Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I

Splinter gasps raggedly, chest heaving as he protectively hunches over the box within his lap. Everything hurts– inside and out. It's as if he'd been thrust into a fire and beaten like a blacksmith's metal, forcefully shaped to become a blade. Except it isn't much of an 'as if'. He has quite literally been forged into some freak of nature, and now he's stuck in this disgusting, unfamiliar body. What joy.

His chest heaves with exertion as he peeks over the alleyway edge. Amber eyes sharpen as they drink in his surroundings-- ears flicking and perking to catch the deafening sounds of the New York night. Nothing catches the eye, and yet, he's still terrified. He can't stop himself from shaking.

"Mew!" The blankets atop the saturating cardboard box shuffle, interrupting his thoughts. Splinter's hands tremble horrifically as they all but tear the fabric from atop the box, slashing the curtaining colors into shreds and to the side. Splinter finds that his eyes widen as the soaked box shifts upon his lap. The bottom is so saturated that he's surprised it hasn't collapsed entirely.

Four sets of eyes peek up to meet his own. He recognizes them immediately, having seen them every day for almost an entire month by now. 

Amber–

(He remembers being smaller, using his nimble fingers to pet at the snapper's neck. Splinter felt so accomplished when it finally allowed him to touch it without so much as a hiss. It always did seem put off by his nostalgia-fueled affection, though.)

Auburn--

(The softshell was the flightiest, constantly attempting to leave its box to observe the world around them. It eventually settled when Splinter started feeding the turtles three times a day. In a way their relationship became symbiotic, the turtles giving the rat company as he gave them food.)

Ocean blue--

(The slider became sweet toward Splinter once it got used to him. The rat knows very little about turtles, but he knew from the start that reptiles rarely are so affectionate. This one seemed to look forward to him, though, seeming happy whenever he'd open their box. That may have been because of the food, though.)

And baby blue.

(The smallest, so tiny and unassuming. He worried for this one the most. It had been hurt the most out of the four, a nasty gash upon its front left flipper indicative of the hardships it previously faced. Even so, the orange speckled turtle always managed to offer energy more akin to a puppy than a slow reptile. Sweeter than honey.)

He shakily reaches a hand to brush against the biggest turtle's neck. He's no longer small, no longer nimble, and he feels like a mammoth in comparison to the little bodies in his lap. Even so, the snapper huffs softly and wriggles in place at the touch. The familiarity does little to soothe him but the snapper seems content enough. So he brushes it a few more times before pulling away.

The four turtles seem wholly unaffected by the pouring rain, by the occasional strike of lightning and low rumble of thunder. They give no care to their changed bodies, to Splinter's surely fearsome nature, or even the overwhelming scent of nearby garbage as they look around with deep curiosity. Even the smallest (who still looks no older than a baby) just bats around with its arms and giggles. All of their eyes are wide and thirsty for stimulus.

He somewhat knew their ages before this, of course, but it feels so much more pronounced now. While being more humanoid they seem so– delicate, and small. Helpless now more than ever. It occurs to him that they could easily get hurt, or sick, or even die. Splinter has nobody to help him, nobody to turn to, just–. The rat shakes his head and screws his eyes shut, breathing coming out only in hurried wisps.

"Mew?" A baby-high voice trills as a small set of fingers brush against his shaking wrist. 

He opens his eyes. Catching the sight of ocean blue. The slider blinks slowly, twisting its head to the side in a curious fashion. Splinter can feel the other turtles wriggle around, surely in an attempt to get comfortable on his lap. The snapper curls up for a nap, the box turtle grabs and nibbles at his tail, and the softshell starts attempting to slide onto the ground. 

He hums hoarsely, gently pulling his tail from the orange-speckled one's mouth and wrapping it around the softshell's waist. It feels strange using what is now his uncomfortably long tail but he manages. The two turtles whimper and start to grizzle and he sighs shakily. Hoists them all into his arms. Mouth trembling.

The fact of the matter is that they have nowhere else to go. Nobody else to go to. And who knows if or when that demon will try to come for them? If some human were to look at them and decide they don't like what they see? No, leaving the turtles behind is not an option.

They're safer with him even if he hasn't the slightest idea of what he should be doing. Of how to take care of children, or himself, or anything at all. He'll just have to… do his best and hope that'll be enough. And a part of 'his best' will be finding a place where nobody and nothing can reach them.

So with newfound (and delicate) determination in his heart and four tots in his arms, the rat rises to a stand and starts walking across the wet pavement. Thankfully for them, he already has a place in mind.

Chapter Text

II

Nothing about this is glamorous, but Splinter knows one thing to be true. The likelihood of them getting found within the sewers is much smaller than anywhere else.

Splinter is able to pick out a humble subway compartment after great consideration. It is abandoned of course, but for how long he hasn't a clue. It's one of the few places in the sewers that has the ventilation necessary for prolonged residence-- in fact, some of the other tunnels and compartments even hold signs that it is feasible to live here.

It's busy work making a place this... unique, even remotely livable, but the work certainly gets done. The furious pain in his back and bleach smell serve as a testament to that. Before long the rat is able to transfer his new charges into it, but that doesn't mean that the hard work's done.

Because children? Children are needy.

Before long dumpsters and charity bins become invaluable, serving as his only real sources for supplies. Their new home (it's more of a lair, really) needs enrichment. Toys, crib parts, and food trump all. He knows from... his past family, that children need enrichment and that box won't hold them forever. The food is self explanatory though.

Hunger comes horrifically easy among a group of five. He has to convince himself not to feel guilty when he takes baby food and formula from the donation bins– but quite frankly, he has no other choice. What else can he do? Walk into a grocery store? With what money?

So Splinter leaves the children in the sewers, covering their box in in their shredded blankets before leaving to get supplies. Just like he used to. The main difference being that now he tries to do so while they sleep! This is pretty hard to do, considering how much their schedules vary, but it's better than leaving them wide awake while he fulfills his responsibilities as a caretaker.

Splinter was under the impression that this was a good plan. A smart plan, even. But... apparently not?

It's fine at first, when he keeps the trips short and light. Even so, he can only keep things light for so long. They need a mountain of things and with the way his back is? It'd be impossible to make everything 'short' and 'light'.

It's only the first time he needs to lug heavy cans and bags with him (taking breaks as necessary to quell the agony in his back) that he comes back to anguish. Chaos, even. Thunderous wailing and vicious fussing within their box– of which is knocked onto its side. He can feel his blood go cold at the sight of it.

So of course Splinter drops the supplies and rushes for them– moving the blankets hurriedly and picking them all up. His eyes are wide as he tilts them around by their shells, bruxing nervously as he trails his fingers over those delicate green scales. He can't find anything that could be a source of hurt, not a scrape or bruise in sight upon their tiny bodies, and they don't feel cold, so why…?

"What is wrong?" His throat aches as the words are forced from him. They don't react to these efforts. They just keep wailing, inconsolable, faces having long since darkened into deeper shades of green in the fuss.  He gently kisses the kids' heads, from smallest to biggest, but they aren't soothed by this– they only cry harder. Losing precious moisture through their ceaseless tears. Perhaps they are hungry?

Splinter carefully stands with the four wrapped in his arms, speed walking to the dropped supplies before coming to a clumsy sit next to it. The rat winces as his back twangs– but he doesn't want to focus upon that. Instead, he carefully sets two of the babies down (the two smallest) and starts digging through the heavy tote backpack. The smallest turtles grab needfully at his legs, pulling at him and babbling gibberish.

By the time he grabs a bottle out (pre-mixed with fountain water he came across topside) the smallest has buried their face into his lap, refusing to lift their head. The softshell refuses it, too busy being upset. The slider even goes so far as to slap it away, while the snapper snaps their jaws at it. Splinter is overrun by confusion as he sets the bottle down, ears ringing.

They aren't hungry, they aren't in pain, and they aren't cold. So why do they insist on crying? What is he doing wrong??

Splinter needs to remind himself that they are too small for speech. They may not even know why they're sad, they only know how to react. But while true, this fact doesn't help him. He wraps his arms around them all firmly and rocks his body in hopes to calm them. But minutes tick on and their cries barely even waver. It simply doesn't work.

