Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Leonardo, you’re in charge. Raphael, stop wrestling with Michelangelo. You know he hates that. And Donatello.”

“Bah!”

“…just don’t lick a socket. I’ll be back in an hour.”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

The smell of sewage is one he got used to over the past year. Not a scent he thought would become part of his daily life, but time moves on and waits for no one. Something Splinter admires and strives to live by, to persevere and quickly adapt to change.

And how much his life has changed.

From losing Miwa and Teng Shen, leaving Japan and the only home he knew, dealing with the grief and sorrow that came with it.

To becoming a rat man and live the rest of his life in the sewers of New York, with four hungry baby turtles waiting for him in his- their new home: An abandoned train station that he stumbled upon while on the run from the men in suits.

It has been a stressful year, to say the least.

Lots of adapting had to be made. 

If his father could see him now, he just knows he would recite one of the many parables he and Saki knew off by heart…best not to think about Saki, and what he has become. 

The sack over his shoulder weighed heavy as he walked, clinking, and filled with small trinkets that were washed up by the ducts. Some were in relatively good condition (making him feel disappointed in his species for being so wasteful), they just needed a bit of a clean and disinfectant. Then they could be of use to his odd family. Others, the smaller items that seemed on the verge of breaking, for one of his youngest to take apart and play with the screwdriver he found somehow (Splinter still isn’t sure where he got it).

Donatello, the smartest turtle, kept surprising him with his intellect. A curious little one, who would take apart his brothers if he could. There was this one time Splinter had to stop him from shoving a screwdriver into Michelangelo’s shell, as if he were another device for him to tinker with. 

Of course, he hasn’t forgotten about his other green turtles. By a stroke of luck, he found a small wind-up car toy washed away in the stream. Some child probably played a bit too close to the gutter, and it fell in. Unfortunately, the wind-up aspect of the toy doesn’t work anymore. But he has no doubt in his mind that Michelangelo will find some creative way to play with it. 

Raphael is a bit harder to scavenge for, the more aggressive one of the bale. A word he only knows thanks to his extensive research on turtles before making a decision at the pet store. He was violent, and most of the previous toys he had given him didn’t even last a day before it was shattered into pieces. Nothing down in the sewers could handle such impulsivity, thus Splinter had to get creative.

Instead of looking for things that could last, he searched for the opposite. Items Raphael could purposely break without having to worry about the tot getting injured. Thus, he brings home a foam ball. Already torn in some areas, so that the boy could easily dig his claws into the rubbery foam and rip it apart. Of course, he won’t always encourage this behaviour. But at this age, he would rather let the child take his rage out on toys than on his brothers. 

Lastly, Leonardo’s chosen gift. It pokes at his spine with the way it sits in the bag. A much simpler gift compared to his bale, but one that Splinter believes fits a boy such as him. A pipe he found lying on the ground. 

You see, during the times the Splinter went through his katas, the tot was always the first to copy him. He had a certain discipline when it came to training that Splinter had only seen when it came to himself. Another thing the rat mutant noticed was his fascination with the blade. 

Currently, all of the weapons he was able to bring with him are in the designated room he intends to turn into a dojo. More often than not, Leonardo splits from his brothers to sneak into said room. Even more often does Splinter catch him eyeing the twin katana’s strapped to the wall. Sadly, he doesn’t have any training swords, so he finds the next best thing in his mind.

An item remotely stick in shape.

When he found the pipe, and the thought had crossed his mind, he had a small laugh. He remembered the days he and Saki would compete to find the straightest stick in the courtyard and pretend they were swords. In his childish mind, those play fights were epic battles, two iron-fisted warriors duelling against one another, destined for bigger, better wars than the ones in their childhood home.

The irony was what made him laugh.

Don’t think about Saki.

Splinter lets the sound of the rushing sewer water sweep away the young voice of the man he used to call his brother, getting lost in the repetitive clinks and clicks of the sack against his back. He should be almost home now, just one more turn, and it’s a straight walk to the door that leads to the train station. He hopes the boys are alright, he left them alone for longer than he intended-

FZZZT!

Clack!

What was that?

