A/N- Hey guys! This fic will be a few chapters long, and I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please don't hesitate to review. Also, this is Beta'd by my close friend :)!

Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT.

"It's cold out there, Mikey! Where do you think, you're going?" Leonardo yelled, watching his brother grab a coat. Mike put it on himself, struggling to get it bypass his shell, and once he did his gaze hardened.

"I'm going where we should've gone a week ago,!" Michelangelo yelled, he held his face with bitterness. He'd never thought he'd find himself fighting his big brother― his leader― with such frustration. He let out a breath he had been holding under unknown subconscious, something he did when he was irritated.

"I'm going to go save Donnie." He stood, shoulders squared, confident over himself.

"I-I know, we know that Shredder has Donnie right now… But it's snowing out there! We're cold blooded, Mikey! We can die from this weather!" Leo told him, grabbing Mikey by his wrist, and Leo struggled to remain calm, "I don't want anyone else to be captured or killed." He kept his tone hushed, eyes tainted with grief and concern. The two brothers' blue eyes locked in a gaze.

Mikey paused for one quick stare, setting his brother's expression in a reflection through his own. "I rather look for our brother instead of knowing he's dead― alone. I want Don to at least know we tried, Leo!" A harsh tug of the wrist and the once strong held grip collapsed on the release.

"I'm leaving."

"I – Sensei, this isn't working. All I want is to have Donnie back, and stupid meditation isn't going to bring him back, or resolve my anger." Raphael shoulders slouch, and he gazed at his legs then up to Splinter. He knows that he nearly got himself killed trying to get Donnie during the past week, but Donnie still wasn't home. He would get himself killed any day, only if it meant that Donnie would be home, safe.

Raphael's green eyes held so much sadness, and anger towards Shredder, that Master Splinter saw the reflection of himself in those eyes. He, too, wanted vengeance when Tang Shen was killed by the Shredder, but it wasn't the answer. And as much as Splinter wanted his son back – if Don wasn't killed – he would go in a heartbeat.

"Raphael, my son. Your brothers and you have tried, twice, to bring back Donatello. You three would not last, especially in battle when your muscles are more tensed due to the weather. My son, I understand what you are going through, because Donatello is my son." Splinter placed his hand on his son's shoulder, not bringing up the reckless stunt Raph tried doing. Footbots and snow is what resulted in Donnie's capture, and Raph almost was killed by the same thing.

"Master Splinter –" Raph stopped talking mid-sentence as he heard his siblings argue. Splinter's ears drew up to listen. His gaze hardened, and he grabbed his cane.

"Come on, Raphael." Splinter urged, nearly running out of the dojo with Raph behind his heels to see what the commotion was about. Especially since it was always him that would fight, not Mikey.

The sudden concerned murmurs of Raphael and his Master Splinter echoed through the lair. Before Leo could calm Mike, he turned to his heels, hiding his concerned away, and halted by the entrance. Michelangelo only stared at the darkness that coated the tunnels ahead. His mind started fighting a second thought. He drew a breath inwards and, as he turned to his brother once more, he set it in bittersweet release.

"I'll be back, Leo, I promise. I can take care of myself." He looked at his brother in comfort, his voice hushed and his eyes twinkling with hope. Hope that Leo had trust the night Donnie has disappeared.

"Trust me."

He said nothing. Leo wasn't sure what happened to Mikey this past week. Ever since Shredder took their genius brother into his captivity, he found Mike as being impatient, yet mature. The past week there was no giggles, or Dr. Prankenstein or Mikey being Mikey. Mike avoided the lab at all costs when he used to always go bug Donnie there, and now without Donnie, Mikey wasn't the same. No one was.

And the leader wasn't afraid to confess his eagerness to bring his brother back into their small makeshift home, but he just couldn't take his remaining two bros' outside; both the weather and Shredder's goons can kill them. He already failed one brother― he wasn't about to lose what little family he had.

