A/N: Even though 2k12 is great and all, I was feeling very nostalgic for some 2k3 and 2k7 turtles. Also, I don't know about you guys, but I've always wished for a little more development in Leo and Don's relationship as brothers. I mean, what kind of things do they do or talk about together? You hardly ever see it in the shows or movies. And thus, this fic was born! It's set in 2k7, with some 2k3 elements mixed in, which you'll soon see. The usual disclaimer applies (I don't own them, I wish I did, woe is me, etc). Without further ado: enjoy! :D

"Leo, catch!"

Tossing the bawling toddler that had been cradled in his arms, Donatello ducked the swipe of an incoming bat. Twisting his body into a low crouch, he knocked out the offending Purple Dragon's legs with a deft sweep kick before rising to block the high swing of a club with his forearm.

Hurdling over the thug as Don took him down, Leo sheathed one katana mid-leap and effortlessly caught the child with his outstretched arm, clutching her against his chest and ducking his shoulder to shield her from the impact of his landing as he hit the rooftop, rolled, and sprung nimbly back to his feet. The twin katana in his free hand immediately rose to parry the downward arc of a crowbar aimed with the malicious intent of caving in his skull.

The little girl was nearly hysterical now, but the night continued to resound with the clash of combat.

Tears streaked down her red face as she pawed weakly at the crest of Leo's plastron, clinging to the plates of his chest with her pudgy fingers as if she could stop his terrifyingly erratic movements by her insistent wails.

Hastily bouncing the infant on his hip while making distracted shushing sounds, Leo thrust his katana out with a grunt, knocking the crowbar aside, and followed through with a snap kick to its owner's chest. The thug flew back several feet from the force of the blow, gracelessly crashing into several of his companions. Leo barely had time to catch his breath before he sidestepped the threatening flash of a switchblade, skipping back several feet to distance himself and the child from a particularly stocky Purple Dragon sneering beneath a mop of greasy dreadlocks.

Across the rooftop, Donatello executed a series of tight backflips, kicking out his legs on the final backward lunge and catching one of his assailants in the chin, causing the man's teeth to crunch together. "Coming through!" Clearing the crumpling figure with a neat tuck and roll—a weapon of some kind just missing his head if the whistle of air displacement rustling his mask tails was any indication—he came up on one knee. A familiar sight rewarded his efforts. Cracking a cheeky grin, Donny hastily snatched his bō from the ground where it had previously fallen. Running his hand along the smooth wood grain, he breathlessly murmured, "Well, hello, beautiful! Fancy meeting you here."

Before he could claim a moment's peace, however, his sixth sense kicked in with renewed urgency. His face abruptly deadpanning, he spun on his heel and met the assault of a steel pipe with a rising block. The dull ring of metal on wood punctuated the rattling impact.

With a frustrated snarl, the Dragon spat in Don's eye and proceeded to press down on the pipe in an attempt to pin him to the ground by sheer overwhelming strength. Already at a height disadvantage, Don found himself slowly reclining backward until he was flat on his shell, his arms shaking with the strain of holding up his bō against the assault of both the man and gravity.

Feats of strength were never his forte, he mused vaguely as he blinked back the wad of spit to eye the gang member's considerable bulk as it bore down on him. He really should try hitting the bench press more often to remedy that. Maybe get Raph to spot for him.

The Purple Dragon laughed at the turtle's strained expression, his foul breath blasting Don in the face as he jeered harshly, "Yeah, that's right! Takes more than some dickstick to fuck me up, you ugly shithole."

Don tried to squint past the irritation of the man's saliva seeping into his eye, but settled on squeezing it shut to focus his blurred vision. He couldn't help but think offhandedly that at least he didn't have to stare at this meathead's grimy mug with both eyes. The view was unpleasant enough with only half his sight to work with.

Pushing out and locking his arms with a mighty heave, Don narrowed his one good eye. "Lesson one: you don't spit in my face with a mouth that dirty, pal. Lesson two—" Without any warning, Don scissored his legs around the man's torso and twisted his hips sharply, throwing the thug off of him. Extending his motion into a controlled roll, Don quickly regained his feet and hooked his staff into the side of the man's head, watching with grim satisfaction as he crumpled in an unconscious heap at Donatello's feet. He smiled, rubbing the spit from his eye with no lack of disdain, as he finished curtly, "It's not a stick."

"I agree... 'Stick' is too generous of a name for that glorified toothpick."

Don reflexively tensed, his sweaty grip tightening on his bō until his knuckles creaked. He knew that voice. Its owner had put him through hell and back enough times to secure him a residency there if he ever decided to apply—a retirement plan he had no intention of considering any time soon if he could help it.

As he slowly turned, staff raised, Donatello found his relatively diminutive size utterly dwarfed in the shadow of the imposing mountain of muscle that towered above him. A mountain that had somehow snuck up from behind, unnoticed in the chaos. Aw, shell.

