Chapter Text
In d&d that day, your group stumbled onto the topic of the Hero’s Journey, the topic twining with the gameplay and derailing the combat you had been in the middle of.
The context it had been born in slipped your mind, but you remembered half the group (yourself included) cutting each other off in a jumbled recounting of the steps. One of your friends had misremembered Odysseus as Theseus, which spun into a long tangent of you all suggesting increasingly incorrect Greek figures.
Your group righted itself back to the game after you contributed with “no, no, you’re thinking of Oedipus! ”. someone who you didn’t yet know too well remarked off the cuff that your DM should implement time limits for turns, but you still thought it had been funny.
As you’d wrapped up and left that evening, you watched as most of your group filed out the front of the library. You hadn’t stepped outside yet, but you could already feel the cold starting to bite through your sparse layers.
“Are you not going home?” asked your DM, hands stuffed into her pockets as she loomed beside you. You shrugged at her noncommittally, ignoring her unspoken offer. You did enjoy tagging along with her, but tonight, you felt that it might complicate things.
“Waitin’ for my dad to text back.”
“Sounds like someone’s rejecting the call,” She had replied on her way out.
You just chuckled. What a fun journey that’d be, walking home in the cold.
You were halfway there now, and with every step the wind threatened to blow you off your feet.
Stupid.
you glowered at yourself, shrinking back into the jumper you’d worn. New England autumns were nothing to scoff at, you’d known that all your life after countless Christmas visits northeast. Why you thought moving a state southward to NYC would be any different was anyone’s guess.
Hell, there was already snow on the ground. So much for global warming.
You raked your nails up the nape of your neck, before pressing the heels of your hands into your stinging ears. Get those carbon emissions up, you thought sarcastically.
You stumbled on a slick patch on the ground and grunted, releasing a burst of frustration with a swift kick into a pile of snow. Of course, hidden beneath and ready to avenge itself, sat the solid lip of the curb.
You hissed and bit back a cry as you lifted your leg back up. Your freezing toes curled inside your boots, stinging solidly.
The night was becoming a comedy of errors.
Your truck was in the shop, your phone was beyond dead (restarted 4 times over and now not even flashing the empty battery symbol at you) , and of course, you had dressed completely inappropriately for a walk home from the library.
You veered to the left and slapped the crosswalk button.
Just as soon as you did, the sound of a clatter directly behind you, exactly where you’d been standing, made you jump.
You turned, suspecting for a moment that it could have been something of yours, but it was made abundantly apparent that it wasn’t when you laid eyes on a six foot pole laying in the snow.
“Man. Lamest assassination attempt ever,” you mumbled, pacing a few steps back so you were standing over it.
As you reached down to inspect it, you noticed something else had fallen. It was a phone, evidently, but the model was unlike any you’d ever seen, the inside spinning with LED lights.
You thumbed over what was most likely a power button, watching the screen light up.
4 missed calls from a contact labeled ‘Raph’ . You looked up, surprised to see that there wasn’t so much as a balcony above where you stood. The buildings in front of you stretched upwards a few stories, windows too out of trajectory to foster a culprit.
You only had a few moments to wonder where it came from before the crosswalk beeped, and impulsively, you scooped up the pole as well before you turned to go. You would call this Raph person when you got home, and tell him his friend almost dropped their stuff on you.
You regretted your decision to take it with you about as soon as you’d crossed the street. Your fingers nearly stuck to the damn thing, and as you pried them off, something like a button shifted underneath. The thing beeped and flashed red at you, from the top to the bottom along geometric seams.
You had gripped harder rather than dropping it at the initial scare, but after a few moments, you had become convinced it was going to explode, or something.
Just before you could throw it to the ground, it stopped, flashing purple once, then twice. Then, whirring sort of like a tape measure, the top and bottom collapsed into the middle, leaving it the size of a flashlight in your hand.
You stopped, weighing it in your hand for a moment.
Okay.
That was kind of cool.