He froze where he stood, ears pinned back as his eyes darted across the walls. Blood pumped violently in his heart. Where did that sound come from? It sounded electrical. Was someone down here? No, he’s memorised the maintenance days for this section of the sewers. So then what-

There was a quiet chirp.

Splinter rushed to look behind him, the bag dropping to the ground with a loud metallic clang. He whipped into a defensive stance on instinct, glaring into the…the empty space in front of him? But he could have sworn..

The sound came again. But it was lower than his eye level.

He looked down, never once dropping his defensive stance until-

…

Is that a turtle?

A red-eared slider by the looks of it, the red markings a stark contrast to the bright green scales that stood out in the darkness of the sewers. It was small, the average size of a run-of-the-mill pet store turtle, and looked around with small chirps. Gradually, Splinter dropped his defence. The poor thing looked confused. “Hello, little one.” He whispered gently.

It reared its head towards him, following with brown, almost ebony eyes as Splinter crouched closer. He has heard of red-eared sliders. An invasive species, often kept as pets, that he had briefly googled in his conquest to find the best pet for him. More often than not, his search had found, they were dumped. Either left in parks or fallen into sewers, ruining ecosystems and the like.

The rat man clicked his tongue, despicable. Who in their right mind would abandon such a creature, in a place like this, no less?

Although…Splinter analysed his immediate area with a calculating gaze, coming to a conclusion that created more mystery. How did the turtle end up here if there were no manholes or openings for it to fall into?

Then there was that other sound, that electric buzzing that came first. What caused it?

He looked back at the tiny turtle, its bright beady eyes still staring at him in innocent curiosity. A bit too human for an animal, but he digresses. With a humorous smile, he reached out a finger towards the head of the turtle.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where you came from, do you, little one?” His finger brushed against the scaly head, trying to be as gentle as possible when he felt two tiny, three-fingered hands wrap around his second knuckle.

That was when he noticed.

As the turtle let out a joyful human-sounding babble, it pulled his finger closer with a grip much like a human baby, nuzzling its small head against the skinny appendage.

It was too human.

But it was a small turtle.

Something was wrong.

This was another mutant, another baby turtle like the ones he had back home. He should be surprised, maybe even pleased, to see another like them. And he is surprised, he was under the impression that his family were the only mutants in New York. 

But something was wrong.

This child shouldn’t be here.

It shouldn’t be here. Something was wrong. It doesn’t belong here. It needs to go home. Where is its home? He doesn’t know, but it doesn’t belong. Something is wrong, something is wrong something is wrongsomethingiswrongsomethingiswrong-

SOMETHING IS WRONG

“Gah!”

Splinter yanks his hand away from the tot, not hearing its small whine of distress that matched his own. His head was pounding, and holding it between his fists did nothing to alleviate the pain. It was worse behind his eyes. The same ones he squeezed shut to deal with the throbbing. 

What happened?

It takes him a few breaths to calm down, going through the first-ever breathing exercise his father taught him. 

In.

Hold.

Out.

Wait.

Then again and repeat.

It helps, but it doesn’t take the pain away. 

He feels a small tap on his knee, risking a glance reveals a worried baby turtle. A worried, baby, mutant, turtle.

“I’m fine, do not worry, little one,” he sighed. The ache behind his eyes is ever-present, but it’s easier to ignore. Gently, he scoops the baby up into his palms, bringing it up to his face. He avoided thinking about how wrong/not right/didn’t belong weird holding the child in his hands felt. It did bring a smile to his face when he heard its giggles, however. 

He carefully tilted his hands this way and that, watchful in case he caused the turtle to fall. Just like his own mutant babies, this one had longer appendages than a normal turtle. It had a head that was weirdly shaped for its kind of animal, and sat like a normal infant in his hands. 

Definitely a mutant. 

But it was so small compared to his sons back home. 

Once more, he examined the spot where he had found the turtle. Trying to find some sort of clue as to where it came from. But like the last time he checked, there was nothing. No mutagen, no trace of being left behind, nothing.

Something was wrong-

He blinked.

FZZT-

And suddenly there was a puddle of familiar radioactive green ooze right in front of him. A light shines down, and a tentative glance up reveals the moon paired with an empty New York. 

Was that…was that gutter always there? 

And that puddle- that…he could’ve sworn it was empty just a moment ago.