Swallowing past the dry lump that had formed in his throat, Don took an involuntary step back as his gaze shifted upward. "Hun."

Grinning like a wolf, Hun approached the turtle in a deceptively mild manner, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. Taking his sweet time. "The one and only." He was instantly gratified by the shadow of raw panic that darkened the turtle's face. Its wide eyes never left him as it steadily retreated with his advance. This was going to be fun.

Orienting his focus on this new threat, Donatello scrambled backward, frantically trying to put some distance between himself and those crushing hams imposing as fists. He knew his bō was better suited for long-range combat, and the prospect of going hand-to-hand with a man of Hun's superior size and muscle mass was anything but appealing. The height and weight ratios spoke for themselves. He had also set enough of Leo and Raph's bones to know that even they found their work cut out for them in a one-on-one fight with Hun—a detail that only fueled Don's anxiety.

Continuing to back away slowly, Don measured up his new opponent with a cursory appraisal. No big deal. Just avoid being crushed by… well, everything, and he would be dandy. Where he was physically outmatched, strategy and quick thinking were his advantage. He had to be smart. But before Don could begin to formulate an effective plan to tackle the challenge before him, Hun was already charging with raised fists and an unsettling battle cry. There was just enough time for Donatello to steel his nerves, and then he struck. Shifting into a crouch, he dove to the side and lashed out with his staff at the back of the man's legs, intending to buckle his knees from behind. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

A knowing glint in Hun's eye followed the movement. Checking his speed, he easily sidestepped the arc of the staff and then feinted to the left while pitching forward with a right hook, throwing all his weight into the force of the punch.

Don's eyes widened a split second before the blow connected solidly with his jaw, launching him back several yards onto his shell. The grit of the rooftop crunched beneath him as he slid to a stop a short distance from where he had landed. Stunned, he could only lay motionless for a moment, catching his breath as it rattled through him. Well that worked. Donatello sat up slowly with a groan, gently massaging the tender area. So much for being smart. There was definitely going to be an ugly bruise there tomorrow. And swelling. Lots of swelling. Planting one end of his staff into the rooftop, he leaned heavily on it as he struggled to his feet, willing the world to stop spinning when his vision tilted with the movement.

Suddenly, a surge of self-preservation gripped him. Entirely trusting his instincts, Don managed to stagger a step to his left. Simultaneously, the club of an errant Purple Dragon slipped by, falling short of its mark as it harmlessly batted the air where Donny had been standing a mere moment before. Though the delinquent had been attempting to take advantage of Don's momentary disorientation, he had severely underestimated his opponent, as dazed as Donatello was. One sluggish jab to a pressure point in the leg, and the man was immobilized.

Stepping dully over the crippled figure, Don narrowed his eyes at Hun while working his throbbing jaw. He internally berated his lack of foresight as he collected and organized his scattered thoughts. He hadn't expected Hun to move like that, but then again, Don was relying on those low sweeps more frequently. Especially where larger adversaries were concerned. Obviously he was becoming too predictable in his movements, and Hun was adapting. Not good. A few more hits like that last one and Don could be put out of commission—a thought that didn't sit well with him given the circumstances.

"Time to get creative then," he muttered, spinning his staff and assuming a defensive stance as he braced himself for Hun's second charge, which was coming on fast. The surface beneath his feet literally shook. It was a wonder the tenants below hadn't called in a complaint yet.

Hun lunged with a roar, on guard for another hit to his legs. Though he was loath to admit it, they were his weakness. The staff-wielding turtle in particular took every opportunity to exploit this fact, and he had gradually learned to set his watch to it. A flaw had effectively become an advantage.

As Hun bore down on him, Don bided his time until the moment was right. Then, with seconds to spare, he vaulted with his staff, planted his feet on Hun's shoulders, and pushed off into a flip, cracking his bō across the back of Hun's head. The hulking giant stumbled forward from the blow, wildly flailing his arms to regain his balance. The look of surprise on Hun's face the instant before Don had used him as his own personal springboard had been priceless.

Unfortunately, the hornets' nest had been stirred as a result.

Falling to his knees, Hun roughly pushed himself back to his feet and whirled in a fury to face the smug turtle as it stuck its landing and gracefully pivoted to face him. Though he was seeing a lot of red at the moment, Hun did see something else. Thrusting out his hand and catching an iron chain as it whistled through the air, he wrenched the weapon from the grip of a startled Purple Dragon. With a sharp jerk he snapped the links above his head, whirling them at a fantastic rate, and rushed Donatello, whipping the improvised weapon at the turtle's head with a vengeance.

Don danced just out of reach of the chain as it snapped short of his face, bobbing and weaving to avoid each successive lash of the crude whip when it came. After skipping over a particularly close brush near his ankles, he drew several shuriken from his belt in the process, flicking them with a practiced hand at Hun's exposed neck.