"Please, you'll hurt yourselves." Splinter's ears pin anxiously against his skull as he slowly leans his body back. He carefully lays on the floor and allows them to crawl all over their caregiver. And what a pathetic one he is.

The orange speckled one leans up and nuzzles into his chest, the black bellied one clumsily wriggles up and starts patting his face as he bruxes, and the pancake-shelled one crawls off of him and curls into his side. Their cries slowly start to wane as they grab and weave little fingers through tangled fur.

The spiky snapper also crawls off of him, but instead of cuddling they groan deeply. Splinter tilts an ear their way. 

"What is it…?" He coughs out as the smallest turtle starts bouncing on his chest. That is… mildly painful, but he'll allow it.

The snapper groans deep in their throat as they grab Splinter's wrist, poking clumsy fingers at the rat's curly fur. He blinks slowly, confused. They groan again before pushing a blunt finger against a scrape. Wiggling their grubby little finger there with a pout. Oh.

"Don't you know that I'll take care of you?" They do, don't they? He's dedicated himself to that for so long. He would never let them get hurt like that.

"Mew…," the snapper sounds sullen as they butt their head against his arm. He huffs, gently hooking his hand to scratch beneath their chin. They chirp gently, sending a wave of responding chirps from the others as they nuzzle more firmly into him. Splinter huffs gently, the grinding of his teeth trickling to a close as the turtles' sniffles get replaced with croaking baby-chirps.  

They, like himself, seem to have a much broader emotional range now. The crying is something babies do at length after all, and they hadn't been so emotionally inclined before that demon–. His ears perk. The slider giggles, reaching for them and rubbing them between their fingers.

Yes, that must be it. They would have understood his actions if it weren't for the mutation, but now? They're human... ish! Now he just has to wait for them to mature (like human children) so they can understand that again! As it is he simply can't afford to keep supply runs light, they barely have enough to go around. But babies don't understand that.

Until they can he'll have to find a way to take them with him. That or simply keep leaving them behind. And unless Splinter manages to multiply their water intake many times over, leaving them they will result in them crying themselves until they wither. That, or getting found by some sewer dweller. Splinter shudders at the thought as he gazes over their tear-streaked face, frowning.

Perhaps he can take them in a basket? A more portable box? Or… a shopping cart? If only he could run across any of those things… perhaps the tote bag could…? No, that'd be far too cramped. The rat shakes his head minutely and sighs. 

Splinter will just have to see what he can do, lest these poor creatures spell their own doom. Until they realize that the sewer is the safest place for them he has no other choice.

Chapter Text

III

It turns out that taking the children with him is just as eventful as he feared it'd be. He ends up tying the two smallest to his chest and back with some rope he'd found, carrying the softshell in his arms. The snapper is big enough to toddle now so he simply uses his tail (wrapped around their waist) to keep them near. 

Keeping his eyes peeled for not only supplies and adversaries, but the turtles, is challenging to say the least. From the snapper putting random things in their mouth, to the  children crying seemingly at random, to the younger children throwing anything in reach, he has his paws full. Quite literally and figuratively.

The ruckus attracts attention that they simply can not afford to keep. They end up having some (far too many) close encounters and leaving supplies behind. The stress is getting to him. He doesn't know what he'd do if they got hurt by a human, or how or if he'd ever forgive himself in the case that the turtles went hungry. The thought itself is too much to bear.

The only thing Splinter can do to minimize the turtles' outbursts is to let them bring shreds of their ragged blankets with them. The red, purple, orange, and blue strips of fabric seem to be their comfort items, with each tirtle preferring one color over the rest. This doesn't completely get rid of the childrens' outbursts but it does help mitigate them. Just that much is valuable.

Splinter watches (and feels, ouch) the turtles get bigger as months flow by. He thinks that their aging may be a bit speedier than what's average, but he can't truly be sure. But what he can be sure of is that this situation is a 'ticking time bomb'. He needs a solution sooner than later.

Eventually he does manage to squeeze in the supplies to tie together some cribs for them in the sewers. They aren't perfect– the mattress mends are Splinter's first needlework and the bars are cracked and soft in odd places-- but at the end of the day they're firm. Solid and sturdy. The children have more than enough room and security to sleep in them, even while sharing the two cribs.

At first Splinter is dubious to leave them again. But their lungs and curiosity both strengthen terirbly with age. It'd be for the best if he were to at least try his hand at leaving them behind… again. With a few changes this time!

For one, Splinter covers the kid's cribs with heavy quilts he's found wasted in various dumpsters. Splinter is also able to pile various items at the subway entrances, sealing it to the best of his abilities to make their home less accessible. With him having to carve his own entrance and exit, it feels a lot less likely that something else will just– slip in. 

When he leaves the children on their lonesome once more the turtles, despite it all, seem fine. Or, better than things were anyways. It doesn't take long for him to realize that the linen must be to thank for this-- even if partially. Putting quilts over their cribs was originally to dwell the rat's fear of something stumbling upon them, but it seems to serve another purpose as well. That being, the darkness and warmth of the layered fabric seems to make them sleepy. Enough so that they aren't as cranky when he comes home. In fact, they rarely seem to wake up before he comes back from supply runs anymore.

So now they have safely falle  back to that similar schedule. The one where he leaves while the children sleep and takes care of them while they're awake. The anxiety remains of course, but at least now he's more productive than ever. Until they're old enough to understand his methods this will simply have to do.

He carefully shifts his tote bags in his arms, manipulating the strategically piled rebar to carve a personalized path into their lair. His nose twitches as he steps in, pulling the items back into place behind him as he skitters into their compartment.

The rat hums softly as he skitters directly to the two cribs, uncaringly slipping the multitude of totes onto the ground as he goes. He wastes no time before pulling the quilts off, folding the torn cover with great diligence over the cool ground. As has grown to be expected, all four of them are still sleeping. They only start to fuss and blink their eyes open once the warmth seeps out from around them.

The slider rises first. They yawn, rubbing their eyes clumsily before looking up. When those ocean blues gaze into his the slider absolutely lights up.

"Da! Dadada, da!" They babble proudly as they raise to a swaying stand. Leaning heavily upon the crib bars as they smile widely at him. He freezes.

"'Da'…?" Splinter asks softly as he slowly stands upon his own hind legs. The proclamation echoes through the compartment and his head. Did Blue just call him…?

"Daaaa!" The slider yells excitedly as they jump on the crib bars. Orange stretches their beak in a wide yawn, squinting up at the two of them with a small frown. Then they gasp, crawling close to the bars with a big smile. The smaller doesn't grab for Splinter, but they do look up and giggle like the cutie they are!

As Splinter reaches his paws down to Blue, those clawed fingers grasp at his graying fur. Pulling demandingly as the slider stands upon the tips of their toes. Splinter lifts the child into his arms, unable to deny them of such a simple comfort. The second-smallest is still light enough that it's easy to lug them about. He then tucks the child's head under his chin, squeaking happily as his eyes well up with heat.

Blue is happy to cuddle into him. What a darling child they are.

The next round of elated exclamations hurt his ears, but he can't ever find it in himself to berate the child. Red can't help but to be a bit louder. This does wake Purple though, who was once peacefully snoozing beside the snapper on their shared crib.

The softshell whines, hissing at the audacity of the snapper as their eyes squeeze open. Splinter snickers lightlybbefore turning fully to the bigger two, holding Blue close as he approaches the older turtles.

Red blinks their eyes and stares up at Splinter as he approaches. There's an almost cartoonish expression of surprise on their face for a moment. Then they smile and stand up. They're almost too big for the crib– which seems to be both because of their age and their general size. Nontheless they are happy enough that they giggle breathlessly as they flap their wrists.

Purple is not in such a good mood. They just pout and punch those baby hands at the mattress, still so adorably angry at the untimely awakening.

"Yes, hello turtles." Splinter chuckles affectionately before placing a kiss on Blue's head. Then he carefully lowers the slider onto the ground, moving his tail so they can grab it in place of his hand. It is taken immediately into those clumsy fingers.

