Doomsday

April blinked as the door to the lair slammed behind Leonardo and his father, then turned her anxious stare on Michelangelo. Leonardo had decked him with one smooth punch as he tried to slip past—quite an overreaction for the usually calm and collected leader. The blow had shocked her, as had the expression on Leonardo's face. After what felt like a lifetime of association, April thought she knew all of them—from aversion to good humor. But this one she had no name for. She'd never seen him look so hard.

As if the planes of his face were chiseled out of ice. And his eyes…

April shivered. She worried, over the years, the burden of responsibility for the entirety of his precious family was wearing Leonardo down. But she had glimpsed hate on his face before—in unguarded moments while facing their oldest enemy—and this was nothing near that dark. It was something new, and it almost felt more frightening because of its strangeness.

Thankfully, the moment had been brief. When Sharra interrupted, everything changed. April couldn't say for certain what it was about the girl's voice that reached him, but her plea freed Leo from the grip of the aberrant emotion. He didn't react at all when Mikey grabbed his arm an instant later and shouted reassurance down the line. Though he did shake the younger turtle off, take the phone off speaker, and stride a few steps out of his reach.

Michelangelo groaned again, pulling April back to their current dilemma. He ground his teeth, bent one leg, and rolled to the side; pushing himself to rise. It didn't quite work. He fell back with a wince.

She jumped up from her chair and offered him her hand, bracing herself against the table to balance the weight of his shell. They grasped forearms and together they got him upright, but he immediately let go—limping toward the exit after his family. His determination put her in a difficult spot. Leonardo had stated in no uncertain terms he wanted her to keep Michelangelo confined.

"Mikey," she began in warning, "I think we should…"

"No, April. Don't try to stop me. This is it. I can feel it. We've run out of time and I can't stay here when Sharra needs me!"

The terror in his eyes when he met her gaze solidified her resolve.

If he's not out there trying to help and something happens to Sharra he'll never get over it.

"She's already hurt, and—"

"Then you better think fast!"

She tossed him her shell cell, interrupting the harshly growled words that made him sound more like Raphael than the cheerful comedian of the family. He snagged it out of the air and stared quizzically at her over his shoulder.

"What?" she asked. "You think I'm heartless enough to hold you here when Sharra's in danger? Dial into the party line and track their progress. Keep it on mute while I get Casey. There's no way we're going to be able to catch up to them on foot. We'll take the van."

For a fraction of a second, Michelangelo's lips quirked up though he was too apprehensive to light up the room with his usual flashbulb smile.

"Thanks, sis!" he mumbled, abandoning the sewer door and pivoting toward the elevator wall.

April followed, pulling out her normal phone to call her husband. Casey picked up on the first ring. "I need you," she stated before he could get a word in edgewise.

"Meet me at the warehouse garage in five minutes."

THIS IS INSANE!

With a great deal of effort, Sharra compelled herself to breathe normally and focused on maintaining her death grip on Raphael. His Nightwatcher armor inhibited her use of his more 'natural' handholds, so she had to settle for a strangulation hold around his neck. He gave a smothered chuckle as she tightened her grasp for the third time and smoothed his hand across her back in a surprisingly comforting gesture, coming from the six-foot-something toothsome turtle.

Raphael was courageous. She had to give him that. He had backed off the ledge holding on to nothing more than a thin metal line that didn't look like it would support her weight, much less the hundreds of pounds of solid muscle and shell he possessed. And he did it using one hand. Now he strolled down the facade of the parking deck, muscles flexing, seemingly unconcerned about their precarious position.

She, on the other hand, felt nauseous. She lay chest to chest with his broad plastron. Her legs dangled over his sides while the bulky helmet forced her head over his shoulder. Giving her precisely one perspective.

Straight down.

Sharra closed her eyes. She generally wasn't afraid of heights, living as she did on the rooftops. But she'd never faced them quite so intently before. The view dumped a ton of adrenaline through her veins. And his belted armor put severe pressure on her cracked ribs.

