No Longer Responsible

TMNT Fan Fic by teh Vilsy

A/N: Peter Laird, Kevin Eastman, Mirage Studios… talk to them if you wanna know who's responsible for these lovable green fellows. Not me of course.

Also, this story was just spurred from my annoyance that a lot of Mikey/Donnie scene were cut from the final TMNT 2007 movie in favor of angst. So I decided to let Donatello be counter-angsty. Please take it with a grain (or bag) of salt. Fear teh angst.

Bright blue eyes snapped open sharply as their owner unceremoniously took a clumsy spill over the back rest of the worn yet comfortable couch. "Sensei, I'm watching it for the science!" a youthful voice suddenly barked randomly from the floor. Michelangelo had more or less claimed the piece of furniture as his own personal roost. He had taken to staying up late and loafing on the well-used cushions while vegging out in front of droning infomercials about diet pills or juice makers. Late one evening, Master Splinter had emerged from his slumber to retrieve a drink of water and caught his impressionable son watching a late night program of questionable moral content. After that embarrassment, Michelangelo had been rather jumpy while watching TV after hours.

But as the startled teenager pulled himself up to look around for the source of the loud noise that had jarred him awake, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He blinked a few times and stood motionless, staring at the dim light that emanated from the television screen. As his senses returned to him, he immediately turned and crept down the hallway to the dojo. Whenever there was a loud crash during the night, it was always Raphael flying off the handle over something or other. He never liked to get involved in his bigger brother's storms of rage; despite loving to fight, Michelangelo hated confrontation amongst his siblings. However, his innate curiosity always desired to be satiated even if it meant putting himself in harm's way. He moved silently to the entry way and peeked around the corner. The dojo was dark and still; if Raphael was really inside taking his anger out on various heavy and expensive objects, it would not be so peaceful.

"Weird," Michelangelo mused under his breath as he turned back to observe the nearby bedroom doors. Had he imagined the sound? If there was danger, surely Leonardo and Splinter would have lighted from their beds to come and investigate. If the culprit was not in fact Raphael, then...

CRASH

Michelangelo perked his attention back down the hallway to the other end of the lair. The sound was much more distant this time, and only barely audible from where he stood. He hastily backtracked through the living room, past the kitchen and to the end of the corridor. There, he was met with a solid door adorned with a sign that read very plainly, "KEEP OUT, PLEASE."

Having matured slightly from his younger days, Michelangelo would honor such requests given the lecture he would receive if he did not comply. However, at two o'clock in the morning after two loud disturbances, he resolved to forcefully let himself in with an unscrupulous shoulder ram. Surprisingly, the door had already been unlocked and slightly ajar, so such force was completely unnecessary. Instead of making a graceful and poised entrance, Michelangelo wildly tumbled into the dark room, did a somersault and landed unceremoniously on his shell.

"Ow..." he groaned indignantly.

"Who's there?" an angry voice demanded not far away.

Michelangelo rubbed his head ruefully and looked up to see an ominous figure silhouetted against the dim glow of tiny orange and green lights. The orange-clad turtle reached back for his nunchaku but to his dismay found them to be missing from his belt. They were more than likely wedged between the sofa cushions. Whoever had broken into their home would have to settle for a fist fight to the death. Michelangelo quickly recovered his footing and clenched his fingers together. As he rose to his full height, ready to lunge at the stranger before him, a small clicking sound suddenly echoed through the silence and a blinding flash of light assailed his vision.

"Mikey," the gruff voice simply stated with an air of irritation.

Michelangelo squinted and marveled at the fact that the intruder apparently knew his nickname, but when his vision focused he was surprised to see no intruder at all.

"Donnie?" he breathed, scratching his head at the sight of his intellectually inclined brother standing by a light switch with a rather perturbed look on his usually calm face. "What're you doin' in here?"

"This is my lab, genius," Donatello hissed with a tone of exasperation that Michelangelo could not recall leaving the mild-mannered turtle's mouth in recent history. A silver-colored object abruptly dropped from the violet-clad turtle's right hand and impacted noisily on the hard floor. Michelangelo cringed at the "TING TING TING TING" sound and grimaced nervously when he further examined his brother's expression. Donatello looked livid.

"D-dude, s-orry about--" Michelangelo began in a stammer, but was unable to complete his thought when he caught glimpse of the condition of the room around him. Complementing the intimidating countenance of his brother, the usual order of the lab appeared to be partially in shambles. Several of Donatello's recent engineering projects lay battered and broken against the wall and an entire box of tools had been spilled across the floor. Michelangelo noticed that the object Donatello had dropped was a solitary wrench which had bounced its way over to its fellow tools sprawled across the shiny tiles of the floor. The confused turtle took another quick look around to see if there really had been any intruders lurking about. Who else could have possibly done such a thing to Donatello's lab?

