Chapter Text
They were each socialized by Splinter, TV, and never being more than five metres out of earshot and kicking range of the three most annoying brothers on the planet, so the surface is a promised land. Anything they want, they have a slim chance of finding in an alley, empty street, or on a rooftop. Think of that! The world (the part of it they could access at night without being seen) is their oyster! Here there might be justice (and willing Space Heroes cosplayers), or cadmium processors with quantum encryption, or too-tired and out-too-late delivery boys to spook, or new culinary horizons (pizza would certainly prove itself addicting in less than a bite).
An empiricist would tell them they first emerge to a derelict alley, and not try to colour in the accompanying sense perceptions with metaphysics. The city’s ineptness at garbage management, pest control, and caring for the homeless was in full, shameless evidence. A rationalist would marvel at the topside-blinders they have on, which make the word beautiful possible in such a place.
They know their existence must be secret, but newly-christened fifteen, they’re not sure the teenagers within them can stand this anonymity much longer. Nearly in full force, this teenager – which TV has told them is a messy, combative, baselessly egotistical parent-disobeying monster, and therefore a veritable boogeyman, because how could we disobey Master Splinter? and we were raised to be ethical and honourable, which these kids are clearly not – is restless. They’re fighting a losing battle. They even want to lose, because wouldn’t it be fun to be free and make mistakes, like teenagers do on TV? Each has secretly slotted themselves into this role; they know better than to do it, it’s a forbidden thought any way you cut it. But if this, their own sitcom pilot, if it’s remote and concealed and compacted into next-to-nothing by the layers of knowledge that preclude it from ever happening, like rock formations through millennia, then it’s okay, right? Just to hold on to the very natural and not-at-all one-in-four in the world questions: What would it be like to walk the streets? Go to school? To not surrender half your time to a family-bound tradition, and the other half to keeping your strength up with what little you have so that tradition doesn’t kill you?
So it is genuinely beautiful, to ascend that first building and reach that first rooftop. To run (more than five metres away from each other!) and leap and cheer, without fear of slipping in what’s beneath their feet: they’ve conditioned themselves not to think about that. To indulge a bit in being a Captain Ryan hero or a Ryan Gosling romantic lead.
And, of course, to not suffer through Mikey’s dramatic warbling of “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid; he’d taken to doing it more often the last few months as their limited VHS selection wormed its way into his memory on repeat viewings. Clutching at the bars of a sewer grate with big shining eyes, he’d wax poetic while the others tugged at his legs and tried to pry him off. Don’t be heard or seen, they scolded.
No, they couldn’t bear another of those ‘masterpiece performances’. They’d make themselves a part of the world, if only to fulfill a promise to Mikey.
Filth is relative.
Leo knows this. So when Mikey presses his face against the window of a comic book shop, he stops himself from pointing out its obvious layer of grime. When Raph picks up a discarded carton and chucks it at Donnie’s shell, laughing, and Leo doesn’t think he should even have to tell him what might be in it (old milk, but who cares about that when it’s the only kind you’ve ever drank, and that was a couple times when you were six), but he’s about to launch into the lecture anyway – until he’s not. When Donnie takes a deep breath from where a car’s exhaust had been a moment ago, that look in his eye saying he wants one so he can destroy it and build it better, Leo can’t bring himself to remind Donnie that he knows exhaust is bad, and wouldn’t he have half a dozen makeshift ways to measure the air quality right now and confirm it for himself.
But whatever. Being sanitary? Hygienic? Cleaning strangers’ windows and disposing of their litter in the middle of the night so they can wake to a slightly better world? Leo’s heart flips a little at the prospects of justice and community betterment, but he shuts it down, for now. Can’t he have one night to be selfish, and drink up the world? Their father’s life is austere, and he doesn’t seem to have much fun except when his sons fall on their asses during training. Leo spends enough time trying to follow his path. This will be only a small diversion.
He’ll relax. Really. He’ll try as hard as he can – that’s what he always does when he wants to learn something new – and relaxation should come to him, without noticing the contradiction in this method.
After warning Mikey that a box of hot food might be dangerous, he cringes internally – just relax, Leo, don’t get on their cases. It’s precious, this hot food. Scarfing it down without a second thought would speak to a far greater self-preservation instinct than approaching it with caution.
He turns to leave for a moment, and Donnie goes and falls in love.
And Raph has to go and tease him for it, so Leo knows then that Hamato ‘what-I-don’t-have-feelings-I’m-logical-and-rational-and-oh-no-I’m-crying-at-Love Actually-again’ Donatello would have a chip on his shoulder about that for at least a week.
Then his love and her father were being kidnapped by some sci-fi-ishly identical men in suits, and Leo’s short fling with being a cool and relaxed teenager is over. It’s not you, it’s me.
Okay, so maybe Master Splinter hasn’t (yet!) sensed in Leo the true warrior’s spirit that would forge them all into the heroes they are destined to become, but he is proud of tonight. He’d gotten his brothers to sit still so he could teach them his original hand signal system. He’d thought of the power generator plan, and gone weed whacking, if he could allow himself the heroic pun. He’d boosted Donnie in his dash to rescue April, which would earn him some goodwill bro points. Enough for about a week of Donnie listening when Leo hounded him to get some sleep, and an exchange of soft morning smiles instead of Donnie’s usual I’ll-scowl-‘til-I’m-caffeinated look.
Mikey calls him and sensei into the pit to catch the news broadcast. At their anonymous mention, Donnie and Mikey turn to each other and light up, because there’s the proof. They exist, the world has seen them, they have joined it. Please, please don’t let it be a temporary foray (or Mikey may have to resort to dazzling, yet again, with the best song from The Little Mermaid, instead of practicing “I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)” like he wanted to because Megara, duh). Leo smiles at this, and at Raph’s posture on the couch, feigning disinterest while the intentness of his eyes upon the screen and small smile give him away.
As sensei speaks, Leo almost wants to let his voice recede before the ninja sermonizing begins. But he remembers himself. The teenager is on a roof a hundred feet above him, waiting for another night. Down here he is the (arbitrarily decided) eldest son, the leader. Sensei made topside possible; he should be grateful. It is a privilege he has to carefully defend, for his brothers.