From high above, thunder crackles. Rain pours relentlessly onto the concrete, the loud yet soothing sound easily carrying over in the lair. This has been the constant sound bothering my eardrums for the past couple hours, and due to the fact the thunderstorm had just now begun, the annoying barrage on my ears was not going to go away anytime soon.
I have never been too fond of rainy days, however my contempt for it multiplied once I moved underground. On days such as these, when nature is especially not showing any mercy, rain always somehow seeps through the ground and makes certain areas of the sewer remain damp with rainwater for days. I have no clue how it happens, since the sewer seems quite secure and closed off apart from those tiny holes in the sewer covers, but it does nonetheless.
I find myself glaring at a rain puddle that had accumulated in the corner of my dark, closet-sized room. Liquid stains are quite difficult to remove from my hardwood floor. Sadly, I do not have access to exceptional cleaning supplies and have to make-do with an old rag and water. Not even soap, though granted, I could stealthily sneak into someone's house and steal their soap, but that is only a last resort. Soap isn't exactly a life necessity anyway, I am much too busy taking care of my children.
My children.
Yes, that's it, I am the father of four wonderful five-year-old sons, who are most likely currently cowering in fear because they had heard the thunder, too scared and afraid to call for their father.
As if on cue, another bolt strikes from the sky, letting out a low rumble. I expect to hear at least one of my sons start crying loudly, but it is still strangely quiet.
I suddenly begin stalking out of my room, out of the Dojo, and into the living area where my sons usually spend time together, playing video games, getting into fights and acquiring injuries practically everyday. As I scan the room, they are nowhere to be seen, and I am left with my self-deprecating thoughts and my slowly deteriorating confidence as a parent.
I mentally smack myself upside the head. How could I be so thoughtless? I completely forgot about them just because it had been so quiet today. Or maybe I just subconsciously tuned out their loud laughs and shouts during my long meditating session. I am very used to doing that.
Worried as all heck, I'm jogging now, towards the bedroom that just so happened to be the closest. Lo and behold, it is Donatello's.
I immediately take in the sight of my smartest son's familiar purple walls, assorted shelves of various books (and even a couple simple gadgets the child had made, which made me very proud), and small pieces of random machinery bits just scattered all over the room. I briefly wonder if Donatello keeps it in his room because he genuinely needs it, because he hardly has any time to clean it, or because he simply does not want to.
Focusing my attention back onto the reason I am here, my gaze freezes on the bed, which is neat and clean with no signs of any turtle-human mutant child ever occupying it.
My breath catches in my throat as I swiftly turn around and make my way to Donatello's newly-founded laboratory. Since he was astonishingly smart for a five-year-old, I decided to give him another room all to himself where he could focus more on learning about science and inventions. His bedroom was much too cramped and it was quite hard to focus in the living room and kitchen. The others, especially Raph and Mikey, were far too loud for his liking and would tease him about reading so much.
Donatello's lab is really spacious, however all the covards are empty and the table has nothing but a couple books I had brought him to help further his reading level. Living in secrecy, I have to be the one to take on the role as not only a father, sensei, and mentor, but as a school teacher. It's really quite difficult, and trying to teach them to read is an absolute nightmare. Donatello's the only one who had perfected the art of reading words in no more than a week. Heck, the others are still learning to this day.
Despite the current blandness of it, Donatello absolutely loved his new lab and would request me to sit with him every single day as he would read through his heavy textbook and regularly ask me the question 'what's this word mean?' as he would look up at me, innocently and curiously. He saw everyday objects as very useful supplies for new inventions, with a twinkle in his eye and an active mind running rampant with creativity.
My happy memory soon fades away when I see that there is no trace of Donatello in his lab either. His textbook is laid across the table, along with a pile of other educational books that he hasn't gotten around to reading yet, and his chair is empty.
Another bolt of thunder.
I panic.
"Donatello!" I yell hoarsely, my voice reverberating throughout the entire lair and probably even the sewer tunnels. If there were any workers down here, they definitely would have a mini heart-attack from someone randomly screaming out the name of a famous renaissance artist.
