Chapter Text
THREE MEMBERS OF THE NOTORIOUS PURPLE DRAGON GANG CAPTURED AND NOW IN POLICE CUSTODY.
You lifted a forkful of fried rice to your mouth as you settled into your couch to watch the news, scanning the marquee that floated across the screen. The reporter at the scene glanced over her shoulder, where a few thugs stumbled into a police van several yards away. Clustered on the ground were several chains that had suspended them from a nearby light pole. She turned back to the camera while lifting a microphone to her mouth.
“...And much like prior arrests made by the New York Police Department over the past year, the latest group of criminals appears to have been apprehended by none other than the mysterious vigilante renowned as the Nightwatcher. Little is currently known about them, to include their true identity or the motivation behind their actions, but one thing is clear: they seem determined to take justice into their own hands.”
You ate in silence as you mulled over this news bulletin. New York was no stranger to the Nightwatcher, who had proven to be a major object of excited gossip and fascination for months. Whoever they were, they regularly went out of their way to subdue the city’s criminals before leaving them for the police to find, although they were only active at night and no one had ever seen their face.
You had only lived in Manhattan for about a year, so the vigilante activities were an ongoing part of the news for as long as you’d been a resident, and it almost seemed par for the course by now. While local law enforcement and politicians had a few choice words on the matter, you personally felt that as long as they continued to apprehend dangerous crooks, they were a boon to the city.
‘Sort of like our own version of Batman,’ you thought to yourself while grinning. ’Our very own Dark Knight.’
Once you finished your meal and scraped the remnants into the trash, you stretched your arms over your head and debated how to spend the rest of your evening. It was a Friday night and you were at the height of your youth, so one would think you’d be out and about in a bustling city like the Big Apple. But more often than not, work left you feeling exhausted and in need of some time to unwind at the end of the day, so curling up with a nice novel sounded much more appealing.
You did so for a good hour, thumbing through the pages of the latest Dresden Files novel and giggling at the protagonist’s snarky commentary. New York could sure use its own friendly neighborhood wizard-for-hire. But you snapped to attention when you suddenly heard a deafening thud just outside of your apartment, as if something heavy had collapsed on your fire escape and shook its foundation.
What the hell was that?
You swallowed and set your book aside with shaking hands. Had you remembered to lock all of your doors and windows? Should you be arming yourself? Even though every inch of your body trembled with fear, you crept toward the sliding glass door that opened onto your veranda, only to stifle a scream of surprise.
There was a large silhouette crumpled upon the terrace, covered from head to toe in a strange metallic costume, complete with black gloves and a visored helmet. Whoever they were, they weren’t moving, and panic streaked through your chest. But before you could figure out what to do, their broad shoulders shifted as they tried to push themselves up into a sitting position, only to groan and sag back down again. They must be in terrible pain. You faltered while an involuntary wave of concern washed over you.
“W-whoa! Hey! Are you all right?” You threw the door open and knelt beside the mysterious figure, gingerly hovering your hands over various points of their body without actually touching them, not knowing where the source of the problem was.
They jolted when they heard your voice and made another attempt to move, this time much more forceful than the first, but the result was the same. The harsh gasp of pain that followed sounded like a man's, and you examined the ground below him for any bloodstains. Thankfully you found none, though you weren’t expecting him to speak up a moment later.
“Don’t... don’t touch me...” he growled in an effort to make himself sound intimidating. It only made you abandon your prior misgivings and reach for your phone.
“It’s going to be all right,” you assured him, placing a light hand upon his shoulder while you lifted the other to your ear. “I’ll call an ambulance for you, okay?”
He jerked beneath your grasp and vehemently shook his head.
“No! Don’t!”
You lowered your cell from your ear, staring down at him in surprise. "Why not? You’re hurt. I’m just trying to help you.”
“No. No. Don’t call anybody.” He groaned, straining to sit up and failing miserably again. “Ugh, damn it! This was the last thing I needed! Tonight really ain’t my night.”
