...
Hope you got your things together
Hope you are quite prepared to die
Looks like we're in for nasty weather
One eye is taken for an eye
- Bad Moon Rising, by Creedence Clearwater Revival
BAD MOON RISING
With Shredder secluding himself at his cliff-side mansion a few hours outside of the city, Karai at his side, Raphael was left in command of the New York faction of the Foot Clan. The thrill that he'd felt at being trusted by his Master to oversee operations, however, quickly dissipated under the weight of his responsibilities.
Despite the network of spies he'd been setting loose nightly to search for the turtles, there had been no sign of them for the past six weeks. Their trail had gone cold, and the Foot's failure to produce any leads on their whereabouts had been eliciting increasingly stony responses from Shredder whenever Raphael had to call in and report.
Then there was Bradford, who'd become a major thorn in his side. There had been moments, in the first couple of days after his mutation, that Bradford had lost himself and seemed at risk of becoming nothing more than a feral beast. The very sight of Hachiko, for instance, had sparked extreme rage in him, enough so that Raphael had sent the dog away to the mansion to be with Karai. Hachiko had supposedly bitten him on the day of his mutation, and Bradford, who admittedly did share a striking resemblance to the Akita, had blamed the dog instead of his own bad judgement for his current state.
Once Bradford had settled down a bit, his enormous size and strength had meant that he couldn't be trusted around the humans, and even when he had gained better control over his body, his mind was as twisted as it had ever been. He reveled in the way he could intimidate people with a simple growl or a predatory glare, and the lascivious responses he had to the mere scent of a woman made Raphael's skin crawl. Female Foot Soldiers were still under advisement to avoid the Watchtower, including Karai during her periodic visits to the city.
Raphael focused on making progress where he could within the Clan. He had his more experienced men from Japan train and drill the newer recruits. He encouraged Xever to slowly expand their network of media outlets, law enforcement, and politicians that were on the take, allowing the Foot to operate with increasing freedom. Some of his more trusted Soldiers in civilian clothing had made the rounds in Chinatown and negotiated on his behalf with the store owners who'd previously been under the thumb of the Purple Dragons.
The protection ring Raphael had set up was simple and fair. For five percent of their monthly profits, whatever that happened to be, the shopkeepers and restaurateurs would get the number to a cell phone that Raphael carried. Every month, that number would change and only be given to those who opted to pay. Should trouble arise that the police would not or could not handle, they had insurance that someone would take care of it. Those who did not want to participate were not pressured, but when the Dragons had pushed back on some of the shops to test how serious Raphael was about protecting them, most had reconsidered, and all of those businesses combined were poised to bring in thousands of dollars for the Foot every month.
He interacted with the locals as little as possible, but a few had caught glimpses of him. His brothers were already city-wide urban legends, and rumors of their new protector being a terrifying turtle in black and red had spread like wildfire throughout Chinatown. As a clear warning to the Purple Dragons, small ornamental statues of a mythical Chinese spirit known as Xuanwu, the Black Turtle, started appearing in windows or front counters. Others were more subtle, incorporating his colours into existing displays or banners, but all seemed to have adopted the nickname of Xuanwu for him.
With the exception of the three Foot Soldiers that Raphael had entrusted to make the rounds once per month for payments, this enterprise was run solely by him, and he took his responsibility to it seriously. This was the first thing that he had ever built on his own, aside from his fearsome reputation, and violence done against these people, his people, felt personal. So far, the altercations he had been facing were relatively trivial; he'd made some threats here, gave a scare there, and roughed up the odd person too stupid to heed the warnings.
Tonight, however, as he approached Shèngkāi, a small flower shop he had received an 'urgent' call from barely half an hour ago, his instincts told him something was amiss. The elderly woman that had called him about being robbed and locked up in her own office had sounded genuinely terrified, but her words had seemed suspiciously rehearsed.
The location gave him further pause. The store was at the end of a market area that bustled during the day with pedestrians as they shopped the tight grid of small indoor shops and outdoor stands that sold a vast array of art, trinkets, hot food, or fresh produce. The far edge of the courtyard was bordered by a long, eight foot high cement wall that separated the market area from a busy main road. Three buildings backed onto it, forming an alley between them and the wall, providing only two access points to the alley from the markets. To the left, the alley was a dead end where three industrial sized dumpsters were kept for the retailers to use, and to the far right, the cement wall came to an end across from the third building and opened out to a side-street.
Shèngkāi was a unit within the building farthest to the left, and he knew it was a trap before he stepped foot into the dark, deserted market square.
