...

Ah, it'll take a little time, might take a little crime, to come undone
Now we'll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind and blow me in to cry
Who do you need, who do you love, when you come undone?

–"Come Undone," Duran Duran cover by My Darkest Days

IN TIMES OF NEED

Raphael couldn't remember anything about the strange fit that had gripped him, but the effect it'd had on those around him was profound. His brief memory, plucked from a childhood that seemed a lifetime ago by the symbol of their sworn enemy, had backed up what the small bit of evidence from New York suggested. Hamato Yoshi was alive.

Master Shredder's rage had known no limits ever since that knowledge had been revealed to him. His temper, already notorious, had become ever more unpredictable, spreading a tangible fog of fear and tension over anyone in his proximity. He had been running grueling drills for his soldiers and promoting those deemed worthy in preparation for his absence. Other fighters were on reserve to accompany him to America and bolster whatever ranks Bradford had managed to put together. A special task force had already been dispatched to aggressively hunt down any leads of Hamato loyalists remaining in Japan, and if so, what they knew of the fate of Yoshi.

Raphael, however, had been put on the back burner for a few days. If he suffered another episode and remembered anything else that might be useful, Saki wanted him safe and close at hand. Truthfully, Raphael was quite ashamed that he had fainted at all, and right in front of his Master, no less. Apparently, he'd been in such a state of shock when he'd passed out that Saki had had to call on his witch, Shinigami, to restore his consciousness. She checked on him daily for any other weaknesses in his psyche, and though he distrusted the odd girl immediately, she was good friends with Karai, so he conceded to Shinigami's brief examinations peacefully.

Among all the chaos, it was Karai that concerned him most. When not specifically required to be present, she withdrew from the world and everyone in it. Retreat was not her typical response to problems, and he worried about how she was doing and wondered if maybe she blamed him for this whole situation arising at all.

After weeks on end of spending most of his waking time with her, her sudden absence left him feeling empty and alone. It was reminiscent of the loneliness that had plagued him when he had first been sent to the farm, but with a sharp twist of longing and rejection that he'd never experienced before. Back then, he had missed her presence and reassurance, her friendship and familiarity. He had never had to pursue her company; she was always the one taking him by the hand and pulling him on to their next adventure or easing his oft-troubled mind. He wanted to be able to do that for her, to be the one who held out his hand and took the weight of the world off of her shoulders for a little while.

Except his hands felt oddly clammy around the bushel of flowers and herbs he held, and his heart was kicking up a nervous pitch in his chest as he followed the stream that ran through the edge of the forest. Hachiko frolicked around his feet with a stick in his mouth, looking up hopefully at Raphael periodically for a game of fetch and nearly tripping him.

Up ahead, Karai was sitting on a large, flat stone, worn smooth to the touch by centuries of rain. It jutted up from the bank of the stream and overlooked a small clearing in the woods on the opposite side of the water. As he neared her, his nervousness began to melt away into resolve. She was meditating, eyes closed, still clad in gray track pants and a black tank top from her training session this morning. She sat in classic lotus position, legs crossed and hands resting on her knees. Her left cheek was swollen, and the red blotches on her arms were already darkening into deep blackish-blue bruises. At her side, the thick jacket of her gi was neatly folded, the stamped red foot on the smoothed-out black fabric face up.

Of all the members in the Foot Clan, none were held to as high a standard as Karai was. As much as he had been pushing his men to their breaking point, Saki was pushing her beyond that, breaking her completely to rebuild her in his own image, his true heir. He was never going to send her away to the Elite camp to do so, as he had with Raphael, but he was seeing to it personally that she earned the title.

Raphael let his feet fall a little heavier in the damp sand to make his presence known, and Hachiko helped his cause by wading noisily into the shallow water to chase frogs.

Karai inhaled deeply, exhaled audibly, and opened her eyes, relaxed.

"Hey," he greeted softly, feeling awkward and nervous again under her gaze.

"Is that where you've been all morning?" she teased lightly. "Picking flowers?"

"Well, I do have a lot of time on my hands until your crazy friend clears me as sound of mind," he griped, stopping to stand in front of the rock she was perched on.

"We might be waiting a long time then," she quipped, her attempt at a playful jest falling completely flat.

Almost eye to eye, he could see the impact point of the swelling on her cheek clearly, and her short, two-toned hair was disheveled with dried sweat. She looked beautiful and fierce, but also exhausted, physically and spiritually.

"I'm sorry," she said, averting her eyes, "that I haven't been around. Are you okay?"

Raphael shrugged it off, as if three days of her avoidance hadn't been eating him up inside. "I'm fine. I thought you might be angry with me, for starting all of this."

"Is that why you've brought me flowers?" she asked dryly. "Do you not know me at all?"