The turtle in his hands chirped, and though he could’ve sworn it was completely clean, when he looked back, small droplets of the green goo covered the poor creature. 

So then…it was always there?

Something was wrong-

Yes.

It was always there.

He picked the baby up out of the puddle. It rolled into the sewers, falling from the gutter, that’s what made the clang sound. The buzz was from a faulty power line above ground.

He must just be tired.

With a dry mouth, Splinter swallowed and cleared his throat. “Well then little one,” he croaked, “I suppose the next course of action is clear.” It- he (Splinter can’t keep calling the child an ‘it’ anymore, so he guessed the gender) chirped once more in confusion, tilting his tiny striped head at Splinter. 

Not even Splinter was sure of what he meant.

But at the same time, he knew.

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“But you need a name first.”

His mind finally caught up. He couldn’t just leave the poor child here alone after all. Who knows what could happen? He should take him home. With the rest of his brothers. Yes. That is what he should do. 

The rat mutant hummed. He said he should come up with a name. So he will. He has to. He can’t name him Leonardo, that name is already taken by another one of his own. Though he isn’t sure why that was the first name that came to mind. He racked his brain for other artists of the Renaissance period, feeling obligated to stick with the theme.

Then it hit him.

A specific painting came to mind. One of a woman in a beautiful dress of sapphire blue. He remembers it clearly, Tang Shen had said she wanted a dress just like it to feel like one of the western princesses she sees in the movies and reads in books. He remembers how the love of his life would share her dreams of dancing at the balls, turning heads with her beautiful dress. Splinter had said she already did, but Tang Shen still wanted to feel like the belle of the ball. When he gave the turtle another once-over, tapping away happily on his palms, he noticed the boy’s eyes once more.

Oh.

He has Tang Shen’s eyes.

…

The name of the artist followed in his train of thought, and the decision had been made. “Titian. How does that name sound?”

The judge giggled in his approval, happy tippy taps increasing in speed. Splinter chuckled, despite the pit forming in his stomach. He delicately slid Titian within the hidden inner pocket of his robe, the joyous chirps never ceasing. Mindful of the fragile package in his pocket, Splinter got to his feet and hoisted the forgotten sack over the shoulder opposite the turtle.

“Come.” He spoke to the small head peeking out from the hem. “You have some brothers to meet.”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

“Chirp!”

“Oh, you don’t say.”

“Chirp chirp! Chirp!”

“No.”

“Chirp!”

“…you’re quite talkative, aren’t you.”

Chapter Text

“Boys! I’m home- Raphael let go of your brother!”

“BAH!”

“Don’t you take that tone with me young man!”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

The other turtles took to Titian much better than he thought they would. 

From the moment he set the smallest one on the ground in front of them, all four were quick to accept the newest member into their bale. Splinter watched like a proud father as they all got to know each other.

Michelangelo immediately tried to play with the new youngest of the family (determined after Splinter counted the rings on Titian’s shell, infinitely grateful for the endless tabs on his old computer), passing the car to Titian who would in turn pass the car back with a giggle.

Donatello, of course, kept prodding Titian with either his screwdriver or his finger, picking him up occasionally to look up close. The slider was vastly different to his brothers when it came to physical appearance, so Splinter expected such curiosity. What he hadn’t expected was for Titian to be okay with it. The other turtles definitely weren’t, and Donatello took joy in Titian’s willingness.

Leonardo was the most gentle of the bunch, recognising the baby as, well, a baby. If Splinter was right in his math, Titian was a year younger than the four quadruplets. Not a large age gap, but Leonardo definitely acted it was. He kept an eye on him every time he crawled off to play pass-the-car with Michelangelo, or whenever Donatello began to poke and prod. Though, under his watchful eye, Donatello couldn’t do more than pick Titan up before Leonardo was hissing at him to knock it off.

He was careful with Titan, which Splinter was pleased with. The newest addition was much smaller than his brothers, and thus care was needed whenever he was to be handled. So he thought that, because Leonardo was so doting, Titian would go for his company more than the others.

But it was the opposite.

He avoided him.

It wasn’t out of hatred, Splinter could tell that much. Otherwise the tiny turtle would be hissing a storm anytime the older came close. He was friendly, and always accepted any affection Leonardo gave him. 

