"Get the fuck away from me!"

She slams you into the wall, your head pounding before you are yanked out of the way. Karai, currently trying to wriggle out of Leo's arms, looks considerably worse than she did before, her left eye covered in bandages, one forearm missing more mass than the other. You had not gotten a clear look at her during the struggle; you had presumed— and you can see now that it is an unfounded assumption— that you were the only one who was left worse for wear.

Currently, she is staring you down with murder in her eyes. It would be hot if you were not terrified.

She flings herself forward, using her legs on the smooth wall as leverage and dragging Leo with her. "You have the nerve to challenge me and run away like a coward?"

"You fucking drugged me!" You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the question. "You tried to kidnap me! What other possible reaction should I have had?"

"To face me properly!"

"I don't really want to do that!"

"Mikey, no!" Raphael is momentarily distracted from his helping his brothers by his youngest picking a cardboard box off the concrete floor and trying to slice it open with a nonexistent fingernail. "Put it down!"

"It's a box." Giving up on that particular method, he tries to get his fingers under the tape. "What's it going to do? Explode?"

The fight is momentarily forgotten as everyone's attention is directed towards him and the bodies of every other ninja in the room are thrown at the box in an attempt to get it away from Mikey. It is only after almost half a minute of wrestling for it do they realize what you can surmise from your tentative distance; the box is decidedly not exploding. There is a momentary eruption of yelling as the Hamatos unanimously scold the youngest amongst them for trying to open a strange box— as if they would not do it themselves, you cannot help but smile dryly— before even considering its contents.

You dissociate a lot more than you used to now. You did not do it much before ending up here. It is hard not to in stressful situations like these, and being locked in a ten-foot by ten-foot box of solid concrete, in your mind, counts as stressful. The room is lit, you note passively, by lighting not dissimilar to that in a storage unit hallway, tubes of electricity that hums overhead with not nearly enough force to fill quite the whole space. Nostalgic and unnerving. 'Oh joy.'

You are snapped out of it by the box being plopped down in front of you. You had not noticed that you had sat down, absentmindedly wiping the blood off your lip with the back of your hand. "Here." The second oldest brother kicked the box closer still to you. "You know what's happening?"

You shake your head. "If I did," you promise, reopening the flaps, "I would have a plan by now to get us out. I don't, so I don't."

Donatello sits down beside you, looking over your shoulder as you start looking over the contents. "Letters?"

"Looks it." Your breathing slows as you turn them over in your hand. The colors of the envelopes are the first thing you notice: they are incredibly obnoxious. Each letter is labeled in an odd chicken scratch with at least one name, and with a quiet focus— you have always loved this sort of menial work— you sort them. You discover, through this, that there is at least one letter for each person in the room, a stack with both Donnie's and your name on them, "All", and a stack with no name at all. Only one is plain white, and has the word "Instructions" written on the front. "And this isn't the Foot's doing?"

"I wouldn't be here if it were." She exhaled slowly, crouching at the other end of the room. "The handwriting isn't mine, nor my father's."

"Awesome." You turn one of the letters over, a vibrant orange with white text. "And it's too messy to be Kraang, right? Then who wrote it?"

"Does it matter?" Raph took his stack, flipping through them. "What's in them?"

Leonardo leans down, picking up the only plain envelope. "Probably nothing good." Breath held, he carefully unseals it, taking out the piece of paper neatly folded inside and reading it aloud. "Answer, and you get to leave."

Raph looks over his shoulder, confirming. "Is that all?"

"That's all."

"Answer what? The letters?"

"Presumably." You pick your stack up, flipping through them

"But with what?" Donnie flips through his, looking the handwriting over closely. "We don't have paper and pen to write back."

You shrug. "Verbally? Is there a microphone anywhere?"

"Why should we do what a stupid note says?" Raph crosses his arms. "It's a note."

Leonardo begins to carefully open his first envelope. "We don't have another lead. We just have to answer carefully, if it's sensitive information."

"Or we could lie."

"Karai," you sigh, "we know nothing about the people who brought us here. Tells exist, intent exists; they could probably figure out if we were lying."

"Then what do we do if it's stuff we don't want them to know?" The hothead is wrinkling his letters from how he is holding them.

