Chapter Text
Leo can only remember the excruciating pain and the lonely feeling. Most of the pain went away, save for headaches, a few leftover sprains, and aches in his unused legs. The loneliness only grew worse.
He couldn't quite understand it. His family had never shown him as much attention as they did now. Now that he was broken and bruised. All the time he spent alone was self-inflicted. Even then, he had all the voices to keep him company.
All of those goddamned voices...
They ate him alive! They consumed the flesh from his bones, the thoughts from his head, and the hope from his soul.
Hope... what was it he said about hope?
Was it a lie? Hope sure as hell couldn't get him out of this one. Hope was little more than a butterfly in a hurricane now. Maybe a positive attitude could've helped him before, but it wasn't doing anything now.
He felt like a blank canvas.
He woke up with a start, and he was alone. That's not right. Didn't he save them? If he saved them, then where are they?
He reached for the needle in his wrist and dug it out with an unsteady hand. Blood trickled steadily from the wound, and he brought it up to his mouth.
He stumbled, using the walls as some semblance of balance for support as he made his way to the kitchen. It was still silent, never a good sign. Then, maybe everyone was out. Maybe they'd left him to fend for himself.
Maybe they didn't care what happened to him!
But no, they wouldn't do such a thing. Not to him! They loved him, he thinks.
He heard glass shatter on the ground. When he looked up, all he saw was a stark flash of purple against the dull walls. The vague memory came back very clearly. The purple slime spread up his legs, and the clammy skin of it's hand made contact with his skull.
This was just his sibling, though. Nothing to be frightened about.
So why was he terrified? Something wrong with his brain, maybe.
The whole world seemed to be a blur. Colors were vague and dull, sharp edges seemed dull, his vision was clouded with fog. It wasn't that different before, why should it be a big deal now? He could ignore it. No one would care anyway. Why would anyone care about him?
He couldn't think of a reason.
He does know what happens to blank canvases, though. They get covered in paint. Colors and strokes are added until it can't hold anymore and overflows and becomes a distinctly unique work of art.
So who was he?
He was Leo. But who was Leo, and who is he now? What keyhole could he fit into? Did he have to make a new one?
He knows that if he was different, then everyone else would be happy. Even he would be happy. He can't see another way out of it. He's blind.
At some point he decides he's never going to be weak ever again. He's going to be loved. If they didn't love him before, it was his fault. He had to have ruined it himself.
This was all he could do. He had the chance to shred his old canvas. The ugly, angry, red and uncoordinated work that depicted everything wrong with him. He wasn't anything but chaos and problems. He was destruction and terror.
But he couldn't give himself all the credit, could he?
He could make a new painting. He'd seen beautiful ones before, lining the walls of his home and left in shreds in the ground. Whoever he was before he slept would be forgotten. Every urge he had would be buried and left in the dirt.
He wanted to be loved. Then he could deal with himself.
The coma felt akin to being in a little glass box. He felt like he'd stared at the stars for decades, knowing the peaceful space he'd been able to reside in could topple over at any moment. He didn't really want to wake up.
But he did, and he was there now.
Now he would look into his intermost thoughts, everything he thought he buried down deep in his mind's vault. He would reach down into his soul and take a long look at himself. It'd be like ripping his heart out and cutting it open, but only for himself to see. Everyone else would only see the bloody aftermath, and it was going to be beautiful.
When he looked at how he felt, all he saw was a scared child. One devoid of any color and being. That wasn't who everyone thought he was before, was it? They thought he was bright and fun and vibrant!
He drove the knife through his skull, watching the child's eyes fall with his body. It didn't hurt him to cut the weakness out. This was what was keeping him from being loved, this stupid child. Now he wouldn't have to hate himself. Everything was going to be fantastic.
The limp figure that looked back at him from in the mirror could be fixed, too. He pushed the corners of his mouth up, feeling the familiar twist of a smile. Did he keep this face up before? Was he doing his job right? Did they notice he wasn't perfect?
It didn't matter anymore, because that's what he was going to be. Even if he'd already decided that he was going to die, he was going to be perfect. All for some pitiful semblance of a clearly false self-love. But he believed it was true. All he had to do was smile.
It was suddenly as if nothing ever happened. No one can change the past, so it's better to ignore it. Even if it changes you completely.
Now he was beautiful, inside and out. No one would even notice something was eating at him from the inside. Not even himself. He was lost to himself now.