Then Splinter moves to free the other three– grunting softly every time he bends to lower them to the ground. Orange and Red are happy to be transferred, babbling and flapping their arms like birds. Purple is predictably less keen on leaving their bed, but ultimately just nips at his arm and allows the move to progress.

Once the turtles are all set with care onto the ground Splinter moves on all fours to retrace to the totes. Blue's grip tugs at him a few times as they keep hold and follow him, eager to act as the rat's shadow. Once the rat sniffs out and grabs the most stuffed bag he leads himself and Blue back to three other babbling babies.

They look eager as the man and the second smallest return to them. But first things first…

"They haven't been too much trouble, have they?" Splinter asks Red as he sits in a criss-cross position. Blue is quick to crawl into his lap, followed quickly by Orange. They're still small enough that it's only a slightly snug fit between the two of them.

Red, who was previously reaching a hand out to poke at Purple's forehead, just flaps their hands and smiles at the question.

"No?" Splinter tilts his head.

They smile wider.

"Good." Splinter leans forward leaves a kiss on the snapper's forehead. They squeal happily and bounce in place. Purple blinks almost thoughtfully as they watch him lower to kiss Orange and Blue's heads, too, having grown to expect the brewing request.

"Are you turtles hungry?" The four children shake their heads. This is somewhat peculiar. Most of the time the answer is a resounding 'yes'. He'll have to ask again in a few minutes or so.

"Thirsty?" Red nods but the rest shake their heads. Splinter digs through the tote bag to grasp a small water bottle, unscrewing and passing it to the biggest turtle. They 'mew' happily and start sipping at it. Four sets of eyes gaze expectantly up at the rat as he shuffles through the bag some more, grasping for something special.

"I have found something for you all." Splinter declares as he tightens his hold around the delicate spines. He carefully slides the battered stories out, watching as the turtles all gape in confusion. Having never seen a book before. 

"Would you four like a story?" This they know. They all beam at him at the question and nod. Orange even does their little jumpy dance, which the other three are more than happy to mimic. Splinter takes a moment and squeaks delightedly at the sight, because it's just so charming. Then he occupies himself with eyeing both books with a critical gaze.

Normally Splinter just tells them about things he's seen during the day for their nightly stories, but today he'll offer more creativity. It's between a book about a very hungry caterpillar, and one about a shiny fish. With any luck the first one will pique their late appetites so he chooses that.

The children huddle close with eager expressions as the rat clears his throat. The paper feels flaky and vaguely wet as he flips the book open, thumbing at the pages with care. The children are eager as he reads it out. 

The words are sometimes strange coming from his throat. He still feels like he's messing at least half of them up. But the turtles are happy to hear him drone on, playing with some blocks he digs out of the tote bag with his tail as they listen with rapt attention. It's charming how they hang off of every word, seeming truly enraptured with the rather boring plot.

Splinter can only hope they'll stay this attentive in the years to come. His back would thank them for it, if nothing else.

Chapter Text

IV

Years go by. He can see his children changing and he follows suit. The brown of his fur is becoming more dominated by gray, while the turtles get bigger, stronger, more intelligent. This is both a blessing and a curse. Splinter must adapt. 

Cribs become mattresses on the ground, which becomes a single shared queen sized bed when none of them quite fit anymore. They don't all speak yet, with Purple and Red not saying a word despite being the oldest, but Blue has started with complete sentences while Orange only has some difficulty.

While the four develop, Splinter manages to scrape their lair into a semi-cozy home. How Splinter managed to make a fridge run (or even fit) down here is still a mystery. But a great one nonetheless. Toys, gizmos, and even the spare potted plant start littering their home. Splinter even starts contemplating the logistics of lugging in a stove. But at this point he's pretty much just spending his free time with his turtles.

It feels like he finally has time for them, after all. Even though he still has to leave some nights he certainly doesn't have to do so every night. Now it's more like a… twice a week thing. Even food that has been wastefully trashed by humans can be cleaned, its life extended just a bit longer by a refrigerator. Who knew such a simple thing could be such a lifesaver?

Splinter hums as he moves through the rubbish concealing their home. Then he only has to step over the baby gate to enter their dwelling. He doesn't so much as step a paw down before hears a familiar call.

"Dada!!" Blue calls out like a siren as he skitters for Splinter. With three to follow.

A flurry of 'mew's approach him like a tidal wave, and before he knows it he's surrounded by little grabby hands at all sides. Even Purple runs up to greet him and grab at his fur– bouncing on the tips of their toes with a smile in their eyes.

The rat hums, lowering his hands to pat all but the second oldest on the head.

"I've found some great things today." Splinter assures the little children. They all gasp, looking at each other with such eager eyes. Then they stare back up at him with polite little smiles. Anticipating their routine to follow his assurance. He nods.

"Go on." Splinter gestures back to their living quarters. The four of them turn tail and eagerly rush for the fridge. Splinter snickers as he follows suit. 

On the way Purple trips, grunting a bit as they scrape their knees. Orange immediately starts crying at the sight, but Purple starts to get back up rather quickly. Splinter hums softly and pauses. Letting Blue and Red rush ahead.

"You okay?" Splinter asks when the softshell is back on their two feet. Purple nods and turns to Orange, pushing that upturned snout against the younger's cheek to console them. The ornate box turtle giggles and sniffles as their tears slowly trickle to a stop. Splinter squeaks affectionately at the sight and urges them forward. It isn't long before Orange and Purple run after the others.

After the four help him put the groceries up (read: they just put the water bottles into the bottom compartment while he puts the produce away) he closes the fridge. Then he turns to them and kneels. Watching as everyone does Orange's little bouncy dance in anticipation.

"I have gifts for you." Splinter says this plainly as he opens the tote bag still on his arm. The turtles all 'mew' and chirp eagerly as they bounce in place.

"For Purple." He states before grabbing out a busted… CD player? Of some sort. Splinter himself sees no value in it past the shimmers it puts in Purple's eyes, but that is a valuable thing indeed. He transfers it into their hands with care. Watching as they nibble on it briefly, repetitively opening and closing the top with great curiosity. Then he moves to the next.

"For Orange." Splinter grabs out some stubby chalks. Orange screams loudly, flapping their arms wildly at the sight. His ears give a mighty pang of pain but he hides his grimace. Politely waiting for the tiniest to raise their hands at him. Then he transfers the dusty colors into their hold. Once they have all five of them the child immediately sits and starts doodling on the floor. Then he goes on to the next. 

"For Red." He managed to sew a teddy bear back up a few nights ago, but he wanted to wait until now to give it to them. It's missing an arm and its left eye but Red still happily exclaims, reaching for the strawberry patterned plush and hugging it close. They stare up at Splinter with a wide smile as he grasps the final present out.

"And for Blue." He hands the second smallest a journal and a few pencils with care. They smile, immediately opening it and filling it with words. Splinter did his best to make them all literate– so this is quite fulfilling to see. The turtles all pipe up now that the gifting is presumably done, with Red and Purple happily chirping. 

"Thank you, dada!" Orange and Blue state almost in sync. Orange has a heavy lisp but it's more than clear to Splinter that they're parroting Blue. He squeaks, eyes fond as he shakes his head. The turtles all gasp as he lowers the bag to the ground.

"I know you all have wanted clothes." Splinter states as he pries the velcro top open. Then he leaves the bag on the floor– allowing the quad to surround it like curious piranhas.

"Go on." He waves towards the bag encouragingly.

They chirp happily, pulling the clothes out and on without further delay. They look quite adorable in their mismatched fabric– the colors clashing brightly as they pull and prod at the cloth.

"'m I preeeeetty?" Orange's voice is clumsy as they ask this with eager eyes. Gesturing to their baby blue shirt (which is styled more like robes or a dress because of how big it is).

"Of course." Splinter says and finds that it's true. Orange looks really cute. They squeal happily and jump in place at the confirmation.

Red pulls at their own baggy clothes with a blink.

"You as well." Splinter chuckles out. Red smiles and twists the neon pink shirt around their fingers.

Purple crosses their arms and raises a single nonexistent brow. Splinter has to resist the urge to laugh at the sass of it.

"And you, Purple." He concurs. Then he turns to Blue, awaiting the inevitable probing. Oceon blue eyes blink up at him before lowering to the ground.