You pick one of the letters— an annoying orange color— and set the others in front of you. "We answer carefully."

The eldest brother pulls his paper out— thankfully less obnoxiously colored than his envelope, reads it. His brow furrows. "Karai," he looks again to confirm, "you don't know where we live, right?"

"If I did I would have killed o— your father already, yes."

"Then why is it asking about this?"

You glance over his shoulder at the note, which reads as follows:

Leo, you seemed very surprised about Donnie actually being open with his feelings about Y/N. Has Donnie always had a hard time expressing his feelings? (Also, what's your favorite type of tea?)

—Randomtheaterkid23AJ

You also have to read it a couple of times over, not quite sure what to make of it. It is entirely useless information to anyone that is not in your immediate social circle. There is absolutely no value in knowing, besides maybe tempting him into drinking something poisonous.

Leo seems similarly confused. "Why would someone ask this?"

"Great question." You glance over at Karai. "Do you care about what kind of tea Leo likes?"

She shrugs. "It would make me less hesitant to kill him depending on the answer."

He shifts slightly away from her. "I like kukicha when we can get it," he says carefully. "It's very pleasant."

She considers his answer for a second, sighs, relaxes. "That's a fair answer," she supposes, crossing her arms. "Not a good one, but not egregious."

"Thank you." He relaxes again. "And what's your favorite?"

"Sincha."

"Of course it is."

"What about the other part?" You fiddle with the laces on your sneakers.

"Well," he shrugs, glancing over at his taller brother, "he's just... how do I put it?"

"A pussy?"

He glares. "Thank you, Raphael." He goes on. "He's just not very confident as far as romance is concerned. None of us are that well versed; you two are the first girls we've met in person." He crisscrosses his legs. "So I just didn't expect him to be so open about it."

"Wait."  Raph puts his hand up. "Wait. What was the question?"

"Why I was confused that Donnie—"

"He confessed?"

"You didn't know?"

"He did?" Mikey's head shoots up to look at the group, previously occupied with trying to stack his letter into a tower incredibly unsuccessfully. "When?"

"A couple days ago."

You cross your arms, slowly sinking in your concrete seat as the two boys lose it.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Raph demands.

Leo puts his hands up defensively. "I figured you knew!"

"I hate to interrupt this riveting discussion about your brother's love life," Karai pipes up, "but we have quite a few letters to go through and I, for one, would like to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Well said." You pick up one of your letters.

"Don't talk to me."

"Gotcha." You tear the purple envelope open.

How far/long do you think you and Donnie's relationship will go/last?

You slip it into your jacket pocket. "A while. Hopefully, a long while, provided one of us don't die."

"What was the question?"

You wave it off. "Just something about baking," you subtly show the boy next to you. "Nothing important."

He reads it. His eyes widen as he looks back up at you. "Really?"

You smile nervously. "I hope so." You fold it up, slipping it into your pocket. "Your turn."

He, similarly embarrassed by his brothers' incredulousness, opens one of his.

So Donnie, you didn't used to be super physically affectionate, but since you've been with Y/N, you've been getting more touchy-feely? What's that about?

—Randomtheaterkid23AJ

He reads it over, glances around. His face flushes.

"What is it?" Mikey looks back from his and Raph's interrogation of their eldest brother, trying to read over his shoulder. "What's it— hey!"

He swallows the paper dryly, cringing at the sensation. "Nothing important." He smiles tightly, trying to calm down. "The answer was that things changed and that's all that there is to say about it."

You grin. "Didn't look like nothing," you tease, sliding over next to him. "What did it say?"

"Nothing important," he repeats, blushing harder. "Nothing of note whatsoever."

"You sure?" Closer.

"Totally."

You sigh, shrug. "Whatever." You lean against his arm. You look up at the others. "Who wants—"

"The feelings were mutual?"

You blink. "Yes?"

What proceeds is a lot of indignant shouting that lasts a time. The words you can pick up are "what," "how," and "why". You do not attempt to answer any of them, instead reaching for your stack and pulling out another letter.

Y/N, do you ever feel like since you're changing the course of the future for the turtles since you've seen the show, that even more dangerous outcomes will happen instead?

