It was dark and cold that night. Splinter wasn't just shaking from the temperature, though, but from his unending fear as well. Depressed and tired and without any hope left, he looked up. There, in front of him, four turtles slept. But there was something odd about these turtles, just as there was something odd and frightening about Splinter. He was a rat. And the turtles were humanoid.
One of the turtles shivered and turned over in his sleep, causing the one next to him to groan but not wake. The shaking turtle was paler than the others, but taller as well. He was lean and, when awake, had imploring brown, curious eyes. He would watch Splinter for hours on end, observative but sometimes was easily distracted. Being as skinny and pale as the turtle was, Splinter feared for its health.
The turtle who had groaned was the darkest green out of all the four. He was stout and his features were well-defined and sharp. Splinter, in his short time with the turtles, had already seen this one develop a personality. He was pushy and temperamental, his bright green eyes ablaze with malice a tot shouldn't have whenever one of the others angered him. He wouldn't cry or scream, just get revenge, and the sooner, the better.
There were two others, and one, slumbering in an odd position, tongue-hanging out, head resting on the shell of his dark green brother. This turtle was spunky and hardly ever ran out of energy, and Splinter feared one day he'd totter away and get lost. So he kept his watch on this one. The youngster was between pale and grass-green in skin color, and for a reason Splinter couldn't figure out, had freckles. His blue eyes were wide at all times when awake, his expression always happy and carefree.
The last of the group was a small turtle that looked ordinary compared to his brothers. He was brave, as Splinter had already noticed, and would often try to climb to high places. Also, the last turtle had gray eyes that were ever watching, windows to a curious soul. He could crawl and already took to making sure the freckled turtle didn't wander away; he was responsible. And his playful impersonations of his brothers and Splinter himself always made the rat chuckle.
At least they didn't know how difficult life was going to be for them yet, and Splinter decided to keep it that way as long as he could, even though he knew not how long they could last, going on like this. Chances of survival were slim.
When the pale turtle began to shiver again, Splinter panicked. There were no supplies around here, no food, no blankets, no water, no nothing. Just a plain, gross, sewer. But yet, that was the only place where they were safe.
Splinter gently rubbed the heads of each of the turtles in turn. "I'll be back. Just going to get some things."
When Splinter reached the last turtle, just before he patted it on the head, the creature awoke and grasped Splinter's hand, giggling. He was surprised. This turtle had great reflexes, and he added that to his mental notes about these curious new things.
Splinter waited for a moment. Maybe this turtle would do another imitation of him again, he could use something to smile about.
After he stopped giggling, the small turtle tugged himself into a sitting position, using the hand of Splinter he was still grasping for support. After that, the creature immediately set his inquisitive eyes on Splinter, observing, making mental notes. Splinter was kneeling on his knees, so the turtle did that as well. Stroking his head as he watched the turtle, the terrapin imitated that, too. Splinter smiled, so the little turtle did as well.
"Protect your brothers while I'm gone," Splinter whispered, holding the small hand of the turtle. He spoke it slowly, still unsure about how smart these creatures were. Human smart, or only turtle smart? These turtles seemed a little of both species, but Splinter refused to call them mutants. It sounded harsh, already differentiated them, labeling them. Maybe he should name them, wouldn't that make them feel like they fit in the world more when they got older? If they got older...
Surprisingly, the little turtle nodded, agreeing to protect the three others while Splinter was gone. "Good boy." Splinter stood and walked down the tunnels of the sewer, leaving the turtle sitting alone, watching him go. Then, Splinter waved, and the terrapin waved back. After that, the creature was gone from view as Splinter walked away.
There was an odd collection of junk in the tunnels Splinter was disgusted to touch, but he was desperate enough. He even risked a small journey to the surface, where he hadn't been for three days, when had fled to the sewers with the four turtles in his arms. He found food, a small supply but enough to last a few days, ragged but large blankets, and even a few toys and torn, tattered books.
Walking back to the Lair, as Splinter liked to call the haven he'd made in the sewers, he came close enough to see shadows playing against the wall from around the turn. Apparently, the other turtles had woken and were moving around.
When he walked into the room, all the activity stopped. The freckled turtle, who'd been crawling toward the exit, stopped mid-step. The plain, responsible turtle stopped chasing the latter and smiled at Splinter. The hot-headed turtle stopped poking his pale brother and stared.
Splinter walked to the center of the room and sat down, the terrapins following. They watched as he assembled himself in a meditation position, and the responsible turtle imitated it, doing a good job until he keeled over backwards with a yelp. He became stuck on his shell, limbs flailing like those turtles from cartoons. His brothers kindly helped him up, and Splinter smiled proudly.
Once things were back to normal, or as normal as they'd ever be, Splinter brought out the supplies he'd collected. He handed a red blanket to the hot-headed terrapin, a purple to the pale, an orange to the freckled one, and a blue one to the responsible. Each of them ran the fabric through their fingers, amazed at the softness, even if it was ragged and dirty.