But he still spent the least time with the eldest. It was because he wasn’t sure how to interact with the other, Splinter realised after Leonardo tried to show the younger how to play with his new pipe and got a confused head tilt in return.

Or when Leonardo tried to pick him up and got a blank stare in replacement of a coo like the tiny turtle did for the others.

Instead, Titian went for the last turtle of the bale, in a twist Splinter never could have predicted.

Out of all the turtles, Titian drifted more to Raphael. Donatello coming in at an extremely close second. 

Wherever Raphael stumbled to, Titian was sure to crawl after him. If Raphael stood up to walk to the kitchen, Titian would follow. When Raphael started to tear into his new foam ball, Titian would sit next to him and watch.

To add more to the surprise, Raphael did the same.

If Titian grew bored of watching his aggressive brother ripping apart a foam ball, and began crawling away to do something more fun, Raphael would wobble after him. Splinter hadn’t the slightest clue why. It wasn’t like Raphael wanted to keep an eye in case Titian hurt himself. That was proven when he laughed loudly after Titian flopped to his face and began crying.

It wasn’t until the first night of living with their newest family member, and he found the two curled together in their sleep, that he realised why. Titian, for whatever reason, saw Raphael as his oldest brother. 

Not Leonardo.

It felt wrong in all the ways he had been feeling since he brought Titian home.

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

“Chirp!”

“Bah!”

“Chirp chirp!”

“Bah goo!”

“Well…at least Michelangelo and Titian get along.”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

Titian was not the biggest fan of worms and algae, he had discovered. 

He would throw a fit every time he simply smelled the stuff in his vicinity, creating such a large mess that Splinter would still find algae in the cracks of the table years later. 

At least Michelangelo got a laugh out of it.

When he first fed Titian, he had seemed skeptical of the food. He scrunched his beak and gave the spoon of algae a sniff. The immediate recoil had stunned Splinter. Titian smacked the spoon away, and it landed on Leonardo’s spot on the table with a clatter. The eldest whined, but it was barely heard over Titian’s wails of hunger.

On that day, he was able to get Titian to eat a handful of algae. That is, a handful of Titian sized hands. After that, it became even more difficult to feed him.

It got to the point where Titian wouldn’t eat. He refused to. 

He was hungry, Splinter recognised the distressed chirps and wails, but he wouldn’t eat. Not that at least. Splinter, of course, got worried. 

It was the worst on the third day. Like the day before, he wasn’t able to get the boy to eat breakfast, but maybe he would eat a bit during lunch. That’s what he did in the past at least, and it got both of them through the long hours of the afternoon.

But he didn’t. No matter what Splinter tried, he refused to eat it.

It was an hour later, his sons had already finished eating and were playing elsewhere, but Splinter was still stuck at the dinner table. Half of the bowl was gone and on the floor. 

Splinter needed to adapt. He needed to fix this and find something his son would eat. Otherwise, he could lose him to hunger.

He can’t handle having the blood of another child in his hands.

So he plucked the boy off his stack of books and placed him with his brothers. He dreaded going up to the surface, but it had to be done. In all honesty, he should have done this sooner the moment he realised Titian didn’t like the food and he had no other options.

But the surface is a dangerous place with many risks.

He had no clue if the men in suits were still after him and his sons, who were still too young to face such dangers. If it all goes wrong, he could lead them back to their home, or he could leave his children without a father.

But he would rather they had each other than lose one by his stubbornness. 

Splinter began his search for food in the dumpsters, just like he used to when he was freshly mutated. Whatever he found that might interest Titian (and his other boys, he didn’t want them to be left out) he shoved into the satchel on his hip.

Every increment of food he had found, a voice would whisper to him to leave it.

To let his son die.

Let him starve.

Let the wrong go away.

Every-time, he would shove down it alongside the food. 

When he figured he had enough, he returned to the boys and found them all playing. Expect for Michelangelo and Raphael. Those two were in a wrestling match, rolling and tumbling along the living room floor. Though it was more so Raphael bullying the younger than a playing, so Splinter pulled the two apart.

When he sat the two down, Michelangelo was the first to sniff out the food. Splinter chuckled, that boy was always hungry. But the food wasn’t for him so he was gently pushed away from Splinter’s lap.

