A/N: If you haven't read the first part of this series, this probably won't make much sense, so I recommend you start there!

I've defeated my horrible writer's block (for now) but I've already forgotten what happened in the first part of this series lol so let's see how this goes. If you find mistakes in my work, feel free to let me know!

As always, warnings for the story and future chapters; there will be injuries, blood, mental anguish. Stay safe!

Faint light from half-burnt candles filled the dojo. The flames of the candles flickered when the only occupant of the room moved past them, his feet steady as he moved into a defensive pose, lifting his hand to-

To hiss and drop the sword in his hand. Silence followed as disappointed eyes stared at the weapon on the floor, but it didn't take long for a shaky hand to pick it up again. The turtle holding it stood back up and took his previous position, shifting the hilt of the sword in his hold, flinching and dropping it again.

It had been weeks since Leonardo had gotten out of the sick bay, since Donatello had started his hand therapy. Almost a month of slow healing, of staying cooped up in the lair.

Even though his hands shook, his mind felt clear. Leonardo had to admit that after everything that had happened he'd expected the aftermath to be… worse. Nightmares, guilt, fear. He'd had all those things, restless nights, guilt when he'd seen the scars left on his brothers, the fear of what wielding his swords again would bring… but it had all been very minor considering everything. More manageable than he had expected.

There were times when he thought he heard someone calling for him, but when he turned around, nobody was there. There were times when he'd wake up to the feeling of someone standing by his bed- but every time he shot out of bed he was alone. And even those things were more frustrating than anything else. It was all manageable.

What he'd really been afraid of was that the balance in their family would falter or even break because of everything that had happened, but they had barely talked about the demon incident since he'd left the sick bay. His family had moved back to their usual routine. There were no signs that the trust between them had fractured in any way.

Maybe it was because of that relief that he was thinking less and less about the demon. Of course it crossed his mind every time the cuts in his hands ached, every time he failed to hold his swords, every time he had to glance over his shoulder to make sure he was alone… but to not think about it much more than that wasn't quite like him. He knew himself, knew it was like him to dwell over his mistakes, and well, this whole demon thing had felt like nothing but a huge mistake on his part. But it was just- when he did think back, he could remember the torture the demon had put him and his family through, but… not in detail. It was like the memories were far away, like he couldn't properly grasp them.

He could think back to an old fight and pick it apart piece by piece, remembering every wrong move he'd made… but everything the demon had made him do, everything it had done to him was so blurry and hazy. He couldn't remember properly, and… he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

At first he'd thought that his mind, too, was still recovering, and the memories would come back to him, but so much time had already passed without anything changing. He knew that the memories would be painful, but even so, he thought he should remember. He deserved to remember, just like he remembered all his other mistakes. He had to learn from them, so that he wouldn't repeat them. He wanted to remember what exactly he'd put his family through, for they seemed to remember everything, since they still woke up to nightmares some nights.

They'd slept together a few nights after the incident, and although the togetherness had made the nightmares milder, they'd woken each other up a few times during those nights. The bad dreams weren't as frequent anymore, and his brothers had said that they were more about the general fear of someone getting hurt rather than being just about the demon.

Leonardo had only vague memories, yet he had similar dreams, dreams in which he or the demon hurt his brothers, dreams where his brothers hurt him. They were hazy enough to allow him to go back to sleep after seeing one, but he couldn't help wondering what his nights would be like if he fully remembered everything. Would he keep coping as well as he had, or was the reason he was holding it all together so well simply because he didn't remember?

He couldn't help being bothered by it. Why didn't he remember? It was strange how one could go from fearing sleep due to constant nightmares to kind of wishing he'd still have them. He just felt like he had... gotten over this too soon. Like he was getting off too easy while his brothers still suffered from the aftermath.

Leonardo wasn't the only one wondering about his lack of nightmares. Just yesterday he had been walking towards the living area, but had halted his steps when he had heard two of his siblings talking about him.

