A/N: This chapter was originally supposed to be a lot longer, and told from Leo and April's perspective, but for some reason I couldn't get the chapter to flow switching back and forth from their perspectives, so to avoid confusion, I decided to split Chapter 10 into two parts. Part 1 will be Leo's perspective and Part 2 will be April's perspective; both perspectives are happening simultaneously. Got it? Good! ;)

You guys have no idea how much I enjoy reading your reviews. I will always reply back to anyone who leaves a review ;)

An to the guest who left a review, about being the oldest of two siblings, that is wonderful and relatable insight on Leo as a big brother. And yes, this does appear to be a heavily B-team focused story, but you'll always find Leo and Raph close by! Thanks for reviewing! ;)

Alright, on with the story!

Reposted 03/16/15 - Grammatical corrections

Chapter 10 part 1

"That Sasquatch ate all the peanut butter! Who does that?! Who eats two freakin' jars of peanut butter?!"

"Dude, we have a bigger crisis at hand, the last box of pepperoni, twizzler, and candy corn pizza is gone!"

"That's not a crisis, that's a relief. The refrigerator smells like a reject candy factory threw up in it. If you're gonna put candy on a pizza at least get the good stuff."

Sitting on the couch, I listen to my brothers fuss and complain in the kitchen. Tuning them out, I mouth Captain Ryan's words in perfect synchronization as I watch the two-part special of Space Heroes. A thud, a clatter, and a strained grunt pull my attention once again, but this time from the dojo. Between the protests in the kitchen and the repetitive grumbles of frustration in the dojo, it seems pointless to try to finish this episode of Space Heroes in peace. Deciding there was really nothing I could do about the food situation, I venture to the dojo to check on Donnie.

Today's practice was pretty disastrous to say the least. Donatello was completely off-balance, which put the rest of us off-balance….no seriously, he literally lost his balance during our katas, toppled over, and knocked us into a turtle heap with everyone turtle-piled on me. After three more episodes of his ungainly sparring, Sensei made him sit-out the rest of practice.

With crossed arms, I take in my brother's appearance from the dojo's doorway. It's only been a few weeks since Donnie started his second growth spurt; the changes were small but quick.

The rest of his skin sloughed off in sizable pieces. I was afraid we had a snake infestation when I found what I thought were large skin casings in the den, but realized they were sleeves of dead skin from Donnie's arms. His new olive skin is rutted and oddly speckled with brown spots or as Mikey likes to call them 'body freckles'. He's a few inches taller but still not quite as tall as Sensei. What everyone has noticed—especially during practice—are his feet. They are huge. Not just longer, but wider as well. They don't even look like they belong on his body, but more like someone glued clown shoes to his feet. I never got a good look at them; he always keeps them tightly wrapped and covered with extra bands. His enlarged feet have played a huge role (no pun intended) in his coordination, or rather lack of it. I wince as the sound of his body hitting the floor echoes in the dojo. He's constantly tripping over his own feet. This is obviously going to take some adjustment on his part and the rest of us as a team.

He's also been a little….moody. I'm not sure if it's stress from trying to recreate the retro-mutagen, or simply a result of his recent physical changes. Either way, we all try not to agitate him, well, everyone except Raph. He doesn't necessarily go out of his way to tease Donnie, but anyone within a 20-foot radius of Raph is pretty much in his 'insult range.'

Donnie either hasn't noticed me standing at the entrance or he's ignoring me. I watch as he works through his bo staff katas. Shifting his feet into the next position he stumbles slightly but quickly catches his balance. He stands there for a moment seemingly loss in his thoughts. His forehead creases into a frown as his lips start moving; I'm too far away to make out what he's saying, but I don't need to hear him, because I already know what he's doing. He's calculating his steps.

Donatello learned ninjutsu the same way he learned everything else growing up: He studied and memorized it into formulas and codes to help him understand it better. Don will sometimes use his knowledge of ninjutsu to respectfully challenge Master Splinter; however, Sensei's life experiences always trump his intellectual know-how. My genius little brother knows every principle in ninjutsu by heart; he can strategically tell you the most viable technique to use in any fight scenario. But where he excels in applied knowledge, he lacks in instinctual finesse.

During our training over the years, I've sparred with him more times than I care to count. His technique is purely methodological, with little room for personal flair. However, every once in a while, his technical wall slips and I get a rare glimpse of his amazing unscripted skill. Hesitant of being spontaneous for too long, he always pulls it back and returns to his calculated way of fighting.

Removing something from his belt pocket, Donnie kneels down and starts drawing on the floor. Frowning in curiosity, I inch my way into the dojo. He draws as he continues to mutter something about degrees and minutes. I'm close enough to see the circle and triangles drawn in white chalk. Good grief, is all of that really necessary? I bite back a sigh and watch to see what use these mathematical diagrams have in his katas.

