Chapter Text
Leonardo wasn’t sure if he believed in spirits. It’s what he’d been raised to believe, what he let his father think he believed, but the world just felt too real, too solid, for it to be true.
But now his father was dead. His teacher, his guide.
And now, desperately, he wanted it to be true. If only to say goodbye to his only parent one last time.
He held back the storm roiling within him during the funeral. Watched as gift after gift was placed by the headstone. Felt eyes full of pity prick and pierce through his shell. Leo refused to look at anyone, save for the photograph of a smiling Splinter.
How dare you smile? You shouldn’t be smiling, you’re dead .
The moment he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t handle standing up the ground where his father lay, he marched off. No one followed him. Eventually, he ended up by the creek, and stared down at his own reflection.
Whoosh—!
CRACK!
He fell to his knees, his breath shuddering as the sounds of cracking bones echoed in his mind. Splinter was gone, and he was alone, alone, alone.
Leo didn’t believe in spirits. But he so desperately wanted to see one.
“Father!”
“NO—!”
The shuffle of feet suddenly alerted Leo of a presence. He felt hope and alarm spike inside him at once, turning on a dime to face them, pulling out his hidden blade.
It wasn’t Splinter’s spirit. In fact, it wasn’t anyone he’d seen before.
A figure hidden in a hooded cloak observed him, leaning heavily on a cane.
“You seem troubled,” The figure observed, unmoving. Leo didn’t put his knife away just yet.
“Who are you?” He demanded, setting his feet wide apart in case he needed to lunge. The figure didn’t react.
“I live out here, on my own. It’s quite peaceful.” For a moment, the figure shifted, heavily relying on his cane to do so, taking in the scenery. But all it did was make Leo’s hackles rise higher.
“The O’Neil’s own these surrounding acres. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m a friend,” The figure reasons calmly, “We struck a deal, so I may live out the rest of my days.”
“Your days…?” Leo’s throat constricts, faltering. “Are you… dying?”
“Aren’t we all?” He answers wistfully. Though it’s hard to parse out, Leo thinks the strange man looks back at him, tilting his head slightly. “I’m of no threat. Not against someone who clearly has seen many battles.” The turtle glances down the knife still in hand, and he lowers it more, feeling sheepish.
“I’m sorry for being hostile, and for pointing my knife at you.” The figure doesn’t say anything, instead shifting his grip on his cane. Noting this, Leo shuffles on the spot awkwardly. “Would you… like to sit down?”
“That would be lovely.”
The two sit on some rocks, not too far from the creek, and take in the gentle breeze. Leo notes the man hasn’t taken off his hood. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he squeezes his hands together, taking a breath.
A question pops into his mind, as the two of them sit in brief silence. Though he’s not sure it’s appropriate, he can’t help but ask. “Do you… have any family?” The words come out slow, suddenly feeling as if his tongue were too thick for his mouth, as if his brain was wading through molasses. He hears the other inhale slowly, before breathing it out.
“Yes,” He sighs, “But it’s just me out here. Just me and the wind.”
Leo ducks his head, mouth twisting. “Sorry I asked.”
“No, it’s alright. It’s only natural to ask. I’m afraid that some things are simply… inevitable.” Twitching a little at that, Leo frowns down at his lap. Yes, maybe he was right, but it felt so wrong.
He couldn’t help it. “You don’t know that. So many things can be prevented, but when they don’t, people like to console themselves with things like ‘fate’ and ‘inevitability.’” The words are hot on his tongue, his soul ablaze. “They just can’t own up to their failure.” Hot tears spark in his eyes, even if he tries to will them away.
My failure. I failed him. I failed all of them.
“… You have many scars.” Startled, almost forgetting the man was there, Leo looks at him, wide eyed. “Both seen and unseen.”
His fingers naturally drift to touch his throat, running along the scar tissue. Much time has passed since then, but he is no closer to feeling settled in his body. Days where his knee would protest were days where his temper was tested.
“So? What do they have to do with anything?” Leo finds himself asking, the words coming out clipped. “I’m perfectly capable—”
“No, you misunderstand. See?” The man holds out his hands, allowing Leo to finally see. His eyes go wide.
“Your hands…”
“You and I are not so different,” He says, watching every scar mapped on his aged skin. Leo blinks rapidly for a moment, deaf to his words, before he blinks back into the present. With it, comes a frown.
“… How do I keep going?” For once, the man doesn’t have an immediate response. The subtle shift of his posture indicates he looks over at the teen, leaving an edge of unease within him.
In a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, the man is holding a pill bottle in his hands, rattling it just so. Leo sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of it, mind racing a mile a minute. A surge of sound roaring past his ears. He resists the urge to reach for his belt.
“You can be the leader they need you to be.” He places them into Leo’s palm in a ghostly touch.
Leo is left quieted, staring down at the plastic bottle in his open hand. He can’t take his eyes off it, not even as the mysterious man stands, a smile spreading across his face.
“Take three in total,” He says, “One will numb the hurt, two will ease your pain. Three clears the mind and abandons all your hate.” His voice was like a whistle on the wind, becoming further and further away as Leo’s hands tremble faintly. “Take no more than three, and you’ll be healed in no time.”
His words clung to Leo the whole trek back, the plastic bottle affixed to his side where his belt pocket sat. It had fit perfectly, overly so. But Leo wasn’t interested in dwelling on that fact. No, his mind lingered on the pills. The promise they made. The rattling noise that came with every step.
He barely spoke to the others, only for a brief mention of heading back to the city tomorrow. As soon as he could, he locked himself in his room. Took out the pill bottle.
Was it worth it, he thought, to relinquish control? Did he really want to risk being caught?
CRACK!
“FATHER!!”
He pops the cap.
Streaks of colour. Bright, bold voices, tangled all around. The floor is no longer, but a bright sky that Leo readily plummets from.
There is no end. There is no beginning.
There is only being.
“Ti seod ton rettam taht eht nedrub si yvaeh.” Leo glances to the side, and face to face with Splinter’s falling corpse. “Ti srettam taht uoy yrrac ti.” His eyes are blacked out. Yet his lips continue to move.
“Rehtaf!” He cries. “Esaelp!”
He’s not plummeting. He’s standing before his father, several sizes too small.
“Eno yad, uoy lliw ees yhw I edam uoy redael,” His father tells him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Leo can’t feel it.
“I t’nac od siht.”
“Uoy era eht ylno eno ohw nac od siht.”
Whoosh—!
CRACK!
He’s tucking a plastic bottle into his belt. He’s walking out to his father’s funeral.
He’s awake.
He’s dreaming.
“Who am I?”