Chapter Text
When Leo throws Casey through Mikey’s portal, it feels as though he’s throwing away the last remnant of hope he has for this world along with him.
That’s fine. The sentiment will better serve his student than it will him. If everything goes according to plan, Leo shouldn’t have much longer to live. Casey screams for Leonardo as he falls away, and another piece of him chips away at the sheer distraught panic lacing his student’s voice. He’s already gone through so much pain. Experienced such loss. Leo will never forgive himself for adding to it.
He plasters on a brave face, smiles, and jumps into action. If this is to be the kid’s last memory of him, he wants it to be of his sensei as the hero.
He fights off the Krang with the last of his strength, watching from his peripherals as the golden portal gradually closes behind him.
HIs little brother’s essence falls like glowing snow to the ground as the energy field snips shut behind him, and Leo’s smile drops, the facade falling with it. For the first time in his life, he is truly alone.
His plan is complete. His job is done. Now all that's left for him to do is fight - his final stand.
The concept instils a strange sense of stillness within him. A detached kind of calm. His worldview narrows down to simple, fundamental actions. Attack. Parry. Slice here. Dodge now. The last time Leo has fought this recklessly he was sixteen, arrogant and immature, still holding onto the stupidly naive belief that he and his brothers were indestructible.
Morbid questions pass over the surface of his mind in quick succession. Which strike will be his last? How will he die? Will it be painful? Leon holds frame. He’s afraid, he’s terrified, but he won’t allow the terror to tear down his composure. The thoughts - the fear. It’s not important. There’s only one truth here that matters. A whirlwind of potent emotions that the shock has cut down to a simple, comforting solace.
He’ll be with his brothers soon.
A blinding wall of heat and light erupts to his right, engulfing his arm. His prosthetic disappears in the fiery glow. Leo glances at it, and the colour fills his vision, burning his irises.
Why is it so red? So bright? It’s not sunset.
Oh.
Fire.
The thought passes over his consciousness like paper in the wind, and Leo is far too dazed to capture it, let alone act upon such an observation. It’s not until a moment later that the shearing heat begins to register as pain. He barely notices the familiar shimmer of power that bursts up from beneath his feet past the waves of agony pulsating through his body, only getting a brief glimpse of the golden light before he’s being sucked into it. Then, he’s falling. Away from the heat, away from the pain, away from his fate.
He doesn’t recall making it to the ground.
- - -
When Leon first blinks open his eyes again, everything is so hazy and indistinct that for a moment he’s convinced he has died. He attempts to move, tentatively pushing himself up with his left arm, then, forgetting that there’s nothing remaining to support himself on the right — he slips, and his entire side flares up in agony as he comes crashing down. Sparks of what feels like lightning race across his lower half. He almost blacks out again from the pain.
Leo’s pretty sure the afterlife isn’t supposed to hurt this much.
His whole body feels like one massive sunburn - the gentle breeze his only point of relief, blessedly cool against his roasted scales.
The initial question that underpins his existence is how? Just, in general. How? How is he here? How had he not disintegrated in that blast? How come he’s still alive?
His mind casts back to the circle of golden light that had enveloped him the moment before he’d lost consciousness, and Leo comes to the realisation that he’s bathed in that warm, bright, beaming embrace of energy far more than once. In fact, he’s lived for so long surrounded by that essence he’s almost become indifferent to its constant presence. His presence.
If anyone was capable of reaching him from beyond the grave - of defying the laws of fate and ripping through the very fabric of time and space, it was his little brother.
Leo had thought himself accustomed to this endless pit of loss in him. But the sudden, cavernous, gaping hole of grief that hits him as the pieces click into place is near-overwhelming.
There’s a side to him that almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all. Leo’s gladly shared everything he has with his brothers all his life, and yet still, even in death…
“My final moment of glory, and you just couldn’t let me have it to myself, could you?” He rasps into the air.
No one laughs.
Leon’s gaze slides to his right arm, and his blood pressure drops, dread filling his chest as he’s met with the spine-chilling sight of the smouldering nub of his arm. The limb no longer exists. His prosthetic is gone.
