Previously on Sins of the Father:
"Casey, the hell are you still doing at the house?"
"Looking for you and Robyn. Is she with you?"
"Yeah, she's here. We're heading to Macy's Laundromat to hold out with some buddies of mine. You know where that is?"
A bad taste spiked in his throat. Macy's Laundromat. He'd heard that name before, though he couldn't remember where. "Dad, it's not safe anywhere in the city," Casey said, "If we leave now-"
"-the streets out of the city are jammed. No way you'd make it out. If you don't want to come, that's your call."
"Dad-"
"You're old enough to make these choices for yourself. I can take care of your sister just fine without you. I'll keep her safe. You take care of yourself. Be careful."
Before Casey could protest, his father hung up.
"You have everything?"
"And then some," Casey said, making sure the alcohol and cigarettes he'd found were near the top of the bag in case he needed a peace offering. "I'll be fine."
Splinter nailed him with a look. "If it gets too risky, get yourself out of danger. The medicine won't go anywhere."
"Don't worry, Splinter," he said. "I got this."
Splinter stood for another moment, looking yet again as if he wanted to say something as Casey lifted the door open. Mindful of his wounds, Casey clapped Splinter on the shoulder. "I shouldn't be more than a day or three, depending on how easy it is to slip away."
"Be careful, Casey."
"Aren't I always?" Casey asked with a grin as he lowered the door between them. But even as he took to the rooftops, the concern in Splinter's eyes lingered in his thoughts. He'd come to expect red faces and angry voices when he dealt with adults. Around him, people weren't kind.
True, there were kind adults in his life—people who came to his crime-riddled neighborhood seeking to "get their hands dirty", as he'd heard one food bank volunteer call it to another when they thought he wasn't listening. But they weren't here out of concern for the people who needed help in his neighborhood. They were concerned with racking up volunteer hours, with filling their feeds with photographs, or with inflating their own senses of self-worth. People like that weren't kind.
But Splinter did things out of concern for others. Somehow, through all the bad shit that had happened to him, he'd grown tough without losing his kindness. He hadn't thought that was possible. But then, Splinter wasn't an ordinary man by any means. It was too late for Casey to be like that. He was too rough and destructive to be kind. But maybe there were still places for people like him in this world. Splinter seemed to think so.
Something clunked on the rooftop behind him, drawing him out of his thoughts. Focus, Casey. Running into Slash because he wasn't paying attention would be a stupid way to die. While Casey doubted the mutant would do anything, it was still unsettling to know he was out there watching him. He got to the area without incident but pinpointing the correct building proved more difficult. Casey eliminated the ones without drawn curtains and the ones with shattered doors. Only two buildings had the sidewalk in front of them free of debris and sealed windows and doors. One was a hardware store. The other was a laundromat with a fallen sign. Familiarity sparked in the corners of his mind. He'd been here before, and not for a good reason.
Almost immediately after he rapped on the wood, the door flew open. Two men crowded the doorway, both wielding pistols. The first man was a lanky white man. The second, a balding black man. Purple tattoos traced down their sleeves, and Casey tensed. Now he remembered. He and Raph had broken up a Purple Dragon initiation here. It had been dark and they had entered through the back, but he was certain it was this place.
Casey's mind scrambled to come up with an explanation. Dad couldn't have known. There was no way he'd work with the Dragons. His father was difficult, not cruel.
Either they didn't notice the mask resting atop his head or they didn't make the connection. "You can't just walk in off the street and expect to join," the white man said. The black man peered at him. Casey recognized him just as he asked, "Casey?" He was a regular patron of Jones Grocery and Liquor, although never for the latter. His name was Joshua.
"You know this punk?" the white guy asked, turning to his companion.
"The Jones kid," Joshua answered, stepping back from the door, "he's cool."
"We still gotta check," the white guy insisted as Casey crossed the threshold. Cracked linoleum warped under Casey's feet. The smell of cigarettes pricked at the back of his throat as distant laughter and arguing filtered through the building.
It was difficult not to stare at the tattoos vanishing under their shirts as the white guy closed the door. He hadn't known Joshua was in the Purple Dragons. With his wife's medical bills, every month was a struggle for him to stay off the streets. He must have joined out of desperation, not that it did much good. In the Dragons, they gave their grunts just enough to keep them going, but not enough to clear the dreaded first week of the month. He could understand Joshua's case. He didn't have to like it, even if deep down he knew that if it was Robyn sick every month with an empty belly, he'd stop caring where the money came from.
