Surprisingly enough, the easiest one to convince of your legitimacy is Hamato Yoshi.
As soon as you walk into the lair, all you have to say to Ratman is that his daughter "was" named Miwa (obviously, dropping a bombshell like, "Your daughter is alive," is somewhat bad form) and that he was going to give her a fan/knife thing, and he is convinced. Maybe it is to do with his natural compassion and/or naivety, but it allows you the option to sleep on the couch and not have to wander around to find exactly where the hell that address is.
You pull your knees to your chest as you stare blankly at the dead television screen, mind wandering as you listen to the accumulative sounds of the others. You are used to being awake at ungodly hours, of course, but typically they are spent alone; this is an uncommon occurrence. Now, anyways, you wish you had a way of contacting people. You already feel homesickness writhe around in your stomach, and your dread for what is going to happen next is outmatched by your gnawing curiosity regarding the fate of your family in the fire. Of course, you know their chances for survival was close to none, but—
"Y/N?"
You almost jump out of your skin, having not noticed the sinking of the couch next to you. You look over at the speaker, relaxing slightly. You put your hand on your chest. "Sorry," you breath to Donatello as you try to calm your beating heart. "I uh, kinda zoned out."
"It's alright." His posture is awfully stiff. "I just figured—ya know, since we're going to be interacting more—we should uh, get to know each other a bit."
You nod as you stretch your legs back out. "Sounds like a plan." You turn your body to face him, shaking a little from the start but getting over it relatively quickly. "Oh, by the by, you're the one that can kill me with your bare hands. You can and should relax."
He rubs the back of his neck. "Was it that obvious?"
"A little," you shrug. "But, in your defense," you smile playfully, "if some random bitch walked up to me and started telling me every detail of my past, I'd be hesitant to get too friendly too."
"Oh, it's not that!" He put his hands up, talking oddly quickly. "It's just that you're the first human I've ever met, and really the only person I've ever really talked to that isn't one of my brothers or Splinter—"
A memory slaps you across the face. "Oh! Right!" You grab his hands, making sure his full attention was on you. "I gotta tell you something really important."
He went red. "W-what?"
"I don't think it's wise to tell you outright exactly what's going to happen," you start, impulsively running your thumb over one of his knuckles, "but if you run into a triceratops man, or if you hear about a triceratops man, you have to kill him immediately."
"I- huh?"
"Three or so episodes before the season three finale," you repeat, "you or someone else is going to run into a triceratops man, who you have to kill. If you let him live, the world as you know it will be destroyed and sucked into a black hole."
"Black hole?" He blinks. "So, in a few months, we—what?"
"Well, they call it a black hole, anyways." You roll your eyes. "It's pretty weak sauce for a black hole. I'd hasten to call it more than a portal, but, I guess, technically, it's a black hole."
"You seem to know quite a bit about this sort of thing." He smiles awkwardly. "You know, for someone who just kinda popped out of the blue."
"Well, yeah." You smile back. "People like you inspire me to learn more about how the world around me works."
His pupils dilate, and he breaks eye contact. "Wait, but you said that we had at least until the season five finale, right?" You feel his thumb wrap around yours slightly. "If that's the case, how can a black hole destroy our world? We'd die with it, wouldn't we?"
"See, you would think that." You shrug, letting his hands fall between you two. "But the show is already playing fast and loose with science in general, so."
"I am legitimately so confused right now."
You sigh, patting him on the shoulder. "Me too, buddy."
"I just—"
"Honey." You stifle a giggle. "No combination of words will make any of this make any more sense than it already does."
"I know, but—"
"Listen, if you ask me any more questions, we'll start having to deal with more time travel bullshit then we'll already have to."
He sighs. "Okay, I'm dropping it."
You nod, already feeling the sting of guilt. "But, hey," you nudge with your shoulder teasingly, "if it makes you feel any better, you definitely got the most sugar than your brothers."
He blinks. "What does that have anything to do with that?"
"Compensation? I dunno." You pull your legs under you. "Just trying to make up for the fact that it's really not a good idea for me to give out too much info about an uncertain future."
There is an awkward pause.
"So," Donatello asks gently, "if you don't mind me asking, you said you died, right?"
You nod.
"So, uh, how did you...?"
"House fire."
He blinks. "You... you remember—?"
"Yup." You chuckle tightly. "Every excruciating detail."
He tenses slightly. "I'm sorry."
You sigh. "Don't be. Not your fault." 'My fault, actually.'
He rests his head on his hand. After a pause, "Do you know, then?"
"Know what?"
"You know, what happens after."