He saw Titian lounging over Donatello’s shell as the boy fiddled with a screw (Leonardo kept a watchful eye on him, so Splinter had no worries that it would go into the younger’s mouth). Titian started to do that more lately, though in the beginning he had been put off by it. The first time Splinter saw the youngest flinch back after he was the one that touched the other’s shell, Splinter raised a brow because the boy just kept trying.

It was as if he expected something softer, and was surprised by the opposite. Then Titian got used to the feeling and the evidence was there before Splinter.

The rat man plucked the boy off with some complaint from both boys, but when Titian smelled the food, he had quieted down immediately.

Splinter sat him down on his assigned stack of rotten books on the dinner table, then presented one by one the items he brought home.

The ramen noodles were turned away.

The donut center had been smacked out of his hand.

It was rejection after rejection, until Splinter had nothing left to offer him and he found himself holding his head in his hands. What is he supposed to give him then if everything was rejected?

He would have to go back up. He can’t force the food down his son’s throat and everything else was given a definite no by the boy.

Was it because it was all from a dumpster? Was it the smell?

Then he couldn’t go dumpster diving. But what else was there?

The original reason why he gave the boys worm and algae was because he wanted them to have a more turtley diet. In the first year of having his four boys, that option was limited so he just gave them dumpster food. Now, algae is everywhere and so are the worms.

But if Titian won’t eat those, what could he give him?

He could steal food.

No. That was wrong. He had no money to pay back the stores.

What other option was there?

There was nothing.

…

Splinter returned to the surface.

There was a small corner store near the manhole he used to exit the sewers. That became Splinter’s target.

With a rising bile of shame and a whisper of his father’s voice on his left shoulder, Splinter searched the isles. Nobody was present, the store was closed, and it was dark. The only camera that was there was a dud. A fake, meant to put off potential thieves.

Like him.

He looked for food that could last without being refrigerated, lacking the home appliance (making a note to eventually get one once he figured out how). He grabbed an assortment of canned fruits, bread, and other non-perishables. He was about to leave when a particular can caught his eye.

Canned peaches.

He loved peaches…

This run was supposed to be for his sons, but maybe he could get something for himself too.

He returned home with his bounty, plucked Titian from Donatello’s shell once more, and plopped him down on the table.

Once again, he showed off the items one by one.

Pineapples were nibbled at, but he didn’t take them.

The bread was enjoyed, but after a couple of bites he turned it away.

Hope was rising in Splinter as the child ate and experimented with the food. Eventually, he got to his last can. The peaches. Splinter was a little sad to see them go, but for his son, he would do it.

He opened the can and almost salivated at the smell. With a fork, he stabbed the first one and brought up to Titian’s small beak. He sniffed it, then took a bite.

Splinter held his breath.

The boy chirped happily, and Splinter let it go.

He watched the boy enjoy his peaches with a smile. It seemed the two shared something, a mutual preference towards peaches. He would have to get more, but that was for another day.

Splinter didn’t realise it until much later in the night, when he was in bed and ready to sleep.

The feeling of wrong..it was still there.

But it had gone quiet.

Chapter Text

“Raphael! Stop running away or so help me-! NO Donatello! Get that screw out of your mouth-! TITIAN?! GET DOWN FROM THERE!”

“Chirp!”

“You’re lucky you’re adorable…wait where's-”

CRASH! 

"...Michelangelo..."

“Bah!”

“…why couldn’t your brothers be more like you, Leonardo?”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

Splinter loathed bedtime.

Last year, he thought getting four baby turtles to sleep was the worst thing he ever experienced. Raphael kicking his brothers for more space, Michelangelo wailing from having his head hit, Donatello crying from the noise, and Leonardo looking like he wanted to end it all. A surprising look on a baby that Splinter related to endlessly.

But that was before he had to put Titian to bed.

He thought the quadruplets were bad?

Oh nononono.

Titian was much, much worse.

At first, all seemed to be going well. He actually helped bring his brothers to sleep faster than Splinter ever could. He dragged them all into the positions he wanted, not taking anything else as an answer. He pushed and shoved, until Raphael was at the bottom of the turtle pile with Titian on top of his plastron. Leonardo curled around both of them on Raphael’s left side while Donatello shoved his shell against his right and held Michelangelo like a teddy bear.