Raphael gave them credit for choosing the most secluded and easiest-to-secure spot in Chinatown, but the asinine plan of luring him here using one of his charges stunk of Purple Dragons. He had been wondering when they would try and make a real move against him, and though he knew that he should technically call for assistance from the Foot Clan on this one, the near-certainty that Bradford would be the one to get wind of it deterred him. Bradford was just itching for any excuse to get out of the Watchtower and unleash his newfound strength. He would drop bodies indiscriminately and with little regard to stealth, and Raphael wasn't confident that he would be able to regain control of the idiot once he started. Moreover, Shredder had finally put a plan in place and was set to return to the city, which would put an abrupt end to the few freedoms Raphael had been enjoying in his absence, and he could almost feel the proverbial collar tightening around his neck as he crept through the market.
No, he thought darkly, scaling the middle building at the end of the court. I can take care of this quickly and quietly, myself. The flat, barren roof held no signs of an ambush. Carefully, he made his way to the back left corner of the roof and peered over.
Predictably, the distressed old lady waiting for him was in the alley behind her shop, and she was accompanied by Fong and four other men. Her despondent face was red and puffy from crying, but she appeared unharmed. She stood shakily between two men who were clearly guarding her, while Fong fidgeted nervously and scanned the alleyway with the other two.
Fong and the woman caught sight of Raphael standing on the rooftop at the same time. She gasped in surprise, and the tall, burly Dragon on her right grabbed her arm, preventing her from taking a reflexive step back.
"Ah, you actually showed up. Good," Fong said with an infuriating, self-satisfied smirk. "We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot," he added, a couple of his men snickering behind him, "but I'm willing to negotiate."
"Not interested," Raphael replied curtly.
Fong's smile widened even further. "Tsoi," he prompted.
The scrawny, shorter man on the woman's left pulled a handgun out from behind his back, and she reeled away from him so roughly that she almost tripped over the feet of the burly one holding her.
"Sid, keep her still," complained Tsoi.
Sid was left to wrangle the flower shop owner into a manageable hold on his own, his thick arms caging her in against his barrel chest.
She started weeping openly once more, and Fong cocked his head and sent a sadistic, sideways grin up to Raphael. "Are you sure?"
Anger spiked hot in his veins. He was done with warnings; it was time to make an example of them, to cut the head off the snake, or dragon, so to speak. Removing their leader would throw the gang into chaos and ultimately make them easier to drive out of Chinatown.
"Who do you take me for?" Raphael asked coldly, turning on his heel to walk back to the center of the roof, out of their line of sight.
"Someone who wants to make a lot more cash," Fong called after him.
Raphael paused on the roof, and, pretending to take the bait of greed, returned to the corner where they could see him. "I don't talk business in front of witnesses. Shoot her or let her go, but make it fast."
"Fine," Fong said. "Come down here and we'll let her go."
Irritated that they were clinging to using the woman for leverage no matter how disinterested in her well-being he appeared to be, Raphael jumped down into the alley. He approached cautiously, keeping a keen eye on Tsoi, who was lowering his gun, and calculating in his mind the most efficient order in which to kill them.
Sid released his grip on the woman, and she surprised Raphael by hobbling towards him, still in tears, to frantically beg for forgiveness in Cantonese. He only understood a few words, but then she reached for his hand and started to sink to her knees.
He took her elbow and ducked his head close to her ear. "Stop it, I know you had no choice," he said quietly in English. Balancing her, he stood to his full height and said, much more loudly, "Go home. This never happened."
"Thank you, Xuanwu," she wheezed, looking up at him in awe before continuing on her way.
When Raphael reached the small group of Purple Dragons, he recognized Tsoi as the one who had pointed that very same handgun at him not two months ago.
"Cast just come off?" Raphael couldn't help himself from snarking.
Tsoi's eyes widened in fear and his hand quivered tellingly. He didn't holster the weapon, however, so he would be the first one to die.
Unfortunately, Raphael had to wait until the old lady was clear of the alley in case a stray bullet went flying, and even her quickest hobble was...not very quick. Sighing inwardly, he turned to Fong. "What do you want?"
"Fifty percent of whatever deal you've cut here, and immunity from the Foot Clan," Fong said. "With our help, you can expand this ring throughout the entire East side. You'll be making three times what you are now, even at fifty percent."
Raphael feigned consideration of the offer, stalling, then looked over his shoulder. The long alley stretched out behind him, dark and desolate. "No deal."
Fong narrowed his eyes. "You've cost us a lot of money since your little takeover." The tension flowing through the five humans ratcheted up palpably. "So you can either pay up," he continued, threatening, "or we can take it from you the hard way."