You shake your head. "I blacked out and now I'm here. I'm guessing you don't run into a ton of people like me."
He cracks a smile. "I don't really run into a ton of people period."
You try to help lighten this stifling mod you have created. "Well, I'm glad your first introduction to humanity proper is through some psycho pseudo-Cassandra."
"Less Cassandra and more just general prophet." He grins. "If Raph believes you enough to go off the handle—well, I guess that's just Raph in general."
You chuckle. "Hey," you whine teasingly, "lay off your brother. Obviously he's a very levelheaded man."
"Totally." He rolls his eyes good naturedly. "Cool as a cucumber, that guy."
"Speaking of, where is everyone?" You look around the noticeably empty living room.
"Sleeping, probably. I tend to stay up later than they do."
"And why's that, Bill Nye?"
He shrugs. "It's easier to work when people aren't asking for help with things."
"That is very fair." You close your eyes as you lean against the back of the couch. "I must say, I'm not envious of your position."
You hear him shift closer. "Why's that?"
"If you don't already, you're probably—at least, from what I've seen," you clarify. "Well, it seems like, sometimes, you have the world on your shoulders. It can't be a good feeling."
A pause. "I guess you could say that, yeah."
You stretch upwards. "But" you continue, moaning softly as you feel your muscles crack, "if it makes you feel any better, I have—or at least had— access to the internet. I will gladly explain google."
He clears his throat. "The internet search engine or the number?"
You grin. "Either or, although I would most certainly lose track if my zeros halfway through at best."
He laughs. "It took me so long to figure out how to say it," he sighs, "The trick is to just say zero for a long time and eventually just kinda zone out. You can really just stop after fifty and people won't notice."
"See," you open your eyes, wrapping an arm around his shoulder—he certainly stiffened up quick— "that is why I like you, Donnie. You always know the score."
He relaxes quickly. His speech is slurred a little. "You like me?"
"Hell yeah I do!" Your voice is noticeably lighter than it was before, more relaxed. "You are totally awesome, if you'll pardon my candor."
"N-not at all!" He smiled bashfully. "I'm flattered, really. I just—I'm surprised is all. I didn't think you'd—uh—like someone like me."
"What? Why?" You are, apparently, extremely dense. "You're the coolest guy ever!"
"Well, I'm not really a guy."
"Wait, is this the whole turtle thing again?" You roll your eyes, leaning into him as you close them. "Dude, legitimately? I don't care."
His voice softened. "You what?"
"I don't care. You're smart, reliable, funny... I mean, what isn't there to appreciate?" 'I didn't expect him to feel warm.' "If I'm being honest," you shrug in an attempt to stay casual, "and, if you promise not to give me shit—"
"I won't," he promises, almost eagerly.
You smile. "I will admit that I had a thing for you, along with many other people where I'm from. Fictional crush, you know."
"You're joking," he challenges.
"Scout's honor." You raise your right hand, already starting to zone out. 'Really warm...'
"You're serious?"
You hum in confirmation. "I don't..." You yawn, the weight of the incredible stress admittedly starting to take its toll. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable after what I just said," you mumble, curling into him, admittedly not in your right mind, "but do you mind staying here until I fall asleep? Sup... surprisingly enough, you are ridiculously warm and comfortable and warm."
He tenses up a little, but slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder. "Yeah. I've got nothing better to do." His voice is gentle, soft.
"I owe you cupcakes." You nod off.
--
You could tell you boosted his confidence if only a little bit. He stood taller the next night; admittedly, you feel a sense of pride at his pride. At least, it makes up for the verbal abuse from his brothers when they find you asleep together.
As you walk down the street that next night with Donnie shadowing you, you consider the pros and cons of revealing more about what you know; although there were certainly more items for pro, the chaos theory was sort of a big deal, and, knowing the reputation of this franchise and its post-apocalyptic bullshit, the last thing you need is to tempt fate. Still, something about this felt wrong, like not telling someone to get out of the way of a moving car. 'Wish I were Cassandra,' you think bitterly. 'At least I wouldn't feel bad.'
You stop in front of the offending building. 'Finally.' You look around for your chaperone and, after not seeing him— 'Fucking ninjas, man.'—sigh and give in. "Good night," you said to the open air.
You look back at the door, startled to see someone looking back at you. 'You are fucking with me right now.' You wave awkwardly as the man holds the door open for you. You step inside the building, making a beeline for the elevator. 'A doorman? Really?' The lobby was entirely too hotelish for your liking, the warm lighting bouncing off the smooth tile cleanly. 'How much is this place, anyways? It's fucking New York.' You press one of the buttons. 'If I'm the one paying rent, I am royally fucked.'
