Chapter Text
They hit the water.
The tv-static threat of unconsciousness disappears when a thousand tiny creatures lock their teeth on every exposed part of Leo's body. In the next millisecond, they're gone, leaving him surrounded by fading bubbles and a murky, cloudy, freezing reality. Leo loses his grip on his little brother when the shock consumes his senses, but as his vision returns, so does his fear.
On pure instinct, he's already moving, wading under the water. His head swivels, rapidly scanning for the sinking form, changing his upwards trajectory downward before he catches sight of the small shift of water amongst the inky green.
Strong strokes make his ears pop and the pressure locks down on his brain and lungs, but his only focus is the shape that is steadily becoming larger. In the strange time between seconds and eons, every limb is used to propel him down to the depths.
And then he's reaching out, going for one of the arms that's hovering ever-so-slightly over the rest of the body. He grabs it, the water locks its grip on him, and then Donnie is falling again.
Fear tells him that he can't stay down there much longer.
He pushes past it because he can, he has to, and there's no universe where he goes to the surface without his brother.
He continues pushing and swimming until his brother's scales are against his hand. Through the familiar sensation of space and sludge, he forces him close until his arm is around his waist and his finger is on his neck. He waits he waits- a pulse.
Leo looks around. He momentarily loses track of which way is up, watching a small bubble drift from his brother's mouth. It answers his question and spurs him into action.
The strange mix of turtle and human DNA is working its convoluted magic and isn’t letting water in. Leo has never ceased to be grateful for unexplainable enhancements like this. However, he doesn't let the relief slow his momentum. Donnie might not be breathing in, but he will steadily lose oxygen until there's nothing left for his lungs and blood to share.
Leo fights for the surface. It's not a particularly fast or impressive feat. He can't even tell if he's making any leeway. But he's a turtle who can hold his breath for a solid forty minutes and has swimming embedded into his very nature.
So when his mind panics and the beats of his heart echo ominously in the surrounding darkness, he trusts in the urging of his gut and he keeps going.
He can hear the woosh of his fluid motion and he concentrates on that. All of it reminds him to keep going. The thuds of his heart and the weight of his brother, the building pressure on his chest and skull, and each woosh woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh wooshwoosh woosh woosh woosh woosh
woosh woosh woosh woosh
-
The dark reveals light.
It's distorted through the ugly green and shimmering as waves move back and forth, inviting and taunting and careless all at once. It's then that he stops pacing and lets the adrenaline take hold. It would be wiser to save it until after they break the surface, but he has to breathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathe and so does the burdening mass trying to drag him to the sea floor, so he propels himself through the suffocating, swirling, all-encompassing liquid and towards the promise of air.
He swims.
He breaks free.
The air carries with it a spray of water, barging into his lungs in the same desperate gasp. He doesn’t savor it and it doesn't relieve the pressure, but every ounce of him acts like a man starved for weeks, begging for one more taste. He won't give himself anything until he earns it, so he holds the air in his lungs and moves like a soldier with a life hanging in the balance.
Realistically, two lives hang in the balance, but he forgets about anything other than the brother that may not be breathing until he spots the dock.
The water struggles with him every inch of the way but he does not relent and he does not go under.
Mere feet from land, he almost loses his grip when his little brother's body spasms against him. Donnie comes to life with a gasp, swallowing the contaminated water that flies at his face. He coughs immediately, trapped in a wheezy, startled fit as Leo leads him out. He climbs up and Leo moves beside him, trying to get his own breathing under some semblance of control.
Beads of water slide down his scales and a cold breeze forces shivers on him. The mixture of terror and determination doesn’t let them stop. He feels weak, way weaker than he should have been after a swim, even one as potentially taxing as this one.
He looks up to the sky where the portal used to be.
There’s nothing there.
He goes over to his little brother on his hands and knees. He's collapsed on his front after a round of frantic spitting, still lightly wheezing, but it brings Leo comfort to notice that it doesn't sound as bad as it had a few moments before.
“Donnie,” He says, though it comes out as more of a rasp. “Donnie, you okay?”
Donnie emits a small whine, confused and disoriented. Leo helps him off of the ground, both settled on their knees. He rubs his carapace as he gets his own bearings, hating the world blurs unhealthfully in his vision.
