Archive of Our Own ^beta

   Splinter hated to admit it, but he had no idea how to raise a family.

   He didn’t even have any instincts to fall back on. It wasn’t like male rats had anything to do with raising their young ordinarily. All he had were fuzzy images – more feelings than actual memories - of being in his mother’s nest, surrounded by all his brothers and sisters. That, and what little he had gleaned from watching the Ancient One interacting with his (admittedly grown up) adoptive children.

   Truth be told, Splinter didn’t have to take in the four tiny turtles. He was under no obligation to help them. He may have been a pet for a while, but everything he’d learned before as a wild rat had quickly returned once he’d found himself homeless and alone yet again. Most wild animals would have ignored the baby reptiles entirely. A few may have tried to eat them. It was a world where you had to put yourself first, or you might not survive. Charity wasn’t even a concept.

   So why had Splinter, a wild rat by birth, with all his survival instincts and zero maternal hormones, gone against his wild nature and adopted them?

   He couldn’t say for sure. Emotions weren’t new to Splinter. He’d known happiness, anger, misery and even affection long before he’d found a human family to love and care for him. But putting a name to anything more complex was, regrettably, beyond him at that point in time. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel other emotions: Splinter just didn’t have the words to describe them, back then.

   What he did know, however, was that the moment he’d set eyes on those four little terrapins squirming around in a puddle of glowing ooze and broken glass, Splinter had felt something click deep within him.

   It was warm. It was chilling. It was safe. It was fearful. It was complete. It was broken. It was full. It was empty. It was protective. It was inadequate. It was change. It was finally coming home.

   It was a feeling unlike any other he’d ever experienced, even with his beloved Master Yoshi. Not in this way, at least.

    It was love.

    In that moment, a memory had bubbled up unprompted, floating free to the surface of his mind.

   Gentle hands reaching out. Saving his life. Giving him food. Taking him in.

   He’d been desperate. What little he could scavenge had barely kept him alive. He had known the risks of trying to steal from humans. It had been utter madness to try and take from them when the humans were right there!

   But Splinter had been so hungry. His belly had already been sticking to the underside of his ribs. He hadn’t known how much longer he could last without eating something. There may not have been another opportunity.

    His stomach had shouted louder than his mind. He’d taken the risk. And nearly paid for it with his life. It was only Tang Shen’s quick actions that saved him.

   She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to stop Mashimi’s blade. She didn’t have to give the starving, filthy rat a slice of daikon. And she certainly didn’t have to take him in, providing him with shelter and warmth and enough food that he no longer had to worry about when he might eat again.

   Tang Shen didn’t have to adopt him. She certainly didn’t have to love him. But she did. And the memory of that day had stirred something deep within Splinter’s soul. Feelings of warmth, of happiness and affection and safety, yet also of a sorrow and longing that he couldn’t quite place. He may not have understood what he was feeling at the time. But Splinter knew what he was going to do. Without hesitation, he’d gathered the turtles up and taken them back to the safety of his burrow.

   It was moments like these, when he was alone and free to let his mind wander, that Splinter found himself reflecting back on that day. The day he became a father. The decision had been as easy as breathing, even if it now meant he had five mouths to feed, instead of one.

   He still didn’t really know what he was doing. But the mere thought of ‘what if’ – What if he hadn’t been in that part of the sewers that day? What if he hadn’t decided to investigate that crashing sound? What if he hadn’t been fast enough, and some other creature had found the turtles first? – chilled him down to the deepest marrow of his bones.

   Suddenly becoming a single father to four energetic children was certainly not easy. But Splinter wouldn’t give up his boys for the world. He never wanted to know what his life would be without his sons.

   With weary feet, he rounded the corner and caught sight of the concealed entrance to his home. A little of the stress he hadn’t even been conscious he was carrying eased from his shoulders. Suddenly, the sack of scavenged food and other essentials on his back didn’t feel as heavy, either.

   His new burrow was larger than any he’d called home before – perhaps with the exception of the Ancient One’s house, though he had not had unlimited access there. Still, with five growing… people in it, this hidden nook of the abandoned New York sewer tunnels he’d chosen as their home could sometimes feel a little cramped. But it kept him and his family safe, which was Splinter’s main concern.

   Few humans were as kind as Tang Shen or his beloved Master Yoshi. Splinter had been yelled at, kicked at, screamed at and chased off so often it had become a part of his daily life. And that was back when he’d been just an ordinary rat. He knew there was no way the surface world would accept him or his sons now.