But even exceptions like Joshua who joined out of desperation didn't erase the muggings, assaults and arsons committed by the other member, especially the ones done out of boredom or for pleasure.
"Is my dad here?" Casey asked.
"Yeah. He's banged up, but okay," Joshua answered.
"And my sister?" Casey asked, knowing she wasn't anywhere nearby.
Joshua and the white guy shared a look. "We'll let him fill you in on that," Joshua said at last, and even knowing his sister was safe, Casey's heart ricocheted in his chest.
"Is she okay?" slipped from his throat before he could stop it.
They didn't answer. They led him down the hall towards the back of the building. He kicked crushed beer cans out of his way, shoving the building fear deep into a hole in his chest.
Stopping before a wooden door, they opened it a crack. "Hun?" Joshua asked. Inside, Casey could see a group of Dragons gathered around a table. Cards fanned in their hands covered their faces like masks, and red chips spilled across the table. One of them, a well-built Asian man, looked up.
"What is it?" The Asian man, who must be this 'Hun' asked. Then his eyes found Casey. Recognition bloomed in his face, and Casey tensed.
Hun —the leader, if his expensive suit and the gilded sunglasses meant anything—stepped outside and looked Casey over.
"So you are the Junior Jones," he said.
"Don't call me that."
The Dragon laughed. "You have your father's spark," he said. Something inside Casey curdled at the words. Sparks fanned far too easily into flames. "Why are you here?" Hun asked. "If you wanted to join up, you would have come when your father gave you our location."
So his dad had known it was the Dragons. He must not have seen another way, especially if he had Robyn with him. He should have gone after them. He should have known they would need him.
"Macy's laundromat isn't exactly clear," Casey said, "I don't know this part of town and it's not like I can google it."
"Whatever the reason," Hun said, "you are here now. Why?"
"My family, duh," Casey said.
The amusement drained from the Dragon leader's face. "Humor me, and pretend you don't think I am stupid. You would have come as soon as you knew your father was here."
"Found a food store in the sewers while I was looking for my family," Casey said at last. "It was too dangerous to clear it out alone." And too dangerous to risk pissing off someone who was clearly one of the top five members. As much as Casey wanted to tell him to piss off, he had to play this out- for now.
"I see. You can't expect us to work for free," Hun said, fixing his mirrored gaze on Casey.
"I have a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey," Casey said.
"That buys you manpower," the leader said, holding up one finger. "And how will you pay for the things you want to take?"
"You can't be serious-"
"Like you said, it is dangerous down there. We are low on manpower. Several of our own are already wounded. You are asking us to risk our able-bodied men on an endeavor that may not even pan out in our favor."
"Yeah," Casey said. The leader's lips twitched.
"Comedy will only get you so far," he said.
"I have some medical training," Casey said at last, twisting the truth a little. "I can patch your people up now, and anyone wounded after we raid the sewers."
"Hm. How do I know your skills are worth bartering? You will need to sweeten the pot."
"How about smoke bombs?" Casey asked, unable to think of anything else he had on hand that these guys might want.
A prick of interest. "How many?"
"Three," Casey hedged.
"Four."
"Fine. Four smoke bombs, the cigs and whiskey in exchange for what I can carry out of there in my pack and the manpower to back me up," Casey said. "And I'll patch your people up in the meantime."
"Done."
They shook. The leader pulled his hand back. "We are low on space," he said, "but you are welcome to stay with your father."
"Gotcha," he said, handing over the whiskey and the goods.
Hun gestured to Joshua and the white guy. "See to it our guest finds his quarters then treats our wounded," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me—" Hun stepped back inside the room. The door closed with a solid click.
"This way, Casey," Joshua said, and Casey followed them down a branch of the hallway to another door. "He's in there," Joshua said.
Casey stepped up close to the door. Splinter needed this stuff to fix Karai so they could end this invasion. Everything else took a backseat to that.
Still, his hand hesitated inches from the door. Clenching his fist, he told himself to man up. He was doing this for Splinter. For Robyn. Besides, he told himself as he forced the knock, Dad might not even be in that bad of a mood. He resisted the urge to hide behind his mask. His father needed to see who he was.
