Okay. It's not finished. It's not absolutely perfect. But! It is the longest story I have written so far. On a spur of the moment deal, I've decided to show that hey! I do stuff even when it seems like I'm not doing stuff! 2nd college semester just started up and I'm not sure when I'll have time to post this or write more, so I figured hey, I've kept people waiting long enough.

Okay so there IS AN OC IN THIS STORY. HES THE BAD GUY. I HOPE THAT'S ALRIGHT. I feel like I needed to say that first off, as a kind of warning or something.

Also. I am in the market for a beta. Never done anything related to a beta-reader before. I don't know how it works. But a pair of fresh eyes would be great, and I want this story to be actually good for y'all.

(I'm not sure about the title either but what are ya gonny do aboot it)

Anyway.

...

Nov. 8th

The night was crisp and clear on the streets of New York City. Cars drove around each other, swerving and honking as they usually did. The pigeons cooed from their spots above the buildings, some watching as others flew down to peck at the measly crumbs on the sidewalks, most already nestling in for the night.

The sudden screech and yowl of a cat frightened the birds hiding out on some low windowsills, sending them fluttering in all directions. The terrified cat paid them no attention as it scampered out of a steamy alleyway.

The racket of trash barrels could be heard through the smog of the alley, and the pounding sounds of flesh on flesh were only followed by more echoes of metal on metal. A newspaper drifted through the smokey atmosphere towards the ruckus lazily, but was stopped in its tracks by a heavy boot, pinned to the pavement. The boot's owner held something shiny in an outstretched, shaking hand.

The shot rang through the alley seconds before the roar of pain did. The gun clattered uselessly to the steaming pavement as it's previous owner slid down against the wall, passed out from a nasty head wound.

Raph hissed in pain and grit his teeth, refraining from stealing a glance at the burning hole in his left thigh. The pain made him lean his weight on the rough brick of the alley wall. He had to make sure the man was okay first, then he could assess his own damage.

"Hey, you." Raph gestured to the only other remaining conscious man, the one he had been saving from the mugging in the first place. His damsel in distress was currently staring at the person slumped against the wall, the one Raphael had just knocked out. The one who had shot him.

The man, blue eyes wide in astonishment or fear, locked his attention on Raph. His black hair was messed from the earlier scuffle, as was his suit and red tie. His right shoe, which he had attempted to use as a weapon earlier, was off in a corner somewhere. His glasses had somehow stayed on his face for the fight, though he didn't seem to be in a terrible rush to straighten them. Overall, Raph would have described him as disheveled.

Raph felt uneasy in the man's gaze. He was staring at a giant turtle, but the usual response was to run away. The stare was starting to give Raph the creeps. Something about him seemed off, like he was a lot bigger than he let on. Raph blamed the uneasy feeling on his gunshot wound.

"Me?"

"Yeah. You. You okay?"

The man nodded his head slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine." His eyes traveled to the blood running down his savior's leg. "You're bleeding."

Raph rolled his eyes behind his mask, but resisted the urge to scoff. "Tends to happen when you're shot. Listen, uh..." He prompted the man for his name.

"Oh, Matthew. Dillard." He added his last name almost like a second thought.

"Right. Listen, Matt. You get home. I gotta go clean this up. Kapiche?"

Matthew nodded and started to walk past the giant talking turtle when he stopped as if hit by an invisible wall. He bit his lip and spun around, fiddling with his hands. He seemed to have forgotten his other shoe entirely.

"I know a place. It's out of the way, no one else knows where it is," Matthew seemed to plead. "It's real close to around here." There was a kind of desperation in his voice.

Raph turned behind him to where the small man was standing. "Sure you do. I gotta go get this cleaned up. Have a nice night." He hated repeating himself.

"No, wait," His steps were large and deliberate as he suddenly grasped Raph's wrist, pulling him back. "It's in the sewers, and I know how to treat bullet wounds. I used to be a doctor's assistant."

Raph frowned at the hand on his wrist, and Matthew let go hastily. Raph couldn't believe it, but he actually considered the offer for a second. If it was in the sewers, it was on the way, and this way Donnie wouldn't have to worry about cleaning him up. Plus, it meant getting back to the lair later, delaying another Leo lecture. Not that they'd been overly into it lately... but Raph didn't want that to change.

"Please," Matthew was saying. "You helped me, let me help you. Return the favor, and all that. Besides, you can barely walk with that injury, and I can fix it for you."

Raph leaned his hand on the alley wall for balance. The guy had a point. The already-intense burning in his leg was beginning to throb all up and down his side. It would be one less thing for Don to worry about. Maybe the public was finally giving back. And if it turned out to be a trap, he could always beat the guy up. Still, there was something... off about the whole thing. He wanted to trust his gut.

Matthew seemed to sense Raph's hesitation. He took another step forward, and something in his voice changed. "I promise your leg will be fine."

Maybe it was the way the guy said it. Or how serious he suddenly seemed. Matthew appeared to grow a bit as he stood up straight, a glint in his eye that Raph felt something... safe.

The next words out of his mouth did not feel like his own. "Okay. Lead the way."

The place Matt had been talking about was closer than Raph thought it would be. Of course, they were still about a mile or two from his home, but that still wasn't too far of a distance when one ran around the city on a regular basis.

Raph wondered in the back of his mind of how often this Matt person came down to the sewers. He didn't seem all that bothered by the smell, rats, bugs... Even with just one shoe on. The thought fogged in his mind as they rounded a short corner.

He recognized this place, he and his brothers used to play here when they were kids. There was a manhole up ahead, but as they grew older, they'd found closer ways to leave the sewers. This way was quieter, but timing always won out when choosing an exit.

His foot scuffed the slick floor and he stumbled a bit.

Raph hadn't been able to walk his way out of the alley, so Matthew had helped him limp around, becoming a small crutch for Raph to lean on. Frankly, Raph was surprised the man was holding him up as much as he was. Exhaustion had hit Raphael himself before they even made it to the manhole cover.

In addition to his exhaustion, the blood loss seemed to be getting to him. He could have sworn he was seeing shadows moving in the corners of his vision, but when he turned to them, there was nothing. He stumbled a few more times than he would have liked.

They walked through the tunnels for fifteen minutes before Matt announced they only had about twenty more steps to go. Raph glanced around. It was just the sewers. There wasn't any door anywhere that led to some place. He grew up here, he would know. He was just about to voice his concerns when he felt a pinprick on his arm. He pulled away from the sharp pain, confused and suddenly off-balance.

Raph took a few steps backward before he had to lean on the grimy wall next to him.

His world spun, and he was out before he even hit the ground.