Chapter Text
New York. The Big Apple. Does that pair well with the Big Cheese? Home of the Knicks, the Mets, the Yankees, the Jets, the Giants. Lady Liberty, hoisting her torch high over the land, welcoming everyone in sight!
Silly her; I don’t think even she would welcome the things in my sight!
New York. A bustling hub of people and traffic; a loud hive of streets that never sleep; home of the best pizza, the best skyline, the best--
He took a step forward, careful, bracing his weight on the forward foot and almost crouching down. His muscles tensed; he poised, eyes focused on the only light in the room. A grin ran across his face.
--best superheroes; we’ve got Spider-man! We’ve got Daredevil! We’ve got Jason in part 8 once he steps off the boat! We’ve got the Ghostbusters! We’ve got the Silver Sentry! We’ve got--
ME!
He sprang at the candle like a shot, the weapons in his hands starting to move and twirl--
The man holding the candle calmly stepped out of the way, placing a foot out. With widening eyes, the attacker felt all his momentum rushing unheeded--
A loud yelp filled the room as the youngest, fourth brother crashed end over end, landing in a heap at the wall. He let out a groan, fumbling his hand out for his fallen weapons.
“Your nunchaku are to your left, Michelangelo,” the man holding the candle said calmly, placing his foot back beneath himself.
“Thanks, Sensei,” Michelangelo replied, groaning again as he rolled over towards his left.
A quick step behind the man--he ducked his head quickly, holding up the walking stick in his other hand. The CLACK! of wood striking wood--he spun, holding the candle in his palm behind his back, blocking another incoming hit. Curving his walking stick down, the long bō staff turned away at his whim; keeping contact with it, he slid his walking stick up the longer staff, finding one hand holding it and briskly tapping the knuckles.
Another yelp met his ears; the hand opened a moment--the man brought his stick down, disrupting the grip entirely and pushing the stick to the ground. The eyes of his second attacker widened--the man brought his stick back up in an instant, curving it around the back of the attacker’s neck and stepping back--
Michelangelo looked up in time to brace for impact as the third brother crashed shell-over-head into him.
“Your staff, Donatello,” the man with the still-wavering candle said politely, hoisting the bō up with one foot to rest in the crook of his ankle before kicking it over.
“Thank you, Master Splinter,” Donatello mumbled from the pile, taking a breath before rolling off his brother.
Master Hamato Splinter, a large, bipedal, humanoid gray rat (who was starting to need another trim; he was getting rather bushy-furred again), smiled and dodged to his right. A fist cracked the air where his head had been--he turned, quickly bringing his walking stick. A metal sai clashed against it, aiming for him, and Splinter batted it away. Raphael, the second brother, grinned and advanced a sharp step, clashing his knee against Splinter’s to knock him off-balance, eyes darting to the candle in the older Master’s hand--
Splinter brought the walking stick low and up, hooking under Raphael’s shoulder. The grin faltered on his student’s face--
Splinter rolled backwards, pulling Raphael yelping down with him, planting the foot he’d knocked off-balance into his solar plexus and heaving him up and over.
For a moment, Raph was cartwheeling through the air, then crashed down on Mikey and Don with a grunt and a groan.
Splinter straightened himself again, twisting his hand through the air as he did, bringing the wavering candle back to stillness. His eyes scanned carefully, ears twitching, but where was--?
Dropping from above, a rush of wind and a swish of blades!
Splinter glanced up sharply, but in an instant, the candle was severed. Standing close, Leonardo, the first brother, smiled with triumph, holding the wavering head of flame aloft on the side of his blade--blowing it out.
Splinter smiled to himself in the dark. One of his students had emerged from the challenge victorious.
“Well done, Leonardo.”
An instant later, with the flick of a switch, the overhead lights came on in their humble home. Splinter beheld his four sons--large, humanoid turtles, to any outside observer (not that there were any)--with a mixture of pride and measured reserve. Relaxed, he moved to the groaning pile of younger brothers, and helped Raphael to his feet, then Donatello, then Michelangelo. As they dusted themselves off and collected their scattered weapons, Leonardo returned his twin katana to their sheathes.
And, as usual, before Splinter could speak, they were going after one another.
“Teacher’s pet,” Raphael grumbled, scowling and rubbing his head.
“Ninja dropout,” Leo retorted, smirking and throwing the broken candle his way. Raph caught it easily, clenching a fist around it, starting to growl.
