Gargoyles X TMNT: Shadows of New York

Broadway and Lexington

There was a dull, throbbing ache in the back of his skull, a cardiac drumbeat that pulsed with nausea and vertigo. He coughed, heavily, a wheezing hack that produced a glob of congealed blood that slurped and slithered its way out of his throat like a dark red, copper-flavored slug. A thin, high-pitched whine filled his ears, like the singing of a crystal glass in the otherwise fragile quiet.

He blinked, looking around at the dark tunnel, trying to see more than blurred shapes and shadows in the tones of gray cast by his nightvision. Steam filled the space. He couldn't quite see it, but he could feel the slick moistness of dew on his riverstone blue skin, the sweltering heat. So hot... it was so hot in here.

He rolled over onto his side, feeling like his brain lagged behind his head by around three seconds, like a child's balloon on a string. He grunted, feeling saliva flood his mouth, bittersweet bile rising up in his throat. He froze, blinking, willing himself not to puke. He breathed in the swirling dampness of the air in that tunnel, his sense of smell completely overridden by the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

The collapse. Oh god, he had brought down the wall!

He tried to stand, too dizzy and unsteady on his talons to do anything but struggle on his claws and knees, his wings limp as a heavy wet blanket around his shoulders. Injuries. He had to see what damage he'd...

He couldn't keep the thought in his mind before it erupted out of his mouth, along with the last several hot dogs from the stadium. He felt unsteady tears running down his cheeks as he swayed, trying desperately to remember how to use his tail to balance.

His brother... his brother, where was he?

"Hullo?" He rasped. "Is... is anyone there?" He crawled away from the puddle of sick, claws trying to dig into the concrete, trying to get some kind of purchase. But he was too weak.

There was only silence. "Brother? Brother?" He rasped, his voice like a saw blade in his throat, drawing pain and a ragged line of coughs out of his chest as he called for help. "Please, can anyone hear me?!"

His innards seemed to freeze, like stone in the dawn. He was alone.

He'd never been alone before.

Dazed, he dragged his claws up the wall. His feet dragged through the slime of the tunnel's floor, each sucking squelch like wading through a swamp. He reached the concrete embankment on his hands and knees, trying to find someone, anyone, anyone who could hear him. His eyes fell on a shape. A navy blue blob with red arms and legs and a skull-white face. This was... someone. Someone important, but he struggled to think through the fog. Injured... they were both injured. The steam burned his face and lungs, seared and dampened the air. It made it so hard to breathe. So very very hard to breathe.

Couldn't leave him here. Had to protect. Had to...

His claws closed around the figure's torso, lifting him to his neck like an infant monkey to its mother. He crawled on his knees, supporting his gait with one wing as he cradled the body of the other person against his chest with one arm. His tail dragged a deep furrow through the sludge.

His vision started to clear, with time. The air grew colder, but still humid and unpleasant. He found himself taking deeper gulps of air as he traveled further down the tunnel, away from the wreckage. His thoughts started to reorganize, slowly shifting back into place along fuzzy lines. His arms burned, his chest burned, his whole body burned. But most especially, the inside of his head felt like it was lined with cinders from a forge fire, so hot that it seemed to distort the air.

He finally collapsed again, rolling over onto his back to avoid crushing the rescued survivor.

He wheezed lungfuls of cool air, and slowly the fogginess started to dissipate. But his ears still rang and his head still spun.