Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her obsession had begun with the peeking of threads between dimensions. Once she knew it was possible for other Lou Jitsus, or Splinter as he liked to call himself, to exist, she’d hunted for them like jewels in the dark. And then—oh, then—she had found this one. A Splinter not skulking in shadows, not whimpering in retirement, not refusing her spotlight… but a Splinter immortalized. A statue raised in his name. She could just imagine the songs sung, the stories spread. A Splinter who had not fled his crown.

It was intoxicating.

And infuriating.

How dare another world give him glory that she had been denied? How dare another Battle Nexus hold another Splinter, another champion, one who did not bow and break under her threads? Her Lou Jitsu had failed her. He had slithered into obscurity, a cowardly shadow who’d spurned her love, her arena, her stage. A pathetic waste.

But this one…

This one bore the weight of legend. He belonged on a pedestal. He belonged in her web.

Big Mama pressed her fan to her lips to stifle the quiver of her grin. “A champion rat,” she purred, her voice lush as velvet, sickly sweet as poisoned honey. “Ahhh… my little turtle darlings won’t be able to wriggle out of this one. How could they possibly object, when all I want is what’s owed?”

Her laugh slipped free—too sharp, too wide, too wet with hunger. The fan trembled against her teeth, but her many eyes gleamed, fever-bright.

The crowd cheered for their champion in that far-off world, but she did not hear them. She was imagining silence. The silence of breath crushed from his lungs. The silence of his broken body twitching at her feet. His legend, caged. His story, rewoven by her threads until he was hers alone.

She leaned forward, the fan opening like a predator’s wings, shadow swallowing her face.

“Yes,” she whispered, reverent as prayer. “This one will not escape me. Not this time. This one will feed me.”

“Again.”

The command was quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the clash of wooden blades.

The dojo echoed with strikes — sharp, precise, relentless. Leonardo’s bokken moved like an extension of his arm, every swing crisp, every block flawless. Across from him, Leo’s breath came ragged, his form fraying under the pressure. Sweat trickled into his mask, his grip aching.

On the sidelines, Splinter sat in meditation, tail curled around him, eyes watchful.

Leo hated the contrast. Leonardo never faltered. He fought like breathing — calm, assured, inevitable. Every mistake Leo made only magnified the gap between them. Every stumble reminded him: he wasn’t fearless, or steady, or effortlessly good. He was just trying.

And it had been his idea — his brilliant, desperate idea — to pull Splinter from another world. To give his brothers a father again. But every time Splinter looked at him, Leo felt the weight of it press harder. It wasn’t just about living up to his own sensei anymore. Now it was Splinter’s expectations — this Splinter’s teachings — and Leonardo’s impossible shadow too.

Still, he tried. Because that’s what leaders did, right? Tried. Quipped. Pretended.
“Seriously,” he wheezed, after Leonardo drove him stumbling backward with another clash. “Do you ever… take a break? Or are you, like, fueled entirely by smugness?”

Leonardo’s brow creased, just slightly. “You left yourself open. Again.”

“I noticed!” Leo shot back, forcing a grin even as frustration burned in his chest.

Splinter’s ears twitched. His voice was calm, steady. “You anticipate too much. Trust the flow of the fight.”

“Yes, sensei,” Leo muttered. The word stuck like ash in his throat. He glanced away, guilt tightening his chest.

Splinter’s gaze softened, as if to remind him — gently — that he was not that sensei. But before he could speak, the air itself rippled.

At first, it was a shimmer, like heat above stone. Then threads of violet light snapped into existence, weaving in midair. A web, enormous and alive, spreading too fast to react.

“Sensei!” both Leonardo and Leo shouted.

The net lashed out, wrapping Splinters, his chest, his throat. Splinter struck instinctively — claws flashing, body twisting — but the moment he touched the silk, his strength seemed to bleed away. The strands pulsed, tightening with awful intent, as though savoring his struggle.

It looked like magic Leo thought.

“Hold on!”

Leo lunged forward, fingers brushing the glowing threads. Leonardo was there too, hands clawing at the web. The instant they touched, energy cracked outward in a violent pulse, throwing both turtles hard into the floor.

Splinter’s breath hitched as the web hoisted him aloft. 

“Keep each other safe,” Splinter tried to say, but the words sounded strangled.

And then the world folded in on itself. When Leo could see again, Splinter was gone.

He woke in chains.

They glowed faintly, carved with curling sigils that pulsed like veins. His wrists burned as he pulled against them, the iron clinking against the stone chair that pinned him upright. A throne — but not his. Never his.

The air reeked of perfume, sweet and heavy enough to choke. Beneath it, something sour lingered — rot under silk.

Footsteps clicked across the floor. Too light. Too graceful.