Then, inexplicably, to both their chagrin, Donnie makes a horrible retching noise before something splatters. Another pathetic whine, followed by more gags as his body violently rejects everything that he had inhaled.
Leo grabs his shoulder, helping him to remain upright, and then slings his arm around it. Donnie lets him pull him to his feet, their bodies bumping against one another as they try to leave the mess behind. They manage to get a few steps before a faint, “W- wait- ”
Donnie passes out for a second time, almost dragging them both to the ground.
Leo slows the descent, gently laying him on the concrete. He's shaking so hard that he's not sure if he's capable of kneeling for much longer, much less carrying them to a safe area.
He goes for the t-phone in his belt, pulling up their father's contact and dialing. The t-phone does not ring, it merely beeps. A long, drawn-out holding sound. Leo doesn't know what that means. The brother who might know is unconscious.
The small, childish, scared voice in the back of his brain urges him to try again.
He does. It's the same result.
The earlier panic scales his throat, but he swallows it down.
This is not the time. He has to keep a clear head
Then he feels it. The prickle down his nape- the goosebumps of warning- and even that comes too late because the massive shadow is an easy katana-throw away. His t-phone goes into his belt and his throwing stars are in his hands. Dimly, he's aware of the hiss that leaves his throat. He doesn't know if he'll be able to aim well, but he sure knows that he's willing to try if their assailant doesn't back away from him and his vulnerable bale right now.
“Why hellooo there.” The shadow moves closer, and Leo forces himself to his feet, flinging them.
One, two, three- they almost catch his feet- hooves? Whatever.
“Oh dear.” The threat realizes aloud. “Feisty, aren’t we?”
“Stay back,” He snaps as he frees his blade from the sheath. It glints off of one of the nearby light sources, hopefully looking exactly as intimidating as he needs it to be. He doesn't want to fight, but he will if this mutant doesn't back all the way off.
“Now, now,” Three-fingered hands pat the air. They look like they're covered in metal gloves. His grip tightens around the hilt. “Let's not get all wobbly on ol’ Rupert. After all, you lads are intruding on my property.”
Leo blinks, once, twice, and then shakes his head. “S-sorry, sorry, I- w-ee are pass -sing through. We’ll go-o.”
His teeth are chattering and he hates them for this utter betrayal. He'll have time to be cold later. He cannot let the enemy see his weakness.
“Cold, all we?” The figure grins and Leo can see his teeth. He has fangs, like a predator. “Can't have that. Come with me and we'll get you all warmed up.”
Leo hesitates, “No… th-thank you. We can- wh-we’re good.”
“Nonsense!” As he talks, Leo finally pinpoints the accent. A British mutant, one who has stepped lightly over the line of shurikens to get closer. “You expect me to just leave you out here in the cold? I have handled turtleys before and if there's one thing they cannot handle, it's cold.”
He frowns, contemplative, giving Leo a slow once over, up and down, “You are turtles, yes?”
“...Yes.” Leo's response is slow and uncertain.
He resumes smiling. Leo can hear the water lapping behind them.
“Whattya say, mate?” He offers. “Not sure you’ll get far like that anyhow.”
“I…” He looks at his younger brother.
He's shivering too, possibly with lungs of grimy water, and when Leo looks up, he doesn't recognize where they are. They may not even be near New York anymore.
“H-how do I knoww I-hy can trust y-you?
“Matey!! We're both freaks, aren't we? And if we can't trust each other, who in this wide-wide world can we trust?”
Maybe Leo's brain cells had died in the adrenaline drop, but that sounded like he could have a point. Could it hurt to get warm? Just until Donnie woke up. And if he tried anything, Leo's hands would no longer feel like ice. He'd be able to better defend them.
If the mutant wanted to hurt them, he could have already done it by now.
“It’s just a lil a’ways.” He adds brightly. “Whatddya say, chum?”
Leo swallows, and then he nods, voice soft with nerves, “O-alright, b-but you lead the wway. Dohn’t comme any closer. Weh’ll follow you.”
“Of course,” He tips the white hat on his head, looking up with a glimmer in pink eyes. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Leo tentatively sheaths his sword, leaning over his brother.
“How swell!” In their background, their host declares, “And perhaps tonight, I can try out one of those world-famous recipes that I've been so long denied…”