Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ 3 Weeks ❯ 4 ( Chapter 4 )

I come to you with the conclusion of our little backstory. Thank you so much for the reviews and stuff! Especially the advice on stepping back and figuring things out. I got out a piece of notebook paper and I'm writing out where I want chapters to go. To my utter surprise, it's actually easier to write this now.

 

Disclaimer: Oh, for the love of- I don't own them! Now back! Back! *beats back lawyers with one of their own briefcases*

 

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Donatello was forced back into the land of the living by a clearly anxious Leonardo. It wasn't so much that Leo was advertising his worry openly, but rather that his shoulders were tensed and pulled back, his mouth drawn into a tight frown as he shook the genius none too gently. These were tell-tale signs that something was wrong. Many people would not be able to pick up these tiny calling cards; the leader had a rather serious personality to begin with, so it wasn't much of a difference if you didn't know him or bother to look.

 

Donnie (though he hated to admit it) had only recently become versed in the age-old art of Leo-reading. Over the years he had made a habit of getting lost in his lab and consequently going without contact from another living being for days, making it hard to pay attention to the little details of his brothers' body language. Not that he didn't know his brothers like the back of his hand. Likes, dislikes, favorite foods, serious injuries, he could list without missing a beat, for each one of them. He had learned long ago how to dechiper the many layers of Raph and his anger, and Michelangelo was an open book. With big letters and bright pictures. Leo was more difficult.

 

He had once thought it was simply an older-brother thing. After all, Leonardo seemed more than capable of reading his brothers' minds at any given moment. That theory had been shot down by none other than Raphael, with just a casual remark on how Leo was looking `pretty pissed.' When Donatello had asked how he could tell, he'd been introduced to the basic postures, poses and facial expressions of what would make a killer manual. Raph had then proceeded to start coaching him in reading between the lines of other people, experienced from years of watching from rooftops and sewer grates. The knowledge had proved invaluable and Donatello now knew how to take, say, a casual greeting and examine the vibe behind it.

 

In the process, he'd learned a little about what that meant about Raphael. To be able to recognize emotions in others requires the ability to empathize, he figured out courtesy of Splinter. Translation: “Your brother talks tough, but he's pretty much just a big softie.” Looking into it further, he realized it should have been obvious. Raph was almost always the one who brought in things like injured kittens until April could find them a home, the first one to jump to a stranger's defense on the street, and Donnie started to see why Mikey could admire him so much, why he ran straight into the hothead's room after a nightmare. Raphael was explosive, prickly, irrational at times, practically the polar opposite of his older brothers, but he very openly (once you'd noticed the signs) cared about things. Shell, the more explosive he got about something, the more likely he was to defend it.

 

Leo's hand gave him another small shake to fully rouse him and, taking in the expression on his brother's face, Donatello surged up, fumbling with the sheets that were tangled around his legs. As he stood and headed for his bag of medical supplies, wondering how badly Raph had gotten banged up to warrant such a waking, there was a touch to his shoulder. He spun around.

 

“How bad is he?” The genius asked, voice sharp with concern for his younger brother. Truth be told, he was still a little angry with Leo for losing it with the hothead. Confrontation was something he preferred to avoid, and since Mikey had gotten the punching out of the way, he'd had to move straight on to the forgiving part of his nature. The angry, protective side (the side often overlooked, but still there: after all, he only had two younger brothers) was settling down at a steady pace, knowing Leo felt real regret for what he'd done. The leader shook his head.

 

“He's-he's not here, Don. Raph hasn't come home.” Purple-banded turtle tilted his head to the side, a little exasperated. Hadn't he explained something like this already?

 

“Well, he was pretty upset, Leo, he'll probably need more time than just a few hours-”

 

“Look at the clock, Don.” Eyes swung to the readout on the digital clock and froze. 7:45 A.M. “I called April, and Casey, but he didn't so much as stop by to say hi last night. He didn't even call. I tried his cell more than once, but there was no answer, and he never came back here.” The oldest brother briefed.

 

Donatello's head was reeling as he stared at the numbers, transfixed. Yes, Raph had been upset, but he never stayed out all night. If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was that Raph always came home, no matter what had happened. For all that he shouted and pushed buttons and stormed off alone, the hothead couldn't stand having his family out of his immediate reach for more than a few hours before getting worried- not that he admitted to that kind of thing. Now he understood why Leo was so concerned. Whipping around sharply, he sat at his computer terminal, bringing the monitor to life.