"I don' wanna be pretty." The black bellied slider says firmly as they cross their arms over their neon green clothing.

"Well, you can be whatever you want to be." Splinter states simply with a nod. There's no reason Blue should not be able to choose, after all. The second youngest's eyes light up as they smile.

"Then I'm han-some. Like you!" Blue declares boldly as they then pick up a headband to turn into a makeshift bow tie. This makes their only younger sibling light up, too.

"Oh! I wanna be han-sum too!" Orange declares as they clumsily hug Blue. Blue smiles and hugs them back, their tie knocked askew.

"Then you are handsome." Splinter states. The children all giggle their bubbly little laughs before proceeding to take their turns rambling. About their days, about their dreams, about what they want to do and see. Splinter is more than glad to listen to it all.

Chapter Text

V

Splinter manages to bring down a stove to their home as well. For now it simply takes up space because he isn't sure how to fix it (and doesn't want to attempt and mess it up). Besides that, some working lighting, and more toys and cushioning? Not much has changed over the years that turn his turtles from tots to children. Except their behavior that is.

They're all bigger, smarter, and have much more distinct personalities. Splinter finds himself amazed with each new quirk, and  worried in equal measures. So many things, big and small, make them… them. So many conflicting things are needed to keep them safe and secure. But ultimately he can't help but to humor most of their wants.

For example, if Purple wants to fiddle with technology and make it carry out various functions then Splinter can't admonish them. If Orange wants to cover every inch of flooring and wall with chalk and paint then honestly, that's an upgrade. If Red wants to gnaw and play with plushies more than any other turtle then it's good that Splinter knows how to sew (barely but still). And if Blue wants to hear the most outrageously confusing sci-fi stories then Splinter will do his best not to mispronounce the terminology.

Even if he doesn't fully understand how creatures so little can have such deepening intricacies, thoughts, opinions, etc, it's become pleasant to watch them evolve. It makes him feel something he can't quite put a word behind. Even so Splinter knows it's positive, and yet he can't help but to yearn…

He hums softly, checking a clock that Purple fixed up. Once he realizes the time he turns to the kids, who are engaged in some hybrid of hopscotch and plushie play. As adorable as it is, their playtime is over. For now.

"Wrap up your games. It's lesson time." Splinter declares as he carefully grabs up some scattered items. They don't exactly have a firm place of belonging but he really doesn't want them to trip. Plus, cleanliness is good for children… right? (That sounds correct so he'll just accept it as fact–.)

Blue laughs eagerly at the news and runs to the family's shared bed– waving their stuffed spider around in the air like a flag. The other three follow with less enthusiasm, probably more keen on getting things over with. Only once the floor is clear does Splinter enact this masterful, strategy fueled lesson plan. Which is totally not improvised in any way whatsoever. 

First, Splinter 'trains' them. It isn't very proper, and he's only taught them the most basic katas he can remember. They for the most part just end up running around to burn off some miniscule fraction of their endless energy. Playing tag, climbing around, just silly turtle stuff. The babies happily kick and jump around, playing pretend that they're beating 'bad guys' up. Splinter can feel his heart twinge at the sight. 

Only after they've exhausted themselves to some degree does he gather them up for the newest expansion of their lesson. Meditation. He grunts, gingerly holding his tender lower back as he lowers to sit on the ground. The children wait almost patiently as he settles himself onto the ground before them.

Then he instructs.

"Meditation. Eyes closed, breathe deeply." He urges as he tilts his head. Watching the young ones as they follow his instruction. It isn't long before things derail, of course, but Splinter can appreciate the initial twenty seconds of enthusiasm.

First Orange starts swaying in place, humming beneath their breath. Purple then peeks and eye open and elbows the youngest. Orange grunts, elbowing Purple back– and right into Blue. Blue groans and almost moves to push Purple, but a swift glance from Splinter makes all three of them straighten up.

The youngest pouts and whimpers a bit under the stern look– which finally makes Red's amber eyes snap wide open. Red frowns and twirls their wrists, eyeing the younger ones with a frown.

"Children." Splinter addresses as he sweeps a hand to the side. They blink confusedly before he elaborates.

"Scoot, scoot…," Splinter gently urges. He can see the second that they understand what he's requesting.

"Oh!" The turtles say before crawling across the chalky pavement. Various vibrant pigments smudge onto their scales, coloring their viridescent legs with muddy chalk. Only once they're well out of reach of one another does Splinter nod.

"There. Now try again," He instructs. Doing his best to sound wise while feeling no better than a fraud. He'll just have to make it good enough-- and thankfully none of the children seem to notice.

The turtles all close their eyes again. They by no means are still, but they're trying so hard that Splinter can't help but to feel charmed at the sight. He wouldn't quite call their state peaceful– there's far too much tension and determination here to describe it as such, while Blue is the only one sitting still. For an early attempt it is rather decent.

After five minutes of this passes Splinter clears his throat, grabbing the childrens' attention. They blink up at him with eager eyes as he pretends to ruminate. Then, he nods, deciding his word choice.

"Good job," Splinter claims.

"Good job!!" Orange and Blue crow out victoriously as Red starts clapping in gusto. Purple opens their eyes and frowns, seeming unamused as they side eye the other kids.

"Stop being loud," they demand bluntly. Predictably, Blue bristles at that. Oh boy.

"You stop being–!" Blue is cut off.

"AAAHHHH!!" Orange suddenly screams a loud squeaky scream that practically shatters Splinter's eardrums. Blue and Purple both stare at them with identical expressions of shock, and Splinter is pretty sure that he's doing the same.

Meanwhile Red can't help but burst into laughter, watching eagerly as Orange bunny hops after Purple– mouth wide and chest heaving with another great inhale.

"aaaAAA–!!" 

"Enough of that, Orange." Splinter snickers helplessly as he pulls the youngest to his side with his tail. He then uses his hand to cover their mouth. The box turtle thrashes, eyes set in determination as they stare Purple down.

"MMPH!!" Splinter does the youngest a favor by pulling them into his lap and keeping his hand over their mouth. They try to lick at his palm but, as per usual, that does nothing to deter Splinter. He's touched far more unsavory things than kid-spit, after all. Red and Blue barely keep themselves from laughing as they look at their father, then each other, then the steadily fuming Purple.

"That is so not funny." Blue says as they obviously restrain laughter, eyeing the dark-faced Purple with wide eyes.

"So not funny–." Blue gets cut off.

"That's it! No more nightlight for you!" Purple yells and points at Orange before storming off in a huff. Splinter watches the softshell tread the direction of their pillow fort before freeing Orange's mouth. Knowing the softshell they're probably squirreling said nightlight away as they speak, so he gently urges Orange after them.

But instead of going to apologize to Purple they just stare up at him. Splinter stares back at the youngest confusedly. Those baby blue eyes soon widen and fill with tears as their bottom lip starts trembling. Oh boy.

Splinter barely has time to pin his ears back before the youngest child starts to wail. Red and Blue blink awkwardly before running after Purple– quick to leave Splinter to the comforting.

"Yikes…," Splinter sighs softly as Orange tangles their hands into his knotted fur. The young child sobs into his chest, pulling at him until he wraps his arms around them. He gently scratches their shell, wiping the tears from their cheeks with a consoling hum.

This will be a fun one to mediate. Which is sarcasm. It will actually be very unpleasant.

Chapter Text

VI

Thankfully their little disagreement is smoothed over with minimal tears and a hug. The children manage to make it through an entire day before yet another disagreement brews. This time over food.

"Yummy!!" Orange cheers happily as they stuff the salad into their beak, more than eager to clear their plate. Blue and Red take a much more languid approach, whereas Purple turns their pointed nose up at the meal.

"Blech. I do not like greens, father." They inform simply as they poke at the limp offering. The softshell seems only mildly repulsed so Splinter feels safe trying to compromise with them.

"How can I make them better for you, Purple?" Splinter asks as he nibbles at some of his own spinach. It isn't the tastiest but it's nutritious and safe. He's still searching for things that won't harm the turtles, so in reality it was either this or algae and grubs.

"Add flavor." Purple says before tapping at their plate of leaves. Making the cracked porcelain clink rhythmically against their wooden table. 

