What became of the 80's cartoon TMNT after the Turtles Forever movie? Did exposure to more serious worlds change them?
Mostly 80's cartoon Leonardo's POV. Not a happy fic.
Blood. It gleamed in the light of a distant street lamp. Smiling at him. Laughing at him. This dark, dank alleyway. An ugly place to die. This hansom young man, this boy, should not have met his end so soon. Tears welled up in Leonardo's eyes and trickled freely down his face as his right sword wept with the blood of a mere child. He'd just been so scared. There was an innocence to this one. He could have changed.
Leonardo had tried to just wound him into dropping the gun, but the boy had ducked down and turned into the turtle's charge. Arteries had been severed. He'd bled out so fast. At least he'd understood their intentions as they'd tried to stop it.
The leaking graze on Leonardo's left bicep mocked him with memories of a similar wound. His first wound. The first time he ever saw blood...
= - =
Suddenly there was... pain!? His arm hurt so much. Like never before. Leonardo finished slicing through the robot, then clutched his left bicep and dropped to a knee as he covered the gash, trying to stop the bleeding. His gaze fell to the blood. Then rose to the surrounding battle with fresh eyes. They could die here, They Really Could Die Here!
As he watched the fight things sort of, fell into place. They really could die here... The larger turtles and those black and white creepy turtles obviously knew it. They were fighting for their lives. But his brothers... To his horror it was still a game to them!
A hard CLANG on his upper carapace snapped him back to the task at hand, that blow had landed just shy of his neck! Quickly he rolled forward and snatched up his dropped sword, spinning and bringing them both up in time to save himself from the next attack. It was another one of those weird new Foot robots. He'd never been forced to fight through pain before and it was anything but fun, but the thought of how pathetic he must look brought a grim smile to his lips. Even as he was driven to his knees under the superior strength of the machine he began to laugh. They really could die here! And it was still just one big joke to them! Just how stupid could a guy get!
Leonardo's crazed laughter caught the attention of the closest turtle. His Michelangelo could only stare.
Leonardo's left side was facing him and covered in blood from an arm wound. His swords were locked with one of the robots and he'd been driven to his knees, loosing the battle of strength, and he was... laughing like he needed a straight jacket!
Shaking off the shock Michelangelo took off in a blink. “Hey Ugly!” The robot actually responded to the insult and looked his way, easing the pressure off of his brother in preparation of defending itself against this new foe, but a nunchuck smashed its head clear from its torso before it could raise its swords.
The laughter slowed and Leonardo quickly turned serious again as he was helped to his feet by his good arm. His little brother stared at the gash and blood. “Are you alright?”
On the verge of tears Leonardo looked about at the surrounding carnage.
Looking from his brother to the battle Michelangelo tried to understand what his leader was trying to tell him. It didn't take long to click. Their eyes met. Solemn, deep, dark. No more jokes. Michelangelo helped his brother use his blue mask to tie off the wound on his arm, then they rushed off to protect their brothers who still didn't comprehend the danger they were in.
No more jokes.
= - =
His swords. Leonardo stared at them, one still weeping with the blood of a frighted child. Weapons. A word that was forever changed to his ears. Tools for battle. Battle... That was a big one. He would never feel the same about that word either. His blades had been created for the expressed purpose of taking life. They were made purely for one reason, to rend souls from this mortal plain. Man, woman, child.
He'd always felt a deep connection with his swords. That these were more than mere tools. Still did. But now they felt different in his hands. Heavier. He reminded himself often that though his swords were made no different, they were wielded with a purpose wholly his own. In his hands these, beautiful nightmares... didn't thirst for blood. They sang for justice. And they wept crimson rivers for every life they were forced to take.
Things had changed greatly after the Utrom Shredder's attempt to erase turtles from every realm. The lifeless eyes staring up at him and the blood dripping from his katana were proof of that. Such a thing never would have happened before. They'd seen too much to not be changed. And their whole dimension had changed with them, spreading like some cancer.
That beautiful innocence... He missed the “good old days”, when everything really Was just one big running joke and the Shredder was nothing more than an incompetent, underachieving moron with disillusions of grandeur. Even without them around to stop him his own stupidity probably would have kept him in check. Even that stupid yellow jump suit April used to wear. The damn thing stood out like a neon sign when she needed to run, but he had to admit she looked cute in it. He honestly didn't know how poor Master Splinter put up with them all those years, but this developing more serious side seemed to sadden him a little.
And the mutants being produced... The Shredder was now training real ninja, mutating ex-military soldiers, and producing more of those new robots for his arsenal. Apparently the turtles weren't the only ones who'd changed and their whole world was suffering for it. He'd never seen blood here before in his life, now it was everywhere...
Leonardo was reminded of his brothers when Donatello held out some gauze in front of him. Their eyes met and he saw the same pain and sadness reflected in the gentle warrior. Looking around he found that Raphael and Michelangelo were sitting against the wall nearby. The tough guy was showing his soft side with a comforting arm slung around the shoulders of his crying brother as tears ran freely down his own face. His hands were as red as his mask from when he'd helped Donnie try to stop the bleeding.
Rather than cover his wound Leonardo dried the crimson tears from his sword, she'd cried long enough.
