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It had all happened so fast.
It had been a wonder Splinter had been able to get his boys home in one piece, considering the moment they had been hit by the spray they had attempted to scatter; they had scattered the second they'd gotten home.
Leonardo had disappeared into the darkness as soon as Splinter's attention had drifted away, and he hadn't even gotten to see the direction he'd ran off to. Raphael had grabbed Michelangelo and disappeared into his room, and he hadn't heard a word from either of them since. Donatello had the decency to make an excuse, waiting for his affirmative nod before bolting off to work— that had always been his Purple, clear-headed and reliable even through the haze of a mind-altering mystic poison.
At least, that was Splinter's first assumption. There would be little other explanation for them being hit by the pollen of a flower and immediately panicking and attempting to run. It was an easy inference to make based off context clues.
Draxum, unfortunately, was the one to provide him with real answers to his many, many questions.
"I recognize this, yes," he said, sounding sleep-hazed and exhausted. "There are mystic flowers that release spores that heighten fear, specifically. It was a bit of trend for teenagers to set them up in public streets as pranks for passerbys."
"I fail to see how that could be funny," Splinter replied miserably.
"Yes, they were usually fined. It's against the law," Draxum sighed. "It should go away in about a day or so at the most, although it depends on the concentration. How much were they hit?"
"Oh, I'm not sure. I was a bit distracted," Splinter grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. "Please tell me you have some advice for handling this?"
"I've never been afflicted," Draxum replied, exasperated, "or had anyone I know personally have been sprayed, I'm just well acquainted with the law. I'm sure paranoia is straightforward for your feeble mind regardless. You should be intelligent enough to understand what that means."
"I should have left you with that little girl," Splinter growled.
"Please," Draxum scoffed.
There was a pause over the line, and Splinter used it to sit back against the wall, rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe away the mounting headache.
Draxum continued, "I'd assume it'd respond differently for all of them, and prey on preexisting fear. I've never come into contact with the flower itself, so that's the most I can say."
"I should have taken some to let Purple look at it," Splinter commented. "Do you think they will be physically violent?"
"I'm not sure," Draxum admitted. "That depends on them, and you have to put up with their nonsense more than I do."
Splinter hummed, because he wasn't absolutely certain himself. His sons had been in-and-out of missions for almost a year now, and he knew personally how much field paranoia could extend to personal life. He wouldn't blame them for being on edge, even without the circumstances forcing them to be.
"Alright," Splinter ground out, eventually. "I will do what I can. I… appreciate it, Draxum."
"Don't hurt yourself, rat," Draxum retorted. "Although… take care of them, okay?"
There was no way Splinter wouldn't. Normally, he would feel offended, but worry was shutting down his capacity to be indignant. Draxum was just expressing concern of his own, in the way that he always did— passing it off and putting the responsibility in Splinter's lap, so he could feign ignorance when any of them tried to call it out.
Splinter was honestly a little frustrated that he was beginning to learn to read little tells like that. That bastard goat.
"Of course," he said, calmer than he expected, and hung up on him.
He had to take a moment to just sit there, his adrenaline dying as the exhaustion of everything that'd conspired nearly bowled him over. He was almost tempted to go and curl up on the armchair again, back to his usual safe space, so he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable shitstorm that he could feel was coming.
"Dad?"
Splinter bit back a sigh. "Purple," he said, standing to his feet and cracking his aching back. "Do you need something?"
Donatello was hovering at the end of the hall, like he wasn't certain Splinter would want him around. He shook his head, tugging at his fingers with his gaze resting on the floor. Splinter could see him trembling, even from a distance.
"I—I took a look at my- my affliction," Donatello said quickly, unstoppably rattling off information. "I had to work backwards, obviously, since I didn't have access to the pollen or anything, but there were traces still on me and I have my goggles and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N's built in scanners, so I was able to deduce a rough estimate of how long—"
"Purple," Splinter said. "The point, if you will."
Donatello's face darkened with embarrassment. "Hhh— it should last about halfway into tomorrow," he said. "If- if my numbers were correct. S-symptoms should steadily worsen before relieving."
Splinter couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Donatello," he said. "You are reliable as ever. You did a good job."
Donatello's eyes widened. He stared at him, mute with shock for a moment, before his face split into a bright, shaky grin.
"Th-thank you!" he stammered, and immediately turned and scampered off.
Splinter watched him leave, unsure of why that response made him so nervous. Any other situation and he would have found it endearing, deeply so. He shelved it for later, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
He had four children to worry about. Leonardo was lost, somewhere in the lair most likely, and Raphael and Michelangelo were nestled away together somewhere. There was no reason to believe they'd moved in the past ten minutes.