Raphael's emerald eyes flicked from Fong to the movement made by Tsoi as the gun came up again. In that instant, Raphael was already reaching behind his shell for the hilt of his katana and dodging the line of fire as the first shot echoed in the alley.
On cue with that shot, the back door of Shèngkāi slammed open, and armed men in purple and black erupted from the narrow doorway.
Raphael pivoted, poised to spring back out into the open market area, his metal-encased sword arm raised slightly in an effort to shield his head from the inevitable hail of bullets he was about to face. As he stepped forward to bolt to freedom down the narrow passageway between buildings, his path was blocked by a number of men, and a few women, who had presumably also been hiding in the flower shop and exited from the front entrance to cut him off. Still more Dragons poured into the longest stretch of the alley, from the main road hidden by the cement wall.
Some had looser trigger fingers than others, and took shots at him as they ran, their bullets ricocheting wildly all around him as Raphael ducked down. Fong and the original Dragons who had lured him here also cursed and hit the pavement to avoid friendly fire, and Raphael darted past them and into the dead end they were herding him into. He looked up at the squat, two storey building. If he picked up enough speed and power, he would be able to parkour between the brick wall, the cement barrier, then back again to reach the roof.
He tried not to think of the strange assortment of weaponry he had seen the gang members equipped with; in those few critical seconds, he had seen everything from cleavers to handguns to scoped rifles.
He picked himself up and jumped onto the closest industrial garbage bin, the hinges of the metal lid protesting under his weight as he launched himself from it towards the brick wall. The sound of yelling and gunfire was a deafening thunder in the enclosed space of the alley, but nothing would break his focus. The pad of his foot hit the brick, his leg bent at just the right angle, and he pushed off with all of his strength, using the momentum to get even higher as he flew across the alley and into the cement wall.
He felt a sting in his calf and ignored it. His opposite foot planted firmly against the cement, and he used it to hurtle himself back to the building. Just as he reached out with his hand to cling onto the roof and scramble over, someone fired a net gun. The weighted net closed in on his left leg, wrapping it tightly and adding just enough drag to his momentum that he missed. He landed clumsily on the dirty alley floor and stumbled.
Another pinprick of pain hit his arm, and as he dove behind the second dumpster deeper into the dead end of the alley, he felt the impact of a slug or two in his shell. Crouching behind the dumpster, flush to the cement wall, he pulled a dart from his arm, crushing the tiny, empty glass vial between two thick fingers.
He bellowed out his rage wordlessly, just as angry with himself as he was with the Purple Dragons, but his voice was lost in the cacophony.
ooooooooo
Casey sighed, holstering his duct-taped binoculars and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. From his post on a fourth story fire escape, he tilted his head and looked up at the three stars visible in the city sky. Most of his vigilante career was watching and waiting, and it got pretty boring sometimes when he was flying solo.
He missed Mikey. Well, he missed all of the guys, of course, but him and Michelangelo had really become partners in non-crime.
It had become apparent very quickly, once they'd started patrolling together on the regular, that the turtle was a total softie. He wasn't afraid to call Casey out when he went overboard on the scumbags they accosted, and Casey could admit to himself that having someone around to temper his aggression was probably for the better. Michelangelo also frowned upon lifting any cash their tied-up or unconscious perps might have had in their pockets before they called the cops to collect them, but if anyone could understand that a guy had to eat, it was him. All in all, the two of them made a pretty good team, and Michelangelo was really good at filling in the mind-numbing quiet of a slow night. Too good, even.
But it had been weeks since Casey had seen the turtles, and in that time, he'd only received the odd text here and there from Michelangelo to let him know they were all still alive...barely.
Apparently the incident with Shredder had left Splinter spooked, which was understandable, to a point, but he'd been training the boys into exhaustion on a daily basis. Casey hadn't been sure if that was an exaggeration on Michelangelo's part, but his story was backed up by April. Donatello had managed to sneak her a few texts and told her that Splinter wanted them to be in top form for their next encounter with the Shredder. They were on total lockdown, forbidden from leaving the sewers or distractions like their phones, friends, and T.V.
Coincidentally, there'd been some weird shit happening in Chinatown recently, rumors of a masked and costumed warrior with a shell. Michelangelo lived and breathed comics and superheroes, and this schtick seemed right up his alley. Casey had a sneaking suspicion that he'd been able to slip away from Splinter occasionally, but was trying to stay as incognito as a giant walking, talking turtle could.