The figure that emerged was wrong. Draped in jewel-colored silk, posture perfect, every motion deliberate — but her smile stretched too far, her proportions bent just slightly off. She was a mask of elegance, uncanny enough to prick every instinct in Splinter’s spine.

“Ah,” she crooned, voice honey-thick. “You’re awake. How perfect.”

Splinter’s eyes narrowed. His voice rasped low. “Who are you?”

The fan in her hand snapped shut with a sharp crack. Her grin gleamed with too many teeth.
“Why, I’m Big Mama! And you, darling, are here to be my next big hit. After all…” Her laugh dripped like syrup into poison. “…what’s better for ratings than bringing in another Battle Nexus champion to face his mirror selves?”

She clapped her hands.

Spotlights flared, cutting through the dark.

Splinter’s stomach turned.

The chamber around him was lined with cages — each one holding him, but not him. Echoes in glass, distorted reflections.

One crouched low, gaunt and feral, gnawing the bars until his teeth ran red — his eyes glittering like a cornered beast. 

Another, in worn robes, crossed his arms and let out a theatrical sigh. “Really, my sons have been in stranger situations… but this one’s just tacky.” 

In the corner, a rat curled tight, whispering frantically, muttering over and over about keeping his boys safe, as though sheer repetition could make it true.

Another strained violently against the bars, muscles trembling, metal shrieking with each pull. He shoved again and again, desperate, refusing to stop. 

Across from him sat one too still, too calm — cross-legged, eyes closed, murmuring about “the path of balance.” But his claws twitched, his jaw flexed, and Splinter could feel the fury simmering beneath the surface. 

And finally… a man in a shabby rat costume. Mask half-pulled up, eyes wide with panic. Tugging at fake ears that didn’t come off. “What kind of strange convention is this? I didn’t sign up for method acting!”

Splinter’s chest tightened. The air buzzed with their fear, their anger, their madness.

Big Mama stepped forward, her silks rustling like a snake shedding skin. She reached out, tugging the glowing chain that bound him, dragging him forward until his whiskers brushed the perfumed folds of her sleeve.

“All of this,” she cooed, sweeping her fan toward the cages, “for you. A collection of yourself, my darling. The audience will eat it up.”

Her fan snapped open again, hiding the tremble of her grin. Her many eyes gleamed feverishly in the spotlight.

“And at the end…” She leaned close, breath sweet and rancid in his ear. “…you’ll be my champion. My biggest, my brightest, my best prize of all.”

Her laugh broke sharp, echoing against the stone — the sound of a predator savoring her catch.

Chapter Text

Splinter hated the Hidden City.

Not because of the yokai themselves—most of them were kind enough, once you got past the teeth, the slime, or the occasional tendency to barter in beetles instead of money. No, it wasn’t the Hidden City he hated. It was the memories.

Down here, too many still called him Lou Jitsu. Champion. Big Mama’s fighter. Not Splinter, not the name he had carved for himself after everything fell apart. Lou Jitsu was a skin he had shed, a man he had mostly buried.

Or so he had thought.

Sometimes destiny was cruel. Sometimes it refused to let itself be forgotten. And sometimes, when his boys begged for “just one more” of his old action movies, even Splinter caught himself smiling at Lou Jitsu’s dazzling grin.

But the truth was uglier than old VHS tapes. Lou Jitsu wasn’t just a character or a mask—he was a man who had run from the Hamato name, run so far that he had nearly forgotten who his family was meant to be. Splinter had been changed, scarred, and transformed, and a part of him still carried shame for how far he’d fallen from Grandfather Sho’s expectations.

And yet—his boys loved the Hidden City.

So he came. Again and again.

After almost losing Leonardo forever, Splinter had promised himself he’d do anything to keep that smile on his son’s face. Even if it meant walking past gawkers who whispered “Lou Jitsu!” with wide eyes, as if he were still someone worth cheering for. Even if it meant being reminded of all the things he wasn’t anymore.

It was worth it if it meant his boys were happy.

Don had darted off almost immediately, muttering about “academic injustices” and trying (unsuccessfully) to sneak back into the sorcery sector he’d been banned from. Mikey had vanished toward Warren Stone’s favorite haunt, pestering the skeleton chef for “just one more experimental pizza fusion.” Raph, of course, lingered close by. He always did, ever since the prison realm. Ever since Leonardo had almost not come back.

Splinter didn’t blame him.

He had never known how much he loved his sons until he nearly lost one.

Glancing over, Splinter caught Leonardo practically vibrating, fingers tapping against the hilts of his twin katanas. He was one blink away from opening a portal and vanishing into trouble.

Splinter’s whiskers twitched. He didn’t want to let Leo out of his sight, not after everything. But he also knew keeping him leashed only pushed him to run faster.

