Author's Note: First fanfic ever, written with the new TV series' voices in mind (they are edgier than Cam Clarke and Rob Paulsen, not necessarily better!); set after the fourth movie, completely ignoring Next Mutation and with little consideration to what may happen in Angel Season 6 (which is due out in comics soon, I think). Got the idea when I came across the comic where Raph comes across vampires and thought to myself, "Gee, that's kinda lame." So I attempted to make Ninja Turtles and vampires a little… cooler. And apologies in advance, I tend to use dialogue to drive the plot.

Disclaimer: Ninja Turtles aren't mine, they belong to Peter Laird, Kevin Eastman, Mirage, 4Kids, Fred Wolf Films, New Line Cinema, the Jim Henson Muppet Factory – you get the idea. Anyone from the Buffy/Angelverse belongs to the almighty Joss Whedon. No profit, just fun.

Chapter 1: Two Sides of the Same Coin

Ah. The rooftops. No better place for a guy to clear his head in this city. Just far enough above the noise so he didn't get lost in it but close enough to hear if he was needed. Which tonight he hadn't been, so far. He didn't have to stick to the shadows so much up here, either, which was a nice change of pace. Still, his muscular, relatively short frame didn't draw too much attention to itself, save the occasional glint of moonlight on the set of steel tucked in his belt.

A few blocks down the street, amongst different shadows, an unnaturally pale face scowled down at the streets of New York City, his figure framed by a white v-neck tee, black leather pants and a black duster. Even though no weapons were visible, the tall, brooding image, if one happened to catch it, was imposing. At a glance, this shadow bore little resemblance to the other not far away, but both watched the streets in constant vigilance for signs of trouble. Both had sworn to themselves to protect the innocents below, even if for different reasons. Both yearned for the freedom to walk about the city streets during the daylight hours without incident. That last one was virtually impossible. For both.

He moved silently, headed towards home. There had been no real trouble that night. No monsters. No foot ninja. Both had been absent since the events at Winters' offices a short while ago. The monsters were gone, but he could only expect the worst from the foot – they were reassembling and planning something vicious. But it wouldn't come tonight, he could feel it. The urge had been there to interfere with some minor crimes, but he kept telling himself the cops could handle it just fine. Bad habits and all that, right? Property crimes, vice crimes – no innocents to save. But just as he reached his final stretch, he heard screaming below. Screams of fear and of horror.

"Finally, some action 'round here!" This is what he came on these trips to the surface for. Cracking his knuckles silently, he made his way down the fire escape without a sound, moving as the shadows did. Rounding a corner, he took in the scene. Five punks had cornered a middle-aged woman in an alley. The groceries spilled out of their paper bags answered the question of what she was doing out at this hour. Even worse, they were about to scuffle near his incredibly clever hiding spot for his bike. He couldn't see the punks' faces, but something was off about them. Really off, and they were really freakin' out the lady. Swiftly, silently, and with acrobatic skills that any self-respecting Power Ranger would envy, he jumped into the center of the fray and threw out a spinning hook kick that caught all five of the assholes square across their jaws. With his heel. God that was fun.

Until they got right back up and he got a closer look.

He didn't know what the hell they were, but he knew the woman needed to get out of here. Launching two more clean kicks, a back fist and some nasty crosses, he cleared a path for the would-be victim. It only made him angry when she froze.

"Get the fuck outta here! Are you nuts? Fuckin' go!"

When she finally ran off, the weird punks had regained their balance.

"Great. Just fucking great. God, people are stupid!" He had given up on stealth and silence and drawn his weapons, prepping himself for what he knew would be one helluva fight. What he wouldn't give for one of his brothers right now. Or all of them. Even Leo. Or that nut Casey. Or –

Whoomp.

Someone landed at the other end of the alley, softly, despite appearing to have jumped from the rooftops above. The ninja gave little notice to the newcomer except to make a note of his position in case he wasn't… friendly.

"You took our little piggy, you bastard." One of the punks spoke, with some trouble, due to the enormous canines protruding from his mouth. Or were those – no, no way. Fangs? "Looks like we'll have to make do with you instead. But you don't look very…tasty."

He didn't know whether to be insulted or not. "Well, sorry to disappointcha, but I don't really like the idea of being some freak's midnight snack, so you can just go fuck yourself." Okay, so it wasn't the best smartass remark he'd come up with lately, but it was a good failsafe. And this gang of whackos had him seriously weirded out.

"You dare to call us a freak? Have you looked in the mirror lately?" The five of them giggled like schoolchildren, and he felt the familiar sting of insecurity that had plagued him since childhood. The same one he always felt when the people he saved from thugs, Purple Dragons, and foot ninja looked at him like he was the one who had just tried to mug them, rape them, eat their young or kill them. Freak. Well, to be fair, this time he'd used the word first.