Leon swears vehemently and jolts into action - tries to ignore the way his body screams in protest as he rolls himself onto his stomach. Heart beating wildly, he scrabbles on his hands and knees, desperately scanning the ground for the arm - the one that had been meticulously crafted in Raph’s image. The tech that Donnie had spent weeks painstakingly crafting for him. His right arm, his strength - his family’s tribute to their lasting love and respect for their elder brother.
Leo freezes, his memory flashing to the bright beam of burning light that had enveloped the metal. Disintegrated it. Leon doesn’t want to believe it, but he knows it to be true.
He’s lost it.
No, not even lost - that would imply the ability for it to be found again. Leon’s destroyed it. It’s just another notch on his great wall of failures, yet this time somehow the sense of loss hits differently. It brings him to his knees.
At the very least, it seems his sword has survived the trip. He crawls over to it, carefully cradles the grip, traces a thumb over the worn purple and red fabrics tied there. The only thing he has left of his brothers.
“Why?” He asks quietly. “Why am I here?”
Where even is here?
He curls over himself, forehead lightly touching against the dull surface of the blade. Then slowly, carefully, he sheathes the weapon.
He breathes heavily, his hand finally reaching around to the agony radiating from the side of his plastron. It comes away warm and sticky. Ugh. It doesn’t come as a surprise that he’s still bleeding, but he knows if he doesn’t get medical attention soon, he won’t last for much longer.
He wonders if Mikey would resent Leon if he gave up so soon after saving his shell.
The thought finally kicks in some vestige of Leo’s remaining survival instinct, and disorientated, he lifts his head, searching for clues that’ll tell him where or when in the timeline he’s landed. He doesn’t have to look far.
He’s on the top of a building, and as he looks across the city skyline, he comes to the realisation that he isn’t lost at all. He’s still in New Utrominon. Except, no, no he’s not. He can’t be, because the buildings aren’t crumbling, the world isn’t burning, there’s no battles raging, the sky is clear and blue, devoid of the watchful eye of the Technodrome.
He… He needs a better view, Leo decides, holding onto his side and stumbling to the railing, heart beating wildly in his chest.
Here, Leon stands at the origin point of the war that had destroyed his world, and yet, there, the metropolis is free of the cancerous infection of the Krang - the boroughs liberated from both tentacle and machine. He must be hallucinating - and not just because this is too good to be true, but because this is decidedly not the city he last recalls it had been - prior to the Krang invasion - unmarred and complete, a thousand panels of glass glinting in the sun.
He scans the horizon, tries to convince himself what he’s seeing is real.
This Manhattan is deep in the process of restoration. Dozens of cranes reach into the sky, scaffolding surrounds buildings, sounds of construction fills the city. Down below, by Lady Liberty, marine crews are fishing large chunks of debris out from the chocolate-milk hue of the Hudson river.
A battle had happened here. A war that, until now, Leon and his brothers had lost.
It’s over.
Euphoria, unadulterated glee sparks across his body. He laughs in disbelief, his legs giving out from under him as the wave of relief crashes over him. His student, brothers, family… They’d done it.
“Mikey,” He calls. His voice is shaking, either from the elation or the blood loss, Leon doesn’t know. Can’t bring himself to care about something so trivial right this moment. “Miguel, little brother, you have to see this. We did it. They did it, Mikey—”
He spins on his heel, staggering when the movement is accompanied by a flare of pain from his ribs.
“Mikey?”
He stops suddenly.
Oh. Right.
The joy dies in his throat as he’s hit with the sobering realisation that this isn’t the win he thinks it is. Not when none of his brothers are alive to see it. Not when there’s no one left to enjoy the moment with. No one left to blame for the absences but himself.
It was the only way, his mind callously reminds him. And he knows this, he knows. But it doesn’t soften the blow. Doesn’t make the former any less true. He’s the leader. He’s responsible for taking care of his family, for keeping them safe, and he had lost them all. Worse still, Leo had asked Mikey to sacrifice himself - disposed of him as though he was no more than a soldier.
The reality of it all overwhelms him, and the next thing he knows he’s curled around himself on the floor, his whole body shaking from the force of his sobs. His side blossoms with a fresh bout of agony with each hitch of his breath, but the pain is nothing in the face of the dark pit of sorrow and loneliness expanding outwards from his chest, threatening to drown him.
