A Rat in the Sewer

Disclaimer: As I'm sure is much to everyone's surprise, I do not own TMNT in any generation or format. I understand if you feel the need to sit down and take a minute to reorient yourself after this devastating news.

Chapter Two: Home Security

Words bled across the screen in a blurry mess, making it hard for Donnie to focus. A head-splitting migraine was slowly emerging, pounding at the back of his eyes, and the light from the computer screen was unbearable – but the worst part of the whole mess was the relentless squeaking. It's been nine days of constant, unavoidable squeaks that didn't seem to end. It was literally driving Donatello insane, and in a moment of unfeigned frustration, he slammed his laptop closed and sent his hands flying to his temples in an effort to stop the dull roar in his head. Eyes screwed shut, he leaned back in his chair – but even that felt uncomfortable.

Donnie sighed and learned towards the desk again, pushing the laptop away from him before letting his head fall onto his desk heavily – he felt awful. Even his stomach felt as though it was ready to shove everything he'd eaten onto the floor.

"What is wrong with me?" Donnie moaned inwardly. Usually he could handle a few days without sleep without falling through himself like this. It was just how things had always been – sure, he got tired afterwards, of course…but never like this. This was…terrible. Light was painful, reading was painful, even thinking – especially thinking was just…excruciating.

Loosely, he tried to remember when he'd slept last – but his memories came back empty, save for a three hour nap he'd squeezed in…Donnie's brow furrowed as he tried to remember…two days ago. Awesome. Leo would probably chew him out for that later too, which wouldn't help his headache in the slightest.

In his defense, he hadn't had much of a chance to rest. Being the Mr. Fix-It he was, he'd been booked since the first day the rats had decided to take up residence in the lair. Even on day one, the vermin had demolished two pizzas, a headband April had left, and nibbled fringe into Leo's mask. Since then, things had only started to pile up – the blender cord, the toaster, a T-phone; if it was left unattended out in the open, it was on the menu. And then it was on his desk, another item waiting to be repaired and another thing he wouldn't get done.

He groaned to himself again as he dug his face further into arm, which he'd repurposed as a makeshift pillow. Sleep was pulling on his eyelids, and it was a tempting offer. In fact, he started to feel his eyes slowly drooping down…He tried to shake himself awake, but he was fighting a losing battle on multiple fronts. The vague traces of light from the lamp in his room was threatening to sear his eyes shut permanently, the weight of thinking was balancing unevenly in his mind, and the migraine was starting to set in.

"Maybe I could close my eyes for just a second," Donnie reasoned with himself warily, "Just…just for a sec…" He was exhausted by the time he got the thought out, and he let himself be swallowed into sleep.

"Poor, overworked, under-appreciated and exhausted Donatello," A cracked voice whispered, voice oily yet rigid as it glided like over the purple-banded turtle with the smooth but grainy force of rapids.

Donatello froze – he was…nowhere, really. Literally Wherever it was, whatever kind of place he was in, was simply black. He was standing in the middle of nothing – which was disorienting. No floor, no ceiling, no walls – just blank, empty places. Where…where was he? What kind of dream was this?

"Where are you?" The voice laughed coldly, like the though had been clumsy and dull, "Where are you?" he repeated again, this time his voice a chilling chuckle, "Why, Donatello – don't you recognize the recessives of your own mind? And I can assure you that this is no dream, terrapin. Which really is a ignominy – I know you need the rest."

Donatello's eyes narrowed, becoming slits as he whipped his head from side to side, reaching for his Bo. In a fluid motion, he had he the staff wrapped tightly in his hands, his grip so constricted that white tips had formed on the top of his knuckles. He had finally recognized the voice.

It belonged to Dr. Falco; otherwise known as the last person Donnie wanted pursuing his thoughts – which he obviously was. He repressed a shudder, hating that the madman had somehow slunk his way into his mind.

"Very good, Donatello! Recognizing me by voice? Truly, your mind is one of the more interesting ones I've come across. It's so…complex. So many thoughts – and intricate ones at that," Falco mused before letting his tone drop a few significant degrees as he grinned darkly, "It'll be a such shame when I break it."

