Chapter Text
Draxum never planned on being a parent; they didn't even like children, much less have the maternal instinct to raise one, but his actions handed him four pubescent turtles.
He didn't regret anything
(except for the attempted murder and also the shredder and other semi-violent crimes)
Draxum was enjoying a quiet Sunday morning watering his lavender, weeding his belladonna bush, deadheading the chamomile, and tending to his many mystical potted plants. He'd become accustomed to maintaining his apartment in the early mornings before work; he enjoyed having his evenings free, so he could work on his (totally moral) experiments or spend time with his family.
Family ; even after two years, that little word stirred emotion in him. Draxum would be the first to admit he's not a good person; he'd hurt many people in his long life, some deserving, others not. The pain he'd caused his family alone was enough to damn his soul, but that didn't matter; Mikey needed him; Mikey wanted him to be a part of their life.
Speaking of Michelangelo, Draxum walked over to tidy 'Mikey's room' (a corner in Draxum's apartment where Michaelangelo kept his belongings). He returned a few books to their shelves, ensuring their handmade bookmarks were in place, folded a freshly washed orange blanket, and dusted off the small desk Mikey kept their art supplies. Draxum stacked up scattered papers and rolled his eyes when he found a pair of round glasses 'forgotten' underneath a sketchbook.
Draxum sighed; for as long as the goatman had known them, Michaelangelo, much like their extraordinarily blind Rat Dad, was content to ignore their severe vision issues. Draxum refused to let his kid fight blind and was rigid in ensuring his children cared for their vision.
He paused his Gardening, hearing the soft creek of the apartment window.
" Good morning Michelangelo," Draxum called out to the child, attempting to sneak in through his window. Instead, the now-flustered delinquent tumbled from the opening; Draxum's heart pounded for that fleeting moment before catching Mikey in the embrace of his Mystic verdure.
Outrage bubbled in the father's chest, and he wanted to scold his child for his recklessness but stopped looking into Mikey's cerulean eyes that were lined with the faint trail of dried tears; Draxum hesitated, allowing Mikey to guide the conversation. "Ohayō Ookachan! How are you on this day of days?"
"I'm doing quite well, thank you; Though, I would prefer it if you used the door ."
"Doors are for losers, and I ain't no loser!" The tiny turtle proclaimed proudly
"Yes, of course, and the nearly falling for your death was all part of your master plan?" Draxum facetiously implored while patting his kiddo's head; Mikey leaned into their father's affection with a sunny giggle.
A melodramatic cough pulled the alchemist's attention: a thin figure emerged from the window. Draxum's second eldest and most intellectual son, Donatello, hovered above the apartment floor, glaring at his biological donor. Drax could feel ice permitted from the purple teen's core.
"As Domestic as this is , I believe we came on a mission of sorts.
Mikey blew a Raspberry, nuzzling up to their brother." Donnie's, right? It's time to see the Akachan no Shashin!'" Draxum raised an eyebrow at the sudden language shift.
Donnie scoffed at his confusion "they want to see our baby photos."
Already browsing through the freshly dusted bookcase and pulling out several handbound journals and binders, Draxum asked, "You wish to see your records?" This was not an unusual request from Mikey; a few years back, they hyper-fixated on scrapbooking (he suspected they wanted to know more about their biological origins), but Draxum found it very odd for Donatello to come to
him
for help, his older sons prefer to avoid his presence. (Not that he could blame them after all he'd done to their family)