Work Text:
Splinter woke every morning dreaming of his Master’s death.
For the longest time, it instilled fear into him. Fear for himself and his sons. Now, the dream no longer frightened him. It only served as a reminder and strengthened his resolve to teach his sons everything he knew. His sons needed to learn the art of their fathers before them to survive.
As the days passed by and his sons grew older, their training was slowly transforming from fun and games to serious, possibly harmful maneuvers and destructive techniques. While at one time Splinter had been more lenient about the smiles and laughter his sons would have during training, he was starting to make it clear that what they were doing was no game anymore. There were real consequences to their actions. Perhaps that is why Splinter waited so long to let his sons pose any sort of actual risk to each other. He wanted them to know what they were doing, to have some sort of control before using their training in real situations.
A few months after the anniversary of the seventh year of their new life, he had finally decided they were old enough to start sparring.
He had begun their weapons training a whole year before, but even then Splinter had been hesitant to let them start sparring with even bare fists. He knew once they began sparring his sons would begin to know the actual pain of their art. Perhaps the father in him had won in putting off teaching them to spar as long as possible out of fear of watching them suffer any pain.
While sparring was an exercise for his sons, Splinter also saw it as an exercise for himself. For every time one of his sons fell, he had to suppress his instinct to run to them and to help them up. He was learning to trust their independence. And two weeks into their experience of sparring, Splinter was both horrified and relieved at how good he was becoming at turning a blind eye to their pain.
It was a Friday afternoon, meaning his sons had another training session with him. Fridays were special in that Splinter scheduled a second training session in the afternoon rather than the academic lessons he taught on the other afternoons during the week. Like their other sessions, sparring came last as a reward for finishing their katas and working on several new techniques. They were learning that sparring was the only time Splinter allowed for some playful behavior and his sons took advantage of it.
He had paired his sons off and he was observing them as they fought. He went from one pair to the other every minute or so, giving encouragement and corrections. Currently, he was observing Michelangelo and Leonardo spar, as Raphael and Donatello sparred a short distance away.
Michelangelo was perhaps having too much fun as he seemed to be making a game out of dodging Leonardo’s strikes while leaving himself as open as possible. Leonardo seemed to be becoming slightly annoyed by his behavior.
“Mikey,” Leonardo said as his brother dramatically dodged out of the way of another strike, carelessly leaving himself open. “You’re supposed to fight back.”
Michelangelo just stuck his tongue out at his brother. “Can’t get me!”
Except Leonardo didn’t have to get him. In his distraction of trying to annoy his brother, Michelangelo had stepped outside of the sparring rings and bumped into the sandbag Rahapel loved so dearly that was hanging on the wall. He faltered, caught off guard, leaving himself open for Leonardo to kick him squarely in the chest.
Michelangelo fell back hard onto his behind. He looked up and smiled at them cheekily. “Oops!”
“Focus, Michelangelo.” Splinter chided gently as Leonardo helped him up. “You must keep your guard up and be aware of your surroundings.”
“Yes, Master Splinter!” Michelangelo answered as they began sparring again. He jumped out of the way as Leonardo went to strike him.
Already, Splinter could see the beginnings of Michelangelo’s style. He relied on evasion and quick attacks. The way he moved was likened to a dance, always moving like the wind. He just knew where to attack and how. Instinct rarely failed him. However, too often he became too excited and uncontrolled, leading to his own demise while sparring.
Leonardo blocked as Michelangelo struck at him. His feet remained stuck in place. Splinter tapped the ground by Leonardo’s feet with his walking stick. “Remember to move Leonardo! Do not let your feet remain planted!”
“Yes, Sensei!” Leonardo adjusted his posture and sidestepped as Michelangelo came at him again. Despite his attempt to move Michelangelo made contact with him.
Leonardo’s style was shown to be precise and controlled. He didn’t possess the natural agility that Michelangelo was beginning to show, nor the sheer force Raphael fought with. Neither was he much of a fast learner and he often wasn’t the first to perform a move correctly. However often he was the first to master it through determination to be the best of his brothers. He had a natural balance between analyzing and strategizing against his opponent and trusting his instincts and his body to move where it needed to be. He showed the potential to be a well-rounded and balanced warrior one day.
“RAH!”
Splinter was torn from his observation of Michelangelo and Leonardo’s match by a yell from the second oldest. He turned to his other two sons. Raphael and Donatello were six feet away in their own sparring match. However, from any outside view, it seemed as if Raphael were beating Donatello into the ground.
Raphael had always been the most aggressive of his brothers. He lived with a sense of urgency and was often the first to try something new, even if the results weren’t what was desired. With his style of fighting, that urgency and confidence translated into a very aggressive style reliant on force. He wasn’t very quick physically, but he made up for it by deciding his moves quickly. He fought every match with everything he had.
Raphael moved forward towards Donatello; his jaw clenched with determination. Donatello stepped back shakily, seemingly put off by Raphael’s intensity. He stumbled but caught himself, bringing his arms up a little more with a frightened look on his face.
Splinter had no idea what Donatello’s fighting style was. Mostly because Donatello refused to fight.
Donatello had always been a dutiful student. He was obedient for the most part and took his study of ninjutsu seriously. Maybe he was not as entranced by it as Leonardo was, but he performed well and followed instructions. He wasn’t the best of his brothers but had humility enough to recognize it, meaning he never tried things he knew he wasn’t ready for.