“Where do you want to go, Leonardo?” Splinter asked.

Leo grinned, too sharp, too restless. “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

“Then you know the rules,” Splinter said. “One hour. Meet me back here.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re trusting me alone?”

Splinter sighed. “No. I would rather you stayed with me and your brothers. But you’ve done every exercise Donatello recommended. And…” his voice softened, “I cannot keep you by my side forever. So—go. But be safe.”

Leo whooped, already preparing a portal.

Raph scowled, stepping forward. “I’ll follow him.”

“Don’t,” Splinter said firmly.

“But—Raph needs to keep his brothers safe.”

“I know,” Splinter murmured. “But Leo needs this. He needs to breathe without the leash.”

Raph’s frown deepened. “Raph doesn’t like this.”

“Neither do I,” Splinter admitted, watching his son vanish into a swirl of blue light. “But some things… we must do anyway.”

The Battle Nexus was the last place Leon had wanted to portal to—and yet, it was also the best place to stir up trouble.

Not that he wanted trouble. After coming back from the Prison Dimension, all he’d wanted was to forget the whole thing. To forget the way things had gone wrong. To forget that he’d been broken and caged and remade into something that didn’t quite fit inside his own skin.

But forgetting wasn’t easy when the scars weren’t just on him. His brothers watched him like he was fragile glass. Raph’s silence, Donnie’s fussing, Mikey’s endless attempts at cheer—they were reminders that he hadn’t come back the same. And he hated how right they were. He was supposed to be the leader now. He had learned the hard lesson about what that title actually meant.

But deep down, he just wanted everything to go back to how it was.

So maybe that was why he had portaled here. To the Battle Nexus. Because Big Mama might’ve had her empire shattered, but if Leon knew anything, it was that spiders always rebuilt their webs.

Maybe—just maybe—he wanted her to make him fight.

He ducked quickly as the heavy door to the chamber clanged open and two of Big Mama’s goons shuffled inside, their booming voices echoing in the corridor. Leon slipped into the shadows, heart hammering, listening.

“…our Lady’s real pleased with her new champion.”

“Pleased? Ha! She’s stringin’ him along till the tournament. Rat doesn’t even know he’s a pawn.”

Leon’s stomach dropped. Rat?

He crept along the wall until the guards moved far enough ahead for him to peek. Chains rattled faintly, followed by a low, steady sound—breathing.

Leon’s blood ran cold.

There, shackled to the wall under a harsh circle of light, was a figure he knew too well. Fur darkened with age and dust, robes tattered but still wrapped with an odd kind of dignity. The face was older, more lined, the whiskers sharper, the ears ragged from battles long past. But it was the silhouette that mattered.

Splinter.

Leon’s knees nearly gave way. No… no, I just left him behind. He was fine. He—

But this wasn’t his father. Not exactly.

This Splinter’s posture was rigid despite the chains, his eyes sharp even in captivity. 

Leon clutched his mask tails in a trembling hand. His Splinter—his dad—was many things, but he wasn’t this. He wasn’t solemn authority wrapped in fur and steel. He wasn’t someone the whole room seemed to bend around.

And yet… he was.

The chained rat lifted his head, as if sensing the eyes on him. For one dizzying second, their gazes locked. Leon’s breath caught. His throat dried.

Those eyes were kind, but piercing. Familiar, and yet entirely foreign.

He staggered back into the shadows before either the guards or the rat could speak, every nerve screaming. His heart hammered against his ribs.

What the shell is going on here?

Leon stumbled out of the portal so fast he almost tripped over his own swords. He landed in the middle of the marketplace where Splinter was browsing dumplings, eyes wild, breathing sharp and shallow.

“Leo?” Splinter frowned, ears twitching. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re here?” Leo blurted, his voice cracking. “But—but I just saw you.”

Splinter straightened slowly. “…Saw me where?”

“Chained up.” Leo’s words tumbled out, frantic. “In the Battle Nexus. I—I thought it was you, Dad, I swear, it looked just like you! Only taller, older—he looked right at me.”

Splinter’s tail flicked, betraying the tension in his shoulders. He set the dumpling box aside and rested both paws on Leo’s shoulders, steady and grounding. “Leonardo. I am here. I am safe. Whatever you saw… it was not me.”

“But—”

“Listen to me.” Splinter squeezed gently, gaze sharp. “Go home. Stay with your brothers. I will deal with this.”

Before Leo could argue, Splinter glanced around—and froze. His ears twitched again, but this time with sharp alarm. “…Where is Raphael?”

Leo’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Splinter’s composure cracked for just a second. “He was here. He was right next to me.”

