The Spiderman. . . . . Updated!!

Ranger Ani · The Spiderman. . . . . Updated!!

Yeah. . . So I'm a big SM fan, and a big TMNT fan, and I thought. . . Hey, why not make a crossover? They both live in NYC, right? So why not make a fic where they meet? And so here it is. I am currently working on chapter one (this is the prologue) and am half way done. . . .

Here is the link to the story on FF.net, incase anyone wants to leave a review there. . . *hint hint!*

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3398863/1/

Disclaimer: You know ‘em, you love ‘em, they’re the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! I know ‘em, I love ‘em, but I do NOT own them or any of the characters from their universe.

He’s your friendly neighborhood SpiderMan, but I do NOT own him or any of the characters from his universe.

Rating: PG-13, just to be safe.

Enjoy.

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The Spider-Man
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Prologue

Peter Parker rose his camera to his eye. He adjusted the lens and stared through the view finder at the sleeping woman on his couch. Focusing on her carefree face as she roamed Dreamland, he thought of how beautiful she was and --not for the first time-- how a guy like him was able to be with a gorgeous woman like her. What was it that he did that made Mary Jane Watson love him? What did she see in him? Why date him when there were other, much better looking men around?

He sighed as he zoomed in and –again, not for the first time— settled for the fact that he would never know. He was a lucky guy, and that’s all.

Satisfied with the shot, he snapped the picture. The flash went off, but his beautiful MJ simply turned her head to the side and slept on.

Peter smiled and hung the camera around his neck. Should I wake her? He thought, checking his watch. It’s noon. We were going to go out for lunch.

Staring at her move around to get in a more comfortable position in her sleep, he shook his head. Nah. She’ll wake when she gets hungry.

Sirens wailed. Peter moved to his apartment’s window and leaned out, muttering under his breath.

Why now? MJ might wake up any minute. He thought angrily.

Nevertheless, he pulled his shirt and pants off to reveal his Spiderman suit underneath. With his webs he made a type of bag and stuffed both his clothes and camera in, pulled his mask on, then leaped out the window— all within a minute.

A web line shot from his wrist as he fell, latching onto the opposite building. Bag hanging from his shoulder, he swung off to the sounds of sirens.

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It was already two when Peter finally dusted his hands off, staring proudly up at his handy work. Four men, tied securely in Pete’s trusty webs, slowly swung in little circles from a fire escape in a small alley. They all glared above the webbing on their mouths, mumbling curses and threats.

“Now, be good little boys and wait here for the police up pick you up, ok?” Pete said as he jumped onto the wall and crawled to the top.

Stretching, he bent to pick up his little bag of clothes and camera and slung it over his shoulder. Two full hours chasing those thugs around NYC. Two damn hours! He doubted that MJ was still asleep. She had probably left for lunch without him.

Leaping to another building, Peter reflected on the subject. Sure, she knew what he did, and sure, she had said that she completely understood his duty to the innocent people of NYC, but she was still prone to getting frustrated when they had to cancel dates because of his “side job.”

Hoping that she wasn’t too mad, Peter made to jump onto the side of a large building when he heard the unmistakable noise of a break in down bellow. Crouching on the ledge, he looked down. Five men with hoods pulled over their faces were crowded around a locked door, four glancing around to make sure the coast was clear as the fifth tried to unlock the wooden door.

Peter shook his head. Batman gets Mr. Freeze, Superman gets Lex Luther, and I get five idiots stupid enough to rob a store in broad day light. Boy do I pity myself.

Ok. He got to his feet and placed his bag on the ground. Let’s see. What witty one liner can I give these guys? . . . . Oh, I know! Ahem. . . If a door is locked, it usually means the owner doesn’t want anyone coming in. Yeah, that’ll do. Now, here goes nothing. . . seriously.

He opened his mouth to voice his one liner masterpiece—

“You know,” a voice growled from below. “if a door is locked, it usually means the owner doesn’t want anyone coming in.”

Pete gaped as four creatures materialized from the afternoon shadows and launched themselves onto the thugs.

That was my line! Was all he could think as the things attacked the men. Each creature, masked in different colors, attacked with different weapons. A purple masked one swept the legs from under a short guy with a staff thing; the orange masked thing hooted as he knocked another out with nun chucks; the red masked creature growled another witty one liner –Peter recognized the voice as the one who had stolen his masterpiece right out of his mouth—and pinned a stick thin man to the wall with fork things. The last thing, sporting a blue mask and two mean looking swords, sliced the hood off of another thug, threw him into a trash can, and knocked the other –who was now cowering against the wall-- out with the hilt of one of his weapons.

