Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ 3 Weeks ❯ 10 ( Chapter 10 )

 

Michelangelo sat on the familiar old couch of the lair, buzzing with restlessness and a recently uncommon sense of anticipation. After a brief explanation at the apartment of April O'Neil, it had been decided that Donatello's computer terminal was best suited to track down the name that the vigilante had cropped up. Shifting impatiently, the youngest turtle twisted in his seat and cast a sharp glance at the purple-clad genius. If Donnie was aware of his gaze, he certainly had a way of ignoring it. It made Mikey wonder if he'd been taking lessons from Raph lately. Blue eyes narrowed slightly. Well, if that were the case...Maybe he could get something out of his brother for a change.

 

“Hey, Donnie: how's the search going?” He asked for the ump-teenth time in the past five minutes. The second-eldest turtle's shoulders visibly tensed, fingers halting in their mile-a-minute typing. His head turned slightly towards the youngest, who could practically see the `don't hurt him' mantra going behind the brown eyes. In the end, the apparently natural urge to do Michelangelo bodily harm lost out to whatever Donnie told himself to counteract it. Mikey frowned slightly, a little disappointed in his inability to provoke a proper reaction from the pacifist.

 

“It's...going, Mikey,” the genius said tersely, irritation somewhat obvious. “Just like it was when you asked 53 seconds ago. Just like it probably will be when you ask in another fifty-something seconds.” He sighed, stretching his arms over his head to relieve them of the stiffness that had built up. “This would be easier, granted, if I had some kind of description to work with-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Don,” Casey Jones grumped, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed. He'd taken up his post there upon arrival and couldn't be swayed to go home again. “I would've got one, but the cops was comin', and I ain't exactly in their good books. Couldn't spend any more time gettin' all buddy-buddy, so I had to high-tail it.”

 

“Casey, relax, it's fine. This name's a lot better than anything we would have turned up tonight. Even without a description, it's only a matter of time until something turns up to point us in the right direction. It might take a little longer, but it's still solid evidence,” Donnie soothed automatically, in the same absent-minded tone he would use to placate Mikey on his more annoying days. The vigilante scowled and sank back into silence. The youngest turtle sighed plaintively, shoving off of the couch and heading out of the room. Clearly, his presence wasn't exactly helping things along, and since he found the silence to be uncomfortable at best, sticking around wasn't a good idea.

Another sigh pushed past his lips as he slipped into the dojo. For the first time in weeks, Leo couldn't be found training there. The eldest turtle had volunteered to walk April home, but Mikey thought he just wanted to get a little time to himself topside. Probably wanted space to think and drown himself in another shower of guilt-trippage. The orange-banded turtle shook his head: that was just Leo's way, and he'd probably spend the next several months apologizing over and over again or something. It was a nice thought, but overall pretty stupid, Mikey mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Because he knew for a fact that Raph wasn't exactly the kind of guy who did a lot of talking. After the first apology, he'd just get pissed about having to accept so many of them. Maybe he'd explain that to Leo when he got back.

 

Standing in the middle of the room, Mikey found his gaze wandering idly towards the sai on the wall. Master Splinter had made it a point to keep them polished and sharpened, for when they finally got Raph back. The youngest turtle wondered if he knew how much it hurt to have to come home empty-handed and see them waiting there, constant reminders of the fact that they hadn't even come close, yet again. Even now, he could feel his heart being crumpled up like a piece of paper, and sharply diverted his gaze. How was it that Leo could spend all that time staring at them? He knew that was what most of his oldest brother's time in the dojo led to, having peeked in often enough to be certain of it. Just catching sight of them made him feel like his lungs had disappeared on him. His eyes, now in need of distraction once again, wandered around the walls at random, looking for something that could take his mind off of-

 

Oh. Mikey swallowed against the painful lump in his throat. The battered punching bag jumped out into his line of sight with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants. It was surprisingly dusty for only a couple of weeks of being out-of-commission, just another sign of how often Raph had used the thing. Well, that could certainly explain why Leo spent so much time facing the one wall. If it came down to a choice between the sai and the punching bag, the weapons were much easier to deal with. Seeing the punching bag was like a strong punch to the gut, an undeniable physical sign of their brother's absence. He wanted to turn away from it, to pretend he'd never noticed it in the first place, but it was hard to because on some level he thought it would be like pretending Raph was never there in the first place. He'd never been one for the `ignore-your-brother' game. Another swallow, and a valiant battle against more tears that he managed to win, reminding himself that crying wouldn't help anything.

 

“You probably shouldn't have come in here.” Leo's voice came out of nowhere, causing Mikey to jump and whip around to face his brother. The leader's eyes were fixed on the sai on the wall, casting Michelangelo a small concerned glance before returning to their original destination. “It...It isn't exactly- It's not the best place to be, Mikey. There are too many things that can make you think.”

 

“I can see why,” Mikey said, eyes on his older brother's face, glad for the excuse to keep his eyes away from the punching bag. Leo's face was drawn into a pained sort of frown, brow furrowed as though he were trying to solve a particularly frustrating mystery. “Doesn't explain why you spend so much time in here, bro.” The leader's hands clenched and unclenched nervously, a fidgeting gesture that looked wrong considering his normally confident personality. He took note of the red mask Leo kept on his person at all times with another pang of loss. There was an expulsion of air from the eldest's lungs, a bitter kind of snort.

“I hate coming in here sometimes,” he stated softly, eyes ungluing themselves from the wall to meet Mikey's own for a few long moments. “I hate coming in here, knowing Raph's not going to be in here when I walk in. Knowing that I'll just end up staring at everything that belongs to him. But I can't stop myself. It's easier to be reminded, sometimes, about why we're still looking.”

 

“Easier for you, maybe,” Mikey stated, eyes wandering again. “I don't like to be reminded that one of my bros is missing.” Leo regarded him solemnly.

 

“Was it this hard when I was gone?” He asked, voice seeping bitter irony and a little bit of sincere curiosity. The youngest turtle looked at him, eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected question.

 

“I, uh...Well...Sorta,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “In some ways, it was kinda worse, `cause we couldn't exactly go out and look for ya, y'know? We could only sit around the lair and hope you were alive and just coming back later than we thought you were. Shell, you should've seen Raph about two weeks after you were supposed to get here, he was throwin' a fit. He hated that you were so far away, dude, `cause none of us could find ya or help you if you were hurt.” The leader nodded, eyes closed off and a little distant.

 

“He never has liked having us out of reach, has he?” He asked with a tight smile. “Too much that could happen that he'd never know about. Drives him crazy.” Mikey nodded, looking far too grim for the usually astoundingly happy turtle.

 

“We're getting him back. There aren't any other options, right, Leo?” He asked, turning his attention back to the punching bag.

 

“Right.” At that moment, there was a triumphant cry from Donatello's computer terminal.

 

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