Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hamato Splinter was not one to be wary of death.

It came to all beings when their natural time on Earth had run its course. He had seen death one too many times when he was but a pet rat; the deaths of his Master and Master’s wife were unnatural indeed but his sons had avenged them. Well, indirectly, as the Shredder they fought was simply the imposter, Ch’rell.

Splinter noticed his age one morning when he tried to turn around in bed. He had had a sore back for a week. The years were catching up to him, and it was the first time he had to be careful with the position he fell asleep in.

The next time the Rat noticed his age was on his 60th birthday. The day went by like any other. His sons had arranged for a special burnt cheesecake only available from a city bakery and had gotten Casey to bring it to them. While grooming himself for the family photo at the behest of Donatello, Splinter found balding spots in his grey fur that refused to grow back.

He looked into the mirror now, alone in the bathroom. The Rat staring back at him didn’t look much different in his 70s than in his 60s. He never really quite felt his age. That is, until now.

There were patches of pink skin where his fur did not grow back, and scabs that did not fully heal.

He knew he was at the end of his lifespan. Splinter wasn’t sure how old a typical rat, let alone a Giant Mutant Rat, was supposed to live.

No, Splinter did not fear death.

The Old Rat feared how his sons would react. They only had each other. They had spent their whole lives in the sewers.

The age-old comfort of knowing you were leaving your kin with their lives established was lost on him. It was the common wish every parent had for their child: to be married, with children, and have someone to rely on when he was not around anymore.

Sadly, their situation of being Mutants living underground did not permit such an idyllic life.

Splinter toyed with the idea of reaching the moment in time where Humanity would advance just enough to usher in the age of multispecies inhabitants from when he and his sons had travelled to 2105.

The devastating realisation that he would not live to that age set in this morning.

The Old Rat inspected his two front buck teeth. He had bitten something hard in one of the vegetable stews Mikey had made for them for dinner one evening resulting in both teeth chipping. Leonardo spent the rest of the night reprimanding him and insisting they checked for loose debris in the leaves of vegetables.

Honestly, it made Splinter feel invalid.

Not long ago, he was a champion of the Battle Nexus Tournament.

Now, he needed his sons on rotation to help him to the bathroom.

Sighing, Splinter grabbed onto the sink basin with both claws, steadying himself. He knew he would fall without one of his sons to help him out and into the living room but today he was determined.

He needed this.

He needed to feel useful still. That he remained capable of at least walking himself to the TV and sitting down.

Just like he taught his sons as infants, one step at a time.

Splinter put one hind paw forward, stabilising himself with the sink basin. Almost losing his balance, the Old Rat took a moment to steady himself and tried again.

The feeling was all too familiar.

It’s been happening more and more lately.

First, the seemingly rock-solid foundation of his stance.

Then, a quivering of his leg as the muscles, too old and too worn out from years of abuse.

The buckling of a knee.

And a tumbling to the ground.

He only hoped he fell loud enough for his sons to hear him.

Chapter Text

There were times when it felt like Leonardo was more of a father than he was.

He took solace in the fact that it meant his eldest son loved him greatly.

“I fell, Leonardo. You know I am old.” Splinter said, winking at Donatello, who was busy rubbing his swollen leg. The fall had done more damage than he thought it would. It was all about landing improperly, it seemed. At least, that was what his smartest son told him.

”Yes, Father. But you should’ve called for us.” Leo sighed, reaching over his father’s bed to the bowl of porridge he had made for him.

It was simple, really. Just like Father taught him when he was in his teens. Shallots, sesame oil, and some chicken were boiled for many hours on low heat.

The Turtle dipped a spoon in, scooping as much of the creamy grains as he could, and blew on it until it was cool. Dutifully, he brought it to his father’s lips, nudging him to eat.

”I can eat my own food, my son.” Splinter insisted, but Leo wasn’t taking no for an answer. Closing his eyes, the old Rat simply smiled and ate what was offered to him. He always believed in accepting the good graces of those who wanted to care for him.

”You’ll get better faster if you eat.”

“You’re using my own strategies against me,” Splinter laughed. It made his chest hurt, and he coughed as the porridge went down wrongly.

”Here,” Leo had a glass of water already in hand.

”Thank you, my son.”

“What do you mean by strategies?” Donnie asked, enjoying the companionship.

It was nice. Just the three of them in his room. Talking. Like they used to when they were teenagers and wanted to spend time with Splinter. Donnie would bring over something he could fidget with and sit in silence.

It’s been a while.

Has twenty years really passed by so quickly?

“Ah,” Splinter finally said, remembering. “I used to say the same when you four were younger.”

”Did you?” Leo cocked his head.

“When you were unwell and did not wish to eat.”

”Leo is kinda like the dad now.” Donnie joked.

”Indeed.” Splinter and Donnie looked at each other, both trying very hard not to laugh. When both caught sight of Leonardo pouting, it was difficult not to erupt into fits.

”Hey, someone has to,” Leo shook his head, smiling. He brought another spoonful to his father to avoid a response.

”Thank you for doing it.” Donnie said, frankly.

“Yeah?”

”Yeah. I mean. We’re adults now. But Mikey still acts like a kid. And Raph doesn’t really know what to do since Casey...you know..." Donnie stalled.

”Became a father himself.” Leo answered for him.

”Can’t play vigilante if he has a kid at home.” Donnie nodded.

Splinter grunted in approval. “A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be."

The blank stares of his sons made Splinter clear up what he meant.

“A son can only become as good a man as he wants him to be if his father is just as good a man.”

”Principles.” Leo said, flatly.

“That’s putting it simply,” Donnie had moved on to the other leg now.

Splinter enjoyed the company of his sons until the call to Slumberland started to ring out in his ear. It was difficult to fight the anvils weighing down on his eyes. He felt content, though.

If he were to pass, perhaps being with his sons wasn’t too bad.

Chapter Text

The walking stick lost its one purpose in life.

It could no longer be called a walking stick as it was now not used for walking.

From this moment on, Splinter resolved to call it The Stick.

Yes, that sounded better.

The Old Rat tried to stretch out his stiff back but quickly gave up after he felt a pull at the one side with no pain. Splinter named it The Good Side and spent his rather sleepless nights laying in a slightly uncomfortable position just so he could alleviate pain from The Bad Side.

The faint background noise of an old Japanese serial about a blind swordsman, Zatoichi, played on his personal CRT TV. Donnie insisted on setting it up and provided his Father with a collection of old DVD Boxes, Which April helped to thrift when she heard about the fall.

The Old Rat was certainly grateful for the unconditional love he was receiving but something didn't sit right with him. Perhaps it was finding his way, alone, when he was younger and caring for four infant turtles. Then, he considered that maybe it was surviving on his own for so long in the dark recesses of the New York sewers.

Maybe it was the feeling of being invalid. Like he needed to be taken care of. Fawned over.

Splinter watched as Zatoichi smirked, dice rolling on the table before him. The gambling den he found himself in was damp and dark, but this meant little to the lone swordsman who had honed his other senses. The dealer grinned, oblivious to Zatoichi detecting that the dice were weighted and sounded different from regular dice.

The resulting fight scene was impressive for such an old film but Splinter found his attention waning.

This was becoming a habit. There were times Splinter didn’t notice it until his sons had entered the room and called at him.

If he had the energy to argue, he’d call it meditating. Raphael had called it dissociating.

Splinter blew out the breath of air he had unknowingly held in. It’s been a month since the fall, and his legs had not gotten better.

Would they ever get better?

”You’re doing it again, huh?” The Old Rat’s ears twitched and swivelled in the direction of the voice that suddenly invaded the privacy of his thoughts.

Raphael was standing by the door, leaning against the wall. He had a tray with a teapot and a weathered Japanese tea cup resting on it. Splinter could smell the Green Tea from where he was lying down.

”Doing what, my son?”

Raphael simply chuckled and rolled his eyes, making his way over to his weary and wary father, and placing the tray on the bedside table.

