Endgame chapter 7

[tori_angeli]

It had been pure luck. Raph had barely seen a figure climbing the building in his peripheral vision. Once this new wave of enemies was defeated, he followed the figure. Chased a ghost. He had come through the window the same way as his brother, but he hadn't made it that far until Hun already had Mike.

Raphael held his brother as though raising a wall around him. His heart pounded like timpani in his ears. His arms tightened, pressing Michelangelo close enough to him that, through the leather-stiff plastron, Raphael found the fluttering heart he had first discovered when they were nine years old.

“Raph.”

He was alive. Michelangelo was alive.

But was he hurt?

Raph yanked his brother to his feet when he had just barely made it to his own. The room was moving around them as scores of Purple Dragons realized what had happened, but Raph couldn't lift a finger against them until his eyes had swept up and down his brother twice. Both times, his eyes caught Mike's legs in particular. No blood. None. They hadn't hurt him—not like that.

He could have passed out from relief.

“Stay low,” Raph said in what was meant to be a growl, but came out as a whisper. He pulled out his sais and spun away from his brother.

“You're hurt.”

Apparently Raph hadn't been the only one giving a brother a look-over. “Never mind. Stay low. If you get yourself killed, I came here for nothin’.”

Mikey, if you get yourself killed right after I rescued you, I'll use your comic books to line Klunk's litter box.

That thought caused Raph's breath to hitch.

Right after I rescued you.

I rescued...

Not yet I didn't.

His grip tightened on his weapons. They weren't out of here yet. In fact, they probably wouldn't get out of here at all.

 

Electricity and shadows. Rectangles of darkness dotted with bright squares. Hastily-scribbled neon cursive. Fog and concrete.

A steady pattern of golden lights. They were in the tunnel. Everything around him blurred more than before as he focused on what was ahead, as if he could will himself forward faster, magically flying over the traffic and landing a short way down the coast, right in front of the Purple Dragons' headquarters.

He was still stuck going forty-five through a crowded Lincoln Tunnel, no matter how badly he wanted to burst out ahead of everyone in front of him. He could feel the veins standing out in his temples. Does everyone always go this slow? What the fuck is wrong with them?

I have to save my brother this time.

I just got the second chance I've been living for, and we're stuck in traffic.

Stuck in traffic.

 

“GET DOWN!” Raph bellowed as at least a dozen Purple Dragons raised their guns. No way we're making it out of here, but Mikey won't go down before I do.

 

Don leaned against the horn, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

 

Raph threw himself into the midst of the gangsters at the foot of the stairs, and to his frustration, he heard Mikey dive in the opposite direction, toward those on the steps. At least he'll go down fighting, too.

You're such a fatalist.

Shut up.

 

“MOVE!” Don screamed needlessly at the traffic in the tunnel.

 

The Purple Dragons opened fire behind him. Mike whirled around, mouth open to shout something to Raph, but he forgot what it was as his eyes came up to see the windows exploding.

 

Purple Dragon Headquarters. A lot fancier than it used to be. Look how shiny.

It was like a glass box glowing gold, wasn't it?

Look at all those windows. I wanna bust 'em.

Through the windows he could see a cloud of people gathered on the third floor.

That's where they'll be.

It wasn't recommended to use a car as a ramp and simply hope you would make it to where you wanted before momentum failed you and left you smeared over the pavement. Not that physics ever deterred Casey Jones.

 

The glass behind his enemies bubbled outward, then burst into a host of stars, deafening him in a shattering wave of a million high-pitched notes before raining musically to the gym floor. Raph instinctively yanked himself backward, stumbling into Mike. There was the roar of an engine, the slam and subsequent squeak of rubber skidding over hardwood, and the sudden realization that he needed to be running forward, not back.

Casey's bike slammed to the floor, but not with Casey on it. He and Splinter were already in the air as the bike skidded over the floor, crashed onto its side, and flew into the crowd of stunned gangsters, trailing the smell of chafed rubber. Casey landed before Splinter, lifting an Uzi and letting loose with a hail of bullets noisier than the glass had been. Splinter was running as soon as he landed, his footsteps drowned out by Casey's volley, moving through the confusion as the Purple Dragons switched their focus to a new enemy. Before Raph had time to unfreeze, Splinter had leveled the gangsters between him and his sons and was shouting something Raph couldn't make out.

Probably something about getting the hell out of here, Raph thought as he gritted his teeth. That wasn't going to happen. Raphael had a mission he'd chosen before setting foot in this building.

The Purple Dragons had raped him as revenge for giving them so much trouble in the past. Leo had killed House out of revenge for Raphael's rape. Now the Purple Dragons were trying to use Mike to avenge the deaths of House and the other gangsters who'd died for the rape. This would be the last loop in the cycle of vengeance, the final and everlasting peace between him and his enemies. They weren't going to hurt him or his family again.

Even if it meant his death.

“Get out of here, Mikey,” he shouted hoarsely, barely able to hear himself over the noise.

“You--” Mike probably spoke aloud, but Raph could only see his mouth move.

Raph turned and seized him by the wrist, causing his brother to yelp in pain, and flung him toward their sensei. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” he screamed as the bullets in the air choked his words. The Purple Dragons had recovered and were now firing at Casey, who had found a bench press machine and had crouched behind the weights, ducking out occasionally to fire. There was too much noise to think. Raphael gave his brother a final shove before whirling to face his enemies.