The door eased open. "Well, I'll be damned," his father's voice said, and before Casey could react, Arnold Jones Senior stepped forward and threw his arms around his son. His dad looked like he'd lost a fight with a meat grinder. Healing cuts and bruises peppered his face, and his right arm didn't fully extend.
Casey forced his arms up and returned the hug, unease and guilt turning in his stomach. Casey wasn't big on physical contact, even from people he trusted. Raph and his sister were the lone exceptions so far, and even affectionate contact from Raph took the form of punches and elbows. Anything softer was an irregularity reserved for moments too painful to share with anyone else.
His father's grip tightened, and the guilt overwhelmed his discomfort. He'd blown his father off until he needed something from him. Only the worst kinds of people did that.
"Hey, Dad."
The door closed behind him. Arnie broke the hug off, but kept his heavy arm slung over Casey's shoulder. A small bed and a desk almost filled the room, with just enough floor space left to reach the window.
"I'm glad you're okay, son," Arnold Senior said. The injured arm on Casey's shoulders was shaking. "Where have you been?" Arnold Senior asked. "I've been so worried." His red-rimmed eyes turned to meet Casey's.
They didn't look alike. Not yet. His father's shoulders were too broad, his brow too weathered with stress, his black hair peppered with salt and ash. But Casey had his father's eyes—eyes as cold and bitter a brown as coffee left to brew too long. Given twenty years, Casey knew he would be the spitting image of his father in looks, in attitude, in temperament. Deep down, he hoped he would die—hopefully in a really badass way—before that happened but he knew he couldn't count on it. Lady Luck didn't date the Joneses.
"Around," Casey said. "Holed up in Astoria until it was clear enough to make a straight shot here."
"It took you two weeks to cover a couple miles?" Arnie asked as he settled onto the bed.
"I got held up," Casey said. Arnie gave him a suspicious look. Casey did not look away. He was itching to get this mess over with, but the last thing he needed was to piss his dad off. He seemed stable now, but Casey knew just how quickly his father's mood could change.
"So how's Robyn?" he asked. She was safe. Splinter had promised she was. But it would look suspicious if he didn't ask about her.
His father wiped his forehead, and Casey tensed at the tell. "She's not here," her father said in a monotone.
"But she's okay?" he prodded.
Silence.
"Dad?"
At his voice, Arnold started moving again. Leaning forward, he tugged on the boots he wore. "Help me."
Casey obeyed, tossing them to the side of the bed when he had finished. "Dad, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"—are you sure? You don't look so—"
"I said," Arnold ground out, "I'm fine."
"Sorry I asked," Casey said, feeling the sour tone slide far too easily from his throat.
"Don't you sass at me!" Arnie retorted, standing. "This entire situation is your fault!"
"My fault?" Casey asked. "I had a way out of the city for us!"
"And I told you to wait for us at the house. We waited, but you weren't there!"
"No, you didn't!" Casey argued.
"Oh, you're going to say you forgot again, aren't you?"
"You didn't—" he began, but his father kept going.
"You know we have to stick together. Why the hell did you think you could just go off on your own and everything would be fine?"
Casey strained to remember. The conversation had been weeks ago, and was buried under everything going on with Splinter and Karai.
"You said I could take care of myself," he said. That was the one thing he recalled with clarity.
"Yeah, I said you could, but we needed you with us more. I needed you to keep her safe."
Something clicked in his memory. His father's voice, watery and low from the distance of memory—"Take care of her."
"I thought you didn't need me," Casey said, "I- I thought you said—"
"You thought wrong," Arnie said. "Your sister's dead."
"What?" Casey said, his voice cracking like an egg trod underfoot.
"We got ambushed by a patrol. She caught a blast—"
"No," Casey said, "She can't be- "
"If you'd been there, maybe you'd be right," Arnie said, his teeth cutting the syllables. "But you weren't, 'cause you had the bright idea to go off on your own like some kinda badass."
"But…" Casey trailed off. Words weren't working. Nothing was working. He'd thought he was protecting them. Instead, he'd left them defenseless. How could he have done that?
"Feeling sorry for yourself won't bring her back," Arnie said, putting a hand on Casey's shoulder. "Just watch your step. It might be you next time."
"Yeah. Okay, Dad."
Numb, Casey stepped out of his father's room. Leaning against the wall, he slid to the floor and put his head in his hands.