“Boo-yeah!” the orange masked thing whooped, punching the air triumphantly, “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one, Bad Guys nada!”

The red masked “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle” absentmindedly knocked his opponent out and unstuck him from the wall. “That’s the fifth damn robbery we’ve stopped today. We’d better not run into anymore-- I’m gonna miss my fucking show!”

“Language, Raph.” The blue masked turtle (Pete had initially thought they were giant frogs) scolded.

“Awwww,” the orange one cooed, “Is Raphy gonna cwy if he misses his wittle show? Poor wittle Raphy, he really woves his soap operas!”

The “Raph” turtle made a threatening move towards the other, who hid behind the purple clad turtle.

“Come on, guys.” The purple masked one said, moving away from the orange sporting one, “I want to get back to the lair already, too. That microwave isn’t going to fix itself.”

“Alright then,” the blue clad turtle said. Taking in the determined, decisive voice and the way the others looked at him, Peter marked him out as the leader of the group. “Lets go home.”

“Alright!” the orange one said gleefully. “I’ve got a pizza waiting for me in the kitchen. Can’t wait to get to it! I’m starving!”

“That’s nothing new.”

“Yeah, when aren’t you starving, Mikey?”

Peter watched in astonishment as the turtles blended in with the shadows and disappeared.

Guest

awesome story, I luv the idea of the Turtles and Spiderman working together, although, Superman's cooler and Batmans a better superhero cause he doesn't have super powers (just really cool gadgets) (hehe) but Spiderman's still super specail awesome, anyway, the story was great can't wait to read more

Shredder

SPIDERMAN Rocks. See Spiderman 3 coming soon.
But great story.

Ranger Ani

thanks! Actually, Spider Man is my fav super hero. I love him soooo much! . . . lol, yeah, anywayss. . . . I'm gonna try and be first in line at my theatre to get the tickets for SM 3. I've been going crazy waiting for that movie! Can't wait!

Chapter one is half done, by the way. . .

Guest

cool, me uncle did that for Star Wars 3, he saw the first showing at like midnight, I would never do that, I'd probably fall asleep during the movie (lol)

Ranger Ani

I finally finished chapter one! Here it be!

A/N: I do not own the TMNT universe or anything related to it. I also do not own the Spider-Man universe or anything related to it. . . . sucks to be me.

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Chapter one

“Come on, Luigi!” Mikey said through clenched teeth, brow furrowed in concentration. “Don’t fail me now!”

On the TV screen, Luigi was bent over from low health. Wheezing, the little green clad Italian shuffled away pathetically from a mechanical Bowser. Suddenly, without warning, Bowser put on a burst of speed and trampled poor little Luigi. Luigi yelped, did a dramatic spin on his heel, and collapsed on the ground. Dead. And as if to add insult to injury, Bowser came back and unleashed a jet of yellow flames over the motionless body.

At a loss for words, Mikey shook the purple Gamecube controller in a rage and huffed, glaring murderously at the game system. Twenty times –twenty times!-- and still Mikey couldn’t beat the darn game! Many, much harder games had been devoured by Mikey’s majestic game playing skills, had fallen to their knees and cried before Mikey the Great, had snapped in fear at the mere mention of Mikey’s name, and yet victory at Luigi’s Mansion still evaded him. Like a helium balloon bobbing on the ceiling, its string hanging just above your finger tips; so close, and yet so far.

Grumblemutterbloogpopgrumblegrrrrrrrrrr.

Mikey blinked. He placed a hand on his plastron, right atop his belly, and winced as his tummy made another grumble.

“Getting your shell kicked by a video game sure strikes up an apatite.” Mikey said to the empty living room. He switched the Gamecube off. The TV screen flickered to Channel Four News as Mikey got to his feet. He spared one last glance at the placid Gamecube before making his way to the kitchen. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be back for you later.”

After a quick, fruitless search of the refrigerator, Mikey dialed up the number for his favorite pizza parlor. As he waited for someone to pick up, he was dimly aware of what the news reporter on the TV was saying.

“. . . . scientists are baffled by the meteorite that hit in the middle of Central Park just last night,” the man was saying, “what seems to be a gooey, black substance has been extracted from the exceptionally small rock. While scientists believe the substance to be comprised of living, organic cells, they refrain from the theory that it may be extraterrestrial life. Until they are able to learn more about the substance, they. . . . .”

A cheerful voice finally answered. “Mia’s Pizzas, home of the best pizza in New York. I’m Keri, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Keri!” Mikey said back, “It’s Mikey! Long time, no speak.”

“Oh, hey Mikey!” Keri laughed, “Yeah, long time, no speak. Like yesterday afternoon is a long time.”