Raph had been told not to follow Leon. Dad had said it, flat out, and Raph had nodded, because he was supposed to. But the thing was—Raph had been the leader. He had been the one responsible for keeping his brothers safe. Even after Leon had been named leader, Raph couldn’t shake the habit. It was instinct now, heavy in his chest like his shell.

And after everything—after nearly losing Leon to the prison dimension, after clawing him back—how was he supposed to just stand beside dad and wait?

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Leon. He did. He trusted Leon more than anyone. But he knew Leon, too. He knew the way his little brother threw himself headfirst into trouble, smiling all the way down. Raph could picture it too easily: Leon cracking a joke with danger breathing down his neck.

And if Raph knew Leon—and he knew Leon—then wherever Leon had gone, it was somewhere chaotic. Somewhere dangerous.

That narrowed it down to two places.

Baron Draxum’s lab.

Or Big Mama’s Battle Nexus.

Raph clenched his fists. Dad could order him to stay behind all he wanted, but Raph wasn’t going to sit still while Leon risked himself again. Not after everything.

That’s when he overheard them.

Two yokai are chatting by a food stall, voices buzzing with excitement.

“Are you gonna watch the first fight?”

“Course I am! Heard they brought back the champion from last time.”

“Lou Jitsu?”

“If it ain’t him, it’s somebody just like him. Another ‘champion,’ they said.”

Raph’s stomach twisted. Dad was right back there, safe as ever—but if Big Mama had another so-called “Lou Jitsu”… then of course Leon would be there, because Leon would be dragged into trouble, he would have seen it, then of course he would be panicking. And of course, Raph would be there to drag Leon out of that trouble.

He marched up behind the gossiping yokai and tapped one of them on the shoulder. The guy turned, went pale instantly.

“You’re gonna give me your ticket to this fight,” Raph said evenly.

The yokai scrambled, fumbling it out of his pocket. “H-here, take it, man!”

Raph plucked it from his claws and tucked it into his belt. “Thank you,” he rumbled, leaning in just enough to make the guy squeak. “You just saved yourself from getting hurt.”

Without another word, he headed toward the arena gates.

Lou stalked the stone corridors with a cocky smirk tugging at his whiskers. The guards—hulking insectoid brutes, blades bristling from their arms—had been waiting for him. But when he stepped into the torchlight, their mandibles clicked nervously. One even shuffled back a step.

Lou chuckled under his breath. Ha. At least my old reputation is good for something.

Straightening his robe, he tapped his cane smartly against the floor, the sound echoing like the snap of a director’s clapperboard. “Well, well, my fans still remember me. Lou Jitsu, star of stage and screen, and master of the martial arts—present and accounted for.” He gave them a sharp, practiced bow, the same one he’d once given to sold-out theaters.

For a heartbeat, it worked. The guards muttered, glanced at each other. Lou’s chest swelled. He still had it. All the old tricks. All the old charm.

“Now then,” he said smoothly, “you boys run along and tell your mistress I’ll only speak to her directly. Hmm? Chop chop.”

Two guards dropped to one knee in an almost servile gesture—then the hesitation snapped. Chains snapped open like hungry jaws, shooting for his wrists.

“What?!” Lou barked, twisting free of the first pair of shackles. He spun his cane like a staff, knocking one brute flat. “Do you know who I am?!”

He leapt forward, slashing through one silken cord stretched across the corridor—only to feel the entire web tremble around him. The floor above seemed to come alive. Dozens of threads snapped taut, crisscrossing the air in glowing lines, and suddenly the chamber was humming with the vibration of Big Mama’s silk.

Lou’s heart lurched. Too careless. Too loud.

The next net fell like a living thing, weighted and laced with venom that made his muscles ache with every strike. He fought — oh, how he fought — but with each cut of his cane another strand coiled tight. The poison spread, heavy and slow. At last, they dragged him down, chains clamping hard around his wrists and ankles.

“Oh, they know who you are.”

The voice oozed from the shadows, silk-smooth and honey-poison sweet. Lou froze as the air filled with the chitter of spider legs and the sharp perfume of crushed roses.

Big Mama descended in all her towering glory, every jewel glittering in the firelight, her smile stretching wide as her many arms reached for him.

“My, my,” she purred, cupping his chin with mock affection. “The great Lou Jitsu. So sure his legend would carry him. So proud that the crowd still whispers his name. But darling—” She leaned close, her eyes flashing. “Your reputation no longer protects you. It delivers you.”

The guards forced Lou to his knees, her grip tightening like a velvet vice.

“You gave up your right to be my champion, Lou. You abandoned me. You abandoned this.” Her voice turned sharp, cruel.

Then she tugged on a heavy chain, and another figure was dragged into the light. Lou’s breath caught.

It was like staring into a mirror warped by time: this Splinter was taller, older, fur streaked with gray. His bearing was calm but iron-strong, his sharp eyes burning even through exhaustion.