He stepped down the hall and into the lobby, knocking on the wall next to Raphael's curtain as a silent request to come in. He heard the blankets shifting, and the sound of Michelangelo sniffling from within.
"I'll only be a second," Raphael's voice whispered, so quietly that Splinter could barely pick up on it. "Raph's not goin' anywhere, alright?"
"Raphie," Michelangelo whispered in response.
"I know. I know."
Splinter took a step back at the sound of Raphael's lumbering footsteps, wanting to give him a fair amount of space. By the way he seemed to look wound up and furious, it seemed like the correct choice— his eyes raked over Splinter like he was a threat, the tip of his tail beating against the floor.
"Ah, Red," Splinter said. "I was just checking up on you and Orange. How is he?"
Raphael's head tilted, his eyes narrowed.
"…Messed up," he said, after a moment, like it hurt to give that information up. "He's not able to do much of anything, he's too scared. Needs me there for 'im. I think he got hit by the most of it."
Splinter nodded. "I will not crowd him," he conceded, hesitant. "Is there anything you need?"
"Somethin' to eat, maybe," Raphael responded. "He could use it. Maybe some water. Where are the other two?"
Splinter sighed. "I am unsure," he admitted. "I haven't seen Blue since he took off. I had a brief conversation with Purple, I believe he has been in his workspace since we got home."
Raphael's foot tapped against the floor, and nervousness bled into his expression, replacing the world-weary suspicion he'd been displaying before. "Bring 'em to me if you can wrangle 'em, please?"
"Of course," Splinter responded, because he trusted Raphael wholeheartedly with them. He had proven himself over, and over, and over.
Raphael nodded and shut the curtain behind him violently, returning to Michelangelo's side. Splinter made the executive decision not to dwell on why his eldest had been so wary of him, turning to make his way to the kitchen, next.
He believed there was some leftover pizza from their last rendezvous topside that he could heat up. It was a safe food for all of them as well, so he hoped it would bring them some semblance of comfort despite the throes of the poison.
He stepped through the threshold of the doorway, into the kitchen, only to stop in place at the sight of Leonardo there.
He swallowed, unnerved by the owlish expression Leonardo was giving him. His face was startlingly blank, like he was sizing him up, and when Splinter stepped forward, he stepped back.
"Ah, hello, Blue," Splinter said, forcing calm into his voice, trying to seem nonchalant about his appearance. "I was just getting something for Red and Orange, if you'd like to—"
Leonardo turned and bolted.
Splinter watched him flee, his mouth still hanging open. The words of reassurance he'd prepared died on his lips, and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat that'd appeared.
It was an… unexpected response, from him. Although Splinter had never seen Leonardo truly afraid, not in a way that he was willing to express, at least. He'd already gotten the impression his baby Blue was exceptional at swallowing panic down to keep everyone else moving. Genuine, unmasked fear was a new look on him.
Everything felt off-kilter. The way that his sons were acting felt uncanny. He watched the doorway for a long moment, before he turned to heat up their leftovers for Raphael and Michelangelo, as requested.
One thing at a time.
Donatello was waiting for him, standing in the doorway next to the kitchen. He perked up when Splinter stepped through, rushing to follow him like a lost puppy like Splinter's wave of greeting was all that it took.
"Is there anything I can help with?" Donatello asked him, sounding a tad out-of-breath. "I would— I want something to do with my hands."
Splinter stopped to consider, driven by the unnatural pleading note to his voice. "Hmm, I do suppose you could check up on how much food we have for grocery day. So you do not overspend."
Something weird entered Donatello's expression. A flash of panic, perhaps. Stiffly he turned and ran into the kitchen without another glance in his direction.
Splinter had forgotten Raphael had asked to see him. He supposed Donatello was doing alright anyway, since he was up and moving and willing to be helpful. He'd come when he was ready.
The silence in the lair felt unnerving, especially today. Usually his sons would be so boisterous early in the day— things only got quiet around nighttime when they snuck around above-ground, and by that point Splinter would usually be too busy catching up on commercials to notice.
He knocked on the wall again, standing in front of Raphael's curtain and shuffling nervously at how long it took for him to hear anything. He couldn't even hear Michelangelo crying. Raphael's steps were heavier than last time.
Raphael looked visibly worse for wear when he ripped open the curtain, and the look on his face surprised Splinter enough for him to jump. He shoved down his own combat instincts, because it was just his son. He wouldn't be in danger with him.
"Food for you and Orange," Splinter said, holding out the heated up pizza and craning his neck back subconsciously.
"Thanks," Raphael ground out around a snarl.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. Splinter heard Michelangelo shift and sniffle, echoed. It meant he'd likely receded into his shell, which was unsurprising.
"Is Michelangelo alright?" Splinter asked.
"He's fine."
