Chapter Text
It had been years since The End, years of therapy, and Steve Harrington still could not round a city corner without looking behind him to make sure that the fog wasn’t going to swallow him up, lift him off his feet, thus erasing him from existence forever. But New York City was safe, well, not safe, but safe enough for him to live normally. Normal. Normal was a word he despised because no longer could he attach it to himself, not after The End. Instead, with all the money left in his wallet, ten crisp Andrew Jacksons that he was saving for Dustin, or Nancy, or Eddie in case they wanted to do..something with him. He didn’t remember, but he wished so fucking badly that he could. He wished his pattern of thinking could ripple and cease without turning into waves.
He bumped into a man, rather suddenly. He was jolted back into reality, and as the figure breezed by, he uttered a quiet ‘Sorry’ and kept on walking, hands in the pockets of his old battered bomber jacket that he had picked up a Goodwill when he had first arrived in the City fifteen years ago. It was battered then, but the constant cycle of unpredictable weather that New York was a victim of had beaten it down to a shell of its former self. Whenever he took it off, little flakes of leather would always cling onto whatever shirt he was wearing. Sure, it was bothersome, but not anything he couldn’t deal with. The sun was starting to dip down into the yellow-orange-red sea of dusk. He picked up the pace, just a little bit. The A train was gonna be leaving soon, and you didn’t want to be in the middle of Manhattan when you were trying to get onto the A-train.
He fell into clumps of crowds that dispersed and grew as he crossed busy streets, rounded sharp corners, and all to get a place on that platform. Standing there, he felt the weight of his glasses on his nose; the lenses were constantly smudged and the rims were starting to turn a lackluster shade of bronze. As the train emerged into the station, momentarily speeding down so that it didn’t blow past the waiting patrons, Steve caught sight of himself in the window; God, he looked old, and tired. At least he still had his hair, pushed back in the same careless-looking yet perfected pompadour, but he was starting to see premature streaks of grey in it. Oh, fuck that, he thought as he shoved himself in the tight space between a tiny, sweet-smelling old woman and a broad shouldered corporate looking guy whose outfit was descending in grayscale, from his fedora (yes, a fedora, how stupid was that?) to the tips of his dress shoes.
The ride home was quick, and alone he was again, happy to have room to breathe. He climbed the steps to the street, and a wave of relief washed over him when he reached his little, run-down apartment building, aptly named The Bungalo. Just as he was nearing the stoop, he heard a groan.
His blood ran goddamn fucking cold. It reminded him of Eddie’s last moments. He laid there on the crumbling, shaking Earth as it split wide open with an Atlasean fury. The sky roared ferociously, and was only made more terrifying with the demo-bats that swirled around his body. His face was drained of color. Blood still trickled from his mouth in angry, rapidly unfurling ribbons. He could only blink once, twice, three times, and it took everything left within him to do that, that much Steve knew, but the thought couldn’t even create a blip in his hysterics.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please!”
He screamed and took his head in his hands. His long, wavy locks fell about his face, like a wilted lion’s mane.
“Eddie! Eddie, I need you to get up, you know, me and..uh, Dustin! Dustin needs you! I need you!"
And in that crescent of a second, Eddie’s obsidian eyes bored through his soul, and he moved his lips the slightest bit to say what Steve chose to think was-
The groan shattered his train of thought. The soles of his shoes, light, cheap Keds, suddenly became leaden. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t just leave them, whoever they were, just lying there; it wasn’t his nature, as much as he tried to mold himself to make it seem otherwise. It took everything within him to turn around and force himself to take the ten steps to the entrance of that strip of growing shadow. He saw a person-like shape slumped up against the wall between two dented trash cans. He approached with learned caution, though he knew well that it was not the case, truly. He fished around in his pocket for his house keys and ran his calloused fingertips over the jagged cut-out.