You noted he had a thick Brooklyn accent before reluctantly setting down your phone. You wanted to honor his wishes, but you also couldn’t just leave an injured person lying here upon your veranda. For God’s sake, the guy could barely move!
“What happened to you?” you asked in a hush. “How’d you even end up here?”
“Real long story,” he growled. “None o’ your beeswax. I’ll be outta your hair soon as I can stand up, anyway.”
But that was a lot easier said than done. After more futile attempts to rise to his feet, you ducked down and draped one of his arms over your shoulder, then wrapped the other around his armored waist. His head shot toward you, though you couldn’t see his eyes or read his expression thanks to his dark visor.
“What’re ya doin’?” he snapped, not that he was in much of a position to stop you.
“Helping you up. You can’t do it by yourself right now, can you? C’mon.”
He couldn’t argue with that, however begrudgingly, and allowed you to help him back up. He staggered once he was standing again, likely the result of vertigo. You set your mouth into a tight frown.
“Look, you’re not in any condition to go anywhere right now. For whatever stubborn, ridiculous reason, you don’t want me to call you an ambulance. Fine. But you’re still about to keel over, so you need to take it easy for a while. Come sit down.”
You couldn’t believe you were offering, especially since you were still complete strangers and you had no idea who you were inviting into your home, but hey, you were a softhearted idiot who couldn’t stand to see someone suffer.
“No!” he protested, yanking himself free. “Thanks for the offer, but no way. I’ve gotta get goin’, stat.”
He made it two steps before he almost collapsed against your railing. You arched an eyebrow and heard him growl again, this time in frustration.
“Are you sure?” you asked, your tone bordering on sarcastic.
“Jeez, lady!” he grunted. “Damn if ya ain’t persistent. But I can’t stay.”
“Why not? You want to just continue stumbling around out here on my terrace?” you pointed out, and his gloved fingers clenched around the handrail. “I won’t force you to stay. But I do think it’s in your best interest to at least wait until you can walk in a straight line again.”
He was silent for a long, long moment. Then he exhaled, a deep sigh full of resignation and irritation.
“Fine. Fine. Just for a bit. I ain’t takin’ off my helmet, though, so don’t ask.”
“Okay,” you agreed, setting aside your growing curiosity in favor of helping him inside. Once you were both in the living room, you helped him lie down on the couch. He hissed in pain a couple of times, and now beneath the fluorescent lighting inside your apartment, you noticed the hilt of something wedged in his side. Oh, shit.
“You were attacked?” you whispered. “Was that why you landed on my balcony? Did you fall there? Are you...”
Suddenly, with the force of a ton of bricks, it hit you all at once. Who else would be wandering rooftops late at night, wear a suspicious, full-body costume to hide his identity, and run the risk of being attacked or injured? Holy frikkin’ hell. You knew who this was.
“You’re the Nightwatcher!” you gasped, pointing at him perhaps a tad too dramatically.
“Congrats, Sherlock,” he muttered, placing one of his hands near the site of the wound and wincing. “Sorry, lady, but I don’t give out autographs.”
“Okay, you can feel free to quit calling me ‘lady’ any time now,” you shot back with a scowl. “It’s (Name).”
“Heh.” For the first time he actually chuckled, though his helmet muffled the sound. “All right. Fair enough. You let me into your home and all, and you haven’t called the cops on me so far. Thanks for that. Ya promise you can keep mum?”
“Of course I can.” You situated a couple of extra pillows beneath his neck to help him rest more comfortably. “I think you’re doing something great for this city, you know. You’re the one who dishes out justice when the cops aren’t there to protect us. To be honest, I’ve admired you since I moved to New York.”
It felt surreal to be holding such a cavalier conversation with the same vigilante you'd heard about on the news only an hour earlier, but you were being honest. You sensed his surprise when he turned his head to stare at you, even though you still couldn’t make out any of his features behind his visor.