”You know what I mean,” Raphael tipped the teapot and poured the tea, handing it to his father. “It’s hot.” His son warned, pointing at the steam wafting from the cup.

“Thank you.” Splinter tried to sit up but moving too quickly caused a sharp pain to shoot up his left thigh. Groaning, he clutched at his leg.

”You sat up too fast.” Raphael sighed, crouching next to the bed to rub him like exactly how he’d been taught by Donnie. He remembered the diagrams and the pressure points. He swore he fell asleep in the middle of his brother’s presentation and looked it up online later.

How hard would it be to massage someone, anyway?

”I am fine-“ Splinter started to say and gritted his teeth as he was going to protest. “Oh, that is better.”

”And Leo wondered where I got my stubbornness from.” Raphael laughed, applying slightly more pressure as gently as he could.

Splinter laughed. It was as loud as his weakened state could manage. “You seem to be getting along better with your brothers.”

”Ah, yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his head in response.

Splinter sipped at his tea.

“I mean, I should by now. Shouldn’t I?”

“You have mellowed out with age, indeed.”

“Naw, now it sounds too sappy. I didn’t mature that much.” Raphael made himself busy, taking the cup from his father and pouring him another.

“Hot.” The Turtle pointed again.

The Old Rat nodded and held the cup in his hands.

“The sessions April is paying for seem to be working.” Splinter reached out and held his son’s hands in his own.

Once, a long time ago, Raphael would’ve cringed at the outward display of fatherly affection. He used to think he didn’t deserve it. That he made too many mistakes, too many times. He didn’t know what or who convinced him to try attending sessions anonymously online. But the chat therapy sessions he was having did wonders on his self-esteem.

Maybe that was the maturing he had done in the past decade.

”Yeah, it looks like it is.” Raph smiled. This time, instead of wanting to rush off and head somewhere else, his mind wandered elsewhere.

It wasn’t to escape his father’s warmth. It wasn’t to find Casey and knock some heads together although Raph didn’t mind if they did. Fighting was always fun.

No, this time, feeling the wrinkled, bony hands of his father in his younger ones only brought him comfort. And yet, it also made him anxious.

The reality of his father's ageing started to set in. It took him so long to realise that he was worthy of his father’s love. And now, he probably didn’t have enough time with him to properly express that.

Trying to say those three words would make him break down and he knew his father didn’t need that right now.

”I’m proud of you, my son. It makes me glad.” Splinter gave him a warm smile, chipped front tooth and all.

“Thanks, Dad.”

The day would come one day.

And Raphael knew he wouldn’t survive the day when it arrived.

Chapter Text

The humanoid figure leapt with all its might past the security guards and onto the ground. He dropped into a roll, expertly avoiding the lasers that shot out of the walls. The figure went prone, crawling until it reached the doors to the vault.

This was it.

He was getting in.

And he’d be the first person to make it here in the shortest recorded time.

Now, all that was left was one press. He’d have to time it and make sure he didn’t miss a beat, but he’d done this thousands of times before.

He’s got this.

“Mikey! Did you get the cheese that Dad liked or not?”

His finger slipped, his whole body jolting up in place from the sudden shouts of his brother. Mikey tried desperately to recover but his character had already jumped from the incorrect input. In dismay, he watched his beloved spy get cut in half and the words that plagued every gamer’s dreams erupted onto the screen.

Game Over.

The speed run was over.

“Ah, I almost had it!” Mikey turned to complain but stopped when he was met with the seething face of one Raphael. He had an apron on, and a plate filled with cold cuts before him.

The sight of his angrier older brother would have sent him into laughing fits when they were teenagers. Raph was starting to help out around the lair, even preparing meals when Leo and Donnie were busy.

In comparison, Mikey felt like a total and utter failure.

The ranking of useful sons used to be:

Leonardo

Donatello

Michelangelo

Raphael

It looked like getting a handle on his anger and temper tantrums was enough to move him up a rank. Mikey cowered as Raph breathed in through clenched teeth.

He’d seen him do this before. It was the self-regulation technique he learned through therapy.

Being at the receiving end of Raphael's anger outburst would be enough to make him shiver. He was doing it now just imagining it.

Thank goodness for therapy.

“Okay, I’m going to repeat myself. Answer me. Please.”

His voice was so full of ice, that Mikey swore it could freeze the desert.

The younger Turtle nodded.

“Good,” Raph blew air from his nose. “Did you get the cheese?”

Crap.

The cheese.

He was supposed to get the cheese.

Crap. What kind of cheeses were he supposed to get again?

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Raph sighed.

“No, no, no, I’m gonna get them later!” Mikey tried recovering but Raph saw through the lies as easily as Leo could explain the distinct differences between the use of a throwing star or a kunai. One was used for distraction. The other is for damage.

And right now, Mikey was distracting.

Raph was trying very hard to not do damage.

“Bro…,” The older Turtle went to the living area, taking off his apron as he sat beside Mikey.

“What’s going on? The cheese is for Dad’s birthday. That’s tomorrow. Leo had this whole plan of surprising him with this fancy board of cheese crap he found on the internet.”

Where would he even begin?

Mikey considered opening up to him fully. The feeling had long since gnawed at the back of his mind. There was a deep sense of inadequacy and uselessness in the family after witnessing Raphael step up and embody the role of a better sibling. The role he thought he’d naturally grow into as they aged out of their teen years.

Maybe it was a mix of envy and self-doubt.

Maybe it was that, despite his usual cheerful and carefree demeanour, he struggled with the fear that he didn’t measure up to his brothers and that his contributions were less valuable.

And he could have changed that perception about himself if he had only remembered to sneak out last night and get the cheese. As he was told to do.

But the only words that left his mouth was:

“I messed up, okay?”

“Hey man, it’s just cheese.” Raph shook his head. He could relate. The inadequacy. The insecurity. Questioning his place and purpose in the family.

It sounded a lot like a certain teen he used to know. That all seemed so childish now.

He guessed he really did mature over the years.

“Look, the surprise ain’t even till’ midnight. If dad can even stay up that long,” Raph chuckled. “Just get em’ by then.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Bro, of course I am. But-” Raph rolled his eyes now. “Whatever man. Just fix it before Leo chews us both out.”

“You mean it? You really mean it?” Mikey emulated his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Go before I hurt you,” Raph smirked.

“Okay, I’m going!” Mikey darted to the lair’s entrance but forced himself to a complete stop as he realised the most important detail he had, unfortunately, forgotten.

“You forgot the type of cheese you needed to get, didn’t you?” Raph put back on his apron and made his way to the kitchen.

“I did.”

“Wait there.” Raph crouched down and pulled a piece of paper out from the cupboard. Leo had insisted on hiding it so the surprise wouldn’t be spoiled. Donnie had succinctly stated it wasn’t like their father could walk out of his room and look for a random scrap of paper without their assistance. Still, Raph knew better and played along with his older brother’s whims.

“It’s Cam-em-burt,” Raph mispronounced. “And Brie. The fancy crap. Needs to be soft cuz’ he can’t chew well.”

“Got it!”

And with that, Mikey left.

Raph hoped he made it back in one piece.

When did he become the responsible one?

Chapter Text

Mikey stood, frozen in place. Peeking over the counter, his skin prickled in anticipation as Raphael unpacked the cheeses onto a wooden board. His older brother had put it up to his nose to ensure it was the right kind.

That confused Mikey since all the cheeses smelled the same to him.

Don’t all cheeses smell slightly rotten?

But when Raph nodded and spread the two types of cheeses he was instructed to procure before him, Mikey leapt for joy. Inside, of course.

“Tell Case’ and April they can leave the kid with me. Dad’s awake. Leo’s with him.”

He’d be lying if he wasn’t momentarily self-conscious about cocking his head to the side like a stereotypical dummy. But at the moment, he did indeed, feel incredibly dumb.

He swore it was just the two of them in the kitchen.

The confusion would’ve easily been cleared up with a simple question.

A list of questions and statements circulated in his head, like fruits on a tree ripe for the plucking. Any of them would’ve worked.

Who do you mean?

