"The curious are always in some danger. If you are curious, you might never come home."

Jeanette Winterson

Have you ever seen Central Park in the last days of fall? Miles upon miles of twisting pathways, with a beautiful surprise around every corner. The trees blaze with a multitude of colours; burnt orange, burgundy, wine, sunny yellow. The birds chirp and trill, the children laugh and shriek, the tourists whirr and buzz as they click, click, click with their Canon and Nikon statement pieces, always looking for that perfect shot, that perfect memory. They wander off-piste, trample indigenous wildlife into mulch, and sometimes stumble into places they shouldn't.

There are some places native New Yorkers know not to disturb. Some places are fenced off for a reason.

But sometimes, fences get weak spots. Weak enough for two teenagers, buoyant with the freedom of solo exploration, to look around furtively, and slip inside. A sewer grate, frail enough to pry loose. A sense of danger, weakened by the curiosity of the unknown, ignored. A voice, almost inaudible, beckoning from inside a roped-off section of cracked brickwork and crumbling mortar.

When the two were found, almost a week later, no one could explain their withered bodies, kneeling reverently in front of a pile of broken concrete and tangled rope. The area was thoroughly investigated, but no answer was found in the muffled silence of the narrow tunnel. The case was closed, the tunnel cordoned off, sealed and signed off as a mystery.

Of course, the newspapers ran with it, the legend grew, and over the next six years, four more deaths occurred in the tunnel; all children under the age of sixteen. Seven others dragged themselves from the sewers more dead than alive, mumbling incoherently and calling for their mothers before dying days later in a hospital bed.

All the while, the presence in the wall grew stronger.

I'm here, my baby. Mama will find you soon.

Stretching his tall frame with a groan, Donatello limped toward the faintly wavering image of the long couches in the living area like a man making for an oasis in a desert. He staggered past Leo, cross-legged on the floor in front of the final minutes of a re-run of Space Heroes and, ignoring his immediate older brother's concerned glance, collapsed into the comforting embrace of the nearest seat. The worn material covering the fat cushions felt like heaven against his aching shell. He hadn't realised that he was drifting off until Leo's voice startled him awake.

"I take it the repairs on the Shellraiser aren't going so well?"

Donnie picked up his head and regarded his brother with one squinted eye. "Nope, finished repairing the damage from the run-in with the Kraang. Just took longer than I thought to secure the casing for the power-cell." He rubbed his beak in agitation.

"…We will get it back, Donnie."

His big brother's assurance sent a fresh spurt of confident energy surging through his veins. "I know we will. Maybe I can rig something up to track the energy signal of the cell…"

"The only thing you're gonna rig up is a good appetite, dude!" Donnie's baby brother climbed carefully over the back of the couch, rather than vaulting over like he usually would, and settled next to his exhausted big brother. He proffered a temptingly large sandwich with a flourish, but Donnie had long since learned to be wary of Michelangelo's cooking.

"That barely made sense, Mikey," he groaned. "What's in the sandwich? Tell me it's not sardines and peanut butter again."

Mikey giggled, his beak wrinkling with mischievous glee. "Still can't believe you ate that. Nah, it's just pastrami, cheese and salad. Totally boring, bro."

To Mikey's palate, maybe, but Don found himself grabbing the plate and practically inhaling the sandwich. The smooth, creamy cheddar contrasted beautifully with the slight saltiness of the meat and the fresh lettuce and tomato, and he was finished before he even knew what was happening. He leaned back with a grateful sigh, his head resting comfortably on the edge of the couch.

"Thanks, Mikey. That was awesome."

His little brother grinned widely, always happy to be praised by his family. "Want another?"

"No, thank you. I could sleep for a week…"

"I'll take you up on that sandwich offer, bro," came Leo's voice from in front of the television.

"Ha! You can't resist the awesome power of Dr Sandwich…enstein…"

"That was weak."

"Hey, that kinda sass isn't getting you any closer to your sandwich! You think Raph wants one?"

Donnie managed to pay attention at the mention of his immediate younger brother. "Yeah, where is Raph?"

Leo tilted his head to the side in order to convey that he was participating in their conversation, but didn't have to move his eyes from the TV screen. "He was feeling a little funky after Xever bit him, so Master Splinter told him-"

As if their conversation had summoned him, Raph suddenly sidled into the living area, keeping a wary eye out for their overprotective father. He spotted the three turtles staring at him, and offered them a sheepish grin.

"Staying in my room was driving me up the wall," he said petulantly. "And I got hungry."

