Chapter 2: Closer to Home...
Disclaimer: Don't own them in any aspect. I wish, though.
Here's the next installment:
And so went the days.
The small clan of warriors continued their brave and just war against those that brought evil to their adopted and beloved home.
Michaelangelo was still a joker. Donatello was still the thinker. Raphael, the unpredictable, and Leonardo, the machine.
Michaelangelo continually made jokes of his habits. Wake up, eat breakfast, kill himself in the dojo, shower, eat lunch, kill himself in the dojo again, eat dinner, and then relieve Donatello on night patrol, thus killing his body more.
Then sleep. Sweet sleep. Free from dreams, good or bad; that was his goal. No more nightmares, and make believe chances that he could save Father- just the still slumber of the innocent.
Leonardo's breath came quickly as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, chasing invisible threats on a nightly perimeter run he oft performed sans siblings.
Jump! Land! Race off again.
Face it, 'fearless leader' he mocked of himself, You couldn't do anything to save him. You just stood there as those humans mowed him down. Those ones he tried to protect from the hoodlums robbing their store!
Leo paused, laboring for oxygen in the cold December night, bent over a ledge not unlike the ones near the assaults that, from time to time, plagued his mind.
Oooh, he mentally anguished, placing two fingers to his throbbing temples. That sound…
He whirled about, hearing footsteps creeping around a bend in the four story complex.
Stealing about the corner he drew a katana as silently possible, in case his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. As he rounded the corner, ignoring the throbbing in his temples, his mind began to wander towards his fears for his family, his friends and the fact that he hadn't been able to save their Father, Splinter, from a simple pack of humans- weak ones at that…
…Shotgun blast roaring through my ears, watching, STANDING there as Father was blown away! WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME! Why couldn't I save him!
Leonardo jerked, reality hitting him as suddenly, and hard, as a piano dropped from a skyscraper.
Where am I? He thought, blinking at the change in surroundings. He was maybe fifteen feet from his point of departure into his conscious, pounding headache evaporated.
Stupid. He thought, irritated at himself. Foolish of me to let my mind wander on a patrol. Shouldn't that priveledge be reserved for Mikey? He mused wryly, thumbing his still drawn sword. He noted, with dissatisfaction that he'd managed to make a shallow cut on his hand, as indicated by small spots of ruby red along the razor edge. After a brief inspection, he couldn't fina any markings on his palms. Odd.
Noting that the bizarre throbbing was gone, Leo noted the time, and beat a hasty retreat back to the lair, just in time to wake Raphael up for his dawn patrol, and get his chance to catch some well needed rest.
After polishing his blade, of course.
Raphael grumbled to himself in a semi-concious state of sleepiness, cursing his brothers, his luck, and fate in general as he made his way topside through the sewers. Slipping on some muck and slime he cursed louder, ankle deep in some of the refuse and liquids that littered the tunnels outside their home.
What's that smell? He grouched, wrinkling his beak in disgust. Pushing his way past a heap of garbage some idiot had dumped down a manhole he made his way to his 'secret hideout' he often visited when Leonardo woke him up at ungodly hours.
The smell was getting stronger, he noted, as the tunnel grew darker and darker around him. Shaking his head to clear thoughts of childhood fears, he pulled aside a matte gray drapery he used to conceal the hole in the wall he'd made his personal 'alone-space' when the family grew too bothersome.
Sighing upon realization that the always lit candle for Splinter was out, he fumbled through the dark for the box of matches he kept in case such things happened, felt something squishy and wet, made a retching noise, and struck.
The match burned, the soft wavering light glittering upon piles of wet spheres, puddles of inky color, and cheese soft matter. Realization set in, and Raphael bellowed in shock and disgust.
Eyes.
There were eyes piled everywhere on his shrine- real ones too- in various states of freshness and decay, some he assumed came from the vicious attack weeks ago. Swallowing his bitterly rising gorge, he lit the candle, struck another match, its resounding skritch sending crawlies through his shell.
With the added light he could see the message that blasphemed his temple and sanctuary.
GET OVER IT. YOU'RE NEXT, TOUGH GUY….
Painted again in blood and spattered this time with brain matter, the simple sentence screamed a sirens wail of terror to the tough turtle, as did the caricature of a headless Splinter. There was no mistaking the kimono the Master always wore.
