Title: Hell's Angels

Author: Serendipity

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1948

Summary: Casey and Splinter go on a rescue mission. Things progress exactly as well as expected.

Author's Note: For Tori Angeli as a birthday present, here are two characters not typically written, and especially not written with each other. Heck, even canon doesn't show them interacting much. Motorcycles thrown in for the lulz.

______

"This is perfectly safe," Casey had said for what seemed like the fifth time that evening. "Look, we gotta catch up to them somehow, and that ain't gonna happen on foot. And what I got is a motorcycle. The guys took the battleshell, the car's outta gas, and April's with her cousin in Tahiti. What other choices do you have?"

So Splinter gave his bike this less-than-impressed look, which really began to grind on Casey's nerves. Didn't Raph have one of these? Didn't he work on it all the time? And hell, even go so far as to drive it occasionally? Was this some kind of mutant rat motorcycle paranoia? Some poorly-timed paranoia? That kept them arguing about whether or not they would actually hop on the thing and go on the rescue mission?

(Not that Splinter was arguing, really. Not what Casey recognized as arguing. He kept making small, pointed comments that nevertheless indicated that he didn't find the bike the best mode of transportation.)

Come on, it was a freakin' rescue mission! They needed to get out there ASAP, he thought. They needed to haul ass like crazy, burn rubber, pedal to the metal, get the hell out of Dodge! Okay, the turtles were tough-ass ninjas, but that didn't keep him from wanting to rip down walls getting to them! They couldn't be just standing here all nonchalant! Maybe ninjas had a secret teleportation thing, he thought. It kind of made sense, too, with all of the disappearing/reappearing gigs the guys did. That couldn't be natural.

And okay, it was only polite to tell Splinter that they were in trouble and he maybe needed help against the evil ninjas of the week. That was the correct thing to do, he knew, because he'd taken the half a second necessary to realize that not telling the guy's dad about their mortal peril may have eventually led to him getting: A) a merciless ninja pummeling, and/or B) a merciless ninja lecture.

But did all of this pre-rescue stuff have to involve so much explaining?

"How do I say this," Splinter mused, "I'm not sure if I entirely trust your driving expertise when it comes to safety."

"What? What? Come on! Who else is gonna drive, you?" He gave the seat of his bike a hard thwack, "Look, the only accidents I been in with this baby were picked up when I was tryin' to help you guys!"

"That is precisely my point, Mr. Jones."

"Okay, fine!" Casey threw his hands up in the air, "You won't ride the bike, we can't get through the sewers because we don't know if there's even a path through there, and neither of us is gonna sprout wings and fly anytime soon! Unless there's some ninja master technique I don't know about…"

"I am quite unaware of one as well."

"Well, then we're gonna have to use the bike. Please just get on the bike. It ain't gonna bite you, and I swear I'll take it easy and follow the rules of the road and all that stuff I promised my mom that I would do when I got my license."

Splinter showed his usual amount of freakily accurate insight by asking : "And how well did you keep that promise?"

Casey bit back the guiltily defense reply of: "Well, no one really means it when they promise stuff to their parents, anyway!", since that seemed like an answer that could land him in a lot of trouble. He attempted to smile in a way that was meant to be completely convincing. Splinter met it with a flatly dubious stare. All the while, his buddies were fighting against a gang of lunatics in red pajamas and sharp pointy objects, and he was pretty ready to just head over there alone.

"Very well," Splinter finally said, before Casey could make good on that decision and possibly land himself in a heap of mortal peril, "Since no other option presents itself, I will ride with you on this…vehicle." But I will not enjoy it, his expression said, and I will fear for my very life the entire time.

"That's the spirit," Casey said jovially, "I mean, how bad can it be?"

Of course, that was a whaddya-call it, rhetorical statement and he wasn't expecting the whole freakin' world to try and prove him wrong. Or Splinter right, really. Come to think of it, it only figured that the whole world would join forces to prove Splinter right. What was he thinking? The old ninja master was always right! Hadn't he watched The Karate Kid?

So there he was, weaving in and out of traffic to the merry chorus of horns being honked by enraged New York drivers, and he had the definite feeling that Splinter's eyes were boring into him like- like something that bored into something. Diamond-cutting lasers, maybe. He heard somewhere they used lasers to cut diamonds. Sounded about right, anyway. He pretty much thought they'd used diamonds. Anyway, Splinter was definitely not happy with the way this was going. He didn't even have to look at him to figure that.

Was there just something about vehicles the guy didn't like? It wasn't like he didn't spend a lot of time fighting for his life or something against some lunatic with ninja skills or death machines or both.

Anyway, he didn't actually get many comments about his driving until he- okay, he might have performed an illegal maneuver or broken a law or two when he launched the bike up a set-up piece of plyboard and started hopping car tops to get ahead. That definitely earned him a complaint or seven. And okay, maybe it was slightly justified a little, but they were out on a rescue mission and that sort of thing required some kind of speed demonery.