Casey and April aren’t with me.

They weren’t here yet.

It’s just me, bro.

Instead, Mikey settled on the only one that didn’t make sense.

”What kid?”

“What do you mean, what kid?” Raph put a finger to his lips and licked it. The annoyed Turtle recoiled, forgetting that he didn’t like cheese very much but simply tolerated it since it made his dad happy. Shuddering, he ran his fingers under the water before turning around and staring at Mikey.

Raph sighed when he realised they were alone.

“They’re not with you, are they?”

Breathe, Raph. Breathe.

“Who?” Mikey asked.

“Mikey…” Raph said that with more pity than he intended to. “Casey and April. And their kid?”

“Why would they be?”

Raphael’s eyes widened. There was only one explanation, but his brother couldn’t be dumb enough for that to be the reason. Could he?

Who was he kidding? Of course, he was.

“Did you sneak into a grocery store on your own?” Raph could barely hide the smirk forming.

“Yeah?” Mikey’s incredulous look was enough to make Raph erupt in laughter.

“What? How else was I going to get the cheese? I left money! Donnie gave some to me.” Mikey tried explaining.

There were actual tears in the corner of Raph’s eyes now. He’d laugh himself silly, both arms coming down in front of his plastron, clutching at his stomach.

“You could’ve- I thought you’d-” It was for nought. Whenever Raph started another sentence, hysterics would creep their way from the deep depths of belly laughter. Only noise would escape his lips.

‘What?” The younger Turtle’s voice heightened, embarrassed. Confused. Annoyed. He wasn’t sure what was tickling his usually-always-hot-tempered-but-now-mellowing-out-older-brother. He hated how he didn’t know. Donnie often made him feel the same.

“Hooo boy,” Raph said, sighing, contended with the high of his laughing fit.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re laughing at me?”

“I thought you’d do the obvious.”

“Yeah, I got the cheese.”

“Mikey,” Raph placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You could’ve asked Case’ or April to buy it for you. You know, cuz they can just walk in?”

“Oh.” Mikey cringed. He felt a prickling heat spread across his cheeks, the warmth spread like wildfire. It ignited his skin in a vivid shade of crimson, or at least, as red as someone could get when they were green.

Mikey thought he’d probably look like a capsicum painted red. Or a red capsicum painted green. Whichever was worse.

“Never change, Mikey.” Raph guffawed again and turned his attention back to the board.

“What joke did I miss?” Another voice called out to them from the living area.

Leo had just plopped onto the couch before the TV, shifting his body to look at them. He heard their voices all the way from Splinter’s room. Leo was perfectly fine ignoring it but, his father insisted that he spend time with his brothers too. Splinter had to practically dismiss him before he’d leave.

“Naw, just Mikey bein’ Mikey, y’know?” Raph winked at his older brother.

Leo knew exactly what that meant.

“Oh, yeah?”

Mikey let out a loud groan.

“I’m gonna tell Dad we’re eating soon.” There was no point fighting it. Inadvertently or not, he made himself the butt of the joke.

There were times when Mikey felt he was too eager to please or seem smarter than he was. Being a former Battle Nexus champion had to count for something, didn’t it?

Still, leave it to Raphael to humble him ever so quickly.

It’s been a while since he had a one-on-one chat with Splinter anyway and he could use the distraction.

“We’re not eatin’ till’ Case’ and April arrive!” Raph shouted.

Mikey was already halfway across the hall and storming off to Splinter’s room.

Chapter Text

It hit Mikey like the hilt of a wooden kendo blade their Father used for training decades ago.

Laying in his bed, the Old Rat stared at the ceiling. His sharp rodent features, once painting the image of a man most fearless, indomitable, and unwavering in his principles, were but a distant memory.

Seeing an aged Sensei past his prime made Mikey’s stomach flip and somersault.

The Turtle could no longer recognise the man he looked up to.

Was it wrong to feel guilty that he now saw him that way?

Mikey tried shaking the thoughts out of his. Instead, more thoughts wormed their way in like mousers in their sewer home. It was a disservice to his Father’s memory, to his image, to not see him as the wizened mentor that his brothers could so easily conjure up in their day-to-day conversations.

Why were they able to see the man that was and not is?

Why couldn’t Mikey do the same?

“I may not see as well as I used to, Michelangelo, but I can hear you.” The Old Rat’s right ear twitched in his son’s general direction.

Mikey let out a tiny yelp, and then embarrassed, tried to clear his throat to reclaim the little macho that didn’t leave his body.

Splinter simply chuckled and stretched out his wrinkled hand.

“Come. Sit with me.”

“Okay.”

Perhaps the reply was more meek than he hoped. He wouldn’t admit it to his siblings, but Mikey was deathly afraid of having one-on-one time with their Father.

It was too much for him.

He didn’t like seeing things get old.

He didn’t like that the TV shows and comics he used to watch when he was a kid were now nostalgic.

Most of all, he hated how the image of his Father did not match how he was now.

Mikey sat gingerly at the corner of the bed, just a little over arm’s length away from Splinter. He was extra cautious not to put his entire weight on the soft mattress. Leo had scolded him before when the tea he prepared spilt since the tray slid down and Splinter didn’t possess the strength to catch it in time.

He knew there wasn’t any tea or trays in sight. Still, avoiding a lecture was always an excellent goal to have in mind.

The silence was murder.

And as a Ninja, Mikey thought he’d get used to the quiet as he got older.

His brothers certainly have.

He could conjure up the examples in his head.

His brothers thought they were being sneaky. They probably thought he wasn’t observant enough to notice.

Leonardo liked to sit alone in the dark. After checking in on Father at night, his eldest brother enjoyed tea in the hall without any lights on.

Donatello brought the quiet to himself. Mikey wasn’t entirely paying attention when his technology-inclined brother explained the benefits of white noise and ASMR videos but it was his form of meditation after a long day.

Raphael was the most surprising. He was also the source of the insecurities plaguing the youngest Turtle’s mind. The most hotheaded and volatile of the brothers now habitually practised active meditation. Mikey had walked in once or twice to find Raph in Splinter’s room, sitting in the traditional Japanese style of Seiza, focussing on his breathing.

Mikey just played video games so he didn’t have to think.

“Something is bothering you, my son.” Splinter finally spoke, cutting through the tense atmosphere, shattering the fragile stillness like shards of broken glass.

The Old Rat then proceeded to pick up the fictitious broken glass, and with the most precise handling, fashioned it into a blade slicing through the taut fabric separating the two men.

His words were simple.

“You will not look at me.”

“No, Sensei-”

“Are you ashamed, Michelangelo?”

Mikey wasn’t a crier. That was Leo when he thought he was alone. It was Donnie when he was not alone. It was even Raph when he was punching the air in the dojo.

Mikey never cried.

Raph used to joke there was nothing in his brain to make him sad.

Maybe his brain was just reserving space for the emptiness that would form after his Father’s passing.

This time, Mikey cried.

His words came out sloppy. Unrefined. Unformed.

Splinter simply smiled, motioning for Mikey to make his way across the bed and to lay next to him as he held his youngest son for what seemed to be eternity.

“I’m not.” Mikey could finally assemble some resemblance of a rebuttal.

“It is alright if you feel that way.”

Mikey shook his head and rubbed his head into his Father’s side.

He may not look like how he remembered his Father looking when he was younger.

But he smelled the same.

Maybe that was enough.

“I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to be old.” Splinter laughed.

The poor attempt at lightening the mood was good enough. Mikey found it funnier than if he was in any other mood.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk, my son?”

Mikey thought about it for a while. He didn’t like to talk much. Splinter knew what he was feeling. All the words in the dictionary couldn’t describe what he was feeling. The weird, unrequited fatherly love he wanted to receive or to express he’d like receiving. If he were any better at speaking like Donnie, he’d say he wanted more of what they were doing now.

So instead, Mikey chose silence.

The youngest Turtle chose his Father’s presence.

“Nah.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the night was less eventful.