A sudden urge seized her to abandon the helmet entirely. To pull it off, dump it in the river, and nuzzle up in the fetal position under Raph's chin. Firstly, because it had to be more comfortable. And secondly, while the—no doubt expensive—piece of equipment had helped her to breathe through this whole ordeal, it also caused problems. It connected her to Michelangelo, but he wasn't the only one listening. She flushed, realizing all of them had heard her voice crack.

Raphael shifted quickly and Sharra sealed her lips to keep from whimpering. She didn't want any of them, especially Mikey, to get another earful. A shout diverted her attention. One of the teens had leaned out above them and was gesturing for his cohort to hand him a bottle.

Cue more flaming death!

Raphael's arm squeezed reflexively across her back when she shuddered. "It'll be ok, hon," he muttered. "Hang on." His muscles tensed preparing for evasive maneuvers and he pushed away from the building with a powerful flex of his legs.

Sharra clenched her eyes tighter as they swung out, then back toward the wall several feet to their left in a repelling motion. But the jarring stop she expected never came. Instead, they slid forward and down. She swallowed a shriek as Raphael let go of the line and landed with no more sound than a quiet thump.

Cautiously, she pried her eyes open and peered about. The blue banners painted on the columns declared this sector four. They were inside the structure, one level down, exactly as promised. No enemies in sight.

"You ok?"

Raph eased his grip with the question and Sharra nodded; lowering her legs and slithering down his front to the floor. Suddenly, her knees turned to jelly.

"Whoa! Easy there!"

He swept an arm out to balance her but she pushed him away. She bent over instead, bracing herself on her thighs to pant heavily.

"What's wrong with Sharra?" Leonardo demanded.

Hell. I can't even breathe without judgment now?

"Nothin'," Raphael answered, "We're back in. She's uh... catchin' her breath."

"Sharra," the leader began—

"No. I can't. I just can't…" she cut him off.

I can't handle this. Him.

Too much had happened too fast. She was still trying to wrap her head around Raphael being the Nightwatcher. And the fact he rescued her. She couldn't deal with Leo's attention as well.

At least not in the real world, where he's all scathing and harsh.

Bitterness choked her momentarily. The Leonardo from her dream, the empathetic turtle who listened to her fears and soothed her so compassionately, did not exist.

HE would never have hit Mikey.

It was a minor act of rebellion, but she yanked the helmet off in solidarity with Michelangelo—not interested in what Leo wanted to say. She held it out to Raphael. "Take it," she insisted, wiggling it at him when he didn't move swiftly enough. He glared at her, and it, before hooking it to a carabiner on his belt rather than putting it on. Then he turned away.

"Save it, Leo," he muttered. "No, she can't hear you. She gave the helmet back, but she's fine."

Fine. That's right. We made it. I'm fine. He's fine. We're all fine.

Whatever horrible event Mikey feared had evidently been avoided. While she hadn't been able to gather much from the brothers' earlier exchange, she HAD deduced they were concerned about her and the river.

Abruptly, she stuffed a fist in her mouth, stifling a surge of incoherent laughter as she recalled Donatello's last reaction to the term 'fine.' She couldn't imagine what he would have to say about the insanity of their escape.

Did we really just walk down the side of a building?

Her legs began to tremble again, this time with hysteria. And with no Raphael to support her, she sank to the pavement; hitting her knees with a thunk. Raph's head turned sharply at the sound. His eyes bored into hers, uncertain if she needed help or space. He fidgeted several steps away as she sat on her heels and shook.

I probably look like a lunatic.

As she tried to suppress the giggles bubbling in her chest, they morphed into something darker. Choked sobs escaped and tears rimmed her eyes. Raphael started towards her, drawn brows distorting his mask in worry—just as a violent explosion erupted overhead.

