So It Is Very Late And I Should Be Asleep But I Actually Finished The Second Part Of The Secrets We Inherit

based on someone irl finding out i was a tmnt fan, asking who my fav was, and being like "oh but not 2012 donnie right 😆" like um. get my babygirls name out of your mouth

You're gonna tell me to my face that this isn't 2012 Leo? 🤨 /hj

Please excuse the shitty art style I had back when made this video originally- Lmao

Also shout out to Sammi (I believe that's their name? 😭👍), I love their content sm-

(Old Content)

I just found an old oneshot that's sitting half finished in my notes! Would you guys read a oneshot about a reader who is Baxter Stockman's niece and who gets into crime fighting to try to save him from himself, shenanigans ensue and it becomes a cute story of reader and Donnie getting into a relationship like two nerds?

I had a super cool dream today. Tmnt related.

I was in some kind of mission in a research lab, I knew I was looking for some kind of info on mutagen for some reason, and as I kept looking for it I had to fight some of the researchers inside the facility and there were also other people trying to steal the same info I needed, so I was slashing and cutting through these spies while trying to obtain some sort of macguffin, but before I could find what I needed an alarm echoed through the facility and I had to run away.

I ran off, and for some reason, I ended up in a shopping mall with a bunch of other people, most people had no idea of what was going on. And then some army guys came around, saying they were gonna protect us, that we had to evacuate and stuff, it was a mess since the majority of the people wanted answers, but the military refused to say anything concrete about what was happening outside of the shopping mall.

But I knew what was happening — I was in the Tmnt mutant apocalypse and the mutagen bomb had just hit New York, the majority of the people had been turned into mutants and it was spreading through the coutry and soon most people would have become mutated.

The military guys got us to the rooftop of this mall. Apparently, we were waiting for Evac helicopters when they suddenly lost contact with their base close to the evening. The army guys were fighting and arguing because without Evac helicopters, we were doomed, since the only alternate route had been compromised by mutants flooding the streets.

As everybody was being kept in the dark while the military tried to figure out what to do, these mutated birds flew across the sky and laid these glowing mutagen eggs onto the roof. For some reason, they didn't crack upon landing, but they did start to pulsate rapidly, so I told people it was Mutagen and to get away from it.

Together we managed to throw the eggs from the roof and they fell to the ground, but there were some idiot survivors in the ground that started to approach the egg, thinking they could kill it even as everybody on the roof warned them to stay away.

Naturally, the rapidly pulsating egg exploded in the survivor's face, and they turned into these messed up snake mutants who managed to crawl up the walls of the mall. For some reason I had mad fighting skills and a whole futuristic suit so I was fighting the snakes alongside the army guys, until I thought the amount of sleep I was getting was suspicious and woke up exactly when my alarm was set to ring.

i cant believe ive completely forgotten to post my dontello’s cant vocal tones graphics

ft. my completely accidentally movie vs show split

theyre all not good at both but some are worse at certain aspects over others. except for true neutral 07 who is just The Struggler. true neutral equally shitty at both

and some additional clarifying memes as well

If u follow me on Insta u already saw this ermrmm awkward!! But these are my 2012 human designs, I took a lot of creative liberties obviously.. So I thought Id explain their designs a bit here!

Mikey - I gave Mikey a lot of colors based off of his siblings because I think he takes a lot of inspo from them, or LIKE HE LOOKS UP TO THEM YOU KNOW?? I think Mikey knows who he is but the colors are kind of a homage to the ppl who r a huge part of his life, hes a very big people's person so it makes sense to me.. His mask tail is tied around his belt!! All the characters have their mask tails somewhere. also Mikey totally would wear socks and sandals lmaoao

Leo - transfem Leo as always!!!! So true! I gave her more Ninja-like clothes bcuz I don't think she wears casual clothes unless she's going to sleep. Her hair is tied up in a braid bcuz u thought it would be cute lolol oh and her mask tail is in her hair

Donnie - close toed boots is a requirement!! He works in a lab! But also he undermines safety ruled by not tucking his hair away properly lol I just know it catches on fire all the time. Also that's why his eyebrows are burnt off, if he ever had facial hair it's def scorched now LOLOL and the mask tail is tied around his belt!! Which is probably another safety hazard lol

Raph - I definitely wanted to give him a boxer feel even though he's a ninja. I think boxing would be more his style not that I don't think he doesnt enjoy being a ninja, but I think a lot of the times raph just wants to skip the stealth and jump to Combat lol. He's got the most scars for sure! Hence the bandages reaching higher up on his arms than the rest (I do this on my reg raph design too lol) and his mask tail is tied on his head!

Warnings: I will be talking a lot about how terrible Donnie's crush on April is, and since I'm not an Apriltello shipper this will make it sound like I am shitting on Apriltello 2012 as a concept, but I'm actually just shitting on "Apriltello" as it is presented in the show.

This rant is also not really well structured, read at your own risk.

Okay so ever since I got Paramount + — because I got tired of getting viruses from indian websites when trying to pirate this goddamn show— I have watched TMNT 2012 a total of 5+ times, which means not only do I have a lot to say in general about this show but there is something that bothers me deeply, ever since the first season aired.

April O'Neil.

I know a lot of people shit on April in the show for how she treated Donatello, me included— and I stand by it, Cannon April is horrible — but honestly? Had she been a tad bit better written, there was a lot of potential for her character! There were so many good ideas, and all of them were WASTED.

So this is my character analysis of April O'Neil or, as I'm like to call it;

April O'Neil — The self insert of the teenage girl the writers had a crush on back in high school.

When I was 10 years old, I absolutely despised April because, naturally, I hated the love interest of most protagonists from the shows I watched because usually I felt they were badly written and other times were because I had a fictional crush on the protagonist, so in my child logic that meant I had to hate their love interests.

April was a prime example of that.

But as I've gotten older, I've realized a couple of things about April;

Firstly. April is written by grown ass men whose interactions with teenage girls likely doesn't extend further than that one time they got rejected by their crush in high school or telling their teenage daughter to go to her room, basing it off the way ALL female characters in the show are written.

Secondly, she is written by grown men who likely grew up having a fictional crush in previous versions of April.

This is... a recipe for disaster.

Look— April O'Neil and the way she acts in the show is written exactly the way adult men who are trying to write a teenage girl write teenage girls.

These dudes? They don't actually like or understand teenage girls. They had crushes on teenage girls, they thought they were hot, they might still think of the "what could have been" aspect if they didn't get rejected on prom night, but they do not respect teenage girls, they don't respect their thoughts, their feelings or their interests, and this not only means that April is a poorly written teenage girl as a result, but it also bleeds into the writing of other characters, mainly Donatello and Casey.

If you don't respect your teenage female character as a person, you're not going to write the teenage male characters to respect them either.

The writers clearly love April O'Neil, the concept. They try to sell you the idea that April is so cool, so cute/hot, this kind and empathetic soul, even though she barely does anything extremely cool or kind in the show??

