Hey guys! I should probably start this next installment with an explanation for why I haven't posted in so long. However, I understand that a great many of you don't bother to read this first bit and get annoyed if it runs too long, so I shall post my explanation at the bottom of the page instead. Enjoy the story!
Summary: Raph is sure he can't take Leo's almighty attitude any longer. He channels his rage through the Nightwatcher, a mask he puts on to beat down criminals of all kinds. However, when Raph (as the Nightwatcher) is captured by desperate criminals, he begins to realize how much he really needs a leader. He also might have found love in the process. RaphxOC, M/M SLASH! Don't like, don't read.
Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles :(.
When he found his wits again, Flame took one look at the mess he had made of Annie's guest room and decided to vacate the premises immediately. Razor shards of shattered glass littered the floor, crunching under his feet as the door creaked open under the turn of a knob. He crept down the sagging wooden staircase as silently as he could, flinching with every unintentional croak and groan under his feet.
He didn't want to deal with this today-he didn't want to think, didn't want to breathe. His efforts to be stealthy only served to remind him of a certain ninja, and Flame would have preferred to avoid any more episodes like his paralysis this morning. It was weak, not fitting for a king.
Why couldn't he feel-?
He heard voices. Families laughing together in the kitchen, scuffling down a quick brunch before moving on their way. Flame's heart pounded in his chest, the sound thumping in his head. He was in no state to deal with people at the moment. It was all he could do to keep a neutral expression on his face as he fled the house to his motorcycle, all the while resisting the urge to run.
His engine purred beneath him, and Flame instantly felt just a little bit better. He allowed the bike to idle for a while, considering his options.
Flame was no fool. He knew he would have to return to what the turtles had long ago dubbed "the lair" eventually, even if he hadn't left his blades there. He had a bike to return, thanks for hospitality to be given. The million dollar question, then, was simply when.
Should he allow Raph to cool down, try to talk some sense in him? Or was he only lying to himself when he thought Raph would give him the time of day at all? Would he knowingly put the ninja into such pain, not to mention danger?
He couldn't. No. Best get this over with.
Flame took one last strengthening breath before turning his handlebars in the direction of New York City, numbness settling inside his gut like a heavy storm cloud. He felt nothing, yet a frightening understanding wracked his resolve.
This must have been how Nathan felt before he went insane: wretched, hollow, alone. Incapable even of emotion. Unworthy of love.
Flame gunned it, gravel screeching beneath his tires even as he pulled out onto the paved road that would take him back to Raph, for better or for worse. The tears of the morning were long gone, dried up like the last sliver of humanity he had to cling to. Once he had left the turtles...
He would go after Nathan, ruthlessly. He would flay his hide and tack it on his wall, remorseless, even as the screams made him feel that much more alive..
Flame shook himself, startled by how appealing the idea seemed. His mind immediately sidetracked to what would Raph think of me now? Another inner voice answered readily enough: He'd still hate your guts. Do as you please.
As a sort of response to that, he pushed his machine faster. Skyscrapers loomed into view, inching closer and closer with each passing second. A few hours without a heart and already he was contemplating violence. Great.
Maybe less flaying, more sliding. As in, down a razor blade and into a pool of acid. That would do the trick.
No time for traffic, less time for murderous thoughts. He had to do it quickly, rip this whole situation off like a band-aid. Flame soared at high speeds straight into the city, wildly weaving through cars. Blue and red lights flashed behind him, but he soon lost the cop as he ran a red light and zipped through a crowd of pedestrians crossing the road. He turned down a semi-familiar side street he had only seen a few times before; he had been unconscious the last time he was dragged into it.
Raph's bike was not in the garage. Instead, it was laying haphazardly on its side, covered in alley-filth. Perturbed, Flame dismounted. Something was definitely off. Raph would never leave a motorcycle out like that...
Flame dropped into a fighting stance on instinct. His eyes scanned the alley, though the most suspicious thing he could see was the sheer amount of litter leaking out of a nearby dumpster. He called out.
"Anyone out here?"
No response. His chest tightened.
"Show yourself."
An order. Orders always got him into trouble.
You will if I tell you to.
Nothing. A distant siren wailed. It took a concentrated effort, but Flame pulled himself out of fight-or-flight mode. He didn't have a good feeling about this, but there was nothing he could do about it now, save check on the turtles. He wheeled both bikes into the garage, then slipped underneath the sole manhole cover.
It was dark in the sewers, and rank. Flame could imagine his face twisting into a half-snarl as he scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes at the same time, trying to find light and studiously avoiding landing face-first in a puddle of sewer water. He trudged through stinking passages (some rendered almost unusable for bipedal creatures that possessed a sense of smell in any shape or form), using a trick Mikey had taught him to navigate while they were out on that skateboarding run.
"If you can't use your eyes, use your nose, dude."
"How am I supposed to tell any difference down here? It's all gross!"
"There's a difference. Trust me."
Completely closing his eyes now, Flame took a deliberate sniff. It took a couple of tries before he could get past the eww factor of his surroundings and begin to differentiate, but he managed. Off to his right, there was more of a rotten egg smell, where to his left, a somewhat familiar smell of rotting pizza wafted toward him. Turning abruptly left, Flame followed that pizza smell, groping along the sewer walls in the dark to find his footing. He didn't want to think about all the bacteria he was picking up.
His first slip occurred about twenty minutes in. He thought he had found a solid brick underfoot, but as he took a step, that "brick" seemed to turn into mush beneath his toes. He fell, sliding up to his neck in sewer water.
