Rewritten chapter two

"Your names," Splinter demanded, rapping his cane on the ground.

The youngest angel was quick to obey. "The one you knocked out is Harp. The one you broke is Screech. I'm Pere."

Behind her, Mikey snorted. "What kind of names are those?"

"We're named after the birds we are- Harp Eagle, Screech Owl, Peregrine Falcon." She wriggled and whimpered. "Could you please let me go? I promise I won't try to run."

MIkey glanced to Splinter, though his question was directed to his captive. "Or fly?"

"Or fly. I won't abandon my sisters."

Splinter nodded. Mikey released Pere; she rubbed her arms and twitched her wings.

Leo was standing, his swords returned to their sheaths. He couldn't see the family resemblance. The three women were of the same ethnic group, but that was it. Their eyes were different shades of the same color, yes, but that was where the similarity ended. Pere's eyes were innocent, bright; Screech's were a blank slate, dull and yet observed everything and remembered it all. Leonardo couldn't find a single spark of the inferno that burned in Harp's eyes- her "sisters" did not share in her fury.

Pere and Screech shared curled hair, but Screech's were long and elegant and black; Pere's were short and corkscrewed and brown. They shared the same pointed chin, but Pere's face was rounder and chubby with youth; Screech was made of delicate bones, with a thin nose, sleek jaw, and high cheekbones.

Harp bore no resemblance to the other two. Her braided hair was straight, and both her hair and skin were several shades darker than her "sisters'". Her nose was aquiline, proud. Her cheekbones, too, were high, but in an almost aggressive way. She was harder than the other two in every way. A warrior, a fighter. Not the kind of angel that sang in heavenly choirs, but the kind that fought heaven's battles.

Splinter remained standing over Harp, casting orders like a general. "Donatello, tend to Screech- Michelangelo and Raphael will help you. And the three of you figure out a way to bind these three. Leonardo, go get Maria and Etta."

Don crouched at Screech's sides, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Let's see what we have."

"Her wing's broken," Mikey supplied.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Raph growled. "Question is, why does she have wings."

Mikey shrugged. "Dude, that's like asking why you have a shell."

"I can reset the bone," Donatello cut in, sounding a little annoyed. "Screech, you need to lay down on your front. Raph, grab her other wing- gently. Mikey, hold her hands, make sure she's calm. I'm going to go get some supplies."

Mikey nodded, helping Screech move to lay face down. The movement jarred her broken bones, undoubtedly causing excruciating pain, but she never parted her lips to make noise. When she was settled, Mikey sat cross-legged in front of her, taking her hands. "Don't worry, angelcakes."

Pere piped up from where Splinter was watching over her every move. "What did you call her?"

There was no anger, no incrimination in her voice, only curiosity. "Angelcakes- it's kinda like 'sweetheart' or 'baby girl'. I didn't mean anything bad by it."

Pere blinked owlishly. "Oh. But we're not angels. Harp doesn't like it when people call us that."

Mikey glanced at the down-and-out sister; he'd seen her fury and ferocity, too. "Oh."
He turned back to Screech, maintaining his grin. "Okay then, Screech. Don's a good doctor; he patches us up all the time."

She didn't respond, gazing at him with nearly dull, unflinching eyes. Donatello walked back in, carrying a yardstick and a roll of bandages; Mikey glanced up at him. "I don't think she talks."

"She can talk," Pere insisted. "She just doesn't talk a lot."

Don knelt next to Screech's broken wing, drawing her eyes to him. "Can you talk?"

She gave a slow, slight nod. Even if it wasn't quite the answer he wanted, Don nodded back with a small smile. "I'm Donatello. Raphael's going to hold your other wing, so you don't hurt us. And Mikey's going to hold your hands- feel free to squeeze when it hurts. I'm going to set your wing now, okay?"

Another nod. Don gently took hold of the broken wing, signaling Raph to do the same. The hothead growled but knelt anyway, rough hands surprisingly tender as they caught hold of the uninjured wing, pinning the tawny feathers close to the woman's dark skinned back- much lighter than Harp's only a few shades darker than Pere's.

Donnie took a deep breath. "Okay, Screech, this is going to hurt, but I'll be quick. Ready?"