Nobody answers my call for a second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four sec-
There is a sound. Sounds like a child calling back to me, saying something questioningly, and then I realize it is my child who's asking something. I don't know what he says, but I am already at the source of the sound. My youngest son's room, Michelangelo's.
I hastily open the door, not knowing what to expect, and I am pleasantly surprised and relieved at what I see. Donatello is laying with his little brother on the bed, arms circled around Mikey's waist successfully. Michelangelo's shorter arms don't even make it halfway across Donnie's back, but the smarter brother does not seem to mind. Instead, Donatello's gaze is trained on his father questioningly. Ah, he is the one who called out to me.
"Dada?" he asks again as I shake my head humorously. Despite Donatello being incredibly smart for his age and exceeding beyond any of my expectations, he still cannot pronounce the word 'Daddy' correctly. I cannot help but find that hilarious.
Meanwhile, Michelangelo had not even acknowledged my presence or greeted me. He remained burrowed in Donatello's plastron, and I can tell he is clearly distraught over the scary noises of thunder, even when I can't see his face. After another bolt of thunder strikes and as the dreaded sound vibrates against their ears, Michelangelo lets out a whimper which breaks my heart in two. It seems to break Donnie's heart as well, due to his sudden look of remorse as he squeezes his only younger brother.
I realize that Donatello is just as scared as Michelangelo. I don't know how I know this, since the upset expression on his face could be chalked up to concern for his brother, but it's just a hunch. Father's intuition, I believe it's called. I used to think it was just a myth, but now I'm glad I was wrong for once.
"My sons, are you alright?" I ask, mostly towards Donatello since he's the only one who seems willing to speak to me. Said turtle resumes staring at me with those wide chocolate eyes.
"Yes," comes his feeble reply. I don't believe it, not even for a second. He couldn't have been more unconvincing even if he tried. He then looks down at the tiny bundle in his arms and whispers something that I can just barely make out: "Are you okay too, Mikey?"
Mikey frantically shakes his head, indicating that he was definitely not okay, and Donatello asks me a question using only his eyes.
"A little help?"
He wouldn't have phrased it exactly like that, but I got the general gist of it. I scooped up both of my youngest with a great amount of ease, earning an almost inaudible yelp from Michelangelo as they both stayed clung to each other. I don't think I could ever pull them apart, even if I tried with all my might. However, I think I know exactly what will make them feel better.
"Would you like to see your other brothers?" I ask them, bouncing them both in my arms playfully. I definitely get Michelangelo's attention this time. He's turned his head so he's looking at me, his pleading eyes covered in a glossy sheet of tears as he frantically nods yes, and then proceeds to dig his face into Donatello's chest once more. Said turtle only slowly nods once to my question, in contrast to how many nods his little brother just gave, and promptly lays his head on my arm as if he has no energy left to keep holding it up.
I shift them in my arms to make them more comfortable, chuckling lightly at my sons' unintentional cuteness, and make my way to the next room. It just so happens to be Raph's, and I'm silently praying that Raph is still in his room because I didn't want my two youngest to ask me where their tempermental brother went.
Reaching my hand out to grab the doorknob, I pause when the knob slowly turns on its own. For a second I wonder where I got telekinetic abilities from, until the knob fumbles a bit more and the door creaks open. Raphael is in the doorway with Spike on his shoulder, oblivious to me being there until his gaze comes up to rest on my face. He yelps in surprise
Obviously, he was not expecting to see me standing there in the hallway, holding his two brothers while my hand was still reached out for the doorknob that was no longer there. I let it drop back to my side.
"Oh! Raphael, I was just about to check on you," I explained, crouching down to his height. A smile blossomed on my face, "However, I see you've beaten me to it."
The colour of Raphael's cheeks fade into a shade of red as he has an intense staring contest with the floor. He doesn't want anyone to know the reason he had opened the door was that he was going to check and see if his younger brothers were alright. Seeing as, on the inside, Raphael is incredibly protective and cares deeply for his siblings, I could read his thoughts like a book, even when he desperately tries to hide his feelings from his family.
Raphael takes Spike off his shoulder and clutches him to his chest. I can tell he's hiding something else.
