This story was written Round Robin style by (Terrapin Tarts) DeeMG, Winnychan, & KameTerra. Due to its length, it has been divided into three parts for purposes of publication. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

An Ordinary Day

PART 1

The world turned inside out. Colors sang and screamed, flavors crawled over their eyes like bugs, lights flashed inside their shells, and smells tickled across their skins, as every sense the turtles owned went completely haywire and betrayed them. Gravity stopped working. They could fly, but they were rooted in cement, or so it seemed for that dizzying, stomach-churning moment. They struggled to stay together, to stay in control of themselves, as everything around them turned to shrieking chaos.

In other words, it was a normal Tuesday.

Whump!

As suddenly as it began, it ended. Leonardo staggered to his feet—he meant to "leap to his feet", but his sense of balance hadn't quite managed to keep up—and stared around at what looked like a grassy meadow under a summer sun. He blinked at his brothers, who didn't even try to copy his amazing feat, but instead just lolled in the grass where they landed.

"Mikey, 'm gonna kill you," Raphael rasped. He squinted, and took a swipe at the nearest brother.

"Ow! Raph, that's me," Donatello rocked from the force of the blow, and totally misjudged his retaliatory attack. His hand thudded weakly to the ground next to Raph. He didn't even try again, conserving all of his strength for the important task of staring at the sky. "Mike—what have we told you about not pressing the shiny buttons on things we don't own?"

"How'm I supposed to keep up with all of the stuff you make?" Michelangelo protested. Grass tufts adorned his shoulders as he struggled to sit up, glanced around, decided it was all a bad idea, and let himself fall down again. "I thought it was a soda fountain or something."

Don scoffed. "Yes, because I would not only make a soda fountain, but I would make a soda fountain that appears magically out of thin air, hovers in the dojo during practice, and then crashes to the ground like some sort of cut-rate R2D2!"

Silence fell for a minute. Then Raphael ventured, "Um, Donnie, that... actually sounds exactly like something you'd make."

"Yeah, well," Don rolled over and began the difficult task of figuring out how to get back on his feet. "... if I'd done that, I would've at least labeled the button that, when pressed, sends mutant turtles to the other side of the galaxy!"

"Is that where we are?" Leonardo wondered. He turned his head slowly, like he wasn't sure it was allowed.

"It's—well—I think…"

Leonardo closed his eyes in resignation. "Let me guess—you've never actually tested it."

"Well of course I haven't tested it yet!" Don snapped. "How reckless do you think I am! There's a protocol that has to be followed for things like this—it wasn't nearly ready to just start zapping people to other worlds! Only an idiot would do that," he said with a seething look at Michelangelo.

"Oops?" offered Mikey. Really, he knew an apology was grossly inadequate at the moment, so why bother?

Raphael snorted, but a moment later he got to his feet, though he took a moment to rest on his knees before standing fully upright. When he did so he looked rather... grayer than usual.

Leonardo knew how he felt—the horizon had tilted disturbingly when he first stood up, but keeping still helped things stabilize. Though… he tested the ground, pushing against it with the ball of his foot… and found it wasn't as solid as he'd assumed. In fact, when he prodded it harder, it bounced a little.

"Uh… guys?"

Don, who was by now on his knees, looked at him, and Mike, still lying on the grass, opened his eyes.

Rather than saying anything more, Leo jumping slightly, and the ground rippled visibly beneath him. Each one of his brother's eyes widened, and then they all looked down at the ground. Don withdrew his bo, and prodded experimentally, resulting in a minor rolling of the grass-covered "soil" around him. Taking his lead, Leo pulled out one sword, and thrust it deep into the ground.

Suddenly the earth bucked beneath them, and they were thrown off their feet as the ground went into convulsions. Leo plowed into the grass face-first, and clutched at the ground in an attempt to stabilize himself.

"What the—!" Raph yelled, but before he could finish, glops of whitish…liquidy stuff began falling around them.