It wasn't a good lie. "You're sure?"
"Yep."
Splinter paused. "May I speak to him?"
Raphael's chest rumbled with an unmistakable growl. Splinter took another step backwards, so surprised by the blatant display of aggression that he didn't even react when he snatched the plate out of his hands and shoved the curtain back in its place, the closest equivalent he had to slamming the door behind him.
One thing at a time. One thing at a time.
He took a very deep breath. Leonardo was still around somewhere, and he hadn't gotten a proper glimpse on his mental state yet. He'd get something for him, perhaps he could be coaxed out with food.
Raphael's response made something… unpleasant churn in his stomach, however. He wasn't always the best with picking apart his own emotions, but he believed it went a tad deeper than combat trauma. He'd seen him angry, and it'd never registered to him like that before.
The distrust just seemed very unlike him. Raphael wasn't always the first to seek him out, of course, but he'd never expressed that kind of hostility towards his presence. He hoped it was the curse just exacerbating his protective instincts.
He'd worry about it next time they spoke. He rounded the corner to make his way back to the kitchen, prepared to focus completely on handling whatever was going on with Leonardo—
And he stopped in the doorway, because Donatello was still in the kitchen, sobbing so hard he couldn't breathe.
Splinter's jaw nearly dropped. He skittered back in shock, gripping the doorway to steady himself against the waves of emotional vertigo. Donatello was sensitive, yes, but he wasn't a crier, not in the way that he seemed to be now. It was behavior he expected of Michelangelo, and very rarely Raphael, but not his steadfast and wickedly intelligent little Purple.
There were boxes and cans of food spread out on the counter and he was weeping into his hands, shaking hard with the force of his heaving, gasping cries. He seemed to be trying to speak between his sobs, but everything coming out was garbled and incomprehensible. He didn't even tense when Splinter stepped into the room.
"Purple," Splinter breathed, not sure if it would be smart to reach out for him. He hovered uncertainly instead, close enough that he could hopefully find comfort in his presence. "Oh, Purple… what is wrong, my son?"
"I'm sorry," Donatello wept, high and whining like it physically hurt to grind out. The words poured out of him in a tidal wave, slurring more and more the longer he spoke as he burnt himself out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-so-hhrry-y—"
The effort to keep speaking was too much. His knees smashed against the tile floor, hard enough to make Splinter wince empathetically, and he doubled over to bury his face in his thighs with a choked out wail, arms wrapped around his middle. Tears streaked down his face.
"Shh, shh…" Splinter reached out and touched his face in an attempt to meet his eyes, trembling as he only seemed to spiral further and further. "It is alright… we are alright… what happened, Purple?"
"It's my f-fault," Donatello cried, working himself up hysterically. His face was pinched with agony, his eyes unseeing as the poison clouded his mind. "I wasn't enough, I should've th-thought, I should've— it's my fault, it's my fault!"
He cut himself off with another wail, and Splinter's heart cracked down the middle. It reminded him of the way Donatello used to crawl in his bed crying after nightmares, clinging to him and begging him for comfort, unable to calm back down until Splinter gave him scritches and sang him back to sleep.
"What is your fault?" Splinter asked, choked up.
"We don't—" Donatello's fists curled into his robe, and he buried his face into the fabric. In an attempt to hide from him, maybe. Splinter wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close obligingly, shocked to realize that he hadn't hugged his son properly like this in a long, long time.
"Take your time," he reminded him. "It is alright. I am not mad at you."
"W-www—" he cut himself off as his muscles seized. He choked on his own tears, shaking so hard that the spasms punched little whimpers and whines out of him. Splinter rubbed his shell and let him take his time. "We do-don't have eno-ough, i-it's not enough—"
"Shh," Splinter reminded him. "Breathe, Purple. What do you mean?"
Donatello sniffled, his hands uncurling like the exhaustion bowled him over in one big wave. Splinter splayed his hand out over his back to feel the hitch, hitch hitch of his unsteady breaths in a helpless attempt to stick a band-aid over a gaping wound.
"Our food w-wont last us the week," Donatello whispered. "I should have— I should have been more diligent, I'm sorry—"
Splinter released a labored, shuddering breath. His stomach plummeted. He felt like he'd been plunged into cold water, all of a sudden. Both for his son's anxieties and because of his complete lack of awareness.
"Grocery day is tomorrow, my son," Splinter reminded him, fighting to keep his voice steady. "We will be alright."
"D-do we have the— the money?" Donatello asked in a small voice, peeking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I—I haven't been working— working enough, I-I—"
"We have enough," Splinter reassured, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. "Let me worry about this, Donatello."
"B-But—"
"This is my job, as your father," Splinter's voice was shaking, it was shaking much too hard. "Right now I will handle our finances, and our food. Everything will be alright."