"I just feel like he got over things a bit too quickly. You know how he usually gets." Donatello had been the one talking. "Splinter had to send him away to Japan because his mental health got so bad after our defeat to the Shredder. And now- now Leo spent days with that demon in his head while it constantly tortured him, and yes, it was mostly just in his head, but it was still torture. And he's just- the only time he's talked about having a bad dream was when he was still in the sick bay. It's like he hasn't really been bothered by it since then. I thought- I thought he's been hiding his hurt again, but we slept in the same room for a while, and none of us woke up to him having nightmares. I had nightmares, Mikey had them, you had them. I still keep thinking back to it, to everything that could've happened… I know Leo's mentally strong, he wouldn't have survived the demon if he wasn't- but- it was still torture. Shouldn't he have had nightmares? Shouldn't- shouldn't there be just… something?"

So Leonardo had been wrong about his family not talking about the demon anymore. They talked about it, just not when he was present.

"Geez, Don, ya sound like yer unhappy about the fact he's been coping well," Raphael had answered.

"Believe me, Raph, I'm more than glad he seems to be doing well. It's just… I guess I just worry about him hiding things again. He avoided his swords at first, and when I asked him about it, he was wielding them the next day. I just felt like he forced himself to do it to show that nothing was wrong."

Leonardo had frowned as he had listened. He was fine. Maybe he shouldn't be, if even his brothers felt that it was too soon for him to be feeling that way, but he was, and he'd tried his hardest to show them that he was. He'd told them his memories from the demon were hazy, but wasn't sure if his brothers had believed it.

But… even if he was mentally fine, his hands weren't. Even now, after so much time had passed, they weren't. And while Leonardo couldn't do all the things he had previously done (he couldn't lift anything heavy and training had been altered for him) he'd been patient about his healing. He'd changed his bandages regularly, done his daily katas (only the simple ones), meditated, read, spent time with his family… simply given himself time to heal.

Yet they weren't healing as fast as they should be healing. Even Donatello had thought so.

"And then there's his hands," Donatello had continued while Leonardo had still stood away from their sight. "At this point, he should be able to do light practice. It isn't advisable, but he should be able to do it. And I guess he tries to, but I've seen the way he holds his swords, how his hands tremble- he's in more pain than he should be. I don't know why his hands are healing so slowly. Were they injured worse than I thought? Did I miss something? I don't- I don't know what more to do for him- and I worry that he's just hurting his hands more by trying to wield his swords, but he says he doesn't need my check ups anymore, and I just hate the fact that maybe he's just trying to deal with everything alone-"

The desperation in Donatello's voice had made Leonardo move, to take a step closer to the kitchen so that he could comfort his brother, but he'd stopped himself from entering the room. Raphael had been there for Donatello.

"Hey, I hear ya," Raphael had said. "He might not tell us everything, but you've done so much to help him. Don't think ya haven't done enough, okay? We'll think of somethin' if his hands don't start getting better."

At that point, Leonardo had walked away. He hated that Donatello had seen the way his hands trembled when he'd held his swords- he should've been able to hide it. He'd always hated making his family worry, and it was especially bad now since this was all something he had caused. He'd caused this to himself, so seeing his family worry about him just increased his guilt.

He hated how weak he had been, and still was. Not healing was weakness. Even Donatello had expected him to have healed by now- and since he hadn't, it had to mean that he was weak.

Since Leonardo could do his hand therapy on his own and change the bandages himself, Donatello hadn't needed to look at his hands anymore. His brother would've liked to still regularly check on him and had told him to go to him if the pain remained… but he couldn't. When he was here in the dojo, desperately attempting to wield his weapons, he tended to rub his skin raw and open when he stubbornly kept going. He didn't want to tear the stitches, so he was still careful, but it was fine if his fingers were sore and the skin torn afterwards. Being unable to keep the hilts of his swords fully against his palms just meant that his fingers took most of the weight of the weapons. But even so, he didn't want to show that to his brother, didn't want to make him worry even more than he already did.

He had meant to talk to Donatello about this, he really had. Especially after he'd heard his conversation with Raphael about him, he'd wanted to try to convince his brother again that he was fine and healing... but even though he knew that worrying his brother was a smaller price than being unable to use his hands, he knew going to Donatello wouldn't help. Donatello had said it himself – he didn't know what more to do for him. The wounds were simple cuts, yes, they were deep, but everything else had healed much faster. He'd been injured in worse ways in the past, and he'd always recovered. Why not now? It wasn't on Donatello to figure that out. If he went to him, he'd just place more stress on his brother. Expecting him to fix the unfixable.