“Really?” he mumbled. When you nodded, he sighed again. “Cool. Uh, thanks, I guess. Nice to hear someone appreciates what I’ve been doin’ all this time. Half the time I try to help somebody, they treat me like I’m some kind of villain.”
“Sounds pretty typical for a vigilante, though. Any deviation from the law means you have to act as a protector from the shadows, and people are bound to misunderstand you, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, and he looked away. “But I ain’t gonna stop. Crime doesn’t take a break just because I do. Someone’s gotta look out for this city.”
“You are injured, though.” When he didn’t respond, it was your turn to sigh. “Look, Batman. I’ll try to help you, okay?” He snorted with disdainful laughter.
“I sure as hell ain’t Batman," he said, hesitating before speaking again. “It’s, uh... Raph. Raphael.”
You never expected him to tell you his real name, and your eyes widened in surprise. But if he was trusting you to keep his secret, then you damn well planned on it. You shot him what you hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Nice to meet you, then. But before anything else, can I get you some water? Tea? Something to drink? Sorry I don’t keep beer stashed in my fridge, if you were in the mood for a Heineken.”
“Nah, it’s good. A tall glass of water sounds real nice though, not gonna lie.”
“Coming right at you.” You disappeared into the kitchen to pour him some, and when you returned, he gratefully accepted it.
“Thanks. Uh, ya mind lookin’ away?”
“I get it. I can’t see your face.” You averted your head and heard him gulp down the water in a matter of seconds. He must have been parched, for he set down the empty glass less than a minute later. You heard his visor clicking back into place before he informed you it was fine to turn around again.
“It’s not for the reason ya think. I told ya my name after all, didn’t I? You seem like an honest enough gal. But trust me, takin’ a look at my mug ain’t a good idea.” Something deeply uncomfortable was etched in his voice, though you shook your head.
“I’m not going to push it, Raph. You’ve got your reasons, and that’s fine. The city’s safer because of you, so I’m not about to question it.” You felt him staring at you again, and it made you feel a little self-conscious, so you plowed onward. “About that weapon in your chest... what’d you get hit with?”
“Damned if I know.” He groaned, placing one hand over the hilt and hissing in pain. “Hit me while I was dealin’ with some lunatics from the Foot up on a rooftop close by. We’re real lucky they haven’t busted in here, actually.”
“Maybe they were just trying to escape,” you said with a twinge of nervousness. “Your reputation precedes you, you know. The average New York thug is terrified of you.”
He chuckled again, although his breathing grew more labored. You frowned, wondering what the best course of action was. You understood exactly why he didn’t want you to call an ambulance now, as he couldn’t afford to reveal his identity. But his wound still had to be dealt with, and it was worsening by the minute.
“I think we’re going to have to get that thing out of you,” you announced, rising to your feet and placing your hands on your hips. Raph grunted.
“Not a good idea. It’s what’s holdin’ everything in there. Soon as you take it out, I’ll bleed all over your couch and floor.”
“So what?” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a piece of furniture, and we can lay down some towels. You can’t keep that thing in your stomach much longer. You’re probably going to need stitches, too.”
“You don’t happen to be a nurse, do ya?” he asked wryly, and you shook your head. “Thought so. Look, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this. I’ll take care of it myself.”
“How? You can’t even sit up without my help. Be right back.” You vanished into the hall to retrieve your emergency first aid kit from the storage closet, and returned while prying it open. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here. Ahhh, topical anesthetic, antibiotic ointment, gauze, surgical tape, and string for sutures. Imagine that?”
“You’ve never given anybody stitches before." Raph attempted to shift himself to the side, only to instantly regret it with a groan. “No offense, but I don’t really wanna be your first test subject.”
“Do either of us have a choice? The longer we argue about this, the worse your condition is getting. We can’t keep putting this off, Raphael.”
“Damn. Fine! Fine. Just be careful, will ya? I’ll help talk ya through some of this. Not my first rodeo, so I’ve got an idea of how it works.”
“Okay. But first, we have to get this thing out of you. It’s probably going to hurt like a bitch. You need something to bite down on.”
