The wind was howling over the bay. The air had gone from cold to colder, and Raphael shivered in it. Sitting on top of the Manhattan Tower of the Brooklyn Bridge, he huddled under his trench coat. He wrapped his hands around a plastic bladder filled with a semi-solid, semi-liquid sort of white crystalline stuff that Donnie had made. It radiated warmth like a small space heater, and it lasted a lot longer than the plastic-sealed baggies full of iron sand that he had in his belt pouch.

He was going to have to be warm enough to finish out this fight. He might be a ninja, he might be tough, but he was still a reptile. The cold would slow him down just as surely as it would slow down any other turtle on a cold October night.

He thought about the van.

They'd parked in an old garage in Chelsea, cars passing by and illuminating the empty front seats as the hands on the tiny clock on the dash silently drifted closer to 1:45. The lights were out, but Don's small–yet incredibly bright–MagLite flashlight illuminated the van enough for their eyes.

Shell, they were a mess.

Don sat, eyes watering with pain as April tried to gently tease the melted jacket from his shell. Smears of flesh-toned foundation streaked down his cheeks, leaving tracks of dappled olive green.

"Just rip it off like a bandaid."

"You sure, Don? It looks pretty bad."

"Yeah," He winced, preparing to flinch. "Just do it fast."

April did as he asked.

"YEEEOOOWWW!" Don yelled! "I said do it fast!"

"I did!" She held up a large piece of the destroyed purple Utah Jazz merch. "It's off, we can get the rest of it off your shell with the dish brush."

Donnie involuntarily whimpered at the idea of tough plastic bristles scrubbing down on his tender, burnt plastron under his armpit. The tough yellow plates had turned white and bubbled, blistering where the keratin had burned. "Maybe you could just soak me in Dawn instead?"

"Like a ducky?" Mikey chuckled. "We could do dish commercials."

"Focus," Leo snapped his fingers. "Alright, how are we doing, team?"

They looked each other up and down, and all collectively moaned about their various injuries. Raphael's broken toe and deeply scuffed shell were at about a 5/10 on the pain scale. Mikey had dislocated his shoulder when the monster backhanded him and he had a bad cut on his scalp. April was still coming down from shock, had bitten through her lip, and didn't realize until much later that at some point she had twisted her ankle. Don cleaned and bandaged his laser wound and muttered something about 'feeling like burnt turtle soup'.

Leo said nothing about how he'd pulled his bad knee during the sprint. His brace hugged against the swollen, inflamed joint while he let it stick out away from his body at a somewhat uncomfortable angle. He opened a tin lunch pail with chipped green paint, fishing out their family's favorite cure-all; Advil.

6

With his jacket off, it was easy to see the tight array of blue craft wire that held his shell together. Another car passed, and its headlights shed just enough light to see the damage beneath the implanted brace. Below his belt was a web of cracks that crisscrossed the entire lower-left quarter of his shell. Tiny carpentry screws, drilled in by hand, sat like little towers on each broken 'island' of his shell. The craft wire wrapped around each screw pulled it all together, in a shape that vaguely resembled a crooked 't' and a backwards 'y'. It was difficult to see in the low light, but there was a painted blue marking on his left shoulder, directly above the wire brace.

Leonardo unscrewed the bottle of ibuprofen, popping three into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of water from a thermos. He passed the medicine and the water to Mikey on his left. "So, recovery is a priority. We're not in any condition to be getting into more trouble tonight."

Mikey grabbed the roll of gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape from the lunchbox. He took his medicine, wiping the water off of his beak. "Any more trouble?" He echoed. "Tell that to Raph." He gestured with the thermos.

The van fell silent. Leo shot Raph a look that would have withered a cactus. Raphael felt a chestnut-sized lump fill his throat.

"Raph…" Leo said, in a tone that was so even and so smooth that one could almost believe he didn't have fratricide on his mind. "Care to explain?"

Raph bared his teeth at Mikey and snarled. "Snitches get stitches." He snatched the anti-inflammatories from his brother's hand, downing four of them angrily.

Mikey held up one of his hands defensively, the other pressed the wad of gauze tightly to his scalp. "I'm probably already gonna need stitches!"

Raph, reluctantly, told the full story about the fight in the sewers when he'd lost track of Casey. He told them about the duel on top of the Brooklyn Bridge at 3 AM.

