The city was healing.

Slowly. Unevenly. New York still bore the scars of the Krang invasion, but so did the Mad Dogs. They filled the days with recovery, bandages, sparring turned gentler, snowball fights that got out of hand fast. Winter softened things. Gave them excuses to stay in, to laugh again, to rebuild what had almost been torn away.

They were acting like a family again.

April helped Casey settle into this version of the timeline, Cass finding her footing alongside them. Missions resumed. Chaos followed. Normal, in its own way.

But Leo was quieter.

After almost dying, after choosing to, he’d been thinking too much. About what came next. About what it meant to survive something you weren’t sure you were meant to walk away from. Christmas crept closer, lights stringing across the Lair, the old tradition returning with it.

Wishlists.

They wrote them out, clipped them to the tree. A way of saying what you wanted without having to say it out loud.

In the privacy of his room, Leo stared at his list longer than he meant to.

He scribbled something impulsive. …a partner.

He snorted, shook his head, and erased it immediately. Too honest. Too vulnerable. He replaced it with something safe. Something jokey.

He never noticed the way the air shifted when he’d written it.

Far beyond the city, far beyond understanding, someone did.

Christmas night came quietly.

You were supposed to be a merry helper. An elf. One of many. Santa never explained why you were chosen to tag along this year, only smiled, warm and knowing, when you asked. When New York appeared below the sleigh, he squeezed your shoulder and wished you luck. And love.

Then everything went wrong.

The next thing you knew, you were packed into a present box, heart racing, landing somewhere solid. Underground. Dim. Cold. You panicked. Who wouldn’t? The sound echoing louder than you meant it to.

The lair was quiet in the way it only ever got on Christmas night. The others were asleep spent from their Snow Day. The tree glowed softly in the corner, wishlists still clipped to its branches, swaying faintly with the hum of the underground air.

Leo couldn’t sleep.

He told himself he was just checking the perimeter. Just making sure nothing had followed them home. His eyes lingered on the gifts as he passed, the familiar ache of something sitting heavy in his chest. He was on his last lap around the room when a gift near the base of the tree moved.

Not slid. Not tipped. Shook.

Leo froze.

Then slowly, carefully, he crouched and peeled back the paper, heart pounding. The box beneath was plain. Too plain. It rattled again, quieter this time, like something inside was trying not to be heard.

He lifted the lid just enough to see. Eyes wide and very much alive looking right back at him.

For a long, silent moment, he did nothing at all.

Then gently, reverently he closed the box again. Set it down on the floor like it might shatter if he moved too fast. He stepped back, shell brushing the wall, trying to make sense of the fact that Christmas had apparently delivered him a person.

The box shook. Harder this time.

Leo barely had time to react before it started thrashing, muffled sounds bumping against cardboard. His heart leapt straight into his throat.

He launched himself forward without thinking. Arms wrapped around the box, pulling it tight against his chest, shell curved protectively over it as he dropped to the floor. One hand pressed gently to the lid, the other steadying it as he leaned close, voice barely above a whisper.

In a blur, he lunged forward, wrapping himself around the box, arms tight, shell pressed over it protectively. He held it close, heart racing, senses screaming, voice barely above a whisper as he curled around it like a shield.

“Hey- hey, it’s okay... whatever you are,” he murmured urgently, pressing his forehead to the lid. “Please don’t make a sound. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”