He looked down at the bouquet he had spent hours putting together, feeling a bit ridiculous and at a loss for words. His cheeks heated up when her hand reached out and touched his shoulder, but he managed to make eye contact once again.

"That sounded...harsher than intended," she admitted, her hand dropping back into her lap. "This is why I've stayed away. I'm not..." she struggled. "I can't...couldn't help you through what happened. I'm so drained, I have nothing left to give, not even for you, so I just stayed away."

She hid her face in her palm for a moment, obviously fighting the tears that had welled up.

"This pain in my chest, it's constant. I can't make it go away, I can't defend myself against it," she said, one fist clenched over her heart. "I feel like I will never know peace again, not until I have avenged her," she whispered.

He rested a hand lightly on her knee and leaned forward, head down, his heart aching for her. She moved to rest her forehead on his, a gesture that had comforted her at times in years past. It seemed to help ground her, and he waited patiently until the threat of tears had abated from her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her fingers cradling the side of his face briefly before parting from him.

"We will find him," Raphael assured her. "I promise that I will not rest until the man who took your mother from you is dead at your feet."

"Father says I'm not strong enough to face him yet," she said, wiping her face quickly with the back of her hand. "That he is a mutant now, with at least three others under his command."

"My brothers," he stated dispassionately.

"I can't believe it was the same man who brought us both so much misery. What are the chances?"

Indeed, it had shaken him to the core that the one who had abandoned him so long ago was Hamato Yoshi himself, but today was about Karai, not him.

"It was fate," Raphael said firmly. "And together, we will be strong enough to destroy whatever is left of the Hamato Clan."

"We need to start training more, together," she said, determined. "These other turtles, they will be like you, strong, but they will also share your weaknesses."

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly, looking over her battered body, "but no more sparring today."

Karai pursed her lips, ready to argue, then sighed. "Fine. What did you have in mind?"

Raphael presented her with his bouquet, holding them out. "These are for you."

"Raaaph." Karai groaned in exasperation.

She looked almost betrayed at the thought that he had reduced her to a simpering damsel, to be cheered up at the cliché of flowers. She should have known him better.

"These plants are special," he informed her.

"Oh?" she responded dubiously.

"When dried and ground together in the right proportions, they make a contact poison that causes temporary paralysis. When added to a basic blinding powder, the effect is immediate once it enters the eyes, nose or mouth."

Karai perked up, her expression a mixture of relief and interest.

"Would you like me to show you how to make it?" he asked.

Raphael was treated to a small smile of affirmation as she quickly collected her gi top and hopped down from the rock, then tucked herself in along his side so his arm would be around her as they walked back towards the manor.

oooooooooooo

Betrayal was one of the themes that came up often in Master Splinter's stories, but until now, it had only been a vague concept to Michelangelo; a word he merely knew the definition of, not the gravity of its reality.

He had been beaten, bound, and left as bait in Bradford's dojo, and none of it had hurt as much as finding out that his new best friend and childhood idol was part of the Foot Clan. Bradford had been the fighter in red who had almost strangled him to death in cold blood, then pretended to be his friend to get at his family. The unbridled disgust in his voice and the laughter at Michelangelo's expense after the great reveal had left him feeling gutted. He had never been ashamed to be a mutant before that moment, had never given in to the periods of self-doubt or even loathing that Leonardo and Donatello sometimes did.

Michelangelo was more angry at himself than Bradford, really. A leopard couldn't change its spots; it was he that had been too star-struck to see Bradford for the predator he was. He huffed through his nose, tested his bonds again, and grumbled into the tape over his mouth. There was no way he was wiggling out of these ropes before his brothers found him.

Unless...they weren't even out looking for him?

He had to admit, he'd been kind of a jerk, flaunting his human friends in Donnie and Leo's faces. Going on and on about how famous Bradford was, how cool he was in real life and how awesome a fighter. Then, when his brothers could take no more Chris Bradford talk, he'd switch gears to his brief nightly visits to Casey at the hospital instead. Casey seemed to enjoy his company, but now that he thought about it, no one else visited the vigilante. Maybe Casey was just using him, too, bored and lonely as he was.

A light clicking noise caught Michelangelo's attention. The five Foot soldiers that milled about in the semi-darkness hadn't noticed it, or the fact that Leonardo and Donatello were slipping inside the skylight high above their heads. The turtles descended silently on ropes into their midst, knocking each one out with quick efficiency.

All the while Michelangelo struggled to speak, his voice muffled behind the tape. His brothers were smart enough to know that they were walking into a trap, but they were also likely to be expecting the same type of odds they faced in the alley. This time there were many more Foot soldiers waiting in hiding in the basement of the dojo, and Bradford had a partner who was also an exceptional fighter. He didn't look like much of a ninja in blue jeans and a vest, but the man named Xever was undoubtedly a well-trained member of the Foot and a master of all things sharp and pointy.