   At least here they were safe enough that he could leave them long enough to go scavenging for supplies. Splinter hated leaving his sons alone for any length of time. Five winters had passed since he first found them, yet they were all still so young. He had no idea how turtles normally aged, but they would be positively ancient if they were ordinary rats! Splinter himself must be the oldest rat in history! Five winters – with a start, he realised that meant he’d spent more time in this new mutant body than he ever had as an ordinary rat! Whatever substance had mutated them all seemed to have slowed down their aging process, as well. As such, the turtles were still just infants, vulnerable and naïve and unable to fend for themselves.

    But Splinter couldn’t always take them scavenging with him, especially when he had to leave the tunnels in search of food. Keeping his new, much larger frame concealed was hard enough; it was nearly impossible to remain undetected with four easily distracted children in tow.

   Splinter tried to limit his scavenging trips, tried to get enough food that he wouldn’t have to leave the boys again for a few days, tried to hurry back to them. Yet every time, his pounding heart only slowed back down once he was home with his family again.

   He quietly set the sack down just inside the entrance of their burrow. Their home murmured with the usual sounds of everyday life they barely noticed anymore – the drip of that overhead pipe, the distant rumble of the subway trains, the sloshing water in the sewer canal on the other side of the wall. They were the sounds of home. And, yet…

   The lack of childish voices shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was late. Splinter had put the boys to bed before he left. They should be asleep, blissfully unaware that he had even been gone. He should be relieved that they hadn’t woken while he was out.

   So, why was there a gnawing feeling in his gut? Why was it stronger in here than it ever was out in the dangers of the city? Why was it growing by the microsecond, creeping up his belly as if his entrails were trying to crawl up into his throat?

   His sons were curled up in their nest, just behind the blanket that acted as a curtain to keep the worst of the draft out of their sleeping area. They were fine. They were huddled up in an adorable pile of limbs and shells, dreaming about breakfast and games and their father’s hugs.

   They were safe and well.

   They were right ther-

   Splinter pulled the curtain aside just enough to see into the nest.

   The cold, empty nest.

   The nest of old blankets and lost overcoats…

   And no turtles.

   Splinter ripped the curtain aside. It was dark in the burrow. He dared not leave a candle alight while he was out. But his night vision was still sufficient to see.

   The nest was empty.

   “Boys??” Splinter gasped, charging in anyway and rummaging frantically through the bedding as though his sons might be buried underneath.

   They were not.

   His movements grew more panicked as he widened his search to the rest of their humble home. It may have been larger than any burrow he’d known before, but there were still scant few places that four 1-metre-tall turtle children could hide. Splinter knew. He’d watched them play hide and seek so often he knew all their hiding places.

   Now he swept through each one, hurrying on to the next when every spot turned up empty. Underneath the backseat of an old car that they’d dragged in here to serve as a couch. Behind the discarded television set that his genius son had somehow wired up to receive power and a signal down here below the city. Into the little nook that Splinter kept as a pantry for their meagre supplies of food.

   When each one turned up empty, the old rat narrowed his search further, to spaces he logically knew his sons could not be. Places too small, or too narrow, or too hard to reach. But Splinter was desperate. Please let them be here. Please!

   Because the alternative…

   Splinter felt the entrance to his home burning into the back of his skull. No. He rapidly shook his head. They wouldn’t! His children knew not to leave the burrow without him. They knew it was dangerous out in the tunnels. They knew they could quickly get lost. They knew…

   A sob wrenched itself free from Splinter’s chest as he tore out into the sewers to look for his boys.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

   “Sensei?”

   The little voice instantly brought Splinter to attention. His sons had that effect on him. Ever since he’d first heard that halting chirp as they sounded out his name with their brand-new vocal cords, Splinter had become finely attuned to the unique sounds of each of his children. He could be sound asleep in an exhausted, feverish slumber, and yet, the merest peep out of one of them would have him awake in a blink.

   The rat carefully returned the dwindling tins of food he was counting to their pantry and turned to the child at his side. Even if Splinter hadn’t recognised the voice or the distinctive footsteps, he would have known it was Leonardo. Out of all his children, the boy seemed to consume his Sensei’s wisdom as though it were oxygen itself.

   Splinter felt his gaze soften, as it always did when he looked upon the faces of his youngsters. “What is it, Leonardo?” he asked patiently, instinctively reaching out to caress the boy’s head. His son leaned into the touch, and Splinter had to fight back the warmth swelling in his chest. It would not do to coo at the boy when he had come with a question.

   Big, innocent eyes looked up into his. “What’s above the sewers?”

   Splinter’s brow furrowed in confusion. Out of everything Leonardo could have asked, he was not expecting that. “You know what is above the sewers, my son.”

