Screams and laser chirps filled the wintry air as Casey navigated the crowded streets. Mindful of Leo in the back, Casey tried to keep his driving smooth despite Mr. O'Neil's clumsy van. Taking advantage of the van's great sight lines, he watched the streets for tell-tale red and blue police lights. Now would be the worst time to get arrested for driving without a license.

But the police were too busy running the evacuation or trying to hold off Kraang forces to bother with one lousy driver. When Casey entered the poorer neighborhoods, they vanished entirely. Few people in Casey's neighborhood owned a car, and with the road ahead uncluttered by vehicles, he ignored the speed limit. Another good thing about Mr. O'Neil's van: it plowed through snowdrifts.

As he pulled into his father's usual parking spot behind Jones' Grocery and Liquor, Casey's hands tightened on the wheel. A remnant from his dad's career in the NHL, Dad's white convertible was one of the few assets that had not been sold to pay for his step-mother's medical bills. There was a chance they were still here. In an emergency his father preferred to stay put rather than evacuate, and now would be a good time to rent the car out to a neighbor.

Climbing over the back seat, he checked on Leo. He hadn't so much as twitched. The only sign of life was the wispy cloud expelling from Leo's mouth. Casey pulled a blanket streaked with grease over his friend's prone form, hoping the car's heater and the blanket would be enough to keep the injured turtle warm in the December air.

The store's front doors were still locked, but the glass had been smashed with a brick. Grumbling at the thought of how much it would cost to replace the panes, Casey brushed out the shards out of the frame with his gloved hand and slipped through.

"Robyn? Dad?" he called as broken glass and muddy snow crunched under his sneakers. The shelves were patchworked with bare spots, the merchandise either stolen or flung to the floor in haste. Casey fought back the indignation building in his chest as he stepped across a widening pool of spaghetti sauce. Paying the bills took a backseat getting out of the city with his family. Rushing down the claustrophobic aisles to the back of the store, he climbed the stairs two at a time, unlocked the door to his apartment, and darted inside, calling again for his family.

The dusty light bulb flickered overhead. Cracked cupboard doors hung half-open, shielding barren pantry shelves. A gutted trash bag covered the missing pane of glass in their kitchen window, but could not stop the rain and snow from slipping in and infecting the mortar with mold. Their toaster had been knocked to the floor, its innards spilling out. Casey huffed. He had rewired it just last week.

Going to the kitchen, Casey pulled the cracked landline off the hook and dialed his father's cell. He still hadn't managed to scrounge up enough cash to replace his phone after Slash broke it a few weeks ago. Casey put the phone to his ear as the line connected, feeling the stickiness of the duct tape residue on the plastic pull at his palms.

"Casey, the hell you still doing at the house? Didn't you see the giant aliens?"

He bit back the urge to be sarcastic. "Of course I saw them! Dad, listen-"

"I'm heading to Macy's laundromat. You know where that is?"

The name summoned an unpleasant taste in his throat, though he couldn't remember why.

"Dad, it's not safe anywhere in the city," Casey said, "If we leave now-"

"-If you don't want to come, that's your call. You're old enough to make these choices and I can take care of the both of us just fine. I'll keep her safe. You take care of yourself."

"Dad-"

"Be careful."

The line cut off.

Casey slammed the phone back into the hook and kicked another hole in the drywall. If his father would listen-

Ok, that wasn't fair given everything going on. His dad would protect his sister from the Kraang. Dad could be infuriating, but he would never do anything to put his sister in danger. He was more than capable of holding his own against the average Kraang.

But the others needed him now. Leo was down. Splinter could be dead. His family would be fine without him- better, even. His sister didn't need him antagonizing his dad and taking up resources.

Which, he realized, was what they needed right now. A long drive to an abandoned farmhouse lay ahead. Whatever was in Mr. O'Neil's van would have to last them a few weeks, likely longer. And Casey knew for certain there was nothing of use in the van.

