UP FOR ADOPTION: One potential story that could turn into anything, already started. c: If you'd like to take this chapter for yourself, just tell me and show me what you're planning. 'kay, thanks.

It was originally supposed to be a Turtlecest, now just turtleshipping. It can turn into anything from a gender bender to a species change to an "extreme hormones" deal. c: Just make sure it makes sense.


Michelangelo wasn't happy. No, scratch that, he was extremely sad. He sighed, shoving his shell back into the couch more. On his limp right leg lay the remote, calling for him, in what was in his mind an extremely high voice (that had a strange resemblance to that of Donatello). From the effort of not touching the remote, his bright blue eyes began twitching madly. Sighing again, Mike proceeded to attempt and succeed at picking up the remote. He stared at the numbers for a second, then finally gave a melancholy sigh (again) and change the channel.

"I don't know what I would do if you weren't my brother!" a boy half-screeched out, smiling at another boy- presumably his sibling. The scene was cheesy, but it probably had millions of Americans around the world squealing at the "family love" of it all.

However, unlike his usual large, sappy smile, going along with the other humans like normal, Mikey just snorted and changed the channel again.

A teenage boy was kneeling on the floor next to a little blond boy about five years old, who seemed to have been crying. The teen rustled his hair. "Bro, I wouldn't trade you for anything..." The two promptly embraced, then the scene zoomed out to show the children's parents standing in the door, proud as peacocks.

As opposed to the over dramatically sobbing mess Michelangelo would usually collapse into, the orange banded turtle just changed the channel again, a small tic developing in his eye ridge betraying the fact that his patience was slowly breaking.

The colour of the screen changed again and after another brotherly moment, the television was promptly shut off and the remote was flung viciously through the air. A loud growl from the couch showed the fact of who had thrown it.

Donatello blinked, slowly dragging his feet across the carpet. He quietly shut the door to his lab behind him. A yawn interrupted his actions, but he then continued, turning around.

Bonk. Clack.

He stared at the living room in front of him, then slowly moved his hand to his forehead, where he was beginning to register the feeling of pain. He frowned at the item on the ground near him. A remote.

"Wha...?" And this was what Donatello was like in the mornings without at least three cups of coffee. Leaning over (and successfully not tipping over), he picked up the accursed item and began walking slowly to the living room.

The sound of sobbing quickly woke him up faster than an attack from the Foot. His approach slowed, letting him see exactly who it was. Not that in his mind there was any doubt, of all the siblings Michelangelo had always been the one to hide his feelings the least. He was right, but for some reason he wished he hadn't been.

Instead of his usual over dramatic sobbing, the one he did while they watched a sad movie (Bambi, anyone?) to get attention, his little bro-

Don remembered the exact reason why he would cry, causing his face to fall even worse.

Carefully, slowly, he walked over, then sat down at a chair next to the head of the couch, where Mikey was currently shaking slightly as he became quiet.

Blinking the tears out of the way, the youngest turtle seemed to suddenly notice the other there. "H...Hi Don. Watcha' doin' up so early, dude?"

The purple-banded turtle knew exactly why his Mikey was up so early, and he noticed exactly what was wrong with that sentence.

As he opened his mouth, Mikey apologized. "Oh, did I wake you, dude? I'm sooo sorry!" he gave a choked laugh, trying to sound happy. "I was, uh, practicing?" it came out as more of a question.

Donatello sighed and gave him a look. "Mikey, I know."

Once again the little turtle surprised him. Blue eyes flashed and he sat up on the edge of the couch. "Show me the tests."

The other blinked. "Wait, what?" came his oh-so-intelligent reply.

Michelangelo."Dude, you heard me! Show me the stupid results! I wanna' see them!" he began to storm towards the other turtle's lab, his reason obvious.

"Nonono! Wait! Don't touch anything!" Despite his overwhelming urge to please the other, Donnie really didn't want the orange-banded turtle to break anything in his lab, for both of their safety.

As Mikey continued his long strides, Don noticed how fast he was. Well, he's not the natural athlete in the family for nothing... He flinched at the thought, slipping up, and burst into the lab.

First thing he noticed was that Michelangelo was messing around with an extremely large pile of paper. The second, less urgent, thing was that on the wall was a shelf, leaning down, with three large vials of liquid on the edge, two purple and one red. Ugh, gotta' fix that later... One more thing to fix wasn't that big. It seemed stable enough.

