Hello, world! This story was written in commemoration of the TMNT 30th anniversary. I would also like to thank zebralily999 for alerting me to this occasion.
I want to apologize a little for the way it's written. I am aware that it jumps between past and present tense a lot. I know it's not perfect, but it is intentional.
What Came to Be
The baby's shrill wail cuts through the night's silence. From where he lay in his room, Hamato Yoshi's eyes pop open; he takes a moment to stare up blindly at the darkness. But this moment of inactivity only lasts a minute. His daughter cries again, and he gets to his feet so his wife can sleep. In the next room lies Miwa, her fists beating at the air, her face twisted into an indignant expression of infantile agony.
The man sighs and quickly crosses the room, scooping up his daughter with a careful grace and cradling her close. He had been warned that the teething stage would be the worst. In truth, the reality is worse than all of the warnings, but parenthood has imparadised him. He is certain that no matter what challenges being a father could bring, nothing could make him happier.
...
Life is never easy for anyone, regardless of who they are or where they're from. Hamato Yoshi knew this as well as anyone. But he had also seen first-hand the damage of self-pity. There were always those who fancied themselves the victim of a struggle that millions conquered ever single day. But in his life, maybe for the first time, everything felt perfect.
...
Blood and fire. It surrounds everything, invades all of his senses.
Sorrow and pain. It's a difficult mix to be burdened with. His wife's body lies crumpled beside him. His daughter is gone. His home is burning down around him, but he can't bring himself to move.
Life and death. For once, he wishes he stood on the other side of the line.
...
Hamato Yoshi had spent years building his life. It had taken one night to, quite literally, burn it to the ground.
He never would be sure what had brought him to New York City. His English was fluent, but international travel was never something he'd ever considered.
But… that was before.
New York City was bustling and foreign. The perfect place to escape his past.
But some habits were harder to break than others. He had joined a dojo soon after his arrival, unable to fathom giving up all his years of hard work. It was here that he had been given the nickname 'Splinter'. For the most part, he learned, Americans were loud and open. Though somewhat undisciplined, they provided a friendly atmosphere. He was accepted into their little social sphere without too many questions and began going by 'Splinter' all the time. Hamato Yoshi soon became a figment of the past.
But there were things that taking on a new name could not wash away. The nights he spent laying awake, thoughts of his home, wife, and daughter on his mind. His new acquaintances were not blind to his pain, but he never showed them its full extent, and they never could have guessed what had caused it. He chalked it up to loneliness in a foreign country, and they bought it.
One of the men who attended the evening classes ran a pet shop during the day. He suggested, in a very business-like manner, that Splinter purchase an animal companion. Frankly, the idea seemed laughable. Splinter had tried to stay as independent as possible since his voyage to America. It sounded silly, but he wasn't sure he wanted to get close to something again. Not just yet. Plus, he'd never really liked animals.
At the time, he couldn't have pinpointed what made him agree. Later he would call it Fate.
He settled on turtles. At least they were quiet, right? But then it happened.
...
At first, the unknown substance is cold. It chills his blood and turns his veins to ice. But then the sensation shifts into something even more unpleasant. His skin feels as if it is burning off of him, but his throat contracts before he is able to let out a strangled sound. He is vaguely aware of the sound of glass shattering as he hunches in on himself. For one scary moment, he is certain that this is what dying feels like.
...
But he didn't die. He had seen the four turtles get splattered by the odd goo as well, but they had quickly been washed down a manhole opening. Unable to explain his actions, limbs shaking from the pain, Splinter had followed them.
...
"That's not fair! You cheated, Raph!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"It's not my fault you stink at this game!"
"I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Break it up, you two."
"Will you all just be quiet? I'm trying to concentrate!"
Splinter sighs as the raised voices reach his ears. Somehow, the four always manage to reach the peak of their energy levels when he's trying to meditate.
When it first became clear that they had been mutated as well, Splinter had decided that the most responsible thing to do was to keep them hidden in the sewer with himself. He had named them Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo. Or, Leo, Raph, Donnie, and Mikey as they had taken to calling each other.
