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“Boys!”
Feet hit the floor in all directions in the little concrete home. One at a time, each of his sons appears and gathers in front of their father where he stands in the doorway. He smiles at the four of them.
Michelangelo has a smear of something suspiciously orange and dusty on his cheek—he's gotten into the snack stash again. Splinter can hardly blame a growing boy for doing so, but it makes his own stomach feel empty at the thought.
Leonardo and Raphael are both covered in a thin sheen of sweat—something new to them as their bodies slowly grow more and more warm-blooded—and they're trying to disguise their slight panting. They were wrestling in the dojo of course, and Splinter knew so, but for some reason they must think he would not approve. He feels quite the opposite, their training is an excellent outlet for the frustration and restlessness they share.
Donatello has ink on one hand and a smear of it on his cheek, and smells faintly of wood shavings. Splinter chooses not to ask yet what he’s trying to craft in his little mad scientist’s nook, only because the child does not yet look guilty. Instead he looks rather sleepy, a sign of the coming winter months.
“Thank you for gathering so quickly.”
They all brighten at the praise. A small chorus of yes Sensei follows.
“I will go out to hunt now. What are your requests?”
Michelangelo needs no time to think it over. He claps his hands together beneath his chin and bounces up and down, barely containing himself. “More paper to draw on! I filled it all up already.”
Splinter smiles. “Of course. If I can find any, I will bring it to you.”
Every time Splinter has to go out for an extended length of time (like tonight, when he’ll be scavenging for nonperishables to restock their winter stores), he takes a request from each of them for something they would like from the surface world. They've asked for everything as simple as a lollipop to impossible as Lady Liberty, but he tries with all his might to find something to satisfy their needs. He cannot do much for them, trapped below ground as they are, living on the very edges of society, so he does anything that he can. It also serves as their reward for getting along while he's gone, and most importantly for staying put . They are strictly forbidden to leave their home while he’s away.
“I have options,” Donatello says very practically.
“Let's hear them.”
“Either a large potato, a length of copper wire, or any amount of potassium chloride.” He lists them off on his fingers as he goes, and Splinter grows more concerned with each one.
“I’ll do my best. Leonardo? Raphael?”
“I would like a new book, if you can find one,” Leonardo answered somewhat bashfully. His interest in reading was not like Donatello’s; he liked fantasy novels of any variety, but especially what he called science-fiction .
Splinter has read enough back-cover blurbs to surmise that he’s currently living something like a science-fiction story, and his interest in the genre ended there. Still, he indulges his imaginative son when he can. He gives Leonardo an understanding nod.
“I can't think of anything,” Raphael finally admits, shoulders slumped.
“Ahh, but that is the wisest choice of all, Raphael.”
He looks up, confused and more than a little dubious. “It is?”
“Indeed. You will receive a surprise, and that is often the best gift of all.”
He wrinkles his nose in thought. “I guess so. You do find some cool stuff.”
Splinter nods and hoists his empty bag over his shoulder. “Alright, I expect to hear of nothing but good behavior tomorrow morning. You'll all go to bed at nine, no snacking before then Michelangelo, and be kind to one another. Leonardo is in charge.”
Raphael stomps his foot immediately and with such drama that Splinter feels compelled to roll his eyes. “How come Leo always gets to be in charge? It’s not fair!”
Splinter is simply too tired to play these games tonight. The cold season makes him sleepy too, and he’s far too busy worrying about how they’ll survive this one to begin to worry about whether or not it’s ‘fair’. He kneels in front of his children, two of which have their hands defiantly propped on their hips. Raphael is angry, but Michelangelo is just mimicking his brother—his new favorite pastime.
If he tells him that Leonardo is in charge because he’s most responsible, then Raphael will deny it and argue, or demand a chance to be in charge and prove himself. Splinter has neither time nor patience with which to argue with said child at the moment, and he knows without trying it that leaving Raphael in charge will prove disastrous. But he can't leave without answering, and he can't say because I said so , he doesn't want to be that kind of father. He looks between Raphael and Leonardo, standing beside each other with entirely different postures that both somehow reflect the same level of frustration. They’re so alike sometimes, they could almost be—
Oh . It's so simple; how has he never thought of this?
“Leonardo is in charge because he is the eldest.”
He feels proud of himself for a moment—one shining, blessedly silent moment—before they all start speaking at once.
“I knew it!”
“Leo is NOT Elvis!”
“Am I the second oldest?”
And finally Raphael’s loud and proud “SO WHAT?”
Splinter sighs. Deeply . “Raphael, you are the second oldest, so you can be second in charge. Does that sound fair?”
The clamor begins anew, this time between Michelangelo and Donatello, who want to know immediately which one of them will be relegated to the bottom of the food chain. He holds up a hand, and they fall silent while Raphael contemplates this idea.
“So I can boss around Mike’n Dee, but not Leo?”