Splinter flicks his ears, eyes squinting in thought. Then he rises to a stand and walks towards their battered fridge, leaving the turtles to gaze after him curiously. He opens it to search through the contents. There aren't a lot of things in there, especially considering what little he knows is safe for them, but…

He grabs the sriracha, some sea salt, and some garlic powder. Splinter would have considered grabbing the mayo too if it didn't look so questionable. So instead of taking that he uses his tail to grasp it, tossing it toward the garbage can without looking. The kids 'oooh' in awe when it lands true.

Splinter then approaches the table and sets the contents next to Purple. The softshell grabs at the condiments curiously before proceeding to slather each item all over their food. Purple then takes a big, exaggerated bite of the vegetation and hums. They  smack at their teeth a few times and blink, rubbing their little fingers beneath their chin like a thoughtful scientist.

"Is it okay?" Splinter asks. The softshell nods with a grave expression.

"Yes, father." Purple seems more than content to chow down now. Little do they know that this is when their siblings strike.

"Hey! I want some!!" Orange cries out as they hop onto the table and start crawling toward their older sibling's plate, their shirt scraping against the wood rather strangely. Purple gasps in offense and picks the plate up, holding it away from the fast-approaching box turtle.

"Get your own, Orange," Purple demands with a breath-heavy hiss, parting their beak in warning. They have quite the set of teeth behind that cute little beak of theirs.

"If Orange gets some then I want it too." Blue demands as they reach for the plate. Purple hisses again and rises to a stand in their chair– the plate raised high above their head.

"I literally just told Orange to get their own. Father. Father!!" The softshell cries out as they incredulously stomp their feet onto the chair.

"Children. You can fix your own plates. Don't take from Purple without asking," Splinter states this sentiment for what must be the twelfth time this day.

"Hmm!" Red shakes their fists up in the air with a disgruntled expression. Backing their father up proudly as they side eye the younger three. This (thankfully) is enough to jolt some self awareness into their brains. The youngest two adopt bashful expressions as they look at the softshell apologetically.

"Sorry, Purple!" Orange declares before shoving into Purple's chair and hugging the older terrapin. Purple begrudgingly allows it as Blue shuffles uncomfortably. 

"Yeah. Sorry Purple." The second youngest intones before poking at their own plate of food.

"Your apology is formally acknowledged." Purple humphs as they go back to eating. They're still standing up until Splinter gently clears his throat. Then they flop back down on the chair, taking Orange down with them.

"Whassat mean?" Orange asks as they drag their plate closer, still all but molded into Purple's side.

"It means that I'm thinking about it." Purple elaborates as they chow down again.

"Hey, you're su-posed to say yes to apologies! Those are the rules!" Blue states firmly. Splinter sighs softly while Red side eyes him, frowning.

"I don't care," Purple huffs through a mouth full of spinach. Knowing his children they can keep at this for the foreseeable future, and it's almost impressive how they can bicker so efficiently.

"Children." Splinter huffs fondly with a shake of his head. Red shakes their head and huffs, in near-perfect mimicry of their father.

The experiment with condiments ends up leading to mixed results. Blue ends up fanning their face from the sauce while Orange licks it off their plate. Red seems to only want the sauce in small quantities while using all the salt and garlic. In the end everyone's plates are cleared, though, which feels like a great accomplishment.

"Gotta go! Thanks dada!!" Orange claims the second they finish. Before anyone can reply they're hopping off of Purple's chair and dashing away at breakneck speed.

"Hey, wait for me!" Blue calls before doing the same. In literal seconds that leaves the rat with only his oldest two to help clean. Splinter sighs and shrugs. Children.

"... wow. Wooooooooww. Very mature!!" Purple yells after the youngest two before rolling their eyes.  Red hums as they gently pet Purple's head, perhaps in consolation. Then they move to grab up the plates and wade towards Splinter. 

"So responsible." Splinter praises as he leans down to peck the oldest turtle's forehead. Red smiles big and wide as Splinter takes the stack with care. He'll clean the plates up top– but for now they'll go on top of the fridge. (Safely out of reach for his tiny, clumsy turtles.)

"I'm responsible too!" Purple suddenly calls as they look around with swift swishes of their neck.

Red snickers as Purple focuses, scrambling to swipe up some bleach spray off of the table. Then the second oldest starts  spraying the table down, blinking up at their father with those auburn eyes.

"See?" Purple asks as they point to the bleach covered table. Splinter smiles, charmed by his child's behavior.

"Yes, I do. You are very responsible, Purple." Splinter states before tilting his head at the softshell. They preen at the praise and smile, smug.

"Yeah, I am." Purple adds on as they happily swing their legs in the air.

Red raises a nonexistent brow before shrugging, walking up to their younger sibling. The softshell blinks curiously as the snapper then offers them a hand. Then they smile wider and high-three Red. 

Red then smiles back sweetly before proceeding to slap Purple's forehead with their palm. Thankfully they tend to know their strength by now- leaving Purple mildly offended but unharmed. The softshell and rat stare at the snapper as Red smiles deviously. 

"Red!" Purple and Splinter voice in sync. Red cackles lightly before fleeing the scene.

Chapter Text

VII

When it comes to life there are highs, and there are lows. Splinter is thankful that the lows of his children's lives tend to be superficial, such as a small spat or growing pains. But sometimes the lows are more difficult to diffuse than just that.

They're in Purple's fort– broken chairs arcing the dusty blankets in a swooping 'roof' above them both. The softshell is sniffling, coughing wetly as they rub their fingers over their cheeks. And Splinter sighs, gazing upon the hunched-over turtle as he rocks subduedly from side to side. Perhaps if they had a shell they'd even be in it right now.

But as it is, he can hear the clicking-clacking of their fingers twisting some thing and another. Over and over, criss crossing strange pieces of their tech in some peculiar pattern he himself could never decipher. It's silent, but he knows they don't mind his company. He'll be here if they want to start talking… and he's sure they know it.

As moments pass he keeps an ear perked to track the light muffly-movements from outside the fort, and the father awaits his child to break the temporary routine. This is done with no great haste, but when it happens it does happen abruptly. In the form of the turtle shoving their nose firmly into his chest and sticking their arms around him like a squid.

Splinter hums softly as he swoops his neck slightly to rest his chin onto Purple's forehead. They trill miserably, nuzzling into him even more as he wraps his tail around them both. Squeezing their arms around his torso with surprising strength. He's silent as he awaits another move from their end. Ears remaining perked upwards.

Splinter can hear Raph corraling the youngest two around in the kitchen, shushing them and undoubtedly attempting to distract them. Not for the first time, the rat finds himself deeply grateful for his oldest. What would he do without them…?

"I feel bad." The croaked words cut through Splinter's internal monolog, muffled by his fur. Splinter blinks as he realigns his mind to the situation at hand. Then he nods, for that is obvious, before gently uttering for elaboration.

"Physically?" Splinter asks as he gently pulls back from his child. Purple peeks up at him with glossy eyes as they sniffle, before shaking their head.

"No. Here." Donnie pushes a finger against the side of their own head.

"Ah," Splinter mutters softly, ears drooping. "Would you tell me why?" He inquires as he tilts his head a bit. The turtlet sniffles once, firmly, before croaking their response out slowly.

"Just thinking about…, I don't know. Would you…, l-like us better…, if we weren't so…, weird?" Purple asks as they look up at him meekly. Despite the heavy air around them Splinter can't help but to chuckle, shaking his head incredulously at such a thought. 

"No? We're all 'weird', Purple. I wouldn't know what to do with you if you weren't." Splinter admits as he carefully pats at their shell. As he does this he can't help but to notice, oh,  they're almost too big to fit in his lap now– and that fact makes his chest ache horrifically. Purple doesn't seem to notice that, though. They just lean into him even more with those wide eyes. As if they could merge their body into his with sheer will alone, sitting atop his crossed legs and soaking up his warmth.

"You really don't? Even though I–, w.. we, cry a lot?" They mutter softly, eyes wide and doeish as they tangle their six fingers into his fur. Their contraption drops to the ground at this motion, clattering, but it seems like the softshell doesn't even hear it. So Splinter carefully untangles his tail and sweeps it down– moving the thingamajig(?) as far out of range of the both of them as possible for the time being.