Somehow, Titian knew the exact positions for all of them to be comfortable, and Splinter was immensely grateful for the couple of hours that gave him with his own bed. 

Until night six came along.

Then Splinter was forced to bid adieu his mattress shoved into the corner of the shared room.

It began as normal, with Titian dragging his big brothers into their designated spots with significantly less whining than the first time. It was by Splinter’s mistake that he believed he didn’t have to watch them anymore to make sure they all went to bed.

Because in the middle of the night, when he was already gone to the world, he felt two tiny thumbs shove up his nose. It was quite the shock to wake up to, as you could imagine, and little Titian was quite pleased with the spectacle Splinter made of himself as he writhed in his bed from the shock.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for the groggy rat mutant to realise what had happened. The other turtles were still asleep in their little pile, while Titian clapped and giggled his joys away.

To get him back in bed was a struggle that kept Splinter up for hours. It was a miracle that only Leonardo woke up, chirping for the youngest to come back to bed.

But Titian refused to sleep, no matter what Splinter did. He sat him down on Raphael, he would crawl right back out of their little box bed. He tried giving him to Michelangelo, who tended to hold onto the closest thing in his sleep. Yet he was somehow able to wiggle out of the freckled turtle’s tight grip.

He tried giving him to Leonardo, who immediately pulled the baby closer with calming churrs and coos, and for a moment, Splinter’s hope was restored. Until Titian also escaped him, and the rat man had to hold back a growl of tired frustration. Leonardo definitely didn’t hold back his cry, but the boy was too tired to keep pulling so he went back to sleep with a small pout.

On this particular night, the solution was in Donatello. 

In a last ditch effort, he gave the baby to the final turtle. Groggily, Donatello had let go of Michelangelo and instead curled his arms around the tiny one. To Splinters absolute delight that almost made him sob in relief, Titian began to fall asleep.

That was only for that night, however.

The nights that followed were a painful game of ‘guess what works’.

Some nights he needed a specific brother to hold onto, and barely ever was it Leonardo. 

Others, he just refused to sleep. End point. 

On those nights, he was grateful the other turtles were heavy sleepers. Save for Leonardo, but he just went straight back to sleep once he confirmed the youngest was okay. It would take hours for the turtle tot to even stay in bed, only to escape minutes later and repeat the cycle until Splinter gave up.

One night, he grew particularly frustrated and scooped the baby up to bring him to the kitchen. He doubted tea was safe for human children, or turtles, but he was desperate and running on five hours of sleep across the entire week. He wasn’t thinking when he set the child down at the island table and began to prepare a nice pot of jasmine. 

Originally, the tea was just for him and brought Titian along purely so that he could keep an eye on him. But when Titan kept crawling over his hands to see what was in his cup, he decided ‘to heck with it’. He added cold water to cool it down, and served it in a cup with a straw for the child to drink out of.

It didn’t get him to go to sleep, but it did calm him down significantly. Seeing as he wasn’t crawling away and out of the kitchen at the speed of light to play with his toys, like he often did during the nights Splinter left the door open and woke up to the sounds of him playing in the other room. 

Splinter counted that as a win.

It also brought him joy to share something else in common with his new son. 

The feeling of wrong became just a peg more quiet.

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

“Chirp!”

“Yes the soap is nice! Thank you for noticing! Finally, someone who shows his appreciation without eating it! I’m looking at you Michelangelo.”

“Meh?”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

Titian adored being clean.

For all the other things he fussed over, bath time was not one of them. The other turtles also didn’t cause much trouble, except for Michelangelo, and Raphael depending on the mood. But Splinter was expecting Titian to be the most trouble out of them all, he certainly was when it came to a lot of things.

Meals were an easier affair, now that he swallowed the shame and kept stealing food. If only Titian didn’t think it was hilarious to throw a handful of applesauce in Donatello’s face (it was always Donatello, for some reason). 

Sleep was battle that Splinter always ended up loosing, but at least he got tea out of it.

There was also Titian’s hobby of giving him a heart attack. The tot never failed to find new precarious things to hang off of like it was a fun game and not at all dangerous. 

