Chapter Text
Sandro took to the seat across from Donatello, armed with a notebook. Purple Turtle arched a brow.
"Exactly how secret," Sandro said with a click of his pen, "is the O'Neil Family Farmhouse?"
Donatello shuttered his eyes and blew softly over his mid-morning coffee. "In what context?"
"It's September already, so I'm planning out my birthday party," his soon-to-be fifteen-year-old nephew informed him. "There are exactly four people in my peer group—myself included—and Transformers can't come within a mile of a densely populated city."
Donatello straightened collapsed shoulders, sat up tall in his chair, and squawked, "You want to invite Hummingbird to Northampton?"
"Ex-actly," confirmed Hamato Sandro, who was apparently plotting to smuggle a giant robot boy from Maine to New York. "He invited me to his super secret special birthday party, and now I want to invite him to mine."
"And... and you want to invite Wildcard and Shawn to Northampton..."
"Well obviously! Those are my three friends: The crazy girl decked out in throwing knives, the son of Spiderman, and a nineteen fifty-whatever Ford Thunderbird!"
Donatello opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat down his coffee. Thought better of that, picked the coffee back up, and threw it back like a shot of hard liquor. Or maybe just expresso. If the heat bothered him, he gave no sign. "I need to convene the council of elders," he announced with uncharacteristic drama, which startled laughter out of Sandro but also immediately earned protests:
"I'm still collecting information! I can't know what kind of birthday party to propose to my parents, if I don't know how secret certain things are!"
"Well, but, it's in flux!" sputtered Donatello, who then recollected himself and his thoughts in an effort to explain: "For over a decade we kept away from the farmhouse because we wanted it to remain a secretive failsafe if things ever went south with the Foot again, we lost a battle for the Lair, and ended up having to retreat somewhere outside of the city. But... times change. Technology's changed, access to information's changed, and April... Well, to put it simply, we now own a lot more 'secret retreat' properties than just one old house and barn in upstate New York. And the farm has... sentimental value to us, so... we wanted to start using it more often!"
" 'Technology's changed?' " Sandro pressed.
"Back in the nineties and even the aughts, it was incredibly tedious for anyone to get access to information about land ownership," Donatello explained. "Typically you had to go to each county's governmental offices and fill out information request forms, and you had to be very specific about what parcel of land you were looking in to. It just wasn't feasible for anyone to scour the entire American Northeast looking for scute or scale of us. But now-a-days? With internet scrapers and information brokers a dime-a-dozen? The Foot aren't luddites; they can get online and look up every property owned by an "O'Neil" in the country. And!"
Donatello leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs as he snagged the coffee pot and refilled his cup, and continued: "Your mother was audited a few years back—boy was that an opportunity to flex rarely used skills—so it's now rather indisputable the Foot know the farm exists and where it is located, if not necessarily it's significance to us. But," Donatello restored the coffee pot to the machine, turned back to Sandro, and tilted his head, "simultaneously, my access to technological resources has grown exponentially. I have the perimeter of the farm monitored and booby-trapped."
"So it's still secretive," Sandro concluded with a point of his pen. "But there's wiggle room."
"I need to talk with your parents," Donatello informed him, and tried to stand again.
"Were you all planning for my birthday to be at Northampton, again?" Sandro interrupted.
"Uh, that was the general consensus when we held it there last year and everything went so well..." Donatello hedged.
Sandro threw up his arms and demanded, "How did you not foresee that I'd want my only friends at my own birthday party? Especially when Wild and I were born on the same day! It's her birthday, too!"
"A tactical oversight," Donatello attempted to placate with both hands raised, or, well, a hand and coffee cup.
"Good thing I started planning this one myself," muttered Sandro in rising disbelief.
"Pardon." interrupted Leonardo, who had popped in enroute from the dojo and announced himself with a polite little knock on the side of the wall. "Do you need a rescue?"
"God, yes!" Donatello wheezed, abandoning the kitchen (but not the coffee) as Leonardo took his place at the table. "Distract him while I do damage control!"
