"So then I was like, 'Screw you, man, you don't know me.' Because he was being a dick."

You nod, taking another sip from your straw. "So he was."

"Well," Casey continues, gesturing with his pizza slice, "that's why he gave me a black eye on the ice. And now Annie won't talk to me."

With a sigh, you reach up, wincing slightly as the muscles in your back crack. "Well," you smile tiredly, "that does sound like a predicament. Want me to try talking to her?"

"Nah." He leans against his hand, taking a bite of his food. "It's whatever. Didn't like her, anyway."

You smirk. "Bullshit."

"Smartass." He rolls his busted eyes. "How's your boyfriend?"

"Nonexistent."

"Bullshit," he mimics. "Isn't he all over you?"

"Hardly." You wave your hand dismissively. "'Sides, he doesn't want a relationship, I bet."

"You slept together." He swallows. "You slept together and he didn't make a pass at you."

"What does that prove?" You take another drink. "Just because he or I want it to happen doesn't mean that it should."

"Bullshit," he sings once more. "You're just scared of commitment, I bet."

Your face flushes. "That's not it!"

"Then why not ask him?"

"Look," you fumble for an excuse that was not 'He's a ninja,' "he's really busy, what with his sports and science stuff. I'm lucky he has time for me at all; what we have is fine until things calm down a bit with him."

"So never."

"Pretty much."

Another bite. "If he's so smart, won't he be going off to Harvard or some shit? Shoot your shot."

"Who are you to give me relationship advice?" You push him, placing your hand on the pizza box between you on the bench. "You just fucked up with Johanna."

"Maybe the reason you two are still virgins is that you're both smartasses."

"We're like fifteen!" You laugh. "What, you're a lady killer now?"

"Hey, I've made my rounds." He grins. "You know the blond chick? Jenny?"

You stick your tongue out at him. "She is completely out of your league, Jones," you huff. "Know your place."

"And she's in yours?"

"Did I say that?" You take another sip. "No, I did not."

He sighs. "I'm gonna set you up."

You blink at this sudden change in subject matter. "Huh?"

"There's this guy on the team who has a thing for you." He takes another bite of his pizza. "I promised I'd try."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Surprisingly, yes." He leans back on the bench, head flopping back. "We've been buddies for a while."

Your eyes trace the cracks in the pavement carelessly, weighing your options. "Where?"

"I'm looking for a yes or no."

You fiddle with your collar. "Which guy?"

"Carter from bio."

With bright green eyes, long black hair, you can hardly describe him as ugly. A bit pompous, but not irredeemably so. The idea of going on a date with another man-- another human, no less-- is hardly unappealing, especially given the fact that you are almost completely certain that whatever you have going on between yourself and Donatello is going to go exactly nowhere. It would be nice, you know, to go out to lunch or dinner with a pretty boy.

Your gut tells you it is a bad idea. Your gut also told you to go try and check out Shredder's lair that one time, and now you could not walk.

"I'm down." Why not? Life is about taking risks that do not result in your lack of motor functions. "You got his number?"

He nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting you the contact. "He's a good guy," he promises. "He's not gonna try shit, probably."

"You sound certain."

"Shut up." He scrolls through his phone. "Who knows, though? Maybe you'll like him more than your guy and you won't have to keep pining over him."

"And there's the ulterior motive." You cross your arms, setting the cup on the ground. "If I get stood up, it's your ass."

"Yeah, yeah." He leans his head back forward, picking at his nails absentmindedly. "Whatcha gonna do? Fight me?"

You smirk. "It's as realistic as you getting with Jennifer Barker."

"And that's my cue to leave." He stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans and taking the box. "I'm taking this."

"Have at it," you follow suit, checking the time. "Don't eat it all at once."

"I will absolutely ignore your advice."

"Obviously." You wave. "See ya tomorrow."

"See ya."

The walk home is long, as always, but with every passing day, you get better at walking with one good leg. Having lost it in the dumpster with little more than reassurance that knowing whoever took it needed it more than you do, you have learned a thing or two about balance, and yet you still quietly long for your other leg. 'It would be nice to be able to run places,' you muse. 'It would make me feel better about walking around at this time of night.' With all the walking you have to do— you still do not have a metro card because you are foolish— you are still relatively strong, but getting places without hobbling and having the option to run away would be nice.

You unlock the door to your apartment. 'Just a couple more days before I can walk properly again.' You pull it open, kicking your shoe off.

Someone is sitting on your couch.

You take a shaky step back— 'I can't run'—, tripping on your feet and falling on your back in the hallway, your drink spilled on the floor. It is as if your body is struck with lightning, every nerve on edge as you crawl away, voice caught in your throat as you try and get as far away from the door as possible. Your body drags with you.

Too slow.

A hand grabs your ankle. It drags you back into the room with barely a grunt, and with a slam, the door shuts, and you are locked with a figure whose face you cannot see.

The door locks.

The figure lets go of your ankle, heart pounding in your heart as you try and reach for the doorknob, tears pricking your eyes. You can barely use your hands again, progress gone in an instant. 'Don't kill me.' You pray to stop shaking. 'I can't die here. Not after everything that's happened.'

The light clicks on.

"What the fuck is your deal?"

Your eyes snap open. A rush of embarrassment slams into you, a wave of shame making you hot all over as you become painfully aware of the fact that you look absolutely pathetic, clawing at the door.

You pull yourself to your feet shakily, turning back to look at Raphael. "You," you mumble, opening the door and grabbing your keys from off the floor, not even bothering with the cup, "are the fucking worst."

"You're the one that's all jumpy." He rolls his eyes, sitting back on the couch. "Who did you think it was?"

You scramble for another answer. "I don't know," you snap. "If you didn't know, I'd like to introduce you to the concept of texting someone before you sit ominously on their couch."