Splinter gets to his feet. There is no way he will be able to focus with this racket. He had been somewhat dismayed to learn that the turtles matured at the same speed as humans. But now, he decides that four-years-old may just be the perfect age to begin their training. The noise in the other room continues to escalate.
The turtles all snap around when Splinter throws the door open. For that one blissful second, there is silence. And then it begins again.
"Master Splinter!" They call his name in unison only for their order to dissolve into chaos as they all scramble over one another to expose the slights made against them.
"Enough!" Splinter booms, and all their complaints fall away. He has never needed to make long, lengthy speeches to obtain their obedience. Sometimes, just one word is enough.
They all look down and mumble their apologies before, for the first time, their caregiver ushers them into the next room. They glance among each other excitedly, their quarrels forgotten, as their first day of training begins.
...
They never called him 'Dad'. Splinter saw to this very early on. Though he had taken on the job of raising them, the turtles always addressed him by name. Once training began, 'Master Splinter' was sometimes replaced by 'Sensei' even outside of their sessions.
Splinter knew that the reason their distance pleased him was more than just the respect it showed. Deep down, he knew the thought of being close to them frightened him. But he repressed these thoughts.
To his surprise, the first to break this unspoken rule was not Mikey, who was excitable and clingy on his most disciplined days, but Raphael.
...
The young turtle, now five, comes sprinting back into the lair. He's clutching something to his chest, excitedly breathless. The others look up at his entrance before returning to their activities.
Shortly after beginning their martial arts lessons, Splinter had begun to allow them little adventures in the sewers. They never go far, but even the smallest amount of freedom is enthralling enough.
But today is different. Raph is beaming, and the first word out of his mouth is enough to bring all the attention in the room back to him.
"Dad! Look what I found in the sewers! Can we keep him?!"
His brothers all freeze, staring at him. Raphael had been brandishing a small turtle to the others. He realizes his mistake almost as soon as it's out of his mouth, and his face turns as red as his reptilian skin will allow.
"You may."
All four turtles turn to stare at Splinter in surprise, and this time Raphael's smile is sheepish.
"Th-Thank you… Sensei," he stumbles out before hurrying to his room to set up a living space for his new pet.
Splinter doesn't miss it when the other three glance subtly at each other before quietly going back to what they were doing. He didn't acknowledge Raphael's slip-up, but it does raise some questions in his mind.
What do they call him when speaking freely amongst one another? Has he failed to conquer the natural way of things after all?
...
Not long after this, the turtles were given their masks. They weren't for the purpose of identity so much as for tangible evidence of pride in their training. The turtles' differences had been evident for years. This became even more apparent when they began weapon training a few years later.
There was Leonardo, who valued discipline over all else. Raphael, who preferred a more adrenaline-powered, close-up form of combat. Donatello was more calculating; he liked to know the exact outcome of each move before he made them. And then there was Michelangelo. His fighting style was sporadic, unpredictable. In fact, he often benefited from being a little undisciplined.
Their training was going well in more ways than one. They were learning, yes, but it also gave Splinter focus.
...
Splinter doesn't move when he hears his door creak ever so slightly. He's aware of the door being closed again and the soft sound of feet as the oldest turtle approaches.
For years, the turtles have known not to interrupt him when he's meditating. But lately, Leonardo has been joining him.
"I want to be as good as I can," he had answered when Splinter had first asked him what he was doing. He had claimed it was just further practice.
But Splinter doesn't miss the fact that he seems to be inching a little closer each day.
...
There came a point, after all these years, that Splinter had to acknowledge that he was being a little ridiculous. If nothing else, the turtles' actions told him so. Yet he still couldn't shake his almost obsessive need for distance.
...
While the other turtles see sparring as fun, Raphael is more serious. He is the most aggressive, and Leonardo is the only one who seems to care enough to not just let him win.