“See?” Big Mama cooed. “You are not so unique. The world has kindly delivered me a replacement — one who does not turn his back on destiny.”

The other Splinter jerked against the chain, teeth bared. “I am no one’s pawn,” he spat, his voice deeper, colder than Lou’s.

Big Mama’s laugh rang like chimes made of knives. “Such fire! And now, what a delicious twist for the crowd. The fallen star against his better reflection. You two will be the pinnacle of this performance.”

She spread her arms wide, savoring the horror written on Lou’s face. 

Chapter Text

Splinter had stood in the Battle Nexus twice before. The first time, he had been no warrior, just a rat, watching from his master’s shoulder. He remembered how his heart had swelled with pride as Hamato Yoshi moved across the arena floor, fluid as water, sharp as flame. Every strike was a lesson. Every breath was discipline. Yoshi had carried the Hamato name into combat with honor, and Splinter, small though he was, had absorbed it all, wide-eyed.

The second time, Splinter had entered the sands himself. No longer pet, no longer student—but heir. He had borne the Hamato name into battle, and though the stakes were great, the contest had still been pure. It had been a test of skill, of spirit. Not spectacle. This… this place was no Battle Nexus, no matter what the spider lady claimed. The arena above was all flash and cruelty, a carnival of jeering people hungry for blood. This was not traditional. It was a theater. A desecration dressed as glory. His friend, the Daimyo, would hate this mockery of the real thing.

Chains bit into his wrists. Across from him, his mirror image—this “Lou Jitsu”—slumped against the wall. The rat looked broken, horror still etched across a face that only hours ago had worn a cocky grin. Splinter closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breath. If only his paws were free… He could almost feel the sigils of the Nexus etched into his memory; the mystic portal could save them all from this...spectacle. But if such magic even worked here, it would mean leaving the others behind. That, he would not do. Not while these versions of himself were still trapped. He turned his gaze to his counterpart.

“Do you have children?”

Lou blinked, startled by the sudden question. His voice was hoarse. “Yeah. Four. Do you?”

“Eight.”

Lou gave a weak laugh, shaking his head. “Eight? Wow. That’s… that’s something. I had no idea what I was doing with my four. I’d have no clue what to do with eight of ‘em.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Splinter’s chest. “I had no idea what I was doing either. Still don’t, sometimes.”

Lou cracked a faint smile despite himself.

“The spider,” Splinter went on, nodding toward the memory of Big Mama’s balcony, “she called you Lou Jitsu. I suppose I should supply my own name. Hamato Splinter."

The shift in Lou’s face was immediate. His ears twitched back, his eyes wide, his whiskers trembling. Then his jaw set.

“You—” His voice cracked, then hardened. “You kept it? You actually kept the Hamato name?”

“Why would I not?” Splinter asked, calm but firm. “Master Yoshi gifted me that name. When he died, I swore I would carry it forward. It is not mine to discard.”

Lou’s claws scraped against the stone as his hands clenched, chains rattling. “Easy for you to say! You didn’t have to live with the weight of it hanging over you every second! You didn’t have to watch everything you cared about burn down because you clung to some ancient name like a—like a—” His voice broke again, anger dissolving into something more ragged.

Splinter simply held his gaze, unflinching.

Lou sagged back against the wall, chest heaving. For a long moment, he said nothing, ears drooping low. When he finally spoke again, it was quieter, almost boyish. “I thought… I thought walking away from it meant freedom. That I could be someone else. But all it got me was this. Chains. Shame.”

His eyes darted away, unable to meet Splinter’s. “Is that why you… were a Battle Nexus champion too?”

“Yes,” Splinter said simply.

Lou closed his eyes, his whole frame deflating as the fight drained out of him. His paws flexed open, then closed, again and again. At last, in a low voice, he whispered, “Do you think… your sons will be looking for you?”

“Absolutely.” Splinter’s tone was sure, unshaken. “And yours?”

Lou stared down at the stone between his knees. A pause stretched long enough to seem endless. Then he nodded faintly, almost to himself. “…They were already here.”

“Then,” Splinter said gently, “we have nothing to fear.”

Lou let out a long breath, slumping further. “I suppose not.”

But even as silence settled between them, Splinter’s thoughts turned inward. This place was no tournament. It was a prison. And if they meant to break the champions of every world, then it would not be strength of paw that won freedom. It would be something greater.

The arena roared to life. Lanterns blazed along the ceiling, firecrackers popped in midair, and the crowd of yokai pressed forward in their seats, hungry for blood.

Two spotlights cut through the haze, pinning the fighters below.

On one side: a rat in a simple robe, his back straight, his face serene. On the other: another rat in a gaudy purple tracksuit, wringing his paws like he wished he could disappear.