The figure was smaller than he first believed; shit, it was a kid. He wanted to jab the shit out of a kid, Christ. His steps lengthened, and he stopped short a few paces, not quite believing what lay before him. It was a giant turtle, who wore a tattered, blue bandana around its leathery throat. Its scaly, emerald-green skin was a canvas, a backdrop for the explosion of purple-blue-red-yellow bruises that covered its legs, its arms, its face, its hardened front. Its nose or whatever you called it, was spewing blood that dribbled onto the pavement between its legs. It looked up at Steve helplessly, with ocean blue eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve hissed. The creature smiled at him. Its eyes suddenly closed, and its head lolled forward with fading life.
It was supposed to be a routine patrol.
But that hope? Merely wishful thinking.
Leo’s life had come to a peak when he was eighteen, and for the past nine or so years he was overjoyed to live in normalcy. Then, he got tangled up with Minnie, almost quite literally. No longer could he stand to the side and watch; he was a teacher, a sensei. Well, what an embarrassment it was, to end up in some random alleyway in what he thought was Washington Heights, by the rapidly-spoken Spanish that spilled from the windows above him. Minnie and Casey, of all had taught him a little, but it didn’t stick in the way that Japanese did-
Oh - his plastron stung in a way that his body remembered well, and it rejected vehemently. His shell scratched up against the brick wall and he looked up to the dusk-laden sky. Where was Minnie? She had been right beside him. She assured him that she was going to be okay as that Beetle-Thing flung itself atop her, sending her careening into the murky water that filled the sewer tunnel. Gods, he loved that kid with every fiber in his being, but she truly didn’t know it all. He had no clue how he had ended up on the surface; his gratefulness was soured by the fact that he was out in the open. He couldn’t go anywhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her. Minnie was laying in the shade of a growing shadow, body sprawled out across the pavement like a broken snow angel. Her ribbons lay beside her, torn, tattered and muddied. No, no, no. He tried to curl himself forwards to get to his hands and knees, but he paused. That was a terrible idea. He was going to be moving too slowly, even on all fours. Heh, the irony in that was nearly Herculean. He settled back against the wall and though he didn’t want them to, his eyes began to close.
“Jesus Christ.”
His eyes snapped open and saw a man standing over him. He was dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, old, white Keds, a soft-looking red sweater, and a leather jacket that looked older than time itself. Why wasn’t the fear kicking in? Instead, Leo smiled. He smiled at this human man who looked at him with what he could only think was fear, and disgust.
And then Leo’s head fell forward and the world went completely dark.
“Hey. Hey, hey!” He was shaken back to life by the man, who was kneeling down beside him then. His soft, calloused hands were settled on his shoulders. Leo’s gaze was brought up to meet the man’s soft, gentle brown eyes that were crinkled at the corners with not fear, not disgust, but worry.
“Are you okay?” He whispered. He looked over his shoulder, and time seemed to pause for a moment. No one walked by for at least fifteen seconds. Dusk was turning into the purplish silk screen of early night. Leo opened his mouth, and took in a ragged breath. “No..m-my student. She..” He lifted his arm to point further down the alleyway, where Minnie lay, still sprawled out and motionless. The man looked at her with a sort of new fear, the fear that the worst had befallen her. He sprinted over to the girl with surprising athleticism and knelt down beside her. He took her thin wrist and pressed two finger tips to it. The frames of his glasses glinted in the fading sunlight. “She’s got a pulse,” He said curtly. “She’s breathin’ good, too.
Leo watched as he gathered her thin body into his arms. He winced when he saw a shruiken fall out of the pouch that was sewn into her left sleeve. It fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. The man jolted back in surprise - he looked at Leo pointedly; his face was blank, unreadable. He started to walk towards the mutant again, and paused before him.
“I’m going to take her in first,” He whispered. “What’s her name?”
“What?” Leo sputtered. The word barely made it past his lips.
“What’s her name?” The man asked again, in a tone that was more harried and frantic than demanding.
“Minnie,” Leo rasped. “She’s my student. She’s not..d-dangerous, just..well-trained.”