Suddenly Falco's form appeared in front of the turtle, coming together in a with a veil of smoke. He smiled at Donnie's shocked expression, suppressing a laugh at the turtle drew his staff up defensively, as thought to his him.

"Oh come now, Donatello," the scientist clicked his teeth together in amusement, his eyes scarlet orbs, "You're smarter than that. You don't honestly expect to land a hit on me here of all places, do you?"

"Most of science's greatest discoveries are based trial and error," The turtle grunted in reply, his Bo already flowing through his fingers like solidified water. He twirled the staff with ease, weaving an elaborate pattern before he plunged the front of the staff at Falco's abdomen – but for all his efforts, the onslaught was useless. The Bo sailed straight through his target, like he'd charged the staff through a pillar of smoke. A laugh, icy and cruel, echoed through the vast darkness.

"I guess," Falco grinned, clearly enjoying himself, "That would fall under the 'error' category."

Donnie frowned, replacing his staff in its holder now that it had proved useless. His mind was racing as he stepped back – this man had taken over Splinter's mind. Now…that may have been because he seemed to specialize in rats nowadays, but he still apparently had retained his ability to manipulate thoughts. The point was, if he had gotten his Sensei under his telepathic control, there was a good chance he could get him under his control as well. Donnie needed to be on his guard. Perhaps…-

"There you go again!" Falco sounded genuinely amused, his ghostly form creeping ever closer, his eyes snake-like slits as he flowed around Donatello as though he were examining a trophy, "So many plans, so many observations, and in so little time," the man paused, noticing Donnie's eyes glued to him in defensive anger, and he grinned, shaking his head sadly, "It's a pity your family doesn't value your talents."

Donnie felt his eyes harden at the comment – so that was his plan.

"That won't work Falco, if you're trying to get me against the family. They appreciate me," he shot back, taking a step away from the foggy form of the elder scientist.

Falco tilted his head to the side, a faux wave of sympathy racing into his crimson eyes.

"Do they, Donatello?"

Images sprang through his mind unwillingly, years of memories engulfing him at once –

"How can I put this gently?" Raph's voice cut through the air, "We're…better than you."

"Dude," Mikey's amused squeal echoed loudly through the spaced, "You're stick exploded!"

"Uh, not now, Donnie," Leo was saying rushedly.

Then the images appeared, life-sized figures of his brothers standing before him.

First to move was Raph – a vision of him breaking Donatello's staff during practice, and then proceeding to smash the weapon against his shell like the young scientist was a discarded drum set played through the air. Then Mikey's form animated, clutching the carefully constructed smoke bombs in his hands – the ones that had taken forever to make – and he was throwing them against the ground frivolously, erupting into plumes of purple smoke.

"Er, Mikey-" Donatello began, but then shook his head – this wasn't real…Besides, his brother had just been excited with the new invention. It hadn't been lack of respect.

"Still trying to defend them?" Falco cooed sadly, and more images rushed around Donnie.

Raph was standing over him as he worked, trying to figure out how to found Snakeweed – "No, I think hitting will help," Raph intoned threateningly, and Donnie watched his own pencil start to write harder and faster.

Suddenly the vision changed, and Leo's katanas were grinding blades with a foot ninja's own sword as he looked back at a ghostly memory version of Donnie, who was leaning over the bomb worriedly as Leo yelled, "Let's hurry it up, Donnie!" the leader said hastily.

"I'm working as fast as I can!"

"Then work faster!" Raph was shouting back-

Before the rest of the memories could continue, Donnie punched at the smoke forcibly, the images dissipating in a waterfall of foggy curls and then fading altogether. His thoughts were ringing, he felt sick, and his head hurt – like a sledgehammer was dancing on his skull. Combine that with Falco's fog-made memories eating at him, and he could hardly focus.

"Leave me alone!" Donnie yelled out, turning to face Falso, who was facing him with a gravestone smirk.