Whatever was going on, the Purple Dragons were definitely involved in some way. Tensions in the area with the gang had been higher than usual, and then they'd all but disappeared over the last couple of weeks. Casey had a gut feeling that they were planning something big, and he didn't want Michelangelo out here alone when the shit hit the fan. For the past several nights, Casey had been staking out their tattoo shop, which was a great front for money laundering and often served as their headquarters.
Tonight seemed to be the night; at least fifteen Dragons had entered the shop in the last hour, and none of them had left. The blinds were pulled down over the front windows, leaving Casey blind and deaf to them, frustrated, bored, and sitting on the cold iron stairway down the street.
A short eternity later, a loud pop in the distance startled Casey. Seconds later, the entire group of Dragons left the tattoo shop hastily, like a swarm of locusts. He started his descent down the stairs in time to hear one of them say, "The turtle is worth almost as much dead as alive, just take him down."
Oh shit, thought Casey, his blood going cold. Mikey, what have you gotten yourself into?
Casey waited until the gang turned a corner onto a side-street before tailing them, their footfalls becoming faster and heavier as they broke into a run. He peeked around the side of a building as the stragglers disappeared into an alley behind the market, and more gunshots echoed into the night before Casey even had a chance to follow.
There was a split second of self preservation, where his body froze in place and his mind listed all of the ways in which he was vulnerable to bullets, followed immediately by his conscious brain saying Fuck that and spurring him into action. The only cover he could provide for himself was smoke, and the only advantage he had was surprise. He could work with that.
Adrenaline spiking, he took two pucks out of his pocket with shaking hands. Both had smoke bombs tied to them. As soon as the gunfire ceased, he turned the corner and sent both pucks rocketing in rapid succession towards the small army at the end of the alley. Alarmed voices called out in both English and Chinese as smoke eased into the air, uncoiling lazily into a thick fog that obscured everyone's vision. Casey popped the wheels on his boots and sped down the laneway, tucking himself into as small and low a target as he could.
Both hands had a white-knuckled grip on his hockey stick, and as he approached the first two coughing silhouettes from behind, he rose up before he passed between them, keeping the stick horizontal and clipping them both in the back of the head at full speed. They dropped instantly, but Casey was already taking a swing that connected to another shadowy figure. Someone panicked and a gun went off, causing a chain reaction of shots, shouts, and blind scuffling.
Casey got a few more good hits in as he flew through the crowd, but the smoke was starting to dissipate and he knew that he had scant seconds to get to cover. Michelangelo could only be hunkered down behind one of the three dumpsters at the end of the alley, so he dove towards the closest one.
"Mikey! I'm coming, buddy, hang on," Casey yelled at the empty space behind it.
A bullet whizzed past his head, entirely too close to his left ear, making him drop down to his belly, head ringing and heart pounding. Crawling hastily to the second dumpster, he almost cried out in relief as someone grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled him to relative safety.
That relief was very short lived. His back was slammed roughly into the side of the dumpster, a hand fisted into the front of his filthy hoodie pinned him there, and a red-masked face was in his face. "Who are you?" it snarled.
It took Casey's brain a moment to process the words. He stared into green eyes that he had never seen before, then saw the small Foot emblem on the forehead of his mask. "You're him," Casey wheezed dumbly. The lost brother. Raphael.
The gunfire died down, replaced by the pained cries of those who'd been hit in the confusion.
Raphael bared his teeth even more and pressed Casey into the dumpster firmly. "Answer me."
Casey put his empty hands up weakly in the universal gesture for surrender. "Casey Jones." As he took in more detail, he noticed that the mutant's eyes looked somewhat unfocused, and there was blood on the floor and wall. It had also pooled in the dip of Raphael's shell by his neck, and a red line of it had spilled over and streaked his plastron. "I thought you were Mikey, he's my friend. I'm here to help, okay?" he said, trying to sound reassuring.
"You think this is helping?" Raphael scoffed, releasing Casey's shirt.
It was a harsh, but fair criticism, now that they were both trapped back here waiting to get executed. Casey hadn't really had time to think about a game plan before he'd charged headlong into the fray.
From the sounds of it, the gang had gotten their shit together and were approaching the dumpster. Raphael must have noticed, too, because he grabbed a few kunai from his belt and whipped them into the nearest Dragons. Whoever was hit yelped loudly and cursed, and it stayed the crowd just long enough for Raphael to pop up and grab the lid of the dumpster, lifting it straight up into the air so that he could stand without getting ventilated.
Raphael grabbed the lid by the handle welded into the centre of it, and the edge closest to the wall. "If you want to be useful," he said, not even bothering to look at Casey, "cut this net off. I have a plan."