Leo looked up, and narrowly missed one falling right on his face. The sky, moments ago blue, had turned hazy and gray. A golf-ball sized glob spattered on his ankle, but he was putting so much energy into not to be thrown around too much, he didn't have time to examine it.

"I don't think that was a good idea, Leo!" Don yelled.

"Yeah—I think you pissed it off!" Mike added.

"IT? What it?" Raph returned. "Are you sayin'…"

"Guh! Whatever it is, it just splooged all over me," Mike reported miserably.

"What the shell IS this stuff?" Leo hollered.

"Saliva?" Don said, though it sounded like a guess. "This is starting to feel like 'Honey, I shrunk the Turtles'."

"Nice doggy!" Michelangelo knelt to pet the 'grass'. "Nice... ginormous, green doggy! You don't want to eat Mikey and his bros for dinner, do you boy? Of course you do-waAAAHHHH!"

"Jesus fucking—Mikey!" The world lurched sideways. Gravity became a traitor and Mike was the first to be pitched off the face of the world. Raphael managed to keep his grip when the gigantic beast began to roll over. He snapped the sai off his belt, quick as a flash, and sank them deep into the beast's flesh. "MIKEY!" The plummeting feeling and the whirligig tilt of the sky were making him sick.

Raph craned his neck wildly, but he couldn't catch sight of any of his brothers now. He was alone. The creature's thick, sticky blood was pouring down his wrists. His grip on the handles grew slick, and panic shot though him.

He craned his neck the other way and saw that he was running out of time. The ground was approaching at a break-neck pace.

The turtle gave a savage yank, dislodging both sai from the massive beast's flesh and jumping into the sky. "Mikey! When I find you, I'm gonna kill yooooooouuuuuu!"

The sky and the ground continued to spin around, dizzily. Raphael heard his own voice trailing behind him like a banner, like a ribbon, like one of those stupid speech balloons in the manga Mike had left laying all over the living room for weeks.

Something seized him by the shell. Something hard pinched against his more sensitive bridges. Something yanked him out of a free fall that was coming way too close to a hard surface. Raph squinted at the ground, which rewarded him by not coming up to smack him. Then he cranked his head around to see what had him.

"GAH!"

The gigantic bug-thing was unimpressed with his (not at all girly!) scream of horror at realizing that he was being carried away by some sort of cross between a dragonfly and an actual dragon. Faceted eyes sparkled in the sun. Over the sounds of his (still not at all girly!) panic, Raphael could make out the beating of massive wings.

"RAPH!"

Now that was a girly scream. And it came from somewhere nearby.

"MIKEY! LEO! GET ME—oof!"

The, the thing, the giant fucking bug, or whatever the fuck it was, dug its pincers into his sides, cutting off his breath and causing light to flair the corners of his vision. "Ah, fuck," he gasped, but at least the pain cleared his head a little, got him out of panic mode and into thinking mode. He could hear his brothers' voices, but they were growing fainter as the ground blurred below him. One arm was pinned to his side by the bug's pincer thingy, but the other one was free, and in spite of the dizzying direction changes that caused his stomach to lurch, he managed to work a sai out of his belt.

"Tickle, tickle," he grunted, and he thrust upward into the beast. Instantly it swooped, and Raphael stabbed again. "Let GO a' me, you ugly motherfucker!" They were descending at a sickening speed, and Raph thought it was working, that it was gonna cut its losses and let him go… But before he could stab again it alighted on what looked like a black piece of coral, loosening its hold just enough to change grips slightly, and stung him. He felt the stinger pierce his thigh, a dagger of fire, and the venom burned through his body, creeping higher with every beat of his heart. He could feel his senses growing duller, his movements growing more feeble, and when the heat reached his neck, he knew nothing more.

Keeping up with the bug was impossible, but they ran anyway. Leonardo was leading the way, slashing through stalks of over-sized vegetation like they were sworn enemies.