You were almost hoping you’d get the chance to toy with it a little when you got home, see if it did anything else. And, thankfully, you were nearly there.
An awkward turn through an alley would lead you right to the backdoor of your apartment building. It was a route you had begun taking to avoid the nosiness of your neighbors, but it had become a habit. It felt quicker.
You tucked the collapsed pole under one arm and the odd looking phone beneath the other as you awkwardly patted yourself down for your keys.
You hummed softly as you fished them out of your back pocket. Just had to shimmy it up to the door, and–
“ Ah- hey! My stuff!”
“--JESUS CHRIST!!”
You wheeled around, taking a defensive stance with your back to the door. It all clattered onto the ground, keys included- and, somehow, your phone. Hadn’t that been in your pocket?
You couldn’t see where the voice had come from in any meaningful sense, but to increasingly little surprise, you had heard it above you.
“Aah maybe I should have been quieter… Alas. Like I said, those belong to yours truly.”
The voice rang out again, flat and masculine. They sounded composed enough, with a healthy wedge of anxiety on the side. You scowled curiously, reaching down to pick up the items you’d dropped.
“You can, uh… just leave them on the ground there, actually. Thanks.”
“Yeah, so…” you called back, maybe a little louder than necessary to assure your voice carried. You still didn’t know where the hell they were, after all. “That’s cool and all, but I really don’t have any way to confirm that, especially since you’re… still on a roof. A different roof, than the one you had to have dropped these on. And I have to assume that you’re… hiding?”
Saying that aloud seemed to speak the creepiness of this situation into reality, and your hands shook as you fumbled behind you to get the key in place.
“I’m not trying to steal your stuff, but uh… I’m just…” you popped the door open. “Gonna call the last contact on this phone and have them confirm,”
“Oh, come on … Okay! Okay, fine, I will come retrieve them myself, and you will see very clearly that the cellphone and mechanical bō staff are mine.”
The situation was getting more suspicious by the goddamn second. If you had any sense, you would take three steps back, lock the door behind you, and have “Raph” come pick the damn stick and phone up during sensible daylight hours.
“Okay,” you said stupidly instead.
“Just… don’t freak out.”
You took a step back.
He made a small frustrated noise, and there was a shift from the roof of the building in front of you.
You had some semblance of expectation of what you’d see when he landed.
He met none of it.
The immediate sight of him, sudden as it was, made you lurch backwards, and once again your tractionless sneakers lent a hand to the wet, frigid ground beneath you.
You closed your eyes tightly, bracing for the impact, but the only thing you felt was cold metal clamping down on your arms. It dug slightly into the skin not covered by your sleeve, but it leveraged you back up to your feet, holding you up as you stumbled.
When you opened your eyes, two wiry metal appendages were retracting behind his back, guiding your eyes to his face.
He seemed unimpressed.
“Yes, yes, I’m a scary mutant. My things, please?”
You stared for a moment, before you let your eyes trail down to where you were still gripping the “bō staff” for dear life– as though it would have done anything had you fallen. His own hand had reached out to take it, tugging gently but incessantly.
“You do know you could’ve killed me with this thing, right?” You waggled it slightly, demonstrating the weight of it to him. You let go, allowing him to take it, and the sudden release makes him stumble back slightly.
“Add a wrist strap on it, or something, I don’t know.”
“I don’t think I will,” He rolled his eyes, though as he stared off into space for a moment, his brow creased thoughtfully. “Though, tethering it isn’t the worst idea in the world...”
You took the chance to look him down a little more thoroughly, staring a little longer than you would feel comfortable doing in polite company. When you glanced back up, you were a little surprised to notice that he was shorter than you, by at least an inch or two– the goggles jutting from his head and box-y silhouette had made him seem larger than he was.
Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed your staring, seemingly occupied with the phone he’d just had returned to him. His brows were furrowed, wrinkling the mask he was wearing, and he was typing dizzyingly fast for someone with four fingers.
You crossed your arms, feeling indignant that the guy didn’t even have the decency to be present during possibly the strangest moment of your life so far.