"You'll live."

"Barely!"

He sighs. "Sit. We have to talk."

You toss your keys onto the counter, shakily hobbling over to the kitchen, hands clenched still. "You talk." Your voice starts to stabilize. "I'm going to have a drink and wish it was alcohol."

"Do you remember the first month you were here?" He crisscrosses his legs. "A week or so in?"

You lean down, grabbing a drink container. "When Mikey almost got kidnapped? Yeah."

"Do you remember what you said?"

"Do I remember what I said over two months ago? No, I do not." You set it on the counter, reaching into the cabinet and pulling a plastic cup down. You consider a glass one but did not want to clean glass shards off of your floor again.

"Then let me remind you." He leans back into your couch. "You said, and I quote, that Shredder doesn't get close to murdering Master Splinter until season two, whatever that means."

You nod, setting your hands on the counter until they stop shaking. "What about it?"

"Shredder gets close to killing my father."

You sigh, dreading the ensuing conversation. "Look," you reason, "it probably won't get to that if we're smart."

"The first word I think of when I think about our group is not smart."

"It's one guy." You lean against your hand. "So long as he doesn't pull a Leo and martyrs himself—"

He cuts you off. "What does martyr mean?"

"If he doesn't throw himself in harm's way for the sake of the greater good—"

"So my Leo throws himself in harm's way?"

"Have you met your brother?" You try and grab your cup. "Of course he does."

His eyes widen. "So you're telling me my brother dies too?"

"I did not say that."

"But you—"

"The point," you snap, "is that so long as your father values his own safety, he will be fine. There are preventative measures that we can take to make sure he doesn't kick the bucket, so for now, worry about how you're going to survive."

He gets up. "How does he go the first time?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why?" He stands in front of you, staring you down. "Why won't you?"

"Because you'll kill yourself over it." You pick up your cup, taking a sip. "If I told you what happened in the future, you'd pull something to try and defy that, right? Then we wouldn't even know what it was anymore, and our one tactical advantage would be shot."

"But—"

"I only tell you," you cut him off, "about certain things so you can prepare to face them, not to try and avoid them. There are very few exceptions to that rule." You set the cup back down, staring back. "There are things we can do to prevent things from happening, but not right now. Right now, our top priority is to make sure the Kraang don't kill us all."

"How come you get to know stuff we don't?"

"Because."

He throws his hands up. "Oh, well if that's the reason—"

"Do you have anything else you wanna say or are you planning on just being up my ass?"

He closes his eyes, hands together as he takes a slow, deep breath. "Yes, actually."

"What?"

"Karai approached us today when we went to check our Donnie's stupid signal thing." He opens them again. "She wants to team up."

"Cool." Your voice softens. "That's good."

He leans against the counter. "Can we trust her?"

You take another drink. "Trust is a strong word right now," you sigh. "Aligning with her is a good idea, though. Just trust her as far as you can throw her."

"What does that mean?"

"Well," you shrug, "you can trust her to get you things and give you access to stuff. Just keep your guard up is all. Be diplomatic about it and you'll be fine."

He nods. "Cool." He smiles. "Donnie's been very anti-Karai so far."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "No idea why?"

You shake your head. "Thought he'd like having a kunoichi on his side."

"You'd think."

"Well, he's gotta get over it some time." You take another drink. "Preferably sooner than later, though. Fucking with Karai..." you shudder. "She's incredibly powerful. If we can stay on her good side, it would make our lives easier."

"Ours, you mean."

"I have a stake in this too, you know."

He scoffs. "How?"

"We're on the same planet." You reach down, fixing your pants over your cast. "Plus, I'm a target of the foot by association."

"You aren't fighting with us."

"Would you rather I did?" You look back up at him. "Because when I do it seems it's in the wrong way."

"It would be helpful if you weren't useless."

"But I am, so it isn't."

"I guess."

You stand back up straight. "Is that all?"

"Nope." He walks back to the couch, sitting down. "I'm staying here a bit. Leo's being an ass."

"How so?"

"Same way as per usual." He leans back into the couch. "Thinks he's better than everyone."

"And you don't have a better place to hang?"

He shrugs. "My brother likes you well enough. Besides, I want to know the person who's making all of these big decisions in my life."

"So it's because you don't like me?"

"Kinda, yeah."

You take another sip from your drink. "That sounds paradoxical."

"So?"

"So," you lean your head against your hand, "why would you want to talk to me if you don't like me?"

"Because your brother likes you," he repeated. "If you're going to be hanging around a ton I might as well try to like you."

You smile. "That is incredibly mature of you, Hamato."

A scoff. "You can't call us all Hamato."

"Watch me." You hum, taking another sip from your drink. "Can I get you anything, by the way?"

"I'm good."

"Suit yourself." You reach into your bag— luckily, nothing has fallen out— and pull out your phone. "I just need you out by eleven-thirty. It's a school night."

"Even without being involved in our fights," he shakes his head, "you are a total pussy."

"Suck me." You grab it off the counter, carefully carrying your cup to your bed. "And keep the noise down. "My neighbors have been pleasant and I want it to stay that way."

"Buzzkill. You clearly don't spend enough time with Mikey."

"You know," you grin, pulling out your notes as you sit down, "your brother says the opposite. Donnie, I mean."

"I figured."

You glance over at the window as he fiddles with the remote. "How did you get in?"

"The window."

"No shit." You look back over at him. "Red button, but I lock the window."

"No, you didn't." He clicks the button. "It was unlocked when I got here."

"Huh." Another stream of electricity flows through your veins. 'They know where I live.' You swallow.

"Must've forgotten."

You did not. You would not forget. There was no way you could have, or would have, forgotten to do something like that.

"Must've."