Casey and April left earlier than planned when their little one refused to eat any food they had prepared. Calling the little monster a fussy eater was understating it.

A part of Leo found it comforting to know they’d have a quiet night for once.

Splinter was already asleep. Eating the extra helping of cheese made his eldest son glad he had thought of arranging a small get-together for his birthday.

Socialising with anyone other than his sons must have been a breath of fresh air. Leo knew his Father loved them all and didn’t mind spending all his time with them, but still, it must’ve been getting monotonous to wake to the same four faces every day.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Raph asked, mid-yawn. The two elder brothers were cleaning up after everyone since Donnie and Mikey were busy playing a video game on the TV.

It was fine to treat them like younger brothers once in a while.

“Nothing,” Leo replied. Raph just smirked at him.

“What?”

“You have your thinkin’ face on. I know it when I see it.” Raph tapped at his head.

Leo rolled his eyes, scoffed, and laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I was just thinking about Father.”

“Yeah? What about?” A loud groan from Donnie caught his attention, making him crane his neck to look out at the hall. Mikey had just landed a 15-hit combo securing victory in a fight that lasted for barely a minute. Raph chuckled to himself and returned to washing the pot in the sink.

“He seemed happy tonight,” Leo said.

“Yeah. Helps that it wasn’t just us, y’know?”

Leo smiled. He nodded and made his way over to his brother. He knew he didn’t show affection to his siblings much but tonight felt different enough that if he did show it, it wouldn’t be out of place.

Leo settled on patting Raph on the back.

“What?” Raph’s eyes narrowed as he fashioned the drying cloth into a prime flicking position.

“Nothing. I was just thinking the same.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Raph shook his head and dried the last of the kitchenware and stretched. “I mean, we’re takin’ care of im’ every day, ain’t we? Seein’ Casey and April musta’ been nice.”

“Thanks,” Leo said as deadpanned as he could. It still came up way sappier than he wanted it to.

“Thanks for…?”

“Helping out. Being responsible.”

Raph made a disgusted expression and waved the sentiment off. Leo knew he appreciated it though.

“Yeah, yeah. Least I could do.”

Leo found himself smiling again when the two younger brothers yelled to rematch.

Maybe he’ll play a round.

Chapter Text

The birds chirped, perched atop the branches of trees that littered the forest with iridescent sun rays filtered between dense leaves.

The wind was cool. Refreshing. It rushed by Leo, standing alone in a small clearing.

The cold wind prickled the Turtle’s skin as it blew past him.

It was nice.

Peaceful.

It’s been a long time since Leo felt this peaceful.

He loved taking care of Splinter. A devoted son would want the responsibility that was entrusted to him as his father aged.

But it was also tiring.

And on some days, it was downright depressing.

He loved being able to see the man he was now. The man the Old Rat was becoming.

There were good days. The birthday party. The day he fed him porridge after he fell. Raph is helpful.

Then there were bad days. And the bad days stayed with him longer than the good ones.

He didn’t want to remember the bad ones right now.

The consistent and playful birdsong was soon replaced by a loud caw. Leo looked at the branches and found that the common birds were replaced by crows. They stared daggers at him as they cawed again in unison.

Suddenly, the caws became laughter.

Chatter.

He recognised those voices.

His brothers.

Raphael caught Michelangelo in a headlock, rubbing a closed fist into his brother’s head. Mikey squirmed but couldn’t get out of his hold, laughing. Slightly annoyed. Leo could tell he had asked for it.

Donatello stood at the edge of the forest. Admiring the insects crawling on the dirt, camera in hand.

It took a while for him to notice Splinter. Not bedridden or limping. The clearing suddenly morphed into a teahouse.

In the middle was a small kotatsu. The low, wooden table frame was covered by a comfortable-looking heavy blanket.

Splinter wasn’t alone. He was sipping tea with someone familiar.

Leo couldn’t tell who it was.

As he got closer, the blurry figure got clearer. And clearer.

Long white ears perked and the figure it belonged to chuckled at Splinter’s horrible jokes.

Miyamoto Usagi.

The white rabbit adorned in a blue kimono sat opposite his Father. A sheathed blade rested beside him.

Leo stood and watched the two speak. He could not discern what they were saying no matter how hard he tried. Still, it was nice to see Splinter healthy and talkative. His eyes glistened with passion.

They must’ve been talking about the types of tea they liked to drink.

His brothers’ laughter cut through his daydreaming.

But something made him pause.

The laughter started to morph into hysterical yelling. Screaming.

The Teahouse melted away, wooden planks falling until there was nothing left.

He felt his body violently shaking. His head swayed from side to side. He couldn’t control himself.

He could feel his consciousness leave his body.

He did not want to leave the forest.

Chapter Text

“Leo!”

Leonardo tried opening his eyes but the sudden bright lights turning on in his room made him squint in pain.

He couldn’t tell who was calling him.

It had to be late, in the middle of the night.

He had gone to sleep after staying up with his brothers. They played a few rounds of that fighting game and then he excused himself to his room since he usually got up earlier in the morning to have tea with Splinter.

“LEO! WAKE UP!”

The voice shouted at him, louder this time. The frantic, desperate screeching of the person it belonged to made him immediately come to his senses and sit up in his bed.

It took him a moment to focus. The person it belonged to was Donnie.

Donnie was crying. The tears covered his eyes enough that he was practically blind. The snot blocking his nose made it hard for him to articulate what he was trying to say. And the panicked state he was in made it hard for him to construct a coherent enough sentence.

“Donnie?” Leo finally asked, furiously rubbing at his eyes to wake quickly.

Donnie wouldn’t be worried like this. The last time one of his brothers was in this state was when Splinter fell.

If Father needed him, he’d better get up and see to it.

“Donnie? What’s wrong?” Leo asked again, but Donnie showed no sign of stopping.

“Hey, hey,” Leo patted Donnie on the shoulder to get his attention. “What’s going on? What happened?”

The words that left his brother’s lips were ones that he thought he’d never hear.

At least, he thought they’d still have time.

Time to prepare.

Time to have contingency plans.

Time to mature more than they already were.

But this was it.

There was no time.

Time eluded them all.

Much to the chagrin of mortal Man who swam with time like a river, bringing them ever closer to their destination.

And time has caught up to them.

“It’s Dad,” Donnie said in between heavy sobs and gasping for air.

“I’ve been calling him. I shook him.”

This is it.

Leo knew what was coming next.

“He won’t wake up.”

Chapter Text

The Turtle scooped a handful of dirt into his shaking hands. Three fingers patted the dirt down, each pat on the damp, brown soil-less confident than the last, marked with nervous fidgeting.

He looked to his side to glance at his brothers, each not making eye contact with one another. All were trying to ignore the spectacle, the ritualistic bookmarking of his actions.

A part of him was angry. Furious even. But the little boy in him, eager to please his Father by performing the best in their training; the little boy that was always so stalwart in his attempts to win his Father’s favour…that little boy understood.

The finality of this evening meant more to him and his brothers than anything that came before.

Inhaling a breath of courage, Leonardo gingerly laid the soil onto his Father’s coffin and signalled for April that it was time to lower it into the ground.

He didn’t bear to watch, turning his back, relying solely on the sounds of crunching soil and metal striking the earth.

Raphael had his hands balled up in fists, clenching so hard that the darker shade of green of his skin was now a ghostly pale. Michelangelo, usually so full of life and the noisiest of the group, simply sat alone, under the shade of a tree a distance away.

Donatello played with his shell phone.

”Thank you, April.” Leonardo gave her a pained smile, patting her on the shoulder as she approached to squeeze his hands in hers.

It would normally be difficult enough to sneak out for a slice of pizza during the day, but an honest-to-God funeral and burial would be unheard of for the Turtles to consider.

Still, it was nice to see that the future they saw when they were trapped in the 22nd Century was slowly becoming a reality. April’s tech company, O’Neil Tech had finally taken off, giving her much power and wealth. It was as easy as cordoning the area off. If Leonardo remembered correctly, she mentioned it was a private affair and would prefer privacy from paparazzi eager for the next big scoop.

