Merry Christmas!

This is my Stealthy Stories Secret Santa fic for Stoic Harlequin, and they wrote me a very good fic for Secret Santa.

It was a simple question, really. He should have seen it coming. It was everywhere this time of year- on posters, on their portable television with the mediocre resolution, in the air above them... This time of year was inescapable, even for the sewer-dwelling mutants, for they had to go up for air sooner or later. Hints of Christmas entered the storm drains- discount offers for presents sticking to the soles of their feet as they travelled, or invitations to see Santa floating in the sewer water while they fished for resources.

Nothing compared to what was above.

The word 'Christmas' buzzed, mingling with ever present laughter before rocketing to another excited family. It was a celebration for the humans but a punishment to the mutants. Splinter's sons were exposed to what they could have had if they had only been born as humans. They saw the pictures of happy families painted by the media- arms laden with gifts, accompanied by glorious grins with twinkling eyes. Then there were the real families that went shopping and came out of stores with gifts, and Splinter always noticed how his sons would pause to watch whilst scavenging. They made do with what they had, and tried not to complain, but the brave masks his sons wore occasionally slipped. Being stoic was hard when the festivities were shoved into their faces so frequently, and Splinter felt sad that his sons had to have grown up so quickly.

It must have been soon after they moved into their second home, and they must have experienced Christmas before, when Michelangelo tugged on his father's sleeve. Splinter, who had been reading a book, looked at his son with equal concentration.

"Yes, my son?"

"Why doesn't Santa give us presents?"

It was so innocent. Mikey stared wide-eyed, waiting for an answer. Him and his brothers had studied Christmas as much as they could and the holiday, promising toys, appealed to them greatly.

Splinter thought briefly. "He must not know where we live."

Mikey's forehead crinkled. "I thought he knew where everyone lived? He has a list of everyone in the whole wide world in the North Pole."

"You are right." Mikey looked pleased at being told he was right. Splinter played with his beard. "We do not have a chimney. Perhaps that is why he doesn't come here."

"Can we get a chimney?"

Splinter chuckled. "No, my son. I am afraid not."

Mikey's face drooped. Before Splinter could think of a way to cheer him up, the young turtle jumped and clapped his hands. "What if I write to Santa and tell him that we can't have a chimney and if he could try and give us presents?"

"That sounds like a good idea," said Splinter, and Mikey rushed off before he could say anything more.

TMNTNMT

Splinter had allowed Mikey to use some clean paper and the special blue pen they had found at the end of summer. Even if Mikey hadn't shouted that he was composing a letter to Santa, the fact that it was something important enough to warrant the use of untouched paper, rarely used outside writing lessons, and the special blue pen was enough to capture the other turtles' curiosity.

The four turtles lay on their stomachs, Mikey gripping the pen with Donatello and Raphael either side of him. Leonardo situated himself opposite, feeling rather grownup.

"How do you start a letter to Santa?" asked Mikey, tapping the pen against his chin like people did on television before inspiration struck. He did it with the writing end and it left three blue lines on his face. Mikey lowered the pen to the paper but nothing entered his mind. He froze, thinking.

"'To Santa'," replied Raph, snatching the pen when Mikey started to tap it against the hard floor. Don had watched in amusement at how Raph's eye twitched in time with the tune Mikey made with the pen. "Like every letter. DUH."

Mikey reached out and grabbed it back before scribbling. When the two words had been written, he looked up, bit his lip, and looked down again. Mikey leaned forward as his fist worked, tongue slipping out. "We... live... live... How do you spell sewer?"

"S-E-W-E-R," said Don automatically.

"I thought we aren't supposed to tell anyone where we live," remarked Leo. "That's what Sensei says."

"This is Santa!" Raph pointed out. "He's not a human. He's a... uh..."

"He's Santa," finished Don. "He won't mind what we are as long as we've been good. Did you see that show where Scruffy got a brand new collar for Christmas? He's a dog. He can only bark and we can talk like humans."

Mikey nodded. Leo frowned. Mikey smiled and wrote, noting aloud, "I'll tell Santa not to tell anyone where we live." Leo looked slightly better. When Mikey had finished, he scratched his head. "What now?"

"We say what we want!" Raph said. "I want a gun." He mimed shooting Don, who didn't look impressed. "Pow!"

"Guns are for bad people so he'd just get you coal," said Leo.

Mikey liked this and started to write it down. "Raphie... wants..."

"NO!" Raph grabbed Mikey's wrist. He released it. "Tell... Santa I want something to hit that doesn't get hurt. That ain't bad 'cause no one is getting hurt, right?"

Leo nodded and with his approved, Mikey wrote it down. "What about you, Donnie?"

Don furrowed his brow. "I want a stethoscope."

The others looked at him. Don rolled his eyes.

"You wear it in your ears and the tube on it has a piece at the end and you can hear people's hearts beating. The doctors on TV wear them and they're really smart."

Mikey wrote it down. "And Leo?"

Leo stuck up his chin. "I just want our family to be happy for a year until I can ask for it again."

A pause.

"And maybe a book. Santa can choose what he thinks is best."

Leo liked books with less pictures and more words. Mikey scrunched up his face and wrote it down.

"What do you want?" asked Don.

"I'm asking for a cat," said Mikey. "I want a cat. Even more than Jessy because she wanted a dog at the end of the story but I will always want a cat."

Mikey wrote it down.

"Make sure to say please," said Don.

"Lots of times!" added Leo.

