Ouroboros Complex
By: Serendipity
Chapter One: letters from the wasteland
On the waydown they saw a lot they don't remember
and if you asked them how, they couldn't say how they got there
and if you want them now you could just pull on the lever
and say, "I'm hung up on gravity."
"The Waydown", Modest Mouse
The passage of time after a death really wasn't relevant to the impact that death had left. Really, the idea of time healing all wounds seemed to more or less imply that time was like water, and pain like a blood stain. Or a drop of dye, if one wanted to be use a less morbid metaphor. The more water, the more the stain was meant to thin out and dissipate, edging thin tendrils outwards, fading lighter and lighter until, at one point, the stain ended completely. At an untraceable point, where red left behind clear, pristine water and sadness cut completely into calm.
But look at that, years passed and the stain remained. To be honest, they were never very good at letting go of the past. Maybe that was the whole problem with trying to move on.
It was a hopeless cause to begin with, but those were the sort they latched on to, anyway.
So, there it was. Four members of the family left after their brother was murdered.
They were what they were because of an old grievance. Their family was never the kind to let a tragedy go unpunished, and so, they made plans for vengeance.
They failed, and the three remaining members of their clan fled the battle, their father's death at their heels.
Raphael left shortly after, to no one's great surprise. It felt like there was a clock winding down the minutes to their last hour, counting off each individual loss.
And then there were two.
Six PM.
A red light flashed on the display where Donatello kept his security system information, signaling in intermittent flashes, and its shrill beeping broke the silence of their Lair. It was an almost leadenly complete silence. He was doing nothing but paperwork and Leonardo was practically a statue, tucked away into the usual corner with his legs folded and his eyes shut, meditating as tea light candles flickered in their glass bowls around him.
Donatello, absentmindedly going over some calculations, paid his brother little mind as he leaned over to flick the switch that would turn on the monitor for a visual.
Business as usual.
Now it was just the two of them. Funny how much of a difference fifteen years made, especially when they were riddled so thoroughly with battles, with strife, with deaths of loved ones.
It left them in a smaller pocket of the sewer, him working on keeping them protected and Leo sinking into his ninjutsu and meditation like it would keep him aloft and stable. Raphael was probably a Hell's Angel in some remote part of the country, if he was even in the country, and as for Michelangelo…well. Neither of them really liked revisiting that piece of history, no matter how crucial it was to their current state.
The monitor flickered to life with a burst of static followed by the indistinct image of a shadow, human-shaped, human-sized, touching the wall that should open up to the old Lair they left behind. No details were decipherable from the visual and its blurry, grainy quality, but there was definitely an intruder and it was definitely aware that something was behind that wall. The door was camouflaged to seem utterly indistinguishable from any normal sewer wall to passerby, so if that human was so entranced by it, he clearly had some information he shouldn't have. Fortunately, this particular intruder, or whoever it was who gave him his info, was behind the times.
"Is there a problem?" Leonardo's voice was startlingly close to his ear. True to perfect ninja form, his brother seemed to like crossing entire rooms in utter silence in the time span of mere seconds. Donatello, used to it all by now, hardly flinched.
"Someone found our old location," he said, and made a gesture at the screen. The shadow moved its hands over the wall one last, futile time, and then began to move away. Donatello charted the paths it might be taking as he watched it- a right turn this way, or a side tunnel, or follow the main route all the way to a certain area, perhaps at that junction where one sewer main diverged.
Behind him, Leonardo tossed him his bo staff and he caught it thoughtlessly, without bothering to glance up. Adjusting his grip on the smooth wood, he reached back to slide the weapon in place. Automatic motion. He grabbed the duffle bag from under his desk and hoisted it onto his shoulder, adjusting it with care.
Leonardo was already walking in his smooth, measured glide towards the door. They couldn't very well afford to let any suspicious activity go by unchecked now, especially if it involved their old living quarters.