Leonardo sat with great grace, hakama neatly folded and sleeves billowed. He clasped his hands before himself to inquire,
"Tell it to my straight, Sandro: How ill does this bode for my fish?"
"Oh, any and all fishing expeditions are probably doomed," Sandro confirmed as he leaned out and patted apologetically at Blue Turtle's elbow. "The moment you first explain to her that each and every single one of her actions are scaring off the fish, Wild will start appearing out of thin air to tackle you whenever you settle down to try. And I mean it, don't test her, you could go for a moonlit stroll out by the pond at three in the morning, when it'll be dead silent but for the crickets and frogs; you'll pull out your bait and tackle, set everything up, lean back, and then-!" Sandro smacked a fist loudly into an open hand.
Leonardo breathed in deeply and let out a quiet sigh. "I shall resign myself to it," he declared majestically.
"If you jump in the water and wrestle a carp out with your bare hands, though..."
"That entirely defeats the purpose," lamented the family patriarch, "which is to relax in a meditative manner whilst accomplishing very little, but somehow still provide food for a family."
"There's always long drives into town to buy Chinese takeout?" Sandro brainstormed.
"Hmm. Not quite the same, but I shall take this counsel into consideration," Leo said. "I should caution you: There is every possibility Hummingbird's family unit will not be able to rationalize the trip down here. Traveling across state lines in meaningful numbers can be dangerous for them because it attracts the attention of government agents and paramilitary groups, and they almost lost him once already this year when moving discretely in small groups. It has only been a month since you saw him last."
"Uncle, we're talking about a bunch of aliens uniquely designed for subterfuge," Sandro reminded him. "A large number of whom all took the shape of race cars. You don't think they're bored hiding out in a forest?"
"Touché," Blue Turtle ceded. "Then we'll see what happens; merely guard yourself against disappointment."
"Plan for the worst, hope for the best," Sandro quoted sweetly.
Leo reached out and tousled his black ninja mask.
Wildcard was already hopping on one foot before the front door was fully open. She threw one shoe on the rack, kicked the other off in the same motion, bolted for the kitchen table, rolled over it and under the stack of flapjacks Mikey was just about to set down, dropped into the only open seat on the opposite side, and somehow grabbed both fork and knife on the way there because she drummed them on the surface.
"Protein pancakes, protein pancakes, protein pancakes!" she thundered like a barbarian, and was only appeased when two were thrown her way like frisbees.
"Heh, hey Mini," Mikey greeted her. "You get here okay on your own?"
"Easy peasy lemon squeazy," said Wildcard through mouthfuls of assorted jelly and hot cake.
Leonardo glanced pointedly down at where their petite maniac was savaging those poor innocent breakfast pastries, sighed, and made to stand.
"No, no, I'll get it," said Sandro, who wiped off his mouth and abandoned his half-eaten breakfast to whatever fate might befall it as he went to close the front door Wild had left ajar. "How'd she even get it open without help? She's too short and weighs a feather!"
"Hyou tbake thbat back!" spat Wildcard through food.
Leonardo drummed knuckles on her head. "Manners."
"BLAAHH," she retaliated while sticking out her tongue at Blue Turtle and showing off all her half-eaten food.
Whereupon Leonardo, thirty-four years old, mature, elegant, a paragon of ninjitsu virtue—he who carried an epic and unflappable aura of sakura blossoms floating in the wind behind him at all times—feinted a lunge her way and aggressively snapped with his beak.
Wildcard must have sensed it coming a split second before it even happened, because her eyes rounded out and she recoiled in shock, tongue retracted, mouth closed; heck, she even slapped both hands over her face as if to put a protective barrier up between her tongue and anything which might slice it clean off. "Sen - sei!" she scolded in horror.
"HA," Sandro slapped a chair back with approval, grinning as he retook his seat. Even Michaelangelo busted out laughing:
"Ey, ey, don'tchaknow? That's the risk you run being gross, a scary turtle monster might come along and eatcha!"
"No," Wildcard forbade.
"Manners," Leonardo repeated to the child who was still talking with her mouth full.
" 'Manners,' " Wildcard sulked.