The crowd howled for violence.

Instead, the first rat bowed low, his tail sweeping across the sand.
“I will not raise my hand against kin. There is no honor in this.”

The cheers faltered into confusion, then turned sharp and sour with boos.

High above in her silk-draped box, Big Mama’s smile thinned. “Ohhh, darling, this is terrible for ratings. No one pays to watch pacifism.”

Down below, the calm Splinter ignored her. He folded his legs beneath him and sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. His breathing slowed until it was nearly still.

The other Splinter blinked at him. Then, with a sheepish grin, he raised a paw. “Uh, okay, but… what if we tried karaoke instead?”

He yanked a microphone from a startled attendant and launched into a spectacularly off-key ballad.

The crowd howled — not with delight, but outrage. Laughter, jeers, even thrown cups rained down.

“That’s it,” one announcer snarled. “Release the beast!”

The floor split open. From the shadows below rose a hulking golem of cracked stone, chains dragging as it lumbered forward, eyes glowing green.

The crowd roared. At last — a fight.

But the two Splinters did not turn on each other. They exchanged a look — one calm, one nervous but resolute — and moved as one.

The robed Splinter flowed to his feet, movements sharp and efficient. He slid under the golem’s swing, driving a palm into its knee so hard the stone cracked.

His counterpart snatched up whatever wasn’t bolted down: a folding chair, his belt, even a gong stand. “Ha! You ever see Jackie Chan do this?!” he shouted, whipping the belt across the golem’s face before clobbering it with the chair.

The combination was ridiculous and perfect. Grace on one side, chaos on the other. The monster faltered under the strange rhythm of their assault.

Together, with one clean kick and one chair hurled like a discus, they shattered the golem into rubble.

The crowd erupted — cheering, booing, shrieking with laughter. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the fight they had come for. But it was a show.

The tracksuit Splinter brushed dust from his sleeves and waved weakly. “Uh… yeah! Take that! Also, just saying, this is not family-friendly. My boys only watch PG movies, okay?”

The crowd laughed nervously.

Above them, Big Mama’s fan snapped shut with a crack. “Losers,” she hissed. “Both of them. Drag them back to their cages.”

Splinter watched as the two were indeed placed back into cages and placed beside him and Lou.

The anxious Splinter pressed his paws to the bars between them. “Oh! Uh… hey there. You guys are prisoners too? …Stupid question. Forget I said that.”

The elder’s voice was steady, calm. “Do not waste your strength on shame. A cage cannot bind the spirit unless you allow it.”

The anxious one fidgeted, eyes wet. “I can’t… my boys. They’ll think I abandoned them.”

The meditating Splinter opened his eyes, gaze soft but unyielding. “If they are anything like mine, they will understand.”

Silence fell between the cages, heavy with things unsaid.

Up in the stands, a red-banded turtle crouched in the shadows, fists tight on the railing. His chest burned with worry. Dad — two dads — chained up, treated like trophies.

Raph’s teeth ground together. He wanted to leap down there, smash the locks, and drag all of the dads out by force. But…

This wasn’t a fight he could win with fists. Not alone.

Raph swallowed hard. “I wanna save the dads,” he muttered under his breath. “But I’m a fighter, not a thinker. Big Mama’s got Dad and that other Dad locked up tight. I need Leo to make a plan. Donnie to figure out the details. Mikey to keep us together.”

His grip tightened on the railing, eyes blazing.

“But once they got a plan?” His grin came sharp, dangerous. “I’ll be the one who smashes it open.”

And with that, Raph turned and slipped into the shadows, already racing to find his brothers.

Chapter Text

Leo’s shoulders sagged as he buried his face in his hands. “I… I couldn’t save him. Again. It’s all my fault.” His voice cracked, raw. “We promised him a safe space for you guys, and we couldn’t even deliver. I keep messing up, Leonardo. I keep messing everything up. My family, your family, our dad—” He dragged his hands down his face, eyes shining. “Some leader I am.”

A quiet hand settled on his shoulder.

“It is not your fault,” Leonardo said firmly. “Neither of us could have predicted Splinter would be taken twice. But he’s strong. I have to believe he’s all right.”

Leo shook his head, miserable. “But what if he isn’t? What if I failed him for good this time? What if the next mistake I make gets one of my brothers hurt—or worse? I’m supposed to protect them. I’m supposed to know what to do. And all I’ve done is stumble around and break things.” His words tumbled faster, panic edging in. “Maybe they already see it. Maybe they know I’m not cut out for this. That I’m just pretending to lead and dragging them down with me. What if they’d be better off with anyone else in charge?”

At first, it had been hard for Leonardo to forgive this younger counterpart. The memory of their Splinter being snatched from them still stung like a fresh wound. But after weeks of working side by side — rebuilding a lair that had collapsed with their whole world — he’d started to see the truth.