Huge cracks appeared in the concrete above. Sharra shrieked and ducked, shielding her head and neck as the ceiling crashed down. Then Raphael was there, throwing himself over her crouched form and diverting the brunt of the rubble to the side.

Sharra stared up at him in wide-eyed awe, until a chunk of cement as big as her fist ricocheted off his shell and sliced his head. He grunted but didn't move from his protective position, keeping his arms curved over her as a familiar sticky substance oozed down his skin. It combined with the smaller bits of dust into a grimy layer of dark red.

With a gasp, Sharra's hand shot up to apply pressure to the wound. When that didn't help, she jerked up her sweater and tore a strip off her shirt. She folded the cloth and tucked it under the edge of his bandana as a temporary bandage when another blast made her wince. This one didn't make the ceiling crumble, but a moving four-by-four caught her eye. Her mouth dropped open as it tumbled past—outside the garage—engulfed in flames.

Raphael noted her shock, followed her horrified gaze, and barked, "Don! You've got incoming!"

Sharra swayed in place. She had forgotten they sent Donatello for a boat. With a low moan of dread, she scrambled out from under Raph and ran to the barricade. Below her, the jeep made a massive splash ring. A torrent of bubbles rose to the surface but otherwise, the black water swallowed it whole.

There's no wreckage. Maybe he's closer in?

She pushed up and forward on her stomach until she was balanced on the dividing wall. Her ribs protested and she left bloody handprints all over, but this way she could see right to the foundation.

Still no Don.

First Mikey was out of commission, then Raph got hurt. She couldn't stand the thought of something happening to the brilliant and kind Donatello as well. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called into the darkness, unaware she was smearing blood all over her face.

"DONNIE!"

Her voice broke on the last syllable of his name, turning her yell into a frightened scream.

"SHARRA!" Raphael snapped.

He snatched her back under cover, pulling her a little to tight against the plates of his chest armor. Another detonation rocked them and large chunks of building swept through the area where her head had just been.

"YES! We're inside," he growled, though it was apparent he wasn't talking to her as he dragged her backward. "She's OKAY. Really. For fuck's sake, no! Stay there! We're coming out."

"Donnie!" She wailed again, flailing in his grip. She had to get back to the edge, to SEE.

Raphael spun her around and placed her up against a concrete support pillar before pressing something at his ear.

"Sharra, look at me!"

His eyes widened at the blood on her face.

"Is this yours or mine?"

His gaze skimmed over her, checking for damage. Seeing nothing new, he crooked a finger and tilted up her face. He still had to duck to meet her dark eyes. The irritation in his melted as she blinked hard, fighting the urge to cry again. His lips twisted in a grimace. Clearly, he was not used to dealing with feminine tears. However, his voice softened. "Ya' really are worried about him, ain't ya?"

"YES!" She knocked his hand away and punched his chest—ignoring the way the armor bruised her fist.

"Stop it," he snarled. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Let me go! Let me look—"

"SHAY," he broke in roughly. "Donnie ain't even down there yet! But if you don't quit yellin', he's gonna be in here with us in about five seconds."

Weirdly, it was the nickname that smashed through her layers of panic. He bestowed it a mere half-hour ago, but it sounded different coming from the turtle Raphael instead of the Nightwatcher. Genuine care laced the word.

"What?" she sputtered.

"Don. is. fine," he repeated with certainty, "He's waitin' upstream a couple of blocks in case we need him. But you are freakin' him out with the screamin'."

Her eyes grew round in alarm as she glanced in the direction of his earpiece.

"He can hear me without the helmet?"

Her face heated and Raph chuckled at her. "Don't worry, kid. We're on mute. But he don't need the phone. Your hollerin' echoed a mile. I've told him you're ok, but if ya' wanna keep him safe—and out there—we need to shut up and go!"

"Oh..." The word lingered and her shoulders slumped. She lowered her eyes to the floor and smoothed her hands together.

You stupid, stupid girl!

What were you thinking drawing attention like that?

