To Crack a Shell - ROTTMNT

3 - Not Leaving Yet

Endless fields of red flowers stretch like an ocean toward a horizon stained yellow in perpetual dusk. A forest of cherry trees lays across the land, their petal-laden branches sprinkling the wind with white.

The air smells sweet and cool. The only sounds are the natural rustling of petals and wood and grass as the breeze disturbs them. It is quiet and serene. It is the perfect resting place for all members of the Hamato Clan.

Leo doesn't like it. There are no creatures skittering or masses of humanity making a din. There's no flashing lights or roving machinery. The air isn't damp or musky with the sharp scent of New York sewers.

Worst of all, there's no pizza!

Actually, no, that's not the worst part. The worst part is the fact that he's here, and the rest of his family is still alive.

The worst part is the loneliness.

Sure, his Gram-Gram is here along with generations of Hamato going back to the practical Stone Age, but they aren't his family . They aren't his brothers. They aren't his father or his adopted sister.

This isn't the world he saved. This isn't the better future he promised Casey.

Which is why he is currently sitting atop a tree, stripes glowing, trying to focus enough to send his spirit back into the living plane.

"You are trying too hard, my son."

Leo cracks an eye open. Karai crouches in front of him, wearing an amused expression. Leo opens his eyes and slouches. "You said it was possible to see them."

"And it is, but like I said," Karai shifts to sit cross legged, "You are trying too hard."

The kunoichi lays a gentle hand on Leo's head. "Focus your energy. It is much like finding your swords and sending yourself to them. Find your brothers. Send yourself to them."

Leo's skin tingles with the familiar hum of his ninpo. His reach stretches farther than it ever has, but he feels what he is aiming for. He shifts his stance so he's perched on his toes and his hands reach below his ankles. He pulls back the mystic energy, then lets it snap.

His hands hold sword hilts. Something padded supports his toes.

Leo looks down. He is holding the swords and their wrapped blades are under his feet. He lets go of the humming weapons and carefully steps off. The residual energy fades.

"I... made it?" Leo glances around the train car that is—was—his room. The space is oddly neat, certainly not the organized chaos he prefers. All his comic books are organized and on their proper shelves, his trinkets have been dusted, the floor is swept, heck, even his bed is made!

His sheathed swords rest on his bed, wrapped in a canvas sheet tied with his mask.

Leo stares at his katana. They are presented so... formally. Even the scabbards are there. The whole room has an air of emptiness. Despite all the things in it, despite the vast importance of the mystic weapons, it feels less like a room and more like a tomb.

"Heheh, I guess it really can be a grave, ghost haunting included!" Leo says with a joyless smile. He sighs and rubs his face. He then notices his hands. "Geez. I really am a ghost."

His body is translucent and a rather handsome shade of blue. His stripes glow soft green, his eye marks a deep red, and his outlines are white. He has no reflection and, despite his shine, doesn't cast shadows.

The slider reaches for his katana again. The blades immediately shine at his touch and start humming. "Can I even pick these up?" Leo wonders aloud. He gives them a small tug and their ghostly equivalents pop out of their physical shells. The swords he now holds are blue outlines with thin white symbols suspended in the blades. "Huh. Ghost swords for a ghost turtle."