The battlefield was silent now. The war-torn city lay in ruins, the sky painted in dull oranges and purples as the last light of day struggled through the thick clouds.

In the wreckage of it all, two figures stood—one barely holding onto consciousness, the other gripping them as if letting go meant losing everything.

Leo clutched Donnie tightly, his cloak whipping slightly in the wind. His breath was ragged, his muscles screaming from exhaustion, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “I got you,” he murmured, voice hoarse but filled with certainty. “You’re not leaving me like this, Don.”

Donatello let out a strained chuckle, one of his robotic fingers twitching against Leo’s side. “You say that like I had any intention of dying.” His voice still carried that sharp wit, but it was weaker now, like he was running on the last of his energy.

Leo huffed, tightening his hold. “Shut up. You nearly bled out back there.”

Silence stretched between them. The weight of everything—the years, the battles, the losses—hung in the air, unspoken but felt. They had lost too much already.

Finally, Donnie sighed, leaning his forehead against Leo’s. The hum of his cybernetics was faint against the wind. “We survived another day.”

Leo let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Lucky us.”

Neither moved. Neither let go.

Because in a world where everything was falling apart, they only had each other left to hold onto.