"Donnie... what-"

"What's going on in here?" A calm yet concerned voice came from behind. Michelangelo quickly rounded on the doorway to see two glinting eyes observing from the shadows of the hallway. Apparently Leonardo had been sleeping lightly and had come to investigate. His brown eyes passed from his little brother to Donatello who offered nothing but silence and a stern glare. A moment later, Leonardo noticed the overturned machinery, toolbox, and overall disarray of the lab that his brother normally kept so spic-and-span. These items had not just fallen accidentally-- they had been thrown forcibly. Leonardo's defensive nature kicked in immediately and his honed senses simultaneously analyzed the environment. The only living things he detected in the vicinity were himself and his two brothers. Leonardo's muscles tensed and his sharp eyes jumped directly back to Donatello for answers. "What happened?"

Michelangelo turned back to Donatello and considered blurting out "Well that's what I've been tryin' to ask!" but the harsh and pent-up expression on Donatello's face kept the words from leaving his throat. His clever brother was doing something out of the ordinary-- ignoring Leonardo's inquiries with defiant silence. Whoa, Michelangelo thought as he stood back and took in the awkward situation. Why wouldn't Donatello answer? Surely if his beloved laboratory had been sabotaged or if he had been attacked, he would openly report the incident to his brothers. But instead, he stood there in an obstinate manner and glared menacingly at Leonardo for reasons Michelangelo could not begin to fathom. Was it possible that Donatello... himself...

"Sorry," Michelangelo suddenly offered in a hushed voice, his arms sliding behind his shell sheepishly. Both of his brothers turned their gazes slowly to acknowledge his statement. "Sorry, I stayed up too late watching TV, ya know? An' I guess I was like sleepwalking and I thought this was the kitchen." Both Leonardo and Donatello lifted an eye ridge curiously as Michelangelo delivered his story. Michelangelo bit his lip; he was really going out on a strange limb here but it was too late to climb back down. He bolstered his performance with the most pitiful look of regret his shimmering eyes could manage, and he directed this charade to Leonardo. "I'm really sorry... I knocked over all of Donnie's stuff on accident. I'm really sorry, Donnie," he added, turning to stare directly into Donatello's eyes. The corner of his brother's mouth twitched, but his expression did not change, nor did he choose to speak on the matter of Michelangelo's confession. "I'll clean it up..."

Leonardo made chastising moan of displeasure in his throat and nodded at Donatello as if now understanding why he was giving such dirty looks. "You ought to have more consideration for others, Michelangelo," he began, crossing his arms and shaking his head at his smaller brother in disappointment.

Michelangelo lowered his eyes and frowned, as he usually did when being lectured. "I know, I'm sorry, Leo."

Donatello looked very tense and uncomfortable but still didn't move a muscle or speak a word.

"I thought we were working on being more disciplined?" Leonardo continued, raising a finger and waving it a few times to make his point.

"Yeah, Leo. I'm sorry. I'll try harder."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Donatello," Leonardo instructed in a parental tone, as if the first several times Michelangelo had said he was sorry had not been accounted for.

"Sorry, Donatello," Michelangelo repeated while glancing back up at his silent brother. Donatello looked utterly flustered.

"Go back to bed, Donatello. Let Michelangelo take care of this mess. He seems to like staying up late anyhow." With that, Leonardo slipped backward into the shadows of the hallway and made his retreat to his bedroom.

The remaining brothers stood quietly as they listened to their leader's soft footfalls until they were no longer audible. Michelangelo grinned slightly, taking his incredible acting skills as a victory against Leonardo's scrutiny and perception. However, Donatello finally stirred and did not seem nearly as amused. "What the heck was that?" he wheezed between gritted teeth as he stormed over to the door and shut it tightly.

"Uh... well I thought-"

"Whatever you THOUGHT you were THINKING was STUPID, you IDIOT!"

Michelangelo's heart sank as he took in Donatello's hurtful words. The subject of his intelligence was always an avenue for poking well-meaning fun, and Michelangelo didn't always mind it. Most of the time he enjoyed the attention his so-called lack of wit got him. But the manner in which Donatello had delivered these words was intentional and spiteful. Donatello must have realized this, because his angry expression melted away suddenly as if he had just slapped Michelangelo across the face and was regretting it.

"Mikey..." he said in a softer tone, his fists still clenched in frustration. The two looked at each other for some time before Donatello spoke again. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Michelangelo mumbled cautiously while looking away, lest his wit be brought into question again.

"You lied to Leonardo."

The weight of his spontaneous rouse finally bore down on Michelangelo and he grimaced at the thought. "Yeah..." He crossed his arms and seemed torn-- annoyed at Donatello for being so crass when all of his intentions had been well-meaning. "Well you seemed really ticked, like you and Leo were about to go at it for some reason... like you were... I dunno. Hidin' something." Michelangelo regretted his roundabout accusation, but Donatello stepped forward and nodded.