Splinter opens his mouth to correct him—he cannot ‘ boss around ’ anybody—but the nuance would be lost on the child anyway. He sighs again. “Correct.”
Michelangelo’s hand shoots into the air, waving and bobbing as he bounces on his toes.
“Yes, Michelangelo.”
“What about me! Do I get to boss Donnie?”
He looks between the two of them, now his designated youngest, he supposes, and carefully considers. Donatello’s penchant for mad science may very well lead to the early reveal of Michelangelo’s yet-untapped evil genius, but that same science could be used for evil if under his mischievous control. What would happen if he could simply instruct his brother to aid and abet him in his long series of elaborate pranks? The thought is almost too much to bear.
“No, my son.” He draws Michelangelo to his side to deal the devastating blow, giving him a preemptively comforting hug. “You are the youngest.”
Whatever reaction he expects from Michelangelo, he doesn't get it. The child throws his arms out wide and grins. “Yay! I'm the baby !”
He raises a brow. “And what does that entail?”
“Everyone loves the baby most!” He turns his head to aim the wicked grin at his brothers, all three of whom sour at the thought.
Splinter releases the boy and straightens. “Is everyone satisfied now?”
They each nod or mumble their agreement in turn.
“We’ll be good, Sensei,” Leonardo assures him.
He almost has to laugh—two minutes into being the eldest brother and it seems Leonardo is already comfortable in his role. “Alright, I trust you. Goodnight, boys.”
They each bow, then attack him with a waist-high group hug.
“Sensei?”
Splinter turns from his seat at the low table in his room and finds Donatello in the doorway of the dojo, bent at the waist in a partial bow. He smiles at the sight of his son. “Come in, come in. Sit.”
Donatello takes a seat across from him and examines the book on the table before speaking. “Still the same puzzle?”
He protectively shields his sudoku book with a paw. “Yes, and I still do not want your assistance.”
He raises his hands in innocence, though the smile on his face is anything but. “I didn’t offer, did I?”
One of his ears twitches. “It would defeat the purpose of the exercise.”
“Perhaps any exercise that takes more than two days to complete requires some kind of warm up.”
Splinter shuts the sudoku book for safekeeping; he knows that Donatello will only be able to restrain himself from solving it for so long, even upside-down. He’s fifteen years post-mutation now, and still too smart for his own good. “Is there something you needed to speak with me about, Donatello?”
He clears his throat. “Yes, actually, I had a question for you. You know how Leo’s the oldest, and Raphael is the second oldest, then me, then Mike?”
Splinter must make a conscious effort not to let his ears twitch back against his skull. “Yes, of course.”
“Well, I just always wondered…how did you know that? I mean, as far as psychological and physiological developmental markers go, I can’t find any difference between the four of us. Raphael is a bit bulkier, I’m a bit smarter, Mikey’s a bit more immature, but that’s all within normal margins and to be expected out of any sample size of teenagers, assuming our development is as comparable to a human’s as I think it is. Leo’s the very shortest, even though he’s oldest, so I just—”
He raises a paw, and the word tsunami ceases. “In truth, I do not know which of you is oldest, or if you were even clutchmates. But we are a family, and as far as I’m concerned, you are the third eldest of my sons, and I love you all equally.”
Donnie’s lips part as his brow flattens out. “Wait, so you…?”
“Made it up, yes.”
His son nods slowly. “Okay…why?”
He has to put effort again into keeping a smile off his face. “Do you remember the first time we discussed age order?”
He quirks his mouth to the side and stares off, digging for the memory. “I vaguely recall being told that Leo got to be in charge because he’s the oldest. It made Raph angry, but less angry than if he was arbitrarily in charge, I’m guessing.”
Splinter nods. “Correct. I established your age order more or less by whom I trusted most to be in charge.”
Understanding flashes across his face, then deep, bitter betrayal. “Wait— I’m, what, biologically next-to-least trustworthy?”
He can’t help the laugh that burbles out of him. “Raphael has you beaten only because he is less likely to make his decisions in the interest of science.”
Donatello presses his lips together tightly. He looks like he wants to argue, but can't come up with anything reasonable. Eventually he sighs, follows it with a laugh, and nods. “Fine, I guess that’s fair.”
“You’ve known for some time that your age order was somewhat exaggerated, then?”
He ducked his head sheepishly. “Yeah, it never added up.”
“I could see it in your eyes the day I decided it. You’ve always been keen to my parental white lies.”
“The Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus come to mind,” he laughs.
Splinter taps the table with his fingertips. “Let’s keep this between the two of us, hm? I fear Raphael and Leonardo may feel the need to prove their mettle in combat if we break the illusion of inherent authority Leonardo has.”
Donatello smothers a laugh with his hand. “Of course, Sensei. There's a cage match no one needs to see.”
His eyes twinkle as he smiles. “Thank you, my third-oldest son.”