“Well-trained,” The man set his squared jaw. His gaze trailed over to the forgotten shruiken. “Well, I’m going to make sure she’s well-taken care of.”
“You don’t have to-” Leo’s plea was staunched by the blood that he belched up.
The man’s eyes widened. “I’ll be right back,” His voice sounded muffled and prickly, like he was underwater. He made his way towards the back entrance of what Leo could only assume was his apartment building. He watched as the man shouldered the door open with ease. A light on the fifth floor lit up after a few tenuous minutes, for most of which he kept coughing, and coughing and coughing; nothing else came up except for a little bit of spittle mixed with phlegm. The man came back out soon, just as he had promised. Gone was his bomber jacket; the sleeves of his soft, red sweater were rolled up past his elbows. The effortless swoosh that his hair was pushed back into had fallen flat. Some sections fell right into his face. His dark eyes crackled with electricity; he was thinking.
“I..I don’t mean to be rude here,” He held out his hands in surrender. Leo could see a ring on his, well, ring finger. It wasn’t the usual gold type; it was silver, or black, he couldn’t tell. “But how much do you weigh? I haven’t worked out in awhile a-and..fuck.”
And for once, once in a very long time, Leo laughed. “Two hundred..but I can walk. I..I swear.” Gods, if this guy was willing to help, then he might as well give him a little bit less to work with. The guy stepped forward, knelt down, and gave Leo both hands. “On three?”
Leo forced himself to nod. His nerves screamed in agony as he forced himself to his feet. When he was upright, he collapsed against the man, who stumbled back, but steadied himself easily. They made the short, yet agonizingly slow trek to the back door. The man pushed it open and it gave way with a protesting squeal. “You’re lucky only a few people live in this dump.” He commented as the soft glow of the basement steps fell upon them. “They’re old and hardly leave the place.”
That wasn’t exactly a good thing.
“..Your name?” Leo hissed. Even breathing was hard. The man hummed.
“Steve. My name is Steve.”
“Steve,” Leo echoed. He looked up at the man, and decided, yes, he looked like a Steve.
“How ‘bout you?” Steve asked as they inched their way towards the steep, narrow, red-carpeted staircase that led up from the basement. The light above them flickered. “You got one.”
“Leonardo.”
“Huh.” Steve paused in his tracks, that basically meant that Leo paused, too. “Cool.”
“I suppose…so..” Leo watched as Steve set a foot on the first step, and knew that he was in for a long night.
For a giant, mutant turtle with knives hidden in his wrappings, Leonardo was a pretty nice guy. Steve was pretty much convinced that God was on his side when the two of them managed to make it up to the fifth floor without interruption.
“Are you gonna tell me how many more of those things you’ve got hidden or..?” Steve asked as he nudged open the door to his 1 bedroom, 1 bath dwelling. He felt a wrinkle of annoyance when he noticed the metal fixing of the number ‘17’ that sat just below his peephole was just slightly off kilter. Leo laughed again, but was cut short by another cough. “‘S.. a habit.”
“Yeah, no, clearly.” Steve glanced behind him one last time, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He had to fix the nose pads one of these days. “Your kid’s got tons of them.”
Leo’s nose - no, snout, no, beak, pressed together. “Not my kid,” He grunted. “Student,”
“How’s that any different from havin’ a kid?” Steve asked as he gently kicked the door shut behind him. Leo looked Steve up and down, before looking him right in the eyes. “..Degree of sep’ration.”
Yeah, that was probably right, but Steve wasn’t about to argue that, especially not with, again, a giant mutant turtle who had knives hidden in his wrappings, and could most likely, with one punch, send him flying through his bedroom window and into orbit. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you patched up,”
Leo righted himself just a little bit so that he wasn’t putting all his weight on the poor man. They made the slow, uniform shuffle to the bathroom. Steve flicked on the light switch and saw Minnie knelt over his toilet, arms draped over the bowl as she retched into it. Shit. She had to have a concussion, Steve thought to himself; she didn’t seem like the type to hit up suspicious looking hot-dog carts while she was out slicing up bad guys.