   Even if he’d wanted to keep the city a secret from his children, they had seen the surface from the sewer grates and storm drains. Not to mention the comics and books he found for them, or the handful of channels Donatello’s television picked up. They knew that New York City lay above their heads. It’s sounds and smells infiltrated their home almost constantly. And they lived off whatever Splinter could salvage or steal from it for their survival. 

   “No,” Leonardo shook his young head, though his demeanour remained polite, “I mean; what’s up there? What are the streets like? How does it feel under your feet? How tall are the buildings? What does the city smell like? Are there really humans everywhere, like on the tv?”

   Splinter blinked in surprise. The children were at an age where they were constantly asking questions. Michelangelo’s current favourite seemed to be ‘why’ – ‘Why was water wet? Why didn’t Splinter have a shell like they did? Why couldn’t he put that in his mouth?’

   Raphael’s questions already had a rebellious edge to them – ‘Who says he can’t retract inside his shell? Why can’t he stay up passed bedtime? How come he had to stay within his father’s sight at all times when Splinter took them out into the tunnels?’

   And as for Donatello, Splinter was rapidly finding that the boy’s questions were outpacing his own fields of knowledge – ‘How does electricity work? What’s a combustion engine? Was it possible to build a working boiler from an oil drum and some lead pipe?’ Thankfully, the intellectual turtle seemed just as happy investigating the answers for himself, though Splinter had been forced to step in once or twice when the experiments started looking dangerous.

   But Leonardo’s questions had always been a bit different. Rather than asking how the world worked, or testing the boundaries, or satisfying his curiosity, Splinter had noticed Leonardo tended to focus his questions on what he was being taught – ‘Am I doing this right, Sensei? How do you do that? Could you show me again, please?’ There was a need to seek assurance and validation behind the questions that troubled Splinter somewhat. Whilst he applauded his student’s desire to get things right, he worried that his son might be taking that a little too far…

   It wasn’t that the boy wasn’t curious like his brothers. Leonardo still asked about how things worked and why Splinter had set certain rules. But he just seemed to focus his questioning mind more inwards, reflecting more on himself and the progress he was making rather than the world around him.

   As such, it was a bit of a surprise to hear such queries from the boy. “What has brought this on, my son?” Splinter fought the urge to ask follow-up questions. He’d learned through trial and error that he got the most honest insight into their thought processes when he kept quiet.

   Leonardo’s head ducked and his gaze sheepishly fell away to the bricks underfoot. “…I was just wondering…,” he mumbled, chancing a hesitant glance up at his father, “… If I could come with you next time you go topside?”

   Splinter drew in a deep breath. So that was it. This conversation was not a new one, though it was normally the others begging to accompany him to the surface. He’d naively thought his quietest son had no interest in the world outside their home. Splinter internally kicked himself for assuming that not all his children would be curious about the unknown.

   “Leonardo,” the old rat kept his voice gentle as he dropped to one knee to be eye-level with his son, “We have talked about this. You know it is not safe for you four on the surface.”

   “But I’d be with you!” the boy protested. Splinter couldn’t help the way his chest ached at the utter faith and confidence on his son’s face. The turtles were still at an age where they believed their father could do anything. Such complete trust both comforted and terrified Splinter.

   The rat sighed. “I only have two eyes, my son. I cannot keep watch for danger, find what we need, and look out for you at the same time. I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to go up to the surface. It is just too dangerous.”

   “But-”

   Splinter tried to never cut his sons off mid-sentence. He wanted them to always feel free to tell him whatever was on their minds. But, as so often happened in this new life they’d found themselves in, circumstances could change on a dime. A crash from the other end of the burrow, followed by a complaining yelp, interrupted their talk.

   “I am sorry, Leonardo,” Splinter repeated, already rising to go investigate what was wrong. But he paused long enough to meet his son’s pleading eyes, “But my answer is no.”

   The sounds of a scuffle reached his ears, and Splinter hurried away to break up whatever squabble had broken out between his other children.

   Leonardo’s request was quickly forgotten.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

   What a fool he had been!

   There were no signs of disturbance in the burrow. There was nothing amiss at the entrance. There was no indication of anything wrong in the tunnels. If something – or someone – had entered Splinter’s home and stolen away his boys, they had somehow managed to do so without leaving a single trace.

   No. It was far more likely that the children had gone willingly. In fact, there was one turtle in particular that had just that morning expressed the desire to leave the burrow and explore the city. And where one of them went, the other three were sure to follow…

   That interrupted conversation replayed like an angry klaxon in Splinter’s head. He was a short-sighted fool! He should have paid more attention. He should have tried to finish the discussion once he had the time. He should not have assumed that just because Leonardo was normally so well behaved, the turtle would never disobey him.

