Frozen
"What was he thinkin', goin' out in this weather? Where is he?"
Raphael rammed his hand into the back of Donatello's computer chair in irritation.
"If I knew, don't you think I'd share?" Don snapped. He stalked over from where he had been consulting a paper map with Leonardo, righted the seat with a glare, and sat down to protect it from further abuse. "I've been pinging his shell cell, but it's not currently broadcasting."
He leaned over his keyboard and typed swiftly before waving a hand at the screen in disappointment. A digital version of the streets appeared complete with a blinking dot.
"Mikey's last recorded position was hours ago, way uptown."
"Then why ain't we out looking for him?" Raph demanded.
"Because we have no clue where to search," Leonardo said with a stern frown. "He isn't there anymore. Don already checked. And the cold is too intense for us to be out floundering around."
Raphael glared at Leo, completely annoyed at this all too logical explanation.
Fearless is gonna be on my shit list for a while, but...
Time was short. Mikey was injured. So Raph chose to ignore the bearer of the information and focus instead on the content.
Don already checked?
"Ya' got cams on the building?" Raph asked in surprise. "Run 'em back and see where he went."
"Can't."
Donatello's clipped answer made the lava in Raph's veins bubble a bit higher.
"Why not?" he ground out through clenched teeth.
"They're old. Simple wildlife cameras intended for bird watching. They only record for a short period before re-recording over the footage. Nothing saved to the cloud. All I've got is the current time, but the rooftop is visible when the wind lets up. No Mikey."
"Then Shredder's got him. We should hit the nearest Foot warehouse an—"
"I won't sanction a blind attack," Leonardo cut in. "They have too many strongholds. What if you choose the wrong one? We'd tip them off and risk ourselves for nothing."
"We can't just sit here on our butts!" Raph roared.
Raphael had reached his limit of silent worrying. Waiting while his brothers came up with a plan was no longer an option. He needed action. To stop himself from doing something rash, he paced to the wall and slammed a fist into it.
But Raph wasn't the only one feeling guilty. None of them realized Michelangelo wasn't in the lair. And they still hadn't made any progress on finding out where he had gone.
"Staying put is exactly what you should do until I pinpoint his whereabouts," Don ground out with a scowl.
Donatello had taken Mikey's disappearance exceptionally hard. He had no patience now to deal with bickering or useless displays of frustration. Particularly when it led to parts of his lab or furniture being punched.
"Traveling around is too difficult. Our usual routes are impassible. Slush pushed into the sewers by the blading trucks has refrozen into walls of ice. And the rooftops are out. The fire escapes will flash freeze your hands and tear your skin right off. The higher you go the more the wind accelerates—"
"So what?" Raphael interrupted, storming back and forth waving his arms. Picturing his hyperactive little brother lying unnaturally still, covered in a blanket of snow was maddening. "If one of us was missin', Mike wouldn't be sittin' in here, nice'n warm. He'd be out there searchin'."
Before either of them could react, Raph raced out of the lab, hardly slowing as he grabbed his winter gear by the front door. Donatello was right. Mikey's last established location was quite far away. Going through the storm sewers might not be possible, but if he rode the top of a subway car it wouldn't take long.
I hope.
With a little luck, he would be back before the morning rush hour.
Extra caution was called for, however. All the earliest morning pedestrians would be forced underground by the cold. Humans would throng the subways. And even bundled up to the eyeballs in boots, an overcoat, hat, scarf, and gloves—Raphael didn't blend in with the crowd.
The trip was tense. His phone vibrated every few minutes with text messages. Demands from his brothers to stop this insanity and come home.
Raphael ignored them. No way was he returning without evidence of the missing Michelangelo. Or more preferably, Mikey himself.
After what felt like hours of painful stealth, he exited the tunnels. He took advantage of a lull in patrons and shuffled up the steps of an empty underground station, ducking into the closest alley.
Topside, the world was frozen.
Almost nothing was recognizable. The sky glowed with an odd sort of sulfurous light as the city's illumination reflected back from the clouds and swirling snowflakes. A downdraft tugged at his body in the confined space of the alleyway. On the rooftops, the wind would be relentless and blinding.