—Randomtheaterkid23AJ

"That's the person who wrote my letter too." Donnie reads over your head, pointedly ignoring his brothers.

You look up at them. "I'm allowed to like who I like," you say simply. "Don't make it a thing." You think the question over a second as they recompose themselves. "Yes." Your hand rests on your boyfriend's. "All the time." You look up at them. "I'm trying my best, but I am incredibly afraid that isn't good enough. But that's all I can really do."

"What was the question?"

You toss Mikey the letter to pass around. "Who wants to go next?"

Karai is already reading her letter. Her eyes darken. Silently, she slips the piece of paper into her shirt, letting her arms fall at her sides as she looks into the corner.

Leo looks over at her. "What did it say?"

"Nothing relevant." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Someone named Frosty Sky wants to know about a personal relationship of mine."

"Shimigami?"

"Shinigami," she corrects. "And no, a different—" she stops. "How do you—?"

"Don't ask questions that you don't want the answers to, M." You smile sweetly, enjoying her twitch of discomfort. "But whatever. What's the answer?"

She does not consider it long. "Absolutely nothing." She waves it off. "I can separate my work and personal life just fine. In this case, any connection we have is more predatory than anything; if circumstances changed between us, then that would be all that there is to it. The relationship would likely remain the same."

"How informative of you." You lean away from him to grab another letter. "Raph, wanna open one of yours, or would you like an unmarked letter?"

He crosses his arms. "Everyone's already lying about what's in them," he shrugs. "Let's hear one of his."

"Or her's." You pick a blank envelope. "Or theirs. We don't know."

"It could also be a group," Donnie adds helpfully.

"Exactly." You rip it open, sliding it out. You open your mouth to continue.

After a moment or two, Donnie shakes your shoulder. "Y/N?" The blood is draining from your face. "Are you—" He stops, his eyes focusing on the paper.

Can Y/N perhaps be kidnapped? (successfully this time. It's cool if not, but I'm kinda a sucker for that kind of stuff:)

—Dynamic_derp

Seeing as she seems entirely incapable of thinking ahead, I would be genuinely surprised if she didn't end up getting kidnapped. I have an idea for that, actually; maybe not in this volume, but I'll see what I can do.

The letter is not signed.

You finally speak. "Glad to see people are looking out for my well-being," you smile weakly. "And glad to see that people are willing to provide services like these."

He looks over at Karai, unsuccessfully staring her down. "You're sure that this isn't your doing?"

"Donatello," she sighs boredly, "if I were capable of kidnapping her at this time, she would be in at least two pieces by now."

You place the paper down on the floor, folding it to keep your hands busy. You were shaking ever so slightly. "Does someone else want to go?"

"I can." Raph tears his open, reading it aloud. "Raph, I've noticed you've been very skeptical of Y/N, and that you seem to be warming up to her." He takes this opportunity to roll his eyes. "What are your thoughts on her?" He folds it up. "Same one as the first letter."

You lean forward, resting your head on your hand. "Yeah, Raph," you smile, forcing your fear down for now. "What do you think of me?"

"You're annoying." He shrugs, ignoring your mock indignance. "But I don't think you mean us harm. Even if you did," he smirks, "you're too weak to take any of us."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Dick."

"Hey," he laughs, "they were asking for honesty, right?"

"Don't you have anything nice to say?"

He thinks for a moment. "You aren't more annoying than Mikey," he sighs. "I'll give you that."

"Hey!"

You smile at Mikey's outburst. "I'll take it," you laugh. "Hey, we've got a while, still. I could still win an 'okay,' I bet."

"Don't push it."

"Whatever." Your gaze flickers back down to the letter resting at your side. You shake your head; 'It's not set in stone,' you try and convince yourself. 'It's just a letter.'

"For that comment," the youngest boy picks his letter up, "I'll answer mine." He rips it open, tossing the discarded letter onto the floor. He grins. "That isn't a fair question." He hands it to Leo to read. "That's like asking a parent who their favorite child is."

"It's about pranks," Leo explains. "They want to know his favorite prank."

