For whom the bell tolls

When he opened his eyes, he was met with a haze of dull colors. Directly in front of him, a mass of brown, a glimpse of blue at the edge of his vision, black beneath him. Pain, still somewhat deadened by sleep, throbbed in his temples. His first assumption was that his current condition was the result of being terribly drunk the night before. If only he could fall asleep again, drift away from reality and let the pain fade into dreams. He tried to imagine himself floating, weightless. He was fading from the waking world; his awareness of his surroundings started to fade, the pain started to subdue, he was disconnecting from his very sense of self... He faded almost completely.

Then an annoying feeling rose from somewhere in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it, but it was persistent. It prevented him from fading entirely, and gradually began to wake him. Keeping his eyes closed began to become an effort. He was suddenly aware of a damp chill that had settled over him, making him shiver. No longer able to ignore this feeling that had seized him, he surrendered and returned to the waking world. He rolled over and hoisted himself up from the cold ground. The earlier haze that had invaded his vision he had attributed to disorientation from being drunk. Now he realized that it was an early morning fog so thick that it blanketed the streets. It was begining to dissapate now, rays of early morning sun penetrated the fog casting an almost holy light on the dirty city.

As the fog lifted, so did the fog that had been clouding his mind. The events of the previous night returned, although as he thought them through he realized that it was far from a complete story his mind assembled. He remembered being attacked by unknown ninja, attempting to fight them, then a horrible sound...after that it was impossible to recall anything else. There was something important that he was missing and for a long moment, he stayed where he was, trying to figure out what was nagging him so badly.

Rocksteady...

His friend had been injuried the night before...after the battle with the turtles. Where was he now? Bebop began to search the allyway and pondered over what he didn't find. No bodies, no splashes of blood on the ground or walls, not even an overturned trash can. Only his uncouncious body would have alerted a passerby that anything out of the ordinary had occured.

Panic was begining to take hold of his mind as he started towards the back of the alley. It subdued almost as soon as it began when he noticed a large pair of grey legs sticking out from behind a dumpster. As he drew closer, the panic hit again, twice as hard. Hurridly he made it to his friend's side and knelt beside him. The makeshift bandage of Shredder's cape was darkened by blood. The panic threatened to take hold of him completely as he searched, without knowing what he was supposed to be looking for, for some sign that Rocksteady was still alive. After a long moment the fact that Rocksteady's chest was slowly rising and falling registered and the panic lessened slightly. It was obvious that he was badly wounded and needed care that was beyond Bebop's ability to give him.

Feeling helpless and frozen by indecision he tried to think of what to do. He feared Rocksteady's life was trickling away. Bebop had little experience in treating injured people. There was always someone else to administer aid. Was he not supposed to move him? But if not, how would he get him help? Should he kidnap a doctor and drag him here? But that would mean leaving Rocksteady alone and half dead in an alley. Bebop despertly wanted someone else to be there. Someone to take charge of the situation.

That thought finally brought to his attention what else was wrong. Shredder was no where to be seen. Bebop started to search the alley again. He wanted the solution to his problem to be as simple as finding his boss, waking him up, and letting him take charge. He examined the length of the alley throughly and concluded that Shredder was not here. If he had been captured or had simply abandoned them, there was no way to tell. The end result was the same either way. Rocksteady's life was in his hands.

He picked Rocksteady up as carefully as he could manage and started towards home. Blood soaked into his clothes from the wound, making him almost sick with worry. New York was a city alive with people day and night alike. Althought Bebop no longer had the cover of darkness to move under, Shredder's route had still accounted for the city's schedule. He should be able to make it home without meeting anyone along the way.

What he would do once he got there...he had no idea, but at least he was doing something.