Although their old lair had gone unlived-in for at least ten years, Donatello had still kept up all the old security systems as far as surveillance went. Several other tunnels in the sewers were given the same treatment, most of them leading either to their home or their old home. They required constant upkeep, but were quite effective at tracking intruders. And if they needed extra care, well, it wasn't like he didn't have the time. They didn't go aboveground much anymore, and they tended to pick their battles with much more care than they ever had before.
Part of it, he supposed, came with growing older and gaining perspective. The rest had nothing to do with gaining and everything to do with its opposite.
"Even with the night vision activated, the quality of the images from those surveillance cameras isn't too good," Donatello said as they headed out for the location. "I'll look over the footage later to see if there's a clearer salvageable image. Any guesses on who the mystery man might be?"
In all honesty, whoever it was he'd seen on the monitor screen would be long gone by the time they arrived, given the relative distance from one lair to the next. They didn't stay close to their old home out of sheer practicality. It was tactically sound to move a considerable distance away instead of staying nearby, especially since they had reasons to suspect their location was known to a couple enemies. Well, one in particular.
"No one just 'wanders by' an area as remote as that," Leonardo said, "And it's not easily accessible. So it's unlikely that we caught someone just wandering the sewer system for kicks."
Leonardo had a certain amount of distaste in his tone whenever he referred to the handful of people who liked exploring sewer systems for fun. It was understandable, since they were definitely a security risk, but Donatello also thought there was some kind of territorial thought in there as well. The humans could live aboveground and go anywhere they pleased, so why did they have to invade the small piece of the city that belonged (technically, if not legally,) to them? It wasn't so much resentment of the humans' freedom so much as a need to secure their own.
"He seemed to be inspecting the wall for something," Donatello mentioned.
There was a small section of the wall that was also camouflaged to appear to be part of the concrete and brick that formed the walls. Beneath it hid the keypad for the number code that opened the door lock. Someone sliding their hands over that area of the wall made it almost a given that they were looking for any hidden compartments or mechanisms there. He watched Leonardo's eyes narrow as he took that information in.
"Of course," he added, "It was a pump station before it was our home, so it's entirely possible that they sent a worker out to inspect it." Possible, but unlikely. The place had clearly stood abandoned long before they'd made it their home, but it was good to factor in all possibilities. "And none of our enemies have actively sought us out for some time. Especially since we've made the standing truce with Karai."
Leonardo folded his arms. On anyone else it was defensive body language, but the gesture only made his brother seem go inward more, not self-protective so much as internally focused. "Mm," he said, a soft sound of assent. "Still. There are always dissenters."
Oh, yes. They'd killed too many Foot for there not to be members of that organization who wanted them dead, whether for honor, personal vendetta, or just plain vindictiveness. But Karai kept a stranglehold on her minions, as much as her father had. (One of the only good things that the Shredder had taught her.) If someone was slipping out of line, she tended to crush them fairly quickly. Then again, this could be a more subtle rebel than most.
"You'd think they'd be more careful, though, if they were ninja," he pointed out, quite rationally.
"They might have. Your security system was probably too difficult for them to spot."
Donatello shrugged slightly, allowing himself a moment of pride for his abilities. The cameras were very much as well-hidden as the door itself. No fear of having anyone but the most skilled observer finding them out. "Well, I don't suppose it would be too much to ask for a convenient clue," he said sardonically.
Of course it was. Reality was never really that accommodating. When they arrived, the only traces of Mr. Mystery Intruder were their tracks, made with an unremarkable pair of sneakers, and a crumpled Snickers bar wrapper. Unfortunately, their mystery intruder had neglected to leave anything of use behind that might serve to pinpoint their identity.
Leonardo picked up the wrapper between thumb and forefinger with a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "Eureka," he said in a dry tone, "A clue."