“Get Mikey outta here!” he shouted to his sensei, hoping he could hear. He dived at a gangster leveling a gun at him, plunging his weapons into the soft flesh adjoining his neck and shoulders before he could fire.

“Raph!” came the distant sound of Michelangelo's high-pitched shouting.

Raph punched a Purple Dragon in the teeth, simultaneously using the point of his sai to slash across his throat. The gangster went down with a gurgle. The blood pounded into Raph's head and out through his wounded arm, louder than the bullets pounding the air. He gnashed his teeth and lunged at two more Dragons who were coming after him, kicking one of them down and yanking his AR-15 from his grip. No one alive. No one.

“Raph!”

There were so many. Raph raised the gun, not even sure how to use it. The sound was crippling, each of the hundreds of gunshots around him thudding against his heartbeat, pushing the breath from his lungs. It was deadly, terrifying, and thrilling. He almost could have cried for the sheer aesthetic beauty of its poetry. This was exactly how he wanted to go out.

“RAPH!”

A hand closed around his arm where it was bandaged and yanked him backward. A roar of pain tore from Raph's throat, piercing the poem of gunshots, and he swung the assault rifle at this new attacker. Michelangelo ducked and the blow sailed over his head. Raph froze suddenly, captured by the frantic look on his brother's face that made everything else go still and quiet as a library. It made him feel even deafer than before, being suddenly unable to sense a thing but that wide-eyed, split-lipped, noiseless plea.

“We have to go! Please!” Michelangelo was babbling.

It was a moment before Raph even thought to turn back around, pointing the rifle at his advancing enemies, but he did not fire. His eyes flickered back to his brother, then to his enemies again.

Mikey needs to go home.

Mikey's not leaving.

“Raph!”

Why the hell is he still here?

Raphael saw his brother's face, saw his tormentors.

They tormented Mikey, too. They will for a long time.

I need to go with him. Mikey needs me to keep him safe. Mikey needs me to come home.

That's what this was about in the first place. Keeping his family safe.

I can do that now. But not like this.

“Raphael!” Splinter's voice now. “Listen to us! Ignore them! They are not important!”

Raph could have laughed. So that's how to kill your enemies, right? Pretend they're unimportant. That works until they show up with a grenade launcher.

But right now, they weren't as important as Mike.

The world suddenly started again, the poem of bullets smashing against his eardrums once more. Now it was just noise, no longer a thrill. It was quieter, more sporadic than before as the Purple Dragons ran out of bullets. Raph turned and ran toward the shattered windows, following his brother and his father.

Casey, by now, had fought his way out from behind the exercise equipment and was side-stepping his way to the others. A bullet had barely grazed his cheekbone, just enough to draw blood that ran impressively down his jaw and throat, staining his collar like the bright lipstick of a lover. Raph halted as their flight brought them to the window, three stories above the ground. He whirled around again, experimentally throwing off a stream of bullets. Few of them hit flesh.

“Damn,” muttered Raph. I'm as crappy a shot as they are.

A foot grabbed his ankle, and he nearly fell backwards.

“Down here,” shouted Donatello's voice from beneath him. Looking down, Raph saw his brother clinging to the floor with one hand and offering him a rope with the other. “Tie that to something. We'll get you down.”

“Where's Leo?” demanded Raph.

“Taking the stairs.”

Raph grabbed the rope and tossed it aside. “Don't need a fucking rope, Don,” he snarled. “We gotta get outta here. Where the FUCK is Leo?”

His question was answered when he heard—and felt—the explosion. He nearly toppled through the window when the stairs, carrying at least half the remaining Purple Dragons, burst outward, splitting in half and crumbling to the floor. Concrete dust billowed through the air. Raph blinked it out of his eyes and suddenly heaved it out of his lungs as he glanced around frantically, searching for and finally finding Leonardo. His oldest brother was twenty feet away from the stairs, crouched defensively behind an exercise bike. A chunk of concrete sailed past Raph's head, but he paid it no heed as he dashed for his brother's side.

Leo was apparently checking himself over for wounds as Raph arrived. He glanced up. “Is Mikey--”

“He's okay,” Raph breathed, then coughed, scanning Leo for any sign of injury. He was bleeding from a shallow scalp wound, probably caused by flying debris, but otherwise seemed fine. “You come up with that?”

Leo grinned. “TNT in their weapons room. Couldn't pass it up.”

Raph nodded. “Thanks. Lemme get something for your head.” He snatched a towel hanging from one of the handlebars on the bike. It smelled horribly of sweat.

Leo's eyes widened. “For my...” His hand flew up to the wound on his head.

“Don't touch it,” Raph warned, approaching him with the towel.

Leo took a sudden, uncertain wobble backwards, snatched the towel out of Raph's hand like it had been stolen from him, and pressed it to the wound. “Stay away,” he croaked.

Raph reached forward, frowning deeply. “What the f--”

All at once, Leo's demeanor did a U-turn. He rocketed to his feet, eyes wide, stumbling backward, every drop of blood drained from his face. “STAY AWAY!” he shouted, stumbling backwards. “DON'T TOUCH THE BLOOD!”