Bo staff in hand, he stands in the circle he's drawn, planting his right foot on a point marked '45 degrees'. Then he slides his foot slightly beyond this point while twirling his bo to his left side then his right. He swings his bo forward and down, his feet move from 45 degrees to 90 degrees and back again. He attempts a kick, but his swing is too wide. The momentum pulls him out of an almost perfect aerial kick and he tumbles to his hands and knees. With an unexpected growl, he slams his fists against the floor. I haven't seen Donnie this frustrated in a long time. When he does get frustrated, it's usually about things that are beyond his control. This is definitely not something beyond his capabilities, so his anger seems a bit unwarranted.

"How long are you going to stand there gawking at me?" He asks tersely, using his bo for support as he stands. Okay…. so we're dealing with mood swings today. I make a mental note to tread softly.

"You're overcompensating your movements." I reply, calmly ignoring his curtness.

"No, I'm not." He frowns without missing a beat.

"Yes, you are." I refuse to back down. He stares at me with that 'I know more than you' look; half the time I don't even think he knows he's doing it. He proceeds to arch his brow at me. My lips draw into a slightly sour expression….and then again sometimes I wonder….

Forcing a sigh through my nostrils, I look down at his circle; it's dissected with lines and almost looks like a pizza with number degrees around it. In order for him to even consider anything else I say, I'll have to prove my point. As much as I admire my brother's intelligence, his inability to trust that I might actually know what I'm talking about without having a thesis, theory, or scientific method to show for it, can be trying at times.

"You don't have to shift your foot back so much," I use my foot to point to the spot just outside his circle where he placed his foot before attempting his aerial kick, "keep your foot right at the 45 point."

"Angle."

"What?"

"It's an angle, not a point."

I ignore his irrelevant correction, "You're overcompensating for your foot….size when you don't need to." I make a mistake in pausing and I immediately regret it when I see a slight falter in Don's features at the mentioning of his feet.

He looks down for a moment but quickly recovers with an expression of stubborn determination, "I'm not overcompensating, Leo. I know what I'm doing."

It was then I noticed the slight tremor in his legs. I realize he wasn't compensating for his bulky feet, he was compensating for pain. Ah, the growing pains, I almost forgot. When we were younger, Donnie was the only one who had them; when the four of us use to share a room, I remember him tossing and turning at night because of the aching cramps in his limbs. Don is naturally the quietest of my brothers and doesn't often vocalize his discomfort, but from his stiffened posture, I can tell he's trying to hide how much it hurts.

His lips form a thin line of concentration as he takes his kata position again. The tremors are still twitching slightly in his calves. I frown. Don's smart enough to know he can't pre-calculate pain into his techniques. Sure, he can brace for it, and even endure through it, but the concept of pain is such a high variable—too many inconsistencies to consider. So why is he really doing this? What is he trying to prove?

Whether it was pain or the clumsiness of his own two feet, I'm not sure, but I instinctually grab hold of the back of his shell when he stumbles forward, "Maybe some stretches will help," I suggest as I stand him properly on his own two feet. He opens his mouth more than likely to disagree with me, but he pauses. He's knows I'm right and he has no rebuttal, so he settles for glaring at me instead. I take advantage of his silent (and rare) acknowledgement of me being right, and grip his wrist firmly as I sit on the floor, pulling him to sit down with me.

"What kind of stretches did you have in mind?" He asks reluctantly with a long winded sigh.

"Remember the see-saw stretch? " I ask, and it earns me a small smile from my purple-clad brother. The see-saw stretch was a technique Master Splinter showed us when we were just kids. We'd laugh and tug one another back and forth like it was a game.

Donnie doesn't object but follows my lead as we sit directly in front of one another, our feet pressed against each other. Reaching out for his hands, I try to ignore the way his feet overshadow mine. With a firm grip on each other's forearms, I slowly lean back, pulling Donnie forward in the process. I can feel the tremble of his legs through his feet as they press hard against mine, "You okay?" He nods twice as his arms twitch in my grasp. For a few moments it's silent and Donnie and I have formed a small rhythm of 'tug-of-war' as we take turns pulling back as the other leans forward.

"Is…is April still here?" He asks quietly as he pulls me forward.

"Yeah, she mentioned a private training with Sensei." I answer while stretching him forward and holding the position to help work out the cramping muscles in his arms and legs before allowing him to pull back up. His brow crinkles into a thoughtful frown. I'm sure he's still embarrassed about this morning and the fact that April was there to witness all his mishaps. I'm not really sure what's going on with my brother and April. They've been acting weird around each other since their little 'study date'. Donnie never told me what happened and I didn't feel it was my place to pry. They still talk to each other, but their conversations look more like they're walking on eggshells while trying to balance plates on chopsticks—just strange and uncomfortable to watch.

A rumbling sound pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance at Don, but he doesn't look at me. He just continues our see-saw motion, his eyes focusing on the space between us. I'm pretty sure that rumble was his stomach, but he ignores the gurgling sound so I follow his lead and ignore it as well.

It's not a mystery where the food is disappearing to lately. Over the past few weeks, Don's appetite has practically tripled. I guess it's part of the whole growth spurt thing.