Leo wasn’t careless. He was just… lost. Unmoored, the way Leonardo himself had been when he was younger. And despite how close they looked in age, Leo was younger in spirit. Their Splinters had only guessed at their ages anyway, pinning “mutation day” as their birthdays — but in Leonardo’s eyes, this boy was more like ten than fifteen.

“Your Donnie made that portal tech, didn’t he? Can he make something to track the one they dragged Splinter through?” Leonardo asked gently, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Leo sniffed, gave the faintest smile. “Yeah, he did. And with Donatello’s help? Absolutely. They’ll figure it out in no time.” The smile faltered, his shoulders sagging again. “But me? I’ll just get in the way. You make it look so easy, holding it all together. How do you do it?”

Leonardo tilted his head. “Do what?”

“That… effortless leader thing.” Leo waved his hands helplessly. “Even when we first met, you weren’t mad at us for… for taking your Dad. You just adjusted. Made the training schedule from hell, sure, but you didn’t lose it and decide stealing another Dad was the best solution like I did.” His voice cracked. “You don’t fall apart like I do. You don’t fake it like I do.”

Leonardo actually laughed at that, warm and low. “It wasn’t effortless, trust me. I know it looks like we’ve got it all figured out, but we’ve had our issues, too. More than I like to admit.” His expression softened, honest. “Sometimes I’m winging it just as much as you are. I’m just better at hiding it.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “No way. Really?”

“Really,” Leonardo said with a wry grin. Then, gentler, “Listen. Being a leader isn’t about never falling apart. It’s not about being perfect or knowing every answer. It’s about standing up again anyway, because your brothers need you to. That’s all. You care enough to keep trying. That’s what makes you their leader. That’s what makes you worthy.”

Leo swallowed hard, blinking fast as the words sank in. “…Thanks, Leonardo.”

“Anytime, Leo,” the elder answered, squeezing his shoulder.

For the first time in days, Leo sat a little straighter.

he lights came up again.

The first version of himself Lou Jitsu saw was the largest yet — towering, broad-shouldered, every step radiating muscle and menace. Lou’s throat tightened. Privately, he admitted he would not relish being down there with this one. The rat carried himself like the feral fighter before him, a low growl spilling out as he entered the arena and fixed his gaze on his trembling opponent.

The other one… Lou almost laughed, though it came out more like a wince. A farce. Because this one reminded him far too much of himself.

He carried himself with flair, even as his fake furred legs trembled and his false tail brushed the sand. Above the waist, there was no mistaking it — a man. Human hands. Human chest. Human fear. Crooked fake ears were glued to his hair, and Lou knew instantly this wasn’t a warrior. This was a performer. An actor.

And that meant the larger Splinter would not take it easy. Not on someone like that. Not on someone who looked so lost. Lou remembered what it was to look like that — back when he’d been an actor hiding from his family, pretending to be something he wasn’t.

The rubber mask of a rat lay discarded, forgotten. Lou almost hoped the man had left it behind on purpose. Maybe he thought the sight of his humanity would stop the giant from tearing him apart. Lou knew better.

This fight was decided before either of them set foot in the ring.

“Hey, I don’t want to fight,” the man tried, voice high and uncertain.

The towering rat only bared his teeth. “Then fall,” he growled. “Because I will not allow you to keep me from returning to my sons.”

The bell rang.

The giant moved like a storm breaking loose. Claws raked against stone as he lunged. The actor stumbled back, raising his arms with all the wrong tells — wide arcs, flourishes meant for the eyes of an audience, not an enemy. He fought with style, not survival.

Lou recognized it instantly. He’d used those same flourishes in his own films.

For a heartbeat, it almost worked. The human twisted, ducked, even landed a kick square in the chest. The giant staggered half a step. The crowd roared, mistaking performance for power.

But the massive Splinter’s eyes narrowed. He saw the truth.

This was not a rat born in alleys, who had scraped together his art from books and survival. This was a man who had learned only the illusion of fighting — and never the cost.

The actor’s movements grew frantic, his rhythm slipping into something wild and messy, no longer even pretending to be controlled. An arc too wide, a guard too open. The giant caught his wrist and twisted, and the scream that tore from the man’s throat was not the cry of a fighter. It was pain raw and unprepared.

“Yield!” the towering rat snarled.

The actor’s voice broke. “Okay, okay! I know when I’m beat! I’m just a guy—playing you!”

For the briefest flicker, the giant hesitated. The words landed like something bitter on Lou's tongue. But the larger Splinter's resolve hardened, and he shoved the man down with brutal force.

“And I do not care,” he growled. “Whatever is necessary. I will get back to my sons. YIELD!”