Donatello was the first to slow his pace deliberately. "We don't have a visual on them anymore," he fretted.

"We know it went this way. So, come on!" Leonardo insisted with a fierce backwards glance that tried to spur his brothers back to full speed.

For once, Mike wasn't bothering to outrun the other turtles. He was barely keeping up with Leo, and slowing down to call out for his missing brother at regular intervals. "Raaaaaaph!"

"It won't do any good, Mike," Don muttered. He ran with one arm cradling the other, keeping it braced against his plastron. The pain was making his voice uncommonly sharp. "When I last glimpsed them, they must have been miles away!"

"Miles?" Mike repeated quietly. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe it was yards—since we're miniature in this world, apparently—but the scale hardly matters! It was a really long way. Far enough that there's no point in yelling for him."

"Enough chatter," Leonardo demanded, turning and advancing on his brothers with surprising aggression. "We have to focus on running. We can't afford to be separated from Raph in this place! Now—I know Don's been hurt, but what's the matter with you?" The hard lines in Leo's expression slackened into concern as he realized, "You're favoring one leg."

"Think I landed on it funny," Mike admitted, his freckles darkening with embarrassment. "It seemed fine at first, but since we been running..." He grimaced and looked down. "I can tough it out, though. We don't got to stop because of me." He glanced over at the ashen face of his brother, thinking: Don, on the other hand...

Resolution settled onto Leonardo's face. His mouth tightened and he gave them a quick nod as if something had been decided. "All right. Don, you have smoke pellets with you?"

Donatello used his good arm to check the underside of his belt. "Just two."

"Use them if something happens and you need me to return. I'll keep an eye on the skies, head back if I see smoke. Okay?"

"O-okay," Don agreed uneasily. His stomach roiled with automatic protest at the thought of splitting up even further, but what Leo was saying made sense. Raphael was in trouble. Someone had to go after him.

"After three days I'm heading back here, whether or not I-"

"Whether or not, nothing! You'll track him down, easy-peasy. Just like you tracked down all of us after you got back from your visit with the Ancient One," Mike insisted. He drew himself up to his fullest height. "You're gonna find him, right?"

"Right," Leo agreed, summoning a determined smile for his little brother. "I'll find him. You can count on it."

Donatello's brow knit with concern—but if he had anything to protest, all he said was, "Good luck, Leo."

Leonardo put one hand on either brother's shoulder and whispered, "Thanks. Please take care of each other." Then he sprang away from them and vanished into the curtain of overgrowth.

Raphael's eyes fluttered open. The world was on fire. He could hear himself panting. He could see his own hand in front of him, swimming into minute detail, caked with blood and dirt, dripping with sweat. Beyond his grimy fingers he could see nothing but flames, flames licking the ground, climbing into the sky. The clouds were a blaze of white and red. Then his focus swam and his eyes rolled back.

He choked and almost threw up. The world swirled grey and blue. It was the sky. It was the sea. It was a face.

A blue-speckled, mouthless face. Wispy antennae feathers bobbed towards him as it bent over him. "Gowway...!" He slurred, barely coherent, but aware enough to cringe and twist away when the creature's feathery moth-feelers tried to explore his face. It's spindly hands were far less gentle, taking hold of Raphael's beak and forcing his head backwards. It was pressing something into his mouth that tasted like wet leather. The feverish turtle struggled instinctively but he was not expecting to find his body so weak and unresponsive. The lower half of him was almost entirely numb.

Cool water slapped against his mouth. It caught Raph by surprise. He spat and tried to sit up at first, on the verge of true panic. But the world was still blazing all around him, an intense dry heat that sapped his strength and made escape seem futile. The water felt good against parts of his mouth that were cracked and dry, and his tongue felt gummy against the roof of his mouth. The creature raised the water skin again, tentatively this time. It's liquid hematite eyes were unreadable and luminous, watching as Raphael began to drink fitfully, then desperately, the muscles in his throat working hard to swallow. Then he spat out the end of the water skin with a spluttering cough and collapsed almost immediately into a restless, thrashing sleep.