Out of the four of us, Donnie is the pickiest when it comes to food and generally eats the least. He likes grapes, but only the red ones; he likes tomatoes and tomato sauce, but hates ketchup; he doesn't like pickles, but enjoys the 'essence' of pickles by daubing them lightly across his sandwich before discarding them all together; and don't get me started on his ridiculous Skittle sorting ritual. When he did eat a full meal, it was usually after a threat of banishment from his lab.

Nowadays, it's not a matter of finding something Donnie will eat, but trying to salvage what he hasn't eaten yet. On a good day, he puts away more food than Mikey, much to Mikey's distress. According to my youngest brother, there's only enough room in the family for one bottomless pit and he plans to hold on to that title. However, at the rate Donnie eats, I think Mike better kiss his title good-bye.

Donnie's stomach insists on being heard as a muffled whine breaches the silence once again. Donnie's face hardens a bit at the embarrassing sound, so I decide to fill the silent void with casual conversation, "So how's the retro-mutagen coming along?"

"I'm working as fast as I can, Leo," I can tell I hit a nerve when his posture stiffens defensively; there is a hint of dissatisfied frustration in his soft tone, "I'm still trying to further divide the chemical makeup of the five mutagen canisters I have left. It was a cumbersome process with the required ten canisters, but working with only half that capacity is making this procedure challenging to say the least. By splitting the molecules to an even smaller size, I hope to drain the needed essence without compromising the potency of the retro-mutatgen."

"Okay, I was just ask—"

Donnie's impatient stomach, surprises me into silence as it gives an enormous and commanding rumble that could challenge Sensei's most authoritative tone. He snatches his arms from my grasp, wrapping them loosely over his midsection trying to smother the rest of his stomach's dramatic cry for food.

"If you're still hungry, I think April brought us some groceries." I say as casually as possible, trying not to make him feel bad about his recent eating habits.

"I'm not hungry, I'm fine," he mumbles as he stands to his feet. I stand as well, watching him pick up his staff to start his katas again. He's in the proper stance, but he pauses. I watch him carefully as his face sudden clouds over with an unfamiliar expression and his body tenses defensively. Suddenly snapping out of the trance, he rushes aggressively through his kata. He almost seems angry. On the second twirl-and-jab motion of his staff, his hand twitches awkwardly, causing him to drop his weapon and grasp his arm in pain.

"Donnie," I grow concerned as his face distorts briefly into a pinch of pain. I reach out to place a hand on his shoulder, but pause as I watch him breathe shakily through the spasm twitching in his arm. His arm is stiff, but he eventually relaxes it enough to cautiously bend his elbow. I could kick myself for not realizing how bad his growing pains have become. After his nasty bout with the flu several months ago**, I promised myself to be more observant of my quiet brother, and yet, again I have failed to do so.

Whatever anger possessed him just moments ago has drained him into a state of dejection as his shoulders hunch forward.

"Hey," My hand finally rests on his shoulder. I try to keep my tone soft as not to sound too overbearing, "maybe you should take a break. Overworking your muscles to the point of exhaustion may not be the best idea." He cradles his offending arm in his other hand and refuses to meet my gaze as he looks to the floor, "how about some meditation? It'll help relax your muscles and your mind." I offer him an encouraging smile, but at the sound of the word 'meditation', I'm only rewarded with a shoulder shrug that knocks my hand away.

"No thanks….Master Splinter's forcing enough meditation into my schedule as it is." The quiet disdain is clear in his tone as he picks up his staff with a sigh, "I need to get back to work on the retro-mutagen anyway. Just…come get me for patrolling later." I was about to suggest he skip patrolling this evening and get some rest, but his brisk stride has already carried him out the room; I sigh, hoping this moodiness is just a phase as I trail out of the dojo as well.

I catch a glimpse of Donnie as he enters his lab and shuts the door. A second later, the door reopens and he makes a beeline for the kitchen. Cabinets and drawers open and close loudly and he reemerges with a bundle of bananas, a jumbo size bag of cheese puffs, another jar of peanut butter, and a few other unidentifiable food items. Once again in his lab, he maneuvers the lab door closed with his foot.

Raph follows shortly behind and bangs his fist on the door, "Hey! Did you just smuggle peanut butter in there? I've been looking for peanut butter the past hour and you hid it?...And were those my cheese puffs? April just bought those! I swear, Donnie if you eat my cheese puffs…." His verbal tirade continues as he hammers on the door again.

A small smirk finds its way across my lips as I shake head. It's really hard to take Don's temperament seriously when he's in one of his feeding frenzies.

TBC...

**Leo is making reference to when Donnie caught the flu in my other story "The Brodar" you don't need to read that story to follow this one but if you're interested in seeing some brotherly fluff between Leo and Donnie then check it out!

A/N: As always thanks for reading and stay tuned for part 2 of chapter 10 coming soon! So what are you guys thinking about the story so far? Leave a review! I always love to read your comments and feedback. :)