Running to his room, he emptied his backpack onto the floor. Casey had always taken pride in his ability to pack light, but in this case, they needed whatever he could get- especially canned food and medical supplies. His basic equipment- pucks, explosives, matches, a knife and a first aid kit- filled his backpack about halfway. The canned goods and junk food in the store below had been cleaned out, but it was a safe bet no one had thought to check for stock in the basement.

It was tempting to pick up supplies from the crash pad he'd set up in an abandoned warehouse. Whoever owned it hadn't been by in years, and hadn't done squat when a couple of college kids claimed it for their wanna-be crack ring. Although a good five years younger, Casey had driven them off and claimed the warehouse as his own.

Originally, he'd used the warehouse to avoid pissing his father off with the noise when he experimented with explosives and gadgets. But then the Purple Dragons spread to his neighborhood, and the police accepted their drug money to look the other way. Those who didn't take it spent more time harassing kids with dark skin than doing anything about the protection rackets and unsolved murders. Standing up to the Purple Dragons rarely ended well for those who tried, and retaliation always fell on their family. Once Casey realized the warehouse would be a good place to lie low and bring his family if they needed somewhere safe, he'd known he had to do something.

And so, for about a year and a half, he'd been fortifying and stocking his crash pad with food, blankets and other necessities scavenged from the trash or lifted from businesses patronized by Purple Dragons. He had known then he wasn't yet ready to take on the Dragons. It was a little insurance in case things got bad on the streets one night and he couldn't risk going home, or on certain nights when he knew his old man would be in a bad mood. But then the mutants hit the streets, and Snakeweed snatched his sister. He couldn't justify sitting back after that.

It became even more crucial when the turtles entered his life. If one of them got hurt, they couldn't go to a hospital, and as often as he and Raph went out to clean the streets, having a place to stop and recuperate without going all the way to the lair had already been a godsend.

Then there was the less dramatic, less likely but more terrifying scenario where his dad keeled over. No judge would give him custody of Robyn although he was eighteen. He had a record, even if charges hadn't been pressed. The pad would give them some breathing room while he figured out what to then he'd have to travel there and back, wasting more still more time. Time was the only resource he could not scavenge.

Going downstairs, Casey opened the trapdoor behind the sales counter and climbed down the ladder. Six cans of soup, six bottles of water and a canister of ibuprofen went into his backpack. After some hesitation, he threw in a few emergency foil blankets. If the farmhouse didn't have electricity, the cold-blooded turtles would need a way to retain their body heat.

Aware time was trickling away faster than he could act, Casey went back up the stairs to the phone hanging on the wall in the employee break room. Barely three seconds passed before April's voice crackled on the line. "Casey?" she asked, her voice strained.

"Red, where are you?" he asked.

"We're a few blocks south of Murakami's," she said, "By the Second Time Around shop. Hurry, Casey!"

"I know, I'm coming-"

Something slammed into his back and knocked him off his feet. He crashed against some display shelves. Jars of jam shattered on the floor as the shelves collapsed around him like a house of cards. Casey swore and got to his feet as an entire shelf came hurtling at him.

Casey ducked just in time. It crashed into the far wall, and he stayed low. Light footsteps pattered around the aisles, avoiding his searching gaze.

"Come on, I don't have time for this!" Casey yelled, unsheathing his stick.

Leo stepped out from behind the closest aisle. The tails of his black bandana fluttered as he walked, a heavy iron mace swinging in his hand. Memory flashed in Casey's brain- Slash kidnapping Raphael- the mutagen canister shattering on Slash- a dark duplicate of Leo facing off against the eldest turtle-

"Slash," he ground out as he pulled his mask down over his face.

Any other time, Casey would have beaten the mutagen out of Slash for what he did to Raph. But he suppressed the urge to fight. Leo lay unconscious in the back of Mr. O'Neil's van and Casey had promised his best friend he'd protect his brother. This fight would have to wait.

"I'm feeling generous today," Casey said, leaning on the stick, but ready to move at a hair's twitch from Slash, "so how's about you go your way and I go mine?"