“Of course,” April’s voice shook as she spoke. Leonardo reminded himself Splinter was just as much a father to April as he was to his adoptive sons. The shadows that crept from his passing entangled the souls that were fortunate to know him in his lifetime.

April made a show of patting her belly. Right, she should probably rest, accounting for the fact that she was heavily pregnant with her second child. Leonardo wasn’t sure which of her two children would eventually grow up to be the parent of Cody Jones’s grandparents, but if the Turtle wanted that future to be set in stone, it was wise not to risk it.

“You should sit down.” Leonardo pointed at her.

“I’ll be fine.”

”He’s right, babe. Little Tyke wants his mom anyway,” Casey arrived, carrying their son. Five years old and showing no signs of fear of the big green mutant standing before him, their son reached out to him but April quickly intercepted his outreached arms.

“Leo, I’ll excuse myself, okay?” April gave him an apologetic look, upset that she couldn’t be there for him right now. The Turtle simply shook his head.

”That’s fine.” He sighed and spotted Donatello lowering his phone.

His brothers weren’t dealing with the loss well. Then again, who would?

It was Donatello who found their Father’s lifeless body in their childhood home. The brothers took turns to watch after the ageing Rat, bringing his morning meals to him in bed before his bath.

The frantic sobs and yelling for Leonardo to come into the room were permanently seared into his mind’s eye.

It was never easy to lose a parent.

Leonardo had read that on the internet.

Grief articles mentioned there would be five stages. His brothers were all on different stages.

Donatello was firmly in the Depression stage.

“Hey Donnie,” Leonardo greeted as he sat down on the patch of grass next to his brother.

”Hey,” Donatello nodded back.

”How’re you doing?”

Donatello gave him an incredulous look. He quickly softened his expression when he realised his older brother simply wanted to be there for him.

“Not great, Leo.”

Leo pulled him into a side hug.

“I know. Me neither.”

It was quite a shock to hear Donnie laugh but he knew it wasn’t a genuine one. He heard it a few times before, the kind of sarcastic chuckle he’d let out when he was nervous.

”Really? You seem the most put together out of all of us.” Donatello gestured to Mikey, lying on his back and staring at the sky.

Raphael wasn’t where he was.

Leo would deal with him later.

One Turtle at a time. One brother at a time.

”I just hide it better.”

“You shouldn’t,” Donnie said, deadpanned. He sighed, exhaling out all the air he had held in. “Don’t think Raph appreciates it.”

“What, he can’t be angry over this?” Leo sighed. He knew things would blow up once their Father passed. He thought they buried the hatchet years ago about being their Father’s favourite child.

It wouldn’t surprise him if the passing of the one man that symbolised their sibling rivalry had something to do with it.

But now wasn’t the right time.

”Dunno seemed to be angry over something. Said he needed to cool off.”

”Right. Why am I not surprised?” Leo scoffed.

”Raph’s grieving, Leo. In his own hotheaded way.” Donnie sounded more logical now. Rational. Having something to talk about worked. Guess it had to be Raphael.

“I know. I’ll deal with him when it comes to it but…” Leo stalled. It was difficult to try and broach the subject.

“I’m dealing, Leo. I miss him. It was…scary. We’ve known him all our life, he raised us. Shredder, the Triceratons, being trapped in the Future…he was always with us. When we almost lost him when we got back to 2005, I didn’t know how I felt. But we got him back. But now it’s-“

“Permanent.” Leo finished his sentence for him.

Donnie simply nodded, too afraid to vocalise it. He leaned in closer to Leo, settling into the hug.

”I’m sorry you had to be the one who found him.” Leo cooed, rubbing his brother’s arm.

”Yeah…” Tears welled up in Donnie’s eyes, and instead of fighting them like he did on the way over, he allowed the dams to break. And when they broke, they refused to stop.

Leo brought his brother into a deeper hug, letting Donnie dig his nose into his neck, right above his plastron.

The finality of it all broke him too.

Splinter was gone.

Master, Sensei.

Father.

What do they do now?

Chapter Text

It sucked that they weren’t teenagers anymore and an outburst couldn’t be explained away as being young and inexperienced.

Having an attitude, for all wants and purposes was not very mature of him.

Raphael said hogwash to all of that and slammed a fist into the brick wall of their sewer home, making him yelp in pain.

Hopping up and down as the pain washed over and slowly subsided, he could feel water trickling down his hand and dripping onto the ground. Why would his hand get wet?

Streaks of red liquid cascaded over his palm and pooled on the ground.

Not again.

Sighing, the Turtle entered the kitchen, forcefully opening the drawer to find a cloth he could use to stop the bleeding. Instead, Raphael froze.

Inside, his broken Sai, the two prongs sawn off and fashioned into a kitchen knife. He remembered giving it to his Fatheras a joke one Christmas, saying he could use it for his vegetables and cheeses.

”Damn it.” Raphael cussed as he kneeled, the heavy weight on his heart threatened to pin him down forever.

“What happened?” A familiar voice called out. If the concern in his voice wasn’t apparent, the look on his face surelywas.

Raphael was both relieved that Leo was home and upset that he was, in fact, home.

”Nothin’ just scratched myself.” Raph ignored the Sai-Knife in the drawer, forced the drawer shut, and covered his hand with a white cloth. It quickly turned red.

”That’s not just a scratch, Raph. Let me take a look.” Leo reached out to him but he pulled back and held his hand to the cloth and his side.

”I said, it’s fine!” That came out harsher than he intended it to. His voice strained. Dry. He coughed.

Twenty-odd years later, talking to each other remained a challenge. Each step forward in conversation was like stepping on a landmine. They didn’t know when they were going to blow up.

”Why are you being like this?” Leo asked, crossing his arms. He had long given up trying to show concern over the bleeding Turtle and resigned to watching.

”We can’t all be Dad’s perfect son, can we?” Raph sneered through clenched teeth.

Leo sighed and leaned against the wall. It wasn’t like his elder brother to back down so fast and this concerned him.

Leo was right.

Why was Raph being like this?

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Leo smiled. There was not a lick of joy behind the curve of his lips. How could there be when their father was dead?

It wasn’t unlike Leo to hide his emotions behind the facade of expected composure. Still, this time it was concerning.

It was concerning because he wasn’t taking the bait.

”It’s just…”

”Splinter would laugh at us.” Leo said suddenly, making Raph’s gaze return to his elder brother.

”Why?” Raph asked, head cocked, hand in cloth.

”That we’re reverting to how we were like when we were kids.”

Raph rolled his eyes, but he smirked at the thought of Splinter scolding the two and ordering them to their rooms at separate corners of the lair.

“We did that a lot, huh?” Raph asked, smiling.

”Yeah. We were stubborn.”

”I was jealous.” Raph admitted. The Turtle let out a breath of air, exhaling as hard as he could. He inhaled, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs.

Mindfulness was important.

“I was a perfectionist.”

”Yeah,” The younger Turtle let out his arm. “I punched the wall.”

”Again?” Leo enquired, concerned. Unravelling the cloth revealed a bruise forming on his knuckles. “Where’d you get the cloth?”

It was sudden.

The torrent of tears. He choked on his words as they tried to scrape against his throat, overly eager to escape the confines of his mouth. It wasn’t a sad memory.

But it was sad now that Splinter wasn’t here to laugh with them about it.

He pointed to the drawer where the broken Sai resided.

There wasn’t any need to explain.

Leo understood.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the silence that surprised Mikey, even though it most certainly did. The lair was never quiet this time of day.

In the evenings, the cacophony of sounds penetrating the walls of the Turtle’s room and threatening to creep up under his headphones used to annoy him.

Now, the lack of it was disturbing.

There was too much peace.

He could hear his own thoughts.

The idea of sobbing alone, isolated in his room, was too much for Mikey to visualise in his mind. Instead, he tried to force himself to imagine his father in his prime. The image slowly formed in his mind’s eye. The Old Rat is smiling. Sipping on his tea. The scene shifted to Splinter standing in the Dojo, Shinai in hand.

