Steam
The knock along the metal echoed coldly.
"Donnie? You in there?"
A quick pace back and forth before he tried once more,
"I know you're…prolly not in the mood to talk, but…remember when you said you'd try opening up more instead of bottling it all in like a beaker?"
The playful tune held some weariness as silence answered, and the concern began to loom. Ever so gently, Michelangelo's fingers pressed against the door, and with surprise, found it wasn't locked, nor completely sealed. Poking his hand along the slit, he pried it open only a smidge, peeking in.
Dark. Not even the ambient lights were aglow.
The gentle blues of his eyes scanned about the dorm, finding nothing more than the chaos within. It lacked life. It lacked his brother.
He wasn't there.
Well…that was a good thing, right?
Out of the cell at least.
With a small sigh, Mikey bypassed the room, crossing his arms in thought.
April still hadn't messaged him back. Not a GIF or emoji to be seen. Not a single update (or complaint) about Barry. No silly photo of Mayhem. And nothing about Donnie.
Normally, a tease like that would've pulled something from her, quick to clap back faster than his kusari-fundo on a good day.
Aw, tin-man has a heart after all.
You jealous?
Don't let him realize he has feelings —he might try to extract them.
Her voice bounced around his head with playful heart, knowing no matter the answer she'd give, it would've been a mask to cushion her immediate concern, because if Donnie missed her, she'd certainly been away too long.
But almost a month of her disappearance certainly warranted at least a few questions.
Nothing they saw earlier that night really gave them any answers.
Only more questions.
And knowing Donatello, he was bound to be chock full of them.
Mikey's eyes roamed about aimlessly as he fell into his thoughts, turning corner, and then another, no true destination on the mind.
They had eaten, and appetites were at an all time low. No point in baking anything now, even if it would give him something to do. No one really seemed to be in the mood to do anything. Everyone had split upon returning.
The concern for April had evolved…
His eyes glanced toward his right before darting again, witnessing the shadows skimming along the wall from the crack of light escaping from the dojo. Peering in, he observed.
Donnie.
Only slightly out of breath, and the only soul on the mat as his hands pulsed back and forth, spinning about his old training staff with pristine control.
Interesting. He hadn't touched the old bo in years. At least, not after he had upgraded to bigger and better things, as he had claimed. Nothing but simple wood: spinning, slicing, whacking, jabbing, spinning, spinning, spinning.
His focus appeared chaotic, still holding form, but unsteadily.
No peace. No mind.
The bo charged into one of the dummies on standby, piercing the gut mercilessly, and snapping the old tool on impact. With a grunt of aggravation, Donatello flung the piece in his grip across the room, capping along his temples with his hand.
"Everything…okay?"
Donnie's eyes widened.
Tucked along the doorway was the youngest of the four, his own eyes haunted with crushing concern. Always the empath, Michelangelo.
But disabling his fears had always been an easy task, matching logic to his emotions. Logic made sense. Emotions did not.
Brushing off his hands, Donnie made his way over toward the weapon rack where they kept the spares, "With April out of commission, I finally have time to practice. Guess it works out for the both of us."
His voice kept balanced and indifferent.
But Mikey knew better.
Mikey knew better than anyone.
A small smile crossed his face, entering the dojo and clearing the mat, "Can't be much fun sparring by yourself." Stretching his arms, he tilted his neck from side to side and shook out his legs, settling into a light crouch, "Ready."
Arching a slow brow, Donatello picked up his replacement staff, glancing about the rack before tossing Mikey his old nunchucks,
"…Alright."
Their eyes matched as Donnie stood across, and they bowed without another word.
Silence met the air as their souls shredded through, filling the void with the clatter of weapons and grunts, one after another, again.
And again.
And again.
Mikey had always been nimble. The quickest of the four. And wildly unpredictable.
But Donnie had always been good at estimation, and after years of exposure, even instability harnessed its own percentage of expectations.
He swiped him off his feet after a land, jabbing the staff into his brother's gut, though Mikey's plastron was sturdier than any dummy they owned.
The youngest pinned his legs along his brother's and twisted, tumbling him over in the counterattack, and with growing aggravation, Donatello's process began to grow more and more unstable.
Chaotic.
Vicious.
Stabbing his bo into the mat, Donnie spun himself like a bullet into Michelangelo, slamming him across the mat and into the batch of dummies on the side. They collapsed like pins, the lone shell spinning among the wreckage.
Donatello froze as his rigid furrow broke, waking from the havoc, "Mikey? Mikey!"
The tension that had gripped him slowly dissipated as his little brother gently eased out of his shell, head poking out last with a weary grin,
"You seem…angry."
His innocent shrug held as he leaned his cheek against his shoulder, curling his legs into a diamond.