“Even a minute without hearing your lovely voice is a lifetime,” Mikey cooed.

A giggle. “Awww, how sweet. So, the usual?”

“You know me inside and out, baby.”

Another giggle. “Ok then, four large pizzas with a side order of cheese sticks and a litter of Coke. That’ll be forty-seven dollars.”

Mikey almost choked. “Forty seven dollars?”

“Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow, same as always.”

“My dad is gonna kill me.”

“Which is why you should get a job and pay out of your own pocket.”

A small smile. “Yeah, sure. You’re sure you can’t—“

“I already docked off ten dollars yesterday, Mikey. I’ll get fired if I do it again.” She barked a short laugh. “Heh, I’m paying for a guy I’ve never even met when I won’t even pay for my own sister.”

“It’s the charm, baby. Nobody can resist the sexy, charming voice of Mikey!”

“W’ever. Ok, it’ll be there in about thirty minutes. If it takes any longer, we’ll take seven bucks off the price.”

“Awesome. Send over Carl, he always gets here late!”

“Heh. Talk to you later, Mike.”

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“Peter!”

Peter looked up from the small TV behind the counter. Keri, a co-worker at Mia’s Pizzas, was waving at him from the phone.

“I’ve got an order for you!” she called.

Peter glanced back at the TV before making his way through the hustle and bustle behind the counter. He had barely been able to hear the reporter of Channel Four News above the racket of incoming customers. All he had been able to get was “ooze”, “Central Park”, and “organic.” Probably something about cleaning up the park. Nothing especially important.

“First order on your first day.” Keri said with a smile as Peter walked up to her. She held out a small paper with the address on it. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Peter said, taking the paper. “Don’t worry, I’ll get them delivered.”

“Make sure you do, Peter. These guys are our most valued customers.” Her voice was stern, but her smile was encouraging.

Peter smiled back at the young girl. She was nice and mildly pretty with short brown hair and large hazel eyes. A very friendly teenager, Keri and Peter had struck up a friendship almost immediately.

After waiting a few minutes for the order, Peter strapped the four pizzas, the soda, and the bread sticks to his scooter. He took off through the traffic, checking his watch every few minutes. Finally getting frustrated after spending seven minutes in a traffic jam, Peter parked in an alley way. Checking to make sure that no one was watching, he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his now famous Spider-Man costume. Within seconds, he was fully decked out in super hero mode with the order strapped smugly to his back. He shot a web line to the nearest building and took off.

As he soared through the air, ignoring the occasional calls from people below, Peter ran his eyes over every single alleyway he passed. Even after a whole week, he couldn’t get the “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” out of his head. He had searched for them whenever out on patrol, worried that they were a threat to the city. While they had seemed friendly enough when he last encountered them (putting aside their brutal fighting techniques) Peter was still suspicious. Who were they? What were they? How had they come to be? And how come he had never seen them before?

For a while he had considered contacting the X-Men, whom he encountered occasionally, and consulting with them on the subject. They were, after all, mutants. Perhaps they knew of each other. Maybe the turtles were even part of the team. But it just didn’t fit. The four turtles had seemed a team all their own; with that, and the fact that one of the X-Men would have been with them had they been members of the team, the possibility that these creatures were part of the X-Men was promptly dismissed.

Other numerous solutions as to the turtle’s origin and sudden appearance filtered through Peter’s head: government experiments, alternate universes, extraterrestrial societies, etc. Maybe, he mused, they were regular teenage boys bitten by radioactive turtles.

While that last thought made him chuckle, the others made him cringe. He hoped to God that these things weren’t bent on destroying the human race. He felt no desire to fight those mutants. After watching them take on those thugs, he got the distinct feeling that they were no push-overs.

As he landed on the side of an old building, Peter pushed the edge of his glove up and checked his watch. Fifteen minutes left. He looked up and scanned the streets below. A few blocks to go, he estimated. He was making pretty good time. For once, maybe he’d actually get an order delivered on time.

“Help! Somebody, hellllllp meeeeee!”

Peter’s heart dropped. So maybe he wouldn’t get this delivered on time.

He leaped onto a lower building and looked over the edge; a woman was cowering against a building, a small boy clutching onto her dress with wide, fearful eyes. Five men were closing in on them, knives gleaming in the fading sun light. Peter hurriedly (but carefully) placed the order on the ground and leaped off the building.

“Please,” the woman pleaded tearfully, “please, don’t hurt us. Please—“

“Ah, shut up, lady.” One of the men growled, twirling the knife in his fingers. “I’m getting’ tired of your friggin’ voice.”

“I’ll shut her up,” another sniggered, moving in closer.

“How about I shut you up?” said two voices at the same time.

