Night Addictions

by KC

Warning: dubious consent, extremely indulgent identity pr0n, tcest

Pairings: Don/Leo, Raph/Leo, not sure what else may come

Disclaimer: I have no idea who owns the TMNT anymore. Anyway, it ain't me.

Summary: Successfully preventing an assassination against April, Leonardo has returned after four months away from home. At the same time, a new presence in the city is felt, a swift and invisible thief that Raphael discovers is almost impossible to catch. Almost.

Other Info: A sort of AU for the 2007 cgi film - I liked the Ghost and Nightwatcher ideas but abhored the plot, so I'm stealing what I like and playing with those elements instead. I'm also using the 2012 lair design and the Mirage comics sensibility for violence.

Four months.

Raphael paced from the living room to the dojo, from the dojo to the living room. Arms crossed, frown permanently set, he scanned the entire lair. As usual for the past months, a steady supply of empty soda bottles and magazines covered the couches and rug, all centered around Michelangelo who lay across the floor, gazing up at the television as he played. At the far wall, a blue light glowed from under the door to Donatello's laboratory. And behind him, Splinter meditated or read in his room. Or perhaps slept, as he did more often now.

The dojo was still dark, had been dark for weeks on end. He and his brothers still trained with Splinter, but after practice, in the quiet hours of the evening, there was no low candle, no sense of presence, of someone's meditation—empty, silent, not even the familiar scent of smoke or incense lingering into the night.

"If you keep pacing," Michelangelo said from the floor, "I'm gonna drop tacks on the floor. Just fair warning."

"Pft." Raphael rolled his eyes, coming up behind the couch. "I'm surprised you looked up from that game long enough to notice."

Michelangelo smiled wanly, jerking the controller to one side.

"Didn't have to look up. You make a ton of noise."

"Whatever."

He watched his brother's game, a new one called Tenshi Tsunami or something, flying a tornado of angels over a city and sweeping up criminals. So many white flashes pulsed on the screen that Raphael winced and looked away.

"How can you even watch that?" Raphael muttered.

"'Cause it's cool," Michelangelo said. The lights sparkled in his eyes as if he were hypnotized. "So pretty..."

"Knock it off. You're gonna go blind."

"Says you," Michelangelo said. "'Sides, you don't nag as bad as Leo."

At their brother's name, they both couldn't help but spare a glance at the payphone. A remnant from the lair's days as a subway station, the ancient phone could still make calls, but for the past four months, barely a handful of phone calls. For the past month, nothing.

Raphael shrugged, coming around his little brother and leaning over the tv.

"Ain't gotta nag," he said, poking at the power cord.

"Whoa whoa-!"

Gasping, Michelangelo scrambled to gather his legs under himself, one arm outstretched.

"Hey, no fair! What'd I ever do to you?"

"I ain't gotta nag," Raphael said. "But I know someone who hasn't pulled his weight at making dinner this week, and I'm willing to play dirty."

"You cheater!" Michelangelo fumbled at the controller and hit several buttons. "At least let me save! Midtown's the hardest part—"

Raphael let him finish, grinning as Michelangelo stood and stomped past him, muttering the whole way to the kitchen. The door slammed after him, and then came the sound of clinking plates and the stove clicking on.

Curious—was there anything worth sneaking off the stove?—Raphael turned the door handle and peeked through the crack. He saw Michelangelo move in and out of sight, from cupboard to cupboard, bringing out several pans. Then the rice container and curry seasoning, the chicken from the back of the fridge—

Michelangelo whipped around so fast that Raphael almost didn't spot the bag of flour flying at the door. He jolted away just as the door crashed shut.

"Mikey, you little psycho—!"

"You can wait just like everyone else!"

"Oh, you rotten—open this door!"

Raphael grabbed the handle and banged his fist on the door, rattling it on its hinges. The handle wouldn't turn, and he heard the stepping stool being placed up against it, holding it fast. Raphael gave it a final, sullen kick and backed off, glaring at the wood.

Behind him, he heard the familiar shuffling of his second brother and caught the constant whiff of coffee. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Donatello leaning against the wall, his eyes lined with dark circles.

"Would it be too much to ask," Donatello muttered, "if the two crazy people in the house could keep it down? Some of us have killer headaches."

"You wouldn't have a headache if you'd sleep once in awhile," Raphael said.

"I wish I could."

Donatello sighed and walked past him, knocking on the door. Inside the kitchen, something slid on the

floor, the door opened just enough that Michelangelo could slip through the coffee pot spout.

"Hey!" Raphael squawked. "No fair!"

Donatello's coffee was refilled in an instant, and he had the mug out just as Raphael lunged at the door, now suddenly locked again.