It sank deep, deep down into his guts, the lingering question; had he not done that for them when they were younger?
(Why couldn't he remember?)
The look in his son's eyes seemed to answer his question for him, hazy with disbelief and fear. Splinter pulled him a little closer, tutting and shushing gently to attempt to ease away some of the tension in his shaking muscles.
"Nhh— no, no," Donatello insisted, his voice shaking with unadulterated fear. "I— I need— need to—"
"You are not in your right mind right now," Splinter reminded him. "It would be better if you were to rest. I'm sure Raphael would want to see you right now, hm?"
Donatello choked on a sob, smearing snot and tears all over his robe. His eyelids fluttered and he seemed to sag in exhaustion, only wracked by the occasional, uncontrollable spasm that looked like it hurt. Splinter ran his hands over the spines of his shell, a particularly tender spot that always seemed to calm him down when he was upset and receptive to touch.
"I will feed us," Splinter told him, shelving the fear of realizing that he'd never even noticed this had been something his little boy had worried about, in favor of keeping him secure and sheltered. "Come on, my son. Do you want to go to Red? Your presence may ease his tension some."
He was desperate to get him to Raphael, because he still had Leonardo to worry about, at the moment— who hadn't eaten properly and was likely skulking around the lair like he was expecting to be attacked. Splinter was worried that if he didn't handle it, someone would get hurt— possibly Leonardo himself.
There was a realization sinking down into his gut, that there was a conversation he needed to have with his boys— but he needed all four of them in one place.
Donatello was still whimpering in his arms, shaking all over. Splinter barely even felt it when he nodded against the fabric, only realizing he hadn't made it up when his son pulled away and scrubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. The usual brightness in them was dimmed, clouded by uncontrollable fear.
He stepped back when he stood, only for Donatello's hand to shoot out and take his, like he was afraid Splinter would disappear if he let go. Donatello made a wounded sound in the back of his throat, nearly pleading, and only relaxed when Splinter gave him a reassuring smile.
Splinter had to lead him to Raphael's room, stopping in front of the curtain. He forwent knocking completely, aware his presence would not be welcomed. He could hear his eldest mumbling assurances, repeatedly over and over under his breath, paired with soft creaking like he was rocking Michelangelo as he held him.
His throat felt tight.
It took Donatello a long moment to realize he was meant to let go. He looked to Splinter and waited for a nod before he pulled the curtain back, immediately closing it behind him. Raphael's breath hitched on a growl on the other side, before immediately fading at the sight of Donatello there.
"Don— Donnie, Donnie," Raphael's voice sounded shredded, crackling dangerously on the verge of tears. "Kid, hey, hey, c'mere, it's okay, c'mon, it's gonna be okay—"
"Raphie," Donatello croaked, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps and what was presumably Donatello throwing himself into Raphael's arms with a choked off wail. Michelangelo let out a soft, shivering chirp.
"I've gotcha," Raphael insisted, like he was attempting to convince himself. "Your Raphie's here, nobody's gonna hurt'cha, never, ever, ever—"
Splinter heard it as Donatello burst back into tears, weeping loudly and openly. Relieved or overwhelmed, he couldn't tell. Possibly both.
It was hard to step away from the sound, as three out of four of his children cried on each other, desperately like they were all trying to soothe each other. He heard noises coming from them that he hadn't heard in years, clicks and coos and tiny little mewls and chirps that they'd grown out of when they'd learned their words.
He stepped back, wiping a hand down his face and making an effort to control his unsteady breathing. He had to be a father, dammit. Get it together, Yoshi. One of his sons was still missing from the equation.
He just hoped Leonardo hadn't run from the lair completely.
It was unlikely, he assumed. Blue had always been a bit inscrutable to him— every time Splinter had assumed he'd completely understood his son, he'd managed to spring something new on him. But it went without saying that the lair was a safe place for all of them. It'd been ingrained that the sewers were a labyrinth that wasn't safe to navigate alone, and the city was inherently dangerous.
But still, he forced himself to expect nothing and everything. He was a ninja, a more experienced one than his sons, so he wouldn't be too difficult to track down if he was still in the lair.
He stiffly turned around with a deep, deep breath, and began his search.
Leonardo's room was empty, as expected. He wasn't anywhere around the TV room, or the kitchen. Nothing had been moved to indicate he'd come by at that point. Splinter's stomach squirmed.
He checked the garage next— training equipment from the last day had been left out. He remembered Raphael had mentioned he'd be leading sparring, since Splinter's back had been giving him issues. It had been a bad day, physically and mentally, for him.
(He'd been having more good days as of late, but still—he didn't stop feeling guilty about the bad ones, especially now. He was starting to see the effect putting such a workload on his children had on them.)
