High-Strung
:::
By: Akiko, Keeper of Sheep
::::::::::
Splinter picked his way carefully through the dank sewers, balancing his find in is arms with expert skill.
It was surprising, really, what some people threw away. He had found blankets, soaps, plywood, nails, even a pair of rusty oil lamps. Two weeks ago, while digging through the dumpster behind the local supermarket, he had stumbled across a large box containing many smaller boxes of macaroni and cheese. The boxes had been dented, and he had no way of obtaining fresh milk, but it was palatable enough for four hungry two-year-olds.
He supposed, if he truly had to, he could resort to theft to feed his sons, but what sort of example would that set? Better to teach them thrift and creativity than raise four felons. No, he would only do so in the most dire of circumstances, and if he was forced to steal for them, he would never tell them.
He was only a few feet away from their makeshift home when the screams began, startling him out of his contemplative mood and making his heart pound in his ears.
His children were in danger!
Dropping the box he carried, Splinter raced to their hideaway, bursting through the door he'd cobbled together once the turtles had begun walking and skidding to a halt just in time to save himself.
His first thought was that a mutant spider had broken in and woven its web in his home. Then, looking closer, it dawned on him that even mutant spiders didn't weave webs out of green needlepoint thread.
It was everywhere. Whoever got hold of his sewing kit must have climbed over every bit of furniture twice, scooted under their rickety table, looping multicolored twine over every protruding pipe and loose screw. It was twisted around chair legs, woven through railings, and wound about three very frightened toddlers, who had not expected to wake up bound to their cots.
Wait...three?
As if on cue, a curious face peeked up at him from behind the couch, blue eyes filled with a mixture of mischief and regret. Splinter folded his hands into his kimono sleeves, staring down at his youngest son severely.
"Michaelangelo. Come here."
Slowly, the little turtle toddled over to him, shimmying underneath the low-hanging thread with surprising skill for one so young. When he'd reached Splinter, the rat lifted him up and set him down in the sink.
"Baf?"
"No, my son," replied Splinter wearily, reminding himself to be cross with the little monster with the face of an angel. A mutant angel, to be sure, but an angel nonetheless. "You must stay here while I rescue your brothers from your trap."
"Noooo," Michaelangelo wailed, pouting and slapping his hands on the edge of the sink. "Baf! Baf!"
"You will have a bath later, Michaelangelo," the weary father promised as he stepped lightly through the labyrinth. To the prankster's older brothers he called, "Do not worry, little ones. I am coming."
As their heart-wrenching cries died into piteous sniffles and whimpers, Splinter knelt beside them and inspected their bindings. He had need of the thread, and was loathe to simply cut through it, but he worried that his children would be hurt if he didn't free them soon.
Leonardo's lower lip trembled as he clutched his ratty, stained sock monkey. He regarded their father with wide, fearful eyes, wriggling as he tried to free his feet. It seemed as though Michaelangelo had wrapped his brother's ankles, tethering him to the cot with two spools of yellow thread. Lifting the mewling child into a sitting position, Splinter worked his fingers between the cot frame and the thread slowly, loosening it as best he could until Leonardo could tug his legs through. Motioning for him to stay where he was, Splinter repeated the process on Raphael, who had been tied to his cot about the waist. He then lifted him from the rumpled bedding and set him down next to his twin.
Turning to regard Donatello, he was startled to see the tiny child free of thread, blinking up at him, intelligent eyes dry of tears and face set in an indignant pout. He had been tied at the shoulders, but now the lengths of thread hung limply from the bedframe, uncut.
"Donatello," Splinter began, regarding the boy with as much curiosity as there was in Donatello's eyes, "did you free yourself?"
Nodding violently, the middle child nearly hurled himself off his cot in his eagerness to agree. "I hewp," he chirped excitedly, pointing at the threads that had once held him prisoner.
"Yes, you helped," Splinter replied, patting the beaming turtle on the head. Picking him up, he tucked him in next to Leonardo, hearing Michaelangelo giggle as he did.
Perhaps it was experience, but the sound of the youngest turtle giggling set off alarm bells in his head, and he turned around in time to see Michaelangelo balancing precariously on the edge of the sink, arms flung out to the sides as though he were preparing to fly.
With almost unnatural speed, Splinter vaulted through the web his son had created like a professional gymnast, snatching Michaelangelo off the countertop and clutching him tightly to his chest.
"Noooo," the child wailed again, "Mikey da birdy!"
"You are not a birdy, Michaelangelo," Splinter scolded, returning in a much less theatrical way to the corner he'd set aside for his son's beds. "You are not to jump off of things - you will hurt yourself."
As he set the little troublemaker down with his brothers, Splinter was pleased to see him curl up next to Raphael, hugging him tightly and cooing. "Sowwy, Waffie," he sing-songed, and the three older boys all smiled back, tears forgotten.
:::
It took him several hours of untangling, looping, and a few uncomfortable moments of crawling under the table (at which his sons had giggled and rolled around in thier blankets) to get everything back to normal. By then, he'd nearly forgotten the box of treasures he'd dropped on the way home.
After feeding them, bathing them, and reading them a short tale about a diligent tortoise who outsmarted an arrogant hare, he tucked them back into their beds. And if he twisted their sheets down under the cots and knotted them to ensure they were trapped in their little cocoons, who could really blame him?
Having retrieved the box, Splinter set about arranging the surprise, stacking each item neatly at the foot of the receiving child's bed. He'd reached the bottom of the box, the very last item, and held it up contemplatively. Then, with a sigh, he set the rubber ball down with Michaelangelo's gifts and prayed he didn't regret giving it to him.
I wasn't until three days later, kneeling in a growing pool of freezing water, dismantling the kitchen sink to retrieve the ball that he truly regretted it.
"Baf!"
With a sigh, Splinter wrenched the knob controlling the water supply to shut it off. Not taking his eyes off his task, he used his tail to flick a small spray of chilly water at his giggling sons.
Kids.
:::
END
::::::::::
A/N - Why? Why won't Twee!Turtled leave me alone? Oh, that's right, because some sisters that shall not be named (coughPlus2-minus1-brilliancecough...) keep making me want to work on TMNT fics!
Anyway, just a little tidbit, expanding on an event mentioned in Colors. Mikey's just a little hell-raiser, isn't he? Well, at least I know he's in character...
Review, please! It makes me more likely to write more of the same.
Peace!
Akiko