His little brother's calmness put Leo in a state of surprise - his brother never had this level of maturity before… His baby blue eyes held a reassurance of his safe return that almost convinced him. Looking his brother with newly fresh respect, all the leader could do was nod. He watched his brother dash within the distant fogs in a blink of an eye.

And even as Mikey took a dash to defiantly save their brother, Leo had to follow him. He didn't know what he was thinking, Mikey can't just go alone… But Mikey's agility was the best, and Leo had halted, because Mikey disappeared in sight; the icy water now sat under his feet, but he stayed there for a few seconds. Master Splinter and himself have said not to go, and even if Mikey did, he couldn't go after him.

Leo turned to see both Splinter and Raph staring at him with wide eyes. Splinter threatened to leave their warm home, but Leo raised a hand up to stop him. And Leo glanced at the tunnel ahead one last time, a whisper delegated his lips and his mouth shifted to a wintry breath.

"Be safe…"

"Where the heck did Mikey go?" Raph asked, and his eyes showed all his anger. Leo did not just let his baby brother go out alone where he could be captured just like Donnie.

"He…" Leo lost his words, he should have stopped Mikey. He should have shaken his head, not nod. He doesn't want to lose two of his younger brothers in less than a month, less than two weeks. "He went after Donnie." He finally choked out, feeling the sudden nausea and a wave of dizziness hit him. Donnie's been assumed dead after a week with the Shredder…

Shredder wouldn't want his enemy alive, especially one of Splinter's son. If he could take Karai away from Splinter, Shredder had no problem doing the same with their brother. But instead of raising him as his own, he would've want him killed in an instinct, but Leo tried to push that away. He clung to the smallest piece of hope he had left.

"You wouldn't let me go after Donnie, but you let Mikey?!" Raph shouted, jabbing his finger against Leo's chest. Anger spreading all over him, leaving his face with a red flush.

Leo raised his hands up as a defense, and he looked at Splinter for help, but their Sensei stroked his beard. Splinter wanted to know why he let him go too.

"Raph you almost threatened the mission and nearly got yourself killed. Mikey… I don't know, okay? I know he can take care of himself, and it's almost seven PM, the Foot doesn't come out this early." Leo told him, but he still felt his stomach churn. He should call him, bring him back home. It wasn't safe out there. One brother was gone, and he didn't want it to be two…

Leo pushed Raph aside before Raph can speak, and he pulled his T-Phone to dial Mikey. The infamous ringtone they all had, rung on the couch, the phone vibrating until it fell to the ground. Leo sighed both from anger and tiredness, Mikey forgot his phone…

"Man, it's cold." Mikey shivered, going to a kneeling position and he crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself warm. Unfortunately, being a mutant turtle came with its disadvantages; all in all, the reason why Leo refused to let him, as well as Donnie, leave for the chilly topside. But Don being Don, stubborn as always, has reassured he was only going to the junkyard for less than two hours.

That was a week ago―

When three hours passed, worry started to sink into more than just his afterthoughts. Donatello was never late, and if he was, he would've called. Leo had thought his brother was distracted by all the junk and decidedly went out himself that same night to find him. All to be found was a broken Bo. The rest was speculation.

When their leader returned to the lair, he unwillingly told them of the news; someone had taken their brother, and all fingers pointed to the Shredder like clockwork.

The same night the blizzard came and started raining its dismays upon the city and the eldest warned his two remaining brothers it was dangerous to go out with the storm. The cold made their muscles more tensed and can take all their lives to save one.

They tried a rescue mission, but it failed miserable. And it left them with lost hope; there was nothing they can do.

Mikey was fed up waiting, his brother, possibly dead or gravely injured, was in the hands of their arch nemesis. He couldn't just wait, it wasn't that simple. Donnie was his best friend, and he couldn't live without him.

After waiting for another sign of Operation: Rescue Donnie, it never occurred, and Mikey finally had the guts to go for himself.

