I do not own these characters(wouldn't life be nice if I did?). None of them are my creation.
Yeah, I realize this chapter is really short, but I don't have enough time to keep adding onto it to make it bigger and I like where I ended it. Tell me what you think! All flames will be used for roasting marshmellows and making s'mores!
Chapter One
"Don, why can't you get these genius urges of yours later in the morning? Like, when I can walk without falling over? You do know it's like, four in the morning." Michelangelo complained, rubbing his eyes and glaring in the general direction of his older brother, who, as usual, was not in the least bothered by the other's inconvenience.
"That's the whole point, Mikey. The sooner we get out there, the less of a chance we'll run into anyone. I don't want to get interrupted. This'll be one awesome bike!" Mikey rolled his eyes at the back of Donatello's head.
"Then why isn't Raph out here?" He demanded, taking a few hop steps to get in front of his brother and trot backwards. "It's his bike, isn't it?"
"Yup." Don nodded. "But he was out with Casey all night and came home exhausted. No use in waking him up and making him even grumpier than usual."
"Of course. Raph gets off cause he's grumpy. What about me? Can't I get off cause I'm pretty?" Mikey wanted to know, splaying his hands out.
"Uh, no."
"Would you have made me come if I had been out all night with Casey?" There was a pause as Donatello thought and then,
"Probably. But you're like the epitomy of massive energy that never stops circulating within your messed-up turtlized system. You could run for miles if I told you that you were missing your shows." Mikey blinked and ran into a trash can.
"All I got out of that was turtlized." He protested and Don grinned.
"Mission accomplished! Think on that one while you eat my dust!" He took off, taking several large leaps in order to gain distance. Using his bo staff to propel him up, he swung onto a firescape and ran up it.
"Turtlizied system, my shell." Mikey yelled at him. "But there's no way I'll eat your dust!" He leapt up to a window and leapt off of it, grabbing a clothesline and swinging up to where Donatello waited, arms crossed.
"And that's the Battle Nexus Champion's grand performance! Thank you, thank you!" He bowed. Don watched, shaking his head.
"Ever noticed I'm the only one who doesn't headslap you when you mention that? You know if Leo or Master Splinter had stayed in it, you'd've been out of there so fast that-"
"Details, details!" Mikey flapped his hands. "What happened to the sooner we get there?"
"Waiting on you!" Don said, trotting across the building's top and hopping off the edge. Mikey followed, muttering. They landed next to the closed-off section of the junkyard, where trucks came at six and at noon to dump their trash. Apparently Don had had this amazing idea for Raphael's new ShellCycle, as the last one had been trashed in a scirmish with the Purple Dragons and Master Splinter had decreed that someone go with him, since while normal citizens weren't exactly lively at four in the morning, criminals might be and someone had to keep watch while Don foraged.
"Do ya want me to keep watch or help?" Mikey asked, perching on the fence, ignoring the wires that did little harm to his tough skin. Don brought out his bo staff and vaulted over the fence, landing lightly a few feet to the left of Michelangelo.
"Just keep watch for now. If you get too bored, then you can help. The Purple Dragons may have claimed this place since we last came." Mikey nodded, still crouched on top of the fence, facing across the junkyard. He kept alert, though his mind kept travelling back to his bed and how he could be watching a premiere of one of his shows right now and-
"Mikey!"
"Aahh!" He jerked and glanced down at Donatello, who hadn't even inched from his position, watching his younger brother with amusement.
"Get down here, you goof." He ordered, hiding a grin as the subdued turtle scrambled down. "Help me, since you're no good up there." Mikey muttered indignantly, but obeyed, following Don into the rubble. They started burying into the hills, working to find tires, engine pieces, and whatever Don thought might be useful. They went through all kinds of junk and Mikey was sure he'd have never used any of it for anything he'd ever touch again, but at Don's insistence, he kept on searching and collecting. Finally, it was nearly six in the morning and the sun was peeking out of the clouds like a shy child. Mikey was pretty tired, hauling pieces of junk back and forth at Don's direction. His older brother ordered him about, but watched him secretly, wondering why he was suddenly so obedient. It was strange, he thought. Obedience had never been Mikey's strong point, though Leonardo and Master Splinter had usually managed to get something out of him.
"Don, can we take a break now?" The turtle sat down without waiting for any agreement, making Donatello sigh to himself. So much for obedient.
"Sure, after this one last piece of equipment. It's up there, on top of the old truck. See it?" Mikey pouted, but got no luck so he got up and hopped from ledge to ledge until he reached the truck and picked up the small span of metal.
"This what you wanted?" He called down and then jerked. Something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense that warned him to get off of the truck now. He quickly jumped for the nearest ledge and suddenly, everything was red. All he heard was an earsplitting crack and then his world went black.
Boom. Donatello's animal instincts went into overdrive and he shot away from the explosion, slamming into the fence and covering his head as debris fell like rain around him. Terror took ahold of him and he whirled around, regardless of the danger, crying out,
"Mikey!!" With panic.
Smoke enveloped the hilly junkyard but Don ran for it anyway, dodging falling pieces of metal, iron, and plastic. He nearly smacked into a pile of rubble and flew over it, searching with his hands and his eyes for his little brother.
"MIKEY!" Donatello knocked a plastic cartoon away from the pile where Mikey had been, taking his bo staff and prodding the junk carefully, afraid to loosen anything that might make it collapse. What really worried him was the idea that his brother might have been pinned beneath something and if he moved, it would collapse on Mikey and kill him. He bit his lip and forced himself to stop panicking. He wasn't helping anyone by hyperventilating. Breathing as evenly as he could, Don called Mikey's name out again,
"Michelangelo!"
The word felt so strange on his tongue. He never called Mikey that, but he hoped the instinctive reaction to Master Splinter or Leo's rebuke that usually used his whole name would revive him from unconsciousness, which was what he really hoped was Mikey's state. No, Mikey can't be dead. He can't be.
"Wh-what? Wha's going on- Umph!" Donatello heard the ominous creak of something giving under enormous weight.
"Mikey, don't move! Talk to me! Are you hurt? Where are you?" He demanded, turning in a quick circle.
"Uh, o-kay." Don bit his lip, hating the shaky sound to his cheerful brother's voice. There was a pause as Mikey got his bearings. "Um, well, my arm hurts a lot. Especially my elbow." The olive green turtle nodded, turning again and locating his brother by the sound of his voice.
"Uh, my leg burns. It feels like it's bleeding or something. And my head hurts too. A lot." Don strode up to the pile where Mikey's voice was immerging.
"Are you dizzy?" He asked, knowing that was one of the signs of head trauma.
"A little. It's not that bad, though."
"O-kay, just don't move. Even shifting might cause all the stuff on top of you to fall." Examining the pile, Don saw that the truck Mikey had been standing on was now on top of Mikey, probably held up by his shell.
"That's not scary at all, considering there's a truck on my back." Don heard the sarcasm in Mikey's voice, probably used to cover up the fear that was there too. He knew what was on him. Don swallowed, saying,
"Listen, unless I know it won't collapse on you and crush you, I can't do anything. I'm going to-" He stopped and whirled around. Mikey's voice sounded, worriedly,
"What? What is it, Donnie?" Donatello gazed at the line of gangsters who were grinning menacingly at him, all armed with pipes, chainsaws, and other random weapons. He sighed, pulling out his bo staff and falling into a fighting stance.
Aw, shell.