The men barely had time to glance up in bewilderment before Spider-Man crashed right into them; at the same time, a creature materialized out of the shadows and attacked their side. Yelling, the men collapsed onto the ground with the two crime fighters on top of them.

A bewildered Peter stared right into the eyes of the mutant turtle called “Raph”; Raph stared right back. For a few seconds the two gaped at each other, both caught by complete surprise to bump into each other in such an unexpected way.

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“You did it again.” Spider-Man said as he picked a man above his head and tossed him aside almost carelessly.
Raph glared. Who was he to use that tone of voice with him? The masked super hero sounded annoyed.

Raph grabbed a man who was trying to run away by the shoulder and wrapped his arm around his neck, chocking him. “Did what again?”

Spider-Man punched his fist into another man’s face and shoved him to the ground. “You stole it.”

Letting the now unconscious gang member fall to the ground, Raph gaped. “What the shell are you talking about?”

“My one liner!” Spider-Man shot a ball of web stuff at a man’s face; it splattered, covering the guy’s whole face in sticky web.

Raph was speechless. His one liner? He rammed his padded knee into another thug’s gut and then into his head, knocking him out. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!”

“I take a lot of pride in my one liners.” Spider-Man said stiffly, “I should patent them.”

Ok, so not only was the guy crazy, but he was conceited too; and to think Mikey idolized the freak!

The man who Spider-Man had struck with webbing had somehow succeeded in tearing it off. With a terrified glance at the two crime fighters, he yanked the woman’s purse from her hands. The woman shrieked, alerting the two masked heroes.

Raph growled at the man running away. Without another glance at Spider-man, he sprinted for the gang member. And he would have caught him, too, if the wall crawler hadn’t leaped ahead of him and blocked his way, also making for the man.

“Ya weirdo, get outta my way!” Raph snarled, shoving Spider-Man out of his path. Spider-Man made a vexed sound and shoved back. Raph shoved back indignantly. The two continued to shove even as they pursued the man to the end of the alley. In-between being shoved and shoving back, Spider-Man shot a ball of webbing at the man. The man yelped and fell to the ground; the purse went soaring into the air.

“I got it!” Raph and Spider-Man yelled at the same time. Both dove for it as it fell to the busy street. Neither gave thought to being seen; Spider-Man never even thought about grabbing it with a line of webbing. Anger and annoyance at each other clouded their senses.

They crashed into each other at the same time the purse landed on its side in the middle of the street. Spider Man and Raph looked up just as a jeep crushed the purse flat.

“You morons!” the woman shrieked, coming up from behind them. “I had my Razor in there and everything!”

Spider-Man untangled himself from Raph and rubbed his neck apologetically. “Sorry, ma’am. It was, uh, an accident—“

“Jerk!” the little boy piped up, holding his mother’s hand.

“You’re both jerks!” the woman added, glancing down at a dazed Raph.

Raph got to his feet and glared. “Hey, lady, it wasn’t my fault. If Spider-Boy here hadn’t gotten in my way, I would have-“

She cut him off. “What’s with the get up? Are you trying to hide your identity from me? The police’ll still get you!” She waved her arms in the air and screamed, “Help! Help me! I’m being attacked by two freaks!”

Raph’s heart skipped a beat. The few people who hadn’t stared them when they popped out of the alley were now gawking with the rest. Most of them were snapping pictures and recording video of them with their cell phones. Someone was calling the police.

Turning to Raph, Spider-Man growled, “Time to disappear, but I’m not done with you—“

But Raph was already gone.

Ranger Ani

A/N: Wow! An update! Surprised? Heh, sorry about taking so long to update. When writer’s block hits me, it hits me bad. Anyway, here’s Chapter Two. Its extra long as an apology. And everyone who reads it gets four cookies. Yay.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I bid ye enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT universe or anything related to it. I also do not own the Spider-Man universe or anything related to it. . . . sucks to be me.

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Chapter Two
Peter was having a hard time understanding what Fate had against him. It seemed that it never gave him a break; he was always messing up where he didn’t have the privilege to do so, no matter how hard he tried to do everything right. So yes, he blamed Fate for his current misfortunes. How could it be his fault when he gave his all to do his best?

For example, Fate had made Peter take that certain route to get to the delivery point; it had nothing to do with the fact that it was the easiest way to get there. Fate had also arranged the attack on the woman and her child; no, it was not a coincidence. In addition, Fate had the nerve to toss a turtle mutant in the mix; said mutant had ruined Peter’s attempt to save the woman and her kid. Sure, the guy had taken out a couple of thugs himself, but he had gotten in Peter’s way when he was going after the purse! Peter was sure that if Raph hadn’t been there, he would have taken the thugs on in less than a minute, and the woman wouldn’t have screamed her lungs out.