"Yeah well," he murmured, prodding his index fingers together as he contemplated his next words. "You shouldn't have taken the blame for what I did."

Michelangelo's eyes jumped back up to his brother as he confirmed his suspicions. He pried for further explanation but tried to come off as oblivious. "Whuddya mean, what you did? What happened, dude?"

Donatello strode away from his brother and stopped in front of one of the devices that lay damaged on the floor. He nudged it with his foot and glared at it with a look of despair. It was then that something (in Michelangelo's eyes) surreal happened. Donatello quickly drew back a clenched fist and drove it straight into the brick wall. Michelangelo let out an audible "Eep!" and quickly skittered over to his brother and grabbed the offending hand.

"Whoa whoa, Donnie! What's the deal, bro? Be chill! You don't want Leo comin' back and lecturin' me again, do ya?" Michelangelo's attempt at spreading mirth fell short as Donatello wrenched his hand from his brother's grasp.

"Get out," he commanded under his breath, pointing one of his bruised fingers at the door.

"Wh-what...?"

"I said get out!" Donatello spat, whirling around to give Michelangelo an intimidating scowl.

Michelangelo stood in quiet amazement as he beheld this unprecedented rage from his calm and collected brother. What was more shocking was that Michelangelo leaned forward and boldly replied. "No."

Donatello's scowl quickly reverted into a confused grimace as he blinked at his orange-clad brother. "No...?" he repeated in a much more familiar voice.

"Gimme that!" Michelangelo snapped, quickly snatching at Donatello's face mask and pulling it off of his brother's head.

"Hey! What the heck are you doing, Mikey? Give that back!" Donatello insisted as he lunged forward with and outreached arm, but was met with Michelangelo's elbow to his plastron.

"Not a chance, Raph," Michelangelo retorted with as much seriousness in his voice as he could conjure. "I'm tellin' Donnie you've been parading around with his mask on, pretendin' to be him. Well ya can't fool me, dude. Donnie's not that much of a jerk."

Donatello stopped struggling and realized where Michelangelo was going with his taunt. He stood back and sighed deeply, running his fingers across his bare face. "OK, I'm sorry, Mikey. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I was wrong."

"Donnie? Wrong...? Dude, I gotta get that on tape!" Michelangelo sang merrily as he turned around to hold Donatello's mask up with a grin.

Finally, Donatello cracked a smile. "Yeah, you wish, Mikey." He accepted the cloth bandana and replaced it across his face while Michelangelo examined him to make sure he really wasn't Raphael in disguise.

"So bro, you gotta tell me what happened. Why're you so mad?"

"It's nothing, Mikey. I'm sorry I woke you," Donatello said dismissively as he reached down to pick up the heavy mass of metal and wires. Without being asked, Michelangelo forced himself beside his brother and grabbed hold of the other end of the device and helped lift it. "You don't need to help me. Go on to bed, OK?"

"Nothin' doin', bro," Michelangelo declared resolutely as the two of them heaved the cumbersome object. "I ain't leavin' till you tell me what's goin' on with you."

"It's petty and childish," Donatello blurted out as they dropped the device on one of his workbenches.

Michelangelo shot him a smile and leaned his arms on the machine. "You're talkin' to the right guy then, dude!"

Donatello uttered a "HA!" in agreement then flicked his hands animatedly in a "shooing" manner. "Don't lean on that, it's fragile."

Michelangelo's eyes widened in disbelief as he lifted his weight from the device. "Are you kidding? Dude, you already totaled the thing. What more could I possibly do?"

"HA!" Donatello chirped again, but this time in a much more dismal tone. "You're right on that one, Mikey." He placed his hands on his hips and leaned over to look inside the gaping crack in the object's siding. "The micro-processor flew out and the motherboard looks to be cracked from the impact. And the liquid nitrogen from the over-clock cooling system is leaking out."

Michelangelo stumbled back a few feet and cleared his throat. His knowledge of chemistry wasn't the greatest but any sort of liquid leaking out of a machine sounded dangerous. He crossed his arms over his chest and observed the device with idle curiosity. It was cube-shaped, or at least it had been before being hurled against the wall. It had a black, sleek and shiny casing and an absurd amount of multi-colored buttons lining the top of it. "So uh... like what was that thing, anyway?" he asked sheepishly.

"I don't know yet," Donatello admitted, rubbing his chin with a disappointed look in his eyes. "But it doesn't matter; it's scrap now."

"So why'd ya trash it, dude? Blue screen of death?"

Donatello shook his head and sighed again. "No, I just felt like... throwing something."