"Fantastic," Donatello said, "Your powers of perception astound me, Holmes." That said, he began to check the wall for any sign that the lock mechanism had been tampered with. Not a trace. Excellent. At least there was that to ease some of his worries. Now the only issue was worrying if this person had any inkling of where they were currently staying. They'd been very good at covering their tracks- it came with the profession of ninja, really, but trouble still dogged their footsteps too often. It wasn't impossible to find them.
"Well?" Leonardo asked, finally.
Withdrawing from the door, he shook his head. "No sign of entry. Might have been an ordinary sewer worker, might have been a nefarious foe. We have nothing but a candy wrapper to aid us in our investigation."
Leonardo's expression lightened up a notch, settling just above the border of 'teasing', hints of a smile playing about his mouth. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius, Don. Use your amazingly analytical mind to solve the problem."
He rolled his eyes, his frustration not entirely feigned. "Sorry to disappoint, but I left my secret spy decoder ring in my other duffle bag. In this case, the criminal left nothing at the scene of the crime to identify him by. We could discover what kind of sneakers he was wearing, if I wanted to bother, which would tell us next to nothing about his identity. Although it does tell us that he probably was no Foot ninja- they typically wear tabi boots." Donatello took the candy wrapper from Leonardo's hand, "Also, I can't envision one of them snacking on these, especially not during a recon mission."
"Which leaves a possible gang member with a grudge, either a survivor from the Purple Dragons, or someone from one of the new ones trying to make a name for themselves. We haven't attracted the attention of anyone major for years, and there's no reason for Bishop to come after us now. None that I can think of, anyway."
Leonardo almost spat out the name of their oldest living enemy, as if allowing it to touch his tongue could poison him. Michelangelo's abduction and consequent dissection had presumably given the man everything he needed from them, and he hadn't acted against them unless they attacked him first. Which they had. Many times.
That he hadn't made any moves to exterminate them spoke volumes on the man's opinion of how much of a threat the remaining turtles were. As always, Bishop merely regarded them as a troublesome thorn in his side at worst and possible unwilling pawns at best. As insulting and enraging as that was, it was that perception that kept them alive this long. Of course, that fact was no easier to swallow than the idea that they were nothing but gnats to the man who'd murdered their family.
"This isn't his style, anyway," Donatello said, more than content to brush the possibility away. When Bishop moved, it was with agents and high technology stolen from the alien races he captured and tormented. Not with one lone scout. One lone amateur scout, considering the footprints and lack of subtlety.
"Hm. I suppose not."
"Well. It might have just been a worker," Donatello pointed out. "Old sneakers, no sign of damage, no lewd or offensive graffiti, and not a single ninja footprint. And of course, an unprofessional candy bar."
They looked at each other and smiled grimly, because they both knew they would believe it was a worker or anyone of a similar persuasion when they saw the undeniable proof of it before their eyes, and even then there would be doubt.
It would be nice, but neither of them thought it was anything as normal and harmless as a passing worker, or even someone out exploring the wild sewers of New York. Their luck just didn't work that way. Their luck was more of the 'insidious alien invasion' or 'warped genetic fiends' or 'ancient evil back to destroy the world' sort of thing. And it was relentless.
Their lives weren't well suited to blind trust, and so they tended to distrust everything. It had reached the point where that fact had become, instead of saddening, actually amusing. He didn't know what that said about their mentality at this point.
He shrugged. "I'll put in a better camera here and we'll look at it more closely for a few weeks time."
Leonardo nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
Neither of them said it, but he was sure that Leonardo was thinking it, too: 'Too bad there wasn't anyone here. It would break up the monotony.'
It wasn't as though they were wishing harm on themselves, but even they succumbed to boredom eventually. Their lives, although undoubtedly safer after they'd cut connection with the human world, were also much less exciting. They were athletic, and fighters- if not by nature, then by upbringing, and periods of rest didn't suit them well at all. Usually they'd perform training runs aboveground simply to keep in shape, and while doing so might run into some small crime to be stopped…but it was hardly a challenge.