"Let's move," he commanded. Raphael gripped her shoulder, ignoring her continuing flush, and nudged her toward their escape route.

Too bad mute don't work both ways.

The only way to silence the brother thundering in Raphael's ear was to hang up, and he wasn't so dumb as to cut their lines of communication during a mission. No matter what nonsense Donatello spouted.

"Ancestors, Raph! What are you doing to her? Leo, I swear if she calls for me one more time, I am going in regardless of the plan. Raphael obviously doesn't have this situation under any kind of control!"

Raph touched his headset and growled, "I said we're comin' an' we are. Keep your goggles on, Brainiac."

Sharra remained silent. She hustled for the ramp in a semi-hunched crouch the second he released her. Raph ran a palm over his face and followed. He hadn't meant to sound so brutal, particularly after he glimpsed the fright behind her red-rimmed eyes. But his heart was still pounding from that little stunt she pulled. When he saw her balanced on the wall, he thought it was all over.

I hadn't let her go for TWO SECONDS before she was dangling over the Hudson, screaming for Don and covered in blood.

He shook his head in confusion.

Ain't her thing for Mikey?

He was distracted, but not so far gone as to ignore his highly trained ninja senses. He grabbed Sharra's hand and tugged her to a stop, ducking behind another building support at the sound of a scuffling tennis shoe. She peeked up at him and he put a finger to his lips.

"Someone is coming," he mouthed.

Two teens, coughing and stumbling, rambled down the last bit of the slope in front of them.

Damn it. Thought the fireworks would amuse them longer.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the pair. They hadn't brought any explosives. They might have pistols stuck in their pants but otherwise, they were unarmed. And they hadn't seen him or Sharra.

A smile stretched his cheeks.

Time for a little payback.

"Stay here," he whispered, "I'm gonna clear the path."

She shivered and crouched amid the cars as he melted into the shadows, avoiding the pools of light cast by the overhead fluorescents. He tracked the thugs as they shuffled down a line of vehicles, giving a cursory glance into the dark spaces in between. They were plainly searching but they were moving away from Sharra's hiding place.

"Did you see that?" one crowed. "We made the freak run! They never run, but he jumped right off the building! That's wicked!"

The other socked him on the shoulder with a fist.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"We weren't supposed to scare him off, you idiot! Just keep him busy until the Foot shows up! You better pray he's still here somewhere 'cause they're gonna be pissed if he's not."

Shit.

Raphael's eyes sought the spot where Sharra hid. There was no movement there. Hopefully, she hadn't heard them mention the Foot. It wasn't that he couldn't take care of a few bad guys, but she didn't deserve any more fright...

Not for the rest of her life.

With trouble on the way, payback would have to wait. He needed to make this cleanup quick and quiet. But first, he better warn the backup.

"Leo," Raphael whispered, knowing the sensitive mic would pick up his words without much volume. "Where are you?"

"Front of the pier, preparing to climb. Problems?"

"Keep your eyes peeled. We're about to have company. Of the ninja variety."

"The fire department too," Donatello warned as sirens began to wail in the background. "Get her out of there, Raph. I meant what I said."

Raphael snorted.

I am really getting tired of people telling me to do crap I'm already doing.

"Does she know?" Leonardo asked.

"Don't think so."

"Let's keep it that way. Don, hold your position until we get her well away from the water," Leo ordered. "Splinter and I will step in if it comes to fighting. Raph, stay with her and shield her from the change in attackers."

Raphael didn't bother to answer as he stalked the two dragon-wannabes next to a shiny convertible. Silently, he reached in through the roof and pulled the trunk release. The idiots spun to face the car at the sound. That's when he snuck up behind them and cracked their heads together.

They slumped over the open compartment and after a brief search, Raph tugged their guns out of their waistbands. They weren't carryin' in the back but the front. He snorted.

Stupid punks didn't even have the safety on. Coulda' shot their own dicks off.

