((and with those sad things, I bid you all good night!))
This one has been a partial headcanon of mine for ages, but after the big ‘April is a mutant’ reveal, I finally have something more conclusive to back it up with. To the point: April is infertile because she is a mutant.
Since April is a human/Kraang hyrbid and Casey is all human, their children are more human than mutant. As a result, the fetus is always too incompatible with April’s mutant physiology to properly develop, and her body consistently rejects it in the form of miscarriage. To put it into perspective: much like an incompatible organ can be rejected by the recipient’s body following a donation.
At first April thinks it’s a bad luck of the draw, but after several miscarriages (which are painful, bloody, and traumatizing ordeals), she finally breaks down. I imagine it happening in the bathroom. After staring in horror at the blood for too long, she starts screaming and jabbering nonsensical mutterings until Casey finally breaks down the bathroom door and finds her. After gradually calming down, she just kind of… mentally checks out for a while. Refusing to eat. Lying listlessly in bed.
In her mind, she still isn’t free of the Kraang; even after years of dealing with them and coming to terms with her past, it still rises up to haunt her. And not just her. From April’s view, her past is now being brought down on her children as well. What’s worse, this is a permanent scar—the Kraang’s final, lasting impact on her life long after their tampering with her and her mother had become a distant nightmare.
It isn’t something she can overcome with a fresh outlook or optimistic perspective, either. She can never have her own children, and it’s not only a painful reminder of their long-expired designs for her, but a agonizing disappointment.
Lea’s heart ached as she came into the apartment. Even if she hadn’t known the situation beforehand, she would have immediately sensed something off in the home. She talked with Casey for a minute while she waited for some water to boil, then she quietly made her way down the hall, bearing a steaming mug of tea.
"April, it’s me." She rested a hand on the door, listening for any sounds within the room. Her hand tightened around the mug and she tried again, "Neechan, please let me in.”
April hadn’t shifted from her current position in bed in what felt like hours, but even the hours had started to blend together and lose meaning. There had been so much blood… such precious waste… She had been lost to time since that moment, and even the sympathies of her family and friends couldn’t stir her from her grief. She shouldn’t have been surprised by another caller at her door, but this guest hadn’t crossed her mind as a possibility. She would have expected it to be Leo.
The plea in her friend’s voice tugged at her heart, and she even lifted her vacant eyes to the door. Ultimately, however, April slowly rolled over in favor of facing the wall as she curled in on herself even further.
At least she had finally changed her position.
THIS IS WHY ID DIDN’T RESPOND BECAUSE I KNEW YOU GUYS WOULD FRIGGEN KILL ME DEAD
Donatello had heard the news second-hand; April hadn’t gone outside or so much as answered her texts in days. Her devastation at miscarrying was something that he couldn’t possibly empathize with, so the rationale behind her self-imposed exile remained a mystery. Did she feel that she had failed somehow? Was she in physical pain? Or was she simply a victim of her pregnant woman’s hormones?
Regardless, the fact was that April had suddenly given up on taking care of herself, and he had waited long enough for her to come to her senses. His inability to understand her reasoning had never stopped him from helping a friend in need before.
The attempt wasn’t difficult — after all this time, her apartment still wasn’t ninja-turtle-proof. A satchel over his shoulder with a few necessities and comforts she may have been missing, Don knocked politely on her bedroom window, giving her the chance to make herself decent before he jimmied it open and let himself in.
He found her sitting on the bed, looking at him with the sort of deadness that resulted from a stewed mixture of depression and neglect. She looked small, dwarfed by the sadness that permeated the room. Not hesitating, he took a seat next to her and drew her close.
"Casey told me what happened," was his only explanation. "I’m sorry."
She had been so certain that this time it would work. That this life had been strong enough. Now she knew—she couldn’t say how, but she just knew—it had never been the child.
It had been her.
Unwilling to trust any doctor to examine her with the knowledge of what he could potentially learn of her humanity, or rather the lack thereof, she had never risked an infertility evaluation. Instead she had clung to hope and tried again, and the consequence had been heartbreak. This most recent loss had been accompanied by a finality that had stolen what remained of her hope and abandoned her to hollow anguish.
She couldn’t bring herself to eat; food couldn’t fill the yawning pit that didn’t hesitate to swallow her in return. Laughter had fled her eyes; it was as if the little ones had taken their lifetimes’ share from her as recompense for her own inadequacy to grant them the chance to taste it.
Casey’s broken pleas outside her door had been ignored; her phone’s buzzing had faded to white noise. All she could bring herself to do was to curl in bed, distant eyes trained on the far wall and blurring with the occasional threat of tears as even sleep eluded her. The only sound to escape her room was the vacant hum of a long-denied lullaby, the fleeting tune laced with a haunting sorrow that would inevitably dissolve into silent, dry sobs.
She knew that at this rate of decline it would only be a matter of time before he came, but the soft knock at her window still went unanswered. Only when her window creaked under forced admittance did she bother to raise her head. April could see her own misery reflected in the distress that shadowed Donatello’s calculating eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to cheat him with the insincerity of a forced smile. And though she hardly deserved it, she couldn’t even bring herself to resist the comfort of his embrace as she feebly crumpled into the support of his arms when it was offered.
His words of condolence were received as so much static, but the intimation in his touch and tone did reach her, even if her response did not convey as much. She was too drained to spare energy for tears, and after so many days of unbroken silence, April wasn’t even certain if she remembered how to speak; whether by words or sobs, neither seemed possible anymore. Her thin frame only shook with voiceless sorrow.
She had long thought herself free of the Kraang’s harmful designs, but still her past relentlessly plagued her. And it wasn’t satisfied with only her adversity now; she had brought her misfortune upon the innocence she carried. She didn’t doubt that her mutation was the source of this grief, and nothing could remedy it. Nothing could justify the wrong she had inflicted those little ones. Nothing could fill their apartment with the patter of small feet belonging to a face that reflected hers and Casey’s.
She was too incompatible with her own child to bear it to term. She was damaged goods in more ways than one.
Another April. She’s such fun to draw, and great practice for breaking out of my mold.
((I’m gonna sleep on these meme responses bc it’s heavy stuff and I really want to do it justice. Thanks for the rockin’ replies, guys <3))
submitted by anonymous.
It had been weeks since she had last seen the guys, and as far as April was concerned, it was a good riddance. She didn’t need them. Her life could finally be normal, or at least a semblance of it, and she was for no lack of ‘normal’ friends, anyway. She had Irma. She had Hammad.
She had Emma.
And after months of trading conspiracy theories and correcting flawed logic again and again (on both sides of the argument), their unconventional internet debates had evolved into a… friendship of sorts. One that could finally be realized off the interwebs. As chance would have it, Emma’s studies were taking her abroad to an art museum in NYC of all places, and after a little planning on both sides, April now found herself waiting outside the Met and hopefully scanning the shifting crowds for a familiar face.