"Yes, Purple, crying is important." Splinter assures firmly as he starts to pet the other's shell. They giggle, pulling away from him with a weak smile.

"And throw fits?" Purple asks this, voice a bit louder now. A bit braver. Good!

"Everyone throws fits sometimes, Purple," Splinter reasons as he offers them a smirk. Their smile gets wider as they wipe their cheeks again– eyes seeming just a bit less wet than they had a few minutes ago.

"A-and can't be hugged all the time?" Purple asks as they look at his arms, mouth downturning a bit at the edges. Well, he can't have that now.

"There's nothing wrong with that." Splinter reminds firmly as he gently reaches to poke their upturned nose. They giggle, wiggling in place a bit before smiling up at him properly. That gap-toothed grin will never cease to be one of the four main highlights of his day.

"A-and–." No, none of that now.

"Nothing you could say would change my answer. I love all of you the way you are." Splinter emphasizes firmly as he fixes his child with a dire expression. Scrunching his eyebrows up like– he thinks?-- people do when they're really serious. Purple gazes up at him with an awed look, mouth dropped into a small 'o'. And only after Splinter thinks they truly understand the ceaselessness of his devotion does he drop the expression in favor of a slight smile.

"Would you like a hug, Purple?" Splinter asks as he opens his arms a bit. But not enough as to make Purple's fort collapse– he's learned his lesson from the last four times that's happened.

"Yes…," Purple admits as they tuck themself impossibly closer to him. So Splinter squeezes them, tight, so tight because he never wants to let them go. But eventually he must, because his little turtle starts wriggling and humming, speaking their brewing discomfort without words. So of course he releases the hold and watches them as they fall onto their back– purposefully ragdolling with a small smile.

He carefully lifts a hand towards them. Watching them wriggle on their back with poorly hidde. giggles, before flipping onto their side and gazing up at him with the brightest eyes. Splinter shakes his head to himself with a smile, and carefully trails his fingers down to poke their upturned snout again. Purple groans at this, but doesn't stop smiling. So Splinter figures that now must be a good time to divert the conversation.

"Wasn't there something else you wanted to say to me?" Splinter inquires as he shuffles in place– his knees (and back, ack–!) already aching something terrible on behalf of his very scrunched up posture. This fort was made for a turtle baby, after all, not an old rat man such as himself. Even so, one must compromise for the sake of fatherhood.

"Huh?" Purple blinks owlishly, reaching up to pull at the tail of their purple bandanna. Eyeing their dropped contraption deeply before drifting their eyes to his ears.

"About computers?" Splinter reminds lightly, urgingly. It's what they were enthusing about before spiraling. Purple gasps happily and hoists themself into a sit, hands tip-tapping against their knees as they start speaking.

"Oh!! So–," and just like that, they're off.

Splinter listens to Purple as they rant and rave about something called a motherboard. He isn't entirely sure what that is, but he does his best to understand nonetheless. And when they're done he'll make sure to think of something fun for the five of them to do together. It's only fair, after all.

Chapter Text

VIII

It's while Splinter is engaging Orange with questions about their art that it slips out.

"Miw–." The name doesn't fully leave his lips before he snaps his teeth shut. There's a brief pause before baby blue eyes glance up at him. Full of curiosity as they frown slightly, before painting one of their bright smiles. For his benefit, no doubt.

"Hm…?" It's an orange-clad head that tilts to the side and he can feel the world spin off its axis. The youngest turtle bounces a bit in place– stars glimmering in their eyes as they blink. "Yes dada?" 

"I…," Splinter takes a moment. Inhales, exhales, and clears his throat. Guilt swells up in him like a rising tide, but he does his best to swallow it back in favor of speaking. "Didn't you have a drawing to show me?" The rat inquires as he leans to the side a bit. Normally he sits on the ground with a cushion but he's forgone that in favor of prioritizing mobility. It'll bite him later, but that's a sacrifice he's willing to make right now.

"Yeah!!" Orange wiggles across the floor, smearing chalk across the pavement (and their shirt) as they poke at the various wiggles. Splinter nods seriously, eyeing the abstract colors half-heartedly as Orange explains what each represents. It's only a matter of time before they–

"Dada? What's a mee-w?" Yes, ask. Splinter doesn't make a habit of not completing his words, so it must've been interesting to them. Orange has their cheek rested against a balled up fist as they look up at him. Just as curious as they've ever been. He thinks it's best not to lie, or to avoid the topic, so Splinter starts the conversation simply enough.

"Do you remember when I told you all about our mutation?" In the most vague way possible, of course. All they need to know is that a bad, bad creature– (magenta fur, gleaming eyes–) drenched them in some ooze (agony–) and changed them into mutants.

"Yup," Orange chirps out lightly as they turn onto their back and kick their limbs around into the air. For some reason they love doing that– maybe it's the slippery-ness of their shell? Or just something silly about their child-brain that Splinter will never fully grasp? Regardless, Splinter can't get side tracked asking about that now. So he'll just make sure to ask later.

"And how before that, I had a family?" Splinter continues as he does his best to keep his face firm. Strong, reliable, that's what they need. It'd just scare them if he did… whatever it is that his body wants him to do, when it makes his throat choke and his head buzz.

"Mhm!" Orange replies as they then flip back onto their front. Hooking their hands under their chin again as they look up at their father, legs still swishing in the air.

"Miwa was the little girl, remember?" Splinter offers delicately as he looks at Orange. Looks for any trace of recognition upon their face. But of course they don't know about her the way he would– they only know her in the way they know stories before bed. Or tales about the topside. Abstractly, and with general detachment. 

"You lost them, right?" Orange asks as they blink widely up at Splinter, poking their chubby fingers together in a contemplative manner.

"Yes." Splinter says slowly as he laces his own fingers together. Trying to keep them from trembling.

"We should draw them then. And hang the drawings up, up!" Orange says as they poke upwards multiple times. On the surface?  "Maybe someone can find them for you!" Orange declares with a final, satisfied smile. Splinter can feel something drop in his stomach– they can't actually think it'd be–. No, no. Orange is just a child. They don't know better.

"Orange. It… would not be that simple," Splinter says, ears pinning back as he averts his eyes. 

"Why not?" Orange asks, drawing their words out as they drop their chin onto the ground. Smudging multicolored chalk over their face as they stare at him.

"They're dead, Orange," Splinter firmly states. There's a moment of silence. Even he finds himself a bit surprised with how much certainty he says that with. Then, with great thought, his child scrunches their eyes up. Frowning as their head turns to the side a bit.

"Oh," Orange pauses once more, gears working behind their eyes as they mull over that thought. Splinter has taught all of his children about mortality, of course, so it is no surprise to him when the ornate boxshell eventually starts tearing up when his statement sinks in. They cried when he initially taught them this, as well. That's just in Orange's nature.

"I'm sorry dada!" Orange says before scrambling up and crawling into his lap. He grunts as they knee his stomach a few times before hugging him. Pushing the side of their head to listen to his rapid heartbeat.

"Why? You didn't kill them, the Foot did." Splinter states mildly as he loosely pets at their shell. Watching as tears fall down from those baby blues. There's a momentary flash of confusion in those eyes before Orange pouts up at him.

"Still. It hurts! It hurts right here!" Orange declares as they move their hand to gently press a finger against the middle of Splinter's chest. Where his heart is.

"Ah," Splinter says softly. There's another moment of silence, with him holding his child as their waterfall tears slowly wane, before Orange sniffles. Then they set their eyes, determined, before they speak once again.

"Can you tell me about them?" It's not an unusual question, but it feels different given the context. Splinter nods, eyes shut in an effort to seem sage and wise.

"Ah, yes. Lou Jitsu was a movie star, while Shen was a martial arts instructor," Splinter reminds his youngest. However this results in them shaking their head and 'nuh uh'ing. Splinter frowns in confusion before his youngest elaborates.

"I know that, silly! I mean how they look!" looked–, "Were they preeeetttyy??" Orange flutters their nonexistent eyelashes and smiles when Splinter softly chuckles.

