Cursed
I gotta do somethin'!
There was a glass of water on the table near Sharra. Hoping against hope the shock might force his brother to react, Raphael grabbed it and dumped its contents in Michelangelo's face.
"Raph!" Donatello scolded. He rushed over to dab at the mess with a towel. "That's the last thing we need. More water isn't going to help—"
Mikey sat straight up spluttering. He blinked and shook his head. Liquid dripped off his beak, hitting the already sopping blanket with a wet-sounding smack in the stunned silence.
"Wh-where am I?"
Donnie's jaw dropped. "How the heck did that work?"
Raphael whooped in vindication.
Michelangelo's gaze focused on him and filled with painful realization. "I'm in the lair? The infirmary? NO!" he shrieked. "I've got to get back!"
Raph flinched at the raw pain in Mikey's voice. If the source of his torment were anyone other than Sharra, they would be fighting for their life. But as it was, there was nothing he could hit to avenge his little brother's agony. He rubbed his hands over his scalp, his joy at waking the slumbering turtle dying as fast as it arrived.
Now what?
"Guys, I think she's coming out of it," Leonardo interrupted in a strained tone. "But she's still not breathing right."
"Listen!" Don grabbed Michelangelo's arm and shook it to regain his attention, "You have to let Sharra go."
"Never! I won't leave her alone with THEM, they're KILLING her!"
He struggled against Donnie's hold.
"Mikey" —Donatello shook him again— "Look!"
He spun the table so the distraught turtle faced Sharra and Leo.
"Everything's okay. She's right here! But you need to release her physical properties. She can't get enough oxygen!"
"Whaaat…?"
Michelangelo blinked and tilted his head. His eyes skimmed Sharra's twitching form from head to foot, noting the scratches, the blood on Leonardo, and the way his brother's forearms stabilized her head while his hands cradled her cheeks.
Raphael bit back a growl. Don's words did nothing but confuse Mikey, wasting precious time. Time Sharra could not afford.
"Yer hurtin' her!" Raph snapped, "Stop whatever chi thing it is yer doin'!"
"I'M hurting her?"
Michelangelo reared back as if struck. Sharra's mouth fell open. Her chest heaved as her lungs tried to catch up with their need for air.
"I think that's done it," Leonardo exclaimed, relief saturating his voice.
Raph forcibly unclenched his fists and exhaled a long-winded sigh.
Sharra's breathing. Leo ain't gone berserk yet. Damn, I hope that's it for the night.
He glanced at the clock. Morning had come and gone.
Er… Day.
"I don't understand," Mikey groaned, unable to tear his eyes away from her gasping form. "That wasn't a dream. There was real pain. She was being tortured! How is she here? Safe?"
"You were caught up in one of her flashbacks," Donatello explained.
"So it actually happened?"
Don sighed, his soulful eyes reflected nothing but sadness. "I don't know when it transpired but yes. Her scar tissue suggests she suffered through more than one traumatic physical event."
"Fuck!" Michelangelo gagged and wrapped his head in his hands. His eyes filled with helpless tears. "I tried to stop them. I really did! But I couldn't!"
"There wasn't anything you could do, Mike."
Leonardo murmured the reassurance gently as he eased away from Sharra. His expression was at odds with his tone though. It twisted, reflecting harsh experience.
"It was a memory. You can't change the past."
"What'd you see?" Raph asked in a sick tone. The question dragged out of him almost against his will, but his heart demanded to know.
Michelangelo hesitated. He looked like he wanted to spill his guts—literally and figuratively—but, Raphael suddenly realized, the spunky girl might not want the world to know what happened. Mikey always considered such things.
"You don't have to tell us," Donatello said in a quiet voice, "but if it helps to let it out, we'll keep it to ourselves."
"She was trapped in Shredder's dungeon…" Mikey whispered. After that, the words gushed forth like poison purged from a wound. He described everything in a hollow voice, mournfully recounting all the details he could remember.
Nobody stopped him or interrupted, not even when he began to cry.
He spoke of the cell. The goon who terrified and tortured Sharra in humiliating ways. The whip. The rats.
It was all horrifying.
Raphael's protective nature cranked his anger up a notch with each new torment. By the end of the tale, he was nearing volcanic levels.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
He almost couldn't believe it. He knew Shredder was capable of depravity but this was beyond monstrous. And yet Sharra somehow survived.
The girl is a walking miracle.