This is why Splinter watches the two so carefully when it is their turn to spar. Their often conflicting personalities were apt to lead to real fights. Raphael may not have been quite as mature, but it seemed important for him to prove that his is just as dedicated.
So when Raph starts requesting extra training sessions, Splinter doesn't refuse, even if this seems to irk Leonardo.
Their sessions are good for Raphael in one sense. He is certainly improving. But Splinter starts to sense that what Raph is really enjoying so much is the private time they now spend together. Equally, he begins to see Leo's irritation as jealousy. He's unsure which bothers him more.
Splinter begins to cut back on these sessions. His excuse to Raphael is that the red-masked turtle needs to learn the importance of relaxation too. Secretly, he's hoping that having more time to meditate will help to clear his cluttered mind.
Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect. Leo begins to join him more and more, and Splinter starts to feel like no matter what he does, he is choosing one over the other. There seems to be no part of his life that the turtles have left untouched.
...
For the longest time, Splinter wasn't sure how to refer to them. He accepted from the beginning that they were his responsibility, but once they'd been mutated it didn't seem right to call them his pets. For a while, 'charges' seemed accurate, but as they grew older it began to feel too impersonal. Once their training began, he thought 'students' or 'protégés' would work, but even in his head, it just didn't feel right. In the end, he decided not to call them anything at all. Their names or 'the turtles' would have to do.
...
For Splinter, Donatello was the most difficult to categorize. He didn't want to insult the others by calling him the smartest, but if he was being honest, he knew it was accurate.
The purple-masked turtle had an affinity for intelligence-based activities, and Splinter would admit that it came as a surprise when he took so readily to physical fighting.
Of course, he soon figured out that the main motivation was to avoid being surpassed by his brothers in any way. And Donatello is a true perfectionist. Martial arts may not come as naturally to him, but he isn't the type to give up before accomplishing something.
Splinter glances at the 'garage' door before walking past. It's closed, again. Donatello has silently claimed this room, and the other three don't seem to have a problem with this. As close as the four are, Splinter knows these three sometimes have trouble understanding their brother. Donnie's brain seems to function on a different plain, and if the extra privacy will result in fewer conflicts, then Splinter's not complaining.
But it still comes completely out of the blue when Donnie walks up to him one day and proudly presents him with a fully-functioning toaster. The fact that it's unlikely they would be able to acquire edible bread is beside the point. Frankly, Splinter is amazed that the turtle was able to make
anything out of the junk he finds in the sewers. And he tells him so. And he doesn't think Donnie has ever beamed a wider smile in his life.
This praise only serves to give Donnie more of an incentive to spend more and more time locked away in his lab, building as close an imitation as possible to the electronics in the tales Splinter regaled him with.
No one was complaining. In fact, the other turtles seemed to be benefiting from these inventions more as they didn't have to spend the time and energy inventing them.
But Donatello starts to have less patience when things don't go well, and Splinter begins to suspect that these gadgets are being made for attention more than anything else.
...
Everyone has their breaking point. Splinter's came around the turtles' ninth birthday, or, mutation day as they'd taken to calling it.
Coincidentally, the anniversary of the day Hamato Yoshi's family had perished was also coming up. So while the turtles grew more excited and energetic, Splinter gradually became more snappish and withdrawn. Unfortunately, his mood only seemed to affect them during training.
It wasn't often that unauthorized spats would occur during training. The turtles took their lessons very seriously, for the most part. But when real fights did break out, they were always bad, and today was the worst yet.
...
If he were to be totally honest, Splinter would have to admit that he wasn't sure what had caused the fight. That day was the anniversary of Miwa and Tang Shen's deaths. He hadn't really wanted to endure a training session at all, but he knew canceling would raise questions, which was the last thing he wanted. So he paired them off to spar.
In truth, Splinter's attention had been drawn by Donatello's pained shout. He would only piece together what had actually happened later. Donatello had been partnered with Raphael, Leonardo with Michelangelo.
Raphael is more distracted than usual. All four turtles have been affected by Splinter's peculiar behavior, but Raph has never been as good at compartmentalizing. His scattered thoughts are beginning to show through in his sparring.