He scanned the room, stopping in the middle. The tank was still securely shut and untouched, and it was unnervingly quiet. Donatello had mentioned soundproofing, he remembered.
Something shifted. A can fell over in the corner.
Splinter turned to the sight of empty air, but he knew better. He stepped to the side, putting himself between the doorway and the rest of the garage. If Leonardo wanted to get through, he'd have to go through him.
"Leonardo," he said, forcing calm he didn't have. "I know that is you, my son. You have no reason to run right now, you are not within your right mind and you need to rest."
Silence. He rolled his shoulders back, bracing himself.
"Come out, Blue," he insisted. "Your brothers are very upset right now. They may benefit from knowing you are alright."
More nothing. Splinter swallowed past anxiety, unnerved by the silence— so unlike his endlessly talkative second oldest.
"Blue—" he started.
A shape rocketed out of the shadows and slammed into him at full force.
Splinter shouted in surprise, knocked flat on his ass. By the time he was willing to open his eyes and swivel around, Leonardo had already darted around him and was out the door, footsteps pounding deafeningly against the concrete. He only caught a glimpse of his mask tails fluttering behind him as he disappeared.
"Leonardo!" Splinter shouted, indignant anger taking place of his worry. "Where are you going?!"
He was on his feet in seconds, quick to give chase. His back twinged with pain, but he disregarded it, skidding across the floor in his haste to follow and chasing the sound of echoing footsteps.
It seemed like Leonardo wasn't even certain of where he was going, he just ran and didn't stop. Splinter followed him out of the lair, into the sewer system, turning corners just as he seemed to disappear. He didn't get a single glimpse of his face.
"Blue!" he called. "You are going to hurt yourself! Come here!"
It took several minutes to finally catch up with him, rounding a corner and scrambling to a stop as they hit a dead-end. Leonardo was faced away from him, shoulders hunched, staring at the wall like it would open up for him.
He was deafeningly silent. Splinter couldn't even hear him breathing.
"You are—" he cut himself off to wheeze, panting, "—so lucky you are not grounded, young man. It is— wise to- listen to your father, must we have this conversation aga-hhh-in, ugh—"
He took one step forward.
Leonardo whirled around to stare at him, and he was crying.
Fat tears were streaming down his face in twin trails. His eyes were wide, jaw hung with silent, hitching breaths. He had started crying at some point and Splinter hadn't even noticed. He'd been utterly silent, not even a whimper or sob squeezing out of his throat. He stared at him with wide eyes.
Splinter took another step forward. Leonardo shouted, shattered and clogged with tears, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He stopped. "Blue—"
Leonardo's feet scrabbled against the floor, already backed fully into the wall, his face screwing up and snout scrunching. His chest rumbled with a growl, broken and wholly nonthreatening.
"G-get away from me—" Leonardo insisted, the defensive anger making way for fear and despair. "Get— get— you can't—"
Splinter stepped back, making space between them. "I will not touch you if you don't want me to."
"You can't—" Leonardo repeated, like he didn't hear him. "You— you can't see me- me like— li-hh-ke this— nobody can— they- t-they can't—"
The growl returned, his eyes flickering with defensive fury, like a cornered animal trying to protect itself. It was shaky and bound to fizzle away again. His whole body shook, panting picking up to the point where Splinter was worried he was about to have a panic attack.
"You need to breathe, Blue," Splinter said, keeping his voice quiet and nonthreatening. "You are panicking. I am not a threat to you."
"You— you—" Leonardo shook his head like he was trying to dislodge unpleasant thoughts. "You can't— don't— don't look at me!"
Splinter took in a deep breath, and stepped forward.
Leonardo snarled, trying desperately to back away before he slammed to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest and watching him with angry eyes. Tears continued to track down his face in fat globs. His pupils were in slits. He flinched when Splinter eased down next to him.
"Leonardo," Splinter said, keeping his voice steady.
"Fuck off," Leonardo wheezed. "Get— get a-away—"
"May you breathe with me, my son?" Splinter asked. "Just follow my breaths, like this—"
He gently took his son's hand, stopping when his baby Blue flinched. He was almost afraid Leonardo was about to strike him and take off running again, but he didn't move, freezing up like he was expecting it to be the other way around. Splinter maneuvered his arm so his hand was splayed out against his chest.
"Good. Follow me," he directed. "Breathe in with me. One, two, three, four—"
Leonardo blinked away tears and hesitantly followed.
"Just like that. Now, out— five, six, seven, eight, nine— good. There you go. And repeat. One, two, three, four—"
He continued this way, over and over again, until the stream of Leonardo's tears stopped and his chest seemed to clear. Leonardo blinked rapidly against the gloomy air, like he was just gaining awareness for the first time ever since Splinter had encountered him. He sniffled, audibly this time.