Thoughtlessly, Michelangelo was beginning to regret the idea. The icy winds of the somber night were starting to get to him and his muscles caved into unintentional shivering. Only being out for a good short thirty minute, Mike turned to a second thought. Maybe he should've paid more attention to his brother's cautions.

― But Donnie…

Even if he did find his brother, he would already be too frostbitten, too cold, to fight for his freedom. He was about to turn back in defeat. His thoughts now pointed him home― but then a scream.

"Huh―!" At first, he thought he was imagining it, daunting his ears clear to assure himself he wasn't just feverish from his unnatural weather condition. But when numerous cries, sprouted by several people followed, his suspicions were confirmed.

Mike let his non-bearing imagination run to conclusions.

Thugs? He guessed. Gunman? A possibility. Killer Mutant Chicken Nugget with Laser Fingers? Well it was nothing out of the ordinary for his standards. He turned to his heels and followed the noise, using the snow tainted rooftops as his own makeshift runway. He didn't look back― he didn't flinch― despite how rough the thicket of wind blew on his cheeks. As he was certain that he reached his destination, he was quick to look on instant, and he wished he hadn't been.

His heart skipped a beat.

Oh my god, that can't be him… Michelangelo thought, and he leaned forward to get a better look. He gazed down on the colorful streets of Christmas lights, cars coated with light blankets of snow on their hoods, he saw his brother.

His missing brother, in the middle of the street.

"Donnie―" Mikey gasped out, reeling away from the ledge with a small fumble of his footing. He needed to get down there. Now. Mikey placed his hand on his belt pocket, immediately ready to speed dial that he found their missing brother, but all Mike felt was the icy air.

"The one time I forget my phone, and I need it…" Mikey rolled his eyes at himself, annoyed. He usually brings everything with him before going on patrol, but this was a last-minute thing.

Mike, then, turned to the fire escape and without hesitation, ran thoughtlessly into a jump, landing on the snow topped alleyway. He can get Donnie out of there himself…

As he made his way to the clearing of the hallowed back alley, he was cautious on making sure he was hidden.

Donnie might be injured, or delusional, or – or Mikey didn't want to think of anything bad. He'll be useless if he wastes such petite time.

Cars, which trapped themselves as trafficked, blared with the rambunctious muses of honking. People of all ages and citizenry screamed with their shrill cries haunting the December air. Even a few people, brave enough to even face the limping turtle, held whatever baggage they had in their hands and deemed it a weapon. In short, it wasn't pretty.

Mike timidly hid behind the wall, overhearing the plastered clicks of heels rushing past him, hearing the squeals of two runaway cars attempting to skid to a halt before they crashed into one another. The turtle muttered a quick curse under his breath. How was he going to get his brother out of there?

The answer came natural: stealth.

Mikey's eyes delved themselves into a deeper shade of white as he then started to crouch, waiting. He watched people lashing their cellphones out and calling 911 ― calling the police in news that there was a freak in the middle of the street. The name would've made Mikey cringe if it wasn't a label both he and his entire family had constantly to bear. Taking a deep inwards breath, he bolted in haste to an empty car and lowered himself once again. He waited for more people to leave before he made a lasting sprint to the other side.

"Donnie?" Mikey whispered as he walked, still in a crouching position.

Donatello didn't hear him, his eyes were too busied with looking at their surroundings, hobbling in his footsteps while he grasped tightly at his head. The lucid turtle only stared momentarily at the chaotic scene around him before he turned to retreat his head once more. Mikey rolled to the other side of the street, landing himself nearer to his brother as he sent a whisper of his name ― this time, harsher.

"Donnie!"

As view of the svelte turtle became more vivid, realization made its stroke. There was something wrong. But Michelangelo had only a lean window of time to grasp. It wasn't before long when the muffled ringing of sirens had caught his attention. Glancing up at the looming sky, Mikey shut his eyes and mumbled.

"There's no time for stealth."

He moved. Jumping, Mikey ran in the street and tore himself through the open. He took sight of the hand that nursed his head and grabbed his brother's lanky arm before lugging him away from the scene, his legs moving in a wild sprint. The police, he could feel them just behind his tail. He prayed in desperation he wouldn't get caught… Splinter would kill them if they were on the news.