Donnie is opening surprised when he manages to strike down his brother. He stops immediately, but Raph's reaction, though unprovoked, is blinded by rage. It only takes a second for him to pop back up and nail Donnie with the butt of his sai. Donnie cries out and drops his bo staff, and Raphael's eyes widen as he realizes what he's done.
By the time Splinter looks up, the other pair is already between the two.
"Donnie?" Mikey hovers nervously in front of his brother. The first tears are beginning to well up in Donnie's eyes, and his hands cover a bloody mouth.
"What do you think you're doing, Raphael?!" Leo scolds. Had it been anyone else, Raph may not have reacted, but Leo's superior attitude had always had a talent for irritating him. So instead of backing down, he gets defensive.
"I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"
"An accident?! Look at him!" Leo exclaims, but he is lost in his emotions, too. In his anger, Leo swings out his arms, forgetting that he still holds his katanas.
Though the turtles may have only been eight years old, their weapons were not toys. By the time Splinter gets there, the damage is already done.
...
Donnie would forever be missing a tooth, and the jagged piece sliced out of Raph's shell would never reform. But the injuries were not the most worrisome part of that day. The wounds were not serious. Their bond would heal.
But after tending to the injured, Splinter sharply sent them all away before locking himself in his own room. He knew the turtles more than likely grouped up in one room once he was gone, but he couldn't bring himself to enforce any further punishment.
...
The picture of his human family sits atop the table in his room, out of sight of the lair's other occupants.
The events of that night are always in the back of his mind, but he rarely lets those emotions take over like he does now. So concerned with moving on, he knows now that he never truly allowed himself to mourn. Now he stares at the picture, tears trailing down his cheeks for the wife he lost too soon and the daughter he never got to know.
He's already been sunk in his grief for some time when he hears the door creak tentatively open. He doesn't move.
"…Dad?"
Splinter sighs. It's Michelangelo. He always has found his youngest pupil the most difficult to understand. Energetic and happy-go-lucky, nothing seems to faze him. For Michelangelo, the world seems to be black and white more often than not. So it really shouldn't surprise him when the next words out of his mouth come out sounding so simple.
Splinter doesn't even bother correcting him. Instead, he asks wearily, "Why are you here?"
"Because I love you."
He looks up when he hears the sharp intake of breath. Mikey has ventured a few steps into the room. The other three are crowded in the doorway behind him, wide-eyed. When the youngest turtle sees the state Splinter is in, he hurries over and plops himself down on the rat's lap without waiting for an invitation. He reaches up and gently touches one of his wet cheeks. Tears well up in his own eyes. Mikey always has been able to feel for another without having to know the problem.
"Why are you crying?"
Splinter's sigh is one of resignation. This is the closest he's ever allowed one of them to get, but he doesn't push him away. It's about time he accepts what he has created- a home.
"Come closer, my sons." He gestures to the other three. A shocked look passes amongst them before they quickly obey, looking almost as if they're afraid he'll change his mind.
When the turtles are all gathered around him, Splinter shows them the picture he's kept hidden for so long, tells them the story of Miwa, Tang Shen, and Hamato Yoshi. And how it all came to an end.
When the story's done, all four turtles are still leaning against him in some way. He stares down at the small, awkward huddle they make. He had not thought he was ready to be a father again, but another family grew up around him before he could stop it.
It's not the family he would have imagined for himself so few as ten years ago, but he's surprised to realize that this acceptance has brought a calm to the decade-long storm that's been brewing in his heart.
It's impossible to change what came to be, but he finds he is content.
Review please!
I don't own TMNT.
Originally, this was going to be a lot longer and include the humans in his life (April and Casey) and the discovery of Karai… but I decided to cut it off here and focus more on Splinter's relationship with the turtles. However, for now at least, I'm going to leave this marked as incomplete, because I'm very strongly considering doing that continuation after all and making this into a two-shot.
Well, until then, I hope you enjoyed this!