Still, in a choice between boredom and life-threatening danger, both of them knew the wiser option. Wishing for a fight was worse than foolhardy, it was potentially fatal.
"Spar when we get home?" Leonardo offered. When he looked, there was a touch of amusement in his eyes that suggested that he knew exactly what had been running through his mind.
He didn't bother with any pretense. "Sure. Just let me get everything together beforehand."
They left without actually going into their old home. Neither of them ever visited anymore. At least, he didn't. If Leonardo did, he did so discreetly that Donatello never noticed.
He took a moment, as they left, to imagine what it must look like inside. Bare for the most part, empty of what furniture they took with them. Cobwebbed, moldy, dust-covered. Completely devoid of life aside from three rooms, some of those more untouched than others.
They didn't touch the rooms of the dead. It was an unspoken rule.
April spoke to them as often as she could, which tended to be a few times a week, with a visit at least once a week. She didn't visit them nearly as much as they visited her, purely for necessity's sake. Their home was much farther from hers, now, and they didn't want her tramping through miles of cold, damp, difficult-to-navigate sewers.
Although she had, weekly, for a short period of time in an attempt to keep them from closing her out entirely when they started withdrawing from people and the world above in general. They gave in and kept up their visits to her around the fourth week, when she had started looking a little grim around the eyes about the long trek and its various dangers. Clearly, April would not be turned away, even for her own good.
Which was why, at around nine in the evening, Leonardo was talking blithely on the shell cell instead of going through sparring exercises with Donatello. Not that his brother minded the lack of practice all that much, since it gave him time to construct what was clearly going to be the most amazing subterranean security camera in all the land.
Judging from the mess of wires and assorted circuitry lying on the desk, Donatello would be at it for some time. He'd reached the stage in the inventive proceedings in which he would mumble things to himself in a language no one else could possibly understand, interspersed with the occasional coherent statement of 'but will it be moisture-proof?' or 'I hope the size won't be an issue.'
Really, it was much better to completely ignore Donatello's zone of creation and focus on something nice and ordinary for the few hours it would take him to achieve science nirvana.
"Has Casey spoken to you lately?" April asked, her tone concerned, but not-quite-there. She had the sort of distant way of speaking she used whenever her attention was preoccupied elsewhere, like with stocking or revamping her home computer. Leonardo attributed that to the subject matter. April's relationship with Casey wasn't on very steady ground these days.
"Hasn't called in a week," he said, truthfully. "I wouldn't worry too much. If something were to happen, I'm sure he'd at least give us word. He's a bonehead, but he's not completely insensitive."
"Mm," she commented, and he could hear the slide of cardboard against cardboard. The rip of packing tape being peeled away. "Nope. Still worrying."
He smiled. "Well. It is Casey. I'd be surprised if you didn't have a little concern. Don't worry; I'm sure his mother will keep him in line."
The last comment was phrased with total sincerity.
This was because Leonardo was absolutely convinced that Ms. Jones could keep a half-crazed bodybuilder in line. She was a short, compact, muscular bundle of strict, controlling energy, and even at her advanced age, could lug hundred pound sacks of potatoes around. The woman missed her calling as a drill sergeant in the army, which was why her developing diabetes had thrown everyone off. Casey had moved in with her to keep an eye on his mom and make sure she didn't need any extra help around the house, a fact which aggravated the woman to no end. Apparently blockheaded stubbornness ran deep in the Jones genes.
"Two Jones in the same house," April often said, "I wonder how they've kept from blowing the place sky high?"
Leonardo suspected Ms. Jones used duct tape and the overwhelming power of her own presence, but kept silent on the matter.
April sighed. "Well. She's sticking more closely to the diet, at least. It's pretty restrictive. I know I would have a difficult time adjusting. And her insulin levels are much better now. So all those yelling matches Casey had with her must have done some kind of good. I wonder if that's just a family communication thing," she said, sounding amused and almost whimsical and completely unaware she was laying a firm finger on a wound, "Some people hold hands and talk about feelings, and some people just throw chairs and yell at each other."