He wasn't allowed to use his swords in training, but his brothers knew he was using them when he was in the dojo alone. Nobody had scolded him about it; every time they came to check up on him or join him he made sure to hold the swords gently, telling them he was taking it easy. So far nobody had caught him in action.

Because there had been no action.

Any attempt to get back into real training had ended up in pain and dropped weapons. He wasn't stupid enough to hold his swords long enough to truly cause his hands further damage, so he'd always given up when his swords hadn't stayed in his hold. The shaking in his hands, the cramp in his muscles and the torn skin had usually been good signs that he'd reached his limit, so he'd stopped when the pain had gotten too much.

But… the problem was that the pain got too much every time. By now he could hold most of the items that had previously slipped from his hands, even though some of them did leave his fingers shaking and his palms aching… but there was a huge difference between holding a kettle or a book or using a pair of swords.

The weapons just wouldn't stay in his hands. They were too heavy, needing to be held with a tight grip if he was to fight with them. Putting their weight just on his fingers wasn't enough, and despite the bandages still covering his hands, despite his carefulness, his palms were rubbed raw every now and then, the stitched wounds aching terribly. He remembered distantly holding a kunai above his hand, having a feeling he'd made these cuts himself, so it was his own fault that he couldn't hold his weapons. Holding the kunai was such an unstable memory that he wasn't even sure if it was real, but he hadn't really doubted it; cutting himself wouldn't have been the strangest or the worst thing that had happened with the demon in his head.

Leonardo was panting as he stood in the middle of the dojo. This was the first time he'd pushed himself this hard with his bandaged hands. The weight of his swords had already left his fingers numb, and his hands ached even when he wasn't holding them. He hadn't forced himself to use them for longer than twenty minutes at a time, but now he had been in the dojo well over an hour already. Despite his many attempts, his swords lay on the floor in front of him, unwieldable. No matter how many times he bent down to pick them up, they always ended up on the floor.

There was smudged red on the hilts. No matter how frustrated he had grown, Leonardo hadn't allowed this to happen before, hadn't gone so far that he'd made his hands bleed like this. He knew that by pushing this he risked prolonging his recovery even more, but it wasn't like they were healing anyway. There was something wrong with his hands, something they hadn't figured out how to fix.

But he needed the use of his hands. With the increased gang-activity, the Foot and just the general chaos of the city, Leonardo was surprised that his brothers, Raphael especially, hadn't caved in yet and went topside. But he knew it was just a matter of time. Raphael had shown an impressive amount of patience, but they'd all noticed that he was getting grumpy, needing to get out of the lair. At this point he was making all of his brothers restless by keeping them underground.

But how could he just watch them go? He wasn't fit to follow them. If something happened up there and he couldn't be there with them- his chest ached at the mere thought. He'd seen his brothers hurt enough lately. He couldn't stand the idea of just staying behind.

And maybe… maybe he was ashamed that it was taking him so long to be able to wield his weapons again. He was ashamed that these cuts were made by him, ashamed of how weak he had been to allow this to happen… and how weak he still was. He knew it was stupid, knew his family would never blame him for not healing fast enough... but he'd screwed up so bad with the demon, he couldn't screw up something as simple as recovering.

Yet that was what he was currently doing. His hands shook even before he grabbed the swords again. When he lifted them, they were heavy in his hold, so he tightened his grip around the hilts, gritting his teeth.

"Don't you dare drop them," he threatened himself, glaring coldly at his hands. "You've held them all your life, it can't be that difficult now."

But it was. He moved into position to go through a basic kata- and the moment he lifted his swords the muscles in his hands cramped and the pain in his palms flared, forcing his hands to open and drop the swords.

They fell with a silent clatter, followed with small droplets of blood. Leonardo stared down at them with a chest full of disappointment.

"No." The word was said sternly. Leonardo bent back down to pick them up. "We're doing this until-"

When his bleeding palm came into contact with one of the hilts, the intense pain surprised him, making him pull his hand back with a wince. Anger flared inside of him at the reaction, at the fact that he was losing control of the situation. He forced himself to grab and lift the sword, despite the pain now nearing agony.