“You’re welcome, ” you mumbled, and his eyes snapped up like he was noticing you again for the first time.
“For stealing my things? Scoff ,” He responded plainly, and you scowled, taking a step forward and jutting a finger at his chest.
“I had every intention of giving them back, despite you almost killing me with them! You know, you could at least–”
“Sweet Socrates, what is that??”
You sputter mid-sentence, turning to glance over your shoulder. The empty hallway of your apartment building sat behind you, and when you turned back, the alleyway matched.
It rather startled you, how quickly he disappeared. You were left there, standing in the cold, only remembering where you were and what you were doing once your hand throbbed painfully in the wind. You shook your head, letting yourself inside with a small huff.
You might have been in the middle of grilling him, but you were left with a slight pang of loss for the opportunity, wanting to know more about the mutant you had encountered.
Strange as it might’ve been… It wasn’t horrifically surprising. Mutants had been on the public radar for years now. It felt a little pedestrian, that it had taken you so long to meet one. And disappointing, how quickly it ended.
You slid the door closed behind you, making your way to the elevator. Feeling began to return to your stiff limbs, and you scrubbed a hand over your face. You sniffled, hard, trying to keep your nose from dripping as you began thawing back out.
You hated this stupid city.
“Dad?” You called out into your apartment as you entered, kicking your shoes off at the door.
“Thanks for picking me up!” You added bitterly, despite getting the impression he wasn’t home. You scoffed, shrugging your jacket onto the coat rack.
Not in the living room. But the TV was on, paused in the middle of a teary-eyed exchange in whatever 8-episode drama he had started.
You made your way down the hall, peeking into his bedroom.
The room was empty as well, and dark, but a sliver of light poured out from the closed bathroom door.
“ Dad? ” You called, a little more incessantly, as you flicked the bedroom light on. You didn’t walk any closer, keeping a healthy distance away from the bathroom door. You were about to take the confirmation he was home and leave him to his… Business. But the lack of response irked you.
“...Um. You okay in there?”
Okay, well, maybe he had fallen asleep in the bath.
You shook your head and turned, though just as soon as you did, something cracked loudly inside, making you yip and stumble. It sounded like a tree falling, splintering before landing with a thump. After a few moments of pained cries, you realized that the first noise must’ve come from inside him.
The light that had been seeping from under the door fizzled and popped, flickering green before going out altogether.
You had your phone in your hand before you could remember it was dead, jamming a finger over the power button a few times until you did.
You swore under your breath, stance widening. The next course of action would be to go in there.
You took a deep breath, about to announce to your father that you’d be opening the door, when a heavy pounding sounded from your living room.
Could things stop happening to you for five fucking seconds ?
You made a half-dash for the front door, trying to keep your composure despite the anxiety that was quickly eating away at your insides. You felt like your stomach had been battered and fried in oil until crispy and golden brown.
When you opened it, your eyes slowly trailed up the chest of the man in front of you, his height nearly exceeding that of the doorframe.
“Hello… Neighbor, who’s building I definitely live in.”
You just stared. Something about the dim light made him feel… purple-r than humans typically range, but you dismissed it as a trick of your vision.
“I’m, a, uh… an entomologist. Some of my specimens escaped, and I was just– AH! There!”
He barrelled past you into your apartment, shoving you aside with a broad arm and grabbing an absolutely massive mosquito in one hand.
How had you not seen that thing?
When its empty pouch flickered a light green, crackling subtly before fizzing out, you tasted bile.
The… supposed entomologist seemed to notice this too, face contorting from relief to a deep-rooted exasperation as he emptied a vase onto the floor and trapped the bug beneath it. Still, you just watched, too much at a loss to protest the situation.
“Hm… Did… it happen to bite anyone?”
You didn’t know what to say, or do, other than to gesture down the hall. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or horrified that you could no longer hear noises of pain from the bathroom as you followed your probably-not-neighbor deeper into your apartment.