"Something like that," Leonardo said. It wasn't said nearly as lightly as he meant for it to sound. There had been more than one stormy argument with one particular brother that went along those lines, although it hadn't been enough in the end. He missed the fights, violently thrown words and punches, and the aftermath that had both of them weary and subdued enough to accept each others' apologies and move on. He hadn't spoken to Raphael face to face in years even to whisper, let alone yell.
The conversation skipped a beat as April, on the other side, replayed the dialogue and came to the correct conclusion.
"Sorry," she said, softly, then briskly moved on to another subject. No use crying over spilled milk or lost brothers. "Anyway. I made up a care package for her with a bunch of sugar-free goodies she might like. At least, I hope she'll like them."
"If she doesn't, she can throw them at Casey," he said solemnly. He had no doubt that she would, too, if they were in reasonable distance.
April laughed. "I hope not. What a waste of perfectly good food!" That was accompanied with a sliding sound that he took to be the box she'd been working on. She was probably placing the thing on a counter. "Oh, well. I made some of them, so if she likes them, I can send the recipes."
She continued talking about normal subjects like casseroles for the Jones, and what Casey was doing, how he was fixing the old house up, and what was playing on TV lately. Simple, commonplace and soothing and completely at odds with his life. Leonardo drifted off during these talks, keeping an ear on the conversation so he would be able to answer coherently when spoken to, but leaving his mind free to contemplate other things.
Leonardo didn't often have time to think too deeply anymore, not when the two of them were so focused on just surviving. Philosophy had to take a backseat to necessity. Still, in the calmer moments, philosophy- quiet, still, subtle thoughts were what he tended to focus on the most. It helped organize his mind into something less chaotic, breathe a sense of order into his too-disordered life. It made him feel closer to the path his father had taught him, had probably wanted them to follow.
Either that, or he sank into memories. Those were meant to be clung to, not mechanically sorted through- scraps of joy and jumbled pieces of well-worn peace of mind. They were like fragments of someone else's life. A smile he couldn't see again, old, familiar laughter, and lessons learnt in the past that filtered through his consciousness like a fragrance that was impossible to trace.
There were so many lessons learned. Hard to trace through them all.
Over at his tech station, Donatello seemed to be climbing steadily up the 'talk feverishly to myself' stage and was just beginning to reach the 'arrange papers and make mysterious sketches' mark that signified he was nearly complete with the initial inventing process. Leonardo watched his brother's hand guide the mechanical pencil to draw tight, frenzied scribbles over a sheet of paper. He thought, watching it, that he could probably meditate to the even, predictable strokes of that pencil.
April's voice gained clarity as she hit a key point. "…Also, some kid keeps hanging around the store, and it's starting to make me suspicious."
He focused back on the conversation. "A kid?"
"Yup. Some boy around high school age. He's been coming by a lot lately, but he doesn't buy anything. Just looks around the store, but not like he's interested in the antiques, really. It seems more like he's interested in the building, or the store itself. He barely talks to me, either, and the few times I spoke to him about what he might be looking for, I got a couple obviously threadbare excuses."
If that wasn't a significant tone, he didn't know what was.
Leonardo narrowed his eyes. "How often has he been coming by?" Donatello, hearing the tone of his voice, glanced questioningly up from his work.
He could almost hear April's careless shrug. He decided that her expression, if he could see it, would most likely be that blend of light indifference masking worry and concern. "Well, he used to drop by once every couple of weeks, but he's started coming every day now."
Frequent visitors from strangers were worrisome. "Do you think he's looking after something in specific, or checking out your security system?"
"Casing the joint, you mean?" April used the old-fashioned turn with heavy sarcasm, "Possibly. His behavior is pretty suspicious, anyway. It's not like he's actually done anything wrong at this point- he's just looking around, and I can't kick him out of the store for that. But still. Creepy. I don't want to ring any false alarms, though," she added hurriedly, obviously realizing that she'd done just that, "Don't think you have to come over or anything."
