Crestfallen at The End of The World

Chapter 1: Prologue

This will feel like the ramblings of a lunatic but it will get more comprehensive I swear

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At the tender age of sixteen, Hamato Donatello was trapped in a new circle of Hell, along with everyone else. Thank you, Kraang, he thought sarcastically.

Look, the apocalypse sucks, alright? There's nothing for them here. Life was sucked out of anything the Kraang could sink their greedy claws into. Millions of people were reduced to memories in moments. Buildings destroyed, infested, ransacked. His family tried to stay hidden underground, but the aliens quickly chased out anyone hidden.

It was an accident. That's how it started. It was no one's fault.

Donatello had tried convincing Leonardo that none of them had been taking the mission seriously. They were all confident the key was just a goofy artifact. Just an old tube thing from Egypt or something. The Resistance doesn't blame him. Splinter doesn't blame him. Raphael doesn't blame him. Michaelangelo doesn't blame him. Donatello doesn't blame him.

But no matter how much they tried to convince the leader, he'd always blame himself deep down. Never managed to silence the voice whispering venom in his mind. 'This is what happened,' it'd murmur at him. 'Because you couldn't push your ego down. Because you couldn't take it seriously. You had to make it about you.'

In his quiet moments, long after the scorching, wrong sun dimmed as much as it dated, Leonardo could be found in the recesses of their lair, knees to his chest and chipped flask in hand as he cried as quiet as the rats scurrying past him. Mourning their lives. Mourning himself, as selfish as it sounds. Mourning his family.

And then Dad died, and multiplied Leonardo's guilt tenfold.

And then it was Raphael, twenty-four years old. Died in a Kraang-zombie infested building that crumpled like a wet paper bag after sacrificing his escape pod to a yokai named Usagi Yuichi.

Leonardo didn't hold his guilt in a way that steeled himself after that. He looked deflated, like a sad balloon, and defeated. Like he'd lost a battle in the middle of a war.

He'd absently led the Resistance during the next year. Like he was fighting for something he didn't believe in anymore. It hurt Donatello in a way he doesn't want to admit, but Michaelangelo wore his hurt like it was a favorite shirt.

And then Cassandra revealed she was pregnant, which opened its own can of worms.

Donatello, logically, suggested an abortion. Logically, they would not be able to support a child. They were bare of food as it was, and if the baby fussed too loud they were at risk of being found. Their base, their home, was not safe for a new life.

In the end, logic did not win.

But, as the months dragged on, and a new light began to glow in Leonardo and Michaelangelo's eyes, Donatello could not find it in him to fight them anymore. How could he, with how excited they grew whenever Cassandra felt the baby kick?

How could he, when his other half forgot his guilt for even the barest moment?

Something went wrong.

It was a supply run. They were becoming more frequent, as pregnancy tends to burn through supplies quickly and they need to make sure there isn't a food shortage. Donatello had called the mission, had ran the scans, he'd had SHELLDONˡⁱᵗᵉ scout the area. Leonardo had approved it and assigned the group. When they passed a suspiciously prone lump, that's when the dread set in.

The sense that they fell into a trap.

Foolishly, Donatello had let himself believe the Kraang had forgotten about them. Foolishly, he'd denied bringing his own escape pod. Ignorantly, he'd only brought his tech-bō in the belief that it'd be a short trip.

(Or maybe, he wanted to fail. To remind himself. 'This is what happened.')

The Sister trapped them. Played with them. Back-up had been called. Todd almost sacrificed his own pod for Donatello. Leonardo went in swinging. April's mystic bat cracked with the sheer force she'd swung at the Kraang.

A laser blast through the Sister's eye caused her to finally retreat. Donatello couldn't see it through the haze, or hear through the static in his ears.

His arm felt hot, and his shell felt like a stapler had a go at it. He felt like he was choking, drowning. It went dark.

When he came to, it was in their small Medbay, joined by Draxum and Leonardo. He and Leonardo now had matching arms, or rather lack of arm.

Dr. Delicate Touch had spent a solid fifteen minutes in the Medbay unrelated to medical reasons.

Their supply run wasn't entirely useless, as their bearings were scavenged and saved. But if anyone noticed Donatello and Leonardo passing their own rations around, no one would tell.

Prosthetics were built, Leonardo and Donatello adapted. Life went on.

And then the baby was coming. All their preparations boiled down to this single moment.

Any towels and blankets that could be spared were grabbed, and because Leonardo was the one delivering the baby, Donatello had to keep an eye on her vitals. Michaelangelo was Cassandra's emotional support, holding her hand and cheering for her quietly.

With the constant risk of being found, they did not have the time for a natural birth, and Leonardo had to perform a C-section. It was going to happen either way, considering it was safer for the baby because of Cassandra's already high blood pressure.

Cassandrew Raphael Jones was the first baby born into the apocalypse. He was born quietly, quickly and cleanly. His wails were quickly silenced when he was handed to his mother, who shushed him and held him.

Donatello thought he was an ugly thing. Pink, slimy and wrinkled. He looked like a Kraang-zombie. But he would not say this aloud. Would never admit it.

But the baby became less of an eyesore after being cleaned off, but it still didn't take away the fact that he looked like uncured ham. Donatello said as much. Michaelangelo didn't appreciate it, but Cassandra did. So much so that he got the absolute pleasure to hold little Casey.

It was stiff and awkward, with him paralyzed in his seat too afraid to move in case he somehow breaks this tiny, fragile thing. Then slowly, anxiously, he moved the small boy closer to his plastron.

The baby's face scrunched up, but did nothing else. It curled a fist up, but was unable to do anything else. Couldn't do anything else.

Donatello would not tell you how long he spent observing Casey. Michaelangelo was met with no resistance when he pulled the baby away for Cassandra to hold.

Fascinating.