However, it seemed that once Donatello began sparring, everything he remembered from their training seemed to be forgotten. All of the moves and effort he put into their bag exercises and katas completely disappeared. He froze and wouldn’t attack or sometimes even guard. He would just take hit after hit from his brothers, often becoming a punching bag for them.
Raphael didn’t take well to his brothers acting as punching bags.
“Move, Donnie!” Raphael yelled finally as Donatello merely took blow after blow without striking back or even attempting to evade Raphael’s punches. “Do something!”
Raphael seemed to become frustrated with Donatello’s lack of response and upped the force of his blows as if it would elicit some reaction from the second youngest. Instead, it made Donatello clam up more and he lowered his arms. Raphael growled with frustration.
Finally, Raphael struck out with his leg and hit Donatello hard in his unguarded side. Donatello stumbled against the force and backpedaled outside of the training mats before he lost his balance and toppled over. He smacked hard into the unpadded floor with his shell clacking against the hard concrete as he fell outside the mats. Donatello laid on the floor for a brief few seconds before turning over and curling into a ball. He clutched at his knee as tears began to fall from his eyes.
“My knee!” Donatello cried.
Splinter immediately went to his son, his worry taking him over as his son’s pained cries filled the room. Splinter knelt next to him and moved his son’s hands to the side as Donatello cried. He inspected his knee thoroughly. Donatello’s knee was scratched roughly and bleeding but it did not look anything but superficial.
“You will be okay Donatello. It is only a scratch.” Splinter soothed. “We will clean it up and then you can finish your match with Raphael.”
Donatello looked at him with big, watery eyes. He seemed horrified that he would have to fight again. “But... but Master Splinter!”
Splinter didn’t let himself react. He stood, holding out his hand for Donatello to take. “Come, Donatello.”
For some reason, downplaying the injury seemed to make things worse. More tears welled in Donatello’s eyes, and he let out a sob. He turned away from Splinter’s outstretched hand and stood. “No!”
Splinter blinked at Donatello’s outburst. Of all his sons, Donatello was the least likely to be outright defiant. “Donatello-”
Donatello didn’t let Splinter finish. Instead, he ran off in the direction of the bathroom across the room. He sprinted inside and the door slammed behind him.
Splinter stood in shock, somewhat uncertain about the behavior he had just witnessed from his most gentle and well-tempered son.
It was only in the aftermath of the ordeal that Splinter soon noticed that the room had gone quiet and still. Michelangelo and Leonardo had stopped sparring at some point and were standing next to each other across the room, looking anxiously at Splinter. Raphael stood a few feet back from Splinter with his fists clenched.
Raphael trembled with anger. “Donnie’s such a crybaby!”
Splinter snapped his attention to the second oldest. “Raphael! You know better than to call your brother names.”
“Why? It’s not like he can hear it.” Raphael muttered. “He’s crying in the bathroom.”
Splinter sent the second oldest a hard gaze. Raphael cowered and bowed his head, knowing he was in for it. “The rule still stands whether he heard it or not, Raphael.”
Splinter sighed. They wouldn’t get much else done the rest of the day, especially if his sons were upset. “Training is finished for today. Leonardo and Michelangelo, you are dismissed. Raphael, you will be dismissed after completing fifteen flips for calling your brother names.”
“Yes, Sensei.” All three boys responded.
Leo and Michelangelo quickly bowed out to their Sensei as Raphael went to the corner to perform his punishment. As he watched Raphael do his flips, Splinter heard his youngest and oldest sons run to the kitchen, chattering about what they wanted for dinner, the next activity on the list for the evening. After Raphael was dismissed, Splinter quickly made his way to the door of the bathroom. He listened carefully for a few seconds but there was only silence. It seemed Donatello had already stopped crying. Making his decision, Splinter knocked softly on the door. “Donatello? May I come in, my son?”
There were a few beats of silence then a soft, “Uh-huh.”
Splinter opened the door. He found his second youngest sitting on the floor against the tub. Tears were still fresh on Donatello’s face, but they had ceased falling from his eyes. He had a washcloth in his hand and was pressing it gently against his knee, more than likely mimicking what Splinter had done for all of them from time to time.
Splinter approached and knelt next to him. “May I see it?”
Donnie nodded and let Splinter take the washcloth away. Splinter inspected the wound and found it was still bleeding. However, it was superficial, and it would scab over nicely. In a few days, there would be no indication of the injury at all.
“I washed it like you always do. I used soap.” Donatello said softly, his voice tight from crying. “But it needs a bandaid.”
“That is very good.” Splinter said, nodding. “I will get a bandaid for you.”
Splinter stood and moved to the drawer next to the sink that held their meager first aid supplies. Clean bandages and antibacterial ointments were hard to come by scavenging. Still, they had a small supply of bandaids that were often used in their home. Donatello sat quietly as Splinter took one out, opened it, and, with gentleness, applied it to his knee.
Once he was finished, Donatello brought his knees up and hugged them close to his chest as Splinter kneeled next to him once again. “I’m sorry I ran away and that I yelled at you, Sensei.”
Splinter nodded. “You are forgiven, Donatello.”
Donnie shifted, keeping his eyes down. “Do I have to go fight again?”
