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imagionationstation · 3 days

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Mismatched Twins AU - Take One

There are some things Donnie knows that he’d be better off not knowing. Such as, how the act of flesh coming together is equally as painful as the sensation of it getting torn apart.

It was like the first time Leo did stitches, but magnified by one million and all over his body. His limbs are still flickering as he gasps in the air that he’d momentarily spent an eternity without, fingers clawing into the rock under his fingertips to stop his swaying body from tilting over. His word is a whoozy mess of blacks, grays, and clouds when he tries to look up.

It doesn’t take his genius to conclude that he’s not in New York.

His eyes sting, lightning pains traveling down limbs as the bones form back before his eyes. He wants to pass out. He wants his brothers to appear out of nowhere to catch him when he falls, letting him loosen his grip on consciousness so he doesn’t have to feel or see the way red muscle is covered by green skin.

But he’s not in New York, which means they won’t be coming.

He can’t let his guard down.

Not until he’s sure his surroundings are safe.

And definitely not until he’s able to find a way home.

It’s what his Sensei would say. It’s what his brothers would do.

Donnie bends down, forehead against the coarse rock.

He gives himself a couple extra minutes to summon his bearings. The trembling calms under the pricking sensation left by the utter agony as it shifts out of existence. It feels like everything is “asleep,” blood flow finding it’s way back through his body, waking up systems that shouldn’t be able to work after getting erased from a reality.

Then he’s as he was before, fine and whole, with the rough surface under his limbs poking into his flesh. Brown pads cover his body and as he cautiously raises himself up, he sees that his straps have returned as well. He checks his belt and finds everything where it should be. He clutches his t-phone even though he has no signal.

Slowly, hesitantly, he touches his face.

His palm does not press against fabric. He lets out his breath, ragged and uncertain, the echo of his own screams taunting him. He can still picture every second, see her demented smirk, hear her apology before she tore him down to nothing.

She tore him down.

So why would she build him back up?

The beginnings of a ringing explosion has him unfurling from his safe position, looking up to the sky. He’s been in his fair share, and it sounds like that detonation range is bound to be massive, as well as destructive. His racing heart tells him that he’s glad to be awake, because otherwise he’d probably never wake back up.

The sky is fully lit, a sphere of colors brightening the gray atmosphere in a way that is both spectacular and obviously highly unnatural for this environment. It’s blinding to stare directly at, so he raises a hand in front of his eyes to cut off some of the glare.

Donnie can hear the reaching echoes of hard metal cracking under the weight of heat and pressure. The force of it would probably take out all of New York in a single blow. So unless it’s a mechanical sun coming apart, he’s pretty sure that he’s witnessing the blast of some kind of nuclear alien weaponry. It’s absolutely gorgeous and insanely brutal and he lifts his t-phone to snap a picture.

Then he spots the debris shooting away from the centre of the explosion, and decides that he should move.

Evacuation of the landing site, it is.

He gets to his feet, half expecting his legs to give out underneath him, but they carry him as he sprints. His instincts are good because a large piece of something lands where he’d just been, smoke billowing into the air.

He reaches a ledge, surface curved in an unnatural- or, maybe completely naturally for this dead habitat- way. He turns to go back.

Then he sees the ginormous, smoking ball of black headed towards him. Living his number one priority, he pulls his grapple from his belt, aims it at a rock and fires.

He tugs once it catches and then pulls himself up.

He reaches the curve off the top, panting, and looks up.

“yaAAH-” A spinning projectile appears out of nowhere and tries to take off his skull, but he brings his head into his shell, almost losing his balance as it whooshes over him.

He watches it, as the blur of silver and blue hits the ground and scrapes away from him. It’s a sword, plain as day with a hilt covered in collected dust. He moves toward it as blue markings glow faintly, reflecting in curious brown eyes, and he makes the choice to grab it for the road. If not for any other reason, then shiny.

The thunderous crash of matter meeting rock consumes his surroundings, quaking the ground underneath his feet as he spins to face the behemoth of a sphere. It drowns out the vocal roar of fury that reverberates with as much destructive power, warning him to get as far away as possible in a similar frequency.

He looks back, startled as he spots the tall creature throwing out it’s arms, and then faces the wreckage. The rocks crumble and bow back underneath the sphere, and if that is a shell of a radioactive alien bomb, he’d much rather be going in the opposite direction. Between the shadow of a figure over his shoulder and potential alien contamination, he thinks he’s more comfortable facing the anger.

An easy decision made, he darts for the leen, black figure that’s dotted in bright red. He’ll just go around. Ninja stealth, guy won’t even notice him.