His mouth twisting into an unnerving grin, Hun raised his arm, allowing the projectiles to embed in his thick wrist, and immediately jerked them free with a pained roar. Disregarding the blood that streamed from the open slits left behind, he pitched the throwing stars back at Don with impressive force.

"Shell!" Don hadn't been anticipating such a bold response from Hun, and his reaction was marginally delayed as he attempted to dive out of the path of the bloodstained shuriken. Yet even the slightest hesitance was enough. Preceded by a sharp sting, one of the projectiles bit into Don's shoulder as it whizzed by, ripping cleanly through the muscle of his left deltoid.

A soft hiss of pain escaped through Don's clenched teeth, and he favored his injury as he twisted his body to crash onto his right side in a sloppy, improvised landing. Clutching the bleeding gash, he glanced over his shoulder in time to witness the remaining throwing stars find a new target in the chest of an unfortunate Purple Dragon recruit. The young man's startled scream was strangled by a moist gurgle before he sunk to the rooftop, motionless. Don winced. It seemed appropriate to make an offhand comment about the good dying young, but an individual who had tried to pop a cap in a turtle's thigh earlier hardly qualified as 'good' in his mind. Don's thought process was cut short by the soft whistle of chain links from behind, and he snapped his head back around in surprise.

The shuriken had merely been a distraction. After releasing the throwing stars, Hun had quickly followed through with a downward jerk of his chain. He grinned in sadistic triumph as he watched the attack find its mark. The turtle cried out in pain and shock as it was lashed across its exposed collarbone, the links tearing a shallow gash through its skin and trailing fresh blood through the air as Hun twisted his body, spinning the chain and whipping it back in a full circle before the turtle could recover.

From his vulnerable position on the ground, Don reflexively raised his staff to ward off the second assault—just what Hun was counting on.

Upon impact the links wrapped tightly around the bō, and with a sharp tug, Hun easily disarmed the stunned turtle by ripping the staff out of its grip and whisking it across the rooftop where it clattered uselessly against a shed. His adversary's long reach effectively neutralized, Hun charged again, twirling the chain and letting it fly.

Left with little time to think, let alone retrieve his staff, Donatello could only react. Flipping to his feet and twisting his body to avoid the chain—the pulsing wounds on his shoulder and collarbone a painful reminder of the penalty for negligence—he pivoted his foot and rolled off of Hun's body as the man barreled by, turning around to face Hun's backside. Sliding his foot forward to widen his stance, Donatello raised his right hand defensively as Hun twisted sharply to face him. His left arm hung limply against his side now, the deltoid throbbing.

If he was only irritated before, Hun was furious now. Bellowing, he lashed out with the chain again as he moved in for a close-range strike.

Don calmly slipped to his left and caught the chain as it whizzed by. Smiling briefly as he recalled what he knew of wave oscillations, he sharply flicked his wrist and watched the chain fluctuate in response to the gesture, snapping out of a startled Hun's grip once the sinusoidal harmonic motion converged on the extent of its displacement. Shell, he loved physics.

Jerking the chain back, Don released it as it arced over his head and disappeared over the edge of the roof. That made one less contingency to worry about. Hopefully there weren't any unsuspecting pedestrians passing on the sidewalk below. At this hour, Don doubted there would be. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a civilian's head injury.

Before Don could even congratulate himself on his successful maneuver, Hun was nearly on top of him again, heedlessly swinging his fists with dangerous unpredictability in his fury. Since Hun didn't even seem to know where his erratic strikes would land, neither did Donatello. Anticipating the blows was problematic—his predictions unreliable at best.

Leo growled as he ducked two punches and jumped, knocking out both Purple Dragons with simultaneous kicks to the head. Landing, he curled over the infant, using his shell to shield her from the brunt of a crowbar before executing a backflip over the man and sweeping out his legs from behind. He had watched the situation unfold between Donatello and Hun, helpless to intervene when the entire mob of Dragons converged on him under the assumption that their leader could handle the other turtle on his own.

Adjusting his grip on the girl in his arms, Leo sliced through a wooden pole swung at his shoulder and delivered an incapacitating blow to the thug's temple with the pommel of his katana. Clearing the prone figure, Leo raced for the opposite end of the rooftop. He didn't have time for this! He had to get to Hun. As if in response to his raging thoughts, a line of Dragons stepped up to block his path to his brother. "Bad idea," Leo cautioned in a dark tone, tightening his hold on the child as he continued to charge forward, katana raised.

A/N: ...TBC! I have a decent chunk of the next chapter already written, and here seemed like a good place to break the story. I'm kinda on a fight-sequence kick! :D I love reading/writing the guys kicking some shell (and getting their own shells handed to them, too). It definitely adds to the excitement!