The moth creature chittered and clicked with approval and returned to the benevolent task of dressing his punctured thigh.

Leonardo kept his eyes trained on the horizon at the point that he'd last seen Raphael. At least, he hoped it was that right point—it was hard to be sure in the waving sea of pink-tinted, over-sized grass. He really wanted to turn and look back to see if Don or Mike needed him (or even better: if they were following him) but was afraid to lose his orientation to the horizon. If he looked away for even a second, he'd never be sure he was headed in the right direction. And in this circumstance, veering off-course by even a step or two could put him miles away from his target.

But ancestors, this is boring! Leo squashed the thought with an effort, and attempted to summon up Firm, Leaderly Discipline, like the situation required.

The thought refused to stay squashed. The waving blades of grass all seemed to blend together in his peripheral vision into one big, boring cloud of pinkish, maroonish, brownish nothing.

"It looks a little bit like drying blood," Leo said out loud, drawing it to Don's attention.

...oh, wait, Don's not here.

He had to stop and think about it. Why can't I keep track of that?

Leonardo squinted and steeled himself to track Raphael again. His eyes stayed focused on the dim horizon. Even though this is all so boring!

He slogged through the grass, periodically slashing at especially-annoying pink blades of vegetation. The scent of the cut grass, like everything else, was different from what he expected, though Leo had to admit that he didn't have a lot of experience with it.

The scenery didn't change as he walked. Leo really didn't like the blood-clot-ness of it all, and concentrated on that for a while—it was at least something to think about!

The blood of his foes...er, the juice from the cut grass, that is...collected on his blades. Leo stopped and frowned at the sheen, and held one blade up to watch the liquid move sluggishly down toward the tsuba. The smell was even stronger. In fact, it was...it was...it...Leo brought the blade closer to his face, sniffing delicately.

And then he dropped both blades as he collapsed into the pink grass.

"Pull it tighter," Don gasped, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Are you sure?" Mike asked just as much for himself as for his brother, whose pallor was an unhealthy shade of gray-green even before they began binding the arm in a splint.

Don nodded, his eyes scrunched shut, his face pinched with pain. "Just do it," he panted.

Mike bit the inside of his lip, took a firm hold on the purple mask they were using to bind the arm, and pulled. Donatello gave a muffled cry of pain, but the arm straightened, and Don gave a nod and sat back, panting. "Thank you," he said.

"Um, you're welcome?" Mikey answered, but he must've done something right, because Don already looked marginally more comfortable. He sat down next to his brother against a rounded boulder—a mere stone, he supposed, if they were now the size of ants. He'd never be able to see the humor in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids again. They were sitting in the shade for now, but it was hard to see much beyond the immediate landscape. "Doing okay?" he asked his brother after a few moments.

"Yeah," Don said. Then he turned his head to the side to look at Mike, and gave a weak smile. "Better."

Mike nodded. "So… now what?"

"I just… let's just rest a bit, for now," Don said, his head already resting on the cool surface of the boulder behind him.

"Okay…yeah, sure," Mike agreed easily, but his anxiety was growing by the minute. Clearly, Don wasn't going to take the lead. For the moment, anyway. But Mike knew they couldn't just sit here for long. They had no idea when Leo would return, and they had no supplies. At the very least they'd need water—his throat was parched from the run. And what would they do if something found them? They should have some sort of shelter.

Mike turned his head to look at his brother again. Don's eyes were closed. For now, they would rest. Donnie needed it, and Mike couldn't leave him alone while he was sleeping. But soon, they'd need to formulate a plan. Mike leaned his head back against the rock, but his eyes remained open, watching the foliage move in the breeze. Soon, he'd wake Don, and they'd find water.