“I YIELD!”

Big Mama’s grin spread wide, gleaming in the shadows. Lou Jitsu’s stomach dropped.

He supposed it had been too much to hope. Too much to wish that every version of himself would be pacifistic like the first two, still waiting silently in their cages.

But sympathy twisted in his chest all the same, watching as the defeated actor was dragged up, shaken and pale, and set in the cage beside him.

Lou met his eyes — and for the first time since this nightmare began, he saw himself reflected not in a fighter, but in a fellow pretender.

John Doe had always felt out of place. Too Japanese to ever feel fully American, too American to be accepted as truly Japanese. He remembered the way kids at school would tug at the corners of their eyes, or laugh at the way his mother packed his lunches. He remembered visiting relatives overseas and being called “gaijin” with a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. He lived in the in-between, never enough of one thing, never fully the other.

That was why the comics had meant so much to him. The turtles, their strange father — none of them fit in, either. Yet somehow they made family out of it. Somehow they made sense.

So when the casting call went out, looking for someone with martial arts training — or at least the guts to learn — he hadn’t hesitated. And when he’d been chosen, when he was told he’d be one of the bodies behind Splinter’s movements, he’d felt something he hadn’t in years. Belonging. Even if the name on the call sheet was the blandest thing imaginable: John Doe.

The others hadn’t wanted the physical role, sweating under layers of fake fur and rubber. They were happier tugging wires on the puppet, or working the face for close-ups. But John had thrown himself into it, the falls and rolls, the kicks and kata. He’d even loved the bruises, because they proved he was part of something bigger than himself.

And now it was almost over. They’d just finished filming the last big scene — the one where Splinter’s movements had to carry every ounce of the turtles’ victory. He was exhausted, stripping off the top half of his costume in the dim corner of the set. The mask had come off first, then the heavy furred jacket, leaving him still in the legs, the tail dragging behind him like a bad joke. His hair was plastered with sweat where the glued-on ears still sat, and he rubbed at the raw spots on his skin with a laugh that was more tired than amused.

He’d thought about how he’d tell his friends. About how he’d nudge them when the movie came out and grin, That’s me. That’s Splinter. Maybe not in the credits. Maybe never by name. But still there, hidden and real.

He didn’t even notice the shadows until they moved. A ripple of air, a prickle along the back of his neck. Then hands — too many, too strong — dragging him away from the set, away from the lights, away from everything he thought was real.

At first he thought it had to be some elaborate wrap-party prank. Or maybe a publicity stunt. Until the floor under him shifted into stone, until the air smelled of smoke and iron, until the roar of a crowd rolled over him.

And when they shoved him into the arena, half-dressed, trembling, mask forgotten — and he saw the hulking monster already waiting for him, shoulders hunched, eyes burning like a predator’s — he knew.

This wasn’t a prank. He had been taken.

And he was going to die. And yet, he had fought. Not well, he thought, rubbing his wrist. Just the same tricks he’d been taught for the movie. And yet… he had managed to land a hit. One. A fleeting touch against the hulking brute before it had growled,

“Yield,” and he had yelled back, “I YIELD!”

As they dragged him back to the cage, lifted and set him beside the two chained versions of the monster he had faced, the shame prickled at him. He had lost. He had failed.

“There is no shame in being beaten,” the meditating one said, calm as water, eyes steady. “Hold your head high.”

“Yeah, buddy, no shame here!” the tracksuit-wearing one added, fidgeting as usual. “I mean… look at us. All in cages. And those two,” he gestured at the chained warriors, “are chained up.”

“You did well,” the larger, silver-furred one said, voice firm but measured, “for a human with what I assume is limited training.”

John gave a rueful shrug. “I’m just an actor. This… this is so far beyond anything I’ve ever done.”

“You know,” Lou Jitsu murmured, voice low, almost empathetic, “I was an actor once, too. Human. It’s not so different, really — stepping into a role, pretending to be someone stronger than you feel.”

The words tugged at him, a strange warmth in the cold metal of the cage. He glanced around at the others — three, four versions of Splinter, all quietly assessing, none judging. Then the tracksuit-wearing Splinter wrung his paws nervously.

“Uh… hey. Maybe… maybe we should try something? You know, like… an escape? I mean, we’re all stuck here, right? But… maybe if we work together, find a way to—” He stopped, tail curling tightly, eyes flicking between them. “We could… maybe trick the guards? Or the locks? Or… something?”

The meditating one opened his eyes fully, letting the soft light of the arena fall across his serene face.

“Patience first,” he said, voice even, steady. “Action without thought leads to ruin. Observe, understand, then move.”

John swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or panic. But he nodded slightly, the tiniest spark of hope kindling. Maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to act again — only this time, it mattered.

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