And then Mikey had the thought he was trying to avoid when he first got back from the funeral.

The wave of emotions made him feel like he was drowning underwater. Frantically swimming up to the surface for air just invited the reminders that his Father was no longer with them. With him. Still, the thoughts catch up with him. The feelings he tried burying deep down in the recesses of other untouched familial traumas.

Did he do enough?

Was he enough?

He definitely didn’t feel like it.

What was the word Leo had used? It was during one of his usual lectures about being present for Father after he fell and couldn’t walk. Even Raph was more attentive and listening to their elder brother.

That was when the feeling of not being a good enough son came from. When even Raph, of all people, was starting to be the image of a dutiful son.

Filial Piety. Yes, that was the word. It came to Mikey as he got up, giving up on drowning out the voices in his head with music. He took off the headphones that were of no help at all today, tossing them onto his bed and forcefully opening his room door to exit the main hall.

Filial Piety?

Psssh. More like Filial Pity. Mikey thought.

Now he knew what Raph felt growing up.

It was a horrible feeling. The thought of not measuring up to your parent’s expectations. The idea of not realising the ideal image that they had for you.

He knew Splinter sacrificed much for them. Took risks no other father ever did. Went through so many hardships and heartaches to train them.

Did he ever say thank you?

Did it even warrant a thank you?

They were just pet turtles before they were mutated. They didn’t ask to be made what they are.

Mikey shook his head at the idea of having his own version of the whole “I didn’t ask to be born” argument.

The matter-of-fact was that they were mutated, and Splinter didn’t need to trouble himself caring for them as he did.

The Main Hall was completely devoid of sound.

There was a dearth of it.

What time was it?

Mikey checked his shellphone and noted it was about the time Splinter’s soaps would be on.

This was it, wasn’t it?

He had read about this online. The Turtle usually relied on the internet to help him sort out his thoughts and after Donny discovered their Father not responding in his bedroom…

Mikey had spent the whole night googling self-help articles and topics on grieving for loved ones.

One of the members in a grief forum had posted about the suffocating presence of reminders.

The longing for their presence left behind.

Mikey could see that thought permeating throughout the layout of the Lair. The T.V sprung to mind. It reminded him of the Old Rat. There were other things too. His favourite rocking chair. The dilapidated cabinets in the kitchen that he was too sentimental about to remove and so Donny had just fixed things around it.

Still, it was almost overwhelming. Tears threatened to claw their way out of his eyes but he held it in. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he thought he wasn’t ready yet to fully feel what he knew he was feeling at the moment. Splinter always said there was a time and place for everything.

Maybe Mikey just needed the right time and place to cry.

Right now…he just felt numb.

His legs moved on their own accord, ignoring his mental pleas to just return to his room and sleep the night away.

They marched, one leg lifting after another, toward the direction of Splinter’s room.

What did he think he was going to find there? What new nugget of information was it going to give him in processing his grief?

Seeing it one more time wouldn’t hurt that much, would it?

And then Mikey thought about how the one person he was grieving was the person he’d approach if he had to talk to someone. What do you do when the person you relied on to fill out the usual scripts for thoughts and emotions is gone?

The Turtle knew he wasn’t like his other brothers. Donny would’ve just analysed his thought patterns and discerned what he was feeling from there. Raph was much more in tune with his emotions and would just say what he felt in the moment and change what he felt when his mind decided what he thought shouldn’t be what he was thinking.

Mikey was always confused when Raph described it as such but it made sense.

Leo, on the other hand, was quiet. Reserved. He was their lighthouse in a tumultuous storm. He hoped he had someone to talk to.

For Mikey? His processing of new experiences was always in the shape of how he would explain it to Splinter. He’d think about how his Father would react or process his own decisions and make his decisions from there. And when he was too confused? He’d just get evidence by talking to Splinter directly.

He couldn’t do that now.

It hit Mikey then, that perhaps the online articles and forums of grief weren’t exactly accurate.

Maybe the way everyone thinks about grief is wrong.

Maybe there really isn’t much to process.

Maybe, with grief, you don’t fully process it.

You kind of just grow around it, and the painful knocking of grief that pounded against his ribcage whenever a reminder of his Father will get less frequent. But it would still be there. Perhaps, in a year, he’d have forgotten or gotten over it, most of the time.

Leo always said to trust his body. It was an instinct. And right now, it felt like his body was keeping score of the grief and pain even if he wasn’t actively thinking about it sometimes.

Mikey entertained the thought of coming across a random rat in the sewers one day and bawling his eyes out being reminded of Splinter.

It was a funny thought.

He permitted a slight chuckle. Not too boisterous that it didn’t look like he wasn’t grieving but just enough that it lightened his mood.

Yeah.

Maybe it’ll just hit sometimes.

But sometimes is better than all the time.

Maybe with grief…you just learn to exist around it.

His legs stopped automatically when he reached the front of Splinter’s room. He knew he didn’t have to knock anymore. There wasn’t any Old Wise Rat to greet him when he wanted to enter. But he did it all the same.

Traditions and all that.

A meek voice answered as he knocked.

Mikey jumped in place and then recognised it.

“Donny?”

“Yeah.” The voice answered back weakly.

Right. He wasn’t the only one grieving, of course. Donny was the one who found his body. Of course, he’d feel worse.

“Can I come in?” Mikey asked, without really stopping to think if he was ready for a conversation right now.

Silence.

And then the silence dragged on longer to the point Mikey decided that was an answer in itself.

Then, a reply.

“Please.”

Chapter Text

Donnie took a deep breath.

He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Breathing.

Breathing.

Honestly, was he breathing?

“Wait, I’m not ready!” Donnie yelled at the door. He could pick out the faint sounds of feet pattering on the floor and the mechanisms of the door knob clicking back in place.

“Okay,” Mikey replied, quietly.

They never really talked.

It wasn't easy to place himself in this situation. To be so emotionally vulnerable when he could use logic to rationalise himself out of most situations.

Donnie ran through the decisions he made today to lead him to this moment, sitting alone in his Dad’s old room, face in his palms, sobbing.

That was something both brothers shared in earnest lately. They were polar opposites. One a little too much in his mind. The other, not to be too mean, with less in his mind than he’d like.

Why was this so difficult?

Just invite him in, and say you’re sad. You’ve done this before. He thought.

And then the side of him that tried to rationalise things to make sense of things when they got too emotional and too difficult to process took over. Yeah, he’d talked about feeling before. Talked about how he felt and his place within the hierarchies of his brothers. However, he always discussed it with Splinter.

The Old Rat was his rock more times than he could count.

What to do when the person you relied on wasn’t here right now?

He wasn’t sure if his other brothers felt the same way. It was clawing at him. Threatening to rip into his chest and pull out his still-beating heart so that the palpitations in his chest would stop.

Maybe it was the shock of it all. Donnie was the first to find out their Dad had passed. He was the one who walked into his old man’s room only to find him lifeless, tongue lolling out of his muzzle, fur already pink and scabbed from wounds that would not heal.

The Turtle could not recount a time his Dad looked like that. Splinter was always so full of life, some sliver of wisdom to impart at a moment’s notice.

So alert.

Attentive.

Donnie shook his head, as though it would physically remove the image from his mind but it only burrowed in deeper. The darkness clouding his senses was like shadowy tendrils digging deeper and deeper until they’d hooked themselves into his brain.

It was horrible.

No son should see his Dad that way.

Mikey had avoided seeing the body. He remembered only Ralph and Leo coming in and Leo quickly took charge. Thank goodness they had April.

“Donnie?” Mikey called again, his voice sounding hoarser than it was when he asked if he could come in.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to come back later?”

“No!” Donnie said, louder than he thought he would.

“Okay,” A pause. “I’ll stay till you let me in.”

Donnie was thankful, letting out that breath of air he’d been holding for the last minute. He forced it through his nostrils, feeling the heat of it warm his nostrils. Any sensation was better than the one he was feeling in his chest right now.

Anything to ground him.