"I've been weak for long enough," he told the sword in his trembling hold. "I have to do this."

He'd given in to the pain when the demon had caused havoc in his mind, when it had torn everything apart, and it had hurt his family because of his weakness. This pain was still caused by the demon, and he would never surrender to pain like that again. He wouldn't keep letting the demon make him weak.

He started the kata, holding just one sword. He could do this, could learn to ignore the pain, could learn to control it, because he would never let it be used against him. He was never losing control like that, never again-

When he twisted his wrist, the hilt dug into his palm, and the pain became, once more, unbearable. With a short cry he let go, and the sword flew away from him, landing on the floor like it always did, like it always would.

It was enough to shatter his patience. He pulled his hands into tight fists, which only gave him more pain, but he was done, tired after so many failed attempts. Both frustration and pain made his whole body shake. Why was this being taken away from him? He had been forced to use his swords against the ones he loved, and now he was being stopped from protecting them. Something was always controlling what was his main purpose in his clan, in his family. As long as he couldn't wield his swords it was as if the demon was still in charge. Having no control over his own hands reminded him too much of that.

And now his despair to have the sword in his hand reminded him too much of the way the demon had always yearned to have them. How many times he had done the exact opposite, fighting himself to not grab them, fighting himself to drop them.

"I'm in control," he said, just to remind himself. But… as long as he had to fight something this simple, he wouldn't feel like it. As long as this pain remained, he'd never feel like he was in control. But it was clear the swords just wouldn't stay in his hands. The pain was too overwhelming. Nothing had changed. He was still useless. He'd given himself and his hands time to heal, but it had changed nothing. The demon had won, after all.

"No, don't be stupid," Leo muttered to himself, frowning at the amount of self pity swirling around in his head. "Just… just try again."

He walked over to the sword that had fallen away from him, but didn't bend down to pick it up. He kept his hand outstretched, as if he was going to kneel down and grab it… but instead, he simply watched as a few small droplets of blood fell from his palm down onto the sword. He knew what'd happen if he touched the sword. Knew the pain that would come, and with the deep ache in his hands, he realized he was starting to dread touching them. There had just been so much pain already. When would it end? Even if he healed enough to wield the swords, would his palms always have this ache? He'd belittled the wounds, to both himself and to his brothers, but he knew he'd been lucky that no nerves or muscles had been permanently damaged.

Or had he? They had all been forced to learn a lot about injuries, and Donatello had researched hand injuries when Leonardo had been recovering. But he still wasn't a doctor- what if he really had missed something? What if there was permanent damage, after all? What if he never truly healed?

If he didn't, then the demon truly had won. What was he without his swords? What would his role in this family be? Once again he felt a sharp pain in his chest. There was no such role for him. It was a simple, cruel fact. There would be nothing but pitying glances when he couldn't join them for weapon practice or their missions, and he- he couldn't take that. He couldn't live knowing he would never be able to fight with them.

It just wasn't an option.

And maybe he was getting too far ahead, maybe he just needed more time to heal, but… he was out of time. Crime had never waited for them. The longer they waited, the harder returning to the fight in the city would be.

So if the pain wouldn't leave, then he had no choice but to learn to live with it. He had to use it. Use it as a reminder of what happened when he gave in to pain, when he was weak. All he had to do was to force the control back. It hurt, it hurt simply to focus on the throb in his hands, it hurt enough to make his head ache, the pain slicing through his brain. But there could be pain much more terrible if he didn't learn to wield his swords again, if he failed to be the leader of his team.

It was suddenly more than just a frightening thought. It was a dreadful idea. To be such an utter failure that he would be left behind. Angry determination turned into fearful desperation.

He needed this. Without his swords, he had no purpose.

Something flew through the air, hitting his still outstretched fingers.

It was the sword he'd so desperately thought about. Just like that, without having moved an inch, he had his previously dropped sword in his hand.

Leonardo stood frozen. He felt the weapon against his fingers, but it didn't feel like he was really holding it. The sword felt too light, too easy to hold. Like he wasn't even holding it, like it was floating and his fingers were just curled around it. And slowly it sank in what had happened. That he'd moved the sword without touching it, or something had made it move, just like the demon had made things move with its power.