"And tell him that the time I told you to sit on that plank like a boat so you could go to the sea and sing with the fishes like in the film with the mermaid that Don loves, I really wanted you to be happy and thought that it would happen really," said Raph. "I don't want Santa thinking I'm bad because Splinter told me off when I hadn't meant to be bad so it's not fair."

"I don't love Ariel!" said Don indignantly. "Sensei said to stop saying that. Besides, at least I'm not scared of harlequins."

Raph didn't say anything.

"From... Mikey... Leo... Donnie... and Raphie." Mikey dotted the 'i's enthusiastically and scribbled his signature above it like the men in suits did on television. "You have to scribble now!"

The brothers took it in turn to scribble and Mikey held up the letter. He turned his head to where Splinter was watching with a smile.

"Sensei, can you give this to Santa?"

Master Splinter nodded and Mikey pressed the letter into his hands. He looked down at the ineligible scribbles. Occasionally, he could pick out a letter or two, but Mikey still added too many curves to his 's's and whenever he got near the end of the piece of paper, he wrote his letters so closely that they overlapped.

"Will he be able to read it?" asked Don, who in hindsight would have been a better candidate to write it than Mikey. In fact, he probably would have if Mikey hadn't been so stubborn and nearly cried.

"Santa reads in many languages, and he is particularly good at reading the language of children." Splinter tucked the letter into the inside of his robe. It didn't have any pockets but there was a rip in its interior, and some crude stitching had made a decent pocket.

"Will it get there in time?" asked Leo.

"I will deliver it tonight," Splinter promised. "It will certainly get there in time for Christmas."

The next week consisted of waiting. A lot of waiting. And asking questions. The turtles had never sent Santa a letter before and their young, curious minds were highly demanding.

"Are you sure it'll get there on time?"
"What if it gets lost?"
"Does he know where the sewer is?"
"Who takes it to the North Pole?"
"Do the reindeer have to go into the sewers too? Will they fit?"
"Will Santa know that our branch in the pot is supposed to be our tree?"

Splinter answered them all but it only fed the appetites. Mikey wanted to know whether his cat would go in the sack or ride in the sleigh with Santa. Raph wanted to know how forgiving Santa was. Leo wanted to know whether Santa liked every child even if they weren't like the children he was probably used to. Don wanted to know how long it would take Santa to find them and whether it would impact his schedule heavily.

It was almost pleasant when, finally, Splinter told them to go to sleep so Santa could leave their presents.

"Is he shy?" asked Mikey.

Splinter raised a finger and hushed. "He does not wish for noise. There are a lot of homes he must visit and as much as he would like to chat with you all, he has a lot of presents to deliver."

The turtles lay together on the beaten up sofa in the main room, trying to sleep. They had their own room, but they all wanted to sleep in the main room so they could open their presents as soon as they woke up (also, though they didn't tell Splinter, they wanted to see Santa). It was hard- they wanted to fall asleep, they truly did, but the fact that they would be getting presents that were brand new excited them. They cuddled up under their blanket, listening to silence. Then one of them started to snore quietly, and it knocked the others into unconsciousness like a row of dominoes. The blanket lay across their knees, scrunched up where turtle met turtle, following their every movement.

Leo had always been the lightest sleeper. Something hard hit something soft before shifting, and his eyes opened. He couldn't see much because the candle on the table had nearly gone out, but he recognised the gentle footsteps instantly. Leo froze, trying to keep his breathing in time with his brothers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the intruder reach into its sack and kneel in front of their Christmas branch. Leo couldn't see what the person did afterwards, but the present-giver went into his bedroom once all the presents had been taken out.

TMNTNMT

Leo waited. He waited until they had woken up. Seen the presents. Opened the presents. Punched the bag. Searched for a heartbeat. Read the first chapter. Called the toy cat 'Mikey Junior'. Until Splinter had left to gather some more food. He waited until he was sure that Splinter was gone before kneeling in front of the others, hands on his mouth. Leo felt so grown up then, aware of something his brothers were not. They sat in front of him with their legs crossed, students about to learn something.

Then his hands opened and he said it.

They stared. Don, always the one with the words, was the first to verbally react.

"Sensei left the presents?"

They believed him instantly. Leo rarely lied, and the turtles had noticed Splinter going out by himself a lot but not coming back with as many things as they expected. They had put it down to food being harder to find, but now it clicked.

Leo nodded grimly. "Santa must have never come after all. I saw Sensei come in with a sack and he left the presents there."

'There' no longer existed, as the turtles had snatched up their presents and opened them, but they looked at the corner regardless.

"But... why?" Mikey hugged Mikey Junior tightly. "Santa doesn't care what people look like. Sensei said!"

"I think Santa isn't real," said Don quietly.

The other three gasped. Raph prodded his chest and growled, "Take that back!"

"No. I get it." Don swatted his finger away. "It's a game for Sensei. The adults pretend that Santa is real because it's a game!"

"Hmph, weird game," scoffed Raph.

Leo held up a hand. "No, Donnie's right. Sensei was very happy when we opened our presents." He paused, thinking. "I think, if this game makes him happy, we should pretend to think Santa is real."

And so for many years afterwards, Santa would visit them. The turtles would always open their presents with glee, comparing what they got. And soon 'Santa' started to leave presents for Splinter as well. They wrote 'thank you' letters to Santa for many years afterwards, and Splinter always watched with a smile. It was nice to see that his sons could still enjoy some aspect of childhood.

He cottoned on soon enough that they knew Santa never gave them presents, but no one ever said anything and it remained a tradition that they never discussed.