Awakenings
Michelangelo's agonized cry launched Raphael from the cot at the back of the infirmary. He was halfway across the room before his muscles protested in extreme fatigue. His lungs spasmed from the rapid movement. He shivered as the cold air hit his skin, but pure mulish determination allowed him to reach his brother's side.
He spun, raising his fists because he had no weapons, and scanned the room for danger—hell-bent on putting himself between Mike, Sharra, and whatever villain had caused his brother to scream. When all he found were the invalids and Splinter, he sagged in relief. He would have collapsed against the bed frame, but under his nose, Michelangelo shook wildly. His features twisted in pain as he wailed, eyes shut tight.
"What the shell is going on?" Raph called. "Is he spirit-walking again?"
When Splinter didn't answer, Raphael dragged his gaze up to determine why. Their father stood between the two gurneys, but his focus wasn't on his shrieking son. He leaned over Sharra, his hands trying to be everywhere at once. It didn't take a genius to grasp the reason. Blood coated Sharra's fingertips, her face, and all parts of her exposed body. Slashes covered her skin where she had scraped herself raw.
Splinter sought to stop the damage. One paw pinned her wrists while the other attempted to replace her oxygen mask. He wasn't having much success. Despite her small stature, the girl was strong and bucking against him in panic.
Where's Don and Leo? Something is seriously fucking wrong!
The pair charged in as if summoned—running like an army of evil spirits were on their tails. They cleared the doorway and skidded to a halt. Donatello's gaze flicked from Mike to Sharra to Raph to Splinter; analyzing the context of their positions.
Leonardo's eyes locked on the girl. As he processed the blood and her agonized face, his expression was—for one moment—completely unguarded. His eyes widened, filling with shadows so dark the sight would make a grown man cringe. Rage and agony twisted his mouth. Wild despair ravaged his features. His fists closed so tight his nails scored his palms.
A shudder raced down Raphael's spine. Leo had looked disturbingly lethal when his gaze was crystal clear, but now he appeared downright homicidal. And this time the decision to kill wasn't tempered by logic and the absence of emotion.
He's never been this… this emotional. Not even when he thought Michelangelo was dead.
Raphael froze, one hand still hovering over Mike's shoulder where he was about to shake the younger turtle awake. He didn't dare complete the motion and draw Leonardo's attention. His brother looked so far gone he might not be able to tell friend from foe. And anything might set him off.
Is that what happened last night? Why he came back covered in blood? He saw Sharra fall and went berserk? Shit. What does that mean? I didn't think he even liked the girl.
The tableaux broke when Donatello stepped forward.
Leo's face morphed in an instant. His eyes shuttered, his face blanked, and his hands released as he also approached—disregarding a trickle of red that ran to the tip of one forefinger.
"Don?" he asked in a controlled voice, "What can we do to help?"
Raph gaped at him, unable to believe the ease with which Leo masked the formidable emotion.
Having missed the chilling moment, Donatello bent to assess the still struggling Sharra.
"I don't know yet," the genius declared. He moved her I.V. pole out of the way, tsking at the dangling needle. He picked the monitoring bracelet off the floor and began a survey of her wounds, both new and old.
Sharra twisted against Sprinter's restraining hands and whimpered. Don raised a brow ridge.
"Was there some precipitating event?"
Splinter glanced at Leonardo and tilted his head, prompting the oldest turtle to take his place at Sharra's side. Raph couldn't tell if his father had sensed the roiling turmoil of Leo's emotions, but it was a smart move. Probably the only one at this point that would keep the unbalanced leader grounded.
Yer mask ain't foolin' me no more, bro.
Leonardo hesitated for a heartbeat, curling his fingers to obscure the blood on his palm. Then he stepped to the head of the bed. The second Splinter let go, Leo's hands darted in to hold the girl delicately by the wrists. But the transition was not easy. She reached up and clawed at him. He lacked the protection of his usual wraps and pads, not having replaced them after his shower, but scales were tougher than skin. All she accomplished was smearing her blood down his forearms.
His jaw clenched regardless. His arms trembled like the liquid burned. He shook his head as if batting away noisy flies before adjusting his grip and pressing her flailing limbs into the mattress on either side of her head.
Splinter eyed him cautiously then steadied her breathing mask and stepped away. "She was calm and coherent until I turned on the light." The old rat sighed as if he felt every year of his age. "I believe my appearance triggered her."
"Triggered?" Raph exclaimed, latching onto the word, "Like more of that PTSD stuff?"
Raphael didn't understand much about post-traumatic stress disorder, but he knew the fiercely defiant girl had demons nipping at her heels. They tormented her and pulled her into the past, making her relive the worst moments of her life.
Fuck. Another horrific memory to do with mutants? What the hell did they do ta ya, kid?
"And Mikey?" Donatello probed. "Did something specific happen to him?"