He rushed them both towards the nearest manhole and, without thinking, he took hold of the steel lid's frostbitten edges and tore it away from its place in heavy motions. As his legs moved past the entrance way, Mikey brought his brother's arm over his shoulder, taking most of his weight, and jumped in the manhole.

"Donnie!" Mikey started yelling as he gently slid his brother from his shoulders. The murmured dripping of water loudly ricochet in the sewers.

"Dude, what were you thinking? You know―!"

He paused for a moment of hard turned silence. His anger trickled and his blue eyes hardened in command. Why wasn't he answering? A twist in his gut, coarse and vile, turned what was left of his irritation into dust. The underground lighting made all object dark but, through trained vision, he saw little details of his brother's condition. He didn't like it.

Donatello stood with his body slumped and barely able to retain any stance. His usually vivid hazel eyes were let dim with his eyelids in tight discomfort of pain. But not once did he ever look his brother in the eye― he gaped at if he was a stranger. The arm that Mikey had let go of was clutching to a spot of his head for dear life. His body tensed in his swaying strengths as his dense breaths lingered about. Mikey, on instinct, removed his coat and placed it over Donnie's coarse shell instead.

"Don?" He touched his hand, jerking away instantly. There was something sticky on his fingers.

"How… did you escape…?"

Nothing.

Something isn't right. Something was wrong― very wrong.

Michelangelo took an unwilling glance over his brother's body. Cuts, gashes and scars created blood wounds that marred his body in scars― spectacles of open flesh disfigured his body from the neck down and stained crimson tints on his weather worn coat. He didn't look right. Maybe it was the blood lost, yeah― he was just feeling a little lightheaded…

Mikey let his hands hesitate in front of his body carefully. Unsure what to do, he wasn't a doctor, he didn't know where to begin.

"O-Okay, let's just get you home and bandage you up." Mikey said, but his voice was held with so much insecurity. "Wouldn't want April seeing ya with all those scars, right? A Turtle's gotta look his best for the ladies…!" Mikey tried to tease at him, but it did no aid. His brother's empty gaze just stared at the wall, like he was unaware of Mikey's presence.

He stared down at himself in discomfort, but only grew more anxious when he looked at his own fingers he used to touch Donnie's hand – the same one his brother used to clutch his head. It was covered in blood― a large amount of blood.

Wait…

Mikey skimmed where his brother was grasping, his head. Something that Mikey didn't seem to think too much about, and he hadn't realized the reason Donnie was clutching to it. Mikey slightly tilted his head, his cognitive mind repeating in prayers that it was just a small cut like the rest of his brother's wounds, but… it wasn't.

It was a large dent which severed a hole in his brother's skull, a mixture of open flesh and detached bone compiled in a mess of blood. The markings of three silver blades has caused the wound and set the turtle in mental paralysis. The metallic scent of his brother's blood tormented a nauseating feel through his stomach that made Mikey wishing he haven't seen it.

Oh shell, oh shell, oh shell…

Michelangelo didn't even think twice as he unsteadily removed the knot of his own mask, quickly balling it up with shaking fingers and pressing it on the flesh wound in haste. As if it would help. He lobbied his arm around his shoulder and ran with no clear certainty that his hold was kept firm.

His running turned into a jog, his brother's knees buckled loosely and retained, collapsing under his weight, making Mikey waste precious time. In both frustration and fear, Mikey came to a halt of his movements and pulled Donnie's arms over his shell. Bending over, he gathered his brother's legs and began to carry him to the lair.

Under his brother's weight, he gasped for breath, his legs begged to collapse, though his mind spoke out otherwise. He wasn't sure how long he was carrying the semi-conscious turtle. But, when he felt Donnie's head plop onto his shoulder, he turned his head over for a quick moment's peek. He found his injured brother's eyes lightly closed into a state of unconsciousness.