Slowly, the sun changed its position, until the shadow was angled across Mike's body. He squirmed a little to shift so he was more in the sun, enjoying its warmth. He closed his eyes.

Just a few more minutes… then water.

Soon…

When Raphael awoke he was drenched in sweat. He was in some kind of hammock, and at first, he was out of it enough to think it was his own.

But it wasn't made of nylon rope. It felt - different. Strips of something, almost like braided grass. There was no dank humidity hanging in the air, no distant rumble of the subways overhead.

The moth's face swam into his thoughts. He had seen—what? He tried to sit up but found he was too weak, drained by the recent fever.

All he managed to do was turn his head and stare at what looked like... there was no way.

His glazed eyes stared at the impossible object. He was thirsty. And it looked like... a giant blueberry.

What the fuck? he thought dizzily.

It was too much to deal with. Whatever it was, whatever the moth creature was, he wasn't ready for any of it. Raphael closed his eyes and retreated back into darkness.

The first thing Leo was aware of was the smell—dank and earthy, and somehow stale, as if there was poor air circulation. He cracked his eyes open, blinked several times, and fought down a feeling of panic when he realized he couldn't see a thing, not so much as a shadow in front of his face. Breathing in short, shallow gasps, he scrubbed his eyes with his hands, hoping against hope his vision would clear, or that he was blindfolded somehow, but there was still nothing but blackness.

Okay, stay calm, he coached himself, trying to get a handle on his breathing. Slowly, his memory was coming back to him. He remembered chasing Raph, and crossing the monotonous expanse of boring grass... and that was about it. And now he was… He carefully felt around in the dark with his hands, and all he felt was…dirt. Or something like dirt—gritty, with occasional clods and pebbles, small bits of vegetation. Nothing to give him much of a clue. He listened, but all was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No wind, no rustling of vegetation, nothing. Absolutely no clue where he was, or if he was alone, or in danger, but he sure as hell wasn't going to get any answers just sitting here hyperventilating.

Leonardo swallowed hard, and reached around to make sure he still had his swords, carefully drawing one to have at ready, just in case. Then he crept forward on his hands and knees, feeling his way along until he… hit a dirt wall? He felt carefully upward, still occasionally squeezing his eyes closed and then opening them again, as if he would suddenly be able to see. As he felt upward, he realized the wall was concave, and Leo didn't even have to rise to his full height to determine it continued to curve around until it became the ceiling. It was as he had feared—he was underground. But how had he gotten here? He walked tentatively forward in a half-crouch, using the sides of the tunnel both for direction and stability, hoping to get a feel for whether the ground was sloped so he could begin to make his way upward, towards the surface. He'd only taken a few more steps when he heard a brief noise in front of him, something that sounded like something scraping across dirt. He froze, his breath speeding up again involuntarily. The noise came again, sporadic, almost like something scratching along dry paper.

Leo tightened his grip on his sword and raised it to ready position.

This can't be good.

The noise came again, closer. Leo closed his eyes to keep himself from wasting the energy trying to see in the pitch dark, and to draw on all his hours of blindfolded practice. He extended his other senses outward, stepping up into battle-readiness.

Something big. Something wet and heavy. Something...way too close! Leo extended one blade out.

The movement stopped. In its place came a strong sense of regard, as though someone were studying him. Leonardo could feel the presence just past the end of his katana.

He wondered what he should do next.

PEACE NO THREAT BE STILL, the darkness said.

Leonardo kept his blade steady, though his knees began to tremble. He wasn't hearing it. The thoughts were blooming in his head, spoken in his own voice.

"Who are you?" His voice rang oddly in his own ears. The acoustics in this place were strange.

FEEL IT SKITTERING TUNNELING BEHIND? it said. HUNTING YOU. HANG ON!

That was all the warning he got before something warm and and wet and made entirely of muscle hit his legs.