Mikey's descriptions became incoherent with sobs
Why ain't Leo at his side?
Raph searched the room for his older brother, but he had disappeared. The lava bubbling inside him rose again. Leonardo was out of control. Nothing he'd done so far screamed of turmoil louder than this. He was their rock! The one they leaned on!
What's he thinking, leavin' now?
Raphael angrily limped to Michelangelo and threw an arm across his shoulders. He caught Don's eye over the top of Mikey's head, raised a brow ridge, and mouthed 'Leo?'
Donnie scanned the room and frowned. His eyes narrowed and he shrugged before he returned to cleaning Sharra up. He was wiping away the smeared blood with a cloth soaked in warm water and disinfecting her scratches, but his hands were shaking. Though the genius kept up a solid front—holding a stoic expression as he worked—the first-hand account hit him hard too.
Don likes the girl. Maybe more than likes… He tried to brush it off, but he called her 'love' on the boat.
Raphael sighed. There wasn't much he could do for Donatello. The lanky genius would probably never admit his feelings, particularly because of his prior relationship with Mike. If Raph tried to say anything to comfort him, the words would only tangle on his tongue and come out all wrong. But for Mikey?
He leaned forward and enveloped the smaller turtle in a bear hug. It felt awkward and uncomfortable, but Michelangelo clung to his plastron like his life depended on it. Hopefully, the embrace conveyed all the things he couldn't say. The helpless sorrow. The anger. And his promise to be there from now on — for all of them — even if Leo could not.
He squeezed a little tighter.
"I gotcha' bro."
No matter what.
Many things became clear when Mikey got to the part about the rats.
Leonardo bit his lip and slipped out of the room. He understood the twisted way the Shredder and his goons thought. He didn't need to hear the rest. And he couldn't stay in the infirmary any longer— not even to support his grieving brother. Learning the details of Sharra's devastating experience would only lead to another loss of control. And this time he had no excuse to touch Sharra to hold the demons at bay. Nor any enemies to loose them on.
Instead, he followed his father down the hall to the kitchen. His steps were nearly inaudible but Splinter knew who was behind him. He issued a command without looking back, angling his whisker-covered chin towards the sink.
"Wash."
Leo glanced at his hands. He had forgotten they were still covered in blood. Immediately, he turned on the faucet and thrust the offending appendages under. Red swirled, staining the clear liquid as he rinsed his palms.
He stared at the patterns it formed in abject horror. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. His breathing sped. He shook his head, searching for equilibrium.
He didn't usually react to blood, but this batch disturbed him on a visceral level. Perhaps because it was not that of his enemies but a strange concoction of Sharra's and his own.
She had so little left to lose.
"Or maybe you're freaking out because it changed everything when it touched you…"
Leonardo ignored the snarky comment but the voice in his head that challenged everything wasn't wrong. Laying his hands on Sharra had been a mistake.
He had tried to stay away from her.
The second he had crossed the threshold of the infirmary, the buzzing in his head became a roar. The need to comfort her—to end her soul's anguish—overwhelmed him. He had barely resisted rushing to her side, locking his joints so tight his nails drew blood from his palms. But he could not ignore Splinter's request to take his place.
After hearing about the rats, Leonardo understood his master's reasoning.
It didn't make the consequences any easier to bear.
When Sharra raked her nails down his forearms, his skin had burned— icy then hot. The external emotions became a never-ending scream of pain that scorched through his head. The violent invasion battered his mind and pierced even his strongest mental shields.
It made problem-solving difficult.
Hell, it made breathing difficult.
Despite his father's claims, he had tried to shock her out of the agonizing state. He knew the chances of success were slim. Splinter was rarely mistaken when it came to aural matters. But Leo could not stand by and watch Sharra die —again— without attempting everything in his power to save her.
I was frantic. I couldn't let Mikey suffocate her. It would destroy him.
"It would've destroyed you…"
He shuddered, unwilling to admit the truth of that observation, then glanced around to see if his father had noticed his momentary loss of composure.
Splinter appeared to be involved in other tasks: puttering around from stove to cupboards, heating a kettle, and steeping some tea; but he watched carefully as his son scrubbed at his arms until not a single speck of Sharra's blood remained — questions dancing in his eyes.
Questions Leo had no real answers for.
How did I do it?
Why did Sharra respond? She shouldn't have.
I had no positive memories to offer.
We have no ties. She fears me.
