Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

A Little Less Noise

Donatello had always been a night owl. The silence that hung about the lair when his rowdy brothers were asleep made for the perfect atmosphere for him to concentrate on his inventions. Sometimes one or two of them would stay up late playing video games or something, but usually it was just him and his gadgets. Which is why it was all the more curious when the thirteen year old heard a strange squeaking noise growing louder from outside his lab at three in the morning.

Getting up to see what was going on, he found none other than Michelangelo sneaking into the lair from the sewer tunnels with a small bundle clutched to his chest. He and his brothers were now old enough that they were allowed to play in the sewers alone, so long as they stayed close to home, but never this late at night. Donnie called out to him, and, upon being caught, found Mikey instantly upon him, his eyes wide. He held up his precious cargo, and the older turtle was surprised to find a very small and clearly very young kitten in his hands.

Mikey quickly began to hurry through his tale of how he'd found the tiny animal. Apparently the young turtle had stumbled upon it and it's mother and siblings the night before. He'd been keeping an eye on them, but when he'd returned the next night, all were gone save for the kitten he held in his arms. Donnie was impressed to hear that his energetic brother had managed to sit still for a few hours while waiting to see if the mother would return. But as she did not show, he had decided to finally bring it back to the lair.

Gently taking the kitten from Mikey, he examined it with a frown. It was a female, and judging by her size and the fact that her eyes hadn't even opened yet, he guessed only about two weeks old. Being away from her mother at such a young age greatly decreased her chances of survival. And if the constant noise emanating from her mouth was any indication, she could use a good meal of mother's milk, something they did not have.

As calmly as possible, he began to try and explain the situation to his younger brother, but peering into his wide, pleading eyes, Donatello found himself unable to tell him to just leave her where he'd found her. And when Mikey began babbling about how awesome Donnie had been when he saved Spike for Raph only a few years earlier, he gave a resigned sigh, telling him he'd do whatever he could to save the small creature. There was no point in trying to explain the difference between bandaging a cut on the leg of an abandoned pet turtle and trying to nurse a two week old kitten without a mother.

Against his better judgement, Mikey had insisted on waking up Master Splinter upon hearing that first and foremost they would need formula. The siblings themselves were not yet old enough to venture topside, but Donnie was unconvinced that their rat master would be very happy about being woken up at such an ungodly hour to try and save a cat. To his surprise, however, upon hearing about the situation, their father left immediately, though the nervous twitching of his tail betrayed his rodent instincts.

With the food problem being taken care of, they now needed somewhere to keep the small animal. At first Mikey had offered to keep her in his room, but with how messy it was, it was at last decided that keeping her in Donnie's lab was more sensible. He had wanted to protest, wincing at the thought of hearing that annoying squeaking all day, but his sibling had already deposited a large, cardboard box in the corner and was stuffing it with blankets. Placing the kitten inside, he ran off, quickly returning with an orange, rabbit plush toy and a marker.

She of course needed a name, he'd said, and he knew exactly what to call her. On the side of the box in large letters he scrawled "SQUEAKER". Donnie rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but think that it was indeed the perfect name for the obnoxious critter.

Once Splinter had returned with formula, Mikey had eagerly watched as his older brother showed him how to properly feed the kitten using a needleless syringe. As the young turtle cradled Squeaker in his arms gently, Donnie continued to instruct him, informing him that she'd have to be fed every two hours. He had simply nodded, too caught up in gazing lovingly at the tiny creature eating hungrily in his grasp. With a sigh, the older turtle at last trudged off to bed, the long hours having finally taken their toll.

Over the course of the next two days, Mikey acted like a proud father of a newborn baby girl. He was constantly in Donnie's lab either feeding or holding the young kitten whose high pitched meowing had yet to cease. The older turtle was always grateful for meal time as it meant a brief halt to the piercing sound. But whenever his brother was off taking a break playing video games or fixing himself something to eat, the noise seemed all the more deafening.

He scrunched up his beak in irritation. It was hard to concentrate on his inventions with Squeaker's inability to be quiet. Occasionally he would get up from his desk and walk over to the large box, scowling down at the helpless kitten as she slowly crawled over the blankets and rabbit. Sometimes he would even scold her, telling her that he was only trying to help her and this was the thanks he got? But every so often he would reach down and pick her up, holding her close in an attempt to keep her young body warm until Michelangelo returned to take over.

On the third day, however, it was clear that she was getting worse, not better. She began eating smaller meals, and her squeaking was growing less constant. Mikey spent even more time with her, confident that all she needed was someone to watch over her and love her like any parent would. He was constantly holding her, telling her about all the things they would do together once she grew older. Donnie couldn't bring himself to crush his brother's hopes by telling him that Squeaker likely wouldn't last more than another forty-eight hours at best.

The quiet that hung in his lab on the fourth day was enough to convince him that they had failed. The young kitten would still let out a weak noise every once in a while, but not even Mikey could convince her to eat. In a last vain attempt, Donnie found an old heating blanket and gave it to his brother to wrap around her. He held her in his arms, constantly whispering that it was going to be ok, until at last she grew silent. Squeaker had passed away in Mikey's gentle embrace.

He had known it was the likely outcome from the beginning, but seeing his baby brother in tears, Donatello did his best to comfort him. He told him that she had died knowing someone loved her and that he shouldn't blame himself; the young turtle had done everything he could. Donnie didn't hesitate when Mikey finally asked if they could bury her under the tree in the dojo.

Carefully wrapping Squeaker in a small blanket with her orange rabbit, Donnie found a trowel and began to dig a hole in the soft earth behind the base of the tree. Once it was deep enough, he moved aside, allowing his younger brother to lower the kitten down into it. After refilling the hole and patting down the mound of dirt, Mikey brought out a small cross he'd made out of some sticks, twine, and colorful strips of cloth, placing it at the head of the grave. Donnie sat next to him, rubbing his shell gently as he said his goodbyes.

That night, the older turtle was up late yet again. He sat at his desk which was littered with parts and tools, hand drawn schematics for his latest project propped up next to him. But the minutes dragged on with him barely raising so much as a finger. Hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to focus; it was simply too quiet.

A/N: A story from my childhood. It's been almost two decades (dang, has it been that long?), but my memories of Squeaker are still pretty vivid. I was her "little mother", so her death hit me pretty hard as a kid. Not sure why I decided to use it for a TMNT story, but I thought I'd try a different storytelling approach with it by avoiding dialogue. I'm curious to know what you all thought.

And as always, critics and grammar police appreciated! Only one prompt left, and I'll have written twelve stories in four weeks!