His attention was drawn back towards the most important thing as the decidedly youngest turtle let out a very un-Mikey grunt, half-crumpling the paper in his hands. He took long strides toward the wall that contained the shelf and...

Donatello noticed it before he processed it. As Mikey pressed his back to the wall suddenly, the vials on the shelf wobbled dangerously close to the edge. He vaguely noticed none of them were actually lidded. Brown, doe-like eyes widened.

"Mikey, can you... uh. Step away from the wall... please?" He reached forward a bit with his right hand as though to magically pull him away from the danger area.

Michelangelo seemed to ignore him for a moment, then swung out his fist against the wall, making a choked, angry sound.

Purple-banded turtle jumped, not sure what was even in the vials. That didn't seem odd to him at all, he had a lot of stuff to remember. Unfortunately, he wasn't as fast as he thought he was.

As the vials fell from the shelf, Mikey finally realized why the other had panicked so. His eyes shot up, surprisingly fast, and he bared an amazing resemblance to a deer in headlights of a sixteen wheeler.

For some reason, Don didn't really feel it when the vials fell on them. It was more... ninja reflexes to the maximum. He could tell. Actually, only two of the three vials fell. The last, the red one, just sat on the edge, spilling a few drops on Don before he stepped out of the way, but the rest fell fully on Mike.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds that felt like hours. Finally Mikey gave a sheepish smile. "Uh... does the 'not real family' thing change the stuff I'll have to do to make up for this?"

Don just gave a little sigh. "Mike, go take a shower. I don't even know what these will do to us. Besides, I think you got more on you. Now go." He gave the other a gentle push, not leaving time for him to say anything against it.

"But I-" the door closed behind the orange-banded turtle. Donatello gave another sigh, his shell leaning against the door. He slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor, staring at the mess on the stone of the floor.

"This is going to take a while..." he mumbled as he scratched a flake of the already-dry stuff off his olive-green arm.


Instead of just going to the shower like he was supposed to, Michelangelo went straight to his room. Snatching up a clean piece of paper, a pencil, and a random, large and flat book. He plopped down on his bed, brushing off an empty box of pizza and a few crusts, shoving the end of one in his mouth before spitting it out upon realizing it had an unidentified blue substance on it. "Ew..."

As he began to draw, Mikey thought. As opposed to what his brothers thought, he did, in fact, think quite a lot. He just thought at a different speed than the others. His mind darted through topics far faster than theirs. In fact, a few years ago Don had tried to give him Ritalin.

Michelangelo shook his head of the rampant thought and tried to focus on his drawing. However, while he drew mindlessly, he began to gravitate towards the purple-banded turtle. Without question, Don had been more or less his friend. Leo and Raphael were always fighting or doing something else of the sort- boring stuff. However, he often had little chats with Don as he fixed something-or-other. Usually it was about meaningless things, like a new game coming out, something Don found in the dump, or something else like that. Other times it was more about serious things...

Like the results of the test.

Mikey sighed out loud and paused in his drawings as he realized he wasn't going to get anything done today. However, he still attempted to stay away from that topic.

Raphael. He was... different than the rest. Mike noticed weird little things about the red-banded turtle. Like when they sparred he noticed he smelled extremely fragrantly of cinnamon.

He blinked. Suddenly he felt like having cinnamon rolls. As Mike walked out of his room he remembered the goop that had dried onto him like a second skin. He turned in his quest for the kitchen to a quest for the bathroom to take a shower.

However, as he reached the door, he noticed he could hear the water running already. Blue eyes flashed in annoyance and he banged on the door. "Hurry up and get me when you're done!"

After a moment Mike realized he wasn't going to get a reply, so he continued to the kitchen for his much-wanted cinnamon buns.


Raphael strode out of the shower, a slight bounce in his step. He just knew today was going to be good. The main reason was that he had woken up before Leonardo- the oh-so-perfect son. He let out a snicker as he walked past the mentioned blue-banded turtle's door.

The smirk fell a bit when he thought about it. Really, nothing would usually cause Leo to sleep in (or stay in past practice, he could have been tap dancing in there for all Raph knew!)... Except the test. Well that little thought ruined his good mood...

