Knit one, purl two.
Splinter taught him this as a punishment. It was supposed to stead Raphael's angry finger. It was supposed to make him sit still. Mikey had the same problem with sitting still, but his energy was different. His was boundless in the way that he just wanted to run ahead of every one. As the littlest brother, he always wanted to see something first, because so rarely could he ever be the first in anything. Mikey's energy was because his eyes ached to revel in wonderment, in amazement, in the newness of life first.
Knit one, purl two.
Donatello had a hard time sitting still when they were small, but he never had to learn to knit. Donatello found a very good way very quickly to channel his energy. His fingers, always quick and curious, had discovered that they needed to tinker. It wasn't that Donnie's tinkering always worked out. Rather, there were times when they were young, things had exploded. But, for some reason, Splinter didn't seem to get so angry. He didn't encourage it, per se, but even Splinter seemed to understand that Donnie tinkering was a way for them to make do with the things they had, and even to gain a way to be more secure. And his brother with the broken glasses had figured out a way to protect them all with technology.
Knit one, purl two.
Leonardo hadn't needed a way to channel his energy. He took after Splinter in all the right ways, it seemed. Leonardo was able to turn his energy inside and become introspective. He was able to take that energy and perform just the way he needed to. After just a few rounds of practice, the oldest brother was almost flawless in the way that he moved. It drove Raphael mad in a way.
Knit one, purl two.
Raphael turned his energy inward, too. But instead of becoming introspective or using that energy to try and perfect the movements in the dojo, Raphael processed it into anger. He turned inside himself and let the battle rage on. His hands shook with rage, and his lips moved with bitterness. He couldn't be still, because he couldn't stop the storm that boiled inside of him.
So one day, Sensei had handed him the knitting needles and a ball of bright red yarn. He pointed silently to a chair right next to the pillow he liked to kneel on and read. Raph's mouth worked a few times as he stared from his teacher to the crafting instruments in his hands.
"You can't make me do this! This isn't what guys do!" he protested.
Sensei just quirked a brow and sank himself gracefully down. He looked pointedly at his hot headed son, who threw himself into the chair and slumped down. Sensei took the needles and slowly showed him how to work the stitches.
"Sit up straight and try," he said softly. Splinter learned early on that he yelling and coersion didn't work with this son. A gentle touch was required. Gentle, but firm. Leave no room for arguing. Raph hauled himself upright and began to try.
It was a punishment, sometimes. And other times, when he was alone and had punched himself out, when he had screamed himself out, and he was still angry, he reached for the yarn and the knitting needles. He knitted, pulled out stitches, pulled out whole rows, until he felt the anger slowly seeping from his fingers.
Knit one, purl two.
Sensei was laying curled up on his bed. He was still sore from when the lair exploded, from the Shredder's beating. He was better, and he would survive. But it had rocked their world to see their beloved teacher be in so much pain.
Raphael inhaled, softly. He crept towards Sensei, the long blanket clutched in his hands. He spread it out with a gentle pull of his hands. He lifted the blanket and let it drift over Splinter, watching the waft of air make his fur move.
"Thank you, my son." Splinter murmured.
"You're welcome, Dad." he whispered as he turned and exited the room.