"Daddy," he croaked.
"I know you are upset," Splinter said, "and afraid. But I am not an enemy to you, I am here to keep you safe. You do not need to run from me."
Leonardo shook his head, stubborn even in his terrified haze. "Nobody can— nobody can see—"
"You will not be judged for feeling," Splinter insisted, "not in my house. Your brothers want to see you— want to help you."
"They can't— I need to—"
He twitched, like meant to run. Splinter squeezed his hand harder, shushing him when his breath hitched.
"Shh, shh, it is alright, it is alright," he said. "You are safe here, even if you are upset. There is nothing to run from. Nobody to hurt you."
Leonardo's eyes were hazy, almost uncomprehending. He reached out, tentatively— so unlike Donatello from not long before. Instead of desperate for some sense of his father's comfort, Leonardo moved like he was expecting to be pushed away, prepared to run at any moment.
Splinter pulled him in against his chest. Leonardo finally, finally, seemed to relax, slumping against him and falling still. He was so quiet. So, so quiet, so unlike himself.
He couldn't help but wonder if this was a glimpse of the truth. He knew well what it was like to talk, so so much, and to never say a single thing. And without the energy to speak, it was better to not even try.
"Do you want to see the others?" Splinter asked. "Your brothers are all together, right now, comforting each other. They would be happy to see you."
"C-can't see," Leonardo slurred, halfhearted. More like it'd been a response programmed into him like something he was saying with any real conviction. Splinter immediately knew he'd won.
"Come on," he insisted. "You can go into your shell if you would rather me carry you."
Leonardo sniffled, easing to his feet. He pulled his hand away from Splinter's like he was embarrassed to be holding it, and Splinter didn't push.
He let Leonardo walk behind him, despite being tense and uncomfortable with the prospect— he could tell he was still poised to flee, even as he followed him. He paid great attention to his footsteps, prepared to turn around if they went silent.
It was a long trek through the sewers as they headed back to the lair. Splinter only knew the way because this had been a well-worn path from when they were very, very young, and used to sneak out without his permission.
There was a gaping hole in the middle, he was beginning to realize— the moment Raphael could carry them to bed and go out to try and get food himself, and Michelangelo could cook and Donatello could build them beds and phones and give them electricity, he'd checked out.
It was terrifying to think about— had most of these developments happened in his mental absence? Was Leonardo's complete fear of being seen crying because of this, too?
He stopped in front of Raphael's room, and Leonardo didn't even glance at him as he crept in, wordless again. Splinter couldn't even hear the echo of his footsteps. He cut silently through the air like a shark through water.
There was a beat of long, long silence, where nobody seemed to say anything.
Leonardo was the one to speak first. Quiet, his voice steady, so steady, like his prior breakdown hadn't even happened— "Oh, man," he said soothingly. "Raph, hey, jeez. Are you okay?"
"Am I—" Raphael's voice cut off, heavy with tears. "You— where were you, Leo? Raph was so worried—"
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Leonardo's voice was so jarringly composed. "I just— I— it's kind of hard to explain. I'm okay, though. I kinda flipped my lid, sorry about that."
Michaelangelo's voice piped up, quiet and shaking. "We're all flippin' our lids. Don't— don't say sorry."
"Lids are well-flipped by now, I get it, whatever," Leonardo rushed out, in an attempt to cover his tracks. "Yeah. Yeah, I— sorry. I think I just need to lay down. For a bit."
"C'mere," Raphael said.
Splinter stood in front of the shut curtain, listening to the sound of the bed creaking as Leonardo curled up on it. Raphael rumbled from deep in his chest, Michelangelo joining with a much shakier purr, and the grateful sound Leonardo made back seemed to help them relax. Donatello was utterly silent— asleep, likely, or having an episode. Those weren't uncommon.
For a moment, he almost considered leaving them there. Raphael had them all taken care of, tucked away and safe and protected— but he was beginning to realize that was a part of the problem. He had entrusted so much of this important work to Raphael, just like had to Donatello, with their food and finances.
There was no way he wasn't crumbling under that pressure. He had put too much on them— on all of them. It was harder to realize he didn't even remember what had caused it, when it was clear they did.
He braced himself, tipping his head back to breathe in deep, before he opened the curtain.
Leonardo was curled up on the bed, hugging one of Raphael's stuffed bears tight and hiding his face in the plush. Raphel was next to him with Michelangelo and Donatello bundled up in his arms— Michelangelo still crying steadily, and Donatello sound asleep, limp and silent, his head lolled in the crook of his arm and his brows still pinched.
The three of his sons that were awake looked up to meet his gaze all at once— well, Raphael and Michelangelo did. Leonardo shifted in his direction, clearly listening, but seemed unwilling to show his face.