It don't matter.
Grabbing the lower edge of a fire escape, Raphael hauled himself up. His rubber studded gloves helped with the icy metal, but they still threatened to slip off. Climbing normally was perilous enough, so he stayed on the rungs rather than try any acrobatics to reach the top.
The roof in question was desolate. The storm erased any traces of Michelangelo hours ago. Even the birds hunkered down in the pigeon coup wished to be someplace else.
Raph stared helplessly at the other buildings—at least the ones he could see through the howling white.
Where would I go if I were Mike?
Michelangelo generally tried to outrun his problems. To the west, the buildings were clustered closer. If he were being chased Mikey could pick up more speed in that direction.
Raphael lumbered off, having to use more power than normal to vault the narrow gaps against the wind. The structures and streets blurred together as he concentrated on keeping his footing in the slippery mess and watching for any inconsistencies around him.
He wasn't sure how far he traveled before a dark heap on the next rooftop made his skin tighten from scalp to toes. A tuft of muted olive green peeked through the snow. Raph's stomach dropped like a roller coaster.
That's Mikey's winter coat!
Vaulting over, Raphael snatched at the collar. He yanked hard; braced to pull his brother's weight out of the drift. The jacket ripped free so fast he stumbled back and sat down. Nothing but tattered fabric fluttered in his hand. The shorn ends were encased in a dull, frosted liquid.
Blood. That's Mike's blood.
Panicked, Raph scrambled forward to dig through the mound of snow, shoveling it behind him with both hands.
"Michelangelo!" he bellowed. "I'm here, lil' bro! Damn it, answer me!"
He flailed across the whole rooftop, disturbing any pile that might hide his brother's body. After half an hour of frantic digging with no results, he sat back on his heels and raised his face to the sky.
"Mikey!" he howled in despair, "Where are you?"
The wrong brother answered him.
"Raphael, come back to the lair."
Too devastated to even summon anger at the command, Raph simply turned and offered the damaged coat to the shadow looming over him. Leonardo inhaled sharply but reached past the cloth to grip Raph's forearm and hoist him to his feet.
"Come home," Leo said again. This time his voice held nothing but compassion. "We'll figure this out together."
'Together' sounded like an empty promise. But Raphael did not have the energy to rant and rave, or even object to the statement. It all drained away the moment he saw that blood.
Mikey's blood.
That's when the nightmare became real.
The journey back was silent. In truth, Raph didn't remember most of the route. He followed Leonardo blindly through the transit system, stopping when his brother stopped and moving on only when Leo deemed the situation secure.
The behavior was entirely unlike him—especially when he and Leo were still at odds—but Raphael couldn't shake his bleak emotional paralysis. He was too lost in thought.
Nobody—messes—with—Mikey.
The unspoken pact between Michelangelo's three older siblings echoed in Raph's mind. They had guarded Mike's back for years, regardless of the fact he was a perfectly capable fighter. He was still the youngest. It was their responsibility to keep him safe.
But someone had 'messed' with Michelangelo. They hurt him. Bad. Like profusely bleeding bad. They kidnapped him, took him away from his family and friends. And none of his big brothers—his so-called protectors—were there to help.
We didn't even notice he was gone.
Raph's stomach knotted. When had he become so indifferent to Michelangelo? Sure he was annoying at times, but that was a part of his role as the little brother. In general, Mikey was a great guy. Fun to be with. Their light in this gloomy subterranean hole of a home.
He cooked most of their food. Never forgot important events. Was always ready with a distraction when you needed one. Yet Raphael didn't remember the last time they hung out together, even to watch TV.
He saw Mike at training and meals. On patrol, of course, but outside of those fairly regimented engagements he rarely made time for Mikey. What were his hobbies now? Did he want to cook anymore or did he do it out of habit? Did he still enjoy the things they used to do together? Had he found new entertainments?