Splinter sighed. “No. Training for today is done. But you will be expected to spar again tomorrow.”
And just like that, tears began welling up in Donatello’s eyes again. He sniffled and brought his face even lower, trying to hide. Splinter rested his hand gently on the back of his son’s head.
“My son,” Splinter said. “Donatello, we spoke about this.”
And they had. Donatello had been more or less horrified when Splinter announced two weeks ago they would move on from hitting bags to hitting each other. It seemed to go against every fiber of Donatello’s being. In truth Splinter should have seen it coming. Donatello had always been one to back down when a fight became physical, and he never liked the roughhouse play that the other three boys participated in. He was content in his own world, tinkering with some random toys and machines and reading books.
Still, Splinter had thought he had explained it well enough when Donatello had first objected. And it seemed that he and Donatello had come to an agreement that he would participate in sparring just as his brothers did. Splinter thought he understood.
“It hurts sometimes,” Donatello said, turning in toward Splinter for comfort. He nuzzled into Splinter’s robe. “And I don’t want to fight them. I don’t want to fight anyone.”
“I know, my son.” Splinter said, wrapping his arm around his son and pulling him close. “And that is very important and beautiful. But sometimes we are forced to do things we do not like and we must be prepared for them. Sparring helps prepare you for dangers you do not know of yet.”
Donatello didn’t respond. He only clung to Splinter and Splinter held him close, feeling pained by his son’s internal fight and his unconditional gentleness. They sat like that for a few minutes before Splinter spoke up.
“I must start our dinner soon, Donatello, before your brothers become impatient.” Splinter said. “Would you like to help?”
Donatello was silent for a few moments before he shook his head. “Can... Can I be alone right now Sensei?”
Splinter nodded. “Yes, my son, if that’s what you need.”
Donnie nodded and rubbed his eyes. He broke away from Splinter as Splinter shifted to stand up. Don made no attempt to move and Splinter assumed he wanted to stay in the bathroom. “Would you like me to close the door again?”
“No,” Don said. “That’s okay.”
With one last look at his son, Splinter turned and left the small room for the kitchen.
The sound of pots and pans being hit together was the first thing Splinter noticed as he came up to the kitchen room. As he approached, he looked ahead into the room used to find the youngest and oldest occupying the space. Michelangelo was the source of the noise as he was standing on a chair rummaging through the cabinet holding the pots and pans. Leonardo was pacing anxiously around the chair he was standing on. They didn’t seem to notice their master in the doorway.
“Mikey,” Leo said. “Master Splinter said we can’t cook yet.”
“I’m not,” Mikey said in a way that made it sound like he was. “I’m just helping. Boiling water’s not cooking.”
“Yes, it is!” Leonardo argued. “Sensei says-“
“Boys.” Splinter broke in, starting to get the picture of what was happening. He stepped into the room. “What is going on?”
Both of his sons turned toward him. Michelangelo quickly shut the cupboard as if he could hide what he was doing. He smiled winningly. "Nothing Master Splinter!”
Leonardo shifted nervously and blurted out. “Mikey’s trying to cook!”
Michelangelo quickly turned on his brother, his face pinching with anger. “Tattle-tale!”
“Michelangelo,” Splinter said warningly. “What was said earlier about name-calling?”
“Not to.” Mikey hung his head.
“That’s correct.” Splinter said. “And what is this about you cooking?”
“I was just trying to help!” Mikey exclaimed. “And I was hungry…”
“Patience, Michelangelo.” Splinter said. “You know dinner will be soon. It’s too dangerous for you and your brothers to be using the stove.”
“Yes, Sensei,” Mikey said with a sigh.
“You may not be able to cook yet.” Splinter said, “ But you will be able to help me clean the dishes tonight after dinner.”
“But it’s Leo’s week!” Mikey said indignantly. “I’m next week!”
“You will help me as punishment for attempting to cook without me.” Splinter said. “It is very dangerous, Michelangelo.”
Mikey pouted but didn’t say anything, knowing from experience if he protested the punishment would be worse.
“Why don’t you two join Raphael in the living room?” Splinter said. “I will come to get you when dinner is ready.”
Michelangelo’s mood shifted dramatically as he jumped off the chair. “Can we watch a movie Sensei?”
“If you can choose one without fighting, yes.” Splinter said, not knowing if he would regret it later.
“Yay!” Mikey ran out of the room, bouncing giddily. Leonardo grabbed the chair Mikey had been using and scooted it back over to the table before sprinting after his brother.
Splinter went to the cupboard Michelangelo had been previously rummaging through and took out a large pot. He looked through the other cupboards, searching for some proper food for a meal. Splinter sighed as he looked over the contents. He would have to go on another supply run for meal products.
Within twenty minutes Splinter had finished cooking a meal of spaghetti and he had set the table for him and his sons. He walked into their living space, calling to his sons who were surprisingly watching a movie quietly.
“Boys.” Splinter called as he approached them. “Dinnertime.”
“Food!” Michelangelo yelled gleefully, as he went to jump up. However, he let out a squawk as Raphael pulled him by the back of the shell down into the couch cushions.
“Race ya Mikey!” Raphael yelled as he jumped off the couch.
“Hey!” Michelangelo cried as he sat up and tumbled off the couch after his older brother. “You cheated!”
As they ran into the kitchen, Leonardo was busy pausing the movie. Splinter looked around the room, surprised to find one of his sons missing.
