Chapter 1

As always, he announced his presence as quietly as possible. He lightly knocked on the metal doors as if they could be harmed before hesitantly pushing his way in, practically on his tip toes. Dropping a surprise on his jittery patient was the last thing he needed even if it was unintentional.

And so, gently closing the lab door behind him with a barely audible squeak, Don strode across the concrete floor, making sure his footsteps were loud enough to be heard echoing throughout the vast room.

If Mikey took notice of him, he didn't make any effort to acknowledge Donatello's existence. Instead with his shell facing the resident genius turtle, his baby blue eyes were trained on the empty wall in front of him as he sat on the on the edge of the makeshift cot, his limp legs dangling over the edge. The bed had been kindly set up for him a few hours ago by Leo.

…That's the name of the turtle in the blue mask, isn't it? Hopefully it is; it's one of the few things he had come to remember.

"Hey Mike," Donnie softly greeted, though he didn't expect a response. He stopped a few feet short of his brother's cot, making sure not to approach and engage contact unless he was positive Mikey wouldn't become frightened and try to get away. Donnie wanted to avoid another game of Catch, Tackle, and Anaesthetize if he could. Besides, he was almost positive Raph scared Mikey more than he already was.

With his best, calm voice, Don asked, "Ready for round three?"

Although the question was light and playful, Mikey received no comfort from the words. Not bothering to glance at the other occupant of the unfamiliar lab, he bitterly muttered, "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Don tried not to take the snarky remark to heart, though it still felt as if a wound was reopened on his tightening chest. Coming around the other side of his brother to be face-to-face with him, Donnie plopped himself into a worn office chair, leaning into the back of the cushiony material as he tried his best to give off a relaxed and passive aura. His demeanor said everything he didn't: he wasn't here for a fight; he was here to help.

If only he could understand that, Don thought sullenly.

After a few moments of concluding that Mikey wasn't going to try to run off again, Donnie began the tedious process with a soft voice. "What do you remember?"

"Not much. Everything is still blank, just as always." Mikey locked his eyes on the dusty floor beneath his dangling feet. 'Not much' was practically the understatement of the year, but Don decided to hold his tongue for both their sakes.

Studying the top of Mikey's hanging head, Donnie continued. "What about… my name? Do you remember anything about me or anyone in particular?"

Mikey paused. "No, I think... I can really only remember, uhm… that guy with the blue mask-… He's, erm… I – I can't even remember his name anymore!"

Don took notice of the way Mikey's hands, which moments ago were resting placidly atop the bed sheets, scrunched the peach colored blankets in tight, white-knuckled fists. His facial features had twisted into one of frustration and the tension of his body sent out waves of uncertainty, crashing into Don as if he were standing in the middle of the ocean.

"It's okay, Mikey," Donnie quickly reassured. He inwardly panicked by the thought of having to forcefully put his brother in an unnaturally calm state again with the use of drugs and pointy needles. "We don't expect you to know everything. This is a slow process."

"I know, I know, I just…" Mikey inhaled a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut, and his fists loosened ever so slightly. "Wh… What's next?"

Donnie hesitated. He didn't want to rile Mikey up after only a few minutes of their Questions and Half-Answers routine. This was a frustrating process for the youngest turtle and Don wanted to try his best to understand that. But Mikey suddenly cleared his throat in impatience, urging Don to ask to next question.

"Do you know where we are?"

A pause.

"…no."

Donatello frowned. "You feel no emotional connection or any hint of recognition from this area whatsoever?"

Mikey briefly glanced up, his hesitant irises sweeping over the countless scientific posters scattered across the walls, the multiple glass beakers lining dusty shelves, the balled-up papers strewn across the floor, and… what was that little yellow robot in the corner?

Mikey shook his head, but mostly to himself. He knows he should recognize where he is, why he's here and most importantly, who these turtle mutants (who visit him nearly every minute) are. He knows he's somehow connected to them considering how they all – including him – have green skin, three fingers, a bulky shell and a brightly colored mask. He knows he obviously had a history with them since the telltale signs of broken hearts shine in their eyes whenever he says he can't recall something. Strangers don't act like that, which is partly the reason why he currently isn't attempting to fight his way out of this unfamiliar place. They obviously care for him.

But… he should recognize them. He knows he should, but he doesn't. Can't.