Expertly, he emptied the bullets and crushed the triggers; dropping the now useless components for the authorities to find. He left the barrels undamaged. It was faster to disable guns by bending them, but Don had declared a long time ago that the police needed that part intact to link the culprits to other crimes.

Job finished, he dusted his hands and stuffed the bodies into the trunk, easing the lid shut until it clicked. They weren't trapped. The car was new enough to have an internal release they could use when they came to.

But it'll keep them out of sight in case any of their pals came along.

He turned to return to Sharra and froze when he spotted three dark shadows across the way.

Fuck. Foot Clan's already here.

Typically, a chance to beat up the evil soldiers sent chills of anticipation up his spine. This time his heart rose into his throat. He had to do something fast. As turtle luck would have it, they were headed in Sharra's direction.

He yanked a sai free and scraped the tip on the pavement in front of him.

Leonardo pulled himself over the rail of the fourth level on the south side of the building and eased to the floor, mindful to keep his garments from catching on the concrete. The thermal-lined, all-black jacket and trousers—plus the hooded cowl—swathed him from head to toe in darkness. While he didn't like fighting in clothing, the gear was a necessary evil; being cold-blooded, they needed some protection from the weather this time of year. And this was more practical than a trench coat.

He disengaged his grappling hook from its position and curled it back into a compact bundle before slipping it into his belt pouch. It had been a straightforward climb and for that, he was thankful. Because the entire time, chaotic feelings had consumed his attention.

He had tried to block them out, concentrating on the pedantic details of the mission, but ever since he heard Sharra's voice—desperate to defend Mike—he hadn't been able to. The pleading behind her tone had smashed into his mental shields and all but destroyed them, forcing his emotions back to the surface.

Exactly where he didn't want them. A good leader needed to make dispassionate decisions during a crisis, but the way this situation aligned with Mike's vision made his gut sour.

If Michelangelo's premonition comes true and she dies tonight, I've failed in my role—utterly.

The family would fall and it wouldn't be solely because Michelangelo mourned.

Unbidden, an image of Sharra's face from last night flashed across his thoughts. The small helpless female with nightmares in her eyes had begged him to stay. To do nothing more than sit with her. His heart had broken at having to leave her when he woke.

If he felt that way from a simple dream, losing her entirely would feel exponentially worse.

He shook his head and hunkered down behind an SUV.

No! Don't even consider it. We will get her back.

Leonardo let himself still, determined to focus on the here and now. Treading well-worn mental paths, he focused inward; addressing every inch of his body, making sure it was primed and ready for the mission ahead. Unlike the repressed state, settling into his tactical mindset was effortless, and far more comfortable than stewing in emotional turmoil. It cleared the haze from his mind.

He wasn't naive enough to think they'd get out of this garage without a fight. If the Foot Clan had put out a bounty with street gangs for turtle sightings, they'd be here double quick. But it would likely be a small group. Depending on the size of the reward, there would be at least a few false positives—dividing their forces.

If luck is with us, they will only send a squad or two. And as long as Raph does his job, Sharra shouldn't see much of the main event. Or its aftermath.

Then we can take her home and... sort out all the other stuff.

First, he had to get the lay of the land and locate the woman they had come to protect. He closed his eyes and opened all his other senses—immersing himself in his surroundings. The air was cold and smokey. The filtered fluorescent light was murky and dim. But he didn't need to rely on sight to find his quarry.

He raised his beak and sniffed.

After the profound goodbye in her entryway, Sharra's personal scent was embedded in his very being. Even without the magnification of her desire, it called to him. Like the brook running through the silent woods surrounding the farmhouse in upstate New York and the deepest parts of the rainforest in Costa Rica, Sharra smelled like home.

Usually, such aromas brought him peace, but this time her fragrance crashed into him mingled with the coppery odor of blood and spiked with the pheromones of fear. Leo's fists clenched, along with his teeth.

Raphael didn't say she'd been injured!