The thunder outside roars to life again, and Raphael begins to shake. Tears slip out of his eyes and he seems incredibly frustrated with himself, desperately trying not to look like a crybaby. I offer my arm out to him.
And that's when his walls crumble down to the ground. He takes it in a heartbeat and lets Spike climb onto my own shoulder before launching his entire body onto my chest. I let out a grunt but otherwise, I don't dare complain. This is the first time he's ever openly expressed the need for someone to hug him. Usually when his brothers show affection, he tells them to cut it out and 'stop being a bonehead', but as I lift him up and rest him on my hip, I am amazed and baffled by his lack of both vocal and physical resistance. Checking on the other two in my other arm, Michelangelo hasn't moved and Donatello is looking towards Leo's room.
Ah. Wonderful idea, my son.
As I take my time on the trip to my eldest son's bedroom, I mentally laugh at what a poor sight I must be to every single parent out there, what with holding three quivering, scared children and attempting to console them all, as well as a small pet tortoise on my shoulder who did not seem bothered at all by the situation. It's definitely tiring, being a father, but it is worth every struggle just to see their brightly beaming smiles at the end of the day.
When I open Leo's door, the very first thing I process is a shivering lump beneath the blanket. His Space Heroes comic book was carelessly tossed onto the floor, completely out of place in Leo's organized and neat room. He must have abandoned it after hearing the first strike of thunder and opted to hide under the covers until it passed.
Raphael immediately jumps out of my hold and runs as fast as his short legs can take him. He peeks his head under Leo's blanket and Leo lets out a muffled girly shriek. The hot-headed turtle then proceeds to crawl under the blanket with his older brother as Leo stops quivering.
Meanwhile, Donatello seems half-asleep and I am ninety-eight-percent sure that Michelangelo is already asleep. I wouldn't dare disrupt their peaceful nap just in case, so I simply deposit them both underneath the blanket with their older brothers.
I step back to witness the blanket change shape due to all the small children moving around underneath it and getting comfortable. High-pitched voices are heard, though they are muffled by the blanket, and I swear I can hear a few giggles.
They all settle down soon enough, and just as I turn to leave-
"Daddy?"
Four little heads poke out of the blanket, all giving me the biggest puppy dog eyes they can muster. Even Donatello and Michelangelo, who I swore was asleep just a minute ago.
"Daddy stay?"
It's physically, mentally, and spiritually impossible for me to say no.
I lay in Leo's bed, silently noting that it is a bit too small for me to fit, as my children all cuddle up to me. Michelangelo lays down across my torso with a content smile on his face, humming in satisfaction, while Donatello hugs my waist and Raphael rests his head on my left shoulder. I have to force myself not to laugh when I notice Spike sleeping on his owner's face, with not a care in the world. My eldest child nestles into my side, my arm draped over him comfortably, as he whispers that one sentence. That one damned sentence which is the key to melting my heart.
"I love you, Daddy."
"Yay! I wuv Daddy too!" Michelangelo practically cheers.
"I love you too Dada!" Donatello pipes up, deciding to contribute to the conversation.
A moment of silence.
"I... I love Daddy too..." Raphael mumbles, another blush spreading across his face. My smartest son snickers but halts in his laughter when Raphael sends him a death glare.
I bring all my sons in close. "Would you like to hear a secret?" I tease, making them giggle. They don't answer with words, but judging from their awaiting expressions, I assume they want to hear what I have to say.
"I love you four so very much," I finally reveal, making them all simultaneously burst into wonderful and adorable laughter.
"That's not a secret!" Donatello says through his giggling, "Who do you love more?
"None," I answer, and they all give me confused looks. "I love you all equally. You've helped me feel happy again through the darkest time of my life."
It was true. After Tang Shen had died and my Dojo had been burned to crisps, I had nothing. Not even a reason to carry on in this cruel world. I had lost count of how many times I contemplated death, how many times I thought about getting a rope, and how many times I wished I had burned with that fire, just like Shen. The only reason I never went through with my suicidal thoughts was because I had four babies to care for and protect. They introduced happiness into my life once more.