He doesn’t know how long he remains on that rooftop. He feels numb - like everything that once made him Leonardo has been scooped out and replaced with a black emptiness, leaving nothing but a husk. A useless, dried up, worthless exterior of the person he used to be.
By the time he lifts his head again, the sun has set over the horizon - the skyline blinking to life, glowing with lights. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen the city alive like this. Even now, Leon feels drawn towards the glow, like a moth to flame.
He unfurls from his foetal position on the ground, moves clumsily to the side of the building. The streets below are dizzyingly far away.
It’d be a long way down, he thinks distantly, were someone to fall.
His heart thuds loudly between his ears as he sways unsteadily, feeling a weird urge, an inexplicable pull towards the call of that void.
Leo’s trance is broken by a sharp sting at his shoulder.
He sucks air back into his lungs — when had he stopped breathing? — and staggers backwards away from the ledge. His stomach roils. His thoughts slow. Leon’s hand groggily lifts to his shoulder to pluck the object out from where it’s pierced him.
He examines the offending needle, his vision blurring, concentration slipping with each passing moment. The dart slips from loose fingers.
The draw of sleep tugs at him, and some faraway corner of his subconscious tells him to fight it. Leon wants to know where the hell that voice was earlier. His body collides with the ground, and moments later his eyes slip closed, the promise of rest too compelling to ignore any longer.
- - -
His second return to the land of cognizance is a similarly unpleasant experience.
Reality trickles back in slowly, resistantly. Leon kind of wishes it wouldn’t. Unconsciousness is a kinder state to exist in than this — his increasing awareness greeted by a throbbing headache, cottonmouth, and the crushing weight of his life choices.
He remembers Mikey, remembers Casey, remembers the burst of light and energy that had swept his feet from out under him. Leo had one, simple job left to do - die, and he hadn’t even been able to do that right. A useless memory floats up along with the rest, like blood circling the drain. A mechanical fist punching him through a concrete floor, claws pinning him to the ground, Krang prime slashing through muscle, ligament, tissue, bone. His arm aches with a phantom pain.
No. He squeezes his eyes together and shakes his head. Wrong timeline, a decade too early, irrelevant. Hell of a useless thing to be remembering now.
A part of him wants to fade away. Sink into the floor. Disappear from the world forever. Unfortunately, as nice as that all sounds, he can’t actually do any of it, so he may as well pull himself together and figure out what he can do. Which begins with figuring out what kind of predicament he’s found himself in.
He blinks open his eyes, examines his surroundings. He’s in someone’s home — a loft apartment, if the open-plan bedroom above his head is any indication. The dwelling is large and spacious, with an unobscured view of Central Park down below. Whoever owns the place is loaded, that much is clear.
His shell is resting against something cold and hard. He attempts to shift, but finds his movement tightly restricted. He’s been firmly strapped to a marble table. It’s not an ideal position to find himself in. Then again, Leon’s just lived through an apocalypse. He’s woken to far worse conditions.
His side is no longer throbbing, which could be a good sign. The strong, web-like rope bound around him doesn’t allow for a lot of give, but he has enough free movement to angle his head downwards. He catches sight of thick, white bandages wrapped around his plastron.
“Leonardo, isn’t it.”
He jumps, his head whipping to the petite woman standing in the doorway. There’s not many people that can sneak up on him. Leon recognises the purple skin, teal glasses and long, wavy, silver hair immediately. Big Mama isn’t big on change. Her human form looks as it always has.
She grins widely, her overly-cheery, motherly facade pouring out in full force as she reaches down to pinch at his cheeks playfully.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, turtley-boo. I have ears all throughout the city, and dear-oh-dear, your younger brothers have been making a positively deafening ruckus out on those streets.”
Her words sink in, and Leo’s hand tightens around his restraints, his focus resharpening. His brothers, April — Casey. They’re here. All of them. Contrasting emotions of elation and dismay clash around his chest painfully. The overwhelming desire to see them again is dampened by the sobering understanding that he’s not sure he’ll ever be to face them again. He’s not sure he deserves to.
“I do admit, your brothers’ antics do provide some marvellously juicy gossip to the rumour mill. Why, when I heard the whispers about a little box turtle that could rip open the wall of reality and reach into the material of another dimension, I could hardly believe it. I thought it was a joke.”