"He was quiet at the beginning of her turmoil, only rousing when she began to injure herself," Splinter replied.
Don grunted. "They're still connected."
Connected?
Raph knew Mike had given away more of his chi than was wise to support Sharra. Both during their first confrontation and her emergency on the boat. It wasn't too wild a leap to assume that he hadn't been able to bring himself to fully sever that link last night.
The urge was understandable.
He loves the girl.
Raphael gave more of a damn about Sharra himself than he let on. But she had gotten under Mike's skin, infiltrated his mind.
That's gotta stop!
"It would seem a logical conclusion," Splinter agreed.
"Connected?" Leo asked, echoing Raph's thought. "They're still feeding off each other?"
"No, this is something… more physical," Splinter said, "You should be able to See it."
Leonardo blinked in a slow deliberate manner and examined the pair again. Usually, Raph suffered a bout of severe jealousy when Leo demonstrated his aural superiority. But for once, Raphael found himself glad that he hadn't inherited that particular talent. For his brother blanched at whatever he Saw, and his jaw tightened further.
"She's terrified," Leo grated through clenched teeth. He squinted like he peered into the sun. "And Mikey's getting weaker. She's draining all his energy. Wait. No. She has walls up against… well, everything. Mikey is the driving force. He's sealed her mouth and eyes shut!"
"What?" Raph yelled. "Why would he be hurtin' her?"
"Michelangelo is reliving a horrendous moment in Miss Sharra's history. He is merely reacting to the situation he perceives," Splinter said. "I am sure he does not intend to harm her."
"This is impossible," Leo muttered. "How is he doing it?"
"Doesn't matter how," Don interjected. "He's impeding her breathing. We need to separate them."
Raphael wheeled Michelangelo's bed several feet away, but Donnie shook his head.
"Not physically, Raph. What I meant was, we have to break him out of her flashback."
"So I should wake him," Raph said, irritated that he hadn't followed his first instinct.
"Yes. Sharra's trapped in a memory, but Mikey was simply asleep before that trauma was set in motion. Physical rousing may eject him. But be gentle."
Gentle. Crap.
Raphael didn't do 'gentle' too well. He reached out and shook his brother's shoulder anyway.
"Mikey. Yo, Mikey. Get up."
He waited, but when there was no response he pinched the skin over Michelangelo's uninjured bicep in frustration and called right into his ear slit, "Yo! Bro. Snap outta' it!"
Sharra whimpered and a small bruise began to form on her arm in the exact spot Raph had grabbed Mikey. Leo shot him a glare.
"Don't do that again."
There was no inflection in Leonardo's voice, yet it somehow threatened painful consequences for disobedience. Raph returned the sharp look with one of his own. He held his tongue because he didn't want to set Leo off, but he still thought the retort.
Geez. Get a grip. It ain't like I knew that would happen.
"Annnnnd we're going to have to try something else," Donnie said, breaking the extreme tension. "Whatever they are experiencing is already uncomfortable. More of that stimulus isn't going to change things."
"Adrenalin?" Leo suggested.
"No good. Mike's blood pressure is through the roof."
"Use the Code of Awakening," Leo commanded in a grim voice. Sharra had begun to twist against his hold in earnest and he was starting to lose control of his facade.
Raphael tapped it out on Mikey's shoulder. He repeated the sequence twice to make sure he got it right. The orange-banded turtle continued to groan and didn't open his eyes.
"It appears Michelangelo is ignoring all stimuli from his own body," Splinter said.
"Then we'll have to interrupt the connection from Sharra's side," Don said.
"How?" Leonardo demanded.
"Tranquilize her?" Raph offered.
Leo glared at him again.
"What? It worked before. And at least she'd be asleep an' not suffering."
"She's lost too much blood," Donatello said, "and her lungs are too weak to handle more drugs."
Tears streamed from under Sharra's eyelids. Her lips remained glued shut. She struggled for air through a swollen nose.
"What about reaching her aurally, father?" Leo asked in desperation. "Can't you emotionally shock her out of the flashback the way you do when I'm stuck in one?"
Raphael's head snapped up. "You have those?" he blurted, "As bad as that?" He gestured toward Sharra then threw his hands up in frustration. "Don, did you know?"
The shocked expression on Donatello's face put that notion quickly to bed.
Leonardo bit his lip, uncomfortable with the revelation. "We don't need to discuss my experiences, Raphael."
"The hell we don't! How long has this been goin' on? When has it been happening? How have you handled it?"
"This isn't about me, Raph! Sharra can't BREATHE!"
Scowling, Raphael fell silent, but this new plan worried him. An emotional shock didn't sound all that good, but maybe it was like scaring the hiccups out of someone. One intense moment to end ongoing torment.
If it stops this circus, then I'm all for it.
Leo turned back to Splinter. "Can it be done?" he almost begged.