"How come you guys get all the easy questions?" Donnie crosses his arms. "We get really personal ones and you guys get ones about your special interests. This is rigged."

"It is," Raph agrees. "In our favor. Suck it."

Mikey thinks for a moment. "To answer the question... I mean, you can't really go wrong with water-based pranks, but if I had to pick..." he snaps his fingers. "Shaving cream in the cabinets."

You blink. "Why?"

"Nobody knows for a solid while that anything's wrong." He grins. "They're lured into a false sense of security, then bam!" You jump. "Shaving cream."

"It gets everywhere, though."

"That's the price you have to pay for art."

"Wonderful." Raphael crouches down, looking at the remaining letters. "They're all for you two, now."

"Maybe our kidnapper's just a voyeur." You pick up another letter, purple this time, carefully checking its contents. You blink. "Okay, this one's odd."

Donnie leans over. "What does it say?"

You show him.

Can you please include more adorable fluff between Y/N and Donnie?

-Sakura

If the situation arises, yeah. I feel a little bad for putting them through all this, but it makes for a good story, and I'm not about to change the entire tone because of guilt. Still, an effort will be made.

"A voyeur with a god complex," you correct yourself.

"That is weird." He takes the letter, reading it again. "Maybe it's confirmation of that one interpretation. The simulation thing?"

"What?" Raph walks over. "What does it say?"

Donnie reads it aloud reluctantly. "Fluff, in this context," he explains, "I believe refers to meaningless niceness."

"It's a writing term," you elaborate. "Like a fluff piece or fic. Sweet, wholesome, feel-good."

He crosses his arms, going back to his place. "I'm confused. How come one of them wants you kidnapped and the other one wants you to do whatever 'adorable fluff' means?"

You shrug. "I don't know, Raphael. Why don't you ask our kidnapper?"

Donatello picks up another letter, reads it.

One of my favorite tropes is the smart guys who info dumps, and the partner who will sit there and listen, even though they don't understand half of what's being said, because they just love hearing them talk. Every time that happens here, I feel like squealing, because you just do it so well ❤️

It is an absolute treasure of a trope. Not nearly done enough. It's a good deal on both sides; the receiver of passionate rants gets taken in by how passionate their partner is, and the giver just gets someone to talk to about it. 10/10 shit.

"Do you understand what I'm talking about half the time?"

You think about it. "Yes," you say slowly. "Listening to you talk is similar to listening to someone talk in your second language; you understand the gist, but it's sometimes hard to follow." You smile. "But I do like listening to you. Your voice is very pleasant to listen to."

Raphael gags. "Please, save it for after."

"You're just jealous," you jab. "When you get a girl you get way worse than us. Can it."

"When?"

"Raph gets a girl?"

"Focus, people." You pick up another letter. "This one's to both of us."

I'm wondering how Y/N would react to the research Donnie did into the... compatibly of their, uh... parts. Because I feel like he'd be over here mortified, while Reader's just kinda secretly pleased they hypothetically could be together in *that* way.

He would die. End of discussion. Her reaction would not even matter; he would collapse into a puddle and probably kill himself.

You blink. "Compatibility of parts?"

Donatello is frozen in place.

You look up at him. "What;" you ask as the life leaves his eyes, "like pairing something?"

"Would you like me to kill you for you?" Raphael seems decidedly more entertained by the conversation that he is.

"Nah," he mumbles. "All good. It's fine. I'm fine. That's a lie," he admits easily, "but if I say it enough it might be willed into being."

"Is it something bad?"

"Depends on who you ask."

Michelangelo is quietly losing his mind. Karai seems as confused as you are, and Leo seems to almost pity the two of you. "Do I want to know?"

"Great question." He looked down, fiddling with his hands. "No idea."

"Then I won't ask." You leaned back.

"Okay. Next letter."

"Don't—"

He didn't even let Raph get the word out. "Next letter."

Out of every turtle which is your favorite? (I would just like to say I completely thought your book was a joke at first, but I am fully invested in the story- I don't get that from a lot of authors, I'm pleasantly impressed ♡︎)

-Rayonix

Depends on the version. In the 2012 version, it's Donnie, even though he doesn't get much of a character arc (which I will absolutely be remedying). 80s, it's Raph. Rise, it's tied between Leo or Donnie. 03, it's Mikey, from what I've seen. Bay, it's none of them, with Mikey being the lesser evil. While this being taken as a joke was not my intention, I cannot help but feel some sort of pride that I was able to get you invested. I hope that this lives up to your expectations.