Splinter sighed. “My sons,” he said quickly--
Raph stalked forward a step. Leo’s smirk faded, his eyes narrowing.
“My sons,” Splinter repeated, and they blinked, both looking his way. Splinter shook his head, taking a breath. “You must work harder. All of you.”
Quickly, they rushed to face their father, their sensei, kneeling before him. Children. Family. Students.
“To be ‘ninja,’ you must master the light around you. To know where the deepest shadows will conceal you; to move without a trace and strike before anyone knows you are there. When an enemy has their own light, how will you control it to your advantage? How will you use their vision against them?”
They all watched--at least, Splinter thought, they were all listening. Donatello looked on earnestly; Raphael with an almost grim determination; Leonardo with impassive seriousness. Michelangelo was trying to swat a fly that had crept into their small home in the New York sewers. The tunnels were, sadly, full of them. But, Splinter thought mildly, at least Donatello’s knowledge of machinery and the others’ sense of responsibility had helped to keep it (moderately) clean and well-ventilated.
“Life will not treat you kindly, my sons,” Splinter continued, eyes fading a moment with sad thoughtfulness. “You are different from those above; you must never be seen by them. They trouble themselves fighting over small differences enough--we would be far too much for them to handle.
“But training is still important. No matter how long it has been; even these past 18 years for you is just the beginning. To train is not only to become a warrior: it is to become better . To improve yourself, not only through musculature, but through emotional balance, and through spirit. To sharpen your senses and your mind, and apply this to all you do.”
Splinter smiled mildly.
“To find new solutions to impossible problems. For example: did I ever tell you that you must attack me one by one, to extinguish the flame?”
A flicker passed over each of their faces, and they blanched. Mikey caught the fly, grinning to himself, and then faltered as the words caught up with him.
“You are ninja, but before all else, you are brothers. You are my students. And, more than that, you are my sons, and I am proud of all of you.” Splinter allowed his face to soften. “Now: let us--”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off by rumbling around them.
The giant rat’s eyes widened, darting around the room. Their sewer home wasn’t close enough to the subway to cause this; what--?
The four turtles were on their feet in an instant.
“Donnie! What’s going on?” Leo called out--but Donatello shook his head, just as confused as the rest of them for once.
“Probably someone decided to expand the subway!” Raph yelled over the tumultuous roar. Mikey stumbled and Raph caught him, bringing them to a wall away from the middle of the floor. “We can brace until it’s done--”
“GUYS!” Mikey yelled, pointing.
Running up one wall, a huge crack was tearing through the old, mossy stones. The rumbling shook, worsening--the crack spread, etching grim fingers to the ceiling, knocking out one of Donnie’s lighting rigs.
“WE GOTTA MOVE!” Donnie yelped, wide-eyed. “THERE’S STRUCTURAL--”
A new noise came to them. A metallic, clashing, gnashing grounding against itself. The spider-web of lines burst at the base of the wall where it’d started, and through the hole, a gleaming chromium snout pointed out, sharpened teeth digging chunks out of the stonework like soft chocolate.
“What--?” Raph tried to say, but the noise grew and grew; more snouts grappled with the wall, tearing it into shreds.
All had happened in less than five seconds.
Leo’s head was spinning, and he stood locked in place on the floor, looking in disbelief at what was happening to their home--when Donnie’s second yell, panicked, caught his attention. He didn’t hear what the words were, but heard the tone immediately--and saw in an instant what he’d said.
The ceiling was flaking. Dust-- pebbles-- bricks--
It was all going to come down, and fast.
Leo’s heart plummeted, but before he could even think of turning and running, his gaze came back down.
Only a few paces away, still in the middle of the floor where he’d been giving their lesson, Master Splinter stood. The metal, gnashing-- things-- were starting to come through the wall; little, leg-biting, bipedal-- somethings-- and were headed for him.
He was backing up, away, alone.
“MASTER SPLINTER!” Leonardo called out, and sprinted forward, reaching for his katana.
Somehow, Hamato Splinter heard him over the noise, but Leo couldn’t hear his reply. In another second, he couldn’t even see him. A wave of granite and aged dust fell like snow out of a tree, crashing through the air onto their floor; the air became a haze of foggy flakes, and somewhere behind him, Leo realized his brothers were yelling his name; yelling for him to come back.
He realized too late how far he’d gone. He made it back another ten feet before the ceiling collapsed over him, knocking him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him, knocking the light from his gaze, and finally knocking the sound from the world, fading with an echo of his younger brothers screaming his name one more time.