Chapter Text
At the bottom of the zipper, Raph placed the sliders together. His tongue stuck out as he positioned them evenly - bottom slider at the bottom, top slider at the top, edges level. Perfect. Not wanting to ruin his handy work, he avoided touching them as much as possible while fully inserting the free zip edge into both. A soft click followed and the biggest Hamato brother grinned. He pushed the runner in and pulled on the wedge. It moved up freely. As if by magic, the hooks interlocked.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks, Raphie!” Mikey beamed once his cozy coat closed. His baby brother rewarded him with a big smile and an even bigger hug.
“No problemo, little man.” Raph patted Mikey’s head. He’d done this a billion times. The process was second nature.
“Ready boys?”
The snapper reached for Mr. Froggy, easily slinging the backpack over his shoulders. Inside, cans of paint clinked together.
“Yes,” four angelic voices chimed up, trailing behind their dad as he guided them into the tunnel.
Splinter looked over his shoulder and frowned.
“You know the drill,” he reminded as he navigated his family through the sewers. “Stick together.” His eyes turned towards Orange, Purple, and Blue. “No wandering off, no arguing, no temper tantrums.”
The little tots nodded.
“I expect you all to listen.”
“Yes, Dad.” Again they chirped in unison.
“Good.” The rat reached for the ladder. Pink, fleshy claws closed around cold metal leading to the cosmos above.
“Let's go.”
With a jerk and a push, the manhole cover slid aside. A rotten, musty smell escaped the opening: it smelled like something very old and very slow. The night shivered. It tried its best to dispel the foul stench, mixing it with the uncaring fumes of Manhattan’s back alleys until the tense atmosphere was gone.
Cautiously, the former movie star poked his snout out of the sewer. He tilted his head, listening, sniffing, waiting for the world’s rejection. Nothing. At this ungodly hour, the streets were as quiet as could be. Never deserted. Never asleep. Barely safe enough.
He pulled himself up to crawl from one darkness into another, four little tots in tow.
“We’re going to play Ninja. Silent Ninja,” Splinter announced. “Winner gets first slice of pizza.”
“Yes,” came the enthusiastic response.
“Shhh!” The rat held his finger up to his lips.
“Sorry, Dad,” his Baby Blue piped up in a half-whisper, already ruining his shot.
Splinter took pity on him. “Starting from now.”
Purple rolled his eyes while Blue smirked, and with that, the game was on.
The mutated rodent turned. He brushed his palms together - time for business.
Dumpster diving near restaurants and hotels was the most lucrative. Supermarkets proved also to be fruitful. They offered a wider selection of food and other useful items but came at the cost of higher security.
In one swift move, Splinter hopped onto the edge of the disgusting treasure chest. His senses told him there was food inside, and he wasn’t wrong. He pushed the lid open. At the sight of brown bananas and dry loaves of bread, his belly growled like a grumpy grizzly.
Once again he glanced at his boys. Orange and Blue were coloring the gray city walls, while Red and Purple did their own expedition, exploring the junk at ground level.
Splinter smiled proudly at them before canon-balling into the dumpster. He added a few extra fancy somersaults that he knew would make his youngest rascal giggle with delight.
Humming the intro to ‘Jitsu for Justice’, the rat skimmed through the trash. Tonight's loot turned out to be surprisingly good: plenty of food, three scented candles, and one innocent toaster.
The former action star dragged a slightly damaged packet of powder detergent to their pile of goodies. He cracked his back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Looking at the sky and down, he sighed. Soon they’d have to leave. Blue and Orange were putting the finishing touches to their mural, whereas Purple got bored playing with the parts of the unlucky thing he had chosen to dismantle. They had been here too long.
Something moved in the twilight.
Splinter’s whiskers twitched. His head snapped up and he whirled around. There, behind him was-
“Awww.” The rat’s shoulders relaxed. His eyes fell on a kitten trying to sneak up on them. Its tricolored fur was bristling, and its brush of tail stuck up in the air. “Aren’t you cute,” he cooed.
“I told you the new uniforms were rad!” A voice rose from the shadows, and then a second.
“Nice.”