“Already got it covered.” He gestured to his belt, where a large, prong-like weapon was sheathed. You retrieved it for him so he wouldn’t have to bend at an awkward angle, and he turned away while flipping up the lower part of his helmet. You still couldn’t discern any section of his face, but his voice sounded muffled again once he stuck the leather hilt into his mouth. “Go.”
You swallowed hard and reminded yourself to just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. It would only hurt him more if you dragged it out. You prayed it was a straight-edged weapon rather than something serrated that would cause him further injury upon removal, and then you took a careful hold of the edge that peeked above his armor.
You raised your eyes to Raph’s visor, and he nodded. In one swift motion, you yanked it out while trying to keep it as straight as possible, and he ground his teeth against the hilt of his weapon while stifling a shout. But it was done, and he spat out his weapon before readjusting the helmet back into place. You passed the small, bloodstained object to him once he gestured for it.
“Just a kunai. Those bastards. Least it wasn’t a shuriken,” he growled. “Thanks for pullin’ it out.”
“You bet. Let’s work on patching you up.” Blood already seeped from his armor, and you frowned when you realized another problem had emerged. “Can we remove this plate? It’ll be tough to clean up the wound or suture you with this in the way.”
“Aw, shit,” he said with the air of someone who had completely forgotten something up until that moment. “I... uh... damn, I know you’re right, but it ain’t a good idea. For the same reason I can’t let ya see my face.”
“Look, I don’t care what’s under there,” you said, exasperated. “You’re injured, and I’m trying to help you! I don’t know if you’re embarrassed, or you have identifiable tattoos, or—”
“None of that.” He shook his head. “But trust me, you won’t be okay with what ya see.”
“Okay then, O Stubborn One, how do you propose we deal with this open wound of yours, then?” You glared at him, and he pounded his fist into the couch.
“I’ll deal with it myself!”
“Let me reiterate, how? You can barely move! I don’t care what’s under your armor, okay? I won’t let you bleed out in my living room just because you’re embarrassed or whatever the hell it is! You know I’m not going to rat you out to anyone!”
“It’s not that!” he snapped, sounding more frustrated than ever. “Listen, I wanna explain, but—”
“But what? Why won’t you let me help you?” You grimaced, and he made an irritated sound in the back of his throat.
“You’re gonna think I’m some kinda freak, what’s why!” he bellowed, stunning you into silence. What on earth was he talking about? “Just... just give me that. I’ll bandage myself.”
“Raph...” You sighed. “You’re hurt. I want to help you. You’ve helped so many people, why can’t one of us return the favor? Your secret is my secret. How could I ever think less of you for any reason, especially something so petty as physical appearance?”
“Agh, damn it! You’re really makin’ this hard! Listen, I ain’t normal, all right?” He extended his gloved hand out to you, and you jolted in surprise. For the first time, you realized he had only three fingers instead of five. He growled when he read the shock on your face. “See? I’m not like you. You think that’s bad? Just wait until ya get a look under my armor.”
“Okay. Okay, look.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “I stand by what I said before. I don’t care what you look like under there. You don’t even have to take off your helmet. All I want to do is disinfect and bandage up your wound. I want to help you!”
He went silent for a long, tense moment. Then, with hands that shook from exertion thanks to his weakened state, he reached down and pressed a small latch in his armor that released the plate with a resounding click. But he turned his head toward you first instead of lifting it away from his chest.
“You’re not gonna faint or scream, are you?” His tone was both reluctant and suspicious. You shook your head to encourage him.
“Not even going to ask any questions.”
He puffed out another heavy sigh, as if steeling himself. Then, he slowly removed the perforated section of armor, grunting under his breath as it exposed his injury to the open air. You blinked when his torso came into view.
A series of taupe-colored plates came together to form an unusual, shield-like overlay upon his chest. You weren’t sure what you were even looking at, and without thinking, you curiously trailed your hand down it, taking care not to graze the damaged section on the side. Raph sucked in an audible, shaky breath when your fingertips skimmed the hardened surface, and you stopped while flushing in embarrassment.