"How the hell do you know when it's him?" Raphael yelled at the kitchen.

"'Cause his knock doesn't sound like it's a big, dumb jackass," Michelangelo yelled back.

"I swear, whatever you're cooking better taste golden!"

"Like a cold, hard rock? Kinda weird, bro', but if that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

Raphael grumbled and turned away from the kitchen, head back to the main room and plopping down on the sofa. The video game was still on, a moody picture of an angel braced against hard winds in the background of the menu screen. Raphael sighed but didn't turn it off, content to listen to its soft harp strings as he shut his eyes.

"These are the days I really miss Leo," Donatello said, sitting on the couch next to him.

Nursing the mug in his hand, he held the warmth close, taking the tiniest sip as he waited for it to cool down. His shoulders drooped as he began to relax, settling into the cushions, and his head tilted to one side as he yawned.

"Loud arguments, play fights, screaming matches with the dumb games." Donatello sighed, talking with closed eyes. "What's a burgeoning mad scientist supposed to do for peace and quiet?"

"Leo and me argue," Raphael said, grimacing but refusing to look at him. "Worse'n me and Mikey."

"Don't we all know it," Donatello said. "But you aren't as loud. Mikey is a little banshee when he gets going."

From the kitchen came a yell. "Am not!"

Donatello and Raphael both turned their heads. "Shut up and cook—!"

The phone rang.

Everything in the lair stopped. Donatello's coffee froze in midair, liquid slowly sloshing over the side. Raphael's eyes widened as the sound registered. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. And from Splinter's room, the sound of a rushed breath like someone rising up out of meditation.

"Ouch!" Donatello hissed as the coffee hit his fingers.

He put his coffee on the floor, waving his scalded hand. Raphael jumped to his feet and skirted around the sofa toward the phone. The kitchen door slammed open and Michelangelo tore out, springboarding off the sofa and doing a somersault over his brother, shoving him to the floor while Michelangelo easily landed.

"Mikey, you little—!" Raphael growled as he stood.

"Moshi moshi!" Michelangelo said, dodging so that Raphael went flying past him. "This is the Mikey restaurant."

"...put on Donatello."

Michelangelo's eyes went wide, and he sucked down a huge gulp of air, a warning to anyone nearby.

"Oh my, my, our little runaway child is calling home! Are you okay? Have you eaten? Do you need bus fare? Clean underwear?"

"Mikey, I swear to God..."

"Now now, mummy dearest worries about her little one—"

Behind him, Donatello gave his shell a firm shove, throwing him across Raphael who was squashed back to the floor. As Michelangelo squawked indignantly, Donatello put the phone to his ear.

"—swear if you don't get Donatello, I am hanging up."

"Don't you dare," Donatello said, with just enough clip in his words that told his brother how upset he was. "You don't have to deal with his worrying, but we do. He's a hundred times worse when you're gone."

"Oh thank God." Leonardo sighed. "In a couple minutes, I wasn't going to have a choice about hanging up. I only have 'till the train starts."

"'Train'?" Donatello echoed. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Hitching a ride on a train coming out of Richmond," Leonardo said. "Probably be home early tomorrow morning."

Donatello sighed out all the tension he'd felt for a month. Behind him, both of his siblings fell silent, trying to hear the tinny sound of their brother on the line.

"Just be careful riding those things," Donatello said, not really worried. "The cables and lines over them in the city..."

"I'm in an empty boxcar," Leonardo said. "No worries."

"All the worries," Donatello countered. "'Till you get home. Seriously, what took you so long to call?"

"Would you believe it's been a running chase for the past three weeks?" Leonardo said. "It wasn't one of them, it was three of them."

"And you got all three?" Donatello asked.

"Got lucky. The last one doubled back so I was already heading home when I finally got him in Houston." Leonardo sighed heavily, a train whistle in the background. "But yeah, got 'em all. Any trouble on your end?"

"April'll be happy to hear that," Donatello said. "Nah, haven't heard anything. She's laying low at Casey's just to be safe, but..."

"But?" Leonardo prompted.

"I just wish I knew why someone would put a hit out on her." Donatello leaned against the wall, head down. "I mean, she just runs an antique place. Did she pick up something super secret, something dangerous?"

"I think that's more likely," Leonardo said. He hesitated, not sure how much to add, then winced as he felt the train cars begin to kick against each other. "Dammit. Gonna be too loud to talk here soon."

"What were you gonna say?" Donatello asked.

"I'll explain it later," Leonardo said, raising his voice as the engines ahead rumbled heavily. "She got a Mayan thing recently, right? Tell her to ditch it."

"'Mayan'?" Donatello tried to remember. "There was an Olmec rubber ball with a skull inside—"

"Whatever," Leonardo said. "Tell her to get rid of it quick and she should be fine."