He nodded and then realised how stupid that was since Mikey wouldn’t be able to see him move his head behind the door.

“Yeah, thanks.” He tried to say, nonchalantly. He gave up when he had to choke back tears before he could even get the second half of what he wanted to say out.

“NBD, bro.”

Hah, that’s Mikey alright.

The other three used to make fun of Mikey’s tendency to acronymize phrases that had the same amount of syllables if you’d say it fully. This was Mikey saying ‘no big deal’.

Okay. I need to practice what Raph told me.

In all other universes, the Donnies of those worlds would chastise this particularly forlorn version of the intelligent Turtle by listening to Raph for advice from all four of them. However, he couldn’t deny how much more level-headed their usually hot-headed brother has become. It had worked on multiple occasions before. It should work now.

Ground yourself. Think back to the day. What did I do today?

He had woken up late. Sometime past noon, maybe closer to two in the afternoon. He logged onto his computer in a panic but April had given him the day off. Working for the woman whose life you saved decades ago had its perks, he supposed.

He didn’t eat much. Whatever random odds and ends that he could pick out from the kitchen. Leo and Raph weren’t around. He didn’t bother to ring them up to ask where they were.

Donnie picked out a book on Japanese spirits and souls. His way of processing his grief. Although his other brothers may exercise emotional regulation by hitting things or keeping busy, he decided he was on research. Studying. Reading. And online articles just weren't going to do it when he wanted something less clinical and more…spiritual.

Ah, yes. That’s right. That’s what led him to Splinter’s room.

It was the idea of a Reikon. He remembered the Old Rat delved into the topic a while ago. Mikey was too busy on his phone to listen, and Leo listened solemnly with his hands on his knees, kneeling like the dutiful son he was. Raph scoffed a few times with his arms crossing his chest in defiance but he didn’t leave the room either.

Donnie thought he’d be the same. When he was younger and still so arrogant about being the smartest in the family, he would’ve joined Raph. But he was enamoured by the idea of it.

The Reikon is believed to be part of all living beings, and in that essence, it included giant mutated rats and moody turtles.

They say that when someone dies, something leaves them. The Reikon, the soul, perhaps. It doesn’t just vanish. It lingers, suspended between worlds in purgatory, waiting for the right prayers, the proper rites... like it’s standing at a gate it can’t cross alone. If the family honours the traditions, the spirit finds peace. It joins the ancestors, becomes a quiet guardian, and might return during Obon when the veil thins and old footsteps echo home. But not every soul finds that ending. Some deaths come too fast, too violent. Some spirits are too burdened by grief, rage, or sorrow, emotions that cling like chains. And when that weight becomes too much, the Reikon twists into something else. A yurei. Restless. Bound. A shadow that forgot how to leave.

Donnie had woken up too many times plagued by this idea. The thought of his Dad not being able to move on and clinging to him as though he was his Dad’s own mortal, fleshy prison frightened him. He was thankful, at least, that Leo prepared for this. Studied enough under their Dad’s tutelage and could perform whatever chants and rites that were needed.

And sometimes he still thought, what if it wasn’t enough? What if he wasn’t a good enough son? Would that mean Splinter’s soul couldn’t move on?

Splinter should’ve passed peacefully. He hoped. They tried to make him as comfortable as possible. Celebrated his birthday. Cared for him. They were decent sons in the end.

Was it ever enough?

This is not helping.

“Mikey?” Donnie croaked, rubbing his face into his palms harder and rougher.

“Yeah, Donnie?”

“You can come in now.”

Might as well talk to someone.

Chapter Text

Who wouldn’t want to be able to slow down time?

Mikey was fascinated by the idea whenever he indulged in his comics.

Sure, being a mutant Turtle trained in the ways of Ninjutsu by a similarly mutated Rat that adopted him as his son would probably be a great basis for a line of comic books but Mikey never saw his life as extraordinary.

Perhaps he took the skills that were drilled in his head for granted. The art of being sneaky; the importance of discipline and traditions.

Looking back now, how was stumbling on his own two feet and failing to extinguish the flame of a wax candle in the dark ever going to be helpful? Especially when his usually rational and logical brother was staring back at him with tears threatening to well up even further in the corner of his eyes. Slowing down time would be real helpful right about now.

“Hey, Donnie,” Mikey said, chastising his failure of nonchalance in his head when he stuttered it out.

“Hey, Mikey.” Donnie smiled, weakly.

Truth be told, Mikey just wasn’t good at speaking about his feelings. He knew Donnie was the same and so it was like the blind leading the blind. A Ninja never feared the dark.

Mikey was never much of a Ninja anyway.

“Thanks,” Donnie started to say, a knot forming in his throat. “It’s not easy.”

“I get you, bro,” His brother simply nodded, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. He kept it shut, forcing air out of his mouth in a puff when his lungs screamed for oxygen.

“I never asked how you were.”

“Nah, you didn’t have to. You found him.”

Mikey was referring to Donnie being the first of all of them to discover Splinter lifeless in his bed. He wanted to ask his brother how that must’ve felt like. If it was as traumatic as he read in the forums he’d been perusing online. Instead, all he got out was a meekly, “That must’ve been rough, bro.”

The sentiment lingered in the air.

Donnie’s fingers twitched at his side, restless. He was uncertain how he truly felt. The irrationality of his actions wasn’t lost on him but the idea of stuffing it down deep enough felt safe. His finger now curled into a loose fist. The quiet pop of his knuckles broke the thick, suffocating awkwardness gnawing at the two of them.

Each crack sounded louder and louder, sharp and uneven like his breaths. They happened in such quick succession that it caught them both off-guard.

Donnie’s eyes went wide and he looked at Mikey who grinned like an idiot with his eyes also wide. It didn’t take much. Maybe it was all the stress weighing both brothers down the past few days or the absurdity of the situation they found themselves in. Still, it was enough to have both brothers howling with laughter, clutching at the bottom of their plastron.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing.” The elder brother said, coughing in between his words to catch his breath.

Why are you laughing?” Mikey tried getting out but his fit of laughter jumbled it all up into an incoherent mess.

Donnie seemed to understand him well enough.

He stared down at his hands, calloused and trembling.

Calloused from all the tinkering around on projects that didn’t need to be tinkered with. Trembling from the shock of having to be the first to know his dad was no longer with him. It hurt more than anything else to realise he couldn’t just barge into Splinter’s room, grab the old man’s hand and hold it whenever he needed an anchor when the typically verbose Turtle misplaced his much-coveted ability to articulate his needs and relied on physical touch.

Donnie didn’t know what he was looking for. His eyes traced the lines on his hands as he turned them over, palm facing up, open. Gingerly, he placed his left hand to his side and tentatively draped it over Mikey’s lap.

It wasn’t much. Just the barest, wordless gesture he could manage in the moment.

This was it.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, let alone a profound one, but it spoke volumes for him since he couldn’t force out the words he needed to say past the tight knot in his throat: fear, uncertainty, need. The simple, fragile wish that his brother would take his hand. That he'd close the distance or remind him he wasn’t alone in this.

For a long moment, Mikey didn’t notice. How could he when he was staring at the wall, too caught up in his thoughts?

Donnie could see it in his brother’s eyes. The same distant, unfocused look. The type of look that told him he was trying to run away from his feelings too. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what he could be thinking about.

Putting himself in his brother’s shoes —the irony wasn’t lost on him since they didn’t wear shoes, but maybe it was in the weight of the days before, or in the last words their father never got to finish. The last words he never got to say. Donnie was certain Splinter’s comments on the various types of cheeses his sons had prepared for his birthday were the last things he’d want to declare if he knew his time was up.

Mikey’s foot tapped absently on the floor, restless in the way he always was when the world got too quiet for his liking.

And then he caught the placement of his brother’s wrist in his lap. He caught the desperate plea to be comforted in Donnie’s expression. The open hand hanging there between them was like a question that was too raw to broach aloud.

His gaze dropped to it. He blinked like he’d forgotten how to spot something so simple.