The show is always trying to tell you what to think of April O'Neil, but the writing never earns that. In fact, it often shows the opposite.

The first time she sees the turtles? She screams AND is incredibly scared of them, which, understandable, but doesn't scream open-minded, does it?

When April finds out that Karai might have a semblance of a heart inside of her when they're fighting, instead of trying to create a connection with her and see if she can possible turn Karai to their side, she throws Karai down the subway stairs.

When she meets Dr. Falco with Donnie, and they're unknowingly discussing Dr. Rockwell with him, April keeps referring to the possible mutant experiments as MONSTROSITIES.

DONNIE IS RIGHT THERE!! She literally only stops when DONNIE had to express not once, but TWICE how uncomfortable he is. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the giant mutant turtle is probably going to be uncomfortable hearing people call other mutants like him monsters.

Also— April is never really the one that tries to be kind of empathetic to mutants. She only stops the turtles from beating the shit out of Pidgeon Pete when he mentions her father. So much for someone with psychic powers. When Mutagen Man comes after her, she calls him DONNIE'S MONSTER.

Yes, I get she was pissed off with Donnie and the turtles still, but referring to a random kid who by no means deserved his fate as a monster is so fucked up, April?? How would she feel if Casey called her dad when he got mutated the first time a monster? She totally would've been angry at anybody who said that.

Also this raises so many questions. Did no one explain to April who Timothy was?? Did Donnie not tell her?!? Timothy just spent months stuck to Donnie's lab, watching everybody with his creepy ass eyes and organs and Donnie was making a voicebox for the poor guy and the information just never, reached April? That Timothy was this sorta weird sorta awkward teenage kid who got involved with things he shouldn't and got himself mutated?

I don't buy it. I get it not being mentioned in the show, but I feel like SOMEBODY would have mentioned it in passing to April at some point.

Moving on, a lot of people say the way April acts towards Donnie is annoying or shallow, which while totally 100% at certain points, I think a lot of people in the fandom, for one reason or another are incapable of fully empathizing with Cannon April, and while I genuinely think Cannon April is a BAD PERSON for several reasons, I feel that she doesn't deserve as much hate as she gets— especially not for the way she acts towards Donnie.

I mean, put yourself in her shoes for a nanosecond.

You've lost your mother in a mysterious accident or something 10 years ago. Your father likely doesn't talk a lot about it, and while that bothers you, you're just going through your normal teenage ages, worried about your grades. Worried about boys. Worried about high school popularity.

Then everything changed when the Kraang attacked. Suddenly, you find yourself being saved by four giant humanoid mutant turtles who do martial arts, and your dad is kidnapped by aliens in android bodies that wear suits, the mutants save you, but you have no idea if you'll ever see your father again. You might have just lost BOTH of your parents.

But before you are able to even start processing that you realize that one of those turtles has a massive, big, fat, and OBVIOUS crush on you. But does he confess? No, he just acts, really, really awkward and weird about it.

He lowkey treats you like his girlfriend even though he never asked you out, he calls you pet names like "my sweet chinchilla" and "my princess". He stalks you through buildings. He opens his arms expecting hugs when you're around. He pets your hair. He offers to let you feel his fucking bicep lmao.

And this isn't even half of the weird shit he does!!

Look, any teenage girl or actual woman would think this is fucking weird in real life, okay? Like, this guy is going to kill me and keep my teeth in a box levels of creepy. If we're treating April with actual respect, this would be lowkey terrifying from her POV, he saved her life and he likes her, what if she says she doesn't like him?

Donnie is taller, stronger, and much more skilled than April in every way possible— up until she gets superpowers— even though yes, he is a hero, and yes, his brothers would likely not let him do anything bad to her, how does she know?

If you're a regular teenage girl, how do you know this guy isn't going to lose his shit when you reject him? While I don’t think Cannon April is scared of Donnie hurting her for rejecting him, I still think she feels rejecting him would put her into such an awkward position that it could possible ruin the friendship they have.

Let's be honest, April is a cute/conventionally attractive girl, she definitely would have gone through the Nice Guy™ cannon event by the show's events at least once.

When you're able to look past the obvious bad writing or April hate what actually lies beneath is a girl who is in a horribly awkward situation. April's life has been turned upside down, her father keeps getting kidnapped or horribly mutated, she finds out she's not even FULLY human, aliens and ninjas are constantly trying to kidnap or murder her and on top of all of this?

One of the only people who can help her, help her father, save the entite world has a massive crush on her.

In her mind, it's much less risky to just pretend like she doesn't know he has a crush on her as long as he never confesses and she has to directly turn him down.

But then things get massively awkward when she meets this new kid and they have so much chemistry, she can actually share both aspects of her life with Casey. April gets to talk about how crazy her life is but also complain about normal stuff, and hey with this new kid coming around, this means that Donnie will naturally realize how they like each other and back off right???

Hahah...

No.

He gets JEALOUS. And is actively hostile to her friend!! And it is so blatantly obvious that it's because he is jealous of Casey, they're both generally so bad at hiding how they're both into April.

So now her predicament is that Donnie is actively hostile to Casey because he views him as a threat, and Casey who doesn't let that shit slide is responding in kin. They both act like she's their girlfriend or eventually going to end up with them, even though neither of them have asked her OUT.

This is majotarily an issue because of the bad writing. But if we ignore that for a second, what this looks like is a girl that's put into a situation where no matter what she does, she loses.

Now, I see some people suggesting that Donnie's crush on April is a two-sided problem, claiming that April is either very manipulative or that she lowkey enjoys that Donnie likes her which is odd to me— Like did we watch the same show?

While you can definitely see it like that since April's character is so badly written and so bland that you can fit almost any interpretation into her actions and her being outright manipulative would have been an interestingangle to explore, I completely disagree with this reading for the cannon because outside of a few very specific episodes, April never gives Donnie any indication that she likes him, outside of those situations she never "leads him on."

Like c'mon, the only episode I can think of where she does lead him on is foot too big, which I have a lot of problems with from a writing standpoint, but the episode itself feels so out of character and conflicting.

Ignoring how that episode affects Donatello for a second, it does something really gross to April's characterization. It has her very clearly reject Donnie's advances at the start of the episode, then she's not really present for a majority of the episode until Donnie essentially does some growing and tells her how he understands how she feels and he accepts her rejection, so she kisses him????

?????

Look, this feels like that point in any amateur writer's story where they need to continue the mutual pining, but the story came to a point where it has to directly address one of the character's interest in the other, so the writer pulls something convoluted out of their ass in order to keep the mutual pining going, without realizing that the way they're writing the character makes it feel like one of them HATES THE OTHER and by making them show interest out of a sudden, it destroys the previous characterization! It's not interesting, it's not even a character flaw, it's BAD WRITING!

This episode takes the cannon, if maybe unintentional characterization of April O'Neil as a girl who knows her friend is into her, but she feels uncomfortable directly addressing, and makes it seem like she's a manipulative bitch leading him on, which not only looks very stupid but is also very ~misogynistic~

It's also such a weird episode because nothing happens after this?