Just yesterday he had to stop Titian from falling after he started to dangle off the table edge. Splinter had only taken his eyes off him for three seconds (three!!!) to scoop some more applesauce into the bowl of the ever ravenous Michelangelo. The only reason he knew what was happening and stopped it in was because Leonardo started making distressed chirps from his own spot at the dinner table (ever the diligent older brother in the bale assigned hierarchy).

But anything to do with cleanliness -shell care, bath time, teeth brushing, you name it- Titian was pleased to go along with it. Bath time was his particular favourite.

Even after all was said and done, he would continue to swim in the sink of the abandoned restroom (cleaned of course, to the best of Splinter’s ability). Splinter would watch as he dove below the water and rise back up again, he looked like he belonged. Happily chirping to whatever brother is sitting outside of his small bathtub. Splinter worried for when he would get too big and would no longer be able to use the sink as his bathtub.

Unfortunately, getting him out of the water wasn’t as easy as getting him in. 

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

“Finally…all clean.”

Crash!!

“…Michelangelo?! What was that sound?!”

“…meh…”

“MICHELANGELO?!”

☆🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢☆

The boys were freshly clean and playing in the living room with Splinter sitting in the center. 

He watches them play, sometimes roughhousing (Raphael) or getting into fights and Splinter having to pull them away as they start hissing at each other (also Raphael, but also sometimes Donatello). 

It was interesting to hear them make turtle sounds. Splinter had heard them before, in zoo’s or online videos. But their sounds were different than a normal turtle.

Which correlates to the fact that they aren’t normal turtles. Not in the slightest.

He’s starting to be able to differentiate between the sounds after hearing them for so long, which was what made them so interesting to hear.

Splinter could tell when Michelangelo called for Leonardo, or when Donatello called for Titian, so on and so forth. The sound they made when they were hungry was the easiest to distinguish. It was loud, slightly little nasally, squeak. It was constant dug into your eardrums until you fed them or they grew tired.

Like the one Raphael makes now.

Splinter sighed, getting up from his spot on the ground. It was about time he made lunch anyways, considering he has actual ingredients to work with (he still feels the shame from stealing, but it’s more bearable now).

As he walked to the kitchen, he wondered if he could make any rat noises. Then swiftly shook the thought. 

He may have adapted to his new body, but that doesn’t mean he accepted it.

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“Chirp!”

“But what does that mean? Are you hungry? Cold? Lonely? Bored?”

“Chirp!”

“Yes that helps plenty, thank you.”

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His question was answered an hour later. He had stubbed his toe and let out a series of squeaks that he was certain were rat profanities.

No, not just certain.

He knew they were.

He knew what each individual sound meant.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Chapter Text

“Hm? Oh, you want up? Okay, up we gOoO- oh! Kami! My back!! When did you get so heavy?!”

“HA!”

“Nono, you’re right. The fault is mine, Raphael. Please don’t bite my nose again.”

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The youngest was growing extraordinarily fast. 

When a week ago he could easily fit in just one palm, Splinter needed two hands to hold him. If he sat him and Donatello side by side (who was the largest baby out of all of them) his head would just barely graze the same level as Donatello’s shoulders.

The boys were very happy with this change, Raphael especially because he thought it meant he could now safely rough house with Titian (he couldn’t, and Leonardo made sure he never did.) 

While Michelangelo kept staring at Titian, making Splinter think he noticed a change but didn’t know what changed. That one…wasn’t always the brightest. Splinter worried about him actually.

Then there was the third youngest..

Donatello immediately stuck to Titian’s side the moment he noticed the change. He was fascinated by the little one (though he wasn’t as little anymore, Donatello could barely pick him up like he used to) and seemed determined to discover the next difference between him and his brothers. 

The gap toothed child became the other’s shadow, staring at the other in a mix of wonder and curiosity. It got to the point that Titian began to get frustrated.

In the beginning, Splinter noted he revealed in the attention. But as time went on and he wasn’t left alone, he began to hiss at Donatello. Which caused Leonardo to hiss at him too, and Donatello retaliated, and Splinter had to seperate them all before a fight broke out. 