"Yes, they were very pretty." Splinter assures through his weak chuckles as he gently pets his youngest's head. Orange looks up at him and smiles an open mouthed smile. The rat smirks back, because he knows that this is the face they make when they're excited for a story. Always his curious little turtle…, how can he deny them? There's no harm in a bit of reminiscing, surely.

"Shen had the longest black hair I've ever seen. Quite pale. And her eyes…," Splinter trails off, eyebrows furrowing. Were they… green? Or brown? Did he…? No, no, it'll come back to him. He should just– think. Think about something else, for now. He brushes past the slight swell of panic inside of him in favor of switching targets.

"Lou was shorter than her. With honey colored eyes." Splinter explains as he traces a loose pattern into the pavement with wandering fingers. A barely noticed attempt to invisibly etch the almond shape of them just how he remembers… but… The lines of their faces– Splinter can't say with certainty what the arch of Shen's forehead looks like anymore, or the tilt of Lou's nose. How could he–.

"Like yours!!" Orange giggles brightly as they reach up to touch his face. His gaze is blankly fixated upon their enthusiastic expression as they smile and then pat at his fuzzy cheeks. Splinter let's them press at his nose ('boop!') and then kiss his snout. And he can't help but to wonder how they could assume such a thing.

When he catches spare glimpses of himself he doesn't see Lou Jitsu hiding beneath his frizzy fur and gangly limbs. He just sees a monster. But this is something that Orange doesn't need to know-- as well as the other turtles. Who knows how they'd think he sees them, and the other turtles, if he admitted such a thing about even himself?

"Like… mine," Splinter concurs slightly. And Mikey just smiles up at him, like he's said something wonderful. He sighs and smiles at them back. Then he leans down to gently kiss their forehead. The youngest laughs their starburst laugh and allow the conversation to flow forward like water under a bridge. About small things, like how Lou could never quite hit a high note, or how Shen always took her coffee with honey.

Despite how mundane it feels, Orange eats every tidbit up with gusto, and he can't help but to wonder if he's perhaps depriving his children by deciding not to talk about them. He can only go so far before the pain in his chest gets too close to overwhelming and yet…

It doesn't quite feel like he's done mourning his late family. But perhaps this can be a start.

Chapter Text

IX

Splinter brushes his fur off as he stares at their newly working television, watching with rapt attention as a human mixes ingredients together in a bowl. Now that their stove is safely patched up and working (mostly thanks to Purple, and their brilliant mind) he's been thinking up a plan. Regarding his oldest, specifically. Right now Red is taking some time to themself, but the other three are out and rowdy as usual.

In fact, they're rough housing pretty close by, which is pretty usual. Occasionally the trio will roll across his sight or bump into him but it's no bother. Especially not…, a few moments… yes, now.

He gently catches Purple by the waist as they almost fling across his lap, then sets the softshell back onto their feet next to him. None of the turtles even blink as Blue and Orange then jump at Purple– making the second oldest yelp as they haphazardly  maneuver away from their father.

"Careful, now." Splinter turns to watch them for a few seconds before looking back at the program. His ears remain fixed on them a bit longer, listens to their happy giggling, then he nods to himself. As Splinter groans and rises to a stand, he assures himself that they'll be more than fine for a little bit. (Hopefully). Then he makes his way to the fort.

Averagely Purple inhabits the fort– more often than not doing so on their lonesome. However, when any of the turtles are feeling overwhelmed then Purple lets them come in as well, as long as the others don't disrupt the many creations they house in it. Today is one of those days for Red. But Splinter thinks he can help Red, or at least try to.

Once he reaches the blanket-creation he slowly lowers onto his knees, to a kneel.  Then he taps his nails against the floor. After a few moments the rat hears a shuffle, and a head pops out of the fort entrance. It's Red's face, frowning, but seemingly calm. Splinter can feel his heart squeeze once he recognizes the telltale redness of their eyes. His poor child. 

"Hello, Red." Splinter says as he carefully reaches out to brush the top of the snapper's head. They smile weakly and nuzzle into the touch, clicking softly.

"I'm sorry that things have been frustrating lately." Splinter offers softly as he shifts his hand to scratch beneath their chin. Red grunts leans into it, their eyes pulling together in the way that Splinter has grown to attribute to them thinking deeply. 

The snapper then crawls out, maneuvering their body with as much care as they can, doing their best not to disrupt the fort. Splinter smiles lightly, waiting for his oldest to settle in front of him before offering his suggestion. "Would you be willing to try something new?"

Red blinks, seeming curious, so Splinter nods towards the oven. They then shrug and raise a hand up at their father. Splinter can't deny a request like that, so he carefully maneuvers his tail into their grasp and walks them into their pseudo-kitchen area.

After making sure Red is seated in a chair, Splinter reaches for the very top of the fridge (as well as the freezer). He got a true luxury this week– eggs. This, paired with a few staples, should hopefully make something good! He grabs the carton along with various bags and packages in his arms, trudging towards the table before plopping them down on it.

Red looks awed as he then skitters back up to the fridge, reaches up to grab a bowl and a few spoons from the top, and returns to their side. Splinter doesn't even seem out of breath as he nudges the largest spoon to them.

"Come on, let's try to make cookies," Splinter offers as he smiles. Red loosely grabs the spoon before looking at the ingredients, blinking widely. 

Cookies, among other confectionery, are one of the many things that the turtles seem endeared with ever since that television has been fixed. And sure, they may not have all of the ingredients, but he remembers some technique from his late human family (and learned some from the program). But surely a few ingredients being left out wouldn't hurt? Mixing the dough really well will probably counteract any shortcomings, anyways. Fruits from labor and all that!

"Flour, eggs, sugar, salt…," he lists. Honestly, 

isn't quite sure about dairy and the turtles yet. Thankfully peanut butter is a butter, so they aren't missing anything important (other than whatever baking soda is)! Also is chocolate even safe for turtles?? Splinter thinks not! He's certainly not keen on going topside just to test their luck with that, anyways. The chocolate chips will just be replaced with some salted nuts, something he knows the kids like.

It's salt. And it's flavorful chunks. Two very important components to cookies, apparently. Two birds, one stone.

Red is still staring with wide eyes as they mime whipping the slightly bent spoon in the family's biggest bowl. They fumble with it a few times, but they've got the spirit. Splinter smiles and takes only one more moment, setting a tattered dish towel beneath the bowl, before entering teacher mode.

"Go on then. The goal is to make cookies." Splinter says with a nod, grabbing the peanut butter and opening its lid. Red looks at the gathered ingredients a few more moments before blinking black up at Splinter.

"Yes, you make cookies with these things," Splinter says, confident. With that confirmation Red smiles and takes the peanut butter when it's handed to them. They slice through the protective film easily enough, but Splinter has to reroute them from sticking their fingers in it a few times until they dump a nice chunk into the bowl. Then he offers them a slightly smaller spoon, so they can snack on some. As a treat.

Soon goes a pour of sugar, and Splinter grabs the egg carton. "Look, gentle." He instructs as he grabs one and cracks it against the table, lifting it before nimbly tearing it open into the bowl. When he hands Red one they crunch it messily against the table. That's fine though, they can just scrape it up and put it into the bowl. Then? Then the fun starts.

With a simple 'go ahead', Red is giving permission to start stirring the absolute (excuse his language) crud out of the ingredients. Red has their tongue stuck out beneath their snack spoon as they diligently mix the peanut butter and sugar, so he knows they're serious about this. Once Splinter thinks it's sufficiently 'creamed' he adds flour until it looks doughy. Some of the flour puffs into the air but that probably isn't harmful.

Red insists on pouring the peanuts even after their impressive mixing, so Splinter lets them. It goes mostly all over the table but enough enters the batter. Splinter takes a moment to grab a pan before setting onto the table, allowing Red absolute creative liberty in shaping the dough balls.

Once they're done, Splinter opens the oven and unceremoniously slides the pan in. His calloused hands barely feel a thing when the metal wiring briefly brushes against them. Then he closes the oven and sits at the table, happy to spend some quiet time with Red until the cookies smell cooked. The aroma almost reminds him of something, but not anything he can quite put a finger on.