It's not Donnie's fault that he's a massive creep! It's not his Father's fault for not telling him he needs to cut it out because it's weirding April out— I also have a lot of problems with the way Splinter "addresses" this issue, which is to say, outside of a single episode, he doesn't—! It's not his brother's fault for never outright saying he needs to stop because of how much of a massive creep he is! It's not Casey's fault for not addressing it either and maybe trying to have a heart to heart with Donnie about both of their feelings toward April—

No, it's the girl's fault for leading him on. Even though everything she does screams "I am not interested, dude."

Also, this isn't me saying the other characters — with the exception of Splinter — should be heavily critized for their lack of emotional intelligence when approaching this situation. But if you are going to let the other teenager's poor actions slide because they're kids, you can't expect the only teenage girl to have the emotional intelligence to deal with that situation either without making it seem sexist, y'know.

The same issue is present with the way the writers start treating Casey btw, in season 2 when April was paired with Casey, she actually felt like a fully fledged character. It actually felt like she was going to start getting some actual character development and maybe develop a relationship with Casey, which made the most sense since at this point it felt like April had no intention of addressing the "I'm half human half kraang" situation. And she had chemistry with him!

And then out of nowhere she starts acting distant and cold towards Casey? Even CASEY points it out in the show lmao.

Honestly this feels like the writers trying to very poorly balance the love triangle, they needed to give Donnie a reason to believe he still had a chance with April, while knocking Casey down enough that he thought he shouldn't directly ask her out even after all of the pseudo dates they had in season 2.

And since I'm talking about April, I feel that maybe it's because my type of woman is women like Karai, which actually felt like an interesting person, even though she was also handled poorly, but April, outside of a few very specific episodes, just feels bland.

I mean, come on, can you tell me one concrete thing about her that comes from cannon that goes deeper than surface level?

What does she like? What doesn't she like? What her thoughts on the situations she finds herself in?

She never talks about her mother beyond missing her, even in the episode where the copy of her mom is present. It just happens, and then she never talks about it again??? At least not to any noticeable extent. She never processes what it means to be a half human half kraang mutant. It takes the show like 3 seasons to even start addressing her psychic powers?!

You're telling me you gave this version of April one of the coolest powers in the history of superpowers, and YOU WAIT TILL YOUR SHOW IS ALMOST OVER TO EVEN START ADDRESSING IT?

You cannot convince me Donnie and Casey wouldn't immediately want to talk about April's powers the moment they learned about it.

Donnie would immediately start running tests, not wait until the farmhouse to do it.

Casey would think, "It's totally dope. Yo" and would want to help April train her powers.

Cue a training montage with April learning how to levitate soda cans and how to use her psychic powers with both Donnie and Casey cheering her on.

Anyways, my conclusion to this post is just how all of the characters in this show were robbed, but especially April, she's not "April O'Neil" she is "Donnie's crush", she is "Casey's love interest", she’s "the center of the conspiracy".

She's never allowed to be a character. She's never allowed to feel like a real teenage girl. She's never even allowed to reject Donnie!! She is written as if she doesn't like him but every single time where he is getting over her suddenly something happens that makes him crawl back into that stupid obssession!! Even though she is clearly not interested. April O'neil is not a character, she is a weird plot device which the writers can use to move the plot forward and push their weird fucking ships onto the audience without actually developing anything to any extent.

I rest my case.

Statistical Improbability ♡ DonBot x Reader 《 Part 1 》

Summary: You are a lone human survivor in this apocaliptic wasteland. You've made it this far by avoiding any unnecessary conflict with the mutant savages of the desert. Slowly, your drive to survive, the idea that things might get better - more bearable - gets more distant every day as you continue to search for your lost family members.

Just as it seems barely getting through each day is the only thing left for you in this world, your radar picks up a strange reading in the middle of the desert.

Context: This takes place in the wasteland warrior alternative reality/arc. Reader is the last human in the wasteland, and she survived all these years in her futuristic trailer, which she calls Big Bertha.

For some reason, the reader was aware of the Kraang before the mutagen bomb went off. She's repurposed some of their tech for her prothestic arm as well as her trailer.

I have also taken some creative liberties with how DonBot came to be, in the show he is essentially a copy of Donnie's consciousness after his body was destroyed, which is a super dark SOMA-looking plot-point. But I wanted a different flavor of existential angst, so instead DonBot has Donnie's actual brain inside of him! How does that work? Science *jazz hands*

Warnings: Be warned, this is my first TMNT fanfic ever, read at our your discretion. Mixed POVs. Slowburn? Mentions of blood, mentions of a brain in a glass tank, alcohol, a whole bunch of swearing, strangers to reluctant friends trope ( to eventual lovers ), mentions of reader's mysterious backstory, filled with some general trauma and angst.

Word Count: Some 8k+ words

Reader's POV:

"Come back here, I'll turn you into my next leather jacket!" The shrill voice taunted you through a speaker, and you gritted your teeth, grabbing the wheel until your knuckles turned white.

From your rearview mirror you could see the savages closing in from all sides, until your mirror was blown away by a shotgun blast. You grit your teeth and turn the wheel sharply, Big Bertha buckled and groaned as you went off road.

"You want a piece of me?" You pull a speaker from your panel, answering the taunt with one of your own. "Gonna have to catch me first, jerks!"

A savage lunges onto the side of your trailer. He elbows your window, and pieces of glass rain down as the maniac cuts and slashes at your neck.

You dodge just in time for the machete to imbed itself in the leather of your chair. With a primal growl, you kick the door open full force, slamming it into the mutant's face. He staggers and claws at the door, but with a swift boot to the face, he crashes onto the harsh desert sand.

"Maybe taunting the people you stole from was not such a good idea." Bertha's sweet voice hums through the speakers.

"NOT NOW!" You slam your working fist on the middle of the steering wheel. A hidden emergeswith a mechanical *click*. You punch it with all your might, your trailer creaks and shakes as just outside a hidden compartment opens up, a minigun sliding into place, it's barrel spin with a deafening whine.

With near perfect precision it blasts round after round of high powers lasers at the brutes chasing you down. Motorcycles explode and are torn apart in a violent scene. Riders are blasted off from their bikes in a shower of metal parts and flying blood, until the minigun starts to fail, sputtering in a pathetical whirring.

"Bertha, the spike strips!" You scream.

"On it." Beneath your license plate the spike traps are deployed. The spikes cover the ground of the desert, puncturing the tires of the mutants closest to the trailer. You can hear the sickening sounds of screams and screeching as the bikes are torn apart, but the tribe of savages is still hot on your tail, even after most of your tricks.

The rythmic thuds of bullets hit your trailer like rainfall. Were it not for your bulletproof plating you would be swiss cheese laying on the side of the road by now.

A honey badger mutant in an impossibly large motorbike closes in to you, giggling maniacally as it fires a bunch of crossbolts through your door.