Donatello tossed the staff away with a huff.
"Angry? Pff, why would I be angry? I am simply releasing the usual pent up frustration with a fine dash of existential dread —nothing more than an average Tuesday night." he uttered bitterly, throwing his arms into a cross.
Mikey's gaze softened at the sour rebuttal. Tuesday. It was…Tuesday.
"…You miss April."
It had been a risk.
One Mikey was willing to take, for the moment he spoke her name,
spoke her into existence,
it tore at the wound his brother had been obscuring from them all. Especially himself.
"April is busy." Donnie uttered darkly, "Too busy for me, too busy for you, too busy for anyone. The minute she meets this guy, we're suddenly dead to her? No —hey Donnie, we should totally reschedule and I won't be a no-show, —what did Leo do to tick you off today? —did Mikey try that new recipe I gave him? —what did Raph shove up his nose this time?"
His rugged pace grew stiff and rapid, knuckles shoving into his back,
"At first, I simply brushed it off to the common workload. I know what it's like to get lost in a project —believe me, I know. But this is April we're talking about. It takes her exactly one point two hours before she loses focus and requires any form of sustenance to keep herself going —ergo, snack time." he noted, flicking out a finger per account.
"She checks her messages, loads up on a granola or candy bar —it's either salty or sweet, but never both, and then logs into Javelin to see what the new updates are in the shop before finally getting back to work."
Mikey blinked as his brother's gaze snapped to him, a finger threatening in the air,
"And I'm well aware of what you're thinking —Why would Donnie know this down to a T? Simplicity at its finest, Angelo: Repetition, dearest brother, repetition." he huffed, smacking the back of his hand against the other.
"But something has broken that fine process —the newest integer to the equation —enter "project partner," Raúl. He is a requirement to the final grade. A mandatory participant. The be-all and end-all to the ultimate ruling on the online subscription."
Arms crossing behind himself, Donatello squinted toward the floor as his pace suddenly halted, leaving Mikey to quietly observe the stiffness in his brother's movements. The tension that tightly ached his jaw. The inability to sort his breathing to calm and collected.
Donatello was not calm.
He was not collected.
And his analysis was the closest thing his mind could comprehend to squeezing a stress ball until the stuffing burst.
How was he to explain what didn't make sense to him over what social norms accepted? How was he to process the lingering frustration that ate him alive as he realized living firewalls existed in the form of…some guy? Some guy he had little to no information on who kept interfering whenever communication was attempted, and that project—
"All of this, I could accept." the genius uttered cooly, fingers tapping in callous repetition. A heavy brow lifted, accusation lining every word as he tilted his hands,
"But would someone like to explain to me why Sunita has started to replicate the same behavior?"
Wincing an eye, Mikey sat up in confusion, rubbing along the crook of his neck, "Sunita?"
The room fell silent, succumbing to the tension that filled it whole, but the youngest fell wayside to the newest break of information, curiosity peaked.
"I haven't been able to get through to April." Donnie noted sourly, knuckles prodding his sides, "Clearly, no one has. It's like she's put up a firewall against us for some reason. So naturally, I utilized the next best tactic. I reached out to Sunita to see what she knows."
Mikey poked his nose in quiet thought.
That was…a solid move.
Sunita had befriended April some time ago, a slime Yokai blending in with the human world, or so the story went. Mikey had met Sunita in her default form, the details of how April and his brothers had met her varying between who told the story —not that it mattered. She had fit in more than enough with their ragtag selves.
Sweet girl. Very bubbly. Always willing to offer a helpful hand.
But from what he recollected, she carried in her possession a priceless heirloom —a mystic cloaking broach, and from his own experience, those didn't come cheap, nor were they easily obtained. It allowed her full freedom in the world above, a privilege hidden from most.
His curious blues followed Donnie's slowed pace, "She's still in April's science class. I figured if anyone could get through to April, it would be her." the techie muttered, cupping his elbow in thought, his fingers curled along his jaw, "I…explained the situation. And Sunita gave me her word that she'd report back."
Donnie's brows flattened as his eyes skimmed the floor in thought.
Explaining the situation had been more…difficult…than anticipated. His routine with April had felt almost sacred in nature.
To let another in…
To bring awareness to their private world felt…horribly compromising at best, and uncomfortable at worst.
But the Yokai had been sympathetic.
It had only assured him entirely when her voice wavered in concerning thought at the laundry list of odd behaviors he had stipulated from the norm.
Emotionless texts to ghosting? Ignoring preset engagements? Avoiding a single visit to their underground home? That didn't sound like April O'Neil. And now that she thought it over…she hadn't heard from April in quite a while, either. But Sunita had ironically shifted the justification Donatello's way. After all, if April wasn't hanging with Sunita…she was with the boys.