He flung open the bathroom door with such ease that it took you a moment to realize he’d broken the lock in the process. You were a little distracted with the whole situation to mind the stranger in very much detail.
Most pointedly, the issue of your father.
The shower was still running, pouring water over the shower curtain that had been torn away from the metal bar above.
A dark shape moved under the slightly transparent curtain. It looked like wet slug skin, but any further details were lost between the yellow tint of the curtain, and the glare from the overhead light. You stood in the doorway, gripping the wooden paneling like it would protect you from the absurdity of the situation.
“Can you fix it?” You asked pitifully, like your father was a broken toy. The man turned back to you, as though he only just remembered you were there, and furrowed his brow.
His expression almost reminded you of the mutant you had just met, and it finally clicked in your mind that he might be related to this whole situation.
“Well, not exactly,” He responded with a waggle of his hand. He braced himself, moving forward with his posture spread out wide. He reached over, slowly, and yanked the curtain away like a tablecloth.
Your father, if he could still be called, hissed loudly. He left a puddle along the ground as he threw himself towards the door, and you were ashamed that you didn’t do much but cower against the wall, letting him dart by. What were you supposed to do? Stop him? With the speed at which he slipped around on the wooden floors, you guessed he wouldn’t be easy to catch.
You turned to the man still in your bathroom, catching him making an obvious bee-line for a window.
“Did you just mutate my dad??” You asked, dumbfounded by the events that had transpired in front of you. The realization that this stranger had invited himself into your home was hitting you with an odd sort of apathy, like there was too much information to process to be worried about your own safety.
“ I did no such thing,” He scowled, turning back to you. In the piercing clarity of the yellow bathroom light, you finally accepted full-chestedly that he wasn’t human. There was no way he could be.
“...But if that was your father, he’s certainly mutated.”
You set your hands on top of your head, inhaling and holding your breath as you tried to think of what to do.
“You need to fix this,” You said. Your voice was tense, trying to will authority of this situation into existence. A large part of you was bracing for abandonment. But, to your mild amazement, he grumbled something about one of his sons, pulling a phone from his pocket.
“I will do my best to contain him,” He agreed tersely, seeming just barely willing to accept his responsibility. You decided you wouldn’t push it, technically being at his charity at the moment.
“Okay…” You mumbled, suddenly awkward. As he turned away from you, you caught a sideways glance at his phone screen, eyeballing his contacts.
Mikey
Splinter
April
Raph
You blinked.
“Are… are your sons turtles?” You asked slowly.
“You know them?” He asked in response, though he didn’t sound all too surprised.
You half shrugged, half shook your head, watching as he stepped out of the bathroom with his phone cradled against his shoulder.
You could’ve followed him out, attempted to eavesdrop, but your gaze drew anxiously to the interior of your bathroom. You hadn’t gotten a single damn breather since you’d gotten in the door, and the waning adrenaline was leaving you sore and pensive.
You walked over, turning off the shower. You were a little relieved to see there wasn’t any blood in the tub, nor any other evidence of injury. Mutation must be painful – but if he was well enough to run away, your father couldn’t be in too horrible of shape. At least, you hoped.
Once you found the bathroom in sufficient enough shape to leave it alone, you left, making your way sluggishly over to plug your phone in.
“I told you, I had nothing to do with it,”
“...swear to gosh, barry! …– two days without mutating some…!”
You frowned, looking at the man crested Barry. He ignored you, turning away each time you’d come close to facing him.
“Just get over here,” He hissed into the phone, taking a long pause before sighing and cautiously adding “...Please.”
You made tense eye contact when the call ended.
“...Barry?”
“Draxum,” He corrected, though it took you a minute to realize that’d been his intention. For a long second, you’d thought he’d sneezed.
You shook your head and mumbled your own introduction.
“You seem oddly relaxed about all of this,” He observed plainly.
You definitely weren’t relaxed, but how else were you supposed to act? You just shrugged slowly at him, lips pressed into an awkward line.
“It is what it is.”