Leo’s shoulders stiffen, his brow-ridge pulling taught in confusion. That… That sounds a lot like his little brother. Which is impossible. Because his brother is dead, and the one from the past has to be like, what… fourteen? Too young to be playing around with space-time manipulation for any matter.
“And yet, here you are.” Big Mama continues, her lips curling upwards. “A turtle out of time.”
His heart thumps against his chest, panic setting in anew, even though he knows she’s wrong - that this is just another manipulation tactic of hers - laying the poison in his mind, breaking down his defences. Big Mama knows those walls are weak when it comes to his brothers. He’s proving that point to her again now, the anxiety churning in his stomach like a runaway motor. What if his Mikey hadn’t been the one to pull him back? It had taken his brother a lifetime to master the mystic knowledge and skill required to even fathom time travel. The fact that the mystic warrior hadn’t the power to survive the energy it took to draw open the door did not forebode well for any younger version of him, and the thought of Mikey being lost twice over for Leo’s sake… He can’t accept it. It’s too unbearable.
“Finding you was a breeze, by the way.” Big Mama drawls, unaware of his silent, depressive spiraling. “Those great, big, golden portals aren’t all that subtle, are they? Aren’t you boys supposed to be ninjas?”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” He asks hollowly.
For a moment Big Mama looks genuinely put out by his emotionless response. Her face falls a fraction, displeasure creeping into her features, as if his refusal to participate in their usual banter is of personal offence to her.
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked.” She recovers, her cheery mask falling back into place. “You see, I’ve been doing it tough these last couple months. You look pretty rough — I’m sure you can sympathise.”
Leon’s jaw tightens, irritation sparking at her words. He’s not one to draw comparisons, but if accumulating misfortunes is a competition, Leonardo is reigning champ.
“Let me think…” Big Mama sighs airily, “I lost my biggest score since the escape of my handsome scruggly-muffin.” She counts off her fingers. “My hotel was demolished. My deliciously dastardly plans were once again foiled by a gaggle of teenagers. My dearest pup Gus was injured. My reputation was ruined. And, oh yes, worst of all, I lost my biggest, bestest battle champion.”
Leon tries to follow along, but finds himself a little lost.
Big Mama can be difficult to understand at the best of times, and beyond the initial psychological breakdown, Leo’s had very little chance to reorient himself to the point in history he’s landed in. The name Gus rings faintly familiar. Something about being chased through a hotel by a massive, talking dog? Wasn’t that a dream? It’s all fuzzy.
He wracks his memory for missing pieces to a puzzle he’d put away a long, long time ago. He can remember the wildest, scariest fights - the world-ending threats are always the easiest to recall. It’s woefully difficult for your brain to set aside the trauma after all, but the finer details? The less important bits? They’re a little more difficult to ascertain. Whatever. He’s pretty sure he only needs the overall picture anyway.
“Your champion… You mean the Shredder?” He stresses, squinting at her. “Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, thanking the Hamatos for solving that little problem? I mean, if I’m correct in thinking what’s happened has happened, then they’ve saved the world at least twice over by now.”
“Oh, I’m grateful, of course. Those icky, slime-faddled brain phlegmatics seemed like they could’ve been a real roadblock to business. And all things considered, I can easily rebuild from the losses I’ve suffered. I complain, but I already have a plan in place to bounce back better than ever. Really, there's only one, eensy-teensy issue I’ve yet to resolve.”
“That being?” Leon asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“I need a new battle champion.”
He glowers at her. That’s why he’s here? Hasn’t he suffered enough?
“I don’t remember putting my hand up for this.” He deadpans.
Her brows furrow in confusion, which perplexes him in turn. Did she think he’d be jumping for joy to join another one of her death pits? That he’d gone on a little field trip to the past because the thought of trampolining from the apocalyptic fire into one of her sizzling frying pans is somehow appealing to him?
“Oh– oh.” Big Mama’s expression shifts, her eyes lighting up with understanding. “You think..? Oh, no, no, no.” She giggles and waves her hand in a gesture of ‘oh, stop’, her wrist going limp.
“Can you imagine? Don’t get me wrong, you’d be a formidable opponent, but no one even knows who you are, darling.”