"Does it include a small possibility of me surviving?"
"Very small," Raphael said, grimacing as he tensed and started to heave the lid back towards himself.
"Good enough." Casey fished out his pocket knife and started sawing through the mess of ropes and weights on Raphael's leg.
The hinges connecting the lid to the dumpster screeched as Raphael put his unencumbered foot against the side of the bin for extra leverage. The calf of the turtle's other leg flexed so hard that it looked like it may have been able to snap through the ropes all on its own. It was impossible not to nick his flesh as the ropes peeled away, but Raphael didn't even flinch. The only thing he barked at Casey was, "Hurry up, they're closing in."
Casey sliced hastily at the last of the ropes as the lid of the dumpster gave way with a final, horrifying screech that was accentuated by a few more gunshots. Raphael crouched, resting the slab lengthways and letting it tilt slightly over their heads; they now had a bulletproof shield.
"That's awesome!" Casey exclaimed.
Raphael didn't share his enthusiasm. "Get behind me, hang on, and watch my back." He looked at Casey, then reluctantly admitted, "My sight is blurry."
Casey let out a hysterical laugh, scrabbling to hold onto one of the leather straps across Raphael's shell. "We're gonna die!"
Casey had barely gotten a grip on the leather before he started moving forward on his skate-boots. With a roar, Raphael burst from behind the dumpster, slamming through the crowd like a battering ram with the metal slab held up in front of him, while Casey, screaming in the most manly way possible, let himself get pulled along through the barrage of bullets.
The Dragons who dodged in time surrounded them in seconds. Raphael took the handle of his homemade shield in his left hand to block more shots, threw back his right arm until his elbow almost touched Casey's face, and sprung two razor sharp claws from his gauntlet.
"Holy shit!" yelled Casey.
Raphael swept aside someone with the slab to his left, then swung those claws directly into the closest Dragon. The guy was swept off of his feet as he was impaled in an uppercut motion, his shocked expression going slack before Raphael shook him free.
Casey let go, spinning so he could fight back to back with the homicidal turtle, hockey stick at the ready, but no one was taking any more chances in close quarters with them while Raphael was in rampage-mode. Most of the remaining Dragons were retreating or just plain running away, but one idiot with a death wish caught Casey's eye. He shouldered a rifle with a scope and took aim.
"Rifle to the right!" Casey called out.
Without hesitation, Raphael spun and whipped the entire goddamn metal slab in that general direction, just as the shot was fired.
Casey flinched as the dumpster lid collided with the Dragon.
Raphael swayed and stumbled, but pushed away Casey's hands when he tried to help steady him.
Neither of them seemed to have any new bullet holes in them, so Casey took a few seconds to assess the carnage of the alley and slip gently into shock. At least a dozen people littered the alley floor, some injured, others definitely deceased. He had never killed anyone before, and was fairly certain that he wasn't directly responsible for any of the casualties, but surely he would be considered an accessory to murder?
Over his own manic pulse and the ringing in his ears from all the gunfire, Casey wasn't positive that he was actually hearing sirens in the distance, but it would only be a matter of time before the police showed up. He felt like he'd been in this alley for hours, when really, the whole confrontation had probably gone down in under five minutes.
"Raph," he said, his voice shaky.
Raphael, who was oddly still and calm, turned to look at him with glazed, unfocused eyes.
Casey noticed a dart protruding from his arm and wondered what the hell the turtle had just been shot up with.
"We need to get out of here."
Behind his red mask, Raphael seemed to blink slowly in agreement, then collapsed.
ooooooooo
Yawning widely enough for his jaw to crack in protest, Casey surveyed his humble living room, exhausted.
He had laundry strewn over chairs and on the floor, empty pizza boxes and take out containers from Dell'Abate Ristorante covered his stained coffee table, and his vigilante gear had been dumped unceremoniously into the wheelbarrow he'd 'borrowed' from the flower shop. The centerpiece of this mess was an unconscious mutant turtle draped awkwardly across his now bloodstained couch.
Casey had removed Raphael's weapons and the bulkier pieces of armor he wore, then checked him to see the extent of his injuries. He had thought about trying to call Splinter and the guys to help, but it turned out that none of Raphael's wounds needed anything more than cleaning, the worst one being a shot that had grazed his shell near his neck. The ridge of his shell was slightly damaged where the bullet had passed through, another chink in his armor, so it would seem. The turtles he knew had some scars from training and fighting, but Raphael was absolutely riddled with them.