"For god's sake..." Raphael muttered to himself, stomping over to the kitchen. "why did Don wait till' yesterday to tell us?" He rolled his eyes, absently wondering why he was speaking out loud. "I mean... we've lived together for how long? Fourteen years? And he waits 'till now... that little-"

He stopped in his not-so-mental ranting as he arrived in the kitchen. He stared at the little scene and rolled his eyes. About twelve large plates, each absolutely piled with a lot of cinnamon bun lay on the table. About half of them had large, thick globs of icing on them.

In one of the seats sat Michelangelo, fast asleep, his face on a separate plate with a single uneaten bun. A clean fork lay in his limp hand which was nearly dragging on the floor. His green-blue skin was died an odd shade because of red and purple flaky stuff on his arms, head, shell, and carapace.

Quiet snoring sort of ruined the scene, occasional coughs and shuffles interrupting that.

Raphael put his hand on his face and dragged it down. He gave the orange-banded turtle teen one last look before finally sitting down in one of the seats and grabbing one of many cinnamon buns (one with icing). As he munched he wondered why exactly Mike had made so many of those things.

His thoughts wandered to the question of how long it would take them to eat it all, causing him to snort quietly. A shuffle from across the table drew his attention away from his odd musings.

"Hm..." Michelangelo's blue eyes stared groggily around the room, not really seeing anything. "What smells so good...?" he mumbled quietly.

Raphael couldn't hold it in, and suddenly burst out laughing, forgetting about his cinnamon bun. Mike's face was covered in icing which he apparently had loaded onto the cinnamon roll he had fallen onto. The sight of that, plus the fact he was smacking his lips as though attempting to place a specific taste just overwhelmed him.

Blue eyes promptly cleared, staring in pure confusion at the short-tempered one. "Dude... wha'sso funny?" he slurred, still mostly asleep. He rubbed his eyes, then pulled his hand back quickly as he realized his face had something on it. As he noticed the squished food on his plate, he groaned. "Oh, dude... tell me I didn't just..."

The laughs turned to occasional snorts. "Yeah Mike. Ya did." Once again, he burst out laughing, banging on the table with one of his fists.

However, he wasn't being careful where he was hitting in his banging, and his fist finally reached the edge of his own plate- where the forgotten cinnamon bun sat, still slathered in dripping icing. You know what happens if you hit the edge of a plate... Unfortunately, it just happened that Raphael hit the closest edge of the plate, flinging it at the only person in his direction: him.


Amber eyes blinked, completely lost. They darted to his plate, currently empty and upside down.


...And suddenly the cinnamon bun fell from his face to his lap.

Complete. Silence.


Raphael looked towards Michelangelo, ready to preform CPR if need be, as it sounded a lot like he was choking. Instead, however, the choked noises suddenly changed to extremely obnoxious laughs.

Dark green hand slapped his own forehead. "And right after my shower..." he growled, flipping the plate right-side up, then picking the dead-looking cinnamon bun off his lap and putting it on the chipped dishware with a look of disgust.

The uproarious laughs turned into restrained giggles. "Well, at least you still smell like cinnamon," Michelangelo grinned widely.

With a glare Raphael opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with a snap and a confused look. "How do you know what body wash I use?"

The grin bent into a frown, and Mike's face turned a confusing mess of green, blue, and red. He promptly paled, then stayed that way. "U-uh... I... It's really... fragrant... It's kinda' hard to miss," he thought quick, but not before making a fool of himself.

A suspicious glance. "O... kay then. If it's that noticeable I'll just use something else."

"No! Cinnamon is really nice!" Mike blurted, then reddened deeper. "I mean-!"

Raphael rolled his eyes with an over exaggerated sigh. "Geeze, Mikey, it's just a comment. Not like the Spanish Inquisition er nothin'."

Laughing nervously, Mike smiled a bit. "Heh, sorry." He frowned and looked to the door of the room before suddenly leaping up and rushing out of the room. "I'm havin' a shower, bye!"

Raphael looked at the door for a moment, then shoved his chair back, cinnamon bun shoved in his mouth and a glare on his face. "O' 'o 'oo 'on't!" he announced, extremely muffled. He ran after the orange-banded turtle, arms pumping, choking down the bun in his mouth.

A few seconds later he was standing in front of the bathroom door, panting loudly, hands at his side and his face covered in white icing. "Mikey..." he growled warningly. A loud laugh was his only reply, no longer nervous in the least. "Open the door!"

