-green tears- 緑の涙 {TMNT Oneshots}

boat -船- leonardo x reader

     The boat swayed side to side, the black water lazily sloshing against its sides, as if trying to seduce the bleeding teenager into a deep and plentiful sleep. Though, you refused to let it win. Though your scalp had a deep gash that didn't relent in it's bleeding, though your bottom lip was busted, and though your eyes hung heavy, heavy half slits- you would not fall asleep. You were slipping in and out of consciousness, but that was much more different than falling into a deep calming rest that you would never wake up from.

    Your head lolled side to side, a trail of blood flowing freely from your nose, in twin crescent rivers, pooling onto the outline of your lips in some sort of serial killer based lipstick. Your pink tongue flicked out, smoothing itself over the blood, smearing it pink, a metal tang echoing throughout your taste buds. Your eyes peeled open most uncomfortably as of they had been glued shut during your sleep, your lungs laboring in their breathing, as a deep ache stabbed at your bosom. You went to move your hand to rub your eye, which seemed to be more blurry than the other. Your arm was, unfortunately, held back by a coarse rope that dug into your flesh, leaving behind deep indents that had been rubbed raw by the rocking of the boat you were on.

    You blinked hard. Once, twice; realizing that your eye was immersed in blood, your own, blinding you for the time being. Your other eye, that seemed to fare better than its twin, managed to correct itself and take in the scene before you. There was a space between you and the long white bench that was stained with blood in front of you. Of fish or of a human, you couldn't be quite sure. There was the navigation room, with tinged windows that only held a silhouette of a man. He wore a hoodie, only the occasional glint of moonlight, from New York City's light pollution, mirroring off a pair of sunglasses. The boat slapped against the water as it sped forward, a spray of murky water drenching the already soaked clothes that you wore.

    Your ears popped, having been stifled by mass amounts of water and the occasional trickle of blood. Of course, your rattled mind still managed to block noise out of pure spite. The rush of noise attacked your thoughts, scrambling them as effective as ever, coupled with the wailing of ambulances and the police, the screeching of vehicles, and of course, the ambience of the human race. A groan was pushed forth between your clenched, pink stained, teeth as your eyes squeezed shut, squeezing out tears brought on by pain.

Softly though, as gentle as a breeze fluttering through a bundle of trees, a voice drifted towards you, contradicting against the mess of all the noise battering around you. Calm, a trickle of water down a mountain of pebbles, only caressed the injured teenager, effectively bringing you a sense of peace.

     "Bring me down to Brooklyn if I lose my life..." the voice gently sang, powerful in his tone, and yet soft in its message. "Push me down the Hudson and turn on the radio..." The voice was clearer than the water that the boat bounced upon, and almost brought tears of relief to your damaged eyes. It was nice to hear a familiar voice.

     "Long islands own are smiling 'cause my soul is fine—" The lovely vocals from the young man that was simply know as 'Lame-o-nardo', was rudely interrupted by the incompetence of a gang member.

     "'EY!" The amount of Brooklyn accent that ladened the voice was almost comical enough to make you choke on your own blood hysterically in amusement. It was as if the man was a knock of version of Raphael.

     "Didn't I tell ya to shut up about that damn song?!" Swore the man that swaggered around the corner of the navigation room, resembling a burly cliché of a man on steroids, complimented even with a Nazi tattoo smack dab on his monster of a forehead.

     You could feel the mutant tense up against you, seeing as you were both tightly tied together, as he faced the front of the boat, overlooking the river. Ironically enough, the same Hudson River he was singing about. His shell dug into the small of your back, as your hair tickled the back of his neck and broad shoulders.