Raphael slept soundly, unsurprising considering the amount of tranquilizer darts Casey had pulled out of him. As much as Casey felt the need to swan dive into his bed for the next two years, he was wary of dozing off while Raphael was there, plus he desperately needed a shower. Grabbing one of the needle-tipped glass vials, Casey brought it into the bathroom to examine it under the brighter light. He squinted as he held it up and a pale silver logo gleamed on the glass. BIO-Tech.
Casey's heart flipped up into his throat. He'd delivered a few packages to the head of BIO-Tech Laboratories at his mansion for Don Vizioso. Dr Feral was a polite, charming, mad scientist type, and had a distant family connection to the Viziosos. Though 'Joe' was starting to win over the mobster's trust, and they were being a little more loose-lipped around him when it came to business, Feral was rarely mentioned at all. Mutants hadn't come up in any conversations he'd overheard so far, either.
Wearily, Casey placed the vial beside the sink and opened his medicine cabinet. If working indirectly for the mob had any pros, it was that none of them batted an eye when he asked for questionable amounts of prescription drugs. On the outskirts of his mind, he recognized that he likely had a problem with painkillers, even as he washed down a Percocet with water straight from the faucet. It had become an almost daily nightcap for him, but in his own defense, the wear and tear on his body from his lifestyle was evident.
He bussed tables and helped in the kitchen at Dell'Abate's on weekends, and patrolled every night but one. He gave himself Monday as his 'day off', where he didn't have to be Casey Jones, Vigilante, or Joe, busser/Mobster errand boy. He could just be, and take some time to watch sports and recover from whatever hits he'd taken that week.
He undressed and stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain and blasting hot water over his sore muscles. He had been incredibly lucky to escape this crazy night more or less unscathed. His mind wandered back to the scars on Raphael, and he wondered what kind of life he had lived.
Casey didn't know a lot about the situation that had led to his friends losing their brother; it was a touchy subject with all of them. He thought back to all the times that he'd encouraged Michelangelo to let loose a bit more, or ribbed him for being too soft on criminals that were literally trying to kill them, but now understood why he showed so much restraint. The display of absolute brute force he had witnessed from Raphael made him see the guys in a different light, and what they ultimately were capable of. They had been raised to respect life, and had been trained in ninjitsu so they could protect themselves and each other in a cruel world, while Raphael had been honed into a true and deadly weapon.
The heat and the Percocet started to kick in, and the aches in his body faded into something more manageable. Toweling off quickly, he changed into plaid flannel pajama pants and a cleanish t-shirt.
In the living room, Raphael was still snoring on his couch. Casey plunked down on his dad's beat up Lazyboy chair with the laptop that Donatello had rebuilt for him, intent on finding out more about BIO-Tech.
His internet browser was already open to a news article that dated a few years back, with a picture of his boss, Tommy Vizioso. The older man had really taken Casey under his wing. He was kind and patient, but also boisterous and loud when he was excited. He looked out for Casey at work, never let him go home without a takeout bag that was bursting at the seams, and was even teaching him how to cook on slow nights. Casey didn't have a grandfather, but Tommy fit his idea of what one should be like, so out of curiosity he had decided to look into what the old man's involvement in the mafia had actually been.
Back in the day, he'd been known as 'Tommygun' Tommy, and had been a mob enforcer when his brother was the Don. Numerous charges had been brought against him, but the only ones that had stuck were multiple counts of fraud and money laundering, and three of attempted murder. He had been released four years ago after serving twenty six years in prison, after which he had pursued his passion for cooking to become part owner and head chef of Dell'Abate. It would be an inspiring tale if it wasn't so chilling, or kind of sad that he'd felt compelled to go back to his family to watch over his nephew, the current Don.
Blinking away the heaviness from his eyes, Casey pulled up a new tab and searched for BIO-Tech. Their official website was pretty much what he had expected; boring articles, medical research projects, grants, pharmaceuticals… He forced himself to keep skimming the site for anything useful. A biography page for their top scientists included a blurb about the founder, Dr Victor Feral, and a few key words made Casey sit up straighter and focus. Feral's specialty was genetics and gene-splicing, with a special interest in genetic mutations.
"Oh, snap," he said under his breath, just as a creak and a thump alerted him. He looked up to find a very large and very angry turtle looming over him.
Raphael's gaze darted around the apartment in confusion, then zeroed back in on Casey. "You," he said accusingly.
"Yeah, Casey Jones," he replied, slowly sliding his laptop to the side and shifting out from under it so he could stand. "The one who helped you in the alley, remember?"