    Parental anger warred with the growing fear churning in Splinter’s gut. His body couldn’t seem to decide whether to be furious or terrified, the noxious mixture leaving a sour taste on his tongue that burned in the back of his throat and stung his eyes. His claws tapped noisily as he hurried down the concrete walkways of the sewers. Stealth was abandoned in favour of haste. He had to reach his sons before anything else did!

   Splinter veered off at the first junction. That tunnel was the one he’d come home by, and he would have noticed if there’d been any signs of the turtles on the way. So, the rat shot down the other tunnel. The one that led away from the nearest manhole cover. But his sons weren’t to know that. He’d never taken them down that route before.

   The sewer pipes seemed to stretch on forever, twisting and looping and turning back on themselves in a tangle that would be confusing to anyone who didn’t know them well. Whatever had his boys been thinking, coming out into the tunnels on their own?! They were probably already lost. Anything could happen to them out here! They were just children…

   Splinter couldn’t know exactly how old they were – at the very least he doubted they were newborn hatchlings when he’d found them. Their ability to speak not long after their mutation suggested that, developmentally, they were several months old, at least.

   But physically it had been five years. Even knowing nothing about turtles or children, Splinter knew that his boys were still just infants. They may have the natural armour of their shells, but that didn’t mean they were safe on their own or able to defend themselves if needs be!

   Splinter’s own heart echoed through his head with every frantic step. His chest was nearly too tight to breathe, but he pushed through anyway, urging his paws to move faster. Fragments of scenarios played out unbidden in his mind’s eye, each one more distressing than the last. There were any number of ways his children could get into trouble on their own, and every single one was a possibility until he found them.

    He had to find them…

    The tunnels split into another fork. Now which way should he go? Splinter still had his keen animal sense of smell, and the turtles had a unique scent that could be found nowhere else in the sewers. Unfortunately, the sewers also contained, well, sewage. The pungent odour tended to overpower even the freshest of tracks.

   But smell wasn’t the only sense the rat had. A faint sound from the left tunnel made his ear twitch and his head snap round. Without hesitation, Splinter shot down the lefthand pipe. Now his racing feet adjusted automatically to be noiseless. His ears strained to pick up anything that would clue him in to the whereabouts of his sons.

   He felt it more than heard it. A low, fearful chirrup, too low for human ears to detect. It was almost too low for even his sensitive rat hearing. But whether it was their shared mutation, or the years they’d already spent together as a family, or even something else, Splinter couldn’t say. All he knew was that his boys were calling for him!

   But another sound also reached his ears, one that made no effort to disguise itself. Footsteps. Slow and heavy, with the distinctive clatter of rubber soles on concrete.

   Humans.

   The heart in his throat turned to stone. No. Splinter nearly staggered as the icy fear latched onto his insides, his nerves simultaneously going numb and lighting up with screaming urgency. His sons! Where were his sons? He had to reach them! He had to get them to safety! He couldn’t lose them! Please, no…!

   “Youse sure, Trev?”

   “I told ya’! I saw somethin’!”

    The dirty yellow beam of a flashlight bounced off the brickwork up ahead. Splinter instinctively pulled himself up short, his every move still noiseless. He couldn’t just barrel into the humans, as much as every muscle in his body was begging him to charge in and defend his boys. He had to be careful. Going in half blind could make the whole situation worse. He didn’t even know if they had his sons, yet.

   Splinter ducked into a crouch, hugging the nearest wall in caution, and crept towards the foreign light. Two voices echoed off the brickwork, two large figures cast bouncing shadows off the curved walls. Two men. Splinter didn’t yet know if there might be more up ahead. But there was no sign of his children. Where were they?

   His sharp eyes picked out the layout of the tunnel, seeing far better in the dark than even the humans with their flashlight. Splinter knew these tunnels almost as well as he knew his own burrow. These sewers were his home. He knew every nook and cranny, every alcove and hollow, every brick and chunk of concrete. They were as much a part of him as the fur on his back.

   Another sobbing chirp, barely audible and hastily muffled further as though by a tiny hand. Splinter felt his heart stop. The sound was so young, so full of fear and despair. He’d know it anywhere. His boys… His claws itched to gather the children up into the safety of his arms and hold them close. His keen eyes snapped to a pile of rubble just ahead where the sound had come from. There was barely more than an indent in the wall where the bricks had crumbled out.

   Surely not…

   And yet… His soul was torn. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to find his sons, to keep them safe. On the other hand, however, he dearly wanted them to be as far away from here as possible, far away from the immediate danger closing in on them. But no. As much as he both wanted and didn’t want it to be them, Splinter couldn’t deceive his eyes. He’d know that shape anywhere. That was definitely the scute of a large carapace facing out of the hole in the wall!