All the things Fate had done to Peter led up to this one event: he was running late for his delivery. Really late. Like, he could get fired if his boss was in the mood for firing late. The small struggle in the alley had taken up seven minutes, and it took another six minutes for Peter to give up trying to calm the woman down. He was going to get a call from her lawyer, he was informed. As soon as she found out his phone number. Which, Peter was happy to admit, would never happen, because he certainly wasn’t listed as Spider-Man in the phone book.

So he had two minutes left. Within those two minutes, he was to travel five blocks to get to the delivery point.

Ok, class, time for some critical thinking. What could Spider-Man have done to anger Fate and her best friend, Lady Luck, enough to make them give him the worst possible day? Peter heaved a deep sigh and answered his own question bitterly,The simple act of being born, maybe?

Yes, he decided when a plop of hot, white bird poop splattered on his outstretched arm. Fate and Lady Luck definitely had something against him.

Reluctantly ignoring the white splatter on his recently washed costume, Peter shot a web line off to a nearby building and took off. The order was tied securely to his back by a web; below, a crowd of people had gathered around the shrieking woman. Before Peter left the scene, he thought he heard her yelling about how he and Raph had threatened her with blackmail.

Why is it that everyone I come into contact with has to blow the meeting out of proportion? Peter wondered, JJ’s gonna have a field day with that woman; might even marry her if she gives him enough trash about me.

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Mikey had never seen a delivery man arrive so fast. Ok, so the guy was four minutes late, but it was the fastest time a Mia’s Pizza delivery man had taken to date. Delivery time was crappy at Mia’s Pizza, but the food was to die for.
“This way, dude,” Mikey called. The man in the bright yellow suit and orange hat twirled around from the building he was staring at. “Ok, now look down.”

The man slowly complied. Gaping, he froze in shock. Mikey frowned; the delivery men usually just looked confused when they saw a green hand waving at them from a sewer grate. It was kind of new to see one of them look surprised, frightened, and angry all at once.

“You’re late!” Mikey chimed happily, not at all displeased. “That means I keep seven bucks!” Which was good, because he only had forty dollars.

Mikey frowned when the guy swelled up like a helium balloon with indignation. No, no; like an enormous, furious, hot-air balloon being filled with gallons of white hot anger. He just stood there, order in hand, glaring at Mikey’s sewer grate.

“Uh. . . so, can I have my pizzas now?” Mikey asked tentatively. He really didn’t want to get on this guy’s bad side; he looked like the smallest shove could push him over the edge.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing in the sewers?” The guy asked stiffly; he didn’t move an inch towards the grate.

“I’m a sewer gator,” Mikey joked. He had expected the guy to laugh; instead, his eyes widened in shock. “Dude. . . I’m joking,” Mikey laughed. Uncomforted by this news, the guy just continued to stare. “You know. . . joking,” Mikey continued, the humor leaving his voice, “It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh. . . because it was a joke. . . and jokes are funny. You get where I’m coming from?”

“What are you doing in the sewers?” The man repeated.

Mikey heaved an irritated sigh. “Man, what does it matter? Just give me my pizzas, I’ll give you your money, and we can both be on our way!”

A minute passed, and the guy still hadn’t moved. Mikey was beginning to get fed up. Just as the turtle was going to ask what was taking so long, the guy nodded as if making a huge decision and began to pass the pizzas through the grate.

“Well, finally!” Mikey huffed, taking the pizza boxes as they came to him one by one. He had to push the grate up a little to grab the soda; he stayed well back and out of sight, though, as the man warily handed him the Coke. The man fumbled with the breadsticks box, almost dropping it.

“Hey, watch it!” Mikey snapped.

“Sorry,” the guy muttered.

Mikey was happy to hand the man his forty dollars at the end. He had no desire to be with the guy any longer; it was like if he said the wrong thing, he might snap and tear Mikey’s head off.

“Dude, seriously,” Mikey said when the man counted the dollars and tucked them into his pocket, “You look like you could use a day off or something. Stay home from work tomorrow, go on a cruise, take a day at the spa, something. You need to relax. You’re looking like you got something stuck up where the sun don’t shine, if you know what I mean.”

The man cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. You look too stiff, man. You need to relax, go with the flow, all that good stuff. Seriously. If you keep scowling like that, your face is gonna stay like that,” he added when the man scowled. Master Splinter used to say that a lot when Mikey and his brothers were younger. It had scared the crud out of him, even though Don said it wasn’t true. But Mikey had a suspicion that this delivery man was doing a lot of scowling lately; he was beginning to believe the guy never changed expressions.