“Leonardo.” Splinter said. “Where is Donatello?”
Leonardo stood from where he was kneeling by the DVD player. “Donnie’s sleeping.”
“He is?” Splinter asked, surprised.
Leo nodded and pointed over to where the beds were in the far corner of the room. Splinter looked over. Sure enough, the small purple-banded turtle was fast asleep on the top bunk he and Raphael shared.
“Hmm.” Splinter hummed, unsure of what to do. It seemed all the crying had exhausted Donatello.
“Should we wake him up, Master Splinter?” Leonardo asked.
Splinter thought for a few moments. “No, Leonardo. We will let him sleep. We will save some food for him if he wakes up later.”
He rested a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder. “Come. Let us join Raphael and Michelangelo for dinner.”
Dinner was promptly served and finished. Michelangelo helped him with the dishes with only a few complaints about missing the movie. Raphael and Leonardo had gone back into the living room to finish it.
After the dishes were finished, Michelangelo joined his other brothers and Splinter followed him out into the room, sitting in the rocking chair by their makeshift sofa. Splinter was surprised at how well-behaved and quiet they were. They regulated themselves, when one became too loud, he would be shushed and reminded of Donatello sleeping across the room. Their concern for their sleeping brother warmed Splinter’s heart.
After the movie was finished, bedtime was announced and the boys willingly complied. Splinter watched as they climbed into their beds, and wished them good night before heading off the bed himself. He turned the light off as he left the expansive room.
The next morning Splinter woke once again to the death of his Master Yoshi.
He sat in bed, for a few moments, offering some thoughts to his beloved master before pushing himself out of bed. He robed and left the room, pushing back the curtain to his sleeping area to the expansive room used by his sons for sleeping, training, and entertainment.
It was quiet, as it was still early in the morning. He would begin breakfast, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before his sons began waking up.
Splinter enjoyed the silence as he began making the family breakfast. He put a pot on the stove filled with water before rummaging the cupboard for oatmeal. They were out of cereal and milk, meaning all they had was the hot cereal. Splinter hummed. He would have to make a trip to the surface soon.
Just as he predicted, as soon as the meal was about finished, his oldest son came in rubbing his eyes and yawning. Splinter smiled at him as he came to sit at the table.
“Are your brothers still sleeping, Leonardo?” Splinter asked.
Leonardo nodded sleepily.
“I will have to wake them soon.” Splinter said as he grabbed the bowls out of the cupboard and began filling one with food for Leonardo. He grabbed a spoon for the young turtle as well. “Otherwise their breakfast will get cold.”
Splinter set the bowl and spoon in front of Leonardo, with a warning of the oatmeal being hot, before leaving the kitchen to fetch his other sons.
All three of them were lying in their beds fast asleep. Wanting to make things as simple as possible, Splinter went to wake Donatello first before Michelangelo and Raphael. Michelangelo and Raphael were known to make a fuss in the morning if they had to be woken up early.
Splinter carefully shook the purple-banded child and surprisingly his eyes opened immediately. Splinter drew his hand back. “Time to get up Donatello.”
Donatello frowned at him and gave him a small nod.
Satisfied, Splinter turned around and reached up to the other top bunk to shake Michelangelo awake. The young turtle moaned loudly before opening his eyes.
“Sensei?” Michelangelo asked sleepily. “You in my dream too?”
Splinter shook his head with a light laugh. “No Michelangelo. It is time for breakfast.”
“Mmm.” Michelangelo hummed. “I’m hungry.”
“Then you must get up to eat.” Splinter reasoned.
Surprisingly Michlanglo didn’t make a complaint about getting up. Instead, he sat up and pulled his covers back. “Okay, Master Splinter.”
Relieved about the lack of defiance from the youngest, Splinter prepared himself for the monster that was known as Raphael in the morning. As Michelangelo climbed down from bed, Splinter made his way over to the bed under Donatello’s bunk.
He shook Raphael gently like the others. “Raphael, it's time to wake up.”
Raphael groaned loudly, his eyes opening immediately into a glare. He attempted to pull the covers back over his head but Splinter quickly seized them.
"It's time to wake up." Splinter repeated, this time more sternly. "Your brothers are already awake."
Raphael glared at him and crossed his arms.
“I don’t wanna!” Raphael said. “I’m tired. Why are we up so early?”
"So you may eat your breakfast before it gets cold." Splinter explained. "The cereal is out so our breakfast this morning is oatmeal."
“What?” Raphael asked in horror. Cereal and milk was one of his favorite meals. “The cereal's all gone?”
“Yes, my son.” Splinter said.
Raphael's face shifted darkly. “Mikey ate it. I know he did.”
Splinter didn’t counter him. More than likely it was Michelangelo. He had gotten into a bad habit of sneaking into the food when the kitchen was unsupervised. However, Splinter didn’t have the heart to punish him much for it yet. Not long ago, their food supply had been very unpredictable. Only in recent years was their food coming in steadily. If his son was hungry, Splinter didn’t have the heart to tell him not to eat when he knew full well there had been years prior they had missed several meals before finding something edible.
However, Raphael didn’t see it the same way.
It seemed revenge for his cereal privileges was enough to motivate him to get out of bed. Raphael threw the covers back and made a beeline for the kitchen.
