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Leonardo Hamato was a name soon to be forgotten in the winds of time (a name that was never of much importance, anyway).
It was a small, fragile thing, this identity. It was not known by many, and would be very easily lost in memory. Its solemn owner lay alone staring into a desolate wasteland, pondering this abstract cruelty. Many people spend their whole lives fighting to make their mark on the world, to never be forgotten at all. Leonardo, on the other hand, was sure he had willingly sacrificed any such dream the moment he had sworn himself to this fate (as he was standing alone against an unbeatable enemy, relying on a last ray of hope, a final use).
For Leo was a solitary prisoner in his death, and had never had such dreams anyway. If anything, he found himself wishing only for one last moment with his family before he had to take his final bow. After all, what was he without them (they defined him, gave him a purpose, even if it was only dragging others down)? Leonardo Hamato, the faceman. The one who had always been just short of leadership, terrified of the weight that came with decisions that played with lives.
He tried not to listen to the small part of him that whispered that this, his final act as a leader, was more deadly to his family than any he could’ve made before (did he just want to hurt them?). Leo hoped and desperately wished to be missed, even if that made his insides knot themselves together in guilt. Is it selfish to want to be loved?
He really didn’t want to do this, despite what others might believe. Despite what he might want to believe. Raph’s voice breaking in the middle to give way to a sob, something Leo had never heard from his older brother before… (better to let Raph live longer, to keep being sad, then to feel nothing at all. Time and again Leo had proven only to endanger his brother). Leo’s chest tightened, his heart doing back-flips as he reviewed his plan over and over. The Kraang was ranting and raving about strength and weakness, a speech lost to the spinning sensation in Leo’s head. Considering the numbness spreading throughout his body, and the way he could feel warmth leaking from every spot the Kraang was touching, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to coherently understand even if he wanted to.
“What you fail to understand is,” he pushed out, gripping the claw that was dangerously close to his neck and trembling in an attempt to raise it. His bloodied lips pulled into a tight grin as the Kraang’s menacingly wicked snarl loomed over him, waiting for the bait. “I missed on purpose,” Leo mocked, his own voice quiet compared to the deafening ringing in his ears. It was simple, the way he blinked and was immediately right where his sword had just slashed the air in the prison dimension. An easy move, one he’d used in several fights already, although always with far less grim intentions. The Kraang was fast, but he was faster, and Leo maneuvered himself effortlessly into a tight grip he had seen once on Raph’s favorite wrestling programs. This is it, he realized, the blood pumping in his ears.
A weak, childish part of Leo knew that he could still leave; teleport back out the portal entrance, run to his brothers with his tail between his legs and beg for their help with a new plan. Even with his injuries, even with the way he was in some way sure he couldn’t stand if he tried (he didn’t want to die). He also knew that if he did leave, however, he would be dooming his family and all of New York to a slow, untimely death. If Donnie was here, Leo was sure the purple-clad turtle would be running the statistics and agreeing. There was no other way.
No other way, Leo.
So he took a shaky breath, and accepted this. Casey’s voice was still rattling through his wrist comm, waiting for a response. “No. Enough of your tricks,” the Kraang bellowed, violently upset at the change in surroundings and backhanding Leo until his vision was spotty. Perfectly distracted. Perfectly focused on only his one current victim. As the Kraang turned and gripped Leo’s neck with a metal hand, squeezing until the turtle’s eyes bulged, Leo secretly celebrated his victory. “Casey. Close the portal now.” Leo commanded, pushing every last ounce of badass crime-fighting hero energy he had left into making Casey listen. If his voice shook, if the syllables cracked, he hoped the kid would blame it on the comms.
This was it, it was working!
The Kraang’s eyes widened, and the leering monster whipped around to try and move back to solid ground as it bellowed an angry cry. No, nonono, Leo panicked, pushing off the nearest dull-grey floating rock and desperately grabbing for anything he could manage. His fingers caught on the Kraang’s disgusting lips, yanking with strength Leo could only guess came from pure adrenaline. C’mon, Casey, he pleaded silently, squeezing his eyes shut as the Kraang hollered and beat on his sides and shell.
“Casey,” he gasped, the Kraang’s fist connecting again with his face. “Please.” Leo was sure he was whimpering now, the patheticness of who he truly was slipping into his words. If Casey took just a moment longer, if he let Leo reconsider for just a little more time… He didn’t even have the energy in him to be embarrassed. Casey had surely already realized that Leo was not, in fact, a hero. Rather, Leo was sure he was a stupid teenager who couldn’t even sacrifice himself right. Casey had very effectively pointed out Leo’s faults earlier, anyway. Hell, maybe the kid would be glad to take the key. Maybe Casey was only waiting so long to listen to Leo’s torment.