"What time does he usually come around at?" Leonardo asked, his tone perfectly level. There weren't many alarms he was willing to ignore, false or not.
Donatello, who now had divined the conversation to be about a potential criminal at April's place, was focused intently on the exchange of words. As Leonardo glanced in his direction, Donatello's eye ridges arched questioningly. What the hell is going on here?
He shook his head. Later.
April sounded resigned to the fact that she was going to have ninja visitors very shortly. "Around four-thirty or five," she said. "Sometimes later, like six or seven."
"Sounds appropriate for that age group. If he bothers to go to school, it would be shortly after it lets out."
Warningly. "Leo. He seems like a good kid."
"Mmhm. Who just happens to be paying a lot of careful attention to your store despite not caring about your merchandise."
April muttered something incomprehensible, which he politely pretended not to hear. "Fine. He's well-spoken, at least. Knows some manners. He seems nice, if not completely trustworthy."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Just don't break anything of his, that's all I ask."
"Your concern has been duly noted."
She sighed. "You probably won't have to talk to him at all, you know. He might just be trying to hide out from thugs himself."
"We'll find that out too, don't worry. Make sure the door in your cellar's unlocked."
There were other ways into a building, of course, but breaking into April's place seemed completely and utterly wrong. Also, rude.
"Consider it done. And Leo?"
He was already considering what to take with him and how long a shift they would take watching the store for the suspicious possible-burglar. "Yes?"
There was a hint of teasing in that stern tone of hers. "Don't break anything of mine, either. You couldn't afford it."
He smiled and hung up. Break one priceless tea set and you never heard the end of it.
Donatello looked at him impatiently.
Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, he answered the unspoken question. "Nothing too impressive. Some teenager is constantly skulking around her store and she's getting nervous."
"Hm," Donatello said, shrugging slightly, turning his attention back to the plans for his new security system design. "Shouldn't take the both of us, then."
"We'll alternate days. He only comes at a certain time, too. I don't think it's anything too serious. At the worst, it might be a potential break-in." April really didn't get as much trouble as one would expect from a known friend and ally of some of the criminal underground's worst enemies. A good part of that was the turtles' surveillance of their store, some of it was April's own skills, and the rest was chalked up to obscenely good luck.
Decision made, he folded his arms and gave Donatello a waiting look. "So."
"Hm?" The reply of someone firmly entrenched in dreamland.
"Sparring exercises, Don. Don't think I forgot about them."
Donatello muttered something that sounded like 'an elephant never forgets', which he summarily ignored. "Fine. Just let me get my notes in order beforehand."
"Blind-fighting this time?" he asked.
A snort. "Too easy."
"No weapons, no visibility, and one dead appendage."
"Foot or arm?"
"Either."
They liked to choose handicaps for the sessions to make them less formulaic. Besides, it came in handy for the possibility that one of them might fall to a sudden fit of blindness or deafness or armlessness. Some of the handicaps began to get creative as they starting choosing a different one for each of them- no weapons, bound arms, etc, and then started choosing two each. It was their idea of a fun and challenging game. Sometimes they took it sewer-wide and tracked each other, a more dangerous game of the childish 'hide and seek' they used to use as practice exercises when they were younger.
Perhaps they had too much time on their hands.
Pushing the incident at their old lair out of their mind, (but only for now,) they set up the dojo in the middle of the main room for a nice, long training session.
Author's Note: Not sure how much I trust my TMNT muse, which has long been dead and vanquished. This fic really was supposed to be a long multi-chap, and I'll try to keep it up as long as I can, but I speak the truth to say I'm mostly a fandom mayfly- skipping from place to place. I'm returning to this one because it's been in my head for a year albeit my inability to write it, so expect this to be a last hurrah.