“Do not harm your brother Raphael!” Splinter called out in warning as Raphael left the room. He received no answer.
The room was quiet again, but as Splinter stood straighter he noticed one of his sons still hadn’t left his bed. Donatello was still on his bunk, curled into a ball with a frown on his face.
“Donatello?” Splinter said. “Breakfast is ready. You have to come down.”
“I’m not hungry,” Donatello said in a small voice.
Worry fell like a heavy stone in Splinter’s stomach. Was his son ill? He lifted a hand to feel Donatello’s forehead. He didn’t feel warm. Donatello curled into an even tighter ball and Splinter stroked his face gently. “Do you not feel well, my son?”
Donatello shook his head. “My tummy hurts. I don’t think I can train today.”
Suddenly, his second youngest’s behavior made much more sense. He was avoiding having to spar again.
Splinter hummed. Though he was no longer concerned for the physical well-being of Donatello, the worry had only transformed to one over his mental wellbeing. He was so distraught over sparring that he was refusing to eat and making himself feel ill. Splinter had to address it soon before it became a long-term issue.
But for now, he had his three other sons to care for.
"Alright.” Splinter said softly. "You may rest for today."
“Where’s Donnie?” Michelangelo asked as Splinter laid his breakfast in front of him. He swung his legs gently from his seat and picked up his spoon to start eating.
“Your brother will not be joining us for breakfast this morning or your training later.” Splinter said, turning to give Raphael his breakfast as well. His second oldest was slumped over in his seat looking perturbed; he had to wake up earlier than normal to eat. However, his mood shifted a little for the better as Splinter handed him his food.
“Thanks, Sensei.” Raphael dug into his food quickly, seemingly unaffected by the conversation going on. However, Splinter noticed Leonardo stop eating as he listened to the conversation with a frown.
Splinter turned to the blue-banded turtle. “What is it, my son?”
Leonardo fidgeted anxiously in his seat, looking down into his half-finished oatmeal. “Is Donnie okay, Sensei?”
Splinter moved and laid a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder, trying to soothe his anxiety. “Yes, he is okay Leonardo.”
“Is he sick?” Michelangelo asked, sounding more curious than concerned. He bounced in his chair. “We can make him soup. Soup always makes me feel better!”
“Perhaps later for lunch, Michelangelo.” Splinter said, neither confirming nor denying Donatello was ill. “That is very thoughtful of you. I’m sure your brother would appreciate that.”
Ever the one to be easily consoled, Michelangelo dug back into his breakfast. Raphael merely shrugged, not too concerned in the first place. However, Leonardo had put his spoon down and started anxiously wringing his hands, a nervous habit he had actually picked up from Splinter.
“Your brother will be okay, Leonardo.” Splinter assured again, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You must finish your breakfast.”
Leo hesitated for a second then picked up his spoon again. “Yes, Master Splinter.”
With that, breakfast resumed once more.
Their morning training began an hour after breakfast was finished, as usual, giving Splinter time to prepare for their session and his sons some time to digest their food before physical activity. He had learned shortly after starting their ninjutsu lessons that having their training immediately after breakfast wasn’t good for any of them.
Donatello was still in bed. He seemed to have fallen back asleep sometime during breakfast. Splinter was mildly surprised that he remained asleep as his other three sons practiced their katas. Their lessons weren’t quiet in the very least and their space for training was not far from their bunk beds.
Splinter was more concerned for the other three than Donatello at that current moment. Their lesson was not going very well that morning. Raphael had resumed his grumpy attitude immediately after breakfast, testing Splinter’s patience to the very edge. Michelangelo was having what seemed like an even harder time concentrating than usual. Leonardo…
His most committed student was preoccupied, Splinter could tell. More than once, Splinter had to repeat himself for his oldest, and his corrections were more abundant than normal. Leonardo was distracted and seemed oldy sullen and deflated. While Leonardo didn’t have the exuberant energy Michelangelo possessed, he was usually more upbeat and vibrant than the others in the morning. Splinter decided to cut their training short, seeing as he was missing one son and the other three were struggling for the day.
Michelangelo and Raphael seemed happy that they ended practice thirty minutes earlier than usual but the early end to their lesson seemed to sour Leonardo’s mood even more. While his two brothers ran to the TV, talking loudly to each other about what they wanted to watch, Leonardo slunk into the kitchen after Splinter and sat at the table quietly as Splinter prepared a cup of mid-morning tea.
Splinter glanced at his son once in a while as he prepared, noticing Leonardo’s frown that hadn’t really left his face since breakfast.
“Would you like some tea as well, Leonardo?” Splinter asked, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
Leo glanced up at his teacher then nodded. “Okay.”
Splinter hummed and went to the cupboard to grab another teacup. He put the leaves in and poured the water.
“Master Splinter?”
“Yes, my son?”
“Why wasn’t Donnie at practice this morning?” Leo asked.
Splinter frowned. He thought for a moment, coming to set the cup of tea in front of Leonardo. “It...is difficult to explain, Leonardo.”
Leonardo looked to him expectantly, staying quiet in an anticipation of an answer.
Splinter sighed, turning to bring his own cup of tea to the table. “Your brother has been upset because of your sparring time during training.”
“Upset?” Leo pondered. “You mean...he doesn’t like it?”