   The men were close - far too close - to his sons! They’d already swung the beam of the flashlight over the nook where his boys were huddled, though by some miracle the men hadn’t been looking in the right direction or hadn’t spotted the mutant turtle shells in the harsh shadows. But every step brought them nearer. It was only a matter of time.

   Time that was rapidly running out.

   Splinter yearned to run to his boys, to scoop them up and flee down the tunnels with them or turn and fight off the human threat. But he couldn’t be seen. If they spotted him, the humans might be tempted to return to these tunnels to investigate further. They might find his burrow. They might take his sons. He couldn’t let that happen.

   He couldn’t lose his family again!

   Splinter acted. Grabbing the nearest chunk of brick, he wound back his arm and flicked it across the floor on the other side of the tunnel. It skipped noisily along the concrete. The flashlight beam swung immediately towards the sound and mercifully away from the wall his boys were hiding in.

   “What was that?” one of the men jumped.

   “Over there!” the other cried.

   Splinter slipped behind the men on swift, silent paws, taking full advantage of the heavy shadows. He was but a phantom in the darkness, unseen and unheard. He stayed low and moved as if he wasn’t even touching the ground. Once safely passed his sons’ hiding nook, he chanced a glance back at them. All four of them were there, huddled tightly together with their shells facing outwards as though if they couldn’t see the men, the men wouldn’t be able to see them. It was perhaps the only hiding spot they’d managed to find. At least they were all together. Splinter couldn’t stop to worry if they were hurt. He had to get the men away from his sons!

   The mutant rat gave a sharp squeak and then dived out of the way again as the light swung to where he’d just been standing.

   “You hear that?”

   “It was this way!”

   Splinter danced around the men, slipping through the shadows like a fish through water, remaining always just out of sight. It wasn’t easy with two of them, but Splinter had a home advantage and the memories of watching his Master Yoshi train. He’d mimicked the actions he’d seen as a regular rat, but now the moves flowed through him with a newfound grace and gravity. His mutant body responded much more naturally to the steps designed for a bipedal form. It was as easy as breathing.

   But he couldn’t keep up this dance forever. The humans were still much too close to his sons. He had to lead them away. Once again Splinter allowed his claws to scratch the concrete walkway, though this time he kept his steps light enough to sound like a regular sized rat. With another sharp squeak, he darted off down the tunnel, away from his burrow and his boys.

   “I hear it!”

   “It’s getting away!”

   Splinter was rewarded with the sound of feet pounding after him. He kept his pace fast, weaving between the shadows so the men and their flashlight couldn’t catch a clear glimpse of him. But not so fast that he lost them. Every so often he kicked a stone or made another noise to keep them on his tail, though he could tell from their laboured breaths that the men were tiring fast. Just a little further…

   His keen eyesight spotted a puddle of… something. Splinter’s snout twisted in distaste, but he didn’t hesitate to loudly slosh through it. The flashlight swung across, narrowly missing his paws as he leapt out of the way. He heard the men shout to one another. They thought they almost had him. With renewed determination they followed him further down the winding tunnels.

   At last, the way opened up into a larger area, with multiple tunnels splitting off in every direction. Dozens of tiny eyes shot up as he burst into the chamber. A nest of ordinary rats stared at the sudden intrusion into their home. This was what Splinter had been aiming for. He sharply juked back and leaped up silently onto an overhead pipe, pressing himself flat against the cold, damp metal. It wasn’t wide enough to conceal him if his pursuers looked up. He could only trust in the probability that they wouldn’t. Splinter dared not breathe as the men shot passed him and skidded to a halt, scattering the squeaking rats.

   “…Rats?” one of the men spluttered as his lungs ached for air, “All that for a rat?!”

   “I swear it was bigger than a rat!” the other insisted as he also gasped for breath, “Much bigger…”

   “Ain’t you seen a New York rat, ya’ numbskull? Those things is huge, ‘specially down here!”

   The other man bristled at his companion’s tone.

   “I’m tellin’ ya; it weren’t no rat! It was bald and scaley and-”

   “Oh, great!” his friend threw his arms up into the air, his flashlight bouncing off the ceiling of the chamber like a spotlight. Splinter ducked, pressing himself further against the pipe. “Not only do you have me walking around through who knows what down here, but now you’re tellin’ me we’ve been chasing a rat with mange?!”

   Splinter kept as motionless as the tunnel walls. Even with the benefit of the shadows, he was afraid to move and draw the men’s attention up to him. But thankfully they seemed far more interested in arguing with each other now.

   “It weren’t no rat!”