"Now that the face man's back in action and feelin' stronger than ever we'll be unstoppable! Won't we?"
Lies. It was all lies. His body ached, he wanted to die. There just wasn't anyone left to see it.
"That's not a very good idea."
"Sure it is! Crime rate's higher than ever, who's else's- who else is gonna be there to stop it?" It was obvious he wasn't okay in the way he still didn't speak correctly. His tongue still slurred all of his words.
He noted he'd have to work on it.
"You can't fight with a crutch, Leo, you can't even walk without it. You hardly made it down the stairs just now."
"Don't disagree with me. You guys know... know I don't get things wrong. Neon Leon's undefeated and unstoppable! Whatever happened to optimism?"
They all know exactly what happened to it. It was stomped out of all them when they nearly died and lost their brother to this sad, empty shell of a boy.
Leo realizes he doesn't know how to fix them. He caused it in the first place. How was he supposed to move on if they couldn't? Were they just useless and immature? He considers leaving them behind.
Or he can look to the knife he used on his heart. He had to fix something. He could fix himself, and remove himself from everything everywhere. For the greater good!
Or he could try harder, do better, and fix those who were too childish to keep trying.
Something had drove him to hate, hadn't it?
"Your shell is still looking pretty bad, you haven't been listening to my orders." His twin said, shaking their head in blatant disappointment.
He could do something about that. "I'll do better, Dee."
"I told you not to move around too much." They scowled, obviously trying to keep from yelling. "You're supposed to be in bed, yet it feels like I've hardly seen you there."
"I lost like a month's-worth of growth. I have to make up for it somehow." He shrugged.
"You- you were comatose after you sacrificed yours-"
"That's not what happened. I didn't sacrifice anything, I did my job and saved everyone." He smiled, only pissing them off further. "That's just what I'm supposed to do. Bare minimum. When have I ever done anything but the bare minimum, hm?"
Donnie's clipboard clatter to the floor and they stormed out, muttering under their breath. Leo didn't know what he did wrong.
He never once complained of hurting ever again. He convinced Donnie he could take care of himself, and even if his condition had gotten worse, they were content. That was what mattered. It wasn't that bad, anyway. He'd get over it.
Leo kept getting stronger. If he was strong enough, he could protect everyone. They never had to get hurt again. He spent too much of his time training alone. It was often late at night, so he didn't disturb anyone. He'd throw punches until the floor was splattered with blood.
He didn't notice the youngest staring from the doorway one night. Not until he cleared his throat loudly. The sound cut through the air like a knife, and Leo acknowledged it before he truly even heard it.
"What are you doing?" He said quietly from across the room, voice small and tired.
Leo was confused, but he hardly let it show. "I'm getting some extra training in. What's it look like I'm doing?"
"No, I said: what are you doing?" He repeated himself, face twisted in anger. It wasn't a forceful anger, he looked more frustrated or confused. He wasn't even looking at Leo, more just looking past him.
His smile dropped slightly, "What do you mean?"
"What do you think about yourself?" He asked, pointing to Leo. Leo stepped towards him with apprehension and worry, but he recoiled. He threatened to run with nothing but a few steps back from the doorway.
"I... haven't I made it clear?" He laughed loudly, fixing that same grin back onto his face. "I'm the greatest ninja on earth. I've never messed up in my life. There's isn't a single decent soul who hates me."
Leo spoke so robotically, like it was rehearsed. He had spoken the same words to himself over and over in his head.
The question made him go back into that blood filled room. He could hear his heart racing from behind the walls. It came from everywhere around him. Everywhere except his own chest.
Then he saw that child again. The small child who he hated so much that he killed him. He sat there smiling, genuinely. He was happy. Even if he was the source of so much pain.
Leo picked the younger Leo up underneath his armpits. He smiled and chirped, despite still having that knife lodged in his skull. Leo smiled at his younger self for a split second.
"Isn't this the weakness you feared so much?" He asked himself. The child was now above him, holding his face down on the cold, imaginary tile. His free hand held his own heart, beating and bleeding. The heart which he'd cut out. It was forced down his throat.
"That's not true, Leo. You hate yourself. " Mikey told him, finally abandoning him in the open room. All of the voices accompanying him appeared to just be him. Something had made that obvious.
You hate yourself? You hate yourself. It was a load of bullshit, but that's what he'd said! You hate yourself!
But he didn't. He'd said he didn't. So he didn't.