For an answer, the man rolled his eyes and backed away from the grate until he was out of Mikey’s sight. Mikey stayed where he was, eyeing the spot where the man had been standing; he didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes before he disappeared.

“Scary guy,” he muttered to no one.

Deciding to shrug it off, Mikey tucked the pizzas under one arm and the Coke under the other, balancing the breadsticks box on his head. He quickly but carefully made his way back home, zigzagging to keep the breadsticks box from toppling off his head. Soon he was speaking to an invisible crowd in a deep, smooth, announcer like voice.

“And here comes Michaelangelo the Great, the greatest mutant ninja turtle to ever enter the Balance Things On Your Head contest! He’s the best of the best, folks. He can balance almost anything on his head for minutes on end. Look at his smooth technique, moving from side to side to keep the box from falling. Notice the deep concentration on his handsome face, the seriousness in his baby blue eyes. . . yes, folks, I think he may just break the world record! Just four more seconds, Mikey! Three! Two! O—“

The box tumbled off his head. Mikey could only gape as the box flew through the air; if he tried to catch it, he would drop the most important packages: pizza. So with a broken heart he watched as the top opened to reveal hot, cheesy breadsticks to make any mouth water; it was if it were crying out to him, pleading with him to catch it before it fell to its doom.

The sickening splash of the box crashing into the murky sewer water made him wince and look away.

“Goodbye, breadsticks,” he sighed, forcing himself to look at the open box in the water, “You were still young and warm. . . fresh, soft, cheesy. . . You didn’t deserve to go so suddenly. I bet you must have been very tasty, breadsticks.” The box slowly sunk beneath the surface; the breadsticks floated on the surface, bobbing grimly against each other. “I’ll miss you.”

He bowed his head for a moment of silence.

“. . . . Folks, I think he’s going to try and break the record again! Watch as he carefully places the Coke bottle on his head; notice how he bobs his head side to side to keep the cold, sweet drink from falling! This is beautiful, folks. Just beautiful! Ohmygosh, I think he’s going to run! Yes! He’s running while balancing the Coke on his head! This is amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it. . . !”

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Peter tossed the bag of webbing off to the side; inside was his delivery man uniform. He was now in his Spider-Man costume, ready for action.
“Or, just a bit of sneaky tracking,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his mask on over his face.

He grabbed his handheld, electronic planner from atop the dumpster he had taken refuge behind to change and switched it on. The screen lit up to reveal a maze like map. Red tinged and bright, the light shining from the screen made a small ball of light around Peter, alighting on the dingy dumpster and casting creepy shadows. All in all, it created a foreboding atmosphere. It almost made Peter think twice about following that mutant turtle he had delivered the pizzas to.

But I have to follow it, he thought grimly, staring at the red screen with a furrowed brow, ThatRaph turtle has led me to think that these things really are dangerous. Raph looked fierce. . . he was fierce. I can only imagine how the others are. . . .

He remembered how the others had been when he saw them for the first time; they hadn’t seemed too bad, but through the years he had spent as a superhero, Peter learned that looks can be very deceiving.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at the one beneath the sewer grate thanks to bad lighting, but he had recognized its voice. If he remembered correctly, that had been the one with the orange mask, the one who had teased Raph about soap operas. That one had seemed playful, and when it had spoken to Peter, Peter got the impression it had meant absolutely no harm to him; it had just wanted its pizzas. Peter had been taken back when it told him to relax; it had sounded as if it actually cared.

“Which is crazy,” Peter told himself as he snuck out from behind the dumpster, “It was just being witty. A witty turtle. . . go figure.”

After making sure that no one was watching, he grabbed the sewer grate and pulled it up. He slipped in beneath it, sticking onto the roof of the sewer. As he let the grate slid close behind him, he sat back on his haunches and looked at the planner’s screen. A couple of months ago, he had bought and modified the device, transforming it from a regular planner into a tracking device. After accomplishing this, he built tiny trackers in the shape of spiders that would cling onto whatever he clipped them to. The planner would read the signals transmitting from the Spider Trackers and relay it to the red screen as a beeping black dot, so that Peter could track the subject that had the tracker.

Right now, the beeping black dot that was the orange masked turtle was moving along in a direction just north of Peter. Peter had placed the Spider Tracker on the box holding the breadsticks. Grinning, Peter congratulated himself; no one would notice the tiny tracker on the bottom of the box. No one ever really paid any attention to the breadsticks boxes; the pizza boxes hogged all the attention.

Yes, that had been a beautiful plan of his. Absolutely wonderful.