“Minnie?” Leo’s tone was rank with concern for the girl, who he was so adamant was a student. “What’s the matter with her?” He demanded. Steve sat him down on the rim of his bathtub, which was ringed with a crust of dirt and grime that not even the strongest bleach could get rid of.
“She’s probably concussed.” Steve told him as he knelt down behind Minnie and settled a hand on her back, which convulsed with each violent cough she let out. Leo huffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s not the first time this has happened. I suppose this is just the consequence of such a thing happening over and over again.”
“You could have one, too.” Steve challenged. “Once I’m done examining her, I’ll examine you.”
“That won’t be neccesary.” Leo replied curtly. Steve felt his eyebrows furrow.
“Yes, it is.”
One of Leo’s own brows raised - no, it was a brow-line, since he had no hair. “Are you a doctor?” He asked, keeping his voice low. Minnie came up for air, and swallowed heavily, bitterly. Steve began to rub her back in gentle circles and she leaned up against him, utterly exhausted.
“No. An EMT.” He answered. Leo’s other ridge raised. “So you have connections to police officers, firefighters, and...police officers.” He took in a ragged breath and before he could keep going, Steve lifted his hand from Minnie’s back and held it out towards Leo, palm out. “I don’t talk to those guys unless I gotta. And I certainly am not gonna tell ‘em about you, or her.”
Leo just stared at him with those inhumanely blue eyes again; Steve felt like his soul was being sucked from his body and held up, like the turtle was trying to see his imperfections, impurities. “You’ve seen a lot,” He concluded. “We aren’t anything new to you. Am I right to think that?”
Steve snorted. “If only you knew.”
“Please, I implore you to tell me.”
Oh, man.
Where to start?
Steve didn’t have time to think of where, because Minnie suddenly sat up boltright, leaned forward and gripped onto the toilet seat for dear life as she vomited again. Leo let out a grunt and kept his gaze focused on the tiles, the grout in between them, anything but his injured girl - er, student. Steve knew how he felt. God, did he know it well.
He pulled away Minnie’s hair from her face with one hand, set the other on her back, and resumed rubbing in gentle circles. He thought he heard sniffles in between hacks and coughs. She was just a kid; how did she even get tangled into this stuff?
When Minnie was done (done for real, in her own words) throwing up, Steve sat her down on the rim beside her teacher and shone the pen flashlight always kept in his back pocket in her eyes. Then he told her to recite the alphabet, and she was doing fine until she got to F - she said that W came after it. When she pleaded with him to try again, Steve shook his head.
“I’m gonna get you some blankets and you’re gonna rest on my couch.”
“Right,” Leo agreed. “Then, in the morning we’re going right home.”
“No, you aren’t. Leonardo is wrong. You’re staying until I say you’re better.”
Steve stood up, and squared his shoulders, and set his hands on his hips. “So is he, I can see that he’s out of it.”
“Steve-”
“You haven’t looked up from the ground in the past, oh,” Steve glanced at the face of his old, yellow-faced Swatch. “Ten minutes or so.”
“Steve,” Leo’s tone softened.
“You can take the armchair. I can recline it all the way back so it’ll be kinda like a bed.”
Leo went quiet, and remained that way as Steve patched up he and Minnie. He wrapped up their explosions of bruises and oozing, brown-crusted wounds in thick gauze and ace bandages, and underneath them all were heavy doses of thick antibiotic ointments and creams alike. Minnie was put to rest first, and Leo had to admit that even though he was bitter because of how he struggled his way down the hall from the bathroom a meager two doors down, the sight awaiting him was pleasant. Minnie was curled up on Steve’s old, crushed velvet couch (something that was certainly dated and even Leo knew that), underneath a white, knit blanket. Her face was plain, relaxed, free of the fear she had certainly been feeling earlier. He had truly believed she could have fought off those stupid termit beetle things by herself, with her stupid ribbons.