Slash moved. Casey only had time to bring his stick up before Slash slammed him against the wall, his hand closing around Casey's neck. The force of the blow knocked his weapon from his hand. He struggled, memories of his last encounter with Slash- of everything turning black around him- filling his muscles with resolve. But it wasn't enough.

"What does Raphael see in you anyway?" Slash hissed, tightening his grip slowly. "You're just-"

Casey tazed him. Slash roared, dropping him. Casey fell and rolled to the side. Slash's foot lashed out and caught him in the stomach, smacking him into the sales counter. Casey gasped for air and lurched his feet as Slash loomed over him, stepping on Casey's fallen weapon as he did.

"Now it's your turn to be rejected," Slash hissed. Too late, Casey realized he had picked up one of the fallen shelves. Casey dropped to the floor, wrapping his arms around his head as the metal shelves slammed into him.

The low purr of Mr. O'Neil's car pierced the blackness. Casey slowly rose back to himself. Cold metal pinned him against the counter. Slash hadn't meant to kill him. All he would have had to do was snap Casey's neck. The sound from Mr. O'Neil's car faded into the distance, and the implications shook Casey free of the fogginess in his head.

Slash was driving off with Leo helpless in the back. The turtle he most wanted dead.

Spitting a curse, Casey shoved at his prison, and only succeeded in rattling the metal. They were interlocked. Casey slid along the floor, forcing him toward the small gap caused by the leaning shelves.

Once he freed, he grabbed his cracked hockey stick and ran to the front door- or where it had once stood. Slash had ripped them from the hinges on his way out.

There was no sign of the van or which direction it had taken. Cursing himself for leaving the keys in, Casey ran outside. He had to find the others so Donnie could track Leo's phone. Unlocking his bike from where it rested shackled to a rusty pipe, Casey hopped on and sped down the side alley.

Casey didn't know how much time passed before he saw the sign for the antique shop in the distance. Broken glass littered the ground around the store. The wind whistled through buildings with exposed interiors, doubtless the work of Kraang Prime. A fender painted with hippie flowers lay twisted on the sidewalk. Emerging from the alley, he dismounted the bike before it came to a complete stop. "Raph! April!" he shouted as he ran to the middle of the street.

Before he could get his bearings, try to figure out which way they'd gone, the sound of tramping footsteps got his attention. Casey leapt to the side as laser bolts filled the air around him. Down the street on either side, a phalanx of Kraang soldiers marched towards him.

His blood thrummed in his veins. His hands itched to curl around a weapon. But Casey knew this was a fight he couldn't win. He couldn't protect anyone if he was dead. Breaking into a run, he tore down the street.

Something slid underfoot. He went down, catching himself on his left hand. Before he could recover, the Kraang were upon him.

He struggled, but the more he thrashed and cursed, the more he felt the cans of soup in his backpack press down on his spine. A faint wooden crack sounded from one of the sticks strapped to his back.

"Hey, I just bought that!" he shouted, using his voice to crunch down the fear eating at his nerves. In response, an alien hand grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the asphalt. Casey grunted. He was used to pavement facials from cops, but with them you could kick them in a sensitive place and get moving. The same tactic would not work with the Kraang.

Then a vicious ki-ai echoed down the street. The music of laser bolts echoed around him as the weight on his back lifted. Casey scrambled to his feet as he grabbed one of his sticks out of the holster and brought it around in a vicious arc. Something moved behind him, and Casey turned, almost clocking the newcomer in the face.

It was Karai, her green eyes alert and aware despite her animalistic body. Suppressing the lurch of disappointment in his stomach, Casey fought his way to her side. He didn't trust her- couldn't trust her after she had been the enemy for so long. But right now, they had a common enemy. And mutual need was a bond nearly as strong as love. She of all people would know.

Her head jerked towards the alley packed with the fewest Kraang. Casey ran ahead, swinging his hockey stick at the delicate joints of the Kraang soldiers. She surged ahead of him, and Casey suppressed an uneasy shudder. Even in her snake form, Karai moved with graceful, controlled motions. Karai thrashed her tail, and the last of the Kraang blocking their path fell.

Together, pursued by the tramp of Kraang ground troops, they ran.