Raphael screamed.
"MIIIIIIKKKEEEEEEYYY!"
Mumbles reached his ears through a haze of sedation and pain.
'… why my name though?' one said. 'He hates me!'
'… he doesn't, he just has his own way of express…'
"Ah gods," Raphael moaned, before jerking upright in bed. "Ya gotta tell me that was justa bad dream." he asked, fixating his piercing stare upon those surrounding him.
Seeing his brother's faces and expressions for the first time in what would later be declared hours, he saw it was not. All three were pale as ghosts, Donatello stirring up a serum, then plunging a needle into the mixture. He tapped it, point skyward to disturb and remove all air, quietly asking his elder brother to hold out his left arm. Blindly, Raphael laid it out, flexing his muscles in preparation for the short, stabbing pain- which was unexpectedly followed by flooding warmth that traveled up his bloodstream. He felt his spasming muscles slowly loosen, following the sensation of the warmth flowing with his blood.
"Raph…" Leo whispered, laying a hand on his brother's arm tenderly, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. Upon being unable to sleep, he'd padded out of the lair for another one of his 'midnight marathons' through New York, when he'd heard his brother's cry of fear. Upon reaching the source, he'd come to a dead halt seeing his brother passed out amongst a mess of cheesy gray matter, eyeballs, Splinter's old kimono, fire already catching at the hem. Blood was splashed all up and down his brother's torso, arms and legs, and with a cry Leonardo had slapped out the flames, grabbed his brother and fled the nightmare, crashing into the lair, waking the others and beginning a fright to last until Raphael woke.
"M'ok bro." Raph muttered, tremors continuing to race along his arms, despite the medecine, shaking the linen that covered him on the medical bed in Donatello's laboratory. "Wasn't my blood."
"We know Raphael," Donatello soothed, laying his tools aside to hand his shaking brother a cup of tea. The cup rattled on the saucer when Raphael took it, sipping at the hot liquid.
"Who's was it then?" Michealangelo, of all turtles, asked with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, eyingv his brother strangely.
Raphael growled menacingly. "You think I did that?" He roared, hurling the tea at the youngest turtle, knocking over the bedside table, upsetting several monitors in Donnie's workshop.
"That's not what Mikey meant," Leonardo intervened, glaring hard at the orange masked one, who scowled in turn. "What he meant was that he, we, all want to know how you found that place? And why there was blood and… other things… around you."
"How the freaking hell should I know!" Raphael shouted, raising his arms is frustration.
"Well… did you notice anything unusual when you were heading out?" Donatello asked, pulling Raph's left arm back down, a cotton swab doused with iodine at the ready. Raph hissed as the antibacterial solution burned and cleansed his needle-wound. "After all, you hadn't been gone long, had you?" He peered into his brother's eyes, gently concerned.
"Naw," Raph ascertained, shaking his head. "I'd still been in the sewers, taking a different route to my patrol spot." He decided not to include his reasons for taking a different route- his need to pay homage to their deceased father. They wouldn't understand.
"Well, I guess we've found out the killer's hideout." Mike spoke up, his features oddly closed. "Now we gotta do something about him."
Leo sighed. How unlike his youngest brother, wanting to go out and immediately start something. "Honestly, Mike, I'd rather wait and try to observe him before we do anything." He smirked, in hopes of garnering a smile. "We night even get lucky and trap him."
"I still think he needs to be got now." Mike stated firmly, refusing to give ground to his older brother. Now that family was involved, it was getting personal. 'Who knows what this freak-show knows about us? He could be waiting right outside this room to cut us to pieces like all those others we saw!" Mike pounded his fist into the flat of his palm for emphasis, "We need to stop him. Now."
"Mike… we need a plan first. Why don't we all go get some sleep, or something, so we have fresh minds for tomorrow's planning." Leo suggested, rubbing his temples. Damn migraines… feels like a jackhammer in my head...
"Whatever, bro." Mike threw up his hands and stormed out yanking the door shut behind him. Closely following Donnie's slammed door, Mike's echoed through the station.
Don sighed. "Kids."
"No kidding."
A/N: Wow, kind of a slow start. Next chapter should be interesting, I hope. Please R and R!