This would have been validation enough.
But he couldn't bring himself to question what he had witnessed earlier that night. The solid connection between April's sudden bizarre behavior and the timeline that led up to it. The be-all and end-all.
The discomfort in his gut had given him a warning, and the tension in his throat solidified it.
So, Donnie had found himself swiveling back and forth on his chair, quietly suggesting that if April needed…anything…to please let him know.
A weak attempt at an outreach.
Grasping at straws, really.
But Sunita seemed to understand the urgency. Perhaps more than he realized,
"I'll grab her for some ice cream later and see what's up. The project shouldn't have been that big of a deal. We've been allowed to work on it in class."
The silence that answered spoke volumes.
"…I'll text you, Donnie. I'm on the clock."
His eyes had widened.
"O-Oh, apologies! I didn't realize—"
Her voice softened, "Y'know, the last time I talked with April was about you, actually."
His gut knotted fearsomely.
"…Y-Yeah?"
"Something about winning a game. She was super excited about it—"
His fearful distress eased into a discomforted smile. Yes…April had been excited about that win. That's what made everything now so concerning.
"—and super proud of you."
Her words should have brought him comfort. Eased his fears. Granted him peace.
But they only fueled more questions.
Questions he didn't have the time for.
Because if he and April had been on good terms, great terms —excellent terms…
"…Suntia was supposed to touch back three hours ago…"
Donnie's voice had fallen quiet. Uncomfortable.
"She's reading the messages. No replies. No answer."
The words seemed to knock against the chilly bricks of the dojo, sinking down where the clamminess smothered them whole.
And though he had tried his hardest, though the anger had bit through,
the ache had still surfaced and reared its ugly head.
Alias and Boy Genius: the dynamic duo. She had…understood him on a level no one else could.
At least, that's what he had thought.
Mikey's jaw slowly clamped as he took a moment to process his brother's adrenaline filled tirade, finding the wave of emotions riptide through him without relapse or control. He looked…tired.
Wasted.
Done.
But above all…Donatello looked…broken.
And as someone who prided himself on fixing things, it sapped every ounce of energy he had to solve the enigma that was himself. His eyes squinted, gears still cranking with what little oil was left,
"…We were a team, Mikey.…If she didn't want me around anymore…she could've just said so."
Michelangelo winced as he slowly lifted himself to his feet, the room feeling larger and emptier than it ever had in their entire lives. The sewer had always been a collective of subterranean tunnels and pockets, dark enough to hide away in and safe enough to dwell. They had always known it to be their haven, their comfort and their home.
But the chill of abandonment was an eternal abyss without warmth…without light…without purpose…and as Michelangelo fixed upon his brother, he witnessed the fearsome reality that haunted him without relapse.
Donatello was without hope.
And that was frightening.
The chill lingered in Donnie's voice, slowly brushing himself off, "Tournament's in a few days…We're not gunna make it." he uttered quietly, fingers hooked along his waist, "…Not that it matters."
All the wasted hours. All the endless grinds. All the things he could have been doing in place of it all.
And yet…foolish as it would be…
…he'd do it all twice over just to hear her laugh. To hear her tease. To hear her grow frustrated with his know-it-all smugness and to be humbled when he least expected it. To know she was safe, and well, and happy, and that everything was okay between them.
To know that…in some small way…he still mattered. To her.
"Look, D, I know this looks bad, but…we gotta give April the benefit of the doubt. Get the other side of the story. I mean I'm sure there's gotta be a reasonable explanation for all of this." Mikey uttered softly, fist curled within the other.
He knew it didn't make sense. He knew their April wouldn't up and ditch —wouldn't abandon them like that. Without a sign. Without a reason. Without merit. April wouldn't do that. And Sunita was just as reliable.
Something was wrong —but Donnie had sunk too deep, and had been doing so alone. He had taken her absence personally, and it was now clouding his mind. Plugging in his own theories without substantial evidence. Desperately trying to salvage the undeniable.
"…She looked happy."
The voice was quiet…small.
Mikey's hands lowered tacitly, unwilling to participate in the analysis.
Not when things didn't feel right.
"Maybe, that's where we leave it, then. She finally made a normal friend. April always wanted normal."
Cheeks scrunching up, Mikey observed his brother's indifferent tune, sudden to have redirected his true intentions elsewhere before shutting them away entirely. Refusing to acknowledge what frustrated him any longer. Denying the hurt that daunted him.
Donatello crossed his arms behind himself, analyzing the ground before taking his steps toward the exit, certain to dive wholeheartedly into the cavern that was his room once more. But he neither paused nor stopped his pace as Michelangelo grunted from beyond the mats, arms crossed in defiance,
"…You sure that's what April always wanted?"