A high-five echoed through the alley and a shiver ran down Splinter’s spine.
“Enough, you imbeciles!”
For a second, the night went silent before a woman stepped into the electric light of the streetlamp. She stood there silhouetted by the dark. Her body was tall - long limbs, with a mean physique, and an even meaner smile. Over her raven crown sizzled a flame and her face adorned a bloody footprint.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the world-famous Lou Jitsu, or should I say, Hamato Yoshi.”
Splinter froze. Grandfather Sho had warned him in his many, many, insufferably boring stories. The gal in front of him spelled trouble.
With the flick of her wrist, a kunai appeared in her hand. “Let's make this quick and painful,” the leader of the Foot announced menacingly.
“Papa?” Orange asked timidly. He was so confused. Why was that lady’s head on fire? Why was she licking a knife? Hadn’t anybody taught her that this was dangerous? And why was his papa so upset? Because of the knife thing?
The sound of his youngest spurred Splinter into motion. “Stay back my sons.” He placed himself between his children and the sworn enemy of their clan.
“Get them!”
Like an irritated wasp’s nest, the Foot swarmed out, weaponizing the power of friendship.
The ninja rat fended off the first wave of attacks, his tots huddled behind him. He gritted his teeth. His mind raced at a million miles an hour. There were too many of them.
“Run!” He said in a strained sort of way, urgently. It was the only thing he could do.
His tiny Orange called again. His Michelangelo. Tears streamed down the chubby cheeks. He looked so very frightened. They all did.
A sense of calm filled Yoshi when Raphael dragged the box turtle by the arm, his grip bruisingly tight as he pulled him along, away from the danger.
Soon enough his sons vanished out of his sight. Splinter smiled in relief. With the battered lid of a trash can, he blocked a weapon aimed at his head, before he swiped under the leg of a goon that tried to go past him. He’d give his boys a fighting chance.
.
.
.
The noise of battle followed the turtles as they dashed down the abandoned alleys. A loud bang. A crash. The screams of their father.
Raphael stopped, his breath hard against the horrors of the night.
“Raph?” Leo slowed as well, the expression on his big brother’s face foreign.
For a moment, the snapper clung to the thin wrist he so desperately wished to hold onto and focused on the fluttering heartbeat beneath.
“Raphie?”
A last comfort, before he ushered his baby brother into Leo’s arms.
“What the?”
“Leo, you’re in charge. Keep them safe!”
“Wait-”
Too late. Raphael made up his mind, heading right back from where they’d came from.
The slider contemplated going after him, but one glance at Mike’s shaking frame made him pause. The young box turtle was clearly in distress, but there was also exhaustion. Leo clutched him closer to his chest.
“Nardo?” Donnie called and his twin stiffened.
“We gotta hide,” he decided.
.
.
.
“Long live the Foot Clan!”
Yoshi was trapped under a mountain of evil ninjas pinning him down. Dozens of unconscious soldiers lay scattered around. The small victories were meaningless compared to the greater whole. His fists clenched as he tried to lift the weight from his shoulders yet couldn’t find it in him to get up. He wasn’t strong enough. This was it. The sky began to lighten to a luminous gray. All hope was lost. He failed.
“Sorry, boys.” His words sounded muffled and dead in the misty air.
The leader of the Foot rolled her eyes at the man’s drama. Her nails dug into his skull as she yanked his head up, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Pathetic.”
She grinned, needing to gloat, needing not only to win but to show that she had won. No one would dare to challenge her again.
“With the defeat of Hamato’s last warrior the Foot Clan shall rise to- Argh!”
A sharp pain pulsed between her eyes. Something fell and clattered onto the concrete.
“Leave. My. Pops. Alone!”
The wish was her command. She released the rat-man, pressing her hand to her forehead before bringing it in front of her face. It returned stained crimson.
“Oh, you just poked the bear.” The leader of the Foot Clan squashed a bloody spray can beneath her feet. The cold fire in her eyes was focused on the dark corner to her left.
Yoshi raised his head. He paled. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry as a dead fly on a windowsill in winter.
His eldest son stood there, rigid and trembling, but not backing down.
“Red, no…”