"Perfect timing, bro!" Mikey chirped. "I was just making sandwiches!"

Raphael's face lit up, then immediately clouded over with suspicion. "You put anything weird in my sandwich, and I swear, I will ram it down your throat. I still haven't forgotten the tomato and Nutella panini."

"Let's not forget the mozzarella and chocolate rolls." Leo shuddered at the memory, and Mikey rolled his eyes, scales slightly ruffled in irritation.

"You guys are total culinary Palestines."

"I think you mean 'philistines'." Donnie mumbled from his prone position on the couch. His eyes were growing heavier, and his muscles ached badly after the speedy shower he'd forced himself to have. The comforting sounds of his brothers' good-natured bickering grew dim as he drifted into a doze.

The sudden feeling of being lifted awoke him with a start. One of his brothers (unless Master Splinter had spontaneously sprouted a shell) had hoisted him into a standing position and was walking him in the general direction of their bedrooms. He groaned in protest.

"C'mon, Donnie, your bed's gonna be so much comfier than the couch," came Mikey's voice, sounding slightly strained under his weight. Donnie made an effort to help himself along, and soon found himself being deposited in his amazing, wonderful bed. To his surprise, Mikey crawled in with him and pressed snugly against his side. He automatically draped an arm over his little brother, and dredged a questioning noise from deep in his throat.

"Sorry, Donnie, but I'm super freezing," Mikey said. "Mind if I crash with you tonight?"

Mikey's skin did seem much colder than usual, and Donnie drew him a little closer. He just about managed a mumbled "sure" before a sweet, dreamless sleep overtook him.

Mikey awoke with a start to the sound of someone calling for him. It wasn't so much his actual name that he had heard; more of a general sense that someone needed him. Sitting up gently so as not to disturb his big brother, he peered around the darkened bedroom, expecting one of his other brothers, or maybe Sensei. However, the door was still firmly closed, and beside him, Donnie slept soundly. Chalking the experience up to a weird dream, Mikey settled back against Don, shivering lightly. Why was it so cold in here? He tumbled back into a restless sleep, waking every few hours with a troubled, nameless anxiety, and eventually sneaked out of his brother's bed at four a.m.

Grabbing the quilt from his own room, he made his way to the kitchen, and nursed a cup of Sensei's herbal tea with little enthusiasm, dozing on his folded arms every so often. Eventually, his brothers made their way into the kitchen with varying degrees of alertness. By that time, Mikey had woken himself up enough to prepare them a light breakfast of toast and cold cereal to be eaten before Sensei called them for training. He declined to eat any himself, as his stomach was still churning after his restless night. Instead, he put his head down once more, and tried to snatch a five minute nap.

He didn't notice the looks of concern his big brothers exchanged at his unusually subdued attitude, nor Raph's gentleness as he shook Mikey awake for practice with their father. The beginning katas flew by with a dreamlike quality, and before he knew it, Mikey was facing off against Leonardo, with his father barking "Hajime!" behind him. He tried desperately to keep up with his eldest brother, but his legs felt like they were filled with ice water, and he inevitably stumbled just as Leo performed a defensive thrust with the hilt of his ninjaken. The sword's tsuba clipped his left eye as he fell to his knees with a gasp. His noise of surprise was echoed swiftly by Leo.

"Oh, Mikey! Are you ok, man?! Why didn't you block me? Here, lemme see. Sensei!"

During his high-speed rant, Leo had pushed up his baby brother's mask to see the damage. He and the family that had surrounded them hissed in sympathy at the blossoming shiner that was fast emerging.

"My son, are you in pain?" Master Splinter enquired, his tail lashing the ground in agitation.

"Mikey, I'm so sorry!" Leo wailed.

"Here, Mikey, let's get you some ice," Donnie cajoled.

"Are you ok, little bro-"

"I'm fine," Mikey interrupted Raph. "I'm good, we can carry on!"

Sensei shook his head gravely. "No, Michelangelo, you cannot. I sense your exhaustion is impairing your judgement, so you may rest whilst your brothers and I continue our lesson."

"But Sensei-"

His father glowered at him. "No buts, my son. Go to the corner of the room and try to get some rest."

Fighting back inexplicable tears, Mikey ignored his worried brothers as he trudged to the softer tatami mats in the corner of the dojo. He knew his father was only concerned, not truly angry, but it felt as though he was being punished all the same. Curling into a ball, he surprised himself by drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Can you hear me? Can you hear me? I'm here, baby. Can you hear me?