A sharp thwack pierces your window, missing the target, but the second dart flies through the window and pierces you through your prosthetic arm and onto your side. The crossbow bolt embeds itself deep as you let out a painful cry.

Your robotic arm glitches and spasms against your will, and the steering wheel jerks out of control. Gritting your teeth, you hold the steering wheel with all of your willpower and force yourself to keep the vehicle on the road.

Out of frustration, you let out a strangled wail and slam the trailer on the motorcycle, sending the mutant flying through the air and tumbling through the rocks and dirt.

"There's too many of them." Bertha warns as her scanners show at least a dozen more savages and you're out of surprises. Despite their persistence, backing down wasn't an option.

"And you've got bigger problems." A warning flashes on your screen and Bertha shows a simulation of a rapidly approaching abyss. "We're approaching a deep chasm in 500 meters, at least a mile deep. You should turn around and find an alternate route."

"And get captured by those losers instead?" You lick your dry lips. "Ain't no way, Bertha."

You suck in a sharp breath, spitting blood and dust out of your broken window. Staring down at the rapidly approaching abyss.

"Give up, girl, and we'll make your end shift!"

Furrowing your brows in concentration, you awkwardly grab the crossbow bolt with your metal hand, snapping the end of the dart to free your arm. You pull down your helmet over your head and buckle your seatbelt.

"I'm gonna jump." You state flatly.

"Wait, that's too dangerous!" Bertha protested through the speakers. "Based on the previous damaged I've sustained, there is less than a 62% chance that-"

"Good enough for me! You got any other bright ideas?" You scream out, but before you get any answers you're cranking the gear shift. "Didn't think so!"

You grab the steering wheel like your life depends on it and hit the pedal. You open another compartment in the panel and smash the turbo button with your malfunctioning hand. The trailer rushes at an impossible velocity, pushing you back into your seat as you approach the edge of the abyss.

The trailer groans as you jump over a well angled rock, going airbone. You let out a strangled scream as you almost hit your head on the ceiling and can hear everything that wasn't chained down falling and hitting the walls of the trailer behind you.

Everything slows down to a stop. People weren't lying when they said you could see things in slow motion when you were about to die.

This is it. This is the end.

You close your eyes as tight as you can, your heart skips a beat or two as your life flashes before your eyes. Every single failure, every single mistake. Oh god, you'll never get to see them again, say sorry for everything that happened, how you wish you could go back. You forget to breathe as you embrace for impact.

The trailer lands harshly on the ground, and everything that wasn’t neatly tied to a wall falls and clatters to the ground. Bertha herself blows a tire from the impact and the fall almost crushes the hull completely on the front, she slides through the ground, creating a cloud of dust as the trailer hits a big rock that turns it on it's side.

The world spins around you as you push your door open, struggling to breathe not just from the dust in the air but your own near death experience.

You try to leave, but your seatbelt pulls you back. You groan in frustration and almost rip the fabric off of you, crawling through your window, away from the near totaled trailer. Gasping for air and struggling to swallow with your dry mouth, you fall to the ground, breathing heavily. You spit some blood and saliva on the rocks, and then out comes whatever’s left of your lunch.

Slowly, you stick your head up. Your double vision still allows you to see one of the savages tried to follow you, only to plunge into the depths of the earth bellow. The rest of the gang stops just at the edge of the abyss, staring daggers at you.

"We'll get you yet, you filthy human!" The tribe of savages shouted obscenities at you from the other side, blaring their horns at you, shaking their weapons and shooting at the sky. Tires screech horrible against the rocky ground before they ride away.

You let yourself fall into the ground, exhausted. On the bright side, the heist paid off. Fuck, who knew getting water could be so life threatening?

-----

Thankfully, the bolt didn't hit you too badly, as your metallic arm took most of the damage, but it still hurt like hell. You winced every time you had to move, and with the amount of repairs you had to make to Bertha, it meant you were wincing a lot.

"Okay, Bertha, prepare yourself." You say as you finished putting the last hydraulic jack into place, you scootch back and stand up slowly, holding your side to ease the pain. Once you're at a safe enough distance, you take a device from your pants and push a button.

The jacks groan loudly as the trailer is slowly pushed back onto it's wheels, for a second it seems like it might slip and crash back into the sand, but at the end the futuristic looking jacks push it with enough force to push the van back upright.

The door to the trailer creaks loudly as you open it up, almost falling off its hinges as you walk inside. It takes a lot of effort from you to get the spare tires from the back and change them.

You sigh, looking back at the abyss you jumped over to escape your mutant pursuers just hours ago. Getting Bertha functional took the better part of the evening, and you were still completely exposed underneath the desert heat.

From far away, you could already see a monstrosity forming on the horizon. Growing at an alarming rate, threatening to engulf everything in its path, a gluttonous entity that would destroy anything that didn't find proper shelter when it finally arrived. A sandstorm, and one of the bigger ones you'd seen.

You hit your clothes to clean them off, but it doesn't do much.

"Bertha?" You asked, using the side of your truck as leverage to get yourself back on your feet.

"Yes?" Her voice sputtered and glitched, the outer speaker damaged from the fall.

"How long until the sandstorm hits us?" You point towards the horizon, as if Bertha could really see you.

"By my calculations," She stays quiet for a couple of seconds. "We've got roughly 12 hours and 23 minutes before it reaches our current location."

With the sandstorm approaching quicker than you anticipated, it wouldn't be enough time to fully repair Bertha. Thankfully, the upgrades you’ve made over the years held up well, but this brilliant escape maneuver certainly put Bertha on her last legs. It didn’t help that the sandstorm brewing might tear her apart before you can make any further repairs.

Defeated, you threw a small wrench into it's toolbox. Getting back to your hideout was of the upmost importance in order to fix Bertha completely, but with the savages and the sandstorm looming on the horizon, you were one crash away from your end. The risk was too great, you needed to wait out this storm somewhere safe.

"Bertha, remember those big rock things we passed by years ago?" You ask as you start to recollect your tools.

"Oh yes, I remember. It was quite a lovely scenario." She chirped.

"Make a route for them," You clap your hands to get rid of the dirty in them and take your tools back to the trailer after getting Bertha functional. "They should only be a couple of hours away. It should shelter us from the worst part of the storm."

----

You struggle to keep your eyes open as you lay in bed. Tossing and turning you grunt every time you put too much pressure on your side and decide to lay on your back, one hand behind your head and another holding your gun close to your chest.

Just as you're about to doze off, you're suddenly thrown a couple inches in the air and fall from the bed, faceplanting onto the ground.

You groan, annoyed. Kicking your legs, you throw off the sheets away from the bed and fall completely to the ground, holding onto the bed to catch yourself as Bertha drives over a bumpy rock and you hit your knees onto the steel floor.

"What's going on, Bertha?" You scream out, "I'm trying to sleep over here."

"The radar's picking up some interesting energy readings."

"Interesting how?" You throw the covers back onto the bed and walk to the front of the trailer, putting a hand on your chin and analyzing some of the bullet holes in Bertha.