Once again the sword was dropped, on purpose for the first time. Leonardo took hasty, retreating steps, his eyes wide. No, no, no… No. Not again. It couldn't be… was it still here?

Leonardo whirled around, scanned the room with his eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to see the demon even if it was here. But that could explain the voices he'd thought he'd heard, the presence he sometimes felt-

There was nobody in the dojo but him. He looked back at the dropped sword.

Just as he did, the blade moved. It moved towards him, just a few inches without rising from the floor, and Leonardo jumped back. The sword stilled again, and Leonardo stared at it with a blank gaze before slowly lifting his hands, holding his head between them.

"No," Leonardo mumbled, unable to take his eyes off of the weapon. "No, they… they got rid of you, you're gone, you shouldn't be here-"

He kept backing away even though the sword wasn't moving anymore.

"This… this isn't real, this is just… a memory I haven't remembered before, just a… just a nightmare that's been long overdue," Leonardo tried to reason. He lowered his hands and pressed his thumb against his palm to make himself feel pain, to wake himself up, but the ache only grew worse. He was still in the dojo, not waking up in his bed. With a groan he closed his eyes, willing all of this to go away, his inability to heal, these hallucinations he was apparently now having- but nothing changed, he was still here, still unable to get anything back under control, not the shaking of his hands, the fear growing in his chest, nothing.

It had been a while since he'd felt anything like this- why had he been so caught in wondering why he wasn't affected by what happened, why hadn't he just been glad about it? Now he was affected, now he had the fear that had been missing, and he had been right not to even want to remember this feeling; already he was crumbling under the possibility that the demon wasn't fully gone, unwilling to go through this again.

The blade scraped against the mats, causing Leonardo to snap his eyes open and back away again.

"No!" Leonardo grabbed the other sword he had dropped earlier, the one that hadn't been moved with… with the demon's power. The hilt of the katana was as heavy as before, familiar in the way it made his hand hurt. There was no one he could point the sword at, so he pointed it at the other sword.

Though, holding the sword wouldn't do much if the demon really was still here and took over him again. If that was the case, he'd better throw this sword away as well. But he couldn't, he only gripped it tighter to have at least some sense of defense. Just in case it wasn't still in him. Just in case he could somehow defend himself this time.

"Get out of my home," Leonardo hissed, eyes on sword in front of him. "I'm not doing this again. I'm not-" His voice was shaky, his whole body was. The out of place calmness he'd felt after he'd gotten rid of the shadows in his mind, back when he'd been fighting to wake up, was completely gone. Forgotten panic was rising from the back of his mind.

But there was no voice in his head, no sneering answer, no surprise, I'm still here. The sword didn't rise up from the floor to cut him. Nothing was trying to take over his mind. No one was telling him to go hurt his family or himself.

The dojo remained quiet, and slowly his heart beat slowed down again. He stood at ready, his hands aching terribly even though he was using both of them to hold just one sword, and eventually he had to let it fall from his hold.

Nothing happened even when he let the weapon fall.

He forced the rest of the sudden panic to die down, locking it back where it had come from. But the fear remained, accompanied with numbness and defeated acceptance, because the demon wasn't here, but it had still broken him. Why else would he see his sword moving on its own? Leonardo exhaled slowly, then sat down, simply because he felt too worn to stand on his feet anymore.

"Okay," he said quietly to himself. "Calm down. You're tired. You should take a break." His arms rested against his knees, and he stared at the blood slowly dripping down his right hand.

It was fine. He was fine. He was fine, like he'd been for weeks. He was fine with everything that had happened, this had just been an unfortunate memory. Or a hallucination. But it wasn't the end of the world- he'd rest, he'd heal, he'd be able to use his hands, he wouldn't be seeing weird things. He was just tired.

Only he didn't believe that for a second. There were too many emotions, things he had closed away for weeks, and now that they were here so suddenly he didn't know what to do with them.

He drew his knees closer to his plastron and hid his face against them, trembling from his exhaustion, feeling confused and scared, unsure what to do now.