“No, my son.” Splinter said, picking up his cup from the counter and coming to sit at the table as well. “He does not.”
“Is that why he was crying in the bathroom yesterday, Sensei?” Leo asked quietly.
Splinter nodded. “Yes, Leonardo.”
Leonardo fidgeted, looking down. “I don’t like it when Donnie cries. Or Raph, or Mikey.”
Splinter shook his head. “Neither do I, Leonardo.”
Leonardo went quiet after that, staring into his teacup.
Splinter frowned at the saddened response but before he could ask his son more about his behavior, the sound of someone yawning sleepily from the doorway alerted both of them. Donatello stood in the doorway to the kitchen blinking slowly from sleep.
Donatello walked into the room, rubbing his eyes.
“Good morning, my son.” Splinter greeted. “How are you feeling?”
Donatello hummed as he took a seat opposite Leo. “Fine.”
"Would you like something to eat?" Splinter asked even though lunchtime was quickly approaching.
Donatello shook his head. "I'm okay, Sensei."
Leonardo, who still had yet to drink his tea, eyed the bandaid on Donatello’s knee. He frowned. “Is your knee okay?”
“Hmm?” Donatello looked down at his knee and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just a scratch.”
“That does not mean it does not mean it should not be cared for.” Splinter interrupted. He turned to Donatello. “Have you changed the bandage this morning, Donatello?”
Donatello shook his head. “No, Sensei.”
“I suggest you do it before lunch.” Splinter said. “You don’t want it to become infected, no matter how small of a cut it is.”
Taking care of wounds was something Splinter took seriously. With how dirty the area surrounding their how was and what little they had for treating illness, cleaning wounds before they became infected was essential.
Donatello nodded. “Yes, Sensei.”
Splinter stood, about ready to prepare their lunch for the day. “Now-”
“-It’s my turn! We watched your show yesterday!”
The indignant voice of Michelangelo came in from the other room, and all three of the kitchen occupants turned to listen to the voices rising in their living area.
“No! You just wanna watch that stupidhero show!”
“They’re superheroes, not stupidheroes!”
Leonardo and Donatello transferred their attention to Splinter, looking at him expectantly. Splinter cleared his throat. He needed to break it up before things got physical. “Excuse me. I must go speak with your brothers.”
Splinter sighed as he redirected himself towards the living area. Perhaps one day would be able to get through the day without having to mediate one of his son’s futile arguments.
The rest of the day passed as normal. Since it was Saturday, the boys didn’t have their afternoon academic lessons and so they busied themselves with their activities as Splinter prepared their lessons for the next week. Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo spent the afternoon playing a board game (since TV privileges had been vanquished for the rest of the day). Donatello busied himself in the corner, reading the newest book Splinter had brought back for him before his brothers finally roped him into one of the rounds of the game they were playing.
Dinner came and went, and a game of tag followed shortly after. Splinter smiled as he watched them chase each other around the expansive area as he attempted to tidy up their living space a little. The game quickly escalated into a wrestling match between Raphael and Michelangelo. Leonardo loudly cheered them on while Donatello stood nervously to the side. Of course, Splinter had to cut their fun short when the younger ended up bumping his head on the cement floor when they became too rough. Splinter checked his son's head through his tears and found there to only be a bit of a lump on the back of his head. Splinter declared it a quiet time so they could calm down before bed, and Raphael, Leonardo, and even Michelangelo who had been hurt, loudly voiced their complaints. Donatello quietly accepted their fate, looking a little relieved the roughhousing had stopped.
Donatello and Michelangelo quickly busied themselves with the coloring books in the corner of the room, chatting quietly about what they were drawing. Raphael had found a few of the action figures Michelangelo so loved and was performing a wrestling match between two of them. Leonardo sat on the couch, reading one of his favorite storybooks while he hummed to himself. Splinter, finally satisfied his boys were busy, slipped into his room for some quiet meditation time.
However, it wasn’t long before his meditation was interrupted.
Splinter heard the patter of feet approach his room and opened his eyes to find Leonardo peeking around the curtain Splinter used to separate his room from the main room.
“Yes, Leonardo?” Splinter asked.
“Sensei?” Leonardo said. He shifted nervously. “Can I talk to you?”
“Yes.” Splinter beckoned him forward. “Come my son, sit.”
Leonardo hesitantly entered the room and sat down in front of his father. He looked away with a frown on his face.
“What would you like to speak about, Leonardo?” Splinter asked.
Leonardo looked up at his Sensei with big eyes. They were full of uncertainty and discontent. It wasn’t a look Splinter saw often in his oldest’s eyes.
“I was thinking about earlier,” Leonardo said. “When we were talking about Donnie.”
Splinter nodded. “Yes, Leonardo?”
Leonardo sighed, looking sad. "I don't think I want to spar anymore, Sensei."
Splinter carefully hid his surprise. He expected that statement from Donatello, not his oldest. Up until that moment, it seemed that Leonardo had enjoyed sparring just as much as Raphael and Michelangelo.
“Why is this, Leonardo?” Splinter asked, thoroughly concerned. Having one son that didn’t want to spar was hard enough. “I thought you enjoyed it.”
“I do, it’s fun,” Leo said immediately. “But I don’t think I want to like it anymore.”
“Why do you not want to like it anymore?” Splinter asked.
"Because." Leo was becoming frustrated. He shifted. "Because Donnie got hurt. And it makes him upset."