"I think you should check it out." You stop in your tracks and frown.

Walking up to the front of the trailer in nothing your pants and a dirty t-shirt, you sneak your head into the passenger's seat. "What?"

"It's some kind of unidentified energy reading about a mile north," The radar shows a small dot in your map, close to the caverns and mountain ranges you were headed off to. "Could be dangerous, should we avoid it?"

You look behind you to the mess of wiring on the ground. You hop onto the passenger's seat, and through the rearview mirror, you can see the sandstorm is coming closer. "How far away is this reading?"

"About a 30 minutes drive."

"No, let's go check it out," You walk to the back of the trailer, slipping into your boots and grabbing your gear. "Could be useful."

After a short drive you finally reach your destination, which seems to be an old town's ruins, bleached under the unforgiving desert sun, battered by the repeated harsh winds of the sandstorms, its once-sturdy walls crumbling into dust and mixing with the desert.

There was nearly nothing left of the decaying buildings. The main street couldn't even be seen, several years without care had cracked it beyond repair, and it was covered in dirt and sand. In the distance, a surviving windmill creaks, what's left of it's blades spin aimlessly in the hot breeze.

The whole trailer shakes and groans as it slowly comes to a stop, just close enough to the ruins that you could see a strange object reflecting the sun from far away, your curiosity peaks, and you tell Bertha to keep what's left of the guns ready.

You swing the doors open, and your heavy boots land on the rocky ground. You huff irritated as the sunlight hits your eyes. The annoying light seems to be coming just further up through the ruins.

Even though the evening draws near, the desert heat immediately hits you full force, it feels like the very sun is trying to cook you alive then and there. You open your waterskin and chug down a generous gulp of the water you stole from the savages. It was all the more refreshing in this scorching heat.

You walk through the ruins of the town, the silence is eery. Reaching what's left of a small house a small object in the sand picks your interest, kneeling down you swipe away the sand and debris, pulling what seems to be a girl's doll from the wreck. You grip it tight in your hand, what was once a bubbling town full of laughter and noise is now a ghost town, the only noise being the whisper of the wind and the occasional scurry of a mutant cockroach or bug beneath the wreckage.

You put the doll inside of your bag and carefully make your way to the strange object laying against a far away crumbling wall. It's metal reflecting the light of the evening sun. You keep your blaster ready to shoot.

As you get closer to the target, you see something that makes you stop in your tracks. A low, sickly hue of purple and pink that glows from the strange object. It was unmistakable.

The telltale sign of Kraang tech.

You dash behind a low wall and grab your blaster. Despite your calculated movements, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you sneak a peak, but the thing doesn't move an inch. A million thoughts race through your mind.

Were they really back? Why would they be back? Would it even matter if they came back to finish the job?

You stole a glance up from your cover, analyzing it more intently. It seemed like the strange object was a humanoid figure, laying on the ground close to the wall. Perhaps a broken droid? No. There's no way such a thing could have been made by the Kraang.

You could never forget it, the last time they came through their giant portal and brought their spaceships and guns and weapons of war. All of their machinery was sleek and polished, industrial, shiny to a sickly degree. From what you could see through your cover, this thing looked like it was made out of scrap and garbage, battered and worn down with time.

Crouching down from a safe distance, you start to pull the wrappings from your left arm until it is bare. Your prosthetic. It’s a crude thing, cobbled together from scraps and scavenged parts, far from sleek or efficient. You run your hand over the alien metal that you slapped together with iron and titanium, a makeshift arm that got the job done but constantly reminded you of your failures.

Trailing the slight glow of pink and purple markings in your hand, you almost lose yourself in thought. You breathe in deeply and struggle to close a malfunctioning hand before glancing back at the same faint glow in the machine that stood just a few feet from you.

If you could have found a way to utilize this technology years ago, perhaps others probably found a way as well.

Slowly, you grab a small rock close to your feet, throwing it over the wall. The rock hit the robot's back with an undignified "clunk" and fell to the ground in between its legs, unceremoniously.

"Huh," you think, standing up from behind the wall and making your way to the strange object. Now you could finally see it more clearly. It looked like some sort of robot... No, it was a robot of a humanoid looking turtle... man?

The metal was dark green and weathered by the harsh desert, battered and rough, but weirdly well taken care of considering the circumstances. There were several scratches and imperfections. It looked like it had seen quite the story, but the most curious aspect of the robot's anatomy was its shell, where the letters NYC still read clearly.

NYC. Ground zero.

That was a place you hadn't heard of in years, and now it stared back at you from the top of the manhole cover turned robo-turtle shell.

"Who would build something like this?" Your brows slowly furrowed in confusion.

Gently, you poke the robot on its side with your boot, not really expecting anything, but you keep your good hand on your gun.

Nothing.

You place your boot on its shell and press harder. "Yo, you good?" You tilted your head to get a better look. You prod it beneath its arm - then its face, but the hunk of metal remained motionless.

You wipe the sweat off your brow with a leathery hand.

"Yep, it's dead." Figures.

"If someone abandoned this thing by the road it was probably for a good reason," You say out loud to yourself. "Perhaps it is best to just use it for scrap."

There was just the slighest chance you could get it back online, reprogram it, and you could use a hand or two with big Bertha. An AI assistant was great but a full-on robot?

You hum as you run over the pros and cons through your head. If you leave it here, it'll definitely be torn apart by the sandstorm. The thought of getting mauled by a rogue robot you fixed was something out of a blockbuster horror movie, but the thought of such a fascinating piece of tech being abandoned ate you up inside. What was the saying again? Curiosity killed the cat?

You bit your lower lip, mulling it over.

Kneeling next to the robot, you touch its arm. The intense heat has made the metal so hot you could fry an egg on it. It must have been there for at least a couple of hours. Were it not for your glove, you could have burned yourself. You turn it over carefully, inspecting the indents of the metal and texture. It doesn't seem too badly damaged—nothing you couldn't fix inside big Bertha.

"Looks like we've got ourselves some company, Bertha." Standing up, you hit your pants to get rid of the sand and grab the robot by its legs, taking in a deep breath.

"This is going to hurt." You say to yourself as you start to pull the thing back to your trailer, your side flaring up in excruciating pain with each additional pull.

-----

You haul the robot into your trailer, feeling light headed from the effort. It's heavy body falls to the ground with a thud as you shove it inside.

Slumping against the wall, you press a hand to your side, wincing as it burns and warmth seeps through your fingers. You exhaled, ragged, trying to control your breathing.

"What did you find out there?" Bertha asks as the robot hits the ground, lifeless.

"Just... just a..." You struggle to breathe. "Robot... fuck." Grunting you push yourself back from the wall and close the door.

"Are you okay?" Bertha asks concerned, noticing your labored breathing.

"Damn stitches came undone. I'll be right back." You leave the robot to cool down inside your trailer while you head to your room to fix the stitches.

Bertha rumbles beneath you accelarating, so you can actually reach your shelter before sundown.