Michelangelo slumped in relief at the sight of him. Raphael did not, his chest rumbling with a growl.
"Raph?" Michelangelo called, sounding worried.
"My boys," Splinter croaked. "I was just— I saw fit to check up on you, now that you were all together. I think there is something we need to talk about."
Raphael's tail thumped against the sheets. His eyes narrowed.
"It's okay," Leonardo whispered. "Big guy, it's just Dad. He's not— he's not—"
"Go away," Raphael snarled, sizing Splinter up when he took a step forward. "Go away, go away."
"Raphie," Michelangelo stressed.
"I am— not here to make things worse for you," Splinter insisted.
"Leave us alone," Raphael growled, and when Splinter stepped closer, fear and desperation leaked into his voice. "No, go away, leave us alone, Don's— he's sleepin', you can't— he's sleepin'—"
Splinter stopped in front of the bed, his throat tight with concern. "My son—"
Raphael pulled Donnie closer to hide his face. Michelangelo pawed at his arm, trying to get his attention, but he seemed undeterred.
"Get away from him," Raphael insisted, sounding terribly afraid, "he's sleepin'—"
"That is alright, I will not wake him up," Splinter said in a gentle voice, tentatively settling a hand on Raphael's knee. "Red, I—"
"I won't let you hurt him!" Raphael shouted.
Splinter reared back in shock, just in time to miss Raphael lurching forward with a furious snap of his teeth. If he'd moved any slower he would have lost several of his fingers, perhaps even his whole hand.
Static. His head was full of static. He barely even registered the danger of the situation, too stunned by his son's biting words.
Leonardo sat up stiffly, putting his hand on Raphael's shoulder and speaking quickly and sharply. Splinter could barely filter the words through the haze in his mind, the hissed, "it's just Dad, dude, you're seriously freaking out, you could've hurt him—" paired with Michelangelo's tearful, whispered concern.
"Hurt him…" Splinter repeated to himself, under his breath, staring at Donatello's lax face.
Had he ever—
He would never—
The idea made him want to throw up. It was an effort to push the intrusive thought away. But Raphael reacting like that— it indicated something. At the very least, it indicated that with his mind manipulated, he was not comfortable enough to see him as someone safe through the filter of fear.
Raphael was trembling, already tearing up again. He was shaking with the force of his growl, and his eyes only seemed to sharpen when they locked with Splinter's.
Leonardo's snarling had been in-the-moment, defensive paranoia. Splinter was interchangeable from everyone else— all he had wanted was to get away, to hide, not to hurt. Raphael knew exactly who he was looking at, and he was furiously protective anyway.
He was not afraid to hurt him if he had to, to protect the boys that it had always been Splinter's duty to protect.
Splinter could not help but feel like he had done something irreconcilably wrong.
"Raphael…" he breathed. "I am not a danger to you. I will not hurt you, nor any of your brothers."
Raphael shook his head. "I— I know—" he choked out, like he was trying to convince himself. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, m'stupid—"
"It's alright," Splinter reassured. "None of you are in your right mind. And—" it was hard to admit through the lump in his throat, "—it is alright not to trust me. You are well within your right."
Raphael flinched like he'd been punched. He stared at him, wide-eyed and confused. Leonardo and Michelangelo didn't seem any less confused, watching him with wary eyes as they tried to pick apart his words. It kind of felt like stumbling upon a bunch of abandoned kittens in a cardboard box.
Donatello stirred in Raphael's arms, squirming and kicking slightly. Michelangelo made a surprised sound at all the jostling, which caused him to crack open his eyes with a confused hum.
He didn't seem to notice Splinter there. He just looked over to his side and mumbled, "Nardo?"
Leonardo snapped out of his confusion to look over. "I'm fine."
Donatello sat up, still bundled close to Raphael, who looked down and cupped a hand over his shell protectively. "Mmm…" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a sniffle. "No you're not… dum-dum."
"I'll be fine," Leonardo corrected, pointedly not looking at him.
Donatello made an annoyed noise and whacked at Raphael's arm so he'd let him go. He crawled over and curled up in Leonardo's lap with an angry chirp, pointed disapproval in his words. Leonardo sighed and leaned back against the wall himself, looking miserable.
"…What did you mean?" Raphael asked.
Splinter couldn't even force a smile. "I understand if you are wary of me. I… I know I have not been the best to you, in some of the most important years of your lives, and that I can't undo that."
"It's okay," Donatello whispered.
Raphael shook his head. "…It isn't," he said, quietly.
Splinter eased himself down to the floor, unsure if he was welcome in the bed. He wasn't exactly willing to test Raphael's wrath, especially with him out of his mind with fear. He was much bigger than the last time he'd bit Splinter seriously, and even when he was five, Splinter remembered having to pry him off with a crowbar.