“S-sorry. Anyway, here we go. First, antibiotic ointment.” The kunai had pierced straight through his armor and into the scaly green skin of his side, where blood dribbled out in steady rivulets. You applied the gel to his wound to disinfect it after cleaning away some of the blood, and neither of you exchanged any words over the next several minutes as you administered the topical anesthetic to help numb the surrounding area.
You prepared the surgical needle with a length of thread, trying to keep yourself steady. Indeed, you’d never done this before, and your nerves threatened to get the better of you. But you tried not to show any of that to Raph, especially now that you’d convinced him to let you help, and lowered your fingers to the site of the wound.
“You might feel a few pinches, but the anesthetic should dull the worst of it.” You glanced up at him. “Stop me if I hurt you or I’m doing something wrong.”
“Just do it,” he grumbled. “How big does it look?”
“About an inch and a half in length, maybe a couple centimeters in diameter. It’s thankfully not huge.”
“Got it. Close it up and finish it with a knot." You nodded and positioned the needle over his skin before sinking it in, then brought it forward to meet the other side while gently tugging the length of thread through. Raph didn’t flinch or say anything, so you assumed it was all right to keep going, and you followed suit for ten very intense minutes as you focused on causing him minimal discomfort.
At last the entire wound was stitched shut, and you tied it off with a surgical knot as Raph described, pointedly ignoring the dark green shade of his skin. Then you topped it with more antibiotic gel and taped a large square of gauze atop the freshly sutured wound. Once you were satisfied he was stable, you lifted the chest plate of his armor and helped him re-situate it until he was protected again, though he’d still have to mend that puncture in the metal.
“Hang on. Let me get you something else.” You grabbed his empty glass before he could say anything, and you riffled through your medicine cabinet in the bathroom until you found a couple of Tylenol. Then you refilled his glass and brought it back to him. “Take these to help with the pain and inflammation.”
“Thanks.” He did so, and once he’d finished, an awkward silence settled over the room. You didn’t know what the hell to say. You’d seen it, and you both knew it. But you’d also promised not to ask any questions, so you held your tongue and cleared your throat.
“You might want to consider resting for a while, though I’m sure it’s not comfortable in that costume of yours.”
“I’ll be fine. Uh... thanks for stitchin’ me up. Appreciate it.”
“You should take my bed so you have more space. I know my couch kind of sucks.” You twiddled your thumbs, feeling uncomfortable but hoping to defuse some of the tension in the air.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m good right here. Thanks for letting me crash.”
“You bet. If you’re hungry, let me know. You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Um, I’ll give you some space. Here.” You passed him the TV remote so he could flip through a few channels if he got bored. “Holler if you need anything.”
“Hey. Wait a sec.” His voice stopped you just as you were about to leave the room, and you glanced at him over your shoulder. “Uh, thanks for everything. Seriously. And for... not prying.” He seemed embarrassed and gruff, as if good manners didn’t come easily to him, but you appreciated his intent to express them all the same. Your face softened into a smile.
“You’re welcome, Raphael. I’m glad I could help. Good night.” You wished you could see his face.
“G’night,” he mumbled before settling down into the cushions.
When you woke up the next morning, your couch was empty and the Nightwatcher’s glass was in the sink. You found a note on the kitchen counter, however, covered in a messy scrawl that somehow didn’t surprise you. You smiled to yourself as you lifted it up to read it.
Thanks for last night. Didn’t want to wake you, so I let myself out. It’s good to know people like you are still out there. See you around sometime, and take it easy. -Raph
You slipped the note into your drawer, marveling at the chance encounter. Now you’d never think of New York evenings the same way, but you already felt safer knowing he was out there and wasn’t some misguided lunatic, either.
‘See you around sometime.’ Did he really expect you to meet again in the future? Oddly enough, you found you were looking forward to the notion.