Sandro retook his seat beside her, discovered his pancakes had survived unspoiled during his brief absense, and reached over to tousle her white mask in appreciation.
Raphael came into the dojo with his hands on his hips, looking like he'd heard some things he wasn't quite sure he was happy with. He leered down at where the children were gearing up in protective gear for the day. Hmm. Sandro snatched up his notebook and made sure he was front and center. He didn't like Raphael looking at Wild like she was some kind of bad influence, or blaming her for the Advanced Shenanigans the two of them had gotten up to over the summer. Not when Raphael had been one of the quickest people to warm up to her.
"Dad?" Sandro prompted.
"Didn't your ass just get done being grounded for that stunt ya pulled late July?" Raphael growled.
"I'm trying to plan for my birthday party and I want your input," Sandro declared, offering the notebook up to him as a peace offering. (And to reassure Wild he had everything covered, because she was not to start reciprocating Raphael's stink-eye, not on Sandro's watch.)
Raphael settled back a bit on his heels and took the notebook from him, opening it up to see all Sandro's carefully documented lists, calendars, and propositions. He sniffed thoughtfully. "How long ya been workin' on this?"
"Almost since my last Birthday," Sandro admitted. "At least, in my head. Do we know if Leatherhead's coming?"
Raphael glanced his way. "Eh, Donnie managed to get him to accept a shell phone this time around. Think he's textin' him to figure that out."
Leatherhead had already met Wildcard, at least, and she and Shawn had logged plenty of hours playing with the giant gator's inexplicably adorable quadruplets when Leatherhead had come to hole up with them in the Lair over Christmas. He'd met the Parkers and Wild's dad. But even Sandro's own family had had little real face-to-face contact with Bumblebee. Only Leonardo had managed to catch up with them on their super-secret-totally-not-allowed-road-trip to meet Hummingbird's family.
"Good chance the idea of giant alien robots crashin' the birthday spot might keep 'im away. You still wanna do dis," Raphael waved the notebook, "if that's the case?"
Sandro evaluated his options. "Leatherhead's probably going to stay with us the whole winter again," Sandro reasoned. "By contrast, I have very, very few excuses to see Hummingbird. Plus... didn't you tell me that next time 'giant alien robots' are involved, you want to be there to see all the cool muscle cars?"
Raphael squinted at him. "Yo I was talkin' about the future, not recommending ya go out and stick ya head in trouble as fast as ya found a way ta do it."
Sandro backed off and waved his hands placatingly, "Sorry, it was just a quick 'two birds with one stone' thought. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."
" 'Cheeky,' " Raphael corrected, and seemed to be cooling off. "Ya mom is entertainin the notion. Donnie seems to think it's more a chance to get intel on them than vice versa."
That sounds like a valid perspective, Sandro wanted to say but didn't. He was developing a sense for how these conversations needed to go, where his father needed to rationalize aloud about certain things without his input, because being too enthusiastic would convince him that Sandro was up to something.
In the background, Leonardo had already started putting Wildcard through her kata for the day.
Raphael continued to read; he looked up and down a few more pages, pulled a mildly impressed expression, and then folded the notebook shut and tossed it to Sandro. "Get ya kama, and we'll talk about it more aftah."
"Sensei," Sandro bowed gratefully and then scurried off to toss the notepad alongside their water bottles, phones, and other knickknacks.
"Did he ground you again just for asking?" Shawn Parker asked when his parents had dropped him off that Saturday.
"No," Sandro laughed. "In fact, I really think they're gonna go for it."
"Thank the kami," groused Wildcard, who did not, in fact, believe in kami, but who was at least very superstitious and unwilling to cross them, just in case. "I was like an energy drink away from losing my mind all August. I could not have taken another day, week, month, whatever!"
"Yeah, well," Shawn rolled his/her eyes dramatically and flopped on the couch with his/her sketchbook, apparently still very upset at how tense the last four weeks had been for all of them, "just be glad they didn't ban you from the house altogether for being a menace to society."
"Hmm, that would have made me a menace to society," Wildcard groused, and it was probably true. "I don't think I would have survived a full month of complete turtle-depravation! I've got a quota of shell-ogling to fill!"