Besides, it was perfectly safe. Pretty safe. Well, for Evel Knieval it was safe. For Casey Jones it was a risk worth taking, and for Splinter it was apparently a reason to whack him over the head with his walking stick. Which was probably difficult for Splinter, bundled up as he was in disguise. And he did it HARD, while Casey was attempting to drive over people's cars.

That was just uncalled for. And dangerous. He pointed this out as they landed with a hard, rubber-burning thump back on the road.

"Mr. Jones, I believe that anything I do at this point couldn't possibly endanger us more than your driving."

"What, do you think you could do better?" he snapped, yelling at this point because all the car horns were kinda deafening.

Splinter's silence indicated that no response was really necessary.

"Oh, come on!" At that comment he had to quickly dodge a semi that was merging into his lane and probably had been attempting to for some time. This required a quick, breathtaking, and very dangerous use of steering.

"Please keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Jones," Splinter said after the few minutes of stunned silence that maneuver had bought him.

"Look, I am not an inattentive driver!"

"I respectfully disagree. In the span of a single evening, you have single-handedly endangered our lives a total of eleven times."

"Oh, that is not true!"

Swerve. Honk. Noise of one car crashing into another behind him.

"Twelve." The word was said with such condemning resignation that he actually sounded like his mom for a minute there. Now there was a weird image. He decided that those two should never meet. Ever.

Casey forced himself to pay very close attention to the road, the swarms of angry drivers, the occasional disgruntled pedestrian, and the whole red light green light concept. "Look, I know what I'm doing. It's kinda unorthodox maybe, but it gets the job done. I'm an expert on this stuff by now. We're totally safe! Lot safer than we're gonna be when we actually catch up to the guys, anyway!"

As if it sensed an impending argument, Splinter's shell cell started beeping. Casey whipped his head around as Splinter scrabbled for the thing in the folds of the many layers of fabric he was wearing to disguise the whole giant rat thing.

"Dude. It might be the guys. Pick it up!" Casey said, dodging a thrown newspaper. (A newspaper, of all things. Sometimes he had to hand it to New York.) Somewhere behind him, he noticed red and blue lights flashing. A siren picked up. "Oh. Shit. You might wanna, uh, hang on tight."

That was pretty much the only warning he gave before swerving into the tight space between two trucks, making speed right on the line that separated lanes of traffic, and squeezing in several cars ahead of the cops. He was pretty sure the siren got louder and angrier at that, but that might have been because of the orchestra of honking and 'fuck you's he was getting from the other people on the road. This was doing really bad things to his eardrums.

Meanwhile, Splinter was jabbing his shoulder blade with the shellcell. His attention was severely compromised between the road, the pain in his shoulder, and the police following them like hounds following scent. "What? What is it?" he asked, hands clutching desperately at the handlebar. He swore he was gonna wear the leather off his gloves the way he was gripping the things. Probably soaking 'em with sweat, at this point.

He grabbed the shellcell with one hand, flipped it open, and steered desperately with the other hand. "Hello? Guys?"

"Casey?" Raphael's confused tone was unmistakable.

"Raph?" Casey said, "You guys okay?"

"Uh, yeah. We're at the lair now. Managed to knock out some of the guards and escape. Where's Master Splinter?"

"Uh…" Casey performed another amazing and completely illegal maneuver and he could have sworn that Splinter's claws pierced his jacket, his t-shirt, and his skin. "He's with me."

"Are those police sirens?"

"Yep."

"Are you being chased by POLICE?"

"Yep," Casey said, sounding almost cheerful about this fact. Why wouldn't he be? He was being chased down by cops, performing more illegal maneuvers than he'd ever done in his life, speeding like a bat out of hell because he'd thought the guys were in danger, and now this phone call. Turned out the guys were home safe after all. Which meant this entire road trip was totally for nothing and he was getting claw marks in his jacket for no reason. (He realized sacrifices had to be made for the greater good and all, but he really wished it didn't happen to his clothes so much. It wasn't like he could afford more. That was a nice jacket.)

"Crazy driver," mumbled Splinter from behind him.

"What the hell are you doing over there? What-" Raph bellowed from the shellcell. Casey cut him off with a "Can't hear you, too busy fleeing from the law," and hung up. Probably not a good idea, and he was pretty certain that the turtles were all preparing: A) a ninja beat down, and B) a ninja lecture for him once he finally managed to haul their asses and his bike over to safe ground. For now, he was too busy worrying how he was going to safely pull off his escape stunt.

Which was, in essence, hurling himself off a bridge and onto the road below.

Which was, strictly speaking, really dangerous.

Like…even Evel Knieval would cringe dangerous.

But what the hell.

"Are you ready to endanger our lives again?" he asked Splinter.

"I might as well be," Splinter said, with the gloomy-yet-resigned tones of someone presented with the electric chair.

And they took the leap.