Whatever the reason, his pleas must’ve worked. In a blinding flash of light, the portal snapped closed around the Kraang’s ship and exploded in a brilliant display. Debris whizzed past Leo’s head, and he almost felt like giggling with delight as he watched the realization dawn on the Kraang’s face. A grave made for two, especially designed by Leo himself. If his lips trembled, if his eyes were blurring, that would be a personal secret.
Time stilled, for a private second. The fiery lights danced, reflected in Leo’s glossy eyes, and flashes of mystic energy and explosions decorated the empty landscape. It was almost beautiful. Everything froze, and Leo watched his final escape disappear in an odd sense of detached wonder. This was… this was it, wasn’t it? His brothers, they were safe?
I’m so scared, a weak, broken part of Leo realized. So he did what he always did when he was scared, and reached for the stupidest joke he could think of. “You’ve been portal-chopped!” he declared, grin spreading just a bit too tight on his face. He wished Donnie was here to make fun of him. Leo let go of the Kraang, duty done, and felt himself float backward aimlessly. Adrift. What’s next? he asked himself, desperately trying for a plan, for some final hoorah.
Leo, however, was left with almost no time at all to piece together his ravaged heart, as his captor was soon upon him. Was the Kraang his captor? Or is Leo, rather, the noble hero who had captured the Kraang? Two evil, twisted people dragging one another down with them; deeper and deeper still. Leo almost laughed, but quickly decided the Kraang would gain nothing from his woozy, near-death poetry. Iinstead, he turned his focus to a simpler goal: what now? His brothers had to be safe, had to be, and Leo…
Leo was still here.
Fighting was almost useless, considering his odachis were nowhere to be seen. Leo could use hand-to-hand, but his head was spinning and his eyes refused to stop fluttering shut. It was difficult to keep track of himself. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to try fighting, anyway. Wasn’t this for the best? As much as he trembled, as much as he flinched as he looked his own death in the face, wouldn’t it be better to take it like a hero?
If Raph was here (which he wouldn’t be, Leo was sure Raph would have come up with a million better plans and never made it to this desperate point in the first place), he would stand and smile and accept death like it had never been scary at all. If Raph could do that, why couldn’t Leo? Always just a bit weaker than the others, always just a step behind everyone else. Oh god, Leo thought, time moving like a thick jelly around him, I can’t do this.
Too late, Leo.
The breath is ripped out of his lungs as Leo is thrown through the air by the blast of air rippling from the spot his last hope flickered out. A ragdoll in the rocky terrain, he skids across debris and comes to a firm hault only when his back hits a large chunk of boulder. Leo’s vision flashes white, a million thoughts dissipating into nothing as his head slams into the rock and lolls. A solid crack rings through the dusty air, and Leo isn’t even quite sure if he can pinpoint where exactly it came from.
Without even a moment to spare, no graces are given to let the pitiful sacrifice try to recover and fight. A cat toying with its captured mouse, the kraang takes its time walking forward (of course it landed expertly). It examines Leo’s broken, hunched form, and gleefully kicks a foot into his chest. Leo gasps, blood spluttering down his lip, and tries weakly to focus his spinning vision. The air smells starkly of iron. “You.” The Kraang starts, and cold terror floods Leo for the first time in a long, long while.
I want to go home. I want to go home. Please, please.
Leo’s quiet pleas are met only by the Kraang’s wicked growls (what else did he expect? this was his choice). “You’ve ruined everything,” it remarks, metal claws digging deeper into Leo’s shoulders with a cold, unbridled rage. His leg is twisted at an odd angle, and he’s sure his shell has been cracked repeatedly. “And now my wrath will be reserved for you alone. You think you’ve won?”
It throws its head back and laughs, a cackling, grinding noise. “You wretched little pest,” the Kraang purrs. Leo chokes on a sob, trembling like a lost child. Stupid, a voice whispers in his head. Take your death with a smile. You’re doing this for them, aren’t you? Would you want them to see you like this?
Numbly, Leo reaches for the photo Casey had handed him. That felt like years ago, now. Had it really only been a day? His torn fingers squeeze tight, holding the smiling faces of his family firmly like a lifeboat (at least he can die with them here, even in a small way). Leo shudders, tears dripping down his cheeks, but he smiles anyway. He always smiles anyway. Alone in a wasteland of a prison, Leo it’s willingly tortured victim. But God, at least he can have this small reminder. Anything of them. Anything to hold on to.