"Leonardo, I believe your hands are clean enough."
The anxious turtle was so lost in his head that his father's voice startled him. He dropped the scouring pad he hadn't realized he was holding and spun to face the perceived threat. He reached for weapons he wasn't wearing. Grasping nothing, he dropped into a defensive crouch, fists guarding his face and gaze darting around the kitchen seeking enemies.
"Be at ease, my son," Splinter soothed, resting his paw on Leo's bicep. "Everything is fine. The danger has passed."
Comforting green light soaked into his soul, forcing Leo's body to relax. He shivered as Splinter patted his arm and released him from the flow of outside chi.
"Go wait in my meditation room," Splinter suggested. "The quiet will help. I will bring the tea and we can discuss this turn of events."
As his father reached around him to turn off the still-flowing water, Leo flushed and looked down in shame, only then realizing how abraded his forearms felt. He had nearly scrubbed his scales off.
He swallowed hard and retreated across the lair without another word.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Keeping himself under strict control, he entered his father's quarters, walked past the bed, and knelt in the center of the room set aside for contemplation. Incense greeted him, offering a familiar and calming scent. The plain brick walls were adorned with scrolls displaying the kanji for peace, wisdom, and healing.
He tried to focus on them. The calligraphy was his work, though he hadn't picked up a brush in years. But the contents were all things that escaped him at the moment.
The flickering candles caught his attention. Lit pillars of white wax covered the short tables in all four corners of the room, their use so constant the pedestals were hidden beneath layers of melted drippings. But for once he didn't find their warm light welcoming.
He fidgeted as he rested on his heels. He had mastered seiza, or 'proper sitting,' as a child and could hold the pose for hours unmoving—especially when the concrete floor under his knees was softened by a pair of thick tatami mats. But today he was restless.
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and willed himself to stillness; trying to absorb the simplicity and silence of the room; commanding his body, mind, and soul to rest.
It didn't help.
His thoughts wouldn't be muzzled. His inner critic was having a field day with his actions. And his chi didn't bear thinking about. Like a five-year-old hyped on too much sugar, his energies zipped around, unwilling to embrace the solace of meditation and be confined inside his form. Instead, they sought to return to the young woman who slept just a few rooms away, as if she were their rightful home.
Splinter entered with the tea, saving Leo from such dangerous thoughts. Leo stood to help fold out the legs on the bottom of the tray. They busied themselves with the process of serving the hot liquid and at last, sat on either side of the temporary table sipping in silence.
The tea was a strongly brewed herbal, containing peppermint to settle the stomach with a hint of chamomile as a sedative. Leo would have preferred an intense bitter green to keep him awake so he might stand vigil over the injured, but apparently, his father had other ideas.
"Water did not liberate Michelangelo," Splinter stated in an even tone, opening the conversation Leo was dreading with a pointed stare.
Leonardo flinched and set down his cup. He studied his hands resting on his thighs.
"No," he admitted.
"And Miss Sharra did not escape from the vision on her own."
Leo closed his eyes and again murmured, "No."
"You used my technique to assist her?"
Splinter didn't need to ask. The tell-tale colors leaving Leonardo's palms when he released Sharra's wrists and cupped her face in fearful desperation were a dead giveaway of what he had done.
His father was probing, leading him toward an explanation he did not want to face.
Sharra had responded to his efforts. There was no debate about that. But she did not grant him entry with the gold of his pure life energy.
Nor did she react to the green of peace and reassurance. Her shields had finally folded, not at his worry about Michelangelo's despair, but at his own desperate wish for her survival—at the touch of deep violet.
Love.
It wasn't the responsible type of caring he should have felt for her as the leader of the clan about to welcome her into its ranks. It was soul-deep—echoing the clamor of his heart, the desire of his body, and the longing in his mind.
Leonardo kept his eyes closed. He had spent the last week fighting increasingly desperate feelings towards her. His inability to erase her haunted eyes from his mind was a big red flag. As was his uneasiness about her safety. Then there were the disastrous and agonizing dreams and the forbidden fantasies.
They made no sense. He barely knew her. She was terrified of him. For Ancestor's sake, she was Michelangelo's beloved!
But I somehow fell for her regardless...
Sharra's soul called to him. Her courageous and indomitable spirit invigorated him. And her blood had somehow completed the bond, binding him with unbreakable chains.
This is a disaster.