You throw your leather gloves and googles on the table. Turning on the trailer's dim lights, they flicker, struggling to keep on as you dig out your supplies -needle, thread, an old bottle of whiskey. You take a swig first, wincing at the bitter taste that burns your throat before dousing a rag and cleaning your wound.

The pain hits sharp, and your side burns as you grit your teeth and start stitching. By the time you're finished, you throw on a cleaner t-shirt before coming back to check on your guest.

Kneeling next to the robot, you brush the back of your hand against its metal plating, noticing it has already cooled down enough for you to fix it up.

With a grunt, you push it into a sitting position on the floor, then crawl behind it, inspecting the faint glow pulsating from its markings. Thing's still got some juice, apparently, but clearly not enough to be functional.

Taking out your notepad, you take your time with the machine. Rough coal sketches take shape in your pages, its segmented shell, the way the kraang technology seems to have been integrated in its sides, and the delicate mechanics of the three-fingered hands. Your calloused fingers trail the edges of its shell and each scratch and bump from the years of use.

"Man, I really would like to meet whoever built this thing." You mutter, jotting down quick notes.

Bertha hums through the speakers, guiding you into the mouth of a cave that's just big enough to shelter you two. Well, all three of you. "Do you think it still works?"

"I guess we'll have to figure it out."

You take a look at its left hand. Some of the screws had become loose. You tighten them up with a few quick turns of your screwdriver. The joints creak as you oil them, and you clean the excess that trails down with an old rag.

With your curiosity peaking, you sit down behind the robot again and carefully take it's head in your hands.

"Time to see what hardware this thing's packing." You tap the back of the robot's head with your screwdriver lightly, but Bertha groans loudly. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Bertha."

Slowly, you remove all of the screws from the head, carefully you peel the plating back-

It slips from your hands, hitting the floor with a hollow *clang.*

Your breath catches in your throath.

"What? Is everything okay?" Bertha asks, voice sharp with concern.

Your feet scramble and scootch backswards quickly until your back hits the wall. A trembling hand covers your mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" When you struggle to respond, Bertha calls your name loudly, snapping you out of your shock.

You swallow hard, pointing at the robot. "It's got a brain."

Silence.

"What?"

"It has a brain, Bertha!" You push your damp hair back, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you.

The brain sat in a glass-like tank, suspended on a thick, yellowed fluid. Wires snaked inside and hooked it up to a strange spine-line mechanism at the back of what would be its skull. It seemed damaged, some faulty wiring, almost as if he had been hit over the head.

The whole scene looked like something straight out of a science fiction book, and it makes your already empty stomach churn.

Slowly, you push yourself up against the wall, staring at the robot - no, at *him* - slumped lifelessly in front of you.

Is it a person? Some kind of cyborg? Could it have been human?

This thing looked like it was at least two decades old, could it be from the time when the bomb hit?

You gulp, considering your next options. *If it has a brain, it's a person.* Right? And you don't deal with people - if you could even call the savage mutants of the desert people - not since you got tired of pulling knives out of your back.

"Is it a person?" Bertha asks, a tinge of curiosity in her robotic voice.

"I don't know, I mean..." You close your eyes. "Probably?"

"Is he alive?" She questions.

"Maybe?" You laugh nervously, throath dry. "I don’t know what to do." And then you admit.

"Remember your number one rule?" She murmurs.

You nod slowly. "People are trouble."

Bertha hums in agreement. "We can still throw him back into the desert."

Bertha was right, throwing him back into the desert was still an option, but that would probably count as murder, not that you were a saint, but the idea of throwing a helpless person into the wasteland didn't sit right with you. You huff and push yourself off the wall, walking back to the robot and avoiding your mess of tools.

You walk closer to the robot, your legs feeling unsteady with each step you take closer to him. Kneeling, you study his exposed brain, reaching out to touch the glass tank with your metal hand and inspect the damage he'd sustained.

The sandstorm was already coming in strong, the force of the winds outside could be heard from inside the trailer and a cloud of dust started to form through the window.

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at the brain in the glass tank, wondering what kind of person would end up inside a humanoid turtle robot.

You suck in a shaky breath.

Maybe...

Running to your mountain of tools, metal, and other thingamabobs laying on your floor, you rummage through the pile of scrap, throwing useless pieces to your side as your frustration mounts. "Where is it?"

"What are you doing?" Bertha asks, confused at your sudden movements.

"I'm thinking!" You hit your hands in frustration on the floor.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me I didn't throw it away..." You throw some old pieces of metal and tools around as you frantically search for it, letting out a loud "aha!" Once you finally find it.

From the disorganized pile of tools, you yank out an old dusty kraang charger. It was the same kind they used for their kraang droids, you never even knew what you'd use it for when you found it in the ruins of a building in New York, but you were glad you didn't throw it away now.

"Are you going to turn it on?" Bertha questions. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Maybe, I just..." Scootching closer to the robot. Cyborg. Thing sitting in the middle of your trailer, your fingers fumble, you pick up your tools and put the wires back in its place, being careful not to mess with anything important. "I want to see what kind of person he is."

"And if he's a crazy robot on the loose?"

"Then it's a good thing I've got you here." Once you're sure everything seems to be fixed, you put the metal plating back on its head, and then hook up the spare charger, securing the connection with a quiet click.

Nothing happens.

Your hands tremble in anticipation in your lap, but when nothing changes after a couple of seconds, your shoulders slump. You assume it would take the thing at least a couple of hours to charge up, or maybe you were too late to find it. It might be braindead by this point.

"Great." You close your eyes and push yourself up, rubbing a metal hand down your face. The stupid thing is probably already too far gone to

A sudden jolt. You barely register the whirring hum before it stands up suddenly.

"As- As I was saying, we need to find-" The robot stood up suddenly with enough force to hit you with it's flailing arms. You stagger back, tripping over your toolbox. You let out a sharp yell as you hit your side.

The robot looks around startled at your sudden noise, head snapping to look at you on the floor. A low, electronic hum cuts through the air as his systems kick back online. Glowing markings flickering to life with full power, illuminating the dim trailer in its eerie pulses of purple.

You stare up at it, unmoving.

"What the fuck." You breath out.

The machine shudders, its body humming as systems power up, the robot's limbs twich and readjust after being powered down for so long.

A pause.

Then, in a voice more human than you anticipated:

"Oh."

-----

DonBot's POV:

"As- As I was saying, we need-" A loud electric voice stutters as the robot comes back to life.

Suddenly, his systems kick back on, and his body jerks. He was just in the middle of finishing his sentence when everything went dark. It took a split-second before he readjusted and started to take in his surroundings. He wasn't in the desert, and Raph was nowhere to be seen.

Donatello has been left with his own thoughts for hours as his body powered down, unsure of what had happened, if Raph was even safe.

Alarms flare in his head. His sensors scan his surroundings, locking onto something fascinating and impossible.

A statiscal improbability staring right at him.

A human.

