Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ 3 Weeks ❯ 11 ( Chapter 11 )

This is Danielle, coming to you live with the posting of 3 Weeks: Chapter 11. I know, I know, the announcement is a bit unnecessary, but the other day I was oozing teen angst and hatred towards the world at large, and this helped to cheer me up.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own them, man. I just don't. Now please let me get on with the story, and remove your gun from the back of my head?

 

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It was going to be a 2 hour, 45 minute drive to the abandoned offices of Dr. Isaac Richards. Considering the fact that they had been without their brother for three weeks already, Donatello mused, it shouldn't seem so long. Somehow it did: every second, every minute, stretched on like hours because time had suddenly become a much more important factor than it had been. If he continued driving the way he currently was -weaving in and out of traffic with a foot pressed on the gas pedal and hands clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline- the genius estimated that he might be able to cut the journey down to 2 hours flat. The vehicle lurched to a near stop, avoiding a potential collision, throwing the other passengers off-balance before speeding up again with the tell-tale squealing of tires. Leo, Mikey and Casey traded nervous glances from their seats, having a silent argument and taking the time for a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, in which Michelangelo was soundly defeated.

 

He was so never choosing rock again. As it was, the youngest turtle moved forward to take the passenger's seat up front, flinching as his older brother swerved dangerously around a helpless mini-van. It was painful to see him slipping away from his usual mannerisms: Donnie had always been the one who managed to stay calm and collected, who could think up a solution in any given situation. Mike bit back a sigh, feeling like he might permanently deflate if he did.

 

There had been too much sighing lately, he figured, without him adding on to the load once more. It seemed somebody couldn't get through 2 sentences without heaving a gusty one for the world to see. Especially Leo and Donnie. What didn't make sense to him was why Donnie had chosen this convenient moment to get so worked up. Yes, the discussion at the lair had been less than encouraging, especially the part involving the photograph (Mikey shuddered, fighting a small wave of nausea), but they knew where Raph was now. They were going to get him. The youngest turtle had always been of the mind that if a loved one died, they'd know about it, somehow. Apparently, the same could not be said for his bo-wielding brother.

 

“Don?” He asked quietly, eyes flicking from the genius's face to the speedometer, then back again. Not an ideal number to see. It was strange, because Donnie was usually a stickler for speed limits. Raph was the one who got the most lectures for reckless driving, followed closely by Mikey himself. “You, uh, want me to take the wheel, bro?” Donnie's eyes remained on the road, dark and lost in their own train of thought. The purple-clad turtle shook his head tersely. Mikey settled himself in next to his brother with a frown. “You wanna try slowin' it down before you get us all killed, then? We want to get to Raph just as much as you do, but wrecking the battle shell isn't exactly the greatest way to go about it, y'know?” This time, his brother's eyes glanced up to meet his own for a moment before returning to staring out the windshield fixedly. The pressure on the accelerator decreased obligingly, earning both turtles grateful stares from the other passengers.

 

“You know, Mikey, there are 60 minutes to an hour.” The statement came unexpectedly from the driver, whose hands tightened their grip a little further as he fought the urge to plow through the rest of the cars on the road as recklessly as his missing younger brother might have done.

 

“Uh, yeah, Donnie, I know that,” the youngest turtle answered nervously, fidgeting. He turned slightly to eye Leo and Casey, but to no avail; once the genius turtle had slowed down, they'd returned to brooding silently, trapped in their own undoubtedly intense thoughts. Mike felt Donnie's eyes flicker towards him again, but by the time he'd shifted to return the glance, they'd already re-situated themselves on the road ahead.

 

“With 24 hours to a day, that adds up to 1440 minutes per day. 7 days in a week. So there are approximately 10,080 minutes in a given week. And Raph's been gone for three. That's about 30,240 minutes, give or take. This trip adds on more than two hours. If there aren't any detours or stops along the way, if I can even manage to cut this down to two hours flat, it'll add up to at least 30,360 minutes.” Mikey blinked, opting not to go for a verbal response, and Donatello sighed. “Never mind. I'm just rambling is all. I'm fine to drive.” Nodding cautiously, the orange-banded turtle removed himself from both the conversation and the front seat, pausing momentarily to clasp Don's shoulder in a reassuring manner.

 

“We'll get there in time, bro. Don't worry so much, okay?” The youngest was rewarded with a tiny grateful smile. As he took up his seat in back once more, the smile faded.

 

Being a turtle of scientific mind, Donatello had long ago perfected the ability to remain calm and detached in hectic situations where others floundered. He was capable of running through several different possibilities and lines of thought at once and did so in what could be referred to as the `voice of reason.' There were times when he resented having developed that voice: it was the voice of a scientist with no personal bias or empathy, stating what wasn't what you wanted or necessarily needed to hear, but what was proven to be true. Cold, emotionless, and dead. As such, he was unable to shut it up at any given time, no matter how hard he attempted the feat.

 

One line of thought could be found circling the images in the photographs he hadn't been able to bring himself to show to his family. Leo had tried, before they departed, to glean more information, but on this Donnie could not be swayed. Just remembering made a shiver run down his spine. It had been these images, shown in the clarity only a truly photographic memory could provide, that made him want to decimate any obstacles they might come across on their commute. They were the ulterior motive that drove him to ask April and Splinter to stay behind in the lair, and why he had tried to convince Mikey to do the same. Richards was a demented man. If they were too late…Chances were it would be difficult for even Raphael's brothers to recognize him.