"Aww, you wanna' watch me shower! I guess I do look pretty good, but still!" his little speech was ruined when he snorted and laughed harder than ever.

Gaping at the door, Raphael just gave the accursed metal/wooden contraption a look. "Jus'... get me when you're done," he unknowingly parroted what Michelangelo had said a while earlier.


Donatello sighed. He noticed he had been doing that a lot, but unless there was a better way to show his annoyance and tiredness, he would be stuck sighing for the rest of his life. Doe-like eyes blinked. "I'm starting to rant."

Shaking his head to stop from talking to himself anymore, he opened the door to his lab, giving a final look at his cleaner room. Well, it could have been worse... no, no. When I think like that- Oh geeze, I watch too many movies with Mike... Don promptly left the lab, shutting the door gently behind him to ensure no further time should be given to the cleaning of chemicals from the floor of his lab.

He frowned and smelled the air. Is that cinnamon?

As he stepped into the kitchen he saw the reason for the smell. Dragging his hand down his face he proceeded to go to one of the the many cupboards of the area and snatched up a small vial of vanilla extract.

However, as he looked over the plates of cinnamon buns, he realized one of the piles had a little sticky note attached to the side reading the following: For the people who don't like the good part of buns and only like vanilla (ick!). Donatello chuckled slightly and grabbed an empty, chipped plate to put one of the far too many buns on.

Sitting down behind one of the larger piles of buns while eating with actual cutlery, Don munched mindlessly, glad that his stomach wouldn't bother him for a while.

A light tapping betrayed the entrance of another of the turtles. The fact that it was light showed easily who it was: In the mornings Raphael was loud and Michelangelo was just always loud. So, by default, it was Leonardo.

"Good morning Leo," Donnie mumbled, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth while he yawned.


The two pairs of brown eyes stared at each other for a moment, Leo's still half-asleep, Don's far wider than usual. Then again, you would be surprised, too, if a person you'd known all your life suddenly put a katana blade to your throat.

Don slowly leaned away, picked up a vanilla cinnamon bun, and put it on the end of the very sharp looking blade before leaning back to his food and munching on it contentedly.

Beside him Leonardo stared at him, uncomprehending, before finally taking the cinnamon bun off the end of the sword and taking a large bite from it, sitting down beside him, being careful to rinse the katana in the sink for a moment and drying it first.

Once Leo had eaten half of the bun he was awake. He gave Don an apologetic look. "I'm sorry for... uh... You know."

Donatello waved him away carelessly. "It's alright, I surprised you. You were probably asleep on your feet."

"That's just it," Leo leaned back in the chair slightly, taking another bite, chewing, then swallowing. "I shouldn't have been surprised. I mean, if I could be surprised by accident, if in battle I'm surprised by an enemy I don't think they'll-"

Three-fingered, olive-green hands clapped against his shoulders. "Leo. Calm down." Don gave him a playful glare, a slight blush coming to his cheeks that went unnoticed by the blue-banded turtle, as he was looking away from the other. "It doesn't matter! You can be surprised. You don't have to be ready for everything... Just calm down, it's only..." his eyes shot to the clock and back. "Six in the morning." He frowned and looked back to the clock. "Wait, I thought it was earlier than that..."

Leo's face hardened, forgetting about the hands on his shoulders. "Don, how much did you sleep last night?"

"Enough," came the short reply. Don avoided Leo's eyes, trying to keep his lie hidden.


Ah, full name... Sighing, the turtle replied, "Fine, fine... three hours."

Green face gave him a sympathetic look. "Were you looking over the results?"

"Yeah..." Donatello mumbled guiltily, then looked back up, dropping his arms limply to his side. "I thought that there had to be something wrong with my calculations." He sighed and tilted his head back. "There wasn't."

"You're taking this too hard," Leo half-mumbled, moving his chair closer to the other. "Don. Even though we're not genetically family, we're still family." He blinked and leaned on Donatello's shoulder slightly. "Do I sound like a Disney movie?"

Letting out a light laugh, Don nodded. "Yeah." He smiled at his brothers. "But at least it's a good one. Just to please you, I'm going to sleep."

Leo stared at him, serious for a moment, then leaned forward and enveloped the purple-banded turtle in a quick hug. "Thanks," he said. He promptly strode out of the room, still munching on a cinnamon bun.



God, I need a good Mikey/turtlecest fic. Or a genderbender with him as a girl. Anyone got any?