He dared not admit he cared. Not to his father. Not to anyone. Yet there was no explanation, no denial he could voice that would not resonate falsely in Splinter's ears.
He nodded once in answer to the question, refusing to elaborate.
Splinter sighed, disappointed with his evasion, then stated the truth baldly.
"Leonardo, you have established an emotional connection with Miss Sharra."
Leo said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the facts, but his posture slumped and his head lowered further.
"I fear this may cause conflict and hurt Michelangelo," Splinter continued.
"I won't let it," Leo said to the floor. His voice firmed with decision and he raised his gaze to meet Splinter's concern head on.
"I swear it, father. This will not turn into another situation like the one with Saki. I will not allow my… attachment to interfere with their relationship. This connection—whatever it may be—is one-sided. Sharra believes me fearsome. And while I do not wish her to be uncomfortable here, I will strive to maintain that impression and avoid her as much as possible."
Though Leo chose his words with caution, Splinter didn't miss the implied confirmation of his feelings. The wise old master drew a long slow breath before speaking again.
"I do not believe your emotions are unrequited. She responded to what you shared."
"No."
The denial was instantaneous. There hadn't been an answering violet glow from Sharra's soul. Just a desperate seizure of his proffered power. Besides, he hadn't shown her anything real. He had used the dreams—his flights of fancy—where he got to be the one who cared for and comforted her.
"Her shields allowed you to pass, Leonardo, that requires significant trust."
"No," Leo protested again, but his thoughts were running wild.
Could I have missed seeing her true feelings? She was incandescent with fear.
Even if he had, it didn't matter. He could not disrupt his brother's relationship any further. Mike's vision—one Leo suspected was a product of their ancestors' intervention—had warned of dire consequences to the entire clan if the young turtle should lose her.
Besides, Mikey's soul is pure. Sharra deserves him. Not a monster like me.
Splinter regarded him with sad eyes and said nothing.
The silence weighed on Leo heavily.
"No! I won't do this to them," he blurted. "Father, you must send me away."
After his experiences on the five-fold path, he did not want to ever leave his family again, but if it meant Michelangelo's happiness—and the clan's ultimate survival—he would go gladly.
Splinter frowned.
"Running is not the solution, my son. We remain stronger than our enemies by facing our problems as one. As for ignoring Miss Sharra, I do not believe that is the best course of action either. Viewed from the right perspective, this connection may turn out to be a blessing."
"In what way?" Leo demanded.
Looking at the big picture had led to his previous failures regarding Sharra. And his personal perspective was a complete mess. If there was a way out of this conundrum with everyone's feelings intact, he couldn't see it.
"Miss Sharra is a burgeoning empath," Splinter explained. "She is just discovering her talents and has started projecting her emotions. During this trial, her fears echoed through our home."
"I heard them," Leo agreed, uncertain where this line of reasoning was headed, "even Don felt the early vibrations."
"She will be strong. It is imperative to teach her shielding and control quickly, or the next time she suffers a flashback we may all be trapped."
Leo lowered his head again, disappointed. "I believe that is your purview, my master."
Splinter eyed him shrewdly.
"No," he declared, "I cannot help her."
"What?" Leo exclaimed, "Why?"
"She is too broken for me to teach."
Leo's eyes flashed and he bit back several unsavory words he never used in front of Splinter out of respect, but he couldn't swallow his indignation at the casual-sounding dismissal entirely.
"She isn't!" he protested, "She's resilient. A survivor. You have to give her a chance!"
Splinter shook his head with a sad smile.
"Miss Sharra is a remarkable young woman and it is valiant of you to protect her honor, but we have both Seen the fractures in her soul."
He raised a palm, quieting Leo's second objection as he spoke again.
"This does not mean I am rejecting her or that I view her life as less than worthwhile. When one cares for something damaged, my son, they do not deny that it is— they work to restore it."
He picked up the jade sugar container from the tea set and held it out.
"Consider this bowl."
It had been split into five pieces in an accident when the turtles were mere tots. With much time and effort, he had repaired it in the ancient crafting style of Kintsugi—using glue and gold leaf—until the jagged edges were once again smooth.
Leonardo blinked, took the vessel delicately, and stared fixedly at the reconstruction.
"There is beauty in imperfection," Splinter said. "And unquestionable value in broken things."
Leo ran his thumb over the nearest gold vein in a soft caress. He was quite familiar with its glittering patterns. It was one of his favorite items in the lair. He had always seen it as a metaphor for their family. Five diverse and jaggedly different parts blended into a whole by the devotion their father invested.