This process doesn't take too long in actuality– he only has to poke his head out to inspect the younger three a few times before he pulls the pan back out. He takes two off of the pan, offering Red one. They take it with as much ease as he does and chows into it immediately.

And it's… very, interesting. The taste is generally pleasant, if not a bit too sweet for Splinter's tastes. The texture isn't the worst he's ever had, though, and the occasional crunch of eggshells is almost even hidden by the peanuts. "Very dense." Splinter concludes, ears flicking. He means this both in flavor and texture, and he think Red chirps in muffled agreement before they swallow their fill.

"You did very well," Splinter tacks on, clearing his throat into a fist. Red giggles and hides their face in their crumb covered hands, bashful. However, it seems that their time together will be cut short by three rowdy little turtles.

"COOKIESSSS!!" The shouted word is the only warning the duo get before three little terrapins descend upon them.

Chapter Text

X

Splinter eventually expands what he allows his children to watch as time goes by. His little turtles eventually grow bored of cooking shows, so it's only natural. Thankfully the kids fall in love with another set of shows they find. Nature and human documentaries are a general favorite, along with one specific show. It's called 'Space Heroes', and his children grow to all but idolize the main cast and their various eccentricities.

Astro-Boy, Comet Girl, Captain Ryan, Jupiter Jim, and many more names Splinter can't quite wrap his head around soon dominate the children's vocabulary. Splinter doesn't quite understand it, but considering the general lack of entertainment the lair has he's grateful for it nonetheless. There are many more harmful things for them to become interested in, after all.

This partially does spark something for his second youngest. Blue eventually decides that he wants to be a boy, just like Captain Ryan. That's perfectly fine by Splinter. However, this naturally brings forth an issue that isn't quite as easy to manage. A name specific one.

The two of them are sitting on the couch, watching a zany cartoon cast save some planet from some strange invader or another. Blue has been shifting anxiously for the whole episode. Splinter allows his son to speak his thoughts on his own terms, and that pays off. "Dada, I don't want to be called Blue anymore." Splinter's second oldest claims as he grabs for his father's tail. The turtle starts gently playing with it as Splinter tilts his head minutely before shrugging. It seems like an understandable thing to want to change.

"What do you want to be called, instead?" Splinter asks as he averts his eyes from the television to his child. He watches as his child's face briefly twists in confusion before looking up at him.

"Can you choose?" The black-bellied slider requests as he gently sets his father's tail down. Splinter hums lightly, curiosity sparking within him.

"Would you not like to choose yourself?" Splinter inquires, raising a hand to thoughtfully poke at his own chin. 

"I did! I chose for you to choose!" The yellow bellied slider points out before crossing his own arms. After a short moment of contemplation Splinter nods, accepting that statement. Then he looks back towards the television. There's a lull of silence before the second youngest starts shuffling, seeming restless. The yellow bellied slider then plucks Splinter's tail back up, twisting it around his small knuckles before leaning firmly against his father's shoulder.

"So? What're you choosing?" The terrapin asks, sounding slightly impatient as he stares his caregiver down. Splinter's ears twitch. He wasn't aware his son wanted a new name right this second. Soon, yes, but now? The rat hums deeper this time, thinking for another long draw of time. Only once his blue clad son starts shuffling does he speak once more.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what to name you yet." His son deflates, frowning slightly. He smiles reassuringly at the young turtle before gently petting his son's head, scratching the other's scales fondly.  "Give me time?" He requests with care.

"Fine," his second youngest still seems a bit glum, but perks up a bit at the statement. Splinter smiles at his child, ears twisting to pick up the sound of little feet approaching them from behind.

"Ooh, can I get a new name too? Just while you're at it." Purple asks as they jump on the back of the couch. They look at their father with pleading eyes, smiling innocently (as if they hadn't just all but admitted to eavesdropping. Hm.)

"Why do you need a new name?" Orange asks Purple, seeming a bit perplexed as they jump onto the couch back as well. Belatedly a third set of arms hook around the back of the couch, and Red throws their father a rather sheepish expression.

"Because Purple is goofy." The softshell states firmly before raising and shaking a clenched fist into the air. As if cursing the goofiness of being named… Purple? Is it really that bad?

"Nuh uh! There's no such thing as too goofy!" Orange declares rather boldly.

"Yuh huh!" The softshell predictably shoots back. Splinter chuckles beneath his breath and shakes his head, tugging his progressively bristling second oldest into his side for a hug. The young boy huffs, crossing his arms in a rather irritated manner.

"Yes, you may. If you don't like Purple then you can choose a new one." Splinter assures as he shuffles the two of them to the leftmost side of the couch. The other three turtles then climb the back of the couch, sitting down next to them with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"Then I choose for you to choose." The softshell states as they ghost an arm around their directly younger sibling. Almost touching, but not quite. The boy rolls his eyes before blowing a raspberry at them, muttering a soft 'copycat' beneath his breath.  Splinter tries not to let his hesitancy show at that declaration. It's just two new names, after all. How hard can that be?

"But if you both get a new name then I want one too!" The ornate box shell squeaks out before throwing both of their chalk-covered arms around their spiky sibling. "And we can't leave Red out," they tack on. Red nods decisively, seeming accepting enough towards the prospect of a new name.

"Very well, then," Splinter states simply. And that's that. Through the rest of the night he finds himself rather lost in thought. 

Splinter himself hadn't put much stock into names, not even his own. But with his children's expectations in mind he can't help but to feel somewhat pressured. He knows he can't just choose anything, but he only has a general idea of a theme he wants to go for. He wants to name the after high achievers. Great people who accomplished a lot in their lives. It'd set a good precedent, yes? And… he wants to incorporate something to do with art in his decisions (at least for his youngest).

He decides to browse a library the next time he goes on a supply run. This is something he rarely does on behalf of the various safeguards he must deal with before doing so. But in this case it feels necessary. After finding a way in, disassembling any cameras in his way, and covering his tracks, the rat is good to go.

Historical figures are a good place to start. The books of simple baby names don't have enough basis for his purposes, and he's looking for… impact! What's more impactful than being named after some famous dead person? Not much, Splinter thinks. So he spends a solid twenty minutes browsing before finding something interesting. 

"Hm…?" Splinter turns to gingerly pluck a book out. It's a history book, something about the Renaissance? That sounds promising. He looks around– as if anyone could have possibly witnessed this– before carefully pushing it into his tote bag. Then he makes quick work of abandoning the area. He still needs to get food, after all.

It takes a solid week for Splinter to finish pouring over the book. Splinter spends a lot of his time second guessing himself, all but obsessing over the potential affects and effects and reactions any given choice may have. Eventually one must bite the bullet, though. Besides, if he were to leave his children in suspense much longer he wouldn't be surprised if they exploded from it.

So with a heavy heart, his decisions are finalized in what feels like a moment of great importance. Perhaps not for the turtles, but certainly for Splinter. The turtles just seem relieved and impatient to get their new monikers if he isn't mistaken. The rat clears his throat, first turning to the very boy who first requested a name change.

"Leonardo." Splinter states as he gestures a paw towards his son. Leonardo smiles back, tension bleeding from his frame as he hugs himself briefly. The anticipation was obviously riling the poor boy up. Then the rat turns to his oldest.

"Raphael," Splinter offers to his oldest child. Raphael timidly nods, accepting their name readily. They seem intrigued as he then turns to the second oldest.

"Donatello," Splinter states, hoping that this name isn't too goofy for the softshell. Donatello thinks for a few moments before nodding, offering their father a thumbs up. Then, lastly, Splinter turns to his youngest.

"Michelangelo–," Splinter gets cut off. "YAY! I love it!" Michelangelo proclaims not even seconds after getting their name. Their siblings giggle a bit as the youngest bounces in place, seeping with great excitability.

"Now we gotta make nicknames!!" Newly-dubbed Michelangelo claims as they turn to point to their siblings. 

"Already?" Leonardo balks, eyes wide and a bit worried. Splinter can't help but to secretly sympathize there. 

"Yeah, it's super important!" The youngest claims before proceeding to chatter about the seemingly endless possibilities for the four of them.

His turtles. His children.

He adores them with all his heart.