A/N: Written from Splinter's POV. Those who are familiar with the comics will know that Splinter started out training the turtles for one reason and one reason only. So they would avenge the unjust murder of his own Sensei and father. Hamato Yoshi. Yes I am well aware I'm supposed to be focusing on writing something else, but these darned plot bunny's keep popping up and won't leave me alone till I write them. Hope you guys enjoy this, it's a different style entirely to what I usually write. By all means let me know if you like it or if you think it's a total flop LOL.
Mikell, thank you for beta-ing and tweaking where necessary :-D Love you lady.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from TMNT nor do I make any profit from this fic.
As a Sensei, I made a choice. I would guide my children down a path that could have resulted in their destruction. Long ago, when my sons were mere children, I guided them down a path. I trained them to fight, to uphold honour. But it was my own honour that came into question on one fateful day.
Many years ago, I watched my beloved master die at the hands of my most hated enemy. Oroku Saki, aka, the Shredder. He showed my master no mercy and even as my master faced death, he stood tall and uttered these final words.
"He who lives without honour, will die without honour."
Nine words that haunt me now, years later. That day, I made a promise to my master. I would avenge his death. I would find the one responsible and make him pay with his life.
Forced to dwell in the sewers I came across four baby turtles. They were covered in a strange glowing ooze. I took pity on them. They were homeless, alone. I vowed to take care of them. Little did I know that that day would change all of us, forever.
Whatever this ooze was, the next day, it had changed us all. We had grown, changed. Our minds heightened and alert. We could think and feel. Conscious thought and actions became our allies.
On that day, I made a choice. I made a promise to my father, Hamato Yoshi. I would train these four turtles in the art of Ninjitsu. To follow the code of Bushido. To believe in honour, truth and justice. I would train them to track down my father's murderer and avenge him, once and for all.
The hatred that seeps through my veins has not gone and on that day as conscious thought entered my body, that hatred and thirst for revenge was stronger than ever.
I was aging. No longer the young, fit rat I had once been. I needed young bodies. Young minds, eager and alert and I had found them in these four turtles.
So their training began. I worked them hard, night and day. They called me Master Splinter. I was their Sensei.
I cannot recall when it happened. All I remember is the day everything changed once again.
The young turtle I had called Michelangelo was weeping in his bed. He was afraid, having woken from a nightmare. I went to him and spoke in low tones, trying to soothe his terrified mind.
"Why do we have to fight?" The innocent mind asked me.
I replied, perhaps somewhat guarding the truth. "The outside world cannot accept who and what we are. It is beyond their capabilities to do so. I train you to know how to defend yourselves."
"But why do we need to defend ourselves?"
I sighed deeply, sitting myself down on the young turtle's bed. "If you are ever faced with senseless violence, I wish for you to be able to protect yourself. The others must also learn all that you learn."
"I…don't want to hurt anyone."
I looked down into his innocent eyes. A question forming in my mind. "What did you dream, Michelangelo?"
The wide eyes filled with tears again. "I dreamt of death. I dreamt…you died and left us, alone."
The candid response left me shaken. For it was a similar experience I had endured a mere eight years ago. I had watched a loved one die. I had been left alone.
I reached out to pat the young turtle on his shoulder, unable to stop my hand from shaking. "I too, face such fears. My own Master was taken from me, before we became the creatures we are today. An act of senseless violence that left me alone, wandering the sewers, where I came upon you four."
"Is that why you train us? So we can defend ourselves and each other if we ever face that?"
How could I tell him the truth, when he was looking at me with those wide, questioning eyes? How could I tell him of the hatred in my heart and the real reason I trained them night and day? I opted for a different approach. I remained silent.
The young turtle then went on to shock me to my very core. "I will fight. I will make you proud and defend my brothers. I will defend you…Father."
Father. Brothers. This young turtle, who to my mind had always showed the least skill in the art of Ninjitsu. His exited spirit often caused me despair. I was training them to avenge my master's death. Not to show an interest in humanity or the outside world. This young turtle, sitting before me, his wide eyes, full of affection and understanding. Full of love. When had it happened? When had he grown to see us as his equals and friends? When had he begun to see us as his family?
"You…call me Father?" I found myself asking in awe.
"I see them. Out there, when I'm in the sewers. I see young ones, like us, looking to bigger ones, like you. I hear them call each other names, like son, daughter, mother, father. They take care of each other, like you do for us."
Such simple innocent youth. Such wide eyed devotion. Such an intelligent mind and gentle spirit. I looked at him as he laid himself back down, diving deeper under the covers and smiling up at me.
"Good night, Father."
I rose from his bed as he closed his eyes, the sweet smile of innocence still lingered on his face. I turned to leave his room, my hand resting on the doorframe. It was then, my life changed again.
"Good night…my son."
I found myself going to each of their rooms that night, looking upon them. My heart soaring for the first time in years as I realized who they were. They were my children, my sons, my family and I was their father.
Armed with this new information and these strange new feelings, I found myself entering a new and strange place. Fear for their safety. Anger still at the one responsible for taking my Master from me…my…Father.
It was to be years before I faced this man again and during these years, I watched with great pride as my children grew up. As they endured the everyday difficulties that those young ones on the surface world also endured.
They would fight, play, train and eat together. Laughter filled our home. Their eyes would look upon me and be filled with love and respect. Not very often did they call me Father, but in moments of fear, of affection and hope; I would hear them utter the word. I would hear them call to each other, one phrase uniting them always as one.
My brother, my friend. Or to use my sons word 'Bro'.
Then the day came that I made a choice and broke my promise to my Sensei.
A battle had ensued. My son, Leonardo had very nearly been corrupted by the same man who murdered my Father and this renewed my hatred. I explained to all of them what had happened. Michelangelo, I remember looked at me in pain. Remembering the words I had spoken those years ago to him after he had shared a dream that even now, finds me waking in a cold sweat.
They went after the Shredder, but I could not let them face him alone. I…could not lose them too.
I saw the Shredder attack. He was coming for Michelangelo, for my dear son who had been first to show me what family truly meant. The first to call me Father and look upon me with love in his eyes.
No! I could not let this happen. I could not let my avenging spirit take the life of one of my children. I could not. It was not right. It was my fight, not theirs. My thirst for revenge must never cloud their minds or fill their hearts with hate.
I leapt in front of him, being badly hurt in the process, but it was alright. It was…alright. My son was safe. Michelangelo, was safe.
Leonardo took me to a distant spot and bade me rest and wait for them. I saw the same anger and hatred in his eyes that rests deep in my soul to this day. He was vowing to avenge me.
When did this happen? When did I become more than a vengeful spirit? I believe, perhaps even before Michelangelo called me by that name. The force that drove me to his room that night. The same force that led me to break my promise to my father.
Forgive me, Master Yoshi, but I could not let my children avenge you. They are more than that. I make a new vow. A vow to protect my children and honour your life with them.
I am aware I broke my promise, but I must make a choice. You, my dear Father, are already gone. Taken from me too early. But my sons still live and while I will always train them in the art of Ninjitsu. Train them to honour the code of Bushido. I must make a new choice.
I am their Sensei. But more than that, I am and always shall be, their Father first. They are my students, but more than that, they are and always shall be, my children; my sons.