The atmosphere goes tense as she leans over him, her sharp nails clacking against the metal of the table as she places her hands on either side of his head.
“No. To revamp my Battle Nexus, to restore my reputation, I need a frontman with real star power. Someone truly iconic. Famous and beloved by both New York and the Hidden City alike. A legend so dazzling people won’t be able to turn their heads away.”
There’s very few people Leon can think of that could fit that bill. Even fewer still that his direct involvement would require. It’s not much of a riddle. He has the pieces clicking together in no time at all. He can’t say he likes the answer.
“Lou Jitsu.” He breathes.
Leon hadn’t even considered the possibility of being able to see his dad again, and now it dawns on him that he’s alive and kicking in this timeline. He’s in this city somewhere, within Leon’s reach, and he doesn’t even know how to begin to process that information. He feels shaky and sick - which he supposes is one way of processing it. He wonders if dad would even recognise him anymore. If he would hate him for what he’s become - what he’s had to sacrifice to make it here.
Big Mama’s smile widens. Leon can barely breathe.
“You always were the sharp one.”
The first to suspect her ulterior motives, she means. The only one of his brothers to perceive the malice concealed behind the polite, bubbly, maternal act.
Leo needs air. He needs to be somewhere - anywhere but here. He grinds his teeth, pulls his act together.
“So, your plan is to, what - torture me until I agree to betray me family?” He asks venomously.
Her brows rise, “Heavens no, Big Mama doesn’t mean to torture you. My, my, how pessimistic you’ve gotten with age.”
“Oh?” Leo verbalises sceptically, his eyes narrowing, “Do go on. I have difficulties imagining anything good that comes with being strapped to your table.”
She smiles at him. The expression isn’t smug or malicious. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s fondness that softens her expression.
“What.” He hisses, a flare of irritation rushing through him.
Her eyes refocus on him, her gaze resharpening. “Apologies. Got lost in my head for a moment there. You do so remind me of my Lou.”
The comparison strikes something deep and painful within him, and he turns his head away from her. He smothers the thick emotion rising up his throat with a coat of indifference.
“Ugh.” He mutters under his breath. “Gross.”
“Rude.” She chastises. “But honestly snookums, I wouldn’t concern yourself with the details. You’re merely a means to an end.”
He frowns.
“A means for what?” He asks, patience growing thin.
“Why, to bring me your brothers, of course. How else am I to convince my little ratty-watticus to fight for me?”
If Leon were a young turtle — if he was the red-eared slider Big Mama knew, he might’ve replied with something witty. Eased his own fears with some weak quip or poor joke that would suck the seriousness out of the whole situation somehow.
Leo isn’t a young turtle. He feels every single one of the years he’s lived on this earth. He’s had enough of people threatening his family.
“Fuck you.” He growls.
She faux-gasps at his language, her hand reaching for her chest dramatically. “Really? Resorting to crudeness are we? No more little quips left in that big brain of yours?” Her lips curl upward. “I love it.”
Leo glares at the ceiling, refusing to respond.
“It’s a good change. Take it from me, it’s not healthy constantly hiding all that pent-up rage behind smiling words.”
His eyes dart back to Big Mama when he hears the loud click of her stilettos against the wooden floorboards as she makes her way towards the small, ornate box situated innocently on the nearest countertop. With her back to him it’s difficult to see what it is she’s doing.
“I spent some time thinking this through, truth be told. I could try to bargain with you. I could politely request a favour. Maybe make another deal.”
She lifts something out from the box, then clicks the lid shut, her shoulders shimmying with barely-concealed excitement.
“So you can change the terms of the deal at the very last moment again?” Leon asks dryly, watching warily as Big Mama turns, one of her hands remaining hidden behind her back.
“Yes, you’re well aware of my song and dance.” She muses. “In fact, you’re quite good at spinning your own tune too, aren’t you? I know the slippery and stubborn troublemaker that you were - that you are - as a young boy. And when you live as long as I have, you come to understand that slyness and obstinacy are two traits that only worsen with age.”
Big Mama opens her hand, revealing a thin, silver chain. The jewellery dangles like a web from her fingers. A small, dark gemstone hangs at the bottom of the necklace.
“That’s why, this time round, there will be no room for negotiation.”