Lowering his gaze once more Mikey quietly said, "No, I don't."

Against his better judgment, Donnie set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, putting his weary head in his hands. He felt Mikey's terrified blue eyes look up at him in concern but it only made Don feel worse. How can he possibly help someone who hardly remembers their own name, their own home? He couldn't help but bitterly think it's a miracle Mikey remembers how to breathe on his own.

"As if life wasn't hard enough," the scientist murmured into his hands as he massaged his temples with achy fingers. Incessantly typing on an old keyboard while trying to find a solution for his lost brother did a number on calloused fingers.

"What'dya say?"

Don glanced up and unintentionally locked gazes with his baby brother. Mikey quickly looked elsewhere. Releasing a heavy sigh, Donnie straightened up in his chair and said, "Nothing of importance at the moment. Let's just focus on getting you back into the swing of things, okay? Now let's-"

"How long is this going to take?" The question was abrupt, uncertain. Don noticed how Mikey's unwilling eyes looked more depressed than frightened, and he didn't know whether or not that was an improvement from the past twelve hours Mikey had been here.

Twelve hours. It had been twelve restless – frantic – desperate hours since they had lost their baby brother mentally. Time and time again, he's asked the same simple questions, hoping for a positive response. And yet they've gotten nowhere besides Mikey recalling his and Leo's name.

Well, not Leo's anymore.

Don felt a twinge of sympathy for the miserably confused turtle sitting in front of him.

"Mike," he said, heart dropping at the sight of his brother's crestfallen face, "this is hard, I know it is. But you and I are doing all that we can, and that's all that matters. We'll get you back to…"

Yourself?

Reality?

Usual?

"… a sense of normality," he decided to finish, "no matter what it takes."

"But this is ridiculous!" Mikey suddenly blurted, a newfound anger behind his venomous words. "I mean, I – I should at least remember something, anything about my life before-… before whatever happened to me in the first place! Shell, I can't even remember that!" Propping one elbow on his knee, Mikey hid his face in his hand, glaring at the ground as if it would give him the answers he desperately needed. "What's wrong with me?"

Don blinked. It wasn't like Mikey to express such a storm of anger. He was usually so… happy. So full of sunlight and giggles and hugs. But this was a different, shaded side of his brother; this was the confused, scared and helplessly lost version of Michelangelo that Donatello never thought he'd see.

"It's going to be okay," Don murmured soothingly. "We have to stay positive, just like how Mast… W-We just have to stay positive. You'll remember everything soon, don't worry, we just have to… to..."

He drifted off, not knowing what else to say that could possibly soothe Mikey's angered state of mind. Luckily, Mikey spoke for him.

"Are we done? We aren't exactly making progress here," Mikey all but growled. He continued to glare daggers at the ground beneath him and the scientist swore he saw steam rising from the concrete due to the heated look.

Nonetheless, Donnie glanced at a nearby clock and sighed. It was late, almost eleven o'clock and besides, they weren't going to get anywhere with Mikey in a grouchy mood.

"Alright, we can talk tomorrow morning. For now, get some rest. And, Mike…" He hesitated, but decided it was for the best if he sent out the reminder one last time. "One of us is going to be right outside the door so please don't, you know…"

"I'm not going to try to leave," Mike growled. "I have no where else to go. Besides, you guys already tackled and knocked me out three times, so I'm fine just where I am, thank you very much."

Donnie barely managed to hide his flinch; this dark side of Michelangelo sure knew where to hit him where it hurt. Releasing a shaky breath, he quietly dared to say, "We're here to help you, Mikey. We would never do anything to hurt you. Trust me on that."

There was no reply. Even as Don gently flickered the light switch off and closed the door behind him as he exited, the slouched figure of Michelangelo sitting on the bed didn't inch from its rigid position.

And before his two brothers sitting on the couch could possibly question if there was any progress, Donnie shook his head 'no' and quietly climbed the steps to his bedroom.

[Author's Note]: Well dang, an angered/confused/scared Michelangelo can be feisty. I honestly didn't expect this chapter to begin like this (not to mention to kick off the entire story XD) but apparently, life is unpredictable. But I do hope it's somewhat good; it's my first story, after all. Please leave as much criticism as you would like (it would definitely keep this smile on my face :P), but try to be gentle. I'm a recruit to the FFN world c:

Each and every review means a lot to me ^-^