They weren’t training hard enough. He wasn’t teaching her what she needed to know to be a competent warrior. Oh, Gods.
He had bitten off more than he could chew but he was stupid enough to listen to her pleas that one night, after saving her from those goons. Her leotard was all bloodied up, the mesh drawstring bag she used for dance was torn at the bottom. Her hair, when it was still long, was slicked back into a tight chignon that didn’t even let a follicle on her scalp breathe. She had insisted on fighting the three chuckleheads with him, and did a damn good job. She was the one other person, besides Steve, who had accepted him right off the bat.
He supposed he was indebted to her for that, in some twisted sense. He approached her bedside, or couch-side and sat down beside her, knees pulled up agains his plastron. His esophagus started to burn, weirdly too. He shuddered when he remembered that just over two hours ago, he had thrown up blood. He hoped it didn’t happen again, that it was just a one-time thing. Something heavy settled over his shoulders. He turned his head to glance over at what it could be - a blue knit blanket that was similar to the one Minnie had cocooned around her. Steve settled in the armchair behind him, reached over, and set a blue, chipped mug near the corner of the coffee table that sat almost directly in the middle of the room, as it should have been, maybe. Coils of steam rose from the top of the mug; some dissipated in the air, and some clung to its thick rim.
“Thought you might like something hot.” Steve shrugged just a little. “Chamomile tea.”
Leo was more of a green tea turtle, but he wasn’t going to complain. “Thank you, you’re…much too kind.” He wrapped his hands around the clay cup and lifted it to his beak. The warm, earthy liquid spread across his tongue - the warmth, it spread through his body - his shoulders, his arms, his plastron, his shell, oh, it was nice. But the questions began to bubble up soon after he drained the vessel.
“What have you seen that doesn’t faze you about me?” He looked up into Steve’s warm brown eyes. A faint, melancholy smile curled up onto his lips.
“..Have you ever heard of a place called Hawkins, Indiana?”
Leo took the time to think about it; Minnie stirred, and rolled over onto her back. Her breathing was slow and even. Leo didn’t know how she bounced back like that - it was almost as if she was a mutant of her own invention. But Hawkins, Hawkins..Donnie probably had said something about it at some point..a very long time ago. It wasn’t ringing any bells. He bowed his head slightly to his elder. “I can’t say I do. Sorry.”
“..Well, I guess I’m gonna have to start from the beginning. You want more tea?”
“If it’s not too much trouble. I can help-”
“Nope.” Steve eased himself up out of his seat. His sweater had ridden up a little bit, and as he leaned over to take Leo’s mug from his hands. Leo felt his eyes widen when he caught sight of the scars on the small of his back. They were pink, jagged and raised - the skin was hardened and rough.
As Steve walked away, Leo felt a sort of premature grief wash over him. He kept his gaze fixed on Minnie as she slept, ignoring the ache that was starting to well up in his heart.
The subject of Hawkins was never breached; instead, the two men talked about family over countless cups of tea. They were easy to make and tasted somewhat nice to Steve - it took him three or four cups to really get used to it.
“Tell me about your brothers,” He said to Leo as he set his sixth cup of tea, or what formerly had been, down on the floor beside the pillow he sat upon. The sun was just starting to peek over the rose-dust hue of early dusk. Minnie hadn’t broken from her easy slumber, which he was happy about.
“Well..I mean, I’m the eldest. Then comes Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo.”
“Your dad had a theme going.” Steve pointed out. Leo smiled at that. He had taken Steve’s seat, what was supposed to be his bed, but sleep had not been a priority. “Yeah. It’s..uh, clever.”
“And they’re all trained in ninja stuff, like you?” Steve added. He peered at Leo over the rims of his glasses which were slowly starting to inch down his nose. That’s when Leo noticed it. In the shape formed by Steve’s crossed legs was the shruiken that had fallen out of Minnie’s sleeve. He picked it up gingerly, making sure not to prick himself with one of the razor sharp blades.