Crawling along the roof of the sewers, Peter began to make his way towards the orange masked turtle. He would find out where they lived, how many there were, and if he really had reason to fear them.

I’d better find something good. The smell is really getting to me; it’s gonna sink into my suit. . . great, now people are going to complain that I stink. Superheroes don’t stink; they smell like. . . like. . . like whatever deodorant they’re wearing. Yeah. And right now I smell like. . . sewers. This had better not be for nothing.

Peter’s heart stopped; he was nearer to the dot than he had thought. In fact, the dot had stopped moving. If Peter had gone any faster, he would have been right on top of it within a minute or two. Why had it stopped? Had it sensed Peter following it?

Please don’t let that be true. I can’t afford any more bad luck right now.

A voice reached his ears. Not loud enough to let him know how close he was to the turtle, the voice suddenly faded away. The voice had sounded like it was moving on, but the dot hadn’t moved.

What’s up with that? Peter frowned. Maybe there’s more than one. . . the one I’m tracking is staying still. The voice had belonged to another. . . it has to be that. He heaved a deep sigh, Well, I’m never going to find out just sitting here. Might as well get a move on. . . .

He continued his crawling. His eyes switched from ahead of him to the tracker’s screen, then back again. He was getting closer to the object faster than he had anticipated. Within the next ten seconds, he was right on top of the dot.

He looked down warily; no one was there. He squinted into the shadows, but could make out nothing. He was completely alone. Had his tracker short circuited or something? He checked the planner; no, it was working. It was telling him he should be right above the turtle. But there was no one. . . .

His eyes caught something floating in the water. Right next to the walk way was a square something. . . something yellow, something familiar. . . .

No, Peter groaned, his heart falling, Nononono, it can’t be. . . .

But it was.

The breadsticks box was just below the surface of the sewer water surrounded by soaked breadsticks. The top was open, the surface of the top on the water, which meant the poor little Spider Tracker was submerged in water. If Peter didn’t get it soon, the water would seep into it and kill it. Mumbling under his breath, Peter shot a web line at the box and jerked it up; the box flew into his waiting arms. He picked the Spider Tracker off the top and let the box drop.

So, the turtle was smarter than Peter had initially thought. It had sensed the tracker and tossed the box into the water to mislead Peter. It was probably miles away, laughing its green head off at poor Spider-Man.

This whole “Track Mutant Turtles Down and See If They Are Evil” plan was going to be harder than he thought.

But Peter was determined to find the turtle. So, tucking the Spider Tracker into a small web bag along with the planner, he proceeded to crawl along the sewer’s roof, heading in the direction he had heard the voice going.

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“Dude, it was an accident!”
“Yeah, uh-huh, well—you’re cleaning that accident up.”

Mikey pouted at his purple masked brother and used the most pitiful, puppy dog eyes he could muster. Apparently unmoved by the action, Don held out a mop towards Mikey and pointed at the dark puddle of Coke on the floor. He himself was dripping with Coke; he could feel the drink drying up and becoming sticky.

He had known there was trouble coming when Mikey hobbled into the lair trying to balance a bottle of Coke on his head. Don opened his mouth to suggest he put the Coke down when the bottle tipped and fell off Mikey’s head; it flipped through the air, crashed on the ground, bounced up once and came down again hard; the pressure had built up inside the bottle from all the shaking, and with that last thump on the ground, the air rushed upwards and pushed on the top; the top popped off, hit Don right on the forehead, and was promptly followed by a spray of Coke.

Hence Don covered in drying soda, hence Don holding out a mop to Mikey, hence Mikey pleading with Don to let Mikey off the hook. This, obviously, wasn’t going to happen.

“Take the mop, Mikey.”

“But—“

“Take it.”

“Can’t I just—“

“No.”

“I promise I’ll—“

“Mop. Take it. Now.”

Mikey hastily snatched the mop from Don’s hands. When Don used incomplete sentences, it meant pain coming for anyone who argued with him.

Don’s hand whipped downward and pointed a finger and the mess on the floor. Mikey complied and began to mop it up, pouting. Now thoroughly content with the situation, Don nodded and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

Later on, Leo came out from his room. Face buried in a large, blue book, he looked up to find Mikey swaying with the mop and singing at the top of his lungs.

"Step by steeep, I fell in love with yoooou!" Mikey sang, "And step by steeep, it wasn't hard to doooo! Kiss by kiss and hand in hand, thats the way it all begaaan! Soon we found the perfect plan for loooooove!"

Leo cocked an eyebrow when Mikey dipped the mop and twirled it in the air, catching it quickly and bringing it to him. Tenderly holding it to his body, he swung his hips in small circles and bobbed his head side to side, grinning.

Finally, Leo could hold back no longer.