Raphael's face remained stone cold. "Where am I?"
Casey backed away a few steps, sensing the very real danger he was in. "My apartment. It was the only safe place I could think of to bring you after you passed out."
Raphael's brow crinkled behind his mask as Casey moved behind the Lazyboy.
"Who else knows I'm here?"
"No one."
Raphael pinned him to the spot with an icy, scrutinizing glare.
"I swear," Casey insisted, putting a hand over his heart.
"Good," Raphael replied. "That makes this easier."
There was a terrifying moment when Casey made direct eye contact with Raphael and realized that he had every intention of killing him.
With one large stride, Raphael moved forward, grabbed the arm of the Lazyboy, and shucked it out from between them. Casey flung himself out of reach as Raphael lunged, knocking over the coffee table.
He flew behind his couch, putting it between them lengthwise. "Whoa!" Casey yelled. "What the hell, man?"
As Raphael moved to round the back of the couch to pursue him, Casey kicked the side of it as hard as he could, heart racing. The couch slammed Raphael's legs, knocking him off balance so he flopped gracelessly into the cushions. Casey backed up, intending to turn and make a run for it, but instead tripped over the metal armor he had left laying on the floor. He landed on his ass, hard, before scrambling at the sight of Raphael hurtling towards him again.
Casey took hold of the metal gauntlet under his splayed legs and heaved it in an arc. It struck Raphael hard enough to make him grunt in pain, stunning him just long enough for Casey to get to his feet and back away.
"But I saved you!" Casey said incredulously, watching warily as Raphael stood to full height and rubbed his jaw.
"I didn't need saving," Raphael growled.
Casey narrowed his eyes, still cradling the heavy gauntlet awkwardly in his arms. He was way too tired for this shit. "Like hell you didn't. You were out cold in an alley full of dead and wounded Purple Dragons, and the cops were on their way."
"No one asked you!"
"No one had to!" Casey groped along the gauntlet to find the trigger for the blades, popping them. The damn thing was so cumbersome he could barely wield it, but he positioned it in his arms to use as a ramming spike if he had to.
It gave Raphael pause from simply charging at him; he began to carefully circle Casey instead.
"What kind of asshole would I be if I just left my best friend's brother to bleed out in an alley?" Casey spat, pissed off at the whole situation. "Even if he is evil."
Some of the chill left Raphael's eyes and his shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if he'd been punched. "I wasn't bleeding out," he grumbled stubbornly. "I'm fine. And I'm...I'm not evil."
Casey gestured with the claws at Raphael, who had stopped circling. "You're doin' a bang-up job of convincing me."
Raphael sighed, looking somewhat remorseful for the first time since Casey had met him. "You are a witness, a loose end, and an ally to a rival clan. That makes you a danger to leave alive."
"And you're an ungrateful bastard, but here we are," huffed Casey. "Do you know how goddamn heavy you are? Do you know what I risked by helping you with the Dragons, or while I was dragging your unconscious ass all the way back here in a wheelbarrow? You really think after all that, I'm going to sell you out?"
"I think I can't take that risk for the Foot Clan."
"How about for their benefit? Or yours? I have connections, and information you need. This setup tonight was not just about the Purple Dragons having some vendetta against you."
Raphael quirked his brow, as if considering.
"You and your brothers might be in some serious danger. I'm telling the truth," Casey insisted.
"I know," Raphael said quietly, his stance finally relaxing. "I'm just trying to figure out why you still want to help me."
"Well, if we're all being honest here, I want to save my own skin, and helping you will probably also help my friends."
Raphael pinched between his eyes as if warding off a migraine and let out a heavy breath before regarding Casey dubiously. "What do you know, Jones?"
"The tranquilizer darts I pulled out of you have BIO-Tech labels, which is one of the leading medical and bio-engineering labs in the world. I think someone from that organization was behind the attack on you tonight."
Raphael looked skeptical, but also seemed more interested in what Casey had to say than snapping his neck, so that was a win.
"The Purple Dragons could have just bought or stole the darts."
"Yeah, but they didn't," Casey said confidently. "Before they attacked you, I overheard them say you were worth more money alive, although dead would have still been a good payday for them."
"You think BIO-Tech hired Purple Dragons to capture me?"
"The founder of BIO-Tech is Dr Victor Feral, who lives right here in New York State. He wouldn't stoop so low as to associate with Purple Dragons, but Doc Feral has a little-known, distant family connection with the Italian mafia. He also has a special interest in genetic mutations and gene splicing, so imagine a dude like that hearing about rumors here in the city of creatures that might be mutants. Then imagine him being able to go to his cousin thrice removed or whatever, in the mob, to hire a bunch of scumbags to look into it."