The Kraang, decidedly, is not fond of this. A low, guttural rumble tears from its throat, and it fills Leo’s blurred vision with its angered hiss. Leo’s sure he’s crying now, silent tears spilling and framing the shaky smile decorating his face. “Wipe that grin off your face!” The Kraang howls, heaving forward and pounding its heavy fists into Leo’s chest. The stone had already been dented from the turtle’s previous fall, but now it shattered. Like a cracked vase hit right on the most fragile point, Leo’s only solid surface crumbled and fell apart. He gasped as he was pushed back into the stone, him the nail and the Kraang his hammer.
He could've swore he felt himself break apart, too. That probably wasn’t good.
The medic in Leo had long since given up on cataloging all his injuries. From the initial fight back…back there (home, home, that’s what it was), to the fight here, he’d taken more damage then he could track. The Kraang was apparently very fond of smashing Leo onto his back, leaving him breathless and pinned. Considering the repeated offense, and the fact Leo wasn’t sure he could even feel his shell anymore… Well, did that even matter? He was supposed to die here.
Wasn’t he? That was.. that was the point. He’s dying. Leo is dying. Casey’s words from earlier rattle around in his brain, reminding Leo what all this was for. This is for the better, isn’t it? Even with his muddled thoughts and cloudy brain, he was sure that this was for the better (it had to be). He curled his fingers tighter around the family photo, drawing it to his chest as he was blown back through the air (was he crumpling it? you ruin everything, leo). Pain was a distant memory, tears a welcome friend as Leo floated away from his tormentor.
A faded sense of recognition came to him, then. An old lecture Donnie had given, after Mikey had been drawing dandelions on scrap paper with his brand-new crayons. Donnie had, ever the one for positivity, gone on a long-winded rant about how the weeds stole from those around it. “They’re incapable of surviving alone,” he’d said, “they only get by because they sap up all the nutrients that would go to the surrounding plants. Why would you be fond of a weed like that?”
“All the plants around it would be better off without the dandelion.”
A terrifying, twisted sense of dread took hold in Leo's gut. It made sense, logically, why he saw so much of himself in the dandelion. Images, unpleasant reminders as they were, flashed through his head as he drifted. Raph taking the hit for Leo, Donnie's battle shell breaking in two because of Leo's plan, Donnie and Mikey getting trapped, Raph getting taken, and just...everything. Before the invasion, all of today, the future Casey described…
Oh God, what if Leo's family bloomed brighter and stronger without the way he takes and takes? What if someone pulling out the dandelion made the whole garden all the better?
Why was that so terrifying?
The least Leo can do is die easily, quickly, and silently. This is the best he can do for his family, a final attempt at even a chance of forgiveness for all that he's done. Why does he have to screw that up? Why does he have to be so scared of the one good thing he's done for any of his brothers?
Leo's smile falters, breaking into a horrible grimace as he stifles a whine. He doesn't want this, he doesn't, but he should, and he should and he should. Be the hero, Leo. Why is it so difficult to be the hero? In response, the terrified boy grabs his only remaining support (the photo crumpled and barely even visible, anymore) even tighter. He cries, silently (the least he can do), and begs the uncaring stars around him for a final hug.
The Kraang is approaching, again. It's anger will most likely never be satiated, and if its grin is anything to go off- it's going to make Leo very aware of its pain. He shudders, grasping for a final hope of a resolve.
And turns to stare himself in the face. His own two eyes, reflected back on a passing piece of shrapnel. Colorful patterns, like a surviving flower in the wreckage of a forest fire, flash across the metal. He's so starkly contrasting with the surrounding elements, a bright ray of hope in a cold, dark prison.
Maybe that's enough.
If Leo can be nothing but dead, can't he at least die truly and honestly as himself? There is nothing in this dusty, unforgiving dimension that can ruin Leo's color. Even if his color fades, even if he forgets color himself, then at the very least he will have made a mark. Leonardo Hamato will have been here, because there is no other bright-green turtle with stripes that would be floating around surrounded by only the monotone grays of this everlasting dimension. He may not have his family, or any semblance of a hope to who he was or could've been, but Leo will be himself. Whoever that is.
So as the Kraang lunges for his throat, Leo smiles and accepts that he will die as something.