I promptly deliver kisses to my precious childrens' foreheads, which makes Raph grumble even more under his breath, as I wish them goodnight.
Yes, being a father is very tiring, but it's worth every second.
~Ten Years Later~
The ground is cold. Wind gently strokes my body, making me shiver even more, as my hands rest on my knees and my head is dropped low, my mask tails falling over my shoulder. My eyes dare to open once more, trying to look at the stone in front of me without crying out in pure anger and sadness.
We worked with what we could to make the tomb as nice as possible. My youngest brother has a knack for artwork, so he had been the one to grab the biggest rock he could find and sculpt it into a loving monument. The Hamato clan logo as well as the Hamato English and Japanese name was engraved into the stone, a small statue of their father on top of it all. It's nicely made and all, but it's painful to look at.
It hurts to think about him.
Just then, I hear Mr. O'Neil's van come to a stop, the whirring noise going away. How did I not hear that before?
The sound of my brothers conversing rang out, though heaven knows what in the world they're talking about. One of the doors open with a pop and a creak, and someone steps out. Footsteps are striding towards me, but I don't bother seeing who it is, because the second he opens his mouth, I already know.
"Leo, what are you doing here at night? You took the Shell Raiser-" It's Donnie who speaks in an exasperated tone, until he suddenly pauses mid-sentence. Curiosity piqued, I finally look up, and he's staring at the grave solemnly. He must've not been able to see what I was doing through all the darkness until he got closer. I feel guilty for roping him into my sorrow, now.
"You miss him too," he says quietly. It sounds like it could be a question, but there's nothing in his tone indicating so.
I can't bear to look at his heartbreaking doe-eyed face anymore, so my gaze drops back to my father's tomb, until I realize that I can't bear to look at that either. It holds too many painful memories, I just don't know what to do anymore.
I shut my eyes tight. Hearing the sound of soft footsteps on grass getting louder until they come to a blunt stop, I realize that my genius brother is now sitting next to me. When I look over to him, his face is now emotionless, though I can see the ghost of a deep frown coming on. I rest my hand on his shoulder and apparently, he was not expecting that. His body gives a slight jump, his expression one of surprise before melting back into one of sadness and longing. And he's looking at me like that, for some ungodly reason.
He wants comfort, I realize, and I try to rack my brain for something, anything that will make him feel better about this.
There's nothing. So I wrap him in a hug instead as his body relaxes just a tad. I've always been responsible for looking out for my brothers, but Splinter was always there to guide us, train us, and give words of wisdom. I'm not nearly as strong, wise, or skilled as Splinter. How would I be a suitable replacement?
Replacement. The word sounds vicious in my head and I regret it instantaneously. No, I couldn't be a suitable replacement, nobody could. Nobody could replace Splinter, their loving, caring sensei and father.
"We should go," Donnie says, breaking from the hug. My legs feel like jelly once I try to stand up and Donnie catches me before I could stumble some more, helping me up on my feet and escorting me to the Shell Raiser. I steal a glance at Raph in the van and he shoots me a knowing look.
He saw the whole thing, I realize, as both vehicles drive off into the night.
I notice a dampen in Raph's mood once we get home. I don't know for sure what he's thinking, but an inkling in my head tells me he's thinking about Splinter. So, naturally, I approach him.
Just as I am about to speak, he cuts me off rudely.
"You should've brought us with you," Raph speaks lowly, and what he says isn't nearly as rude as I originally thought it would be. Why would he want to come with me? All I did was drive all the way to April's farmhouse just to sit in front of a rock and wallow in my misery. I'm pathetic.
"Sorry-" my voice croaks out due to not using it for a while. I use a fist to pat my chest twice, clearing my throat, before repeating my apology. It comes out much smoother this time, "Sorry."
The weird look Raph is giving me makes me feel awkward and self-conscious about my social skills today. I stand there like an idiot, not knowing what else to say or how to react, until my immediate younger brother wraps me in a one-armed hug.
"You'll be okay, Fearless."
I believe him.
Morning comes. From high above, the sun shines brightly.
~A/N~
Happy Father's Day!
Just a side note, the '10 years later' bit takes place about a week after Splinter's untimely death.