 

“I'll get to work tracking his shell cell. You get Mikey and Master Splinter,” he said commandingly, more than a little surprised when Leo immediately sprang into action. By the time the others had crowded into his room, the tracking program was up and running.

 

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“You sure we got the right place, Donnie?” Mikey whispered apprehensively. The genius's eyes swung to him sharply.

 

“No, Mikey,” he said, sarcasm subtle but ever-noticeable, “The program I wrote myself, that worked perfectly every other time I had to use it, is suddenly completely unstable and unreliable. So I decided to close my eyes and point at a map of the city at random and figured this was as good a place as any to look.” Forest green hands came up in a defensive stance.

 

“Okay, I get, bro: chill out. I'll never again call into question your superior knowledge of science-y things and big words.” The words were light and playful, and Donnie found a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth despite his annoyance. He sighed, glancing at the building his search had pulled up. If he was honest, Mikey's doubt was justified. It was just an old warehouse in a particularly dilapidated part of the city. Graffiti, broken windows, cracks in the walls and puddles of unknown origin. Nothing special, but this was where the program led them, and the program had never let him down before. The sound of the Battle Shell's door shutting made him jump a little.

 

“Can we focus, guys?” Leo asked impatiently, arms crossed. “Let's just get Raph and get out of here.” He was applying the mellower Leo version of a popular Raph tactic this morning, Don noted, pulling on his trench coat. Act pissed to cover up how worried you are unless or until you have a reason to really worry. And, Don knew, this would also include the usual follow-up act: going from worried and unable to hide it to extremely angry for being made to worry over nothing.

 

The younger siblings nodded sheepishly, knowing better than to start up any kind of goofing-off when Leo was in such a mood. They would have to be careful as it was, Donnie reckoned, since they were going to be out in the open during the weaker daylight hours. They crept closer to the building, staying hidden in the remaining shadows to the best of their ability.

 

“The signal was coming from the roof,” the genius stated, gesturing towards the rather conveniently placed fire escape. Leo nodded firmly, jumping up and effortlessly catching hold of the ladder. The climb was swift and silent, executed in perfect ninja fashion, and Mikey wondered why Raph would come here of all places. It certainly wasn't better than any of his other usual hangouts. They landed on the roof, immediately scanning the area for their brother and signs of ambush. Couldn't be too careful.

 

But there was nobody there. A few stacks of small crates had been knocked over across the way, and they darted over to them, minds operating on the same wavelength. Broken pieces of wood were tossed aside carefully, scattered across the rooftop at random. Donnie pulled off a particularly large piece and froze. Michelangelo registered the action from the corner of his vision and joined him, Leonardo right on his heels. There were a few moments of silence, then:

 

“What...What's going on, Donnie?” The youngest turtle asked, eyes darting around their surroundings once again. He'd just opened up a whole new level of paranoid, he realized, gaze traveling back to the sight before him.

 

Raph's sai. His mask. His belt, elbow-pads, and knee-pads. Arranged methodically into a neat little pile, like the ones he made when he had to clean his room and set objects off to the side at random. Usually because there was an item he really wanted to get to under the garbage. And there, right on top of the pile, was the shell cell they'd tracked. Blue eyes darted to their oldest brother when Donnie didn't answer. Leo's hands were clenched at his sides as his mind processed the strange development. He looked to his brothers.

 

“We search the rest of the roof, then the inside of the building. Keep an eye out for anything even remotely suspicious. We need to figure out what happened here and that means not missing anything.” Donnie wrenched his eyes away from the items, making an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. Mikey simply turned and started looking.

 

They combed the building over and under, inside and out, even made sure to do so twice as not to overlook anything. The results were less than comforting. In the alley next to the building, as though someone had found it and tossed it aside eagerly, a large silver dart was found innocently reflecting the pale sunlight. Beneath some other crate fragments were the tell-tale signs of a scuffle: scrapes on the concrete, small dark stains that they prayed weren't what they appeared to be (or that they at least didn't belong to who they thought they might belong to), a single broken-off knife blade.

 

It was fairly obvious that Raphael had been taken.

 

What really ate at Leo was the fact that if not for the gear, there would have been no signs of their brother's presence at all. Gently gathering his belongings, they headed home to tell their sensei what had been found. Calls were made to their human friends, and the real search began.

 

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