It stalks towards the rock, lumbering steps swaying the body. It’s mouth doesn’t move but he can hear the bare inflictions of a voice from where he is, fist raised before it’s slammed down. He slows, momentarily, as he wonders why the creature is taunting the rock, before a limp form comes into view. It’s pale green with a plastron that cracks under the force of the blows, not even half the size of its assailant. The blue mask catches his attention and he changes direction without realizing.

The turtle is unmoving except for violent flinches as the creature unleashes a whiplash of pain, slamming down on the shell and face of the defenseless form over and over and over.

Donnie doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t think anything is worth that kind of abuse. He tosses the sword, grabs his bo, and reaches in his belt.

“YOU WRETCHED- LITTLE-“

Donnie crosses the distance, tosses his smoke bombs, and swings.

“PE-!”

Fists are combined as one and raised in the air, brought down as a smoke bomb slams into his face and shoulder. They explode upon impact and cover the body, sending the creature into a fit of coughs, stumbling back as arms wave to get rid of the purple cloud.

The admittedly intimating creature only seems to get bigger as Donnie gets closer, so he comes to a stop a fair distance away when it bellows, “WHO DARES-!?”

It whirls, locking its gaze on him, and he waves.

Either his presence or his action makes it pause, a blatant confusion on it’s disgusted expression, and Donnie takes in who he’s facing.

Evidently the face where a face should be is for decoration. It’s actually a purplish creature in the chest that’s dawning a metallic suit and beating another life form to its heart’s content. It reminds him of a Kraang with an insane growth spurt and a thirst for violence.

He points to the sky, keeping its attention on him. “That wasn’t either of you, was it? ‘Cause I don’t think that’ll help the environment any.” He looks around, at the endless expanse of rocks. “Not that there’s much hope for this place.”

The creature looks to the turtle at its feet and then back over to him, as if the notion that there might be two mutant turtles in existence was too much for it to comprehend. He’s in for a big surprise then…

“There are MORE of you?!” It moves, suddenly, slamming a metallic foot onto the turtle’s chest. It pins him against the rock, drawing a weak cry. “HOW!? How did you hide this from ME?! It’s IMPOSSIBLE! I saw his memories- I know EVERYTHING about your PATHETIC FAMI-!”

Donnie moves before he finishes his first line of questioning, launching himself at the metallic leg. He kicks, but that does not budge the grip like he intended, and he bounces back off, flipping onto his hands and then to his feet. The action turns it’s glare on him, snarling, and he laughs nervously, “That… Didn’t work.”

“YOU!” He looks to the explosion, and then back to Donnie. “How did you get here?”

“Um.” Donnie doesn’t know how to answer that. He climbed a ledge? There wasn’t exactly a fence keeping him out. “Like it’s hard?”

The turtle squints at him and the creature looks supremely ticked off. Now if only he could separate them…

Donnie whirls his staff into a defensive position, determined to get the cruel creature away from the poor mutant. “Also. Pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

“Then I will make it my business.” He tears the points of his feet from the rock- ah, that’s what prevented his momentum from shifting the metal. Duly noted- and he sneers at the turtle that falls onto its plastron, leaning on it forearms, breathing heavily. “Then I’ll come back to deal with you.”

The turtle doesn’t answer, and Donnie feels the rocks shake as the creature stomps towards him. The surface clearly isn’t stable, something that he makes note of as he puts a few steps between them. This isn’t going to end well.

Already died once today. Why not make it a second time?

“Now then.” It leers, smirking down at him. “Let’s see your failed attempts at heroics before I teach you true strength.”

“See, I could do that.” He muses because that’s a very likely outcome of how this fight is about to go. He pops his blade. “But I’m not really big on failure or pain, so I’d like to give winning a try. Or at least surviving. What do you say?”

The suit swings and Donnie raises his staff, the pieces coming apart in his hands as it hits his plastron. He stumbles back, yelping when it grabs his leg. It’s a lot faster than he originally anticipated and it hoists him up in the air, very likely about to give him a harsh introduction the ground. “OKAY! THAT’S A NO!”

Donnie reacts first, face to face with the sneering creature, blade meeting purple flesh.

It squelches upon impact and the mass of yuck screeches in pain, throwing him and allowing him to roll to his feet.

One of Sensei’s very first surface lessons.

Don’t fight the armor. Fight the man inside.

Or, alien, in specific cases.

He darts away and grabs the sword from the ground, hiding it behind his shell. He glances to the turtle that has risen to his feet, relying heavily on the rock for support, staring at him instead of running like any sane turtle would do in this situation.

Donnie looks to the furious alien as it places a hand over where the suit’s heart definitely is not and roars, “YOU DARE WOUND ME?!”

“You… Did try to wound me first.” He points out helpfully.