But right now, Splinter wasn't talking about physical objects. He was implying that Sharra's soul might be healed. That her torturous experiences could be eased and tempered in some other way. Leo's heart lifted in hope for the traumatized girl.
"You believe she can recover?"
"I trust that Donatello will be able to mend Miss Sharra's body," Splinter said in a cautious tone, "And Michelangelo's great heart will soothe her soul. But what of her mind? Who will help her come to terms with her past? Who will help her establish control over her emotions?"
Suddenly, Leo saw where his father was leading.
"Me? You want ME to counsel her?" He set the treasured dish down quickly and leaned away, so utterly blindsided that he uttered a pair of words he'd sworn off at a very young age.
"Why me?"
"Think, Leonardo. I cannot assist her because of her past. She cannot bear my presence. And your brothers do not have the experience, or the Second Sight, to guide her in controlling her gifts."
"I- I can't," he stuttered.
"You must. This is something only you can do."
"Please… Please don't ask this of me…"
I've already hurt her, not to mention Mike. If I'm around her constantly —the way she would need me to be to interact with her energies— I'll do it again.
Even his iron control had limits. Sharra was his weakness. When her eyelids had fluttered open earlier, she nuzzled her face into his palm. At that moment, he had almost leaned in and kissed her in profound relief.
Right in front of my siblings!
Don's shouting broke the spell of her eyes just in time…
"She needs help now," his father cajoled, "from one she trusts implicitly, even if she does not understand why. From one who knows what it is like to lose the way." He nodded to the bowl. "From one whose cracks mirror her own."
Leonardo's eyes hardened. Pleading gave way to anger. Splinter knew he was damaged. That he hadn't found a way back from his own traumas. Yet he thrust this duty upon him regardless.
He exploded out of his seat. "How could I possibly help her?!" He paced across the floor, flung out his hands, and spun around. "I've already lost the battle for MY soul! You saw what I did last night! I KILLED all those people in cold blood!"
Splinter remained seated, his eyes calm against Leo's storm of emotion.
"Do you think Miss Sharra is too far gone to save?"
"What?" Leo's head snapped around and his eyes narrowed, "Of course not!"
"Then you understand why I do not believe your soul is irredeemable. You fight for control because you have chosen to cage your emotions. As I once cautioned your brother, I say again to you: strong feelings turned inward can become unconquerable enemies."
"They're demons!" Leo countered, "And they've already sunk their claws in me too deep to extract. I'm so far gone I attacked YOU, master! I accused Raph of RAPE! Don's lost all trust in me. I even tried to destroy Mikey's chance at love!"
All the energy drained out of him. He collapsed back to his knees and covered his face with both hands.
"You cannot mend me, father. I am not broken. I'm cursed."
Splinter stretched his arm across the table and rested a paw on his head; stroking the rounded dome.
"You are not cursed, my beloved child, you are exhausted. For years you have fought to shield us from these horrors; building walls around your heart to keep your 'demons' from view. But hiding from your memories will not defeat their hold upon you. You must face them, and release them. For yourself. For us. For Sharra."
He gripped Leo's hand, removed it from his face, and squeezed it comfortingly in both of his paws.
"You do not have to bear this load alone. I am here, my son. You may confide in me at any time."
Leo looked up and Splinter captured his gaze.
"Your brothers will support you as well. You may have pushed them away to keep them safe, but they will always stand with you. Ever since you were little, we have lifted you when you fell; caught you when you stumbled—in play or in battle. And though today you deny the existence of our outstretched hands, we will continue to support you. We will help Miss Sharra as well. Lift her up to health and safety. And you will stretch the farthest to reach her, because you know what it feels like to fall."
Leo did know.
He knew the darkness of abject terror.
Of waking into a nightmare.
Of reliving a memory where there was no changing the outcome.
To lose time. And focus. And… life.
Sharra deserves better.
In his dreams, he longed to help her. To protect her. To save her.
And maybe… maybe this way he could in reality.
It would be agonizing to interact with her and remain composed, but she never needed to know the true extent of his feelings. He could pretend to be the older brother she never had. Existing quietly in the background while caring for her and Michelangelo both.
It would be the most difficult thing he had ever done.
He raised steely blue-grey eyes to meet his father's questioning gaze.
"I'll do it."