Donatello reached him first as Leonardo kept guard. "Hey, Mikey," he said quietly, removing the tape from over his mouth.

"We have to go!" Michelangelo blurted in an urgent whisper.

"I know," Donatello answered soothingly, kunai in hand. "I'm just going to cut you free..."

"No time," Michelangelo said frantically, his muscles straining against the ropes. "Drag me, anything!"

"Uh, Donnie," Leonardo said warily, backing up closer to his brothers. "We're in trouble."

Michelangelo felt the cool steel of the small blade slide between his fingers as Donatello passed it on to him and stood.

Foot soldiers in black flooded the dojo, from both the basement and the main street entrances.

Bradford's smug laugh made Michelangelo shudder, and he set himself to the awkward task of sawing at the thick ropes between his wrists with the tiny knife.

"You didn't really think that you could sneak past us, did you?" Bradford sneered.

"We had to try," Leonardo said in a low, angry voice, his katanas at the ready.

"Get them," Bradford commanded.

Michelangelo's progress with the rope was excruciatingly slow, but he couldn't risk dropping the blade by being sloppy. He watched as his brothers were swarmed by ninjas, wave after endless wave. By the time he got through the rope, whipping his arms out from behind his back and yanking at the bit that still bound his ankles, his heart sank as he assessed the ongoing melee. Many Foot had fallen, but there were so many and his brothers were beginning to tire.

Bradford jumped into the fray, his katana clashing against Leonardo's two with enough force and skill to demand his full concentration. Four ninjas pounced at his open flank, sweeping his feet out from under him with staffs as he tried to maneuver around Bradford. As soon as Leonardo went down, Foot soldiers piled onto him and disarmed him. Donatello wasn't any better off, and finally free of the ropes, Michelangelo stood up and spun around in search of a weapon.

Xever grinned, spinning two butterfly knives to attention, one in each hand. Michelangelo gritted his teeth in anger. Xever had been standing behind him the entire time, watching him struggle out of the ropes as his brothers were overcome by impossible odds.

"Come on, tough guy," Xever taunted.

Michelangelo sprung forward, brandishing the kunai and a fist larger than the man's head. Xever avoided the blade deftly; he practically moved like a snake, dodging and striking in turn. Foot soldiers surrounded him, and it was all Michelangelo could do to deflect and avoid the damage that was trying to come at him from all sides.

The now-hated voice of Bradford crept up smoothly from behind and said, "That's just about enough out of you."

A blunt strike to the back of the neck made the world go dark. He hadn't been out for long, maybe a minute, tops, but it was enough. He was being dragged backwards by what felt like a hundred hands, and metal closed tightly around his wrists before they were hoisted into the air. He had joined Leonardo and Donatello along one of the walls in the basement of the dojo, each of them chained and shackled with their hands up above their heads.

To his left, Donnie looked at the floor, bruised and weary. To his right, Leonardo stared in a cold rage directly at Bradford.

"I'm sorry, guys, this is all my fault," Michelangelo said.

"Yes, yes it is," said Xever. "And it is about to get much, much worse," he promised.

At his side, Bradford smiled. Behind them, the horde of Foot ninjas were standing at attention or tending to each others wounds.

Bradford took a few steps forward, regarding the three of them like specimens on display. "Where is the rat? Where is Hamato Yoshi?"

"What did you tell him, Mikey?" Donatello asked under his breath.

"I never said anything about Sensei," Michelangelo answered, his heart racing.

"How do you know so much about us?" Leonardo asked sternly.

Bradford closed the distance between him and Leonardo quickly, punching him in the face. "I ask the questions, not you."

Michelangelo and Donatello thrashed against their restraints, their chains clanking loudly overhead.

Leonardo stared into Bradford's eyes unwaveringly, and spoke to calm to his brothers. "Stay strong. Tell them nothing."

Bradford laughed cruelly, turning back to join Xever. "We have a hero."

"Not for long, we won't," Xever said, fiddling incessantly with one of his butterfly knives.

"Yoshi will come looking for you eventually," Bradford said, addressing the turtles. "Or, we will get his location out of one of you."

"That's right, turtle freaks," Xever grinned, sauntering up to where they hung helplessly. "Master Shredder would prefer you alive, but he also said to use any means necessary to find the rat. So..." he trailed off, tapping Donatello's plastron gently just below the neck with his knife.

"No," said Bradford. "Start with Michelangelo. Leave the one in blue for last."

On either side of Michelangelo, low growls imperceptible to human ears erupted in unison from the throats of his brothers as Xever moved to stand in front of him. He gulped heavily around the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been more afraid than this, watching the sadistic smile spread over Xever's face as he contemplated Michelangelo.