"I…" Splinter's brow furrowed, and he had to take a deep breath. "I cannot remember… such a large period of your lives. Once I thought you had taken over, I believe I just… was not there anymore. It is all a blur in my head, and now..."
He could feel four pairs of eyes on him, wary and worried— potentially afraid. They still looked to him, even when he had failed them so greatly. He was simultaneously grateful and terrified, feeling the same overwhelming fear he once had when he'd realized the turtles he'd taken out of the lab were sentient babies who needed him.
He remembered how terrifying that had felt, to suddenly become a father. At one point he had seriously considered children, but that had been before Big Mama had kidnapped him. Laying in his bed, wondering about a hypothetical future with her. After years fighting he had never even seen it as a possibility.
Maybe none of this would have happened if he'd been prepared. He would have been elated to be a parent, if it hadn't been sprung up on him. Once more he was crushed under the weight of everything he had been through, realizing that there was no way he wasn't going to be a disappointment to the little boys that he could still fit in the palm of his hands.
"I see the way this has hurt you," Splinter continued. "I learn so much about you, and I only wish I had been there to see you become the responsible young men you are now. How much have I missed? How much have I hurt you unintentionally? I have been in your lives again for quite a while now, and yet, I… I am so ashamed it took me this long to notice."
"It's okay," Donatello repeated, softer this time.
"No it's not," Leonardo mumbled.
"Pop…" Raphael whispered, and he was shaking.
Splinter swallowed. "You had to step up in my stead," he said. "And I know— being a single parent is… it's hard, and there is much you can do that I cannot. But there is so much I should have at least— been there to support you through."
He looked to Raphael. "Your missions," to Michelangelo, "your tears," to Leonardo, "your injuries, the weight of your legacy…" and finally, to Donatello, head on, "to keeping this house a home…"
He lifted himself back to his feet to cup Raphael's face, sighing in relief when he relaxed into it instead of bristling or lashing out.
"This should have been mine from the very beginning," he said. "And I will do what I can, but you are allowed to be upset with me. I am upset with myself for how dismissive I've been."
Raphael sniffled. Splinter felt himself tearing up, too.
"You are all afraid," he said. "What happened— you are allowed to be afraid. That is what that magic does to you, you cannot avoid it now. You should not have to put anything on yourselves, because it should have never been your job to be responsible for this family. You deserve to rest through this. All of you."
"It's— it's okay," Donatello stammered, high and whiny and warbling.
"It's not," Michelangelo countered, still staring at Splinter with tears in his eyes. "Stop saying that."
"But—" his second youngest whimpered, wracked by a shivering sob. "I— I— I want to, this is the only way you'll- you'll— you'll—"
"I will love you no matter what," Splinter said. "My baby boys."
Raphael buried his face as best he could into his palm. "I'm so tired, Dad," he whispered, so subdued compared to before.
"I know," Splinter said. "Come here, Red."
Raphael didn't fight it. Finally, he fell into his arms and burrowed himself into Splinter's hold as best he could, already crying. Michelangelo threw himself into the hug right after, finally moving after spending so long being static with fear. Splinter looked to the twins, smiling through a film of tears when Donatello finally took, inviting himself in without any hesitance.
Leonardo watched the group hug, reluctant. Raphael was the one to notice, looking over and opening an arm, spurring him into motion— rushing forward, instead of away. He folded into them, hiding his face in Raphael's side so they wouldn't see his tears.
They were here, and Splinter was looking. He wondered how much they'd truly yearned for this, how much had gone unsaid. He wondered if there was any way to make up for all the lost time, the distance he'd put between himself and his children.
They deserved to be scared now, at the very least. He would show them it was okay.
"It will all be alright, you can rest through this, and I will protect you," Splinter insisted, holding all of them close. "There is nothing to worry about, shh, shh, my wonderful boys, I will fix this, you can rest, I am so proud of you—"
Donatello wailed. It was a horrific sound, like he was tearing something ugly free from his chest, as he descended into punched out, wheezing sobs. It only served to make everyone more upset, and Splinter felt tears rushing down his face, felt his body shake with the force of his own sobbing.
"Shh, shh, my boys," he croaked. "Oh, my boys, I am here now, and I am so sorry…"
He kept them all in his arms, tucked them away from the vast cold world like he was always supposed to, and stayed as they cried through their uncontrollable fear. He didn't move, even as they drifted off to sleep, curled around him like they were young again, before he had ever looked away, before he had ever lost sight of what was truly important.
I am here now, he vowed, stroking Raphael's shell and guarding the sleeping pile with utmost devotion. I won't fail you, not ever again.