She stares at him with intense eyes, pale as a sheet, as if she'd just seen a ghost. Slowly, she rises to her feet stood slowly, one hand clutching her side, eyes narrowed.

"Uhm." She hesitates. "Hey. Robot, uhm thing, what are you talking about?"

He moves switfly. Before she can even notice it, the woman is being held against the wall with his tech-staff pressed against her throat. She gasps, eyes flashing with fear and anger.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Donatello's voice cuts through the air, synthetic but sharp. Human or not, this girl has just taken him into her trailer, and she might be a threat.

She scoffs.

"Who am I? The girl that pulled your ass from the sun before your circuits melted out there." She nods to the door. "And the girl with the automatic laser guns."

Bertha takes the hint. The walls whiropen, revealing a row of small but deadly laser turrets, all of them simultaneously locking onto the robot's forehead and shell.

"Please disengage from any further attacks." Bertha asks in a sweet voice.

He glances at the guns, then back at the girl's face. The odds were not in his favor.

"So," She starts. "I suggest you back off. And then, we can talk about this." Hands raised in front of her, she raises an eyebrow in question.

He hesitates for a second, but wagers she wasn't one of his attackers from earlier, or he wouldn't be talking right now.

He lets her go. She stumbles forward, coughing and rubbing her throat. That was going to leave a bruise.

She glares up at him. "Damn, some way to say thanks."

"What am I doing here?" His robotic voice demanded.

"Chill out, I found you in an old town's ruins and took you in." She rubbed her collarbone from where he hit her with the bo-staff. Ouch, damn thing came out of nowhere.

"I thought you were scrap or something, then I opened up your plating." She taps the side of her own head. "What the heck even are you?"

Donatello stiffens.

"I'm a person!" He stammers. "Well, turtle. Well, okay, turtle mind in a robot body. But, I-"

She furrowed her brows the longer he kept rambling, but it didn't make it any easier for Donatello to find the words to explain his current predicament.

"My body was destroyed, but I was cybenetically wired to Metalhead Mark II, a robot I designed. So, I transferred my consciousness into this machine." He gestures at himself.

She looked at him up and down, never did he feel so comscious about his new robotic body. The girl blinks slowly. It takes her a moment to process.

"Okay..." She rubs her temple. "So, you're not like an AI or something."

"No." He shakes his head.

"You're a person." She stated.

"Mutant turtle," He correct, "But well. Yes."

"Mutant turtle." She repeats and lets out a snicker. "Fine. What were you doing cooking out there in the sun, turtle man?"

Oh, that's right.

"Raph!" He lets out a scream, suddenly remembered what got him into this mess.

"What?"

"He's my brother, I need to find him!" He ran off to the door, but the girl grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

"Did your circuits get fried out there!?" She pushed him against the wall and pointed a finger to the window. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm!"

Outside, the sandstorm rages - thick, churning clouds of dust outside the mouth of the cave.

He pushes her hand off of him. "But I—"

“Fine,” She snarls, shaking her head and gesturing to the door. “You wanna kill yourself out there? Be my guest, but I'm not driving out there in this storm."

He clenches his fists, scanning the storm while she walks away, throwing her hands into the air before sitting down at her table and grabbing some tools nearby.

Defeated, he lets out a robotic sigh, unfortunately this stranger was right, the winds howled outside, even though it seemed that they had taken shelter inside some sort of cave, the wind that made it into the cave was still strong enough to thrash against the walls of the trailer.

The sandstorm is picking up intensity—howling gusts of dirt and debris hammer against the thin metal and glass. Inside, it's dim, save for the flickering lights and a lantern, as well as the faint glow of the old Kraang charger that was still connected to his body. His systems were still blinking to life slowly, his power had run way too low, he wouldn't make it far.

Donnie just hoped his brother could take care of himself a little bit longer until he got back.

Curiosity peaks again, and he looks at the human woman in front of him, she sat at the table with all sorts of tools, fiddling with her mechanical arm.

----

Reader's POV:

You try to ignore him, but your nerves are wrecking you. Having someone in your personal space was a bit unnerving after so long. Sure, you had Bertha, but she wasn't really a person.

You can feel his sensors scanning you, even though you’re not looking at him. You half contemplated shutting him down again, if that would even be possible. After all, he did attack you.

The storm outside thickens, the sand’s beginning to coat the glass, blurring everything outside into a hazy mess. The atmosphere feels thick—suffocating.

You glance back when you can feel his gaze hasn't shifted in a couple of long seconds. When your eyes meet his sensors, he averts his gaze. You let out a huff and go back to meddling with your still damaged prothesis.

He finally breaks the silence.

"So, how did a human end up in the wasteland? When the mutagen bomb hit, there was nobody left."

You sigh, turning back into your chair to look at him.

"A brilliant observation, I hadn't noticed." You reply sarcastically and snap your real fingers. "I just did, that's it." There's a bitter tone that you don't even attempt to hide.

In a way, you envy the mutants of the desert, your lonely life fit you, of course, but it also meant always looking over your shoulder, patching your own wounds, rescuing yourself all the time.

"That's not a real answer." He presses, snapping you away from your train of thought.

"That wasn’t a real question." You snap back. "What's with the interrogation?"

He shakes his head.

"Just trying to make conversation since you saved my life and all, and we're going to be stuck together until this sandstorm passes."

She glances up at him, narrowing your eyes. "Since when do robots make small talk?"

"I told you - I'm not a robot."

"Fine." You grumble, focusing on the upper end of your arm, where it connected to your shoulder. "Ever since the world turned into, well, shit. End of story."

He watches you, silent for a long moment, sat in a makeshift seat across the room. "Are there any others?"

"I've got no idea," you growl, but your voice lacks conviction. "If I knew you were this chatty, I'd have thought twice about hauling you into my trailer."

He flinches just slightly, and you feel a pnag of regret into your chest.

The silence stretched again.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You tried to pay it no mind as you attempted to get your arm fully operational again. You swore underneath your breath as the screwdriver slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor. Scooting over to the edge of your seat so you could pick it up.

Before you reach it, the robot beat you to it.

"Looks like you could use a hand or two." He offers you the screwdriver. "You know, I'd say I've got quite the experience."

You ponder it for a second, before rolling your eyes and nodding to the seat in front of you.

He almost seems excited when he sits down. Slowly, he starts to inspect your prosthetic with careful precision.

"Who built this?" He asks, turning your arm in his oversized three-fingered hand.

"I did." You answer flatly.

His eyes, or sensors brighten - literally. "Oh woah." He turns your hand around in his own. It was almost comical how small your fingers looked in comparison to his. "This is amazing! I've never seen technology integrated in a prosthetic like this before."

You blink.

"Thanks."

He inspects the faint purple glow in your prosthetic.

"Where did you get this tech from?" He questions as he starts to loosen some screws.

"This? I could ask you the same thing." She raises an eyebrow with a smirk, looking at the same purple glow in his mechanisms.

"Well, does saying it comes from aliens from another dimension make sense to you?"

You chuckle. "Uhm, yeah."