Splinter had said she was alive—looked him in the face and said she was okay. If that was a lie—maybe he knew that if Casey thought she was dead he'd be useless to him—
No. Splinter had wanted them to lay low for a few days. He hadn't liked this idea. If Robyn was dead—if Splinter had lied to him—it was because he hadn't known how to tell him.
That didn't feel right either. Splinter was good with emotional stuff. If Robyn was gone—or if he hadn't been able to find her—he would have told him so.
But what reason did his dad have to lie? He loved Robyn. He never would have left her behind. He never would have let this happen.
Maybe his dad was mistaken. Maybe she'd been hit by some mutagen or something and he thought she died in the resulting fight—maybe they'd been separated or something and he had every reason to think her gone. He would ask Splinter again when he went back.
He considered telling his dad about Splinter—about his ability to sense people—but dismissed it. Better to say nothing for now, if only because if he told Dad part of it, he'd have to tell him all of it. Dad wouldn't like to hear Casey had been lying to him for months, and he certainly wouldn't like that Casey was hanging out with a strange man he didn't know.
And, Casey thought as he got to his feet, it was unfair of him to not want his father to meet Splinter just because he was afraid his dad would, to expect his father to ruin… whatever was going on with Splinter. He still wasn't sure what to call that. You just didn't make friends with your best friend's parents. But he also knew his Dad was critical, and the fact that Splinter was a not quite man with ninja powers would be a bit much for him on top of everything else.
"Ready, Casey?"
He turned, and blinked at Joshua before he remembered his deal with Hun.
"—Right. The wounded."
Joshua smiled sadly at him. "I'm sorry about your sister," he offered. Casey slunk past him.
"Whatever," he said, feeling the apathy packed in that one word clog the forming leaks in his chest.
There were about five wounded Hun wanted Casey to look at. Some of them were well outside his abilities, but he was able to do something small at least for each of them. Once the final bandage had been tied, he was released to go back to the room he shared with his father.
Tired, Casey entered the room. His father was absent, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The less they talked- argued- the better. The one thing he did before he plunked himself down onto the carpeted floor was check the window and ensure it was a suitable escape route just in case shit hit the fan and he had to make a quick exit. Then, without bothering to kick his shoes off, Casey curled up under a comforter someone had brought in.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, barely registering the cold winter night despite the frost on the window. Hours, minutes, seconds blended together—
Casey started awake.
He was in the dojo now, under the flowering bonsai tree, across from Splinter in his usual meditation pose.
"Splinter?" Casey asked, sitting up. It was then that he realized the old man was translucent— that he could faintly see the wall behind him.
"We are speaking in the dream world," Splinter said. "I wanted to ensure you got to your destination."
"Yeah, I made it," Casey said, crossing his legs. "We're going to hit the lair first thing tomorrow, so I should be back soon."
"Good," Splinter said.
Looking down, Casey steeled himself. "Are you sure you found my sister?"
Splinter's head tilted to the side. "Yes. I am certain it was her. Why?"
"-Nothing. I guess my dad must have been separated from her or something." Casey took a breath. There was nothing to worry about. He was overreacting.
The aura before him wavered a bit. "I cannot do it without you here," Splinter said at last, "but when you return, I can try to find her again."
"Really? I mean," Casey amended, "you looked pretty tired when you did it the first time."
"I know where to look now," Splinter said. "I won't have to sift through a sea of mutated minds. A second attempt should be successful."
"Are you sure? If you say she's okay, I believe you—"
"It will be no trouble," Splinter said. "Indeed, the most difficult part will be ensuring you return in one piece."
A thin laugh leaked from Casey's throat. The tension in his shoulders dissolved. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Be careful," Splinter said. Again, Splinter looked pensive. Casey waited. "Wherever you are," Splinter said at last, "there's something poisonous pressing on your spirit."
"Don't worry, old man," Casey said. "It's safe here. I promise." This was as safe as it could get in the apocalypse. He didn't have to worry about unexpected developments or ulterior motives. His dad and his friends couldn't be trusted, of course, but—
Wait. Had he just called Master Splinter old man out loud? Casey realized when a mildly surprised look crossed Splinter's face. After a moment, it faded- but a hint of fond amusement shone in Splinter's eyes.
"Even so. Be careful, my son."
And with those final words, Splinter's semblance faded away until Casey was alone once again in a dark, shabby room. He exhaled, his breath hanging foggy and grey in the cold air as he wrapped himself in the stained comforter.
Somehow, the night didn't seem so cold anymore.