After that, Splinter brought out the toys, or whatever he had come by that had potential as a toy. A long stick, lean, and strong, was quickly claimed by the pale turtle, as well as a cracked magnifying glass. The hot-headed turtle pushed the freckled from a plastic ninja star and a toy motorcycle and cheered with delight at his new play things. The freckled turtle sighed and picked up a chain and swung it above his head, and then grasped a skateboard. The responsible turtle, who'd let the others pick first, finally took an old action figure that was missing a leg and covered in dirt as well a plastic sword. The action figure had a sticker on the back that read: "Captain Ryan, defender of the galaxy! Watch Space Heroes on TV, premiering June, 1987."
Splinter was glad to see the turtles enjoy the toys. He was amazed that turtles could know how to use a magnifying glass, throw ninja stars, swing swords (however clumsily), and figure out a skateboard. Maybe they were smarter than the average terrapin after all.
Tired from his journey, Splinter sat down on the floor and began to one of the two books he'd found: "Famous Renaissance Artists". It wasn't particularly a subject of his interest, but he made do.
After a moment, the pale turtle crawled over to him, grunting with the effort, and using the stick he'd taken for support, like a cane. Splinter saw the turtle and his happy mood was punctured. Would this turtle live, at least as long as the others? Maybe the mutation had been hard on this one.
Splinter looked down at the book and the turtle did as well. He almost seemed to be reading the words, or at least figuring what they were. On the page to the right, a large portrait of the artist Donatello (his full name was Donato di Niccolo di Betto Bardi), took up most of the page. The man looked weary and troubled, and that reminded Splinter of the turtle beside him.
The responsible one was inching around the room, zooming his action figure through the air like it was a toy space ship instead of a person, his sword held in a tight fist in the hand touching the floor. All the while, the turtle kept a good eye on the freckled turtle. This turtle, in his observative and curious ways, almost reminded Splinter of Leonardo da Vinci, having read about the man minutes before.
The freckled terrapin was skating around the room, well, almost. He kept his right leg and arm on the board, pushing the ground with his other limbs to move forward on the skateboard. He still held the chain, and swung it above his head whenever he got the chance. This turtle was creative and resourceful, and resembled Michelangelo in that way.
Finally, Splinter's eyes rested on the hot-headed turtle, who'd been hard to spot, as he was sitting alone in a corner. The terrapin was running his fingers along the tamed sides of the toy ninja star, toy motorcycle by his side. Splinter couldn't put his finger on the reason, but he just thought this turtle, lonely and sharp-featured, resembled Renaissance artist Raphael in those ways.
Beside him, the pale turtle moaned, and Splinter's attention was pulled back to him.
Splinter put on a brave face. "Stand a little taller, be a little prouder," he whispered the sickly turtle with a meaningful smile. He gripped both arms of the terrapin under the shoulders and raised him to his feet. The turtle almost fell, but was caught, and Splinter gave him the stick back, and the turtle used it for balance. Blushing, the turtle looked at the floor, but Splinter pressed his chin up. "You are great. Don't ever forget that...Donatello."
For the second time within the hour, all activity in the room stopped. The others knew that their brother had gotten a title, and soon they were clamoring around Splinter for one to call their own.
The responsible turtle hadn't expected to be picked up by Splinter, but he was, and was held gently. Below him, his brothers laughed and the responsible turtle stuck his tongue out at him.
Splinter chuckled. "My little Leonardo." The turtle looked back at Splinter in surprise and soon realized he'd been named and beamed with delight. No longer was he just the 'responsible one', the one with no unique qualities, like freckles, smarts, or attitude.
Leonardo was set down, and then Splinter took the hot-headed turtle and the freckled one into his arms. "Raphael," he said, proudly eyeing the tempered. "Michelangelo," he said to the freckled. Michelangelo clapped and Raphael grinned, probably for the first time.
Once Michelangelo and Raphael were sat down, Leonardo stood up. He didn't crawl, but actually stood. He stumbled and fell against Splinter's legs. "Leonardo," the terrapin said, in a voice full of joy and innocence. He giggled, enjoying his new name.
Splinter smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
A couple hours later, Splinter was picking up the toys left out from the turtles' playtime. He had a hard time getting them to sleep, especially Donatello, who was stubbornly determined to find out what the squiggly lines in the books were. But eventually he dozed off and Splinter brought him his blanket-the purple one.
Michelangelo had thrown a tantrum when Leonardo almost got the orange blanket, so Splinter had to make sure that Leonardo got the blue one and Michelangelo had the orange. Raphael didn't seem to care about his blanket's color, but it was red.
Once the four brothers were asleep, all in a row, Splinter watched them for a few minutes, his pride swelling.
"Prepare yourselves, my sons, for the life that lies ahead of you will not be soft. There are perils you do not deserve, but you'll be ready when they come. I promise. Our journeys just begun."