"So we know whoever is keeping us here is an author." Donnie passed the letter to his brothers. "They are—"

"Versions?" Karai stares at him. "What does it mean by versions?"

"Another example," you roll your eyes, "of a question you would not like an answer to, M. Chill."

"I'm absolutely certain I want to know what that's about, Y/N."

"You aren't."

"We literally have one more of these stupid letters to do before we get to go home." Raph shoves the last envelope in Donnie's face, another obnoxiously orange one with both your names on it. "If you don't read it, I will."

He could not have grabbed it faster. Moving away from the rest of his family carefully, he opens it up so that the two of you are the only ones able to see what it says. 

Hey guys have you secretly thought about doing a little more than kissing? If so, would you?

-TheGoldenRose745

You take a deep breath, sigh. "Can we not answer this?"

"According to the letter," supplies Leo, "you have to."

"Donnie, are you okay?" Mikey leans down to look at his brother, who looks about ready to jump out of a window.

"I'm not, no."

"Cool, cool." He stands back up, making an effort not to read the letter himself.

"To answer the question," you lean against your knees, "because this will not be less painful the longer we beat around the bush, yes, and I would need to know more before I would try."

Your boyfriend's eyes widen. "What?"

"I told you before how I thought of you," you say simply, picking at your fingernails. "There are some details we would need to iron out before, but yeah."

The words die in his mouth.

"What about you?" You look up at him through your eyelashes. "What's your answer?"

"I..." He glances off. "I mean, it's not— well, it's not like— well— uh—"

"First part." You turn to face him properly. "Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Second?"

"Yes."

"There you go." You lean back against the wall. "It's over and done."

Everyone waits for about ten seconds for something to happen.

Raph breaks the silence. "So? What now?"

"I dunno." You close your eyes tiredly, leaning your head back against the wall. "This wasn't in the source material."

"Then what do we do?"

"We could start checking for cracks in the wall." You hear Donnie get up next to you. "We aren't suffocating, and the light's electrical, so there has to be some sort of opening."

There's a general agreement amongst them as they search.

You do not help.

When you open your eyes again, they are gone. You are sitting on the floor of the kitchen, legs crossed in front of you with your back against the cabinet. In the background, you hear some stupid show playing, meant to stimulate you enough to stay awake to watch the oven. The thing inside it— you cannot quite tell what it is through the tinted glass— is taking too long, you know. You wish that it would just cook already so you can go to bed.

And then you hear it. Footsteps.

You have no idea why or how you know it's Karai. Maybe it's just how light they are against the floorboards, or maybe it's because you hadn't heard the door open, but your first, immediate thought, is to go tell your parents, to hide with them in their room. Limbs dragging your body down, you push yourself up, crawling down the hallway to let them know what's happening, and even though you can barely move, you manage to get to their door, to push it open, to let out a hushed whisper before the door is slammed shut with reassurances coming from inside that things are going to be okay. You try again for the door handle, try to explain that, no, they don't understand, she's dangerous, but it's already melting from the heat, and as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, you bang on the door to let you in, you hear her behind you, feel her grab you, kicking and screaming with some metallic taste in your mouth back into the kitchen smelling of burnt sugar. She grabs you, slams you against the counter, leaves you limp on the floor before going back to their room, and though your body feels like it's on fire, you try to get back up, because if they went this time it would absolutely be your fault. You try so hard, fingernails digging under the floorboards to drag yourself forward before hands drag you back, and you are smothered by the smell of burning sugar and smoke.

You shut your eyes tight, falling limp against the floor as cuts run up your body, knives tearing your front to shreds as you slip back under. Your last thought before you lose yourself is, oddly enough, is to what, exactly was in the oven that smelled so bad.

—-

Your eyes snap open at the smell.