Raph couldn't answer any of those questions, and not just in regards to Mikey. He didn't really know Don's current interests. Or Leo's, never mind his father's.
Is apathy towards those you love a symptom of adulthood? Or something worse?
Maybe I am the monster Leonardo saw in that alley.
It wasn't a pleasant prospect. He didn't know how to correct such a shameful lapse. Michelangelo was the emotionally observant one of the group. He could just... fix things somehow. For him, it would be natural, easy.
He'd tell a joke, tease me inta a wrestling match... somethin'
But if they didn't find Mikey—
No. I'm not gonna think about that. Mike will be home soon. Don will know what to do.
As they entered the lair, Raphael automatically sought his brainy brother—looking for hope in Donnie's never-ending fountain of ideas. But the sight that met his eyes made his heart sink more.
Donatello sat frozen at the kitchen table. A full cup of coffee—long since gone cold—untouched in front of him. He stared desperately into the brown liquid as if it held the answers to all the questions of the universe, but he didn't seem to process the soothing words their father spoke beside him.
His head turned at the sound of their entrance and his expression was so out of character Raphael balked at the doorway. Terror, desperation, and helplessness battled across the face of the gentle genius—until he met Raph's eyes. Some of the fear faded, but his countenance was still more twisted than Raph had ever seen.
Leonardo laid Mikey's shredded coat carefully on the table. Splinter muffled a rapid intake of breath with his paw. Donatello closed his eyes. Raphael finally made it across the room and slumped into the chair opposite, lowering his head.
"I didn't find anything else."
"Don't you ever do that again," Donnie spat in an angry tone, breaking the agonizing silence.
Raph's head snapped up in shock at his tone.
"If Mikey got caught outdoors without even the minor protection of his coat"—Don half rose and jabbed his finger into the offending garment so hard the surface underneath creaked—"then he's gone. Dead of hypothermia."
Raphael thought he'd grown numb to the pain coursing through him, but this blunt statement jolted him anew. He gaped at Donatello. Don didn't believe in sugar-coating things, he was always forthright with the facts. But usually, he was an optimist.
He can't actually think Mikey is dead!
Leonardo rested a palm on Donatello's shoulder and squeezed in soundless support while guiding Don back to his seat.
"I won't have you go rampaging off as well in some futile gesture," Donnie continued, oblivious to Leo's manipulation. "I will chain you to the wall if I have to."
The threat was far from idle. Secure holding areas existed in the infirmary due to some unfortunate missions regarding double mutation years ago. If Donatello concluded Raph was a danger to himself or others, he wouldn't hesitate to use them.
Donnie sank into himself, hiding his head in his hands. "I can't lose my family like this," he said in a muffled voice. "First Mikey succumbed to the storm, then you huff off in a rage and Leo had to go out too! I just—I can't take this."
"Calm yourself, my son. Leonardo and Raphael are safely home," Splinter said. "And I do not believe Michelangelo is dead. He is injured, but he found shelter. I feel it."
Don glanced up incredulously. Despite depending on their father's sixth sense for most of their lives, the scientist in him still had trouble believing in it sometimes. Especially when the reassurance sounded more like a desperate father grasping at straws.
Splinter's intuition may be a thinly veiled hope, but it was one Raphael was willing to grasp. They had to convince Donatello, though, because if Donnie gave up, Mikey didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of survival.
"The goofball ain't a total idiot," Raph said, trying to come up with some words of encouragement.
"He will call, even if he has to lift someone's phone," Leo added. He clasped Don's shoulder again. "In the meantime, we will all stay here—inside—until you find some trace of him, or the storm passes."
Donatello lifted a skeptical brow at Raph, doubting the hot-head would adhere to Leo's promise. Raphael couldn't face the intensity of his stare for more than a few seconds.
"You don't hav'ta worry about me," he muttered to the floor. "Just find 'im."
Donatello's face firmed. "Then I will search every crack in the city's cyberspace. I will hack all the security, ATM, traffic, laptop, or cell phone cameras within a 30 block radius of where you found his coat. I won't stop until I find out what happened to Mikey. You have my word."