Thanks to all who reviewed! It took me a whole lot less time than I thought to finish this chapter. There's some action and plenty of Purple Dragon butt-kicking! As well as Mikey-ranting, but I won't spoil everything. Please review! I'll give you a cookie!

If I owned TMNT, I would be using my ideas on the movies and shows. All flames will be used to roast marshmellows and to burn my homework!

Chapter Two

"Don! What's going on?!" Don heard the panic in Mikey's voice, as well as the creaking of rusty machinery and metal parts as the younger turtle shifted.

"Don't move! It'll fall!" He snapped back, keeping an eye on the watching Dragons. There was a good fifteen or so of them, more than he'd ever seen together in one place. What surprised Donatello was that Hun wasn't in sight. Where was the tattooed leader of the gang? He quickly glanced around, checking everywhere but got no glimpse of the blonde monster. The olive green turtle wasn't too fond of the odds, but without Hun, these gangsters weren't much of a threat. With his bo staff and the piles of junk at his back, this would be easy enough. It wasn't like he was facing the Foot. They were much more skilled and more of a threat than these rag-tag gangsters. He could take them.

"You didn't answer my question." Mikey pointed out, irritated. "When you're lecturing us, it usually takes a tornado, or a hurricane, or an angry Raph to make you stop." Don rolled his eyes and imagined whacking him over the head to appease himself. He almost never did that.

"There's a bunch of Purple Dragons out here." He said placatingly, picturing the panicky images that were probably running though his brother's head.

"Nothing I can't handle." The gang snickered as one, when Don turned back to them.

"Oh, so you don't believe me, huh?" He said, grinning fiercely. One of them laughed racuously. He was tall, had a crew cut, and a large army jacket that was several sizes too big.

"Yer one lil' mutant against all've us. Whaddaya think ya can do 'ginst us Purple Dragons?!" He demanded, snorting like a pig. The others laughed too, all fifteen of the stupid gangsters. Don only grinned bigger.

"I think I can kick your butt. And maybe fix your buck teeth." He added the last part, peering at the rather monstrous molars. It took a moment for the guy to figure out he was being insulted and then, with a roar of rage, he ran straight at Donatello. The turtle sighed inwardly. This wasn't even going to be a challenge. He waited patiently for the man to get close enough and then whacked him in the side with the staff. As the gangster fell, he turned slightly and cracked him in the knees, sending him to the ground with a wail of pain.

Two came at him next, a short man with a chainsaw and a woman with two knives. Donatello noticed that the two were more at ease with their weapons than the others and he readied himself. The woman came first, feinting with one knife and coming up below with the other. Don let the feint fly on by his shoulder and hit her on the wrist, causing her to yelp and let go of her knife. He spun a speedy side kick and knocked her away. The man with the chainsaw came next, yelling like a madman. Don shook his head as he tripped the tattooed Dragon and hit him in the back with the butt of the staff. He was pretty sure the goon would stay down after that.

Five more came at him and he leapt into a wild dance of green and flashing purple, swinging and flying. Purple Dragons went flying as Don fought, throwing them away like pieces of trash. It was so easy; it almost made him wish Raph and Leo were there to properly put the Dragons through their paces. But he had to stay in front of Mikey's pile so that none of the gangsters disturbed the delicately balanced truck. There was always the fear of hearing it suddenly collapse that nagged him in the back of his mind, causing him to be jumpy. He nearly kicked one man all the way to the fence and winced when he heard the crash. But, more than anything, he was desperate to end the fight so that he could get back to helping Mikey. There was a lot of weight on his back, and even though his shell would hold through, it would still strain him. And the continued bleeding could cause him to faint from blood loss and cause the truck and all the trash on top of it to collapse on him.

Donatello threw a last punch and sweeping blow with his bo staff and the last Purple Dragon fell. He wiped the sweat of his brow and took the three steps that brought him up to the truck's pile.

"Mikey?" He asked.

"Uh-huh?" Came the intelligent answer. He sighed in relief.

"O-kay, the Dragons are defeated, so I'm going to work on getting you out. Just stay still, whatever you do. In fact, don't do anything!" There was a pause as he took a step back and surveyed the situation and realized Mikey was panting. A frown clouded his face. Why on earth is he panting? It isn't that hot.. Wait!

"Mikey, are you o-kay?" There was a nervous pause and then,

"Y-yeah.." Don glared in the general direction of his brother. As if he could feel the heat of the glare, Mikey said, "O-kay, o-kay, my leg hurts a lot. It burns and my back hurts too. That truck is heavy.." He muttered the last part. Don bit his lip. He needed to get Mikey out of there as soon as possible, but how could he do that without hurting Mikey?

Then,

"Why don't you call Leo and Raph? You know, just in case something else happens." Mikey suggested, sounding as if he didn't know he was answering his brother's mental dilemma. Don blinked when he realized the idea hadn't even occurred to him to call for reinforcements. He had been so worried and busy hyperventilating about Mikey's condition, he hadn't even had time to think about his other brothers. He hit his head with his hand. Well, that's embarrassing.

"I think I'll do that." He told the other turtle, imagining the big grin that would be stretching over his little brother's face right about now. Before Mikey could come up with something else to embarrass him, he pulled out his shell cell and dialed.

"Leonardo."

"Leo!" Don hadn't even realized how panicked he sounded and felt annoyed. It was probably talking to his oldest brother, who was always in control that made the relief rush through him, comforting him. In one word, Leo translated all of his confidence, quiet authority, and reassuring self-control to the listener. Don thought it was the best thing he'd heard all day.