A weapon scraped across the floor in a way meant to draw attention.

Leo's eyes snapped open and he soundlessly drew one of his own. Due to the close quarters, he chose a long-bladed knife rather than his usual katana. He held it against the outside of his forearm, ready to attack or defend, as he crept to the front of the vehicle to peer up the aisle.

And there they are.

Three black-clad bodies were slinking away from him. Three more were breaching the rail across the building near where Splinter was concealed. A third set pursued Raphael a hundred and fifty feet away. Leo's scanning gaze caught the tip of his brother's red mask as he taunted them. It disappeared behind a column as Raph led them on a merry chase.

What is he doing? I told him to stick close to Sharra!

Leonardo's vision tunneled as anger overran his poise.

How could he leave her when her worst nightmares are running loose?

He forced his fists to relax. Drawing a deep breath, he beat the emotion back.

What the hell is wrong with me?

In enemy territory, anger was a luxury he couldn't afford. He needed a clear head. Difficult choices must be made; a line drawn between incapacitation and death. And something else tickled at his mind. Three, three, and three. Nine bodies total. Two squads would be ten.

We're missing one.

Before he could seek the errant soldier, Raphael let out a triumphant cry as he took down a foe. Sharra poked her head up over the hood of a sports car, seeking his position. The ninjas in front of Leo zeroed in on her movements. The one in the lead chopped a hand sign and the other two split off to flank her.

This time it wasn't anger but outright rage that flared in his chest. And yet Leonardo smiled. They made his decision easy.

Time to hunt them down and remove the threat.

He didn't even have to fight the acerbic voice of his conscience as his strategy and his iris both crystallized.

Permanently.

For the second they set their sights on Sharra, they were dead men.

The last of Splinter's opponents fell with a crack of his walking stick. Sharp strikes to the shin, ribs, and temple ensured these fellows would not be getting up again until his family was long gone. He inhaled a cleansing breath, regaining his equilibrium while keeping a keen eye on his surroundings. Raphael danced by, seconds ago, leading his remaining opponent through an obstacle course of pain that would end in moments. But of Leonardo, he had seen nothing.

This was not unusual. Leonardo was a shadow warrior. A master of stealth. Yet Splinter worried about his eldest son. The last few weeks had piled mistaken assumptions on top of trauma on top of duty. And brought the besieged leader to a fragile tipping point emotionally.

I fear one more provocation will push him too far.

Motion alerted him to another's presence, and Splinter ducked behind the nearest vehicle as a young woman ventured tentatively into the aisle. She was petite, well-formed, and lean; with short hair and dark eyes. She gazed around carefully but didn't flee as Raphael approached.

This must be Sharra.

Splinter regarded with a smile, yet remained concealed; for none of his sons had explained their father was also a mutant. And despite her rather unusual acceptance of their kind, she might not be prepared to come face-to-face with a five-foot rat.

Even normal rodents are not often appreciated by females of the human race.

"Are they gone?" she asked in a subdued tone.

Splinter's smile faded when she stepped into the light. A ravaged and world-weary soul peered out of her eyes, one with torn edges and jagged holes. And she looked like she'd been dragged through hell. Even putting aside the injuries to her face and neck, she appeared exhausted. Not the type of tiredness that comes from a few nights of poor sleep, but the bone-deep weariness one learns to shoulder when one lives their entire life in fear.

"Let's go with… maybe," Raphael replied, downplaying the fact most of the bodies were still present, if concealed. "I took out those two. They won't be botherin' anybody else for a while."

He wisely did not mention the ninjas, but his reassurance did not assuage the wary woman. A note of panic crept into her voice as she protested, "Raph, there were five of them."

"Five? I only saw three on the roof."

Leonardo materialized from the darkness in front of them. "I took care of a few."

The moment his son appeared, Splinter's gaze diverted from the hyper-vigilant young lady and flitted over him automatically, checking for signs of physical injury before switching to his Sight. What he learned from both was a study in contrasts.