Mikey forcefully carried Don's dead weight to the lair as the strength in his legs buckled under him. Don's going to be okay― Don's going to be okay. He just needs to take him to the lair and the guys could patch him up.

Like Donnie always did for them.

"Leo!"

"Erg… Raph…!" The hoarse cry of desperation rang through his throat like sandpaper as he entered the lair.

"Help― I need help!" He cried before he felt the tremble of his strength collapsing, his knees dropping to the cold surfaced floor.

The sound of rush footsteps came to his aid. A bittersweet sensation of relief coursed through him. They all came in less than a minute, and Mikey hadn't realized they've been in the common area chatting.

"Mikey!"

"Donnie!"

"My sons!"

He felt the heavyweight of his brother's body slide from his arms. A firm hand took a hold of his arm and pulled him up.

"What happened?" Leo asked as more of a concerned demand rather than a question, "How did you―?"

"I found him on the streets, he's bleeding a lot. Guys, we need to go help him!" He shouted, slightly shaking from being outside of the cold for too long. Leo placed a hand over his youngest brother's shoulder and in turn, heard the sprinting of his father and brother, rushing towards the lab for any medical supplies they could gather.

"Donnie doesn't look so good." Mikey added, following Leo as he tugged his arm to the bathroom. He watched as Leo turned the water on, making sure it was warm and good enough for use.

"You don't look so good either―" Leo answered back as he helped him take off his gear. His younger brother was being taken care of. Splinter knows what to do― he always does― and Raph is there to help him.

Donnie will be fine…

"But Donnie's different! He looks like he was beaten for days! He's so skinny and bleeding and hurt. I didn't even think twice before grabbing him! I could've hurt him ― shell, he's bleeding everywhere!" Mikey broke out in a cry as Leo, almost forcefully, drove him to the tub. Mikey hesitated with the offer, his only thoughts of his older brother's safety currently in his mind, but entered nonetheless. Leo gave him a look of assurance, but he was lost inside.

"Donnie's going to make it through, Mikey. Our brother is strong." Leo told him, concealing his worry with a faint smile. His lips were barely tugged, and as much as Mikey wanted to believe him, there was something wrong.

"Leo, you don't understand-!"

"I'm trying to, Mikey. I'm worried about our brother too, but panicking isn't going to help. Master Splinter and Raph is aiding Donnie as we speak." Leo told him delicately, grabbing a sponge as he began to scrub his brother's shell. He struggled to scrub the large amount of Donatello's blood tainted on Mikey. "They'll know what to do, I promise." He added as he poured warm water on his sibling's body. Mike shivered, but did not protest. As the bath ended, he turned off the stream of running water so only a dripping of droplets was left.

Mikey grabbed a towel and carefully tiptoed his way out of the tub. He stood stubbornly as he dried himself.

"Leo…" Mikey murmured, his eyes filled with solemn grief. He was going to cry; the adrenaline was dying off and it left him in a puddle of apprehensive.

"We're going to help him." Leo said, but his voice was thick with lies. He didn't even know what condition Donnie was in. Leo opened the door, wanting to leave to hide his emotions and he turned to his heels, nearly leaving the youngest to pamper.

"Wait, Leo, before you go I have to tell you something―"

Leonardo turned; a raised eye dabbled with concern. "What is it, Mikey?" Leonardo asked softly.

Michelangelo only stood, dwindling with his water dripped feet, and tracing the line of water droplets slowly falling on the ground. His head lowered, tone dull with tints of an injecting chill, as he whispered.

"It's gone…"

Leo's eyes were glazed with worry, mouth agape as he managed to stutter. "W-What's gone, Mikey?"

Mikey's eyes watered, and he used his towel to wipe the tears. Mikey suddenly looked so lost, and Leo's worry grew.

"Mikey." Leo hissed, anger toppling over his worry.

"Donnie…" Mikey managed to sputter, eyes lost. His hands tighten on the grasp of his towel. "His mind."