Her slim fingers tightened around Mikey's thicker digits. Taking that as a yes, Don expertly positioned himself. "On five. One. Two. Three-" he suddenly jerked, pulling the broken bone into place. Screech bucked in response, silently arching her back and lashing out with her other wing-sending Raph sprawling.

Mikey laughed as Raph got back to his feet; Don quickly placed the yardstick as a splint and wrapped it in place, then rocked back on his heels. "Well, she won't need any restraining; she's not going to be doing too much with that wing. But these other two..."

"We still have a few pairs of Halloween handcuffs," Raph offered. "And plenty of rope to tie their wings."

And that's what they did- quickly handcuffing the unconscious Harp's wrists and ankles, then using extra lengths of rope to bind her enormous wings. Thus far, Pere was working with them- they tied her wings, but only handcuffed her wrists. Leo came back out with Maria and baby Etta just as Raph was adding even more rope to Harp's wings.

"My goodness," Maria breathed, holding Etta tighter on her hip. "What are they?"

"We don't exactly know," Mikey breathed, holding Etta tighter on her hip. "Sembrano angeli."

"No eh-sprecken the Spanish, Maria," Mikey replied.

"That was Italian, Mikey," Maria sweetly returned. "I said they look like angels."

"They're not," Raph grunted, hefting Harp onto his shoulder, awkwardly trying to work his way around her bound wings. "Bein' called an angel gets their shorts in a twist."

Maria stepped out of his way; baby Etta giggled and reached out to touch the feathers- Maria pulled her back. "So what are they?"

"Probably some type of mutant," Donnie guessed. "I'm putting my money on TCRI."

"Was anybody hurt?"

"Screech- that's the middle one- her wing's broken," Don reported.

Maria's eyes were quick to catch the way Raph held his hand, loose and tender. "And you, Raphael?"

Raphael winced as Maria gently took his wrist, examining his palm. "She braided her freakin' hair with barbed wire."

"Her neck's bleeding," Maria quietly observed, eyes flicking to Harp. She led Raphael to the nearby couch. "Leonardo, go get some cotton balls and disinfectant, please."

The oldest brother nodded and left, quickly returning with the needed materials. Maria took them and passed him baby Etta- Leonardo cradled her close to his plastron, smiling when she reached a small hand to pull at his mask ends.
Maria tended to Raphael first, pouring disinfectant on a cotton ball and pressing it to his palm, murmuring soothing words in both Spanish and Italian when the hotheaded turtle hissed and curled his fingers.

When he'd been treated, she moved to Harp- the brothers all took a step closer, concerned. Harp was still unconscious, slumped where Raph had propped her against the wall- her shoulder to the bricks, since her wings wouldn't allow her to sit with her back to the wall. Maria set the medical supplies aside and started unbraiding the winged woman's hair, pricking her fingers on the barbed wire. When the long black strands were undone, their ends pooled on the floor and curtained Harp's face. Maria set aside the wire and brushed the masses of hair away, exposing the shallow scrapes on Harp's neck. She poured some hydrogen peroxide on a cotton swab and pressed it to the cuts.

Harp instantly erupted awake, roaring and rearing up. Raph grabbed Maria by her waist, pulling her back as Harp rose to her knees, straining at her handcuffs and trying to spread her wings. The cords of rope cut into the feathered flesh, drawing blood to leak red down the gray and white wings.

"Please stop," Maria calmly raised her voice, dangling like a doll in Raph's grip. "You're hurting yourself."

"My wings!" She snarled, still struggling against her restraints. Her voice was nothing like the musical instrument she shared a name with- it was furious and full of rage, scathing and hateful. No accent, New York or otherwise. Only anger. "Unbind my wings! Now!"

"Hey," Raph snarled, setting Maria on her feet and stepping in between her and the winged sisters. "You aren't exactly in a position to be tossin' out orders."

Splinter cut off the argument with a raised hand, then tapped his cane on the ground, gaining the sisters' attention and meeting each of their gazes. "What are you?"

Pere and Screech looked to Harp, who spoke with her custom vehemence. "We are angels of a new world order, created with only one purpose- to destroy you. But we have failed our purpose, and have fallen. We are no longer angels."