Michelangelo rubbed his chin thoughtfully and took a look at all the tools scattered across the floor. He suddenly had a brilliant idea. He perked up and lifted a finger resolutely in the air. "Ya know, bro, if you wanna throw stuff you can always borrow my teddy bear. The little dude doesn't mind bein' chucked once an' a while, ya know? Does a lot less damage too..."

Donatello either thought the teddy bear-chucking proposal to be silly or he just hadn't heard his brother's offer. "I just got angry, that's all."

Michelangelo looked pensive, and then circled around to sit in one of Donatello's computer chairs. "Bro, that's not angry. When you get angry, you go do crossword puzzles or that Saduko thing... or whatever it's called. Dun deny it, I seen ya do it." Donatello couldn't argue. "But that," he continued, motioning to the broken machines scattered about. "That's a Raph moment." Donatello seemed to be clamming up again as he ignored Michelangelo's statements and started picking up his tools. So, Michelangelo pressed on. "What's eatin' ya? You can tell me anything, bro."

Donatello dropped a hammer on his foot and gritted his teeth at both the discomfort and Michelangelo's sentimental statement.

"You OK, brah?" Michelangelo questioned, spinning around and around in a circle in the swiveling chair.

"I wanted to be irresponsible," Donatello murmured from under his breath. "For once."

"Whuh?" Michelangelo drawled, stopping the chair after becoming rather dizzy.

"He wanted to know why he was the ONLY one who had to be responsible..." Donatello continued darkly while ominously standing up and shifting his tired eyes to Michelangelo.

"Who...?"

"Leonardo..."

"..." Michelangelo huddled down against the chair's backrest as he waited for Donatello to continue. When he could no longer bear the intent gaze of his brother's hardened eyes, he ventured another inquiry. "Wh-what about him?"

"Ever feel like you're under appreciated, Mikey?" Donatello suddenly asked, his head tilted up with an air of arrogance to give character to his question.

Michelangelo let out a reflexive guffaw and rocked forward in the chair. "Do I!"

"Like no matter what you do, and how hard you try to do the best that you can, in the end it's not important?"

Michelangelo's merriment began to wane as quickly as it had returned. He watched Donatello turned back around and kneel on the floor to flip the toolbox right-side up. He then proceeded to place the tools back inside. "Uh... are you like, writing a book about me, Donnie?"

"No," Donatello assured him as he delicately placed various sized screwdrivers back in their appropriate bin. "I suppose I'm just... resentful."

"Of Leo...?" Michelangelo dared, biting his lip as if uttering some sort of blasphemy. He expected Leonardo to suddenly reemerge from the shadows at the mention of his name.

Donatello paused direly, and then continued stowing the last of the screwdrivers in their designated slots. Michelangelo seemed to be reeling at this stretch of silence, so Donatello continued. "I understand what sensei sees in him, but..." He closed his fist and looked at the small scrapes on his tough skin and smirked. "Sometimes I think he made a poor choice."

Michelangelo was starting to feel a little uneasy about the conversation, but wanted to hear more and ask more questions. Donatello sensed Michelangelo's unrest and turned around from his position on the floor next to his toolbox. "I guess it's not my right to feel that way." Michelangelo shrugged at this warily. He was all for free-thought and free-action, but he knew that it mostly got him into trouble, especially where the wishes and will of Master Splinter was concerned. Suddenly Donatello's muscles visibly tensed and his fist squeezed tighter. "But when he had the audacity to ask 'why am I the only one who has to be responsible'... I could've strangled him."

Michelangelo's blue eyes grew wide at Donatello's euphemism to commit patricide. He then blinked several times and looked down when he realized Donatello must have been referring to their brother, not their father. He vaguely remembered the heated argument between Leonardo and Raphael over a month ago. He hadn't thought much of the statement; Leonardo was always saying things like that to Raphael when they bickered. He had not realized that Donatello had taken the comment to heart. Michelangelo shifted his weight in the chair and leaned forward, his blue eyes fixed to Donatello again. His brother exuded a heavy aura of frustration and lingering anger. He waited for Donatello to continue speaking, but instead of further explanation, Donatello stood up and lifted a weary arm in the direction of the door again. "You had better get to sleep, Mikey. It's late. Thanks for your help."

"What about the mess?"

"I'll take care of it."

"But Donnie-"

"Please, Mikey!" Donatello pleaded resolutely. He had a stern yet solemn look in his tired brown eyes that Michelangelo decided not to contend with. Instead, the orange-clad turtle nodded and stood up from the computer chair and shuffled toward the lab's door. When he looked back, Donatello had crouched back down and resumed picking up his tools in a meticulous, painstakingly slow manner, as if he was committing them to a mental inventory. Michelangelo knew it would take him forever to clean the room. With a sigh, he opened the door and slipped out into the dark hallway.