 

This was what spurred one particular line of thought onto the subject of time. As a whole, even after traveling through it and saving the world thusly, he'd never paid particular attention to it. It could be measured accurately, counted and calculated precisely, but something about it seemed...unstable. He'd made the estimations he'd rambled off to Mikey relatively quickly, feeling waves of dread come crashing down upon his being in the process. It suddenly seemed like something he should have paid much more mind to.

 

Raphael had spent more than 30,240 minutes in the hands of a lunatic with a history of bloodshed and animal cruelty, the voice of reason informed him blankly. Approximately 1,814,400 seconds. He fought down a wince as the thought occurred. The chances of his younger brother still being alive were incredibly slim by now, and every second counted. He had to be there. He had to be alive when they found him, because anything else would just be cruel and unfair. Logic kicked in, reminding him in no uncertain terms that life wasn't fair. Donnie felt his mouth turn up in a slight smirk as he realized that logic, for a moment, sounded exactly like Raph.

 

His heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought of his missing brother, sending a pulse of anxiety through his limbs. It had taken him a little over 3 days to realize exactly quiet things got without their residential hothead around. He and Raphael were very different, it was true, but they each respected their differences. If anything, it made it easier for them to get along at times. There were no expectations outside of the ordinary: they could relax and have fun together, they could provide each other with much-needed companionship without feeling smothered or obligated to talk, without fighting or teasing or really anything. The genius missed having someone to work on vehicles with, who could understand what went where and different tool names without constantly questioning him. Raph had even fallen into the habit of making small repairs around the lair when Donatello was too busy to do it himself. All without making a big fuss, without expecting thanks or (more likely than not) even mentioning the fact that he could do it.

 

Raphael always had been more about actions than words, the purple-banded turtle reflected idly, scanning the road ahead for their desired exit. He was fierce and protective and strong, with the tendency to dive into situations with all the passion and force he could muster. The second-youngest turtle was an excellent judge of character, equipped with street smarts and a strong sense of right and wrong. That was one point that caused his little bouts with Leo: if what he saw as the right thing to do went against what was honorable, he wouldn't stop to think twice about doing it anyway. Master Splinter had once said that he looked at the world in black and white, but saw it in shades of grey. As confrontational as Raph was known to be, as pessimistic as he had proven himself, he knew the workings of the in-betweens. He could see on the level of the people who didn't know any other way to survive, who would never break out of the slums or get clean, even while he tried to save them, knowing they probably didn't want to be saved.

 

The red-banded turtle was loud, often irrational and immature, predictable and defensive enough to make Donnie roll his eyes in exasperation on most occasions. But there were also moments when something came out of that scowling mouth that could make his entire family do a double-take. He would say something so unbelievably world-weary and mature that it would leave Donatello frustrated and wondering what his brother had done in the past few years to make him sound so old. Those were the moments that made him question whether he was truly older than the hothead. Usually, the question was revoked because Raph would rise to easy bait or break something, sending them into their normal routine and sweeping his questionable maturity under the rug. Something about the cycle made the genius wonder exactly how well he knew his brother.

 

He could remember, very clearly, the night of his first kill. A Foot soldier who hadn't managed to duck in time, earning himself a cracked skull on a bloodied rooftop. It had been Raphael who found him, hours later, crying over the body of a man he didn't know; a man who would have jumped at the chance to kill him and walked away without remorse. The purple-banded turtle had been 16. Donnie had expected teasing, shouting, maybe even laughter and some kind of sick congratulations, and cursed his luck, because if anyone found him, he would have wanted it to be Leo, who had always been so compassionate. Raph's face was stony as he helped his brother up, checking for injuries silently and quickly, expression carefully neutral when his eyes swept over the body. They'd begun the trek home without a word, and it had remained that way until they were a little over halfway there. Raphael brought them to a halt with a subtle gesture, staring at the water lapping around his feet for a few moments.

 

“They weigh a lot, don't they, Don? Dead men.” The words were whispered, slow and deliberate, eyes distant and calculating, reflecting on something only he could see. Donnie had looked away then, started forward with every intention of hiding himself in his lab for a few days, not wanting to answer the questions that were sure to come. Even as he moved, his brother caught him, pulling him into a protective one-armed hug. “I'll tell `im for ya. Splinter, I mean. I know it ain't- it ain't much. Should've been there sooner so you wouldn't have had ta-” A brief pause as he fought for words, grip tightening. “I'm sorry. Just- fer the love `a God, Donnie, don't let it pull ya down. It won't- there's no comin' back up if ya do.” And he'd let his older brother cry on his shoulder without complaint, had told Master Splinter like he'd said he would, and then gone back to normal the next day.

 

Donatello had found himself remembering that night frequently over the past weeks, realizing with no small amount of guilt that he hadn't once wondered about Raphael's first kill. He'd never seen fit to ask, figuring that if his brother wanted him to know, he'd simply tell him about it. It was what Leo had done, after hearing the basics of what had happened to him, in an effort to comfort the genius. He figured the same could be said for his hotheaded sibling. That had been back when they had time for such things. It hurt to think that he might never get the chance to find out. Blinking back tears and executing a rather questionable right turn, Donatello resolved that he would do everything possible to save his younger brother. They would make it in time. Raphael had to be alive.

 

He just had to be.

 

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There we go, FINALLY done with Chapter 11. It took me a million re-starts and cost me a lot of pulled-out hair, but it's still up. What do you think? Was the mini-flashback any good? Is it OOC for Donnie? Reviews are not demanded or expected. Requested? Perhaps.