know that his hug was unwelcome, and the younger turtle instantly let go. “No matter.” He said plainly. “Also, I overheard you calling yourself ‘Draxum’s favourite’ by the way. Just so you know, that title is still mine.”

Spotty pouted, placing his hands on his hip. “Did you make him breakfast in bed for his birthday?”

“No” He grinned, putting a hand to his chest. “But may I remind you, I am his beloved lab assistant. One that he trusted with all the important paper, formulas and passcode -”

“Oh, whatevs“ Spotty rolled his eyes. “I’m taking that shower. I smell worse than ‘Spike’s after training’ stank right now.”

“Yeah, good idea, bud.” Softshell waved his hand in a shooing motion, as he slid down his working goggles to finish off his work.

“Bye guys! Love you!” The box turtle hopped away with a smile, and disappeared out of their vision.

For a few seconds, the lab was still, except for the swooshing sound of the mop, and the clicking of screws and bolts fitting together. But then the smart turtle lowered his tool, turning his head around to make sure Spotty was out of earshot. 

He cleared his throat, catching Stripe’s attention.

“Okay, so what was that all about?”

“What was what?” Stripe responds dryly, eyes still unmoving from the floor.

“You kept getting in trouble more and more recently.” Softshell quirked his non-existing brows.“It’s like you wanted Draxum to be mad at you.”

Stripe looked up, eyeing Softshell's face. His expression was indescribable, but it had a hint of genuine concern, which was so rare for him. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we are stuck in a tiny little tower right now.” Stripe let out a long sigh between his sentences. He put a hand on his forehead and leaned back with his usual theatrical flare, like he was reenacting the most sombre piece of opera on earth. “For thirteen years, may I add! Isolated! Abandoned! All because the ol’ Baron was too scared to - “

“... I need to tell Draxum to hide his old musical drama CDs.” Softshell groaned, caressing the bridge between his eyes. “Is this just a very roundabout way of you saying ‘I got really bored?’”

“Yes.” Stripe smirked. “Plus, Draxum’s face looks funny when he’s angry.”

For a few seconds there was bewilderment on Softshell’s face. He removed his goggles, his eyes squinted, zooming in on the other’s face, like he just heard the most horrible joke he had heard in his life. 

“You idiot.” Stripe winced. It's not like Softshell never used the ‘idiot’ word to describe him before, but this time it was different. It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t sarcastic. It was uncharacteristically harsh and angry.  “‘Funny’? You almost got Spotty punished! What were you thinking?”

“Oh please!” Stripe drew out his words, voice dripped in the same pompous tone he would use when the pressure got too heavy on his back. “I was just letting him have fun! When was the last time you’ve seen Spotty this happy?”

Stripe saw the deepened scowl on Softshell’s face loosen. He was gonna open his mouth to argue something back, but then shut it quickly. And then Stripe gave him that same smirk again, the smirk that just screams ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’, it makes Softshell want to go ballistic. But he couldn’t, because Stripe was right. It has been a while since he saw Spotty being this happy.

The last time Spotty was this happy, he was rummaging through Draxum’s basement a month ago. It was a cleaning duty, but he ended up making an even bigger mess. He painted the wall with motor oil, sticky notes and paints, which luckily he (along with some help) cleaned up before the Baron found out. But he found these old DVDs, which had films, music, documentaries, cars, and a whole lot of other stuff about humans. Since that day on, he kept sneaking back to the basement after lights out to watch them. Sometimes, it would last all night long. Sometimes, Stripe would also join.

But that was before Draxum found out. Now, Draxum was being… weirdly stressed that day. He was going on and on about how they were ‘still lacking the basics’ and ‘being way behind on schedules’ during training. And unfortunately for ol’ Spotty, he chose the worst time to fall asleep during one of the Baron’s hour-long lectures, and boy was he pissed. Spotty tried to blame his sleepiness on other things, but Draxum knew (of course he knows, Spotty is bad at doing things silently). Granted, banning him from the basement is understandable, but locking him inside his room after 7 every night sounds a bit unnecessary. 

Spotty was absolutely crushed. Both because he got punished by Draxum (which is extremely rare, mind you), but especially because he loved those DVDs. He was so happy to gush about every single little detail that he learned about humans during their lunch breaks. How ‘while humans are evil, they made these tiny houses on tree tops for tiny creatures to live in.’ Or how ‘humans can’t physically lick their elbows’. Or how pretty the human’s cities are, with their lights and music and cars and smoky skies. To Draxum, they are just some old DVDs, but for Spotty, it was his personality for like a week.

So knowing Stripe, he probably set all of this up just so he could take a piss out of Draxum for making Spotty sad.

“You should join us next time.” Stripe said suddenly, breaking Softshell out of his trip to memory lane.

“What?”

“You seem stressed lately. Maybe hacking into Draxum’s very private data might get your blood pumping, huh?” He was clearly joking, but at this point, Softshell couldn’t tell anymore.

“No. God no.” He replied quickly, wagging his finger. “I am on record of being his most unproblematic creation of the month, and I shall keep that record!” 