Somehow, via some sort of divine intervention, you find the apartment. You take the key out of your pocket— 'Note to self: scavenge up enough money for a keychain.'—and stepped inside.
The apartment made you do a double take. It is so... familiar. Nicer than usual, more polished, yet somehow exactly how you' would have used the space. The floors are hardwood, the walls painted a relatively neutral color that is easy on the eyes. As soon as you enter, you see the kitchen to your left; small, but considering it is only you, it would be perfect. To your left, down a short hall, is a bathroom—bright white surfaces with black countertops. And in the only other room in the apartment, in front of you, is a bed, a couch, some chairs, a table, a chest of drawers, a closet, a television, and a coffee table with a phone and an envelope on it.
You walk over to a large window overlooking the street, shutting it and sitting down on the couch. You pick up the letter first, carefully breaking its seal and pulling out a note and a card. Your heart leaps as you see your name in white lettering. 'Well, having a credit card doesn't sound too bad.' You place it back onto the table as you start reading.
"Dear Y/N L/N:
We understand that the transition between your previous life and this one may be difficult, and we at The TIS are more than happy to provide for you and your needs during this transition period. Your questions are likely numerous. That is the purpose of this document, to address any concerns you may have.
Finances/Personal Belongings: The most noted concern of those just beginning in our program is to do with housing. We understand that it is incredibly important to the mental health of our members to have relatively stable housing, especially considering the strange, new environment they have been thrown into. Your residence is paid for by the TIS. All necessary emergency services (repair costs of any sort, medical bills, phone bills, etc.) and any utilities that may be included in said residence are also covered by this plan. In addition, your TIS assigned debit card will receive a daily balance of $300 (balance will change with inflation), which can be used at your discretion. Your residence has been pre-furnished to what our experts believe to be your taste, and your refrigerator and cupboards are filled with a variety of raw food items. Silverware, crockery and cookware has also been included. You have also been provided with various detergents and whatever hygiene products you used before your transition. These things will be replenished biweekly unless, for whatever reason, you start using different food/hygiene products. In this event, your inventory will be adjusted accordingly.
You are currently in position of one (1) weeks' worth of clothing, including any undergarments applicable, which includes 7 pairs of pants and 7 shirts taken from your wardrobe, along with any clothing you are currently wearing.
Cell Phone: Your TIS assigned cell phone is, practically speaking, identical to your previous device. Any streaming services you were previously subscribed to, along with any you may decide to subscribe to, are covered by the TIS. Your login information is included with your banking/personal information, all of which is included in this envelope. If you wish to upgrade your phone as the years go by, or if you wish to purchase a second device, these log ins will still be available to you, although you will be required to purchase any additional software/electronics through our website: www.TISShop.org/FU. A charging cord and block are located by your bed. We recommend purchasing a case for your device.
Please note that all websites/services/apps previously available to you are also available via TIS approved electronic devices.
Employment: Employment has not been taken the TIS. We do not offer employment, although minors have been provided with a permit in the event that you chose to enter the workforce. If you choose to enter the workforce, aid will continue to be provided.
Enrollment: All minors are required by the TIS to enroll in their local school. Any documents required are provided in this envelope. If you are currently attending a college/university, or are thinking of enrolling/reenrolling, any credits you have accumulated will be transferred to whatever college/university you choose to attend. If you are currently a minor considering attending college, your funds will be provided by the TIS if applicable.
Identification: Any websites/services/products that are age restricted will be available to you, regardless of age.
Death: We at the TIS assure you that unnatural death, in your current situation, is not a matter that you need concern yourself with. While it is certainly possible to die, it is extremely unlikely, and we have the policy in place in the event of your death.
We at the TIS are aware of your awareness of the place you are now in. We wish to stress the importance consuming any media associated with the world in which you find yourself. If you gain nothing from this letter, please remember that we at the TIS are here for you, if only indirectly.
We wish you luck."
The letter ends there. You check the envelope to see the other documents listed.
You stand up, picking up your new phone and laying down on the bed. You are left reeling from the little information you have been given. 'So I was brought here. Well,' you sigh, closing your eyes, 'I guess I already knew that, but...'
You start scrolling through your device. Everything is still there, except for your contacts. You try to call what numbers you had memorized; they are apparently invalid.
You curl into a fetal position, clutching onto your jacket. "Well," you mumble to yourself almost bitterly, "at least I know I won't starve to death." You decide against even turning the lights off as you hug yourself tightly. "This," you decide, "is going to majorly suck."
You nod off, already dreaming of smoke.