Splinter nodded, looking his son in the eyes. He stayed quiet, giving Leonardo time to explain himself further. Leo looked away and wrung his hands nervously.
“It-” Leonardo cut off before continuing in a softer voice. “It makes me feel bad that I like it.”
“Just because Donatello does not like sparring, does not mean it is not good for him.” Splinter said. "If we avoided everything that didn’t feel good what would happen, Leonardo?"
Leo was silent. Splinter sighed. "What do I tell you and your brothers about eating vegetables?"
Leo answered hesitantly. "They're good for us, so we need to eat them."
"But Michelangelo does not like vegetables." Splinter said. "Even though your younger brother does not like them, he must eat them because they are good for him and will help him grow."
Leo nodded slowly. "So…sparring is like vegetables?"
"Yes." Splinter confirmed, surprised at how fast Leonardo had caught on to his comparison. “Both are good for you but may not be very pleasant at times.”
“But-” Leo said, frustrated. He shook his head. “It still makes me feel bad.”
“It should not make you upset that Donatello doesn’t like to do something good for him.” Splinter said. “Perhaps, if you offer your brother some encouragement, he may even come to enjoy it.”
Leo was quiet for a few moments before he nodded slowly. “Yes, Master Splinter. That makes sense.”
“That is good.” Splinter said. He shifted, slowly pulling himself up. “Come now, Leonardo. I believe it is time for bed.”
Leonardo nodded and stood as well, following Splinter out into the main room.
Splinter opened his eyes, not to visions of the Shredder or his master’s dying form, but to concrete walls shadowed by the low light coming from behind his curtain. He laid still for a moment and only breathed before centering himself and realizing, yes, it was morning, and no, he hadn’t woken up because of any danger.
It was the first time in seven years he had slept the night through without seeing his master die.
He didn't waste long pondering the meaning of it, despite his desire to. It was time to start the day. Eventually, its meaning would present itself.
The day started much like the one the day before. Splinter walked to the kitchen to cook their breakfast of oatmeal. (He had decided to complete the supply run that night.) Much as the day prior, Leonardo woke first and Splinter had to wake his other sons when their breakfast was ready. This time Splinter didn’t let Donatello’s sad eyes stop him from getting his son out of bed. His son had had enough time to reflect on his predicament concerning his training.
Neither did Donatello ask for another day away from training. He was far too keen to try to attempt getting another day off from his training.
Breakfast came and went and soon it was once again time for his sons’ training.
As usual, they went through their katas first. Then some bag drills and new techniques.
Then the dreaded sparring came.
Splinter had thought ahead about the predicament with Donatello and decided that the most suitable partner for him that day would be Leonardo. Raphael had no patience for Donatello’s hesitance as was seen the few days prior. And he was afraid Michelangelo would become frustrated with Donatello as well or would be too willing to comfort his brother’s hurt. Leonardo had the most patience of the three of them and his commendable control with his movements would be good for Donatello’s hesitance and distress.
He quickly sent Raphael and Michelangelo to the other end of their training area and their match started with enthusiasm. Leonardo frowned when he was told he would be with Donatello. Donatello’s anxiety was etched deeply into his facial features and Splinter could see tears rising in his eyes as he and Leonardo took their positions.
“Hajime!” Splinter said with force as both hesitated to start the match.
Leonardo wasted no time starting after their Sensei’s command. He struck at Donatello with his fist and Donatello quickly brought his arms up, at least defending himself. But as soon as he was hit, his guard fell and he shrunk away from Leonardo.
Leonardo glanced towards Splinter from where he was observing their spar. Splinter nodded at him, keeping his face neutral.
He struck out, again and again, each time Donatello taking the hits without fighting back. It continued so long that Splinter was about to call the match finished when Leonardo struck out with a kick similar to Raphael’s the other day. And like the other day Donatello took the blow roughly, losing his balance. He toppled over without much of an attempt to righten his balance and defend himself.
With an air of defeat, Donatello landed weakly onto the floor. For a moment he sat, eyes wide as he looked toward his older brother. His lower lip trembled.
Then Donatello burst into tears.
Splinter stiffened but didn’t waver under his son’s tears. “Up Donatello. Your match with Leonardo is not finished.”
Donatello shook his head and didn’t move. Leonardo sent a desperate look towards Splinter and Splinter gave him a hard look back. Leonardo turned back to Donatello with a short nod.
“Come on Donnie,” Leo said. “You’re okay. We gotta finish. Sensei says.”
Donatello sobbed louder. He shook his head again. “I don’t want to!”
Leo was taken aback by Donatello’s outburst. He stepped back, unsure. Splinter felt his determination falter slightly, his heart-wrenching at Donatello’s distress.
“It hurts people!” Donnie continued. “Fighting hurts people and that’s bad! I don’t want to be a bad person.”
“You’re not bad,” Leo said.
"But I am if I hurt people,” Don said, looking at the ground.
“Only if you want to hurt them,” Leo said. “We’re...we’re learning how to help each other. We gotta fight if a bad guy wants to hurt us and Sensei’s teaching us how to fight. ”
Splinter watched in amazement as Leonardo stepped forward, his confidence and sureness bouncing back with certainty and trust.
“Come on Donnie,” Leo said. He stuck his hand out between him and Donatello. “We gotta learn so we can protect each other.”