He plopped them down in seperate areas of their chosen living room, so he could keep an eye on all of them. Leonardo sat closer to Titian than Donatello did, while Raphael playfully wrestled with Michelangelo in their own little spot (he kept an eye on them too in case Raphael went too far). 

It didn’t take long for Donatello to start moping, saddened that his new toy got taken away. Meanwhile, Titian played a strange game with Leonardo that Splinter didn’t understand in the slightest (he would tap Leonardo’s knee, then Leonardo would copy, and it went back and forth until they both broke into giggles and started from the beginning). At least Titian was growing more comfortable around the eldest. 

Soon came the distressed chirps from Donatello. They were directed at a certain tiny turtle, Splinter knew how to recognise his specific call by then, but all of them responded with their own chirps. A question of what was wrong. 

When Donatello began to reach out towards Titian, the others moved their attention to the littlest brother. 

Splinter remained a bystander, wanting Titian to decide for himself if he forgave his brother. It started an intense stare down between the two, with Donatello making grabby hands towards Titian while the other looked at him through squinted eyes. 

It continued for ten minuets, the most silent he had ever heard his household be. Until there was another small cry. Different from the usual turtle noises.

“Titi!” 

Donatello started speaking. 

It wasn’t Titian’s full name, but the slider still recognised it. Splinter watched as his resolve broke and he began to crawl over, the others going to do their own thing after seeing the tension resolved.

Splinter felt a vile curl in his stomach.

One that was familiar and difficult to shake off.

As Donatello kept calling out for the crawling slider, Splinter didn’t feel the normal excitement a parent should feel in regard to their child’s first word. 

The feeling of wrong came back tenfold. He went breathless from the force, after days of it being muffled.

It was wrong.

Donatello wasn’t supposed to say Titian’s name.

It was supposed to be the youngest.

The actual youngest.

Actual youngest? 

Then it should be Titian-

No.

He isn’t the youngest.

He doesn’t belong.

He isn’t your son.

This is wrong.

He decided it was about time to start on dinner. 

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“Hey dad! Did you know that the longest word in the world is pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis! It’s my new favourite word!”

“…you started talking a week ago, where in the world are you learning this- it’s too early. Let me finish my tea.” 

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Leonardo was next in the race of the first word. “Dada,” he had said, and it brought a warmth to Splinter’s heart. 

What he should’ve felt for Donatello.

But it was ruined because of him.

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“Dada!”

“Yes, Leonardo! I am your father! Well done!”

“Dada!”

“Yes! Still your father!”

“Dada!”

“We really need to teach you more words.”

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Raphael came next, his first word being “Mimi,” for Michelangelo. Splinter had heard that words with ‘m’ sounds were easier for children to say than with ‘d’. Like ‘dada’, as Leonardo had said.

He wasn’t as pleased with his first word, he was hoping it would also be him.

He was glad nonetheless.

But he won’t be for him.

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“Mimi!”

“Raphael, he is right in front of you. What do you want.”

“Mimi!”

“What- oh and now you’re wrestling. Of course.”

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Michelangelo’s first word was food related, unsurprisingly.

“Peetch!”

Splinter almost gasped at him, and was about to tell him off until he processed that, no, he hadn’t said a swear word. He had tried to say, “peach.” 

Splinter chuckled and gave him the one already on his fork.

He didn’t look at the other child who also reached for one.

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“Peetch!”

“Michelangelo, I need you to understand that, while I am proud of your first word, you need to be extremely careful with your pronunciation.”

“Peetch!”

“…we’ll work on it.”

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When Titian said his first word.

“Papa!”

Splinter had almost dropped him.

How wrong was it, how horrible a parent was he, to fear his own son?

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“Papa!”

.

.

.

“Papa?”

.

.

.

“…Papa?”

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When he set the children to bed in their little box that they were practically too big for by now, he hadn’t realised Titian was the only one he didn’t kiss goodnight. The only one he didn't bless for sweet dreams, the only one he didn't hold when they reached out to him.

And if you asked him if he ignored Titian’s very clear wants for affection the following day. 

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

His answer would be the same every time.

No.

No, he hadn’t.

He was still there for him, bathing him, feeding him. He was there. He swears he was.

Titian would have a very different answer when he turned nine.