   “If it walks like a rat, and sounds like a rat, and looks like a rat, guess what? It’s a stinkin’ rat!”

   “But, I… I…”

   “So help me, Trev! I am this close to leaving you down here for the night!”

   “What! Don’t leave me in the sewers! Brian!”

   Splinter waited as he heard the men set off down another tunnel towards the surface, their bickering getting quieter as they moved further away. Only once he was sure they weren’t going to turn back did he relax, his whole body drooping with relief. That had been too close. Silently, he dropped down from the pipe and slipped back the way they’d come.

   Splinter’s heart pounded in his chest and his breath came in quiet pants, but he still didn’t make a sound as he backtracked to his sons. Thank goodness he knew about the rats’ nest in that chamber. Though if he hadn’t been able to reach it, his backup plan had been to allow the flashlight to catch the very end of his tail, and hope the men assumed he was just an ordinary rat in the sewers. It was a huge risk, though, so he was immensely relieved his first idea had worked out.  

   The walk back was longer, but it gave his adrenaline time to settle and for him to compose himself. Now that the immediate threat was over, Splinter’s feet felt weary and his shoulders heavy. He’d already been on high alert during his scavenging trip earlier. He had not been counting on this extra exertion tonight. All he wanted was to curl up in his own nest and sleep.

   But there was something else to take care of first. Splinter finally rounded the bend and came face to face with four little heads poking cautiously out of the crumbling nook in the tunnel wall.

   Childish eyes widened as they looked up at the stormy visage of their father.

   “Home,” Splinter snapped, “Now.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

   The remainder of the walk home was completely silent. Even their feet dared not make a noise as they trudged back towards their burrow. Splinter took up the rear of the group, one ear folded back to listen out for any more potential threats, while he kept all four children within his sights. It wasn’t strictly necessary – the boys were far too shamefaced to do anything else but obey their father’s orders – but it eased his pounding heart to be able to see them all.

   He wasn’t the only one upset. Splinter had checked the turtles over thoroughly for injuries, but thankfully they all seemed unharmed, just badly shaken up. At least it was a relief that none of them were hurt. But that had been too close. Splinter already knew he’d be having nightmares about this for days to come. He’d better prepare himself for the children’s rest to be disturbed, as well.

   His sons huddled together as a group, hanging their guilty heads as they plodded home. They knew they’d messed up big this time. To their credit they didn’t burst into tears, though Michelangelo was definitely sniffling. It was probably only guilt that was keeping them from seeking out each other’s hands.

   Though it pained him, Splinter forced himself to remain firm. There would be time for comfort later. First, he had to make sure the turtles had learned their lesson.

   Finally, the concealed entrance to their burrow came into sight. Without knowing what was behind it, the brickwork would look like any other wall in the sewer tunnels. That was a big part of the reason why Splinter had chosen this particular nook to be their home. But now chilling doubt curled in his stomach. Even though their hideaway hadn’t been breached, the old rat knew he wouldn’t be comfortable until he’d shored up their defences further. But that was a task for tomorrow.

   “My sons,” he said succinctly as they stepped back into the safety of their home. Four little bodies froze, shoulders hiking up to the edges of their multi-coloured masks. “Kneel.”

   Nobody moved for a moment. A couple of furtive glances were exchanged among them. As usual, it was Leonardo who turned around first and knelt obediently on the brick floor, his head bowed, and gaze lowered in shame. His brothers reluctantly fell into line next to him.

   Splinter sighed deeply. He didn’t want to do this. No good parent wanted to scold their children. Still, this was not something he could leave unaddressed. A calloused paw rubbed at the burgeoning ache behind his forehead.

   Opening his eyes, he looked down to the four remorseful tots kneeling before him. It suddenly struck him just how small and young they were. In a snap decision, Splinter discarded tradition and also folded his legs so that he was kneeling before his sons, though he kept about an arm’s length of distance between them. He was still cross, but his anger had been tempered by the walk home and the mournful regret on the faces of his children.

   “Boys,” his tone was stern, though he tried to keep it from being overly cold. But his heart nearly broke as the children still winced at the sound of his voice. Splinter never wanted his children to be afraid of him, even when they needed to be disciplined. He swallowed and attempted to moderate his voice further. “What is my one rule for when I leave you to go scavenging?”

   Four little heads hung lower. They knew the answer. He told them every time he left. There was no excuse.

   Normally, Leonardo took it upon himself to answer such questions for the group. But this time he kept conspicuously quiet. Splinter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t call the child out, just yet. His brothers fidgeted uncomfortably as the silence dragged on.

   “Well?”

   “…Not to leave the burrow,” it was Donatello that eventually mumbled the answer for the four of them, though he didn’t lift his gaze to meet his father’s eyes. The others wriggled sheepishly, but kept their mouths shut.