The energy Leonardo exuded was serene as he flowed forward, but it held the promise of violence. A chilling fire danced in his eyes, yet they burned bluer than normal with intense heat. And all of that emotion was directed toward Sharra.

Those who did not know him well might mistake the expression for anger. It was anything but.

Something about this girl pulls at him from within.

Splinter sighed to see him so… motivated.

His youngest son had already admitted feelings for Sharra. And though Leonardo did nothing that directly pointed to conflict, the situation warranted watching. He had not forgotten how sibling rivalry and unrequited love contributed to his former family's tragic demise.

He could only pray those events would stay confined to his past life. That history would not repeat itself. That he had raised his sons with enough empathy and compassion to mitigate whatever conflicts their future might hold.

Across the way, Sharra stiffened as Leonardo's gloved hand drifted to her cheek. Her gaze fixed on his black outfit and horror shone in the whites of her eyes.

"D-don't come any closer." The effort of each word scraped against her throat.

Leonardo froze, becoming so still he nearly disappeared again in the shadows. Raphael was at her back in an instant. He loomed over her protectively and shoved Leonardo hard enough that he retreated.

"Damn it, Fearless! You tryin' ta scare her ta death?" He rested his palms on her shoulders and murmured, "Relax, hon. It's just Leo, not the Foot."

Sharra slumped. Her distress lessened a bit as she leaned back into Raphael's mass. Though her breath still came in heaves.

Splinter raised a brow. He had never seen his quick-tempered son use his physicality to soothe before. Nor had he expected a violence-shy victim to latch onto Raphael as a protector.

"I kn-know," she stuttered. "I'm s-sorry. I ca-can't control it. It's the c-clothes."

Leonardo instantly withdrew further. Placing himself under a light, he folded to one knee to equalize their heights. He removed his hood and peeled off his gloves. Then, with excruciating slowness, he extended a bare hand toward her in a gesture of peaceful enticement. His piercing gaze never wavered and never left her face as he murmured, "I'm the one who's sorry. Frightening you is the last thing I wanted. I just couldn't tell if you were hurt?"

"She ain't." Raphael snapped. "At least, not any worse'n she was. Nothin' got by me today."

Leonardo's gaze flicked up to him and hardened; the flames cooling. "I wasn't speaking to you." He jerked his chin to the side. "Keep watch."

Raphael held his stare for a moment before he stepped aside.

"I ain't going far, kid," he said, patting Sharra's back as he released her. "I'm gonna make a sweep of this level while Mr. Overbearing here asks his questions."

He turned and sauntered away, but not before pointing at his chest, his two eyes, and finally at Leonardo in the famous signal for 'I'm watching you'.

Sharra stayed put, ignoring Leonardo's hand and gazing up through her lashes at him wearing an anxious frown. Eventually, she shook her head and found her voice again.

"I'm fa-fine. Na-not hurt... I ma-mean, na-nothing new. Like Raph said."

Leonardo's face remained impassive when she didn't accept his wordless invitation to approach. But to his father's eyes, his countenance shifted to one of deeper concern. His brows drew in minutely and his jaw tensed as he withdrew his hand and set it on his bent knee.

"Are you certain?" he pressed in a softer, hypnotic tone, "There's blood on your face."

She touched her cheek and her brow furrowed when her fingers came back red. "I- I think… It must be Raph's" —she rubbed her thumb and fingertips together, looking bemused— "He got cut. I was helping him."

"Sharra, I—"

"LOOK OUT!" Raphael yelled as a car came barreling up the central ramp onto their level. The vehicle's headlights bracketed Sharra—seeking to crush her against the waist-high concrete barrier dividing them from the river.

Both turtles vaulted toward her, but Raphael got there first. He scooped Sharra up in his arms, covered her head, and turned his back just ahead of the collision. The hood hit under the edge of his shell—catapulting them over the railing and into the churning water below.