"The two monsters who just dropped on us?" Raph pointed up at the metal ceiling of the minibus. "They looked an awful lot like the three that jumped me an' Casey at the subway tunnel. Could kinda see a family resemblance."

"You think they're after you?" Don asked, shaking two orange pills into his palm. He tossed his head back, washing them down with a gulp of water. He reached into the beat-up lunch pail, withdrawing an instant cold pack. He crumpled it between his hands, activating the chemicals inside, and pressed it against his rib plates.

Donatello handed April the bottle of painkillers next, and she shook three ibuprofen into her hand. April didn't take them right away, running her thumb over the familiar little circles thoughtfully. "No," She said slowly. "They were after me. But I can hardly imagine why. I've never seen them before."

"But you did hear them!" Mikey pointed out. "At the construction site."

April folded her arms, leaning into Leonardo's side. Leo's forehead creased with concern. "You good, April?"

She closed her eyes, scrunching up her face thoughtfully. "They want me. And this 'thing' you set up a duel with? He's the last one who saw Casey. It might be our last chance to get answers."

Leo put his arm around his best friend's shoulder, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. He looked around at the occupants of the van. "Alright, all in favor of Raph vs Monster Part Two, say 'aye'."

A round of ayes filled the van.

And the ayes had it. Raph sat up on the tower of the centennial suspension bridge, wrapped in his long coat, curled around this chemical heat packet like a goose incubating an egg. He watched the skies for the challenger to appear. But one lingering thought hung in the back of his head. It nibbled at his focus, and made him shiver from something more than the cold.

"I did get a TurtleTracker on their van." Don assured them, applying a cotton swab dark with iodine to Raphael's scraped shell. "I must've torn something throwing it, but I got them. I know I did." He held up his PDA and tapped the two-toned LCD screen. There were five tiny icons in a row in the top corner. One of them showed a pixelated turtle with X's over its eyes. A dead tracer.

"How'd they know?" Leo's gray eyes darkened behind his blue mask.

"I have no idea. It's likely they didn't even notice." Don shrugged, moving on to tending to Raph's broken foot. "They might've had jamming equipment on board, silenced the tracer as soon as it started transmitting."

"That would explain why I couldn't get a cell signal after they started chasing me!" April snapped her fingers. "The entire time I was running from them, I was getting zero bars!"

"So we wasted a tracker." Leo sounded disappointed. "It's alright. You tried."

"I did get one thing, though." Don held up a finger. "I recognized one of them."

The van was quiet.

In the distance, Raphael saw a dark blot against the darker sky. The faint reflection of the city lights painted it in a deep shade of brick-red, wings as long as a bus. He stood, wadding up his coat and kicking it aside. He wore no disguise this time, no mask but his own. He drew his sai, the leather grip flexing under his fingers.

"There was no doubt about it." Don's green face was pale. "It was the exact same voice. The guy you cut? He was there. The night the Shredder almost killed you, Leo. He's one of the Foot Elite."

Raph felt the blast of wind that heralded the gargoyle's arrival well before his claws touched the top of the tower.

"Thought you wouldn't make it." Raph said darkly.

"Wouldn't dream of missing this." The red gargoyle spat. "Now, let's cut the chit-chat. What the hell did you do to my brother?"

"Your brother?" Raph blinked in surprise. "Wait. He ain't with you? I wanna know where my pal Casey is. Cuz if you've hurt him–!"

"The human?" The gargoyle scoffed, cutting him off. "Haven't seen him."

Raphael's green eyes burned behind his red mask. "You're lying!" Raph shouted.

"Look around." The gargoyle spread his arms and wings wide. "Do you see any hostages? Now I'll ask one more time…" He crouched, tail low, horns high. His eyes were alight with a trigger-ready fury. "Give me back my brother, you miserable swamp bug."

"You wanna play that game?" Raphael's sai twirled in his hands. He lowered himself into a deep stance, one sai held in his hand like a dagger, the other laced between his fingers. "Fine. Game on."

It was Raphael who went for the first punch. He flipped one sai, tines to elbow, and went for a pommel-strike pointed at the gargoyle's head. But this time, the gargoyle was ready for the feint and leapt back with a flap before he could be blindsided by a two-toed foot to the face.

"Same trick twice?" The gargoyle taunted. "Talk about creative."