The newcomer at the end of the alley grew tired of watching the interchange. "If any of you had seen your reflections anytime this century, I think you'd have all staked yourselves by now. Damn, but you're ugly." That seemed to piss the punks off, so the ninja took his opportunity to flip over one of their heads and launch a clean side-kick at the back of the fanged freak's skull. Taking the cue, the newcomer followed suit, throwing techniques that were less skillful, but still effective. The ninja's blades made contact with two stomachs, but he stepped back, stunned, as they laughed at his attempts. They proceeded to speak amongst themselves, ignoring him.

"He's strong, a good fighter. He'd be a good addition."

"He's not human, you idiot. We've turned demons before, and they don't always take!"

"I think we could take a chance with this one. He's naïve."

The last one to speak received a very swift tornado kick to the temple when pride won out over common sense. "No one ignores me, assholes!" When they rounded on him, and he got a good look at their eyes, he realized that calling attention to himself may not have been the best route this time.

And then the fanged punk that was about to jump him exploded into dust, falling around a wooden stake held firmly in the grip of the newcomer in the black duster.

"A stake! Are you fucking kidding me?" The ninja ran his hand over his eyes quickly, trying to erase the scene and make sense of what was happening. Duster-guy laughed darkly, realization dawning on him.

"With your weapons, you'll have to cut their heads off to kill them. And don't worry – they're not human." And he proceeded to do so to an aerial attacker leaping from the fire escape.

"Okay, killer – whatever you say." Armed with the knowledge of how to finally cause these fuckers some damage, and that he would not be murdering simple street thugs, the blades in the ninja's skilled hands began spinning, slicing, and stabbing in a very quick-paced rage, and moving on instinct to guard each other's backs, the two fighters made short work of the remainder of the – what the hell were they, anyway?

The fight over, the ninja and the newcomer glanced around, making sure no one remained hiding in the shadows. Then the newcomer, still looking down the alley, did what any polite warrior does after battle.

"Well, nice working with you. Gotta run." As he turned, a strong grip held him in place.

"I don't think so, trench coat-boy. Mind telling me what the fuck just happened here? Who are you, who – what were those punks, and why don't you seem freaked out by the way I look?"

"God, they never let you fight and run, do they?" Trench coat-boy turned and looked the turtle in eyes. Kind of. Given the height difference.

"Name's Angel. You just got yourself into a fight with a pack of vampires. That's why all your fancy fighting tricks didn't work on them. And I'm not 'freaked out' because I've seen kappa demons before. But, um, not in the Big Apple. And not with… ninja weapons. Or a ninja mask. Or such extensive knowledge of curse words. Or a cell phone?" The last question was prompted by the turtle's Shell Cell ringing. The ninja quickly turned it off, looking at Angel with a confused expression.

"What the hell is a Kappa?"

"You mean you're not one?" The turtle started twirling his blades between his fingers, a smirk showing at the corner of his mouth and appearing ever darker under the red mask at his eyes.

"I would think that if I were one, I would know what in the hell it was, Angel." His speaking slowed in rhythm for emphasis, as if speaking to a child. "I am a mutant turtle, thank you very much. Name's Raphael."

"Raphael, huh – after the archangel or the Renaissance artist?" The pale fighter let a brief, amused grin affect his stony appearance, finding irony at the berserker ninja with the name of an artist or icon.

Raph caught the sarcasm in Angel's tone straight away and aimed his sai… well, pointedly at the offender's chest. "I don't think you're in any position to make fun of my name, bucko." He paused. This guy had helped save his life and attitude or not, Raphael had his honor. "The artist. And for Christ's sake, just call me Raph."

Angel laughed. As blunt and caustic as it was, there was also something comfortable and refreshing about Raphael's disposition – it reminded him of himself. And Spike. True warriors. "You always this pleasant for company, Raph? I mean, cut me some slack here. I just saved your shell."

Raph's eyes narrowed in consideration as he stuck his sai back into his belt absentmindedly. "Buy me a pizza and I'll be your best friend."

"Deal."

Still a little on edge, Raphael inspected Angel closely, looking for any signs of deception that might prove the hero a liar or a lunatic. Finally deciding him to be neither, Raph looked around the alley and away from his new acquaintance. "Vampires, huh? You ain't just fuckin' around with me here?"

Angel sighed, resigned to his dramatic monologue of exposition about slayers, watchers, vampires, vampires with souls, demons, werewolves, witches, evil lawyers, mystical karaoke –

"You know what? Never mind. Fuck it and let's go." Raphael cut off the internal pity party by smacking Angel in the ribs with his spare helmet.

To be continued.