"Don't be creepy," Shawn scolded with a kick at her shoulder as Sandro fired up the Nintendo Switch. "It's like your only settings are rabid attack animal and questionably tasteful flirting."
"Can confirm, pretty sure she's flirted with every single member of my family, up to and including my mother," Sandro agreed as they picked out a game;
Wild gasped and demanded, "You take that back, my flirting is exquisitely tasteful!" They selected their fighters. A dual was fought over whoever Sandro wanted to play, just because.
"Yeah, uh-huh," Shawn disbelieved as he/she settled in to draw.
Sandro didn't think there'd ever been any real threat of punishment just for asking to see Hummingbird again, but he still shared in his friends' relief. Shawn and Sandro's access to one another hadn't really been reduced, possibly because Peter and Mary Jane Parker had quickly forgiven the incident, and/or possibly because Shawn had only visited them once per week to begin with, and that was already too little.
But Wild? All August, Wild had been restricted to a maximum visit time of five hours each day, which wasn't as long as you'd think. The first half hour? Breakfast. The entire hour after breakfast? Ninjitsu under the close watch of Leonardo. The remaining three hours? Japanese, math, physics, and computer science classes, all under the supervision of Donatello. The last half hour? To be used exclusively for catching up on difficult homework. The adults had effectively restricted them to only seeing one another for what amounted to their school day. She and Sandro were still allowed to study together, two peas in a pod, but they weren't even taking any of the same classes, which meant that genuine interaction had been sparse.
They'd made it enough. Seeing each other, being able to touch, being able to bask in each other's vibes. And each Saturday, when Shawn came to visit, Wild had been permitted to say one extra hour, just to make it very clear no one was trying to separate them from one another.
But then, each night, Wild had left and gotten up to who knows how much trouble. She'd politely refrained from sharing with them, the better not to stress either of them out. Sandro had been left behind to sit and worry; Shawn had gamed with him long distance almost the whole month... And somehow, their miniature nutcase hadn't gone and gotten herself arrested that August. Maybe her dad had lucked out in keeping her busy... or, more than likely, the blind eye everyone had turned to Michaelangelo's more-than-usual skateboard outings had meant that Wildcard was actually seldom entirely alone and unsupervised.
"Hey," Shawn nudged Sandro's shoulder with a foot. "Did you two tell them that...? Do they know that the two of you...?" Shawn leaned over and discretely pointed to both of them, and then tapped his fingers together. Hmm? Oh! He/she was likely referencing the kiss he and Wild had stolen late that summer.
Sandro glanced over his shoulder to make sure no adult ninjas were listening from beyond the couch, and then shook his head.
"Only Sensei," revealed Wild, and this was news to Sandro. "But that's because he calmed down my 3-am panic attack."
Sandro frowned and hit the pause button to fix her with a look. Inquisitively, he wondered: "You had a panic attack?" Over the kiss? Over kissing him? Huh.
" 'Manic attack?' " she tentatively amended. "I dunno, it was a hell of a thing; I needed someone qualified to help me ruminate on the nature of life, the universe, and everything, at an hour where other sane rational people just weren't up and about."
"Forty-two," said Shawn to Wildcard's giggle and Sandro's confusion; that usually meant it was some kind of dated pop culture reference. "So Leonardo knows. But other than that...?" Shawn pressed.
Wildcard shook her head, "I dunno if Sensei told anyone. Maybe Donnie? Maybe Mikey?"
"No one's said anything to me," said Sandro, thinking of Raphael and April both. "And my parents are definitely the sort who'd have something to say."
"Well..." Shawn mused slowly, and then swatted them both with his drawing book and hissed prohibitively, "then, don't give yourselves away at the birthday!"
Sandro laughed, shielding himself from the assault and pretending to wince, "Okay, okay, but then don't give us away now."
"Roger!" Wildcard saluted with a return to the Switch, which she un-paused without consulting him.
"Hey!" Sandro exclaimed and shoved her over to buy time as he dove back for his control.
Shawn regarded them both with intense suspicion and then found something wood to knock on, just in case they needed someone to unjinx them.