"I'm just getting warmed up, bat-boy." Raphael growled.

The gargoyle swiped, claws meeting steel with the ring of stone on metal! Undaunted, he pressed the attack, Raphael's bones shaking with each hit, until finally his guard broke and three red lines opened up on the back of his forearm. Raph hissed, kicking a backflip that forced the gargoyle to take several steps back, or risk taking another foot to the beak.

Raph lunged, relentless, flipping the tines of his sai down and leaping up in a spinning kick! The gargoyle crossed his forearms over his head, taking one-two-three kicks straight to the elbows! He ducked his head, horns low, and rushed the turtle, claws outstretched. Raphael danced aside, and instead of braking to pivot, the gargoyle launched himself off the tower with a powerful leap! He opened those massive wings with a sound like a parachute, taking two mighty flaps to climb up to height.

"Come back down here, and fight me like a mutant!" Raph bellowed!

"I don't suppose I could convince you to come up here and fight me like a gargoyle." He taunted, fangs bared as he hovered. He was answered with the whizz of a metal throwing star glancing off his cheek. He squawked in surprise!

Down below, Raphael held two more shuriken between his fingers. Like a frisbee, he flung them upwards with a powerful backhand, the stars shooting up across the sky. The gargoyle's wings folded like an umbrella, plunging down dozens of feet in a single second! They opened again, just in time to catch him before he hit the water. He rode the landward breeze underneath the bridge, gritting his fangs against the wind, rocketing through the gap between steel and water at what must have been fifty miles per hour.

He angled his wings up, letting the slope updraft of the sea breeze tow him up the side of the tower, rocketing skyward on the tailwind. He grit his teeth, tail adjusting to the current ever-so-slightly; one bad move, and he could collide with the stone arch and fall into the water like a pigeon on a high-rise window.

He shot up past the top of the tower, pumping his wings a few times to gain more height. But his chest muscles were starting to ache; a gargoyle's body was too heavy and flapping was too energy-intensive for him to truly fly. Soaring, he could do for hours. But hovering, climbing, and tight stoops? He only had enough strength to do a few tricks like that before his exhausted wings would give out. Every climb had to count.

Raphael's eyes narrowed against the wind. He's out of reach, the wind's too fast for me to get a clear shot! He sheathed his throwing stars back in his belt pouch, and instead he palmed one bo-shuriken. Flipping the dart in his hand, he waited.

This thing was fast in the air, no doubt. But he wasn't faster than Master Splinter.

The winged creature seemed to hang in the air, like a mobile over a baby's cradle, before the wings came in and he dropped. Raphael cranked his arm back, and launched the dart! There was a flash, a spray of blood! The gargoyle sailed back over the edge of the tower! Raphael's arm remained extended, for a brief moment.

The dark itself seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting to see who would fall.

Raphael clutched his side, feeling deep grouges in his plastron. His hand came away warm and sticky. The cold had taken its toll. He hadn't been fast enough. It burned to the touch, but he soon realized it wasn't that deep. He thanked any god watching that gave a damn about mutant turtles that his shell had, once again, saved his life. But it still bled. He staggered, arm pressed to the wound, sucking in cold air between his teeth.

Far above, the gargoyle felt a lancing pain in his chest as his wing outstretched. He gasped, hand pressed to his heart. Between his claws, a thin steel dart lodged itself in the muscle of his chest. His skin was thick and tough. It hadn't penetrated far enough to reach his organs. But with his pectoral grievously wounded, his wings wouldn't flap. He couldn't fly like this.

Land! The pain made his concussion-rocked brain throb. I have to land!

The gargoyle banked, tears springing to his eyes as the wind pressed its power against the membrane of his wing-skin, stretching that wounded muscle to the point of tearing. It throbbed and ached under his hand, the red skin turning purple and blue as the bruise began to bloom with each heartbeat.

The cables of the suspension bridge were coming up fast, and he was too high up, the wires' gap too narrow! With a flick of his tail, he dove, tucking his head against his chest and pulling his wings in tight! Too fast, too fast! His brain screamed, fear of being sliced to ribbons by his own speed against the taut cables freezing him!

Whoosh!