The grin he was wearing just a second ago flickered and then faltered. Mikey from last week would’ve come up with a smart remark to save him. There was no joke to break the tension.

Donnie needed this.

Hell.

Mikey needed this.

Wordless, slow as if the air itself weighed him down, he reached out and took the offered hand in his own. His grip was warm, unsure, holding tighter than he meant to as if letting go might make the moment slip, or the space between them crack wide open again.

They didn’t need words.

Mikey and Donnie always relied on words.

The former relied on them to escape being present. The latter relied on them to be present.

But what about just being present?

No pretences.

No words.

Just each other’s presence.

For the first time in forever, the class clown and butt of all jokes said nothing.

For the first time in forever, the intellectual debater and walking encyclopaedia said nothing.

And in that quiet, the weight of everything they’d lost hung between their joined hands.

The loss of their father.

The loss of the dynamics that once governed their family.

The loss of the centrepiece that dictated their growth.

In the quiet, they grieved.

Mikey pulled him in for a hug as his brother began to sob.

Chapter Text

In Leonardo’s recollection of his childhood, the feeling swirling around his chest was lost on him. He knew it was there, threatening to emerge from the shadows and consume him whole. Still, there was always enough to keep him busy that it never settled.

So, why did the eldest son feel it now?

Why did his heartbeat drum at his chest, irregularly? The usual groove of the calm and collected rhythm was faltering.

He knew why.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

He had to keep busy.

Anything to keep this suffocating and overwhelming feeling of loneliness from solidifying.

It was nonsensical, of course, Leo knew that. It didn’t matter if he kept busy or not, suppressing it for this long meant it would explode in his face sooner or later. Still, he had to try. He felt like it was his duty as the Eldest Son or the responsibility of the de facto leader of their familial Ninja quartet.

He couldn’t afford to crumble. Not when he had overheard Mikey and Donnie talking through the walls of their dad’s room, sobbing quietly away from him. He wanted to walk in, hold them both and tell them it would be alright if they did things together as a family. To practice the traditions they were taught growing up in Splinter’s memory.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Leo understood the complexity of their dynamics and unique situation. There was no going to a cafe or on a road trip like they’d seen in the movies Mikey made them watch to get their minds off things.

They were Mutants. Giant, Mutated Ninja Turtles. That meant staying home in the Lair hurt them more and more each day as they were reminded of their old man.

Leo shook his head and looked down at his hands.

There was one way to keep busy and it had occupied almost the whole week after his dear dad’s funeral. Donnie had spotted him polishing his Katanas and asked if he’d like him to print out more modern methods of sharpening his blades but Leo declined his offer.

Splinter taught each of his sons how to look after their weapons traditionally, just like how Masters of their crafts did so back in feudal Japan.

Of course, living in the sewers in New York meant that there weren’t any Togishi – master sword polishers, available. Although Splinter had learned through old books that April was kind enough to donate once she had procured them from an elderly Japanese man wishing to sell his collection to pay for his son’s wedding.

There were many spiritual implications of a master swordsman polishing his blade.

Leo firmly gripped the hilt of one of his Katanas in his left hand, a white cloth wrapped around the blade, wringing it up and down and all around with his right hand to remove debris from the process. It was a solemn business, with the polishing process revealing hidden particles within the sword - soft and hard, clouds and sun.

The practical side of it was that a properly polished blade with a perfect mirror finish would make the blade disappear when held at the correct angle, thus not allowing the sword bearer’s opponent to see how long the blade was. That came in handy when fighting the Foot many years ago.

Satisfied by the lack of debris particles on the edge of his blade, Leo squatted next to a stone brick on the ground. He angled the blunt side of his blade on a small wedge-shaped stone resting on the brick and ground it slowly by rocking it back and forth until he needed to repeat the polishing from the buildup of debris.

He knew this was silly in the long run.

They had no enemies to fight anymore.

Raph and Mikey have decided to shirk their duties in maintaining their weapons since there was nobody left to fight. Donnie tinkered with his but he didn’t maintain it in the traditional sense. The more intellectual brother elected to integrate modern technology instead resulting in the coating of conductive material near the end of his Bo Staff capable of electric shocks.

Leo stood and stretched. Wiping the sweat off his brows, he froze when Donnie and Mikey exited Splinter’s room to enter where he was in the living room.

Donnie, well, donned a beanie, a thick scarf around his neck to hide that his skin was green, and a comically large coat and pants. Mikey was dressed similarly except he had a bright orange backpack slung over his shoulders.

“Where are you two going?” Leo asked as he carefully placed his Katana on the ground to address them.

“Arcade,” Mikey answered, nonchalantly. He took out a small coin pouch with various stickers of members of his favourite comic book superhero Justice Force stuck on the surface haphazardly. Some were upside down.

Mikey threw it to his partner-in-crime. Donnie caught it mid-air and promptly opened it to count the number of quarters they had.

Leo raised his hand to object, however, Donnie cut in before he managed to get a word in.

“We’ll be careful. We’re only going to the one that hardly gets any business. No one will see us. And the owner is blind. He likes Mikey.”

“Bros,” Mikey exclaimed, elated at the fact. “The dude loves me.”

Donnie rolled his eyes and sighed as he nodded. “I don’t know how I feel about using this guy’s obvious crush on you, Mikey.”

Mikey feigned a shocked gasp. “Using? I ref-use,” He exaggerated the last syllable of the word. “That accusation.”

“You mean re-fute,” Donnie corrected. “Although, I guess it works the way you’re saying it.”

“Whatever, dude.” Mikey shrugged and motioned for his coin pouch back which Donnie obliged by throwing it back at him. “I mean, he likes talking to me and I talk to him while we’re playing anyway.”

“Yeah, but he thinks it’s because it’ll lead to you dating him.”

“Oh,” Mikey cringed. “Should I tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“Crap. Let’s get him takeout. Pizza.”

“You just want pizza.”

“I always want pizza.”

Leo sighed. “Guys, shouldn’t we be staying together at home? As a family?”

Donnie looked at Mikey. Mikey looked at Leo. Noticing the scowl on Leo’s face, he panicked and looked back to Donnie. Donnie simply groaned.

“We have been, Leo. But we thought maybe it’s best if we got out of the lair for a while?” Donnie tried to reason.

“Yeah, Raph isn’t here either!” Mikey tried interjecting but received a glare from the Turtle he was trying to assist.

“Raph isn’t in his room?” Leo asked. He thought he was. Then again, he wasn’t keeping track of each of his brothers.

“No, he went out with Casey. I think he’s staying the night?”

Sounds like Raph to just up and leave when he felt like it, Leo thought.

“We’ll be back by midnight.” Donnie offered as a consolation.

“Fine. Just be careful and don’t get caught.” Leo acquiesced.

He wanted company. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about their dad or how he was feeling, but he’d appreciate not being physically alone in the Lair right now. He thought Raph and him had come to an understanding after the punching-the-wall-incident.

“We won’t!” Mikey darted to Leo and gave him a big hug.

Leo didn’t know why that made him want to cry.

Was he craving contact with his brothers so badly that it was enough to trigger such a strong reaction from him?

Leo swallowed the knot forming in his throat and bit back his tears.

He waved as the two brothers made their way to the ladder and up to the manhole.

The Turtle hated this.

He hated how he burdened himself with the idea that he needed to be everyone’s anchor after Splinter’s passing. He was hurting.

He was hurting badly.

His brothers probably thought he was the strongest out of them. That he was the one thing keeping everything normal and stable but it was pulling him down. As each day passed, the mental strain it took to keep up this image was weighing heavily on his mind.

In his heart, he wanted to tell them he needed them right now even if he couldn’t express it.

Squatting over the brick and his Katana, Leo got back to work polishing the blade. It typically takes ten days to polish and sharpen a Katana the traditional way - around a hundred hours per sword. He had completed his right blade last week.

He supposed that was his goal for this week.

It would at least keep him busy.

Traditions and rituals always gave him peace of mind.

It filled him with love whenever he could partake in it with Splinter.

He misses him dearly.