He stumbled and managed to get his swords sheathed in time not to impale his benefactor. He was being pushed forward. He couldn't tell how fast. Whatever had him, it was large and... mucousy. There was no choice but to hang on. He felt rocks and pieces of earth striking his calves as the tunnel walls raced around him.

Leo concentrated on tucking his body in, trying to make their progress as smooth as possible. There was an abrupt slowing, a sudden turn, and then they were shuffling along again, this time through a passage that was evidently much narrower. He still couldn't see a thing, but this… creature… apparently had no problems navigating in absolute darkness.

"How… how'd I get down here?" Leo gasped out.

GATHERING ALWAYS GATHERING HUNGRY.

Leo shuddered slightly. Whatever that meant, it sounded bad. "Do you mean…you're hungry?"

There was… something… not exactly a word, but a vibration in his head, almost like… laughter!

I DO NOT FEED ON WRIGGLIES.

"Well, that's...good to know," Leonardo said cautiously. "But if you didn't...gather...me for eating, then why -?"

LIFE NOT OF HERE. GATHERING ALWAYS. GATHERING NOT OF HERE TO KNOW IT.

The tunnel walls went on gliding by for a few moments while Leo sorted out not just the words, but the feelings that layered them with meaning. It was curious about me? he wondered. Aloud, he asked, "What's hunting me?"

NOT-WE, his ride and protector said.

The tunnel opened up, abruptly, into a wider space. Leo still couldn't see a thing, but he could feel the distance between himself and the wall all at once. Warm air circulated around him, carrying the smell of dirt and growing things. He slid off the slimy surface and steadied himself on ground that didn't seem to be level, but tilted slightly downward. It was hard to get his bearings, in the dark and on such uneven terrain. "You've been kind," he began, feeling very formal, "but I must get back to the surface. I need to look for my brothers."

The warm thing moved around him, encircling him. NOT SAFE. BRIGHTNESS. MUST GATHER NOT OF HERE TO KNOW IT. MUST FEED AND LIVE.

"I must find my brothers," Leonardo insisted.

The ring of damp, sticky muscle tightened around him, like an unpleasant embrace. NO, was clear in its words and its feelings. NO, it said, implacably.

NO.

Think fast, Leo, the turtle thought desperately. He forced himself to calm, forced himself to stop struggling, and felt the worm's flesh loosen slightly. It wants to know you. Not because it's cruel, but it's hungry for knowledge. Hungry for company, maybe.

COMPANY. The beast plucked the word from his mind and seemed to pour over it thoughtfully. THERE IS NO COMPANY HERE, DEEP IN THE DARK.

"My brothers... they mean much more to me than company."

EXPLAIN.

So he tried. He closed his eyes and thought about them. He thought about Mike booby trapping his door to buy himself extra time to sleep in, but his efforts had been no match for Donatello. He thought about weapons training. He recalled breaking up a cereal fight that had erupted over the breakfast table. He thought of how it had been just two nights past. "We fought like a well oiled machine," he promised the worm, and his pride brought a smile to his lips. "We saved a pair of girls. One of them screamed and threw her purse at us, but it was still a good battle."

WRIGGLIES ARE OFTEN FEARFUL, the worm agreed. THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND.

Leonardo was silent, looking down at the worm he couldn't see.

MOSTLY THEY DON'T. PLEASE CONTINUE.

He thought about recent events. Toppling into this crazy universe. Falling off a giant creature and into a jungle of grass. Raphael being carried away. The pounding chase that had followed, and how his entire world had narrowed to that terrifying silhouette on the horizon—his brother, his blood, locked in mid-air combat with a giant wasp. He had been carried so far away!

A WINGED BEAST FROM THE SKY!

"Yes," Leonardo confirmed, his heart sunk lower than it had been before the sharing.

TAKE HEART, the worm commanded, giving him a squeeze and then abruptly releasing his grasp. WE MUST FIND THE LOST BROTHER.

To be continued...