He scrunched his face up, opened his wings to brake, and screamed as his chest muscle finally gave out. He collided against the cables with a ringing, ungodly din; like a hammer taken to the world's largest piano. He fell and he rolled, end over end across the ground, wings crumpled around him like two old towels. He curled against the planks of the bridge footpath, and took fast, hissing breaths between his sawtooth fangs.

Raphael fell to one knee, grinding his teeth. "Fuckin' shell…" He didn't know if he was cursing his body, or cursing his fate. But he cursed the night just the same. Lancing pinpricks of fire, like four red-hot wires pressed into his side, burned against his rib-plates. He picked up his sai, funneling his pain into a mint-knuckle grip. He caught the suspension bridge cable between the tines, feeling the crackle of a cracked shell under his arm as he leapt, sliding sideways down the support cable.

He drew close to the ground, twisting his sai to brake! Sparks flew from the metal, slowing him down just enough for him to let go, and somersault across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" He hissed, his shell audibly creaking from the impact. His hand went back to his side. A few drops of blood fell to the ground.

The gargoyle stirred. He propped himself up on one elbow, lifting his head to glare up at the turtle. "Just go ahead and do it already." He snarled.

"What the shell are you talking about?" Raph replied between gritted teeth.

"You grounded me. I'm not flying after this. Kill me already, and get it over with."

Those burning white eyes bored holes into Raphael's own nuclear green ones. He raised an eyebrow, accented by the red mask. "Come again?"

The gargoyle's glowing eyes sputtered, like two candles in a breeze. "Well, aren't you going to kill me? Isn't that the point of a duel?"

Raph spat on the ground. Red. He must have gotten hit in the mouth too. "What the shell do I look like to you, a human? I ain't gonna kill you. I wanna know where Casey is. Tell me, an' I can get you help."

"Sun stone me already, I don't know!" The gargoyle roared, but it came out partway in a bitten-down whimper. He shuddered, pulsing pain through his chest forcing him to take shallow breaths. He drew himself, shaking, to his taloned feet.

It was the first time Raphael could get a good look at him. He was skinnier than he thought he remembered. Wiry and lean, built like a marathon runner or a gymnast. His white hair was tangled from the wind, a weak attempt at taming it into a ponytail leaving it looking more like a wad of cotton than hair. His horns were long, curved, like a billy goat. His long beak and thin wings made him look a bit like a pterodactyl on two legs.

In turn, the gargoyle got a look at Raphael. He was thick and short, built like a big green thumb. He really was a turtle, just like he claimed in the subway tunnel. Leather pads protected his elbows and knees, but he wore nothing else but a belt and a red ribbon mask. The mask had two tails that came down the back of his shell like a ponytail. The weapon in the turtle's hand reminded him of a small trident, as long as his forearm.

The turtle sheathed this strange weapon and asked, "What's your name, guy?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"My kind don't have names. We don't need them. The only one of us who has a name is Goliath, our leader."

"Oh. The big guy."

"You saw him?!" The gargoyle started towards him, raising a claw to swipe. But another spasm pulled his pectoral muscle, and he just clenched it into a fist. A low growl, like a wounded tiger, filled his chest. "W-where? I-I need to find him."

"Whoa, easy." Raphael put up his hands. "He attacked me an' my brothers earlier tonight, but we had no idea why. I thought he was goin' after me cuz I went after you. But he was really after my friend, April."

"Nothing you're saying makes sense. Goliath…" The gargoyle bit down, clenching his teeth. "I haven't seen him all night. I'm just trying to find my brother and get home. If you're not going to kill me, then tell me where he is, and take me to him already!"

A realization came over Raphael. "Wait… so neither of us know where our missing guy is."

"You must be the slow one." The gargoyle sniped, hissing a laugh.

"Shut up, or I'll pin a bo-shuriken in your other one." Raph pointed at the other side of the gargoyle's chest.

"Sure. You scratch my back, I'll shred yours." The gargoyle raised his brow.

They both laughed, and instantly regretted it.

"My name's Raphael." He held out a three-fingered hand. "An' if you ain't got a name? Well, then is it 'aight if I call you Brooklyn?"

The gargoyle hesitated. Then he rolled his eyes. "You hit me in the head, smokebombed me, threw a dart in my chest, and now you're trying to name me? What are you gonna do next, throw me off the bridge?"

"Don't tempt me, wise guy."

Brooklyn rolled his eyes. But he held out his claws, and he shook the ninja's hand.