“Yes.” Leo coughed. He felt his cheeks grow warm. Not once had he ever been embarrassed of the art he practiced; it was the first thing he thought of in the morning; it flowed through his body, every muscle, every inch of ivory in his bones. He wore it proudly from his shoulders, like a cloak made of fine silk, but not too fine because a warrior was not to be a man - or turtle of luxury. But here he was, cloak ripped from his shoulders; his only armor was the bandages that twirled down his arms - they looked like Minnie’s ribbons. Where were those?
She would be crushed if they were missing. He glanced at the girl, still asleep, unchanged. “Yes,” He said again, eyes swept back towards Steve, still waiting. “My father trained us all from..well, since we could walk. He knew that the wouldn’t be readily accepted by society as mutants, so we had to learn how to protect ourselves.”
“Now you’re protecting the city,” Steve mused. Splinter had been right; with age came wisdom, and the grey hairs in Steve’s mussed pompadour told him as such. He was trying to hide them, the turtle suspected; he hadn’t quite gotten comfortable with the numbers as they ticked by. He suspected his own father wasn’t either.
“Well, for a long time, we didn’t. Our largest threat had been eliminated and we kind of just..” Leo looked into the mug, and his bruised, beaten face was reflected back to him in the pool of dirty-yellow. “Settled back into normalcy. But it was our sort of normal.”
Steve tilted his head in confusion. He set the throwing star on the ground beside him. “I’m not following.”
“My brothers and I don’t live above ground.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We live in the sewer systems.”
Steve was quick to hide the smile that sprung on his lips behind a hand. His shoulders shook once, twice, then a pause, and they shook again. “I’m sorry,” He said in between laughs. “I believe you, really, it’s just..been a long night.” He settled back on his butt.
Leo opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the ringing of a cell phone. A tinny version of ‘Material Girl’ filled the room. Steve got to his feet and made his way to the console table at the other end of the couch, next to the armchair furthest from the two of them. “It’s your girl’s,” He held up the tiny, pink Blackberry. He squinted at the business-card sized screen. “Marsi? You know anyone by that name?”
Leo nodded. “She’s Minnie’s girlfriend,” He felt his plastron grow tense. He liked Marsi, but sometimes her personality - it was so fiery and strong that she rivaled Raph in her angry moments. She perfectly balanced out Minnie’s cool, collected side. When Minnie wanted to be cool and collected, that was.
Steve then pressed the green phone button and held the phone up to his ear. “Minnie’s phone, this is her..Uncle Steve speaking.”
What the shell was this guy doing?
“She’s sleeping on my couch.” Steve began to amble around the room as he talked, one hand in his back pocket. “She’s a little banged up from facing off whatever she and Leonardo were facing.”
Shit.
“Giant bugs?”
Leo sprang up from his seat and landed to his feet with a furtive thump. His body roared in protest. “Give me that,” He hissed, but Steve pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Had Leo just been shushed by this guy? He lunged for the phone. Steve whirled on his heel, and Leo caught his leg on the rounded edge of the coffee table. He fell to the ground in a heap, and so did the quadripedaled thing. They crash landed one after the other, terriapin and furniture.
“So, Marsi, tell me more about these giant bugs?” His face suddenly turned pink, and he yanked the device away from his ear. “Minnie is still-”
“She’s awake.” Minnie, still groggy with sleep, had awoken, and was in no mood for nonsense. She held out a hand for her phone and looked at Steve with hazy eyes. “You got any place where I can take this in private?”
“No, you’re not leaving this spot!” Leo and Steve’s voice chorused in frantic unison. Leo looked up at Steve from where he lay sprawled unceremoniously on the floor. The table laid on its side. Steve’s teacup remained unharmed, the same could not be said for Leo’s.
