They were kids at the time, teenagers just entering the world of crushes and romance. He'd frightened her naturally, at first; all she saw in the beginning was this inhuman thing leaning over her, holding out a hand and telling her she needed to get out of her destroyed car. She hadn't screamed, which made a difference to him, even though he knew it was because she was in a state a shock that rendered her vocal cords mute.
Her first car, that bright cherry red convertible that her parents got her, had been the instrument that nearly ended her, the brakes giving out as she had flown down the highway; carefree, smiling and dreaming of her perfect life ahead of her.
She had seen that perfect life sear into smoke as the car wouldn't slow, as it headed straight for the pole, as the front of that pretty little vehicle wrapped around it. An explosion of pain had blacked out her vision; red blood, blood that blended so well with the ruined car, blossomed in her gray-blonde hair.
She couldn't move, broken doll that she was, head against the steering wheel, her lungs struggling to catch up with her rapid heartbeat.
He'd looked like Death at first, the blurry dark figure pulling her away from the steering wheel, the stars blinding lights behind him. She couldn't scream as the green skin came into focus, the large mass on his back, the bright eyes that hurt her own like the white bursts that interrupted her unsteady sight. Like the flames and heat that she managed to see from the her peripherals, the blood sliding down her face and giving her vision a hellish red tinge.
She'd tried to unbuckle herself but only to find her weak fingers not obeying. A flash of silver sliced through the red and she was suddenly free, strong arms around her body, making the pain in her head more pronounced, the retching pushing at her throat as the Thing swung her out of the car, taking her quickly away from the wreck.
Cold pavement on her back, her bare legs and arms registering it as freezing. Her mind was sloshing around, vision blurring, her stomach permanently stuck in her throat, threatening to come out. Voices. Two. One louder, nearer, coming from the thing holding her. A deeper voice, one just crossing the puberty line.
"I gotcha'. Don't worry, sweetheart, you're gonna be ok. I swear. Donatello!"
The voice, although unfamiliar, seemed so sure. She would make it. He (the Thing was undoubtedly a male) would help her. Save her. He'd promised.
A lighter voice, slightly more nasally sounding but male also.
"I'm here, Raphael. Angle her head, we've got to keep her awake. God, the blood...I already called the ambulance. We need to stay as long as we can."
Raphael. Wasn't that a name of an Archangel? That made sense. He was an angel. A terrifying one, but an angel. She would be ok.
She fought to stay awake, her fingers gripping weakly at his hand, trying to focus her eyes on him.
She was a beautiful girl, one that April would normally hate, but she clutched at him like he was the only thing keeping her bound to this world. Her face was bruised, hair bloody and matted and Raphael held her as long as he could, Don fretting over her wounds as they waited for the ambulance. When the flashing lights came, he gently laid her down. She choked out a few sobs as he stood, reaching for him with shaking arms.
In a gurgled rasp, she said his name. She said "stay" and "please" and those words ripped at him. She was looking directly at him and even though he knew she could only see him through blurry eyes, the mutant teen felt as he were Donnie and he was leaving April there, broken and dying.
"I'll be back," he whispered to her, kneeling down to put her torn and ruined jacket under her head. "I'll come see you," he promised before vanishing.
He'd been true to his word. After all the bright lights and the sharp needles, the stitches and the pain killers, she was lying in the hospital bed in a private room overlooking Central Park, recovering, surrounded by flowers from her well-off friends and family. He was there. Just like the deformed angel she'd seen through bloody eyes, he was at the window suddenly, the moonlight lighting his form. She saw him perfectly now.
Green skin, reptilian features and bright green eyes. The Brooklyn accent he spoke with made her think of the lower-classed kids she went to school with. He was hideous. He was beautiful. He'd saved her life and she owed him more than she could think of. He didn't look like the others boys she talked too, he didn't act like them, either.
He spoke to her gently, asking how she felt, but there was a roughness to him, an unspoken threat to everyone around him. He carried weapons, sharp fork-like tools at his waist. He wore a red mask and only came near her after they'd talked for over an hour.
The days progressed, he came by every night, leaving before dawn. Eventually, he allowed her to turn on the bedside light, enabling her to see him fully. Her bruises had healed. A thin, snow-white scar appeared out of her hairline but didn't affect her features any less.
They grew comfortable and soon she was out of the hospital, meeting him in the small park near the loft her parents owned. Days became weeks and weeks turned into months. He was Raphael, mutated 16 year old that lived in the sewers with his brothers and rodent-like father. She was Sarina, well-off 17 year old from the rich side of New York who resided in an empty loft while her parents worked for more and more money. She was just another pretty asset. He was just another freak from the dark part of the city.
But awkward beginnings turned into an easy romance, full of hesitant kisses and sweaty hands. They spent as long as they could together. She left behind her high-class "friends" and broke all expectations of her. He trained harder, wanting to be able to protect her, wanting to control that rage that she'd somehow subdued.
And then she left. Sent away by her never-there parents to Golden Coast. California was a long way away from New York, but Raphael didn't give up. She promised to come back and he believed in her.
But just like the years previous, days flew into months and years and he was older now, a man instead of a teen. He waited still although his mind told him she wasn't coming back. Alcohol tempted him, made him think of the temporary peace it brought. His brothers couldn't help him. They could only watch as he disappeared every night to that park they spent so much time at.
The bottles started off small and emptied slowly. Eventually they grew in size and amount, disappearing much more rapidly. His anger came back as he hit the beginning of manhood, as his height increased along with his strength. He soon towered over Michelangelo and Leonardo, finally eye to eye with Donatello. But he felt like he was growing weaker. Felt like he was missing something. Felt like he would never see her again.
When he slept, he saw blonde-gray strands, sea-foam eyes and pink lips, smiling at him, laughing with him. He felt her arms, her heartbeat, her warmth. He would try to stay there, in that dream world, away from everything except her. He would breathe in her scent of vanilla and patchouli, kiss her face and tell her how much he loved her. But the dreams always ended the same way. She would slowly disappear from his arms. He always woke up the same way, his chest hurting and a pain that raged through him, fighting and drinking the only way he could channel it.
Another night, another 40 oz., another stumbling walk through the sewers to the park. Hope was a small, dying seed in his gut. The bottle stayed clenched in his hand, the tunnels unending. The air that reached him as he finally emerged seemed to tell him that he was wasting his time. The park was quiet, like it had been every night since she'd left all those years ago.
Then, suddenly, like the night her car had sent her violently spinning into his life, she was back. There, in the park, coming from behind the tree that held their initials marked with his Sai, in a white summer dress, her blue eyes dancing as she smiled brilliantly at him with her arms wide. The bottle dropped from his large hand, unopened.
She was in his arms in a moment, clutched to his chest and it was like they were kids again. Gone were the awkward talks and sweaty hands. Loving words and passion-fueled kisses replaced them, making their bond snap back to it's original strength. She was there. With him. She'd chose him over the rich future that had been planned out for her. He'd chose her over the bitterness and anger that had controlled him for so long.