Tidying up his tools, Softshell could hear Stripe snickering behind him. With an exhausted sigh, he patted his apron, glass and oozes slid down from it onto the floor. And he was going to leave, to lock himself in the lab for another few hours before training time, but Stripe’s question stopped him in his tracks.

“So… What are you working on?”

“Why do you ask?” And he replied, not rhetorical, but genuinely. Why would Stripe out of all the people asked him that question?

“Nerding out makes you calm down.” He simply shrugged his shoulders. “And I noticed you were kinda mad at me earlier?”

“You’re just gonna fall asleep half way through again.”

“No no, I won’t!” Stripe waved his hand dismissively at that statement. “These eyeballs are wide open until you finish. Promise.”

“Well, my dear Stripe, since you insisted on me nerding out - ” Softshell paused, looking at Stripe’s face, checking to see if he had turned away, or responded with a yawn.

But Stripe was still standing there, with a smile and a nod. Welp, if he’s stuck there for at least an hour or two, it’s not his fault.

“So I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now, and I am telling you: this thing is gonna blow the Baron’s socker off. It is the perfect mix of alchemy and machinery, not to mention the fusion of organic materials, which should not have been possible. ‘So Softshell, how did you do it?’, you may have asked. Well my friend, I had created the perfect formula, using the - ”

…

…

Okay, if Stripe was being honest, he got lost half way through that third sentence. He listened anyway, even when Softshell’s rambling just slowly blended into everything else, and became white noise. When he looked away from his cleaning duty, Softshell was still talking, arms waving in grand motions, walking back and forth in a ridiculous manner, like he was in a play by himself, without a care for any audiences or judgemental eyes. The most important thing is that he was smiling while doing it.

It’s not his fault for wanting to see his brothers happy.

________

Usually, the gargoyles stick on his shoulder pads throughout the days, helping him with even the most miniscule of things, like grabbing some papers a table away, or opening windows when his office is getting too hot. But for this morning, Draxum specifically told them he wanted to be alone in his office. The two gargoyles were being weirdly concerned about it.

“Boss, don’t sweat it. You know how teenagers are right? They’ll grow out of it in a few years.” 

But Draxum kept insisting they leave him alone. He waved his hand around to chase them out of his vision, like they were a pair of buzzing flies.

“How about we get the Big Guy to make you some coffee, boss?”

“Yeah, coffee and Spike always seem to cheer you up.”

“Utter one more word, and I’ll - “ He was about to slam his hand on the table, until he reconsidered their offer. “No, you know what? Some caffeine just might help me.”

When he said that he needed ‘caffeine’, it just meant that he wanted to see Spike.

“Awesome! We’ll find the Big Guy, boss, just wait for a sec.”

And there he was, slumping against his working desk, alone, dark circles around his eyes, hairs tangled and barely combed, even his cloak was crooked. A pathetic little man, a shadow of the once great Baron he once was. All because some turtles were putting him through a midlife crisis. He had only aged about a decade, but he felt like he was at least a hundred years older.

As if his migraine wasn’t worse enough, the back injury he got from 13 years ago was acting up again. It’s one of those times in his life when Draxum actually reconsidered his life choices. He thought of that one fateful day, when he foolishly saved those turtles from being crushed alive. He wondered if past him knew that all he would get for nearly dying is a terrible back injury, constant migraine, and four loudsy kids (one of them is an ungrateful thief by the way), would past him still -

He quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts from his brain.

He didn't want to hate them. No, they are his… creations, his masterpiece. Hating them means that he had failed himself, as a creator. And Baron Draxum never fails.

‘Maybe you could’ve made them better’, the worm in his brain taunted him. ‘Maybe you could’ve raised them better.’

“No…” he muttered to himself. He didn’t fail, his creations are good! They are all capable, strong, and clever in their own way… They just need time. Times to polish, times to train, times so that Draxum could set them to the straight and narrow. Times so Draxum could smoothen out all of those ugly rough edges, so he could get pure, perfectly cut diamonds.

Softshell especially. Looking past the impulsive streaks that burnt down his lab multiple times, the lack of a proper shell, the clear insecurity that the boy was so desperately trying to hide, he was a genius, one that Draxum would fear and loathe, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was Draxum’s creation. If he was being honest, Draxum dreaded the day when the boy eventually surpassed him. He would be proud, for sure, but also scared. Scared because his ego wouldn’t take it well. Scared because the boy was so, so impulsive, he would burn all of Draxum’s legacy to the ground just to prove himself.

Draxum admits he never had much expectation for Spotty. The boy was the smallest, the youngest, the quickest to cry, the quickest to laugh. He’s so.. soft, both physically and mentally. With enough pressure, the boy will just bend and snap in half like a stick. But upon seeing all the stunts and techniques the kid had pulled off: some of the most mind blowing spectacles that he could only imagine Lou Jitsu doing, Draxum regretted not training him sooner. He had so much raw potential, potentials that needed to be moulded and polished as soon as possible, before his easy going, obedient nature changed. Like Stripe.

So Stripe...

He had seen Stripe fight. He was fast, he was skilled, and more importantly, he was more clever than all of the others combined. Hell, he was the only one that managed to outsmarted Draxum during training, weaving and dodging away from all of his vines, and striking with such precision, even Draxum couldn’t see it coming.