"And for all of you efforts," the older scientist continued darkly, his face now directly up to Donatello's, "What do you get? Nothing. Not even a 'thank you'."

Donnie shrunk back, stumbling backwards from the doctor, "I don't need them to tell me the appreciate me! I just know." He spat back warily, but the strength behind his voice was ebbing.

"Mmm-hmm…Maybe," the doctor replied disbelievingly "Or, perhaps they aren't really the ones to blame. I mean, I can understand their hesitation to give you too much praise – with your failures."

Donnie gasped as Timothy appeared before him, a screaming blob. Eyes filled with sadness and confusion, the monster roared in pain – and Donnie squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick.

"I-I promised I'll fix him up." Donnie murmured, and Falco grinned – the turtle was breaking. Granted, the success was of little accomplishment due to the fact the turtle was exhausted, not totally alert, and he'd been itching away at Donnie's mind for a few hours previous to his falling asleep – but the feeling of victory was potent nonetheless.

"Oh, and that leads us to your promises. Do you honestly think you'll be able to keep them all? After all, you've already failed the poor boy – what about April? Two times now you've had the chance to save hi, and two times you have failed. How…inadequate." Falco observed reproachfully.

Donnie's breathing was heavy, and he turned away from the image of April's saddened face that had appeared in front of him.

"Stop it, Falco." Donnie said harshly, his eyes tightened and anger biting at him – because, even though he knew what the doctor was trying to do, he had a point. Many points, actually. What he really needed was some time to think, some time to-

"Donnie?"

Donatello forced his tired eyes open, vision blurry before he finally settled on Leo's concerned face. He lifted his head heavily, glancing around his room – it was still covered in broken appliances and loose wires, and his face was imprinted the indention of the table. Starting to wake up, he wiped away at his face before his vision cleared.

"Eh, I'm awake," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes one last time before turning to Leo curiously, "What's going on?"

Leo's expression was that of worry, and he examined Donnie carefully. His younger brother was obviously tired, and purple bags were starting to form under his brown eyes. He noticed Donnie's skin had paled, and he frowned.

"I was walking past your lab, and I found you asleep on your desk. I've been trying to get you wake up for a few minutes, I guess – you looked like you were having a nightmare," Leo explained, concern growing as he continued, "It was like you were in a comma, Don. You sure you're okay?"

"Fine," Donatello answered curtly as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, the remnants of his dream still filtering throughout his mind – which wasn't helping the migraine.

"Uh…right," Leo replied, not used to such a short answer from his intelligent little brother – if Donnie was working on something, he usually liked to talk things out to someone. Even if they didn't understand it, it seemed to help him figure something out. But the terse reply was out of character, even for the times when Donnie preferred to work things out on his own. Leo paused, figuring something might be wrong.

"So," the leader trailed carefully, eyes landing on the desk, "Is everything here working out okay with this stuff?" He wondered, trying to figure out if it was frustration that was aiding Donnie's bad mood.

Donnie turned on him, and Leo felt surprise leap onto his face when he saw an exhausted but hardened suspicion and anger leap onto the genius's face.

"Is that why you're in here?" Donnie asked offhandedly, his eyes narrowed, "To make sure I'm getting stuff done?" He demanded accusingly.

"Er, no-" Leo raised his hands to his chest, palms to Don and fingers outstretched, "I just – I wanted to know how things were going for you."

Donnie was about to snap out a stinging retort, but he grabbed ahold of himself uneasily – he didn't want to yell at Leo. He wasn't mad…well, he hadn't been.

This was Falco talking…or at least, sort of.

Donnie's face fell, and he looked at Leo apologetically, "Sorry Leo," he muttered, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes before standing up, "I just have a headache." He said, walking over to the door, "I'm going to go grab some Tylenol."

Leo watched in confusion as Donnie excused himself, not waiting for Leo's response as he walked out of the room.

"What was that?" Leo thought to himself, "Donnie's never acted like that before...Maybe the stress is getting to him."