Donatello’s face froze, along with his tears.
“You help me and I’ll help you. We’ll protect each other.” Leonardo said. He stood up straighter, sure of himself. “We’ll learn how together.”
Don sat on the floor for a few moments, staring at the hand offered to him. Tears rolled down his cheeks but no longer fell from his eyes. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand to grip Leo’s. With both of their strength, they got Donatello back on his feet.
Splinter could barely breathe as Donatello wiped his face then obediently followed his brother back into their sparring match. Donatello was still more hesitant than Splinter would like but when he took another hard hit from the oldest, he stayed standing. In fact, for the first time, he counter-attacked the strike with a kick. It was weak and missed the target, but it was something. It was an improvement.
Progress.
And for that Splinter was satisfied.
That night, after an evening of gathering supplies in the world above and his sons, were sleeping fast in their beds, Splinter finally had a moment to reflect on the day's events.
His heart was warm knowing that Donatello had finally accepted and was moving forward in their training. All of his sons were now sparring, now fully implementing the basics they had learned during their classes. It was a monumental step in Splinter’s confidence that they would one day be able to protect themselves. He knew he wouldn’t always be there to do it for them. He had learned that harsh lesson rather suddenly when his own master was taken from him.
Master Yoshi.
His thoughts drifted to his days with his Sensei. The moves he had mimicked as a common rat held much more meaning now, especially since he had sons of his own. They meant protection, hope, and safety. Now, his sons were learning those movements, and, suddenly, his sons’ futures seemed so much brighter than they had been.
A part of him knew he didn’t have to worry so much anymore. His sons were learning and would continue until they no longer needed their master, for they would be masters themselves. One day, they would surpass him and, rather than feeling intimidated by the idea, Splinter only wished for it to come sooner rather than later. He longed for the day one of his students would finally beat him at his own game. Only then would he rest in peace.
Splinter smiled. “Domo arigato gozaimasu, Yoshi-Sensei.”
Splinter's ears twitched at the sounds of yelling coming from outside his room.
His hearing wasn’t what it had once been but he heard his son's voices from wherever he was in their new home.
They weren't the voices he had once known in their youth. Their voices, along with the rest of their being, had aged physically through natural processes and emotionally through hardships they had been forced to endure since the rise of Shredder. They were young men now.
Still, the father in Splinter couldn’t help wondering what was happening. He strained his ears to make out their words and which of his sons were fighting.
“Oh, come on Leo! That wasn’t fair. You know that was dirty.”
“‘The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.’ Right, Donnie?”
Leonardo and Donatello. Splinter’s ears twitched at the sound of raised voices of two of his sons. They weren’t angry, not really. Still, he wondered what they were doing. He pushed himself up slowly with his creaking joints, grabbing his walking stick resting by the doorway. He pushed the shoji doors open to the expansive area of their home, getting a view of the area they used to train.
Leonardo stood at the edge of the area used as their dojo. Donatello was only about a foot away, sitting on the ground. A skateboard suspiciously sat in the far end of the room, outside the mats laid down on the floor. Donatello groaned.
“Do not quote Sun Tzu at me,” Donatello responded with exasperation.
Splinter slowly made his way down to the training area. “Boys?”
Both boys turned their attention to their Master. Donatello sent a small wave to him.
“Hey Sensei.” Donnie greeted from his seat on the floor. Leonardo was more formal and gave a slight bow to his Sensei in greeting.
“What is going on?” Splinter asked, his voice holding a hint of the tone he often used for his two other, more rambunctious sons.
“Raph and Mikey went out to a movie.” Leo volunteered. “I asked Donnie to spar for a bit.”
Splinter gestured with his walking stick. “What is that doing here?”
His walking stick was pointed directly at the skateboard across the room. Both Leo and Don turned to look at it. Leo shook his head. “Mikey must have left it here Master Splinter.”
“Hmm.” Splinter hummed ominously. Michelangelo knew the rules about bringing things into their training area. He would have some explaining to do later when he returned. “I see.”
“I can talk to him about it, Sensei,” Leo said.
“I could talk to him.” Don volunteered from the floor. He fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. “I think I bruised my tailbone from tripping over that thing.”
“That was your own fault, Donnie,” Leo said, with a hint of amusement in his tone. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”
Don pouted. "That's rather harsh."
Splinter hummed, glancing from Donatello to the skateboard. “I believe Leonardo’s observation is correct.”
Don groaned. “Not you too, Sensei.”
Splinter smiled with amusement. He turned to take his leave.
“Do not be overly concerned, Donatello.” Splinter said. “Perhaps it shall be the focus of your next individual lesson. For now, you may continue with Leonardo.”
Splinter turned to make his leave towards the kitchen. A cup of tea sounded wonderful at the moment and the groans that sounded behind him made the moment so much better. The smile on his face widened, without his son’s notice. He listened absently to his sons as he made his way to their kitchen.
“Wanna keep going Don?”
“I don’t know Leo. I don’t think my gluteus maximus can withstand any more trauma, nor my pride for that matter.”
“Come on Donnie! One more round?”
A sigh, that was too light to be exasperation. “Fine. Only this time, please warn me if any of Mikey’s toys get in my way again?”
A laugh. “Deal.”
Splinter shook his head. Yes, a cup of green tea would be just fine...