   “And why is that?” Splinter prompted, when no one else spoke.

   Michelangelo sniffled again, his beak wobbling with restrained tears. Donatello fidgeted with his fingers. Leonardo shrank into himself even further.

   “Because it’s dangerous,” Raphael reluctantly admitted, at last.

   Splinter hummed, sternly. “This, you know,” his eyes hardened. His sons must have heard it in his voice, for even without looking up at him, they all wilted further. “And yet, you did it anyway.”

   Four heads contritely avoided their father’s blazing eyes. No one tried to argue with him or defend themselves. That surprised him slightly. The children were usually quick to make excuses when they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. If anything, their silence was starting to concern Splinter.

   What he did note, however, were the not-so-subtle glances that Donatello, Raphael and Michelangelo cast their remaining brother. Leonardo, in contrast, remained as still as a statue, his fists in his lap and his gaze never leaving the brick floor. This, too, was odd. None of the boys liked being told off. But normally Leonardo especially seemed to quail at the merest suggestion that he had displeased his Sensei.

    “I set that rule for a reason,” Splinter continued, his focus narrowing on the ordinarily responsible boy, “Anything could have happened to you out there! You could have been hurt or taken. Or worse!”

   The whole group flinched. The events of the evening were still raw. A shudder washed through Splinter as remnants of his earlier fear swept back in like debris on the icy tide. If he’d been any slower… He couldn’t even bear to finish that thought. He knew the children were just as shaken. He could only imagine what it must have felt like for them to be cornered out in the tunnels like that, with no one to protect them.

   “Our life is not a game, my sons. There are real people out there that will hurt you if they get their hands on you. That is why it is not safe for you out there.”

   “But what about you?!”

   The cry was so sudden, so unexpected, that for a moment everything stopped. Even the dripping pipe seemed to pause, as though holding its breath in stunned silence. Four pairs of eyes turned to blink in shock at the culprit. It was not who any of them would have expected to speak out.

   A little green head had finally lifted to cast its gaze upon their father. Little green fists trembled, and little lungs drew in shaky breaths to quell the tears brimming in little, dark eyes framed by a calm, blue mask.

   “Leonardo…?”

   “You go out all the time on your own!” his son failed to stifle a gasping sob, but nothing could stop the words spilling from his tongue, “But who protects you??”

   Splinter’s world shuddered to a halt. Sound fell away like a cliff-face crumbling into the relentless ocean. All he could see were Leonardo’s pained eyes, that face far too young to be concerned with his parent’s safety. In his peripherals, the rat sensed more than saw his other sons turn to look at him for answers, but no reply would form in his throat. Time felt frozen around him.

    Splinter’s own words from that very morning echoed hauntingly through his head.

   “…I only have two eyes, my son. I cannot keep watch for danger, find what we need, and look out for you at the same time…”

   Oh, what a stupid old fool he was! He’d just told the boy how dangerous it was on the surface. Of course Leonardo would latch onto that and worry about his father’s own safety outside the burrow! How could Splinter have been so careless with his words?

   “My sons?” Splinter couldn’t help the way his voice cracked. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know, “…Were you coming to find me?”

   Three more faces swam into focus, eyes brimming with worry and sadness. The guilt at disobeying their father was still there, but the children didn’t shrink back anymore. It made little difference whether Leonardo had shared his concerns with his brothers, or if he’d tried to keep them to himself. Once one of the turtles had left the burrow to look for their father, the others were sure to be close behind.

   Tiny fists scrubbed at weepy eyes as Leonardo’s answer was interrupted  by hiccupping sobs. “You were… gone for… a long time…”

   Splinter’s heart sobbed. Suddenly, he was right beside his sons in their nest, feeling their concern gathering mass as it snowballed the longer he was away. He could see Leonardo’s restless fidgeting disturbing his brothers’ sleep. He could hear the fearful voices as they finally confided in one another. He could sense the rising worry that morphed into determination to bring their father home safe. He could feel the cold air of the tunnels as the boys threw aside the curtain that separated their nest from the rest of the burrow and ventured out to find their Sensei.

   The old rat didn’t need to have been there, nor even hear his children recount it. He knew. And it broke his heart.

   “Oh, my sons!” Splinter couldn’t hold back any longer. Ignoring the way his old knees protested, he surged forward and scooped up all four boys into a tight hug. Pudgy little arms didn’t hesitate to fly around his neck, his waist, his shoulders – anywhere they could reach to cling to their father. His robe pulled taut as tiny hands grabbed fistfuls of the fabric. He didn’t care.

