Disclaimer – Would be nice, but own them I don't. Anything in this story remotely resembling sixty-six inch tall terrapins wielding ninja weapons are the sole property of some guys in Northampton – whatever state it's in. Massachusetts? Anyway, they're not mine, plain and simple. This story is, though:0) Not a one shot, not even sure if it'll be a two-shot, but I really should be shot uploading it where I have so many other unfinished missives. Blame my muses; they've taken over my life.

The Temper That Ate Manhattan

by reinbeauchaser

Chapter 1 – Fleas and Bowling Balls

Once upon a dark and broody mood, there was an angry mutant turtle named Raphael. He would sulk and he'd slam, and he would grumble and he'd – well – whatever he would say, he was upset most of the time and made life miserable for his brothers.

But not more so than his father.

The sudden clamor of something crashing hard against a wall jerked the rat from his dreams. His mind still thick with sleep, he wondered if the noise was part of his unconscious imagery. Then, he heard 'whateveritwas' disintegrate into a noisy rain of violently dismantled parts.

"Not again," he sighed wearily, wanting very much to hide under his covers, but knowing it wouldn't be very respectable. After all, he was a ninja master and should master his environment. Alas, that was not the case.

As the sound of destruction rang sharply through the humble sewer home, a long string of cuss words, best left to a more appropriate rating, came forth. The thumping and banging that followed might make one think a pachyderm had found its way through the maze of underground tunnels and welcomed itself in to the mutants' home.

But it was only Raphael being – Raphael.

Where they lived, though, their lair was a tiny collection of rooms beneath the streets of New York City. Unfortunately, they were tiny as in 'not large' and certainly as in 'not large enough'. And that was really a shame, too, because Raphael needed something bigger and preferably far from his family.

At least, according to everyone else – and especially to one who shared a bedroom with him.

As it was, they did not have this luxury, and so no one could find sanctuary from his verbal assault. Therefore, the cacophony of noise raged unchallenged through the obviously too-thin door of the angry turtle's bedroom.

In short, Raphael was in a toot.

"He's mad…"

"I gathered that."

"What about, Mike?"

"Don't know, Don, just - mad." Mike explained wearily as he and his three brothers stood before their father's bedroom door, huddling together for warmth. "By the time I went to bed, he was asleep…I think." Shaking his head, Mike shrugged, "Could have been faking it, though."

"What set him off?" Donnie asked rhetorically, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Like I said, no idea, but he tossed and turned a lot in his bed, I know that," Mike grumped, "I barely got outta the room alive!"

Leonardo then knocked lightly on his father's bedroom door, "Sensei?"

"Come in, my sons," a tired voice invited.

Soon, three very sleep deprived young mutant turtles stood before their father. After bowing respectfully, one of the three looked up and declared tiredly, "Master Splinter, Raphael is mad again."

"I am well aware of that fact, Leonardo," the rat nearly snapped, but still holding back most of his ire. As he sat on the edge of his bed, he pondered that it had only been seconds before when he had been peacefully dreaming. Now, to have his wondrous subconscious retreat torn from him by Raphael's angry outbursts made him a bit grumpy. Even so, he knew his son was upset, but he did not know the reason why. When Raphael had returned from his solo wanderings the night before, the turtle had retreated quickly to his room. Splinter knew there were times he could challenge his second son, but there were other times when it was best to leave him alone.

Last night was one of those times.

Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Donatello now stood before their father in his bedroom. With big tired eyes, they looked to him beseechingly. All three waited for their sensei's decision on how best to handle their brother.

"It's four in the morning, Sensei, how can anyone find anything to be mad about at four in the morning?" Leo grumbled, yawning despite his frustration. It was easy to see that dawn was going to come way too early for him. He sighed, really hating the fact that he was older and really, really, hating the fact he was leader, too. "Being first-born," he grouched silently, "is greatly overrated."

"Yes, Leonardo, I have to agree," the rat allowed, "Finding something to be angry with this early would be like trying to find fleas on a bowling ball."

"Can't something be done, though?" whined Donnie as he yawned, too.

"I've tried everything, my son," Splinter assured, stifling his own expansive gap with a paw.

"What about warm milk?" Mikey suggested and way too brightly, considering the time.

"Milk?" Leo asked dully, scowling just a little as he looked over at his youngest brother.

"Yeah, isn't it supposed to help ya sleep?" Mike's cheery voice caused both Don and Leo to cringe. Hearing anything cheery at four in the morning was waaay too early for them. Then, a long pregnant pause grew between the light-hearted turtle and his more subdued older siblings.

Finally…

Sighing wearily, Donnie managed to comment, "Milk can, if…someone wants to sleep, but…" Another resounding crash bellowed from Raphael's room,"I don't think Raph wants to sleep right now, Mikey."

"Maybe I should speak with him," Splinter finally offered, realizing no one would be sleeping until he did.

Three heads nodded in eager agreement. All three brothers hoping their sensei might placate the temperamental turtle.

"Go back to bed, my sons, and I will deal with this myself." The rat then slipped off his bed and grabbed up his kimono. Shrugging it on and tying the sash in place, he grabbed his cane and prepared to leave the room.

"Splinter," Mike asked, his eyeridges pinched with concern, "I…can't go back to bed."

Sighing, the rat nodded, "Of course, you and Raphael have been sharing a room… take mine instead, Michelangelo, and I will sleep on the couch." Splinter soon slipped out the door and padded slowly down the hallway towards the bedroom in question.

As Mike prepared to hop into his father's still-warm bed, Leonardo grabbed him before he could, "No, Mike, you take the couch in the living room. Sensei needs his bed; you know how stiff he gets on that old sofa.

"But," Mike protested innocently, "s'almost morning."

"Doesn't matter. Now, go!" Leo said sternly, pointing towards the door.

"Aw, man, it's not my fault Raph's trashing our room!" Mikey whined.

"Splinter shouldn't have to sleep on the sofa, either, Mike," Donnie added in agreement.

As the youngest grumbled about crazy brothers and unfair leader ones, he disappeared out the doorway. Soon, he was heading towards their small living area – and the couch.

Don then turned to Leo, "So, any clue?"

"Not a one."

"You sure?"

"As sure as my bandanna is blue."

"Okay, but it's really disturbing me the way Raph carries on like that, Leo. I mean, like you said…"

"Yeah, four in the morning, what could he be mad at?" Leo sighed, "Anyway, let's get back to bed and try to…" However, the sound of another item, this one exploding outside Splinter's room, brought them up short. This time, though, the noise seemed much closer and not nearly as innocent. "I wonder what happened!" Leo worried, and then both brothers rushed through the bedroom door to find out.

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