Rating: K-Plus

Word Count: 903

Universe: Ambiguous

I do not own TMNT.

010. Silence

The lone figure carefully shuffled his way through the dark tunnel, the bottoms of his khaki pants brushing against cold cement. He paused for a moment, tilting his head and remaining still as a statue. The sound of a small trickle of water hitting the ground quickly caught his attention, and he continued towards the sound like it was a beacon. His attuned sense of hearing made it so it didn't take long to find the source - a pipe running along the ceiling was leaking profusely.

With a long, raspy sigh, he made his way over to a large gate valve on the tunnel wall. Leaning all his weight against it, he managed to turn the wheel until the constant rush of water going through the pipes was stopped, leaving the tunnel even more silent than before. He dropped his bag to the ground with a loud clatter, then dug around until he had pulled out a small tube of piping. Fingering a wrench on his belt lightly, he made his way back over to the leaking pipe and looked up at it.

"Had to be on the ceiling, didn't it?" he lamented. He took a moment to adjust his dusty brown suspenders and make sure the tools and the pipe were tucked securely in his belt. Then he rolled his shoulders, flexed his toes, and crouched down. His eyes locked on the thickest pipe above him and his calves tensed before he swung his arms up in time with his spring. His hands caught onto the pipe and in one swift motion, he used his momentum to swing himself up onto the pipe. As soon as he was secure, he let out a hiss and clutched his knee.

"Shhhhh-" he bit his tongue to prevent the unwelcome word from slipping out. The muscles in his leg throbbed uncomfortably. He'd need to take more painkillers tomorrow; clearly the two pills he was taking now weren't enough. He could imagine what his dad would say right about now.

"You can stop the pain mentally. Ninja feel no pain," he said in a mockingly deep tone. "Yeah, try telling that to me when you've got old wounds on top of arthritis."

He slowly scooted himself forward on the pipe until he was within reach of the leaky pipe, which was only a few centimeters higher than the one he sat on. He set to work with his wrench, working slowly but with pinpoint precision. He efficiently cut out the leak and replaced it with a new piece of piping. He had a small welding torch that he used to seal off the pipe, and that finished the deal. Storing away his tools, he slid off the pipe, hanging off it for a moment before he dropped to the ground lightly.

"Owwww," he whined, favoring his right leg as he limped over to the gate valve. "I'm not even that old yet." With a tired sigh, he turned the water back on and it rushed back into the pipes, the leak effectively stopped. He stepped back and admired his work, picking up the floodlight again to shine on his patchwork job. Even if he wasn't building blimps or discovering new elements anymore, he was helping people - true, fixing pipes in the sewers sort of paled in comparison to saving the world, but at least he had something left to offer his city.

He glanced at his watch; it was getting late. The turtle grabbed the bag of piping off the cold floor, then turned and limped back through the twisting walkways, squeezing through tight spots until he had reached the old subway station. Long ago he might have leapt over the turnstiles with practised ease, but now he just pushed through them with a loud click. Things were as he had left them.

His nightly routine was executed in mundane apathy. He reheated the leftover chicken and fries and ate his dinner while watching television from the ratted old couch.

"Chemistry for one thousand!"

"Thank you Kathy!" Donatello said from his spot on the couch. "Finally someone chooses chemistry."

"Alright. Chemistry books warn you not to add this common substance to sulfuric acid; it may cause an explosion."

"Water," Donnie spat out before the announcer had even finished. "And it doesn't explode. It boils and spits a little and can burn you but it isn't a bomb."

"What is...salt?"

"No Kathy!" Donnie groaned. "Now you're making hydrogen chloride gas!"

After Jeopardy had ended, Donnie took another couple of painkillers, brushed his teeth and stripped off his gear and clothes. He shambled his way to his bed. Like most nights, his tabletop fan was rattling on his nightstand, a quiet playlist was looping over the speakers, and in the corner the television was casting flickered light across the room. Sighing happily, he curled up into bed, and the pillow invited him to doze off.

He was almost asleep when everything suddenly went silent.

The lights all powered down with a sudden click and the fan and stereo faded out. Donatello's eyes snapped open and he sat up in a quick movement, eyes darting around the room. Taking in a rattly breath, he bunched up the sheets under his hands. The silence was everywhere, it grabbed him by the throat and strangled him.

And he came to the awful realization that he was utterly alone.

This was inspired by a piece of fanart I found a long time ago of an old Donatello. The artist said they had imagined that Donatello would be the last turtle left and he'd go around fixing pipelines in the sewers in his old(er) age. Unfortunately I can't seem to find it again, or else I'd direct you to it because it was quite good.

Anyways, I know it's been a long time since I updated and I'm not sure when (or if) I'll finish this whole challenge. There may come a point when I will just cut it off and be done with it. I'll let you know if I ever do get to that point, but hopefully you will enjoy whatever I have left to spit out, whether that's two chapters or fifty. Thanks to you patient, patient followers who still come back to read this thing when I update. Ciao for now!