"Okay!" Donatello said loudly, hoping his brother could still hear him. "See you when you get here!"

Leonardo's response was lost as the train wheels shrieked and began to roll. Donatello put the phone down on its receiver, looking up as someone coughed. Splinter stood in his doorway, one hand on his walking stick, as eager for information as Raphael and Michelangelo.

"He'll be here soon," Donatello said. "He's on a train in Richmond, Virginia. It'll probably take seven or eight hours with all the rain right now."

"What was that about an Olmec ball?" Splinter asked, coming close. "Is that related to the attempts on her life?"

"Leo seemed to think so," Donatello said. "He didn't get a chance to say why. The train started moving right then."

"Even if it is not," Splinter said, "best to take no chances. She should dispose of it immediately, and in a way that alerts her stalkers to its change of hands."

Donatello nodded. "I'll call her right now. She can probably put it up online and sell it quick. Heck, if she just dead drops it somewhere, she wouldn't even have to go out to mail it."

"Or we could drop it in a post office box for her," Michelangelo said, sitting up on his elbows which were planted firmly on Raphael's shell. "Right, sensei? So she isn't out all the money she put into getting it."

"That sounds acceptable," Splinter said. "Dinner first, then go. You can remove it from her store and be home in time to greet your brother."

"Woohoo!" Michelangelo fist pumped, driving the air out of Raphael. "Welcome home celebration! Leo's back and that calls for a party! And we'll get a pinata and pin the tail on the Raph, and—"

"Geddoffame!"

Raphael finally braced himself against the floor and pushed as hard as he could, flinging Michelangelo into the air. To his disgust, his little brother landed on his feet and ran back into the kitchen, locking it shut again.

"Donny?" Raphael muttered, still on the floor.

"Yes, Raph?" Donatello sipped his coffee calmly.

"Call April quick." He turned over, staring at the ceiling, the blurry lights reflecting off the pipes. "Maybe we'll get lucky and I can hit something."

Smiling, Donatello picked up the phone again, dialing April's number. As he did, his smile faded.

Leonardo only had one of their shellcells, which could only contact another shellcell. How had he made the call while on the train? Who's phone had he used?

In the train car, Leonardo hung up and turned the camera to face the crumpled body beside him. He took a quick photo and sent it to his account, then crunched the cell phone in his hand, tucking the ruined components back into the dead man's pocket. A killer from the Diablo Puerto cartel, the man lay canted against the corner, his head all but severed from Leonardo's sword strike. A little overenthusiastic with his cut—his sword had become stuck in the spine. After a chase of three weeks, though, Leonardo didn't begrudge himself that satisfaction of finally sinking his sword in.

Since the train was already out of the yard and moving down the tracks, he grabbed the body's shoulders and maneuvered him to the side of the car. Holding onto its leg, he tipped the body out of the car inch by inch until finally something caught underneath the train and ripped the body out of his hands.

At least four or five more trains would take this line before the night ended, probably more, and the body was surely crumpled up on the tracks now. By morning, the body would be unidentifiable, if anyone could make out that body on the tracks was human. After all, road kill was common.

The night was warm, promising rain. He sat back down in the far corner, watching the trees go by in a blur. If he drowsed, he could at least manage to stay on his feet until he got home. There was no way to actually sleep, though. He slept too lightly to be able to ignore the train's rumbling and he had to avoid humans during the frequent stops.

He stretched, arranging himself as comfortably as he could, and used his balled up scarf as a pillow. Held securely on his plastron, he opened the laptop he'd taken from his first kill and brought up the web forum he'd found, uploading the photo of the dead man. Leonardo was only posting as a guest, simply informing the other users of the site that he'd taken out three hit men, but even so, the response had been swift. No one else was taking the hit job on April O'Neil, and after his next post informing the group that the artifact would be going on sale online, the hit was removed from job pool.

"Cheap bastards," he muttered, typing as he spoke. "Next time just hire a thief."

He yawned, shutting down the site and closing the laptop. A strange thing, thieves being more valuable than hit men. He'd always thought it'd be the other way around.

The rain started, bringing a chill to the night air. He pulled out the scarf and unfurled it, wrapping the thick cloth around his shoulders and using the end as a hood. Warmer, and he'd worn it that way for months now. Nestling in the corner away from the wind, he listened to the droning of the tracks beneath him, relieved that he was finally heading home.

Home, which would bring its own dangers. As he had for the past four months, he wished he hadn't been forced to go off tracking hitmen alone. Having even one of his brothers there would have curbed some of the bad habits he'd fallen into.

He smiled, curling into his scarf.

And had no intention of stopping.