The next time, he went all the way under. By the time Flame found the entrance to the lair, he was dripping, tired, and in an extremely foul mood.
Surely, this wins the prize for Worst Day of My Life. What else could possibly-?
He pushed the door open, surprised to find it unlocked. It readily swung ajar, exposing a room shrouded in darkness. Flame fumbled for Donny's homemade light switch, flicking it on.
Bright light immediately flooded the room, if it could be called that anymore. He took in the remains of the lair with wide eyes. The furniture was in shambles-well, more so than usual. Decorations had been smashed, the walls looked like they had been pounded in with a sledge hammer. A peek into Donatello's lab yielded similar results. The whole place was trashed. A fight had gone down here, too, if the crusty red stains on the living room rug were anything to go by.
He stood stock still in the middle of the desolation, unable to think about anything for just a moment. He was empty, everything had been taken away, he hurt. God, for the first time since he could remember, he hurt, and he couldn't fathom..
The pain was so sharp, a stabbing at his lungs with the shaky intake of a breath, and suddenly he was doubling over in silent laughter because if he didn't laugh, he would cry. It hurt to move, to breath. Raph was gone. Taken. Blood on the floor, damn it. Somehow, those few jumbled moments of coherency were more than enough to wound.
A rough scraping sound echoed from the dojo and Flame's ears were ringing, his attention snapping around. Perhaps some of the intruders had lingered, and were now trying to make an escape.
Still splattering drops of sewer water on the floor of the lair, he crouched, slowly edging his way along battered walls to the threshold of the dojo itself. It was a daunting task, inching forward with the greatest of caution, stepping over rubble. He focused on one step at a time, one ear tuned to the sound of the scratching. He peered through the doorway, the actual door thrown wide open. The sight that greeted him was unexpected.
He now understood what the noise had been. Master Splinter and Mikey appeared to have been tied together with a thick rope in the middle of the dojo floor. They were currently trying to find a way to their feet, Splinter giving Michelangelo quiet instructions. Blood littered the floor here, too. Mikey's leg dragged along the floor, bent at an odd angle. The source of the scraping. Flame winced, then moved into Mikey's line of vision.
Mikey's eyes widened. "Sensei-"
"I know, Michelangelo. Now, one more time, on three. Try to keep your voice down. One."
"But-"
"Two."
"Hey, Master Splinter, hold up a second!"
"..Ready? Thr-"
"Flame's here!"
The dojo fell into uneasy silence. Flame cleared his throat, making his way over to the pair. "Sorry to crash the party."
"No problem, dude," Mikey answered readily, sighing in relief as Flame unwound the rope. "I thought we were gonna be stuck here."
"What happened?"
"The one you call Nathan led the men who attacked our home," Master Splinter spat before Mikey could even open his mouth. "They were dishonorable, attacking an opponent who was unarmed in their own sanctuary. Leonardo and Donatello were taken with them."
Flame grimaced. "I see."
"Where's Raph? Wasn't he with you?" Mikey wondered aloud, looking around as if his brother might materialize from the very air at any given moment.
"We got, er, separated," Flame put it lightly, gritting his teeth. "He left for home without me. I saw his bike abandoned in the alley up top."
Master Splinter shot Flame a calculating look. "Then we can only assume he has been taken as well."
Flame turned away from Splinter's stare, uncomfortable. He tried to center himself enough to form a question.
"What would Nathan want with them? What could he be planning?"
"I am afraid I do not know. We, however, were told by his men to deliver a message to you specifically, Flame."
Flame's eyebrows shot up at that. What?
"Michelangelo and I have thus far been unable to decipher it. The message is: Luke's love falls when tomorrow runs."
His stomach dropped. Nathan had issued a sentence and a time, in a form only someone of their race could understand. Someone who knew the real story of Luke-royalty, unlike the softened-down tales of the First King fed to the general populace. He knew Flame would return to the lair.
Master Splinter read Flame's change in demeanor almost immediately. "What does it mean, my son?"
Even Splinter's heartwarming endearment could not erase Flame's dread. He swallowed over a lump in his throat. "'Luke's love falls'-torture plus an execution. 'When tomorrow runs'-midnight tomorrow. He's going to kill them, very painfully, very publicly, very soon."
Flame's eyes flitted from Mikey's horrified expression to Splinter's visage, smoldering in controlled rage. He made a promise. "I'm going to get them back."
Alright: on with the explanation.
As a great many of you know, slash is a touchy subject for readers in fanfiction. Is it right, is it wrong, is it okay to read this, etc. You can warn people all you like, but there are always going to be flames (I haven't experienced that with any of my Ninja Turtles fics, thank goodness). The other day, I was browsing and came across a story I had actually written a long time ago on an account I didn't even remember making. As I was reading through the story (of course I was reading it, my own story interested me), bits started to sound very familiar..
Realizing what I was reading, I also noticed the fic had a BUNCH of reviews. Excited to read them, I clicked to the next screen. You guys can probably guess what happened next.
Flames everywhere. It was frankly scary and extremely disheartening to see all of that up against one of the first fics I had ever posted. Sure, my writing style had developed since then. I'm much better now... But it still hurt.
It has taken me quite a while to get out of this funk, caused by a few reckless people who can't seem to read warning labels, but I survived and am posting again. All of the positive reviews I am getting with this story have really pushed me to continue. Thanks, guys!
Please, R&R, but no flames, of course.
-DauntlessAdrenaline