Raphael woke again just as the sun was setting, having slept dreamlessly and uneasily through most of the day. The lingering pain and confusion from his dream had dissipated with more sleep, but he could still remember it vividly — from Mother's face as she wept over her dying child to the feeling of cold steel blades piercing his body. A shudder ran through him as he recalled it — all of it.
He needed some air. Some freedom. Someplace to think.
He bound up his legs quickly before donning his belt and his mask, his mind still caught up in thoughts of his dream and of the previous night. He was still horribly confused about all the things that he had heard and seen — especially the other turtles.
He thought for a moment about their faces — he had seen Bo and Swords up close and personal, their faces close up against his as he fought them. He had even punched Bo in the gut, and been punched in turn by Swords. And there had been a third turtle — whom he had nicknamed Nunchaku — whom he hadn't fought personally. He had been too busy speeding through the place, his weapons whirling and his mouth going almost as fast.
They looked like him. Except for some variations in skin tone — Bo was sort of an olive green, and Swords was more of a standard grass green — he suspected that they would be almost indistinguishable in human eyes. If they were the three that had been lost down in the sewer…. he supposed that made them his brothers.
The face of Swords flashed into his head, sternly speaking to him as Raphael had tried to get past his defenses. "Deep down you must know this isn't right — that you don't belong here. You belong with us," he had said.
No. No. That wasn't right. Raphael found himself shaking his head, gripping at his temples with both hands. He belonged with the Foot — it was the only home, the only family he had ever had. Ever needed. Ever wanted.
He forced himself not to think about the other turtles as he made his way down to street level, and vanished into the shadows of the streets. He needed to settle his thoughts with something simple — something clean and ordinary.
He needed to go beat the crap out of someone, he thought with a grin.
On the rooftops, moving swiftly against the cold wind, he felt the cares of his life slipping away as if they were blowing off his skin. His eyes roamed across the streets as he leapt from roof to roof, watching for someone out at this hour that was clearly up to no good.
Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. Those two ninja were following him as usual, but at a distance. He supposed he should be glad that they were keeping far enough away that they wouldn't step on his toes.
The streets had been a little less crime-riddled lately, he realized. Maybe it was because he had been pouncing on so many muggers, rapists and kidnappers that there simply weren't a lot left once he put them in the hospital. Or maybe they were getting smart, and avoiding the area where they were likely to be attacked by the shadowy figure wielding twin sai. Maybe he should start branching out, finding new areas to patrol…
He crouched on a rooftop for awhile, surveying the expanse of the streets under him. Not much to observe, except for a yellow van that kept driving around in circles, as if searching for something. He kept an eye on that one, just in case its driver tried to snatch someone, but they seemed content to just drive from street to street, before finally vanishing to the west shortly after midnight.
He huffed a frustrated breath, and sat back on his heels. Maybe it was just a bad night.
Then he heard someone sobbing from a few streets away — loud, hysterical sobs. He stood quickly and leaped across the street, catching himself on a fire escape before running and jumping again.
The sobbing had grown louder by the time he arrived, joined by someone shouting "Shut up!" at the top of his voice. When he peered over the edge of the roof, he could see a lumpy man down below, with a beer gut and bulging arm muscles, dragging a small woman along by her arm. She was the one crying, and feebly pulling at him as she stumbled alongside him. And if Raphael squinted, he could make out a splotch of darkened skin next to her eye.
Raphael grinned. It looked like he was going to add "abusive husbands" to his list of targets.
He waited until they had passed the building, so he could land and strike from behind, making it less likely that they would see him. The street was dark but not that dark — if he landed in front, they'd get an eyeful of him. Behind, and the light would be behind him, obscuring what he looked like.
He landed lightly on the sidewalk, and took two steps forward before cracking his sai's pommel into the guy's shoulder, making his arm go limp for a moment. The sobbing woman was released, stumbling back from her husband. The man uttered a yelp and wheeled around, his eyes bloodshot and his breath stinking of whiskey.
"Mind yer own business, creep!" he roared.
"I'm makin' this my business," Raphael said darkly. "You got a problem with that?"
The man snarled and threw a punch that Raphael easily evaded, hitting him in the elbow hard enough to almost break the arm. This guy had big muscles but no real skill in fighting, and he saw nothing Raphael was dishing out coming — not the strike to the gut, or the fist to the jaw, not the kick to the knee. He fell howling to the ground, rolling around and clutching his knee. Another hit and he fell silent.
For a moment Raphael loomed over him, wondering if he should give the guy a few more kicks just for good measure.
"Please don't!" the woman shrieked, crawling towards the semi-conscious hulk on the ground.
Raphael hesitated as he heard that, and backed quickly away as the woman moved past him. Tears were pouring down her face, staining her cheeks with mascara — and, Raphael hoped, obscuring her vision so she couldn't see his green skin or turtle head.
"Don't hurt him, you — you freak!" she sobbed, curling up against her groaning husband. "Get away from us! Get away!"
Raphael stared at her in disbelief, secrecy forgotten for the moment. His eyes moved from the black eye forming on her face to the man still sprawled on the pavement. The man had hit her — hit her hard enough for her bruises to be visible to the world — and was dragging her through the streets against her will.
He had expected her to be glad that someone had stopped her husband from hurting her was she angry with him? What did she want?
He scuttled back from the streetlight, the woman's crying following him as he leaped back onto the side of the nearest building, and thence onto the building tops. Instead of feeling satisfaction from a job well done, he felt depressed, a little angry at the ingratitude, and more confused than ever.
Those feelings clung to him as he returned to the Foot Clan's headquarters, his two shadows following him at a safe distance. As he made his way to Master Shredder's throne room, he put the screaming woman out of his mind. He had more than enough to think about already.