You do not remember falling asleep. How you fell asleep is not your problem, at the moment. The most important thing was the fire. In an instant, you are out of the cot, slamming the door open as you scramble out into the hallway in a bleary panic. Your bare feet scramble for traction as you rush towards the smell, waving it out of your mouth as you try to find the source.

The scene that awaits you is strange.

Donatello is sat in front of a metal dome, Michelangelo trying to block the stream of smoke coming out the top with his hands. Raphael, meanwhile, is staring at his brother, currently bound and muzzled with pieces of rope and chains.

Mikey is the first to spot you. "Oh, hey!" He grins. "Sup?"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Funny story!" He yanks his hand away from the smoke, now billowing up to a presumed air duct. "You know that thing you told us not to do?"

Your heart pounds in your throat at the smell. It's not just smoke; it smells almost rotten, like bad meat set alight. You cover your mouth with your shirt. "What?"

"The egg thing?"

You cough. "The lab thing?"

"Yeah! We grabbed it anyways."

"Stop moving!" Raphael is trying unsuccessfully to stick his brother, a needle in one hand as he tries to keep him still. His brother squirms under him, snapping at his junior with covered teeth.

You look around for a window to open up, briefly forgetting the exact circumstances of your current residence. "And the fire?"

"Disposal." Donnie looks up. "I didn't know what else to do."

"How much longer?"

He looks back at the dome. "Ten minutes?"

"And you couldn't do this outside because?"

"I had already made the fire and it was too late to move it."

Your gaze falls on Leo. "And what are you doing?"

"Blood test." Raph finally got him pinned by his neck, effectively straddling him as he finally got the needle in. "For the shot."

"Of course." Your smile is not a gleeful one under your shirt. "Of course." You look down at yourself, back at them. "Need any help with anything?"

"We got this." He tossed the syringe to Mikey. "Let the ninjas handle it."

"Do not throw glass things!"

"Can it, Donnie."

'The smell isn't going to clear out anytime soon.' You can already feel the bile starting to rise in your throat. "Then I'm going to go." You run back, grabbing your sneakers and your bag before leaving. "Call me if you need me or when the smell leaves."

You have no idea where you are going.

When you get back up to the surface, when you had gone into the first place that sold food and ate it in a place with a lot of foot traffic and potential witnesses, you realize that it is your birthday today. You are officially sixteen years old and celebrating your first birthday without your family.

'It's not like I'm alone.' You take a bite of your sandwich. You had forgotten, had never mentioned it to any of the people you knew now. They would not know it was your birthday. You were hardly going to bring it up. It was not important, despite the cultural implications and your personal feelings on birthdays. Adults celebrate their birthdays quietly all the time, after all.

You toss your sandwich bag into a nearby trash bin, start walking around. You have money. You are going to buy yourself something for your birthday.

Your first thought is to get a taser. It was a paranoia brought on by a dream, you knew, but a part of you could not help but have the distinct feeling of being watched. You do make an effort, but apparently, you cannot sell a taser to a minor, which you find unfortunate. The same goes for knives and pepper spray. You can buy a rape whistle, but you figure that would do you little good against ninjas. You consider buying a sex toy— you no longer live under your family's roof— but apparently entering sex shops is not allowed for minors, despite what the internet has to say in the matter. You decide on a pair of combat boots with thick, heavy soles perfect for kicking people in self-defense. You grab a pint of ice cream from a pharmacy, eat it in an hour while listening to something or another, do a bit of homework— your handwriting is getting better, you note proudly— and still have some time left over before it gets dark. When the foot traffic moves, you move with it, always in clear sight of crowds of people, out in plain sight. Your fingers tug at your hair, smelling like the smoke and sewer, probably, but it is nice, feeling the sun against your skin, air cleaner than below ground, if only barely.

You tug at the sleeves of your jacket, leaning forward to link your fingers together around your legs. You really should pull the plug and just delete social media from your phone; you always check the notifications, and you always feel bad whenever you do. It's an addiction you never thought you'd have, looking back at the lives back home, unable to contact them, but one you loath to part from. And how can one worry about that when the air outside smells so much nicer than underground?

You think you feel eyes on you a few times. You ignore it. 'Honestly,' you think, getting up and passing by the largest man you have ever seen, 'I must be going insane.'