   The dam broke, and four young voices wailed loudly into his embrace. Splinter wasn’t dry eyed, either. Nor was he ashamed to admit that he clung just as tightly to his children.

   They needed this. He needed this. After all the fear and danger and uncertainty of tonight, their little unconventional family needed this moment of contact, of safety and reassurance and love. They needed to hold each other, to cry and allow their hearts to say everything they couldn’t find the words for. They needed to fall apart so that they could begin to build themselves back together stronger than before.

   But there would be time for that later. Time. They had time again. It had almost been ripped away from them. But Splinter had clawed it back, and he was going to cling on to it as if it was his most treasured possession in the whole world. He could not, would not let it go again.

   He let the children cry until their sobs became hiccups, their little bodies going lax as tiredness crept in to replace their fear and distress. But it wasn’t time to go to sleep just yet. They were ready to listen now.

   Splinter drew back just enough to look down at his sons. They felt him shift, and turned their tearful faces up to him. The fabric masks on their heads had absorbed so much of their tears that all four looked like they had heavy, dark bags under their puffy eyes. He couldn’t wipe away their tears, so Splinter settled for gently cradling their heads, one by one. Each one chased the touch of his hand as it pulled away to soothe their brother.

   Splinter adjusted himself so that he was in contact with all four of his children in his lap. His arms pressed against the closest two, their little hands clutching onto the sleeves of his robe in return. He cupped the furthest two in his hands, feeling the scales of their little heads as they pressed back into his touch.

   “I am so, so sorry for scaring you, my sons,” Splinter met each of their eyes in turn, directing his words to them individually, “And thank you for being worried about me. But it is not your job to look after me. I am the parent. It is my job to keep you safe. And the best way for you to be safe is to stay at home when I tell you to.”

   Little heads bowed in reluctant understanding. A wet sniffle met his words. He was not surprised when Leonardo spoke up again.

   “But what about you, Sensei? Who will keep you safe?”

   The other three turned their expectant gazes up to their father again. They weren’t going to let this go. Splinter could see the worry and fear etched into each of their eyes. His heart swelled with love and pride, despite himself. They were such good boys, even though they had disobeyed his direct orders. They needed reassurance, not punishment.

   “I can keep myself safe, young ones. My Master Yoshi taught me everything he knew.” The corner of Splinter’s lip turned up in the ghost of a playful smile. “How else do you think I was able to lose those men in the tunnels?”

   A hush fell over the burrow. His children immediately sensed the shift in mood, though they were clearly unsure what it meant. Was the lecture over? Were they off the hook? Did this mean they were free to make jokes of their own? They blinked up at him, waiting for a sign. They were so young, still so naïve, yet they absorbed everything they learnt like little sponges.

   Splinter couldn’t stay mad at them. He’d said what needed to be said. They understood. Their disobedience would still have to come with consequences, of course. Perhaps no television for the next five days – one for every year of their lives – would be appropriate? And he would have to adjust their training to ensure they could defend themselves if – no, when - something similar happened again. And then there was the matter of their hiding skills…

   There was time for all of that later. For now, all that mattered was seeing his sons smile again.

   “Not bad for an old rat, huh?” Splinter winked at his boys, allowing a cheeky smile to play across his furry face.

   Michelangelo’s face lit up. He was already showing strong potential as the most emotionally aware turtle of the group, and the little ball of sunshine was always the first to latch on to anything bright and positive. The last of his sniffles fell away, his enthusiasm seeping back in despite his weariness. His little fists bunched together in wriggling excitement.

   “You were so cool, Sensei!”

   Splinter couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle. His other sons caught onto the sound, discarding their distress like an unwanted blanket. Before he knew it, he had four little boys jostling for attention in his lap, each one of them looking up at their father as if he could fetch them the stars.

   “Yeah! The way you didn’t let those men see you was awesome!”

   “How did you do it?”

   “Can you teach us, Sensei? Please?”

   The old rat shook his head fondly, a smile firmly upon his lips now. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of their desires to leave the burrow and see the surface world. A brief scare had never stopped his sons for long. They would most likely stick close to home for a while, but the siren song of the outside world would call to them again before too long.

   That was ok. Splinter would deal with it when the time came again. He knew the future would hold more dangers, especially as the turtles grew and matured. He would have to teach them how to become shadows, how to protect themselves in a world that often wasn’t kind. But it was his deepest desire that they would never lose this compassion, this concern for others’ safety that they had displayed tonight.

   For now, he was just grateful to still have his family, safe and sound and where they belonged.

   “Yes, I will teach you, my sons. I think it is high time you learnt to become one with the shadows. Though, for tonight I think it is enough that we all become one with our beds.”

~ * ~