He starts to adjust some of the internal wiring, his movements swift and precise. You watch with interest at how much control he seems to have over his hands, even though he only has 6 fingers in total.

"I'm sorry, by the way. For earlier, for attacking you. And for the questions, I didn't mean to offend," it says softly. "It's just fascinating! I- I mean," he stutters as he tries to find the best way to put his thoughts into words, rolling the screwdriver in his hand as he explains.

You tense, caught in between shutting his next question down or brushing it off.

"You might be the only human left in the wasteland."

Your jaw clenches.

"Hooray for me." You say bitterly and ball up your real fist.

The robot’s silence is palpable, a weight in the air. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but you feel the intensity of its observation.

"Sorry." He apologizes softly.

You bite back your sharp tongue.

"Look. " You hesitate, "It was pure luck. When the bomb hit, I happened to be in a makeshift lab of mine. It was enough to get me to survive the bomb and then the, well, fallout."

"But enough about me, you're a person, right? What's your name, turtle-man?" You change the topic of the conversation before he could prod any further into your personal life.

"Donatello" He answers. "But you can just call me Donnie."

'"Donatello." You tilt your head. "You're italian?"

That gets a chuckle out of him. "No, my father just really admired the great artists of the Renaissance." He takes away a damaged piece and replaces it with a new one.

"What's your name?"

You hesitate, but it's not like this nugget of information would tell him much else about yourself, so you tell him.

You watch as he repeats it slowly in a low voice, testing how it feels in his voicebox.

"That's a nice name."

"Psst. Maybe," You say, "But nobody really calls me that anymore. These days, when I meet someone they usually just call me something like 'Ghost'."

"The Ghost?" He asks, confused.

"Yep, you know." You sigh. "Last human on the wasteland and all." He thinks for a moment, then nods in understanding.

"So you're the one who built this robot body you're in right now?" You question him, looking back in his eyes, sensors? It felt weirdly personal, so you averted your gaze.

"I built this battle robot once, his name was Metalhead" He nods and hums as he explains, "But he got destroyed, so I made another one. I would never have thought it'd end up saving my life but, here we are."

"Cool." You say. "Not the your body getting destroyed part but, erhm, you know..." You rub the back of your neck with your good hand, cringing at the way your own voice sounded. Who knew spending years only talking to an AI assistant would put such a damper on your social skills.

"What about the voice that came through the speakers early?" He points at the speakers. Seaking of the devil...

"It's rude to talk about someone that's listening." Bertha chirps in, Donnie looks flustered for a second and starts to stutter out an apology.

"That's Bertha,sdon't mind her. She's my AI assistant." You answer. "I programmed her so she could be my lookout and auto-pilot."

"Just your lookout and auto-pilot?" She feigns hurt. "And here I thought we were actual friends." You roll your eyes and smile at Bertha's dramatics. Donatello watches the exchange in amusement.

"That's resourceful. No wonder you survived so long in the desert." He points out.

You give him a small smile.

"You know," Donatello says after a moment, "It's been a long time since I've had a conversation with anyone other than my brother."

"What happened to him?"

His hands still.

"Oh brother, we were ambushed by a gang of savages, then I lost consciousness." He admits. "When I came back online I was, well, here. I hope he's okay out there."

You grunt, shifting in your chair. "Seems like you two have made it pretty far. Can he take care of himself?"

"It's not that," Donnie says, his voice is quieter this time "He's lost most of his memories before the bomb. I'm worried about what could happen to him... but mostly, what could happen to anybody in his way."

Stealing a look at your own wall, your eyes find the lonely picture frame of you back in high school, surrounded by your father and friends, the only spec of your old life you had left at this point. You sigh, letting your gaze fall on the ground as you reflect.

"Do you have any idea where to start searching?" You finally look at him as he inspects your fingers in his own.

"Once the winds die down I could try to triangulate his location." He puts your hand down, inspecting his work.

"Sounds like a good start." You answer, wanting to add that you would help, you before you could speak again, he had already finished.

"And there you have it!" He spins the screwdriver in his hands before placing it in your toolbox. "A not so brand new robotic arm, but completely functional nonetheless."

You flex your fingers. The movement feels smoother than before, as if you had never even been shot.

You glance at him. "Thank you, Donatello."

His head tilts slightly, almost as if he's smiling. "You're welcome."

He looks at you, waiting for you to add anything else. The moment lingers longer than it should as you don'treally know what else to say.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his head. "So, how did this even happen?" He looks at your prosthetic arm, but you can also see him glance at the bullet marks in Bertha's plating.

"Savages." You say, keeping your voice even. "Had a run-in with them, too."

He waits expectantly. You rub your neck.

"Are you going to elaborate?" Donatello asks, more confused than annoyed.

"Hmm. Nope." You shake your head.

"Oh, okay." You chuckle at his response, half expecting him to press, but glad he took the hint.

You get up, popping your joints and gathering your tools.

"Well, it's getting late, and I've had a full day, so..." You let out a yawn and point towards your room.

"Oh, right! Seems like this storm isn't going to die down anytime soon."

"Do you need anything?" You cross your arms, and shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"I'll be fine, you've already done enough for me. Thanks." Donatello replies.

"Right." A long silence stretches between you, filled only by the howling wind outside and the occasional scrape of debris against the trailer. The storm rages on, the moment feels awkward, but for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone. "Aight, imma head off now."

"Good night."

"Good night, Donatello." You close the door to your room behind you.

You can't tell me this isn't their dynamic a majority of the show- Donnie / Raph are also 5 seconds away from losing their shit and Mikey / Casey are always the victims of their wrath (While Leo and April either just exist in the back or try to "mediate" the situation-). 💀 LMAO || To be honest, I originally made this video at Mikey and Casey's expense, since it was meant to demonstrate Donnie and Raph's similarites and why I love 2012 Brawn + Brain even though we barely got any real content for them in canon,, 😔 🫶 🧪🔭🔬 / 💪💥🤬

Wow, this video is super old,, I haven't drawn like this in ages- 😭 Lmao

(Old Content)

This is hilarious and you are so right, they wasted soo much potential when it came to April's and Casey's family members in this show

There is a whole ass TMNT TV show where Casey is canonically a teenager in high school and yet he never bugs Donnie for tutoring or homework help. smh.

Nor does his parents or any family get screentime.

I’m sorry but how would it not be hilarious for him to have a parent and sibling (like Angel). Like think about their point of view. They:

Have an angsty teen.

He's been sneaking out at night.

He comes back home littered with bruises.

You start to get worried.

But somehow his grades have been massively improving.

You know he isn't beating up people to do his homework as 1)that's unlike him and 2)his test scores are improving as well.

You ask him what the hell he's been doing.

He replies: “I gotta really great tutor.”

His sister asks: “what does he beat you up everytime you get a wrong answer?”

And your son replies: “no….well…he does sometimes smack me with a stick but that's unrelated.”

How the fuck do you reply to that?

Like how do you not do this tmnt 2012. SMH. Waste of potential.