“Just give me my phone!” Minnie snapped. Steve handed it over and watched as she ambled into the kitchen - she started to, but she paused at the threshold, and turned on her heel, wheeling her way to her right. Steve watched as she ambled down the hall in search of an empty room. Bathroom - there was an echo and it still smelled like vomit. The closet - no way. She slowly made her way to the door directly at the end of the hall, then reached for the handle.
It was locked. Steve let out a sigh encased in a swear. He thought he had forgotten. Minnie’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Fine. I’ll take it out-”
“Minnie? Minerva, is that you?” Marsi’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Minnie, where the hell are you and Leo? You guys didn’t come home last night and Donnie says the trackers on your phones are all messed up-”
“I know, I know, it’s..well, like my Uncle Steve said, we needed a place to crash - no I was asleep..”
“Why did you have to answer that?” Leo sat himself up, ridges furrowed. Steve felt the back of his neck flush red. “Aren’t you glad I did, though?”
“What?”
“I mean, it gives you a reason to tell me about these bugs that are supposedly taking over the city.”
Leo’s gaze flitted to the hall, then back at the man. He struggled to his feet, to which Steve responded by helping, along with giving a little apology in the form of a muddled whisper of shit, sorry. In the commotion, he had forgotten that he was playing doctor. “I,” Leo took in a breath. “I don’t know what those things are, really. We call them termite things because they can rip through surfaces,” He snapped his fingers as best he could. “Like that.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m sure not,” Leo retorted. “They’ve been driving the city crazy, breaking into stores, terrorizing neighborhoods, and we can’t seem to find where they’re coming from.”
“So that’s what you guys were fighting last night when I found you all?”
Leo grimaced. “Yes. A horde of them had managed to get their way down into the sewer system. They were chewing at walls like they were nothing.”
“Well,” Steve pushed his glasses up his nose. “If we’re keeping with tonight’s theme of science fiction, no offense to you, could they be robots?”
“Some taken,” Leo answered dryly. He took a seat on the armrest of the couch, and crossed one ankle over his other knee. “There’s nothing robotic about them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The two men put their conversation aside to clean up the mess the tussle-for-the-little-pink-phone (trademark pending) had caused. The lulls and dips in Minnie’s voice told Steve that she was exchanging sweet nothings back and forth with her beloved, who had told him some choice words, but he was willing to forgive that.
“No, I love you more.”
..
“Marsi, you really had to play that card, huh?” She laughed, but her voice fell flat, exposed, quiet. “I’m okay. I promise. Leo and I will be home tonight. Double promise.”
…
“I don’t know where his phone is-”
..
She let out a sigh.
“Hey, Donnie - Raph, I-”
Minnie stalked back into the living room, phone held out towards Leo, who had been forced to stay resting by Steve, who was picking up scattered pieces of pottery. She shoved the shouting, bickering steel rectangle into his snout. “It’s for you.”
Leo took the phone and held it up to his non-existent ear. “Hey, guys. Minnie and I are okay, just a little banged up-”
“Aw, shut your mouth, Leo, you sound like you’ve been through a fucking trash compactor!”
“And you sound like you haven’t got your morning run in, Raph?”
“Fu-”
That single syllable was cut off by the snap that echoed through the speaker. “Can I see your phone, Marsi? Thank you so much.” Donnie’s voice flooded in. “Are you two okay?” He asked gently, keeping his voice even. Leo let out a stilted breath that had been building up in his lungs for quite awhile. “We’re fine. Just banged up like I said. Minnie is worse off than I am.”
“Am not!” Minnie whined in a childish manner. That got a snort out of Steve.
“Kids, kids, you’re both equally as banged up.”
“Is that the elusive Uncle Steve Minnie was talking about?” Mikey piped up. Steve’s expression faltered. “Uh..hey, Michelangelo. How’s it goin’?”
Leo’s palm made direct contact with his face. He whispered a grateful prayer to the gods that this guy was able to go with the act (that he had started, mind him, with picking up that phone to begin with?)