Stoic as Raphael was, Casey saw the flare of his nostrils and the hint of alarm in his eyes as he put it together. "Someone in the New York City mafia family hired Purple Dragons to capture a mutant. Offered them money to take the risks so they didn't have to."
"Exactly," Casey affirmed. "It didn't have to be you, but you were at the top of their shit list for some reason and your brothers aren't around…"
Casey's mouth snapped shut as Raphael took a sharp step towards him.
"Where are they?"
Casey's back hit the wall as he was startled into a defensive stance with the absurdly large gauntlet. "I don't know!" he blurted.
"You're lying!" Raphael snarled.
"I won't tell you." Casey's whole body shook with exhaustion and fear, but he meant every word he bit out as he said, "you can do anything to me, but I will not tell you where they are."
Raphael growled in frustration, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he started pacing a short track in the ruins of Casey's living room.
"So we can stay civil and help each other, or we can call it even right now and you can get the fuck out," Casey said, sounding a hell of a lot braver than he was feeling.
Raphael scoffed loudly but stopped pacing, giving Casey the benefit of the doubt.
"I can find out more," Casey said. "About Feral, and other things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I just so happen to work in mob central as a busboy. They have only one or two very trusted staff that are allowed to buzz around filling drinks and clearing dishes during their private meetings, and I'm starting to be one of them. That's how I knew about their connection to Feral. I sometimes deliver packages for them, too, for extra cash. That's how I know who a lot of their fringe associates are. They also keep tabs on the other major players in the NYC underworld, which is how I know Shredder is supposed to be back within the next day or two."
Raphael tilted his head, scrutinizing Casey harder than ever.
Ignoring him, Casey went on. "And my patrols keep me on top of all the rumors and schemes of the small time players in the underworld."
"Vigilante and mob go-fer? Seriously?"
Casey shrugged. "Only one pays the bills."
Raphael actually threw his head back and barked out a short laugh. "You're crazy, Jones, half the city is going to be hunting you when this goes sideways. So, what do you want from me? Money?" He shot a look at the sports paraphernalia and homemade armor heaped into the wheelbarrow. "Some real gear?"
"No," Casey answered crossly, as tempting as that was. "I need you not to blow my cover with the mob, for one. They know me as Joe."
Raphael snorted.
Casey set his jaw in irritation. "My condition is that you have to swear you will not ask me about my friends, or use me in some way to set them up."
Raphael considered. "You understand that if you are directly opposing the Foot Clan, or fighting us, we will eliminate all of you, right?"
"Yeah, I get that. I need your word that you will not trick or try to torture me into revealing information about them, or use me to set them up in some trap, like that crap you pulled with Murakami."
"I promise, I will not," Raphael swore, and he seemed sincere. "And for the record, the thing with Murakami was not my idea. That was all Xever."
"He sounds like a real asshole. No offense."
Raphael smirked. "None taken. It was a terrible plan." He glanced at Casey's window across the room; beyond the pane of glass, the sky was turning a dark shade of blue. He grabbed a pen from off the floor, righted the coffee table, and scrawled a phone number across an empty pizza box. "I need to go, but you can get in touch with me at this number."
"Okay."
"Can I have my stuff back, or are you still planning on trying to stab me?"
"I dunno, you still planning on killing me as soon as I let my guard down?"
Raphael rolled his eyes dramatically in a gesture strikingly similar to the long-suffering looks Donatello was so fond of shooting Casey.
With one side of his lips quirked up in amusement, Casey managed to get the claws sheathed and offered the gauntlet to Raphael, who was donning the rest of his gear. He took it from Casey and put it on nonchalantly, as if it were weightless.
Then the window was open and Raphael was gone, nothing but a cool breeze in his place.
Navigating the chaos of his living room, Casey went over to his open window and yelled, "You're freakin' welcome!" before slamming it shut.
Author's Note: Real life strikes again, sorry for the delay. I had to reno, pack up, and sell a house, then move. Just as things were getting back to normal the plague of 2020 struck. I'm an essential worker and homeschooling a kid now. BUT! My timing seems pretty good for a new chapter since I just found out that I won 2nd in the TMNT Adult Fanfiction Awards for Best Canon Fiction, so thank you SO MUCH for hanging in there with me and voting for my fic. Love you guys. STAY SAFE EVERYONE
Hope you guys enjoyed this one. Anyone who knows me knows I am such a sucker for Raph and Casey, I had to get this bromance started!