The rat's ears folded back and he regarded his son through eyes glistening in remorse.
Uh-oh. More bad news.
"Leonardo," Splinter said in his softest tone, reaching out to rest a paw on his shoulder, "you are my child. We have a close bond. Your aura recognizes mine so that, even when you feel hostile, I may pass your shields.
"I do not try to 'shock' you during those unfortunate episodes. I use our shared life experiences—calming scents, emotions, and memories—to draw your consciousness back to the present. But I cannot do this for Miss Sharra. There is no trust between us yet. And she and I have exactly one 'common' memory—the one that triggered this catastrophe.
Leo let out a broken sound. Raph spun to punch the metal locker full of supplies behind him. It dented with a satisfying crunch but did nothing to relieve the feeling of helplessness in his heart.
"Raphael!" Splinter snapped in exasperation, "If you cannot control yourself, return to the cot."
"Take it easy, Raph!" Donatello added. He was trying to be upbeat, but worry was thick in his voice. "We'll just have to try something else."
Next to the bed, Leo bowed his head and closed his eyes in despair.
Well, I ain't giving up.
Glancing around frantically, Raph searched for another way to wake Mikey that wouldn't hurt him.
The pain was a living, breathing thing. It coursed through Sharra in waves of white-hot flame. She groaned, whimpering through sealed lips as the rodents continued to destroy her already shredded back.
The Foot Clan had tortured her in so many ways over the last few months. With chemicals. With knives. With fire. Through it all, she held on to sanity. To consciousness. Clinging to the solitary hope that the suffering would have to stop eventually because the Shredder needed her alive.
But tonight was different. They had left her broken dozens of times before, but never helpless. She could only assume the villain had grown tired of her inability to give him the answers he sought. For this was how she was going to die.
Not by the hand of man, but eaten alive. Alone in the dark. Consumed by rats and terror.
He couldn't even be asked to watch.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. She thought at least Karai might come at the end. The young second in command was not nearly as lost to evil as her adoptive father. Though she had not interfered when she observed Sharra's previous rounds of… persuasion, her eyes had softened when they were otherwise unattended. And her rough whisper had promised an escape, if only in the form of a quick death when the time arrived. But it felt like hours since the door slammed shut. And there was no sign of the strangely conflicted girl.
Sharra's back throbbed and stung. Her wrists and ankles echoed the sentiment, rubbed raw by the constant attempts to break free. All she wanted now was to pass out and expire. But just when she had abandoned all hope a weird pressure built inside her head—like someone was leaning against her thoughts.
The situation around her changed. Not incrementally, but suddenly, as if painted out by broad strokes of a brush. The strong aroma of fresh crushed lavender overwhelmed her senses until the crisp scent drowned out even the coppery smell of her blood.
Sharra jerked in confusion, startled to find her hands and feet free. She curled into the fetal position, shaking in reaction. Her body still ached like it had been through a wringer, but her back no longer felt torn.
Golden light struck her eyelids.
Warm breath brushed over her skin.
A delicate touch smoothed along her jawline.
The caress was soothing and somehow familiar, but she didn't dare open her eyes. The rough, thick fingers stroked from her chin to her ear and back again each pass bringing relief from pain. Sighing, Sharra angled her head to place her cheek against the palm of her unknown savior.
Immediately, she was inundated with emotions.
Overwhelming sorrow. Deep longing. Promises of safety. Companionship and adoration.
They pulsed rapid fire through her mind and plunged into her heart.
Her eyelids fluttered and snapshots of her small bolt hole in the water tower above the biker club came into view. The curved wooden walls, the comfort of her pallet of clothes on the floor, the glow from her space heater. A place of her own. Where she was safe.
I'm not trapped in the Shredder's dungeon. I haven't been for years.
The present rushed in like wildfire and incinerated the past. Events fast-forwarded with every blink of her eyes. Her escape from the Foot. Her life on the street. A tiny, useless existence eked out in solitude. Constantly on the run.
Until Michelangelo fell into her home.
MIKEY!
She blinked again and the visions were gone. But it was not Michelangelo who next met her gaze. Leonardo's concerned face filled her field of view. He stood above her head, leaning over her so he appeared upside down. His chest heaved, raising and falling like he'd just finished a marathon.
She gazed up at him in shock. His hands cradled her cheeks tenderly. In her peripheral vision, they glowed. Green light. Then gold. Then violet.
This was not reality either. It couldn't be. There, Leo was the darkly dressed turtle who frightened her. Judged her. This Leonardo stared into her eyes so intently he must be examining her soul.
Just like in my dream…
"Sharra..." He whispered her name as if he were afraid others might hear. "I'm here. You're safe."
"Thank you," she mouthed, but there was no sound behind the words.
The moment lasted only a fraction of a second before darkness once again feathered her vision and claimed her.
But this time the blackness brought blessed peace with it.