But that cleverness was a double edge knife. As time passed, cleverness became awareness. And slowly, awareness sparked rebellion.

It was years ago, when Draxum saw that first spark in Stripe’s eyes. The young boy was helping him clean the containing units. Basically, cages that used to contain his less than appealing creations. There were stains of dry blood and oozes and the walls, and the boy was disturbed.

‘Master, you created them, right?’ The boy asked quietly. ‘Why don’t you like, modify their brain or something? Make them nicer? So we don’t have to keep them in cages all the time.’

‘They are lesser subjects.’ Draxum said without a sliver of sympathy. ‘I don’t want to bother providing them with… accommodations. You four turtles are mine only exceptions’

‘So what’s the difference between us and them?’

Now looking back, Draxum regretted not picking his words better.

‘They are disposable.’ He said, completely oblivious to the troubled look on Stripe’s face. ‘You are not.’

Stripe was never the most disciplined of the turtles, but he was ever one to just… straight up disregard rules and orders. But from that day on, he did. He talks back when Draxum stops him from doing something. He lies and he cheats about the amount of chores he was given. He skips training regularly. And now he starts stealing from Draxum’s personal vault.

It was then he realised Stripe wasn’t doing it for the sake of being young and stupid. Stripe was challenging him.

And that terrifies Draxum.

Either that, or Draxum had been very paranoid. Maybe it was just Stripe being young and stupid.

Maybe the two gargoyles were right about this whole ‘teenage rebellion’ thing.

Yes, that’s it, he’s being paranoid. 

Probably from stress. Probably from not getting enough sleep. 

Deep breath, Draxum, deep breath.

You’re not failing, Draxum.

You’re not failing.

____________

A loud knock pulled Draxum back from his trance.

“Hey boss? May I come in?” Either he was so deep in thought he couldn’t hear Spike’s very obviously loud footsteps, or the boy had learned to walk much more quietly.

“Come in.” Draxum beckoned, adjusting the crooked mask and combing his hair back, just so he could look more presentable. 

Spike peaked inside with a smile, holding a cup that was comically too small for his own hand. With careful steps, the very large snapping turtle mutant walked across the dimly lit office, trying to keep his tail tucked in so it wouldn't accidentally swipe at the furniture.

Gently, the cup was placed in front of Draxum, and the yokai gave a slow approving nod. 

Now, Draxum would never admit this, even with a knife to his neck, but he had a soft spot for Spike. Probably because the idea of a seven feet tall snapping turtle mutant made him feel all giddy, like a seven years old being fascinated by dinosaurs. He would blame it on his love for all things big and monstrous. And Spike definitely matches those descriptions… somewhat. Big? Definitely. Monstrous? Not quite.

Despite the size, the boy had an agreeable personality, and a manageable temper growing up. Though his biggest flaw might be his lack of brain, Draxum could argue against that, since Softshell had got the role of ‘brain’ covered. He had always thought Spike’s biggest weakness was his lack of guts. The boy can surely pull a nasty punch, as long as he doesn’t feel bad about it afterward. Which is why Draxum had made the effort to provide more mechanical looking enemies, ever since Spike started crying during that first training day. 

But lord, if the boy can’t handle a bit of ooze, how is he going to face humans, which are made mostly out of blood?

“You alright there, boss? You aren’t looking so hot” Spike frowned, his voice once again broke Draxum out of his trance. “Did those knuckleheads cause trouble again? You want me to teach them a lesson?” He said, slamming his fist into his palm.

“That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.” His gaze softened for half a second, upon seeing the genuine worry on the boy’s face.

He took a sip of coffee from the mug, and found out that it was as sweet as a cup of honey. 

“How much sugar did you put in this?”

“Uh…” Spike scratched the back of his neck. “Like you asked, boss? One spoon.”

“And you used a teaspoon, yes?”

There was a flash of realisation in the boy’s eyes. He bowed apologetically, reaching out for the cup. “I - uh… I can make a new cup if you want me to.”

“Forget it.” Draxum flicked Spike’s hand away from his cup. If he remembers correctly, sugar can help reduce stress, so he needed them in his system anyway.

“So uh… boss.” Spike said quietly, giving him a very familiar smile. He knew exactly why Draxum invited him in, and it certainly wasn’t for the coffee. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Draxum peeked up from his paper, biting the smile that was trying to form on his lips. 

“Well, I am not going to bother you with too many details.” 

With a short pause, Draxum furiously chugged the whole cup of coffee into his system within a second, like how he would chug bottles of wine in his younger, more miserable days, before crying out to the random bartender.

“But you won’t believe what Stripe was doing today.” Slamming the mug on the table, his tone shifted, now filled with raw, unfiltered emotions. 

“Oh, let me guess,” Spike rolled his eyes, chuckling light heartedly. “He did something stupid in the lab again.”

“And there’s more! The little fool thought he could steal from me!” With a huffed, Draxum leaned down, trying to ease his back into a comfortable spot. Because they were going to have a long, long talk. “Grab that chair over there and sit down with me, boy.”

____________