“Nice moves, Mikey,” he laughed, closing his book with a snap. Mikey started and twirled around to gape at Leo; he hadn’t sensed him behind him. “Seriously, you should try out for Dancing With the Stars. I’d vote for you.”

“Oh, hahahaha, listen to the funny turtle,” Mikey rolled his eyes and continued to mop up the mess. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never danced with the mop before.”

“I can tell you that, actually,” Leo chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen table.

“I can’t believe you can resist Mop.”

“I can.”

“Just feel her rough, wet hair, Leo. Let your hand grip her splintered handle and you’ll fall for her.”

“I’ll pass.”

Dabbing his face with a towel, Don came out from the bathroom and grinned at Mikey. “Awww, Mikey, you’re with Mop now? I thought you and Broom had something.”

“Broom got boring after a while. Mop’s exciting.”

Leo shook his head and sat down. He pulled a pizza box towards him and opened it, grabbed a slice, and began to sprinkle powdered parmesan cheese on it. “This conversation just got weird. . . er. It got weirder than it already was.”

Don snorted. “You think that’s bad, you should listen to him talk about his video games.”

The door to the lair opened; Raph stomped in. Muttering under his breath and clenching his fists, the glowering turtle made his way past his bothers and to his room without even looking at them. Leo, Don and Mikey exchanged worried glances.

“Uh, Raph?” Mikey said tentatively, “Dinner is ready.”

Raph ignored him. He gripped the doorknob to his door and yanked the door open.

“What’s wrong, Raph?” Leo asked.

“Nothin’!” Raph snapped. He ignored the indignant look Leo shot him and slammed the door.

“Well,” Don muttered around a mouthful of pizza, “Somebody’s moody today.”

“Isn’t he always?” Mikey stated. He propped the mop up against the wall and sat down at the table with his brothers. “You think he wants his pizza? If he doesn’t want it, I wouldn’t mind eating it for him.”

“How kind of you, Mikey.”

“Yes, I know.”

Splinter’s bedroom door slid open; Splinter hobbled down the steps with his walking staff, humming quietly to himself, and passed by the kitchen. Smiling, he looked up at his sons. “Good evening, my sons.”

“Evening, Sensei,” the turtles greeted cheerfully.

Splinter looked at each of their faces, a frown growing on his own. “Where is Raphael?”

“In his room, Master Splinter,” Leo answered solemnly. “He looked like he had. . . uh. . . a bad day.”

Splinter sighed and shook his head. “Ah, Raphael. . . always the angry one.”

As his sons went back to their meal, Splinter made for the living room couch and sat down. He grabbed the remote, switched the TV on, and sighed contentedly. “A brand new episode of As the Universe Spins is on tonight after the news. Carla is bearing Bobby’s child, not Sean’s, I just know it. . . .”

“For those of you who have just tuned in,” began the reporter on the TV, “We’ve been showing brand new footage of the Spider-Man and Turtle-Boy incident from this afternoon.”

The lair went silent. The turtles looked up from their half eaten pizzas to stare at the TV; Splinter sat straight up, all his attention focused on what the reporter was saying.

“This footage is courtesy of Kitty Flores. She was able to film Spider-Man and Turtle-Boy emerging from the alley with her cell phone as they reportedly tried to toss a woman’s purse into the street.”

The screen switched from the smiling woman to a shaky, jerking image of Spider-Man jumping out of an alley; and, right by his side was—

“Raphael!” Splinter bellowed.

A line of colorful curse words could be heard emitting from behind Raph’s closed door.

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The next day, not only was the footage all over the TV, but on the newspapers and Youtube as well. Screen clips of Spider-Man and “Turtle-Boy”, as the media had dubbed Raph, were on the front pages of every single newspaper. On Youtube, the clip was the top viewed video. People were already cutting it up and creating theories and government conspiracies; one person even made a music video.
It was by now common belief that Raph –or, “Turtle-Boy” as he was known to the public-- was Spider-Man’s sidekick. Where he had come from, how he had been created, and even where he lived were all the talk in NYC. In addition to the already popular Spider-Man t-shirts sold in almost every New York clothing store, Turtle-Boy t-shirts were beginning to show up.

Nobody knew if he was a good guy or a bad guy, but they loved him none the less.

Of course, the woman who had been reportedly attacked by the duo also got her share of the fame. Her lawyer told her she couldn’t sue Spider-Man; not only because they couldn’t get a hold of him, but also because he was a public icon. He was in the public domain, almost public property , and was therefore not able to be sued. So she went to for the city instead.

She didn’t win.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed chapter two! Chapter three is being worked on as you read this. I promise to post it soon.