"Don? What's wrong? Are you alright?" Don sighed and took a deep breath, steadying his frayed nerves.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's Mikey who's in trouble. We're in the junkyard and a bomb went off or something. Mikey got most of it. He was buried by rubble and-" Don paused, thinking he heard something. He glanced around. The Purple Dragons were stirring now, or the ones that could still move. He watched them warily, hearing Raph's irritated

"What's going on?" In the background. Leo's voice came back on, asking sharply,

"Don? Donatello, is Mikey all right?" Don kept a sharp eye on the groaning gangsters as he quickly finished his narrative, ignoring Raph's louder demands.

"Uh, yeah, he is at the moment. But he's under a truck and a bunch of junk that's held up by his shell. If he moves too much, he'll knock it loose and it'll crush him." Don heard Leo's sharp intake of breath. "His leg's bleeding too. You guys need to get over here." Mikey's voice sounded, weaker than before, Don noticed with a pang.

"Don't forget the Purple Dragons." Don quickly informed his oldest brother about the gang as well. Leonardo was as surprised as Don had been to hear about the Purple Dragons.

"Do you think they set this up?" He asked curiously. Donatello shrugged, keeping a weather eye on the gangsters, none of which looked too eager to move.

"Maybe, but we won't know for sure until you guys get here and I can concentrate on getting Mikey out safely." Don could practically hear Leo nodding over the phone.

"We're getting in the ShellMobile right now. Hold on." And he clicked off. Don put the shell cell away and stood guard, waiting patiently for his brothers to get there. Mikey continued to breath hard and, after a little while of listening to the tortured panting, Donatello turned around and, using his bo staff, began to knock off some of the bricks piled on top of the truck. He was finally starting to make some headway when a club slammed into his shoulder.

"Arrghh!" He fell to his knees, clamping his hand on the throbbing limb.

"Don?!" He heard Mikey's voice sound in alarm and forced himself to move, dodging another blow from the enormous weapon. Gritting his teeth, he fell onto one arm and swung his legs, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. Two other Purple Dragons were on their feet and alert now, coming at him with crude knives. Ignoring the pain that burned in his shoulder, Don grabbed his bo staff and came to his feet. He ran at them, determined to keep them away from Mikey's pile.

"Donnie?!" Mikey yelled again, and Don quickly replied as he thwacked one of the goons with his bo staff and then knocked another away,

"I'm fine, don't worry about me, o-kay? Just stay still!" For a moment there was no reply and Don felt like his heart might stop. And then,

"Does it have to be about me? Are you sure you're o-kay?" Don sighed. Too bad he can practically read my mind without even seeing me.

"Yes, it does. You're the one stuck under a truck and a pile of bricks." He whirled and sent a flying side kick that hurled one of the Dragons away. His shoulder throbbed like it had its own heartbeat, making the purple masked turtle clench his fists around the bo staff. Concentrate on the task at hand. Relax.

"You're not answering my question!" Michelangelo's impatience was practically seeping through the trash to Don's ears as he slammed two more gangsters into the pile next to him. He rolled his eyes and hit another one in the stomach, dropping the unfortunate gangster.

"Do you know how immature you sound?" He wanted to know, biting his lip to keep any sound from escaping when a stray blow managed to hit his shoulder. He snapped his leg out and the attacker went a good six feet before dropping lifelessly into the dust. He turned slightly, twirling his staff and peering through the rising dust toward the road. Where are you guys?

"Who're you talking to?" One of the Dragons demanded, swinging haplessly at the nimble turtle who easily avoided the crazed blows.

"A pile of garbage." He replied, just as Mikey gave himself away by saying, sarcastically,

"The turtle detective next door." All of the gangsters stopped and stared at the apparently vocal pile of bricks. Even though Mikey had just put himself into incredible danger, Donatello couldn't help but snort and snicker at the expressions on their faces. Then, one of the more intelligent Dragons put two and two together and, surprise, surprise, got four.

"One of the other turtles's in there!" He declared.

"Congradulations." Don muttered, wanting to hit his head on the nearest tree. How much brains does this take? I've been protecting this pile for the last fifteen minutes, as well as talking to it, and worrying over its well-being, and it took them this long to figure out that my brother's inside? Is this all they've got to throw at us? Even the Foot guards had a higher IQ than these brainiacs.

"Are they just now figuring this out? What am I, invisible?" The indignant prankster turtle demanded, irritated. He had been dragged out of bed at four in the morning, trekked around a frickin' junkyard for almost two hours, then been almost blown up, buried by bricks and stuck under a truck for the love of the Silver Sentry, and these frickin' morons didn't even realize there was more than one turtle on the field.

"Not exactly my best day ever." He muttered. At least he wasn't laying facedown or this whole situation would really suck. His left cheek was pressed into the ground and he was facing toward Don's voice, one arm tucked under his plastron and the other splayed out in front of him. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but wasn't too bad considering. He wrinkled his nose. The smell could be improved, of course. Ugh.

"Hey!" Donatello's cry of surprise made him stiffen and crane his neck to try and see through the planks of wood that, of course, had landed in front of his face. For a moment, all the orange masked turtle heard was the crack of wood on metal and then crack. His jaw dropped and he all but screamed,

"Donnie!" In terror. That was the sound of a gun going off. Silence met his wail, to his horror. It was all he could do to keep from wriggling about and trying to free himself, remembering Don's warning. O-kay, this not cool. Not cool! I gotta stay calm, remember what Master Splinter said! Relax! Focus! Focus... On what?

"Don!" He yelled again and heard the screech of tires. His ears were rewarded with a different sound, that of Raphael enraged and Purple Dragons getting their butts kicked. Leonardo's war cries reached his ears as well, but those ended quickly. The next sound he heard made his heart plummet.

"Don? Don, answer me!" There was dread, horror, and dismay in his oldest brother's voice.

Oh, shell. This was not his day!