If You Think I'm Gonna Come Up With A Title For This, You're Dead Wrong

Chapter 3

"Okay, I think I got it." You may be going stir crazy. You would not be surprised if you were, but you have more pressing matters that, ridiculously, involve the timeline of fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2012. You had not just stood the headassery of season four and five, but conquered it, tamed it if you will. You do not remember the last time you ate. "So the only way I'm going to survive this series is if I somehow, through some sort of spiritual bullshit, get to become at least somewhat adept at ninjitsu." You sigh. "But the only reason he trained her is because of her psychic bullshit."

You stumble towards the kitchen to eat for the first time in days. "Actually, you know what? Fuck that." You open the refrigerator, salivating at the food. "I'm just gonna buy a fucking gun. Dodge bullets, bitch." You pull out a large slab of meat, tossing it on the counter. "If they aren't going to actually incapacitate people, I will."

A sudden thought stops you in your tracks. "Wait, so, what timeline am I on?" You feel your heart drop. "Because if we're doing the whole thing..." You shake your head. "You know what? Prepare for the best and accept—that's backwards."
You put the meat back. Something about the existential dread kills your appetite. You crawl back into bed, close your eyes. 'How long have I been in here?' The time had admittedly swirled in on itself, your brain completely fried from all the contemplating death. 'At least long enough to be in the no-man's-land where I'm not hungry.'

You freeze up at the sound of knocking on your window.

Your eyes slowly pan over to the covered glass. You rise to your feet.

You shake your head, trying to remember to think rationally 'This place is very high off the ground for a stalker.' Despite yourself, you quickly go to the kitchen, grabbing the largest frying pan you can find and slowly approaching the window.

'There isn't even a proper ledge out there. You're being paranoid.' Slowly, you reach for the curtain, yanking it open.

You scream at the sight of the hanging figure, only realizing you recognized said figure after a couple of seconds. Thoroughly embarrassed— 'Yeah, I could never be a ninja.'—you slide the window open, face red. "What do you want, Raphael?"

He wears a shit-eating grin. "What, scared?"

"Of a shadowy figure in my window? Yes." You sit back down on the bed, voice cold. "You gonna just hang out there or what?"

He climbs inside. "Alright, so here's the situation." He sits on the windowsill; you feel secondhand vertigo. "Donnie—first of all, where have you been?"

"Binging the most traumatic part of your lives so far on my phone so you and your brothers don't get killed by swole Shredder."

His face went pale. "Shredder?"

You blink, a factor you had admittedly completely forgotten becoming apparent. "You don't know he intends to come to the city," you remember. "That's—"

"He what?"

You sigh. "He is the least of your concerns at this particular moment. What about Donatello?"

"No, back up." His smile was completely gone. "When is he getting here?"

You shrug. "I dunno."

"You don't know?"

You put your hands up at his obvious rage. "Dude, it is honestly not that big of a deal right now. He doesn't even get close to killing your dad until the end of season two."

You are decidedly not helping matters. "He gets close to—"

"Are you gonna repeat everything I say or are you going to tell me what's going on?"