A/N: Welcome to my first completed attempt at a TMNT fanfic. I have since edited it to fix some of the errors both glaring and dysfunctional, and it should hopefully read a tad better than it originally did.

Anyway, enjoy the journey to the past...

1. AWAKE

It was a lone chirping that awoke Leonardo to his surroundings.

It battled with solace, before sparking into a high pitched squeal, a peculiar noise that escaped its crustaceous body like a miniature whistling kettle. Then a whir of clicking from every direction as the dawn's rays awakened the cacophony of insects from their shallow earth crevices. With a soft sigh, Leonardo lifted himself from the bundled hemp grass that served as his bed, looking past the netted reed silk that bound the huts portholes and out onto the land that had been his home for countless days. Soggy mud flats fanned around him in endless directions, smeared as far as the horizon went; and within the muddy plains, ancient creatures writhed within the thousands of salty ponds.

There was only one certainty in this new world – not a sign of human life.

'Unless you count me.'

As far as the eye could see, and in every direction, a world devoid of civilization, but amassed with life forms so foreign that at first he could barely recognize that he was on Earth. Even now he was not completely certain. As if feeling his solitude, a large beetle began to squeeze in through a crack in the window's netting, its back legs flailing as it snagged itself, feelers rapidly whipping along the inner wall. Finally it pushed its way through, scuttling across the grooves of his carapace and onto his shoulder.

Click-clee-clee-tiiiiiiiiiii-

Leonardo caught it between his fingers, and gently pushed it back out through the window crack.

"Go on, little guy."

He watched as the sheen from its black casing heliographed, before it scuttled away.

From the moment he had arrived, Leonardo knew that he was somewhere entirely different to the Earth he knew. Vaguely remembering a text book that Donatello had kept as a child, he had recognized some of the distinct looking fish, reptilians and invertebrates of the place and at first could not believe it.

'This…this is not my time.' he had concluded in surprise.

And he was right, and although he couldn't pinpoint exactly when, the exotic look of the place conjured up images of things native to many millions of years past. Quickly he had learned to seek protection from the onslaught freakishly large insect life that seemed to teem from every nook of the planet, decisively setting aside any notion of a butterfly effect after losing count of the fist-sized mosquitoes he had crushed against his skin and mud beetles he had pulverized underfoot.

Within the first day he had found a grooved outcrop of solid granite, and had spent his first night huddled against its leeward side, sheltered against the cool air blowing off the water. The next morning, not willing to suffer another dose of the frigid night air, he had begun building shelter from the only other thing that seemed abundant in this strange world - mud.

Throughout several days he had worked: his broad hands quickly smoothing down the walls. Flecks of moss and other irregularities peeked out from where he had reinforced the mud with debris littered on the plains. Leonardo had pummeled his frustrations into the construction of the hut; the task keeping both his mind and hands occupied from the gnawing feeling of being lost, and to his mild surprise took well to it. It was quick work, the clay lending itself well to being shaped, and hardening in the heat to an even fawn grey. By nights he had eaten the stringy reeds and fish choking the ponds, chewing alone in the uncanny quiet. His resolve to keep occupied had meant that by the weeks' end he had finished its construction.

"Done." he had murmured, patting on the last handful. The hut was sturdy and true. "Look at this thing. The boys would be proud."

He had wiped his brow against the back of his forearm, and stumbled back out to the lagoons, rinsing his hands. Looking back at the newly built structure, he admired his handiwork oddly, dubbing it 'koya'.

For a hut it proved to be an ideal location that offered broad views of the landscape and protection against the occasional sand filled gales. He was amazed to discover, on closer inspection, that the rocky outcrop it leant against was filled with wondrous crystals which rippled through the rock as prolifically as syrup. He could not begin to even imagine its worth...how ironic, he mused, that it was as invaluable as the mud that surrounded him – perhaps less so, even.

'If only Donatello were here', he had once thought detachedly, 'He would love this place and could probably tell me where I am. When I am'.

As the weeks turned into months, the notion of being lost forever weighed heavily on him. To believe that something other than this had once been his existence was proving to be more and more difficult. Here was where he was. Now was where he was. And his family, his life, were so very far away.

Tonight, as he sat on the earthen roof of his hut, he watched the swirl of particles in this ancient atmosphere blazing like jewels in the sunset, wondering if his memories of the future were amongst them, drifting aimlessly through the ages.

Do they know I'm alive? Do they even exist yet?

The last thought disturbed him and he tried to shut it out.

Trauma will do that to you, he realized, rearrange everything in your mind. Things once important becoming as insignificant as specks of dust in a sunbeam. Neurons and synapses re-forming in self-preserving ways, caging your mind to keep it safe...or so he had thought.

He would sometimes find his mind drifting back to the events before he had arrived here, painfully recollecting the almost fatal fight he had had with his brother. Raphael - plagued with rage that crackled like the internal menace of a thundercloud, threatening to strike at any moment. It was what made him a lethal warrior but also volatile and unpredictable. Their fight on the city roof in the rain- it seemed forever ago now, and in a way it was.

'And more importantly, I'm better than you.'

He knew he had needed to say it, to goad Raphael into a blind rage. His words were all strategy, and Raphael had believed them. But that he had so easily believed had cut Leonardo deeper than he could imagine. In a way it was an act of faith- and as it turned out he had misjudged the depths of Raphael's rage and it had almost cost him his life. But that moment, too, so long ago, had also long since faded to dust.

'And now it's gone.' he thought wearily. 'Everything. If it ever happened at all.'

...