“Woah, this guy is good!” Mikey said, surprised. “How’d he know it was me if we haven’t even met ‘im?”
“Oh, you know,” Steve started with a roll of his eyes. “Uncle-senses, I guess.”
At that point, Leo just handed Steve the phone and let him whisk his own tale of what had happened. He watched in awe as the man spun his words and turned them into gold.
Yes, he was Minnie’s uncle, and had reached out to her a few months ago, when he moved from Indiana- no, sorry, it was Boise, Idaho. Ha! His old mind was playing tricks on him again. He had a brother he was estranged from, Patrick, Minnie’s dear old dad - oh, she had never told the guys his name? Well, didn’t that sound like his dear niece. Well, anyways, Patrick got married young, had a kid with someone from the wrong crowd..they knew how it ended, and it was sad, yeah. Yeah. They were lucky that he had found those guys when he did, because the Sun was still a little bit a ways from actually setting and people in the Heights could sometimes get all up in your business but this whole ordeal, finding a mutant turtle in the trash, that was a new one.
It just went on, and on, and on.
“I’ll be sure to leave the kitchen window open for you guys. See you all at midnight.” He pressed the end-call button, and set the Blackberry in Leo’s lap. “You’re going home, I guess.”
“You mind teaching me how to spin a web as good as that?” Leo asked after a brief moment of silence. Steve winked, and let his glasses slide back down his face. “A good magician never reveals his tricks.” And with that, Steve headed into his room, claiming he needed a nap. He floated in and out throughout the day, each time with an expression that seemed steeped in unease.
Leo thought better than to comment - whatever it was, it was beyond him.
Time slowed to a crawl and burst into a sprint all at once. When the sky became as dark as the Underworld itself, the turtles made their nightly debut. Three sharp knocks came at the kitchen window and from his spot at the table, through the gauzy, checkered curtain, Leo saw Mikey’s shiteating grin staring at him. Steve turned away from the stove, where he had put his kettle on. It hummed impatiently. “Well, well,” He told himself as he headed over to the window and undid the latch. One by one, the brothers wormed their way through the window, some more gracefully than others.
“Leo!” The second Mikey’s feet touched the linoleum floor, he raced over to his brother and snatched him up in the biggest, tightest bear hug he could manage. Leo’s wounds roared.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut. “Mikey!” He snapped. Mikey immediately let go, and stepped back. “Woah, dude. I kinda forgot you were all messed up.”
“It’s fine.” The bruises and wounds ceased with their complaining. “Just a little..sore, that’s all.”
“Sure.” Raph stood close to the sink, staunchly set and arms crossed over his plastron. “You keep telling yourself that, dude.” His eyes narrowed to slits.
“Is Minnie all good?” Mikey asked.
“Yeah. She’s just napping.”
Something dawned upon him.
“Where’s Donnie?”
Donnie, the turtle in question, was standing on the fire escape in front of the kitchen window, leaned into the alleyway frozen. His bo-staff was gripped tightly in his hands.
“Don? What are you doing just standing there?” Mikey called over his shoulder.
A shadow suddenly descended upon the fire escape. It was ferociously large, jagged and with branching, it seemed. Leo shot up from his seat. It was another freaking mutant-beetle-termite.
His katanas. Where the shell where his katanas?
“Donnie!” He shouted. “Donnie, get off of there!”
The looming shadow blinked open bright green eyes and opened its face like a red-flesh, many petaled flower - those petals were lined with sharp, curved ivory fangs.
“No,” Steve breathed. “Not again.”
“Not again?” Leo echoed. “What do you mean by that, Steve?”
All the color had drained from the man’s face. The kettle whistled. He bent down to the cabinets that sat below the stovetop. He pulled open the left paint-chipped door in the set of two, and from it, he pulled two baseball bats, riddled with nails that were at least six inches in length. “I know what we’re dealing with. Just follow my lead.” He handed Leo a bat.
“You’ll need one of these.”