"Where is Hamato Yoshi?" asked Bradford again.

Michelangelo stayed silent.

"Xever..." prompted Bradford.

"I'm going to enjoy this," purred Xever, readying his knife.

"There's a fire upstairs!" yelled one of the Foot soldiers in the group.

"What?" Bradford said irritably, spinning to face his ranks.

Indeed, now that it had been pointed out, the faint smell of smoke had wisped downstairs and the ninjas started to murmur amongst themselves.

"The rat is here," said Xever, losing interest in his hanging prey.

"Get the fire extinguishers! Get upstairs and be ready to fight," ordered Bradford.

Michelangelo let out a long sigh of relief as everyone cleared out of the lower level. Upstairs, footsteps thundered and people shouted in confusion.

"Is it really Master Splinter?" asked Michelangelo.

"I don't know," replied Leonardo, who was scanning the room and the shackles for some way to get loose. "That wasn't part of the plan. He knew they were trying to get to him, that's why we didn't want him to come here in the first place."

Within seconds, fire alarms went off in the building, wailing into their sensitive ears. They all cringed and tried to shake themselves free, but it was no use. It seemed they had traded death by torture for death by fire, and the smoke began rolling down the stairs steadily and making them cough.

A single Foot soldier emerged on the steps, rushing towards them with a bundle of towels. The ninja threw a towel over each of their heads, and Michelangelo gasped with surprised relief as he realized they were sopping wet with cold water, cutting down the sting of smoke in his nose and eyes. His wrist and ankle shackles were unlocked, and after a quick glance under the towel to make sure Leo and Donnie were with him, he followed the Foot soldier with blind trust through a window well and out into a narrow alley.

As soon as they were outside, Leonardo took over, directing them to the nearest manhole for shelter away from the chaos. Smoke, sirens, and lights from a firetruck, an ambulance and a couple of squad cars provided the much-needed cover to slip away unnoticed. Still, Leonardo surged on, taking a twisting, winding path through the sewers so that even Michelangelo didn't know exactly where they were anymore.

Exhausted and panting, Michelangelo found that he was still clutching the cold, wet towel in his hands as if his life depended on it. "Are we safe now?" he asked tiredly.

"Maybe," Leonardo said, looking back suspiciously.

About ten paces behind them, gasping for breath with his hands on his knees and head almost between his legs, mask discarded, was the Foot soldier who had freed them.

"Hi...guys," he wheezed, looking up and giving them a weak wave, his black hair spiked and wild from water and sweat.

"Casey?!" Michelangelo whooped happily, rushing him and scooping him up in a hug.

Casey gasped, eyes wide. "Dude, my ribs! OW!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Michelangelo said, setting him down. "Wait, are you in the Foot Clan, too?" he asked despondently.

Casey snorted. "No. Just found a spare pair of ninja pajamas in the dojo."

Leo tilted his head and regarded Casey. "What where you doing there?"

"Well, Mikey invited me to come over and meet Chris Bradford and play some basketball tonight."

"That's what the B stands for!" Michelangelo interrupted excitedly.

"Anyways," Casey continued, "I got out of the hospital today, and I figured, hey, why not?"

"I guess it's a good thing you did," Donatello said begrudgingly.

"Yeah, too bad the guy is such a douche," Casey mused. "It really ruins his star power."

"So you set his dojo on fire?" Michelangelo asked.

Casey grinned. "Hell yeah. I knew those guys wouldn't hang around once the firefighters and cops started showing up."

"You saved us," Leonardo stated, still in disbelief.

"Of course I did. We're friends."

"Aw yeah, human friend!" said Mikey, practically giddy as he and Casey fist-bumped.

"Look," Casey said sagely, "not all people are assholes. I mean, most of them are, but not all of them."

He then fished a pill bottle out of his pocket and winced as he dry swallowed one. "Is there somewhere nearby that I can crash?" he asked. "I'm really sore."

"You can totally crash at our place!" Michelangelo said gleefully.

"Thanks, man."

"Wait, what?" said Donatello.

"We can't just bring him to the lair, Mikey," said Leonardo.

"Why not? Hasn't he proven himself? He saved our lives, dudes," Michelangelo pointed out. "I'm sure Master Splinter would love to meet him."

Casey smiled a toothless smile at Leonardo.

"Fine, but only because I'm too tired to argue," Leonardo sighed. "Come on, this way."

Leonardo led them on, Casey close behind and Donatello trailing last. Michelangelo let himself drift over to Donatello's side and asked in a whisper, "Donnie, what's a douche?"

Donatello groaned at the sewer ceiling. "I'm not explaining that to you right now."