The creature charges. He throws a smoke bomb as it lurches for him, barely avoiding the claws. He crosses the distance while it swipes blindly at the smoke, overcome by fury as Donnie drops next to the startled turtle.

“Blue and blue.” He slips the hilt between the fingers not clutching something, and offers, “I’m going to assume this is yours.”

“You can’t beat him.” The turtle warns, staring at him with wide eyes as he bears his weigh on shaking legs. Donnie exhales in exasperation. Tell me something I don’t know.

But, if this turtle has a family somewhere in this wasteland, Donnie might as well make sure that he gets home to them.

The genius stands. “I’m only going to be able to distract him for so long. Get moving, don’t look back.”

He throws a smoke bomb far from the turtle’s position. When the creature looks towards it, Donnie is standing in the mist, smirking with a bravo that he does not feel. “I’m not a big fan of bullies. They’re all bark and no bite.” He points a finger in the air. “Lived with one all my life. I would know.”

“YOU WANT TO SEE BITE?!”

Donnie feels the blow before he realizes that hunk of metal even moved, an intense momentum brought against his shell in a blast of fire. It sends him flying, tumbling and rolling on the ground, only stopping because the creature appears in front of him, snatching him up to throw him into a tall rock formation.

“That-” His breath quivers, dizzily watching the creature split between one robot and two. “That was not fun. Oooh. Wow. Yep.”

“You will tell me how you arrived.” The creature snarls, finally only one armor. “Or I will pry the information from your brain myself.”

“Whether or not you do the torturing, information would be pried from me since I don’t particularly want-”

The metal fist swings down and Donnie rolls forward, jabbing into flesh seconds before metal fingers stab into his arm and wrenches it back out. It rips the blade from his hand, crumbling the wood between its fingers, metal bent when it hits the ground. Pain burns up Donnie’s arm and scarlet trickles down skin as the pinprick eyes lock on him, sharp teeth visible as Donnie kicks out, hitting metal chest and failing to get him to release.

“You pests never tire of your weakness. Filth does not deserve to rule with Krang, nor the sweet relief of death.” Donnie freezes, taking in the inflection in the name, watching as a wide grin locks him with deadly intent. “Let us show you how it feels to suffer instead.”

Donnie hits the ground. Once, twice, three times- his shoulder takes the force of the blow, and he’s sure it’s fractured by the time that Krang decides to forcefully return him the ground. His world spins, pain blossoming along his arm, and he knows that he only has one chance for survival.

“Oh please.” He forces, voice cracking with nerves. Please work. Please work. “Save the big bad routine for someone who cares.”

Krang slams a fist down, hard, and he hears the crack under his carapace. Lightning burns up his chest, igniting agony where metal met protective scutes, and it’s getting a little hard to breathe.

He almost regrets not choosing the alien bomb. Almost.

Donnie summons his inner Raph, rolls his eyes, and croaks, “You hit like a whimp.”

The Krang roars, fists combined and brought down in one brutal blow. Donnie rolls at the last second, the armor slamming the ground beneath him, splitting open the cracks that Donnie’s carapace had already made on the unsteady surface.

His grappling hook comes out and he swings as the ground opens beneath them and gravity drags the Krang down.

It’s deep, and if he goes down, there’s no way either of them are getting back up. He grabs onto a piece of the edge that hasn’t fallen in yet, painstakingly dragging himself up even as fire eats away at his shoulder and blood smears on rocks.

He cuts his leg but keeps going, dragging himself across the surface, deflating onto a large, cool piece of metal. He keeps his arm around it, grapple in hand, catching his breath and staring into the chasm of the Krang’s own making.

Something crumbles within it as the Krang roars.

Then, a blur of black is leaping onto the edge of the surface, dust billowing out with him. He lands, walking forward even as the ground crumbles behind him. Donnie scrambles back upright, hand on his shoulder as horror leaps from his racing heart and into his throat.

He retreats as the Kraang covers the space. “You tried to defeat Krang with a hole. How desperate. How utterly, irredeemably, weak.”

Donnie shakes his head in disbelief as the Kraang grabs the rock tainted in blood and raises it above his head. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

“Actually-!” Donnie is tackled, thrown onto the ground as his world flashes blue. He looks up in shock, to a blue mask faced away, grinning with bloodstained teeth.

They’re suddenly several feet away, but the Krang is catching up fast. “Would you look at the time! Places to be!”

“GET BACK HERE-!”

“Rain check on the brutal death!” The hand trembles as it tightens around the hilt. The turtle’s red stripes glow in tune with the sword, every mark on metal and skin lit with a power that seems to explode outward from the blade. “Adiós!”

Donnie is swallowed by blue.

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