A Day in the Life of a Single Father Chapter 4: Anniversary, a ninja turtles fanfic

I don't own the TMNT

Special thanks to LittleKy for helping me hammer out the details on this.

One note on this, I am writing this in the Nick series where Splinter was originally a human. Remember that traditional Japanese culture involves not showing emotion, especially men. Since he was also a trained ninja, this would only be exemplified. So please keep that in mind if you think he's being cold!

I'm going through some serious stuff at home right now and writing has always been therapeutic for me so I've been writing a frenzy. As a result, this may be more emotional than originally intended.

Turtle Age: 4

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My eyes opened, staring at the dark vaulted ceiling above me. For a moment I simply lay there, unmoving. The silence seemed to soak into my very soul, not a sound save the slight drip and distant rumblings of subway systems managing to reach my sensitive ears.

I knew without looking at the clock that I had awoken early. It is not as if I did not know why.

Today was the day.

Five years ago today, Oroku Saki once again entered my life, laid waste to my home, slaughtered my family.

When I blinked I could feel the hot tears threatening behind the lids. I sighed. I thought I was over the tears, I had decided long ago that they save nothing. In fact, even during the rare occurrences that they were shed, they were hesitant, I was always holding back. But I never was one to cry.

That was a sign of weakness.

Rolling out of bed, I got to my feet and strode to my dresser, which was really a scavenged desk. A small enclosed shelf sat upon it. Lighting a candle, I opened it, grimacing at the squeal in the hinges. After all, I had not opened it in a while. Within sat the lone picture scavenged from the wreckage of my home, the one tangible sign that this was not all a dream, that this really did happen, that I truly once lived that life.

The images of Tang Shen and our daughter Miwa stared back at me. Their expressions seemed so cold and distant, at least at the moment. I always did hate pictures, I always preferred living my life in the flesh, not constantly behind a cold lense. Was that a wise decision? Now I would never know.

The flickering candle cast an eerie light in the dark shelves. It was so reminiscent of the flames that had engulfed my home, the heat dancing upon my skin as the tongues licked the last remnants of my life…I could almost feel it, smell it. Hear Tang Shen begging me to take care of our daughter as she died, feel the sheer panic as I searched the wreckage, not finding her tiny form. I had lost her forever. I had failed them both.

My sons, my current family, knew almost nothing about them. It was easier to avoid the subject, to not talk about it. Whenever they asked about my past I managed to avoid the question, redirect it. I know I would not be able to do it forever, but for now it was all I knew to do. So I kept the only picture of them locked away behind the doors to my room and the additional doors in the cabinet. I could not look at them on a day to day basis. It was easier to avoid thinking of them altogether. I did not want the constant reminder.

With a grunt I slammed it shut, then stood there, both palms planted on the hard surface, my own body trembling as I struggled to control my own emotions. I fought hard against the lump slowly forming in my throat.

What good would it do? I already knew what happened, nothing could be done about it. Normally, I was able to selfishly push the memory back in my own mind, but once a year, somehow this anniversary forced me to face it. To stare at my loss, at my failure.

Pushing away from it, I tried to sit down and meditate, but my mind continued to return to that scene. When I had lost them all. When they died terribly, and I was unable to defend them, to protect them, to be there for them.

Soon I found myself slumped instead of my usual disciplined position. It was no use.

So I wandered our home, tidying up, quietly cleaning. Anything to keep myself busy, to try to keep from thinking of what plagued my mind, my soul. I felt so much like a shell of myself, it was as if I was a ghost, slowly shifting from place to place. The only thing that seemed real was the intense sorrow that seemed to weigh me down so hard it was a wonder I did not sink into the ground.

The time approached where I normally woke up my sons. My new family since I had lost my old one. In my current mood, I wondered when the time would come when I would lose them as well. Surely it would happen…

I shook myself. I must put myself together, make myself presentable. At least for the sake of my sons. They were all I had left.

Yet as I prepared my cup of tea, I found myself slowly sinking in the chair, watching the usual wake up time come and go. I was numb yet emotionally frayed. Unable to move.

It would not hurt to let them sleep in. Surely they would not think anything odd about that, right? If anything, it gave me a moment longer of peace. Somehow I could sense that, in my own fragility, that I could not take a lot of stress today. Yet even that admission, the situation, seemed incredibly selfish. It only seemed like another blow. I sunk lower in the chair.

Yet after fifteen minutes had passed, Leonardo emerged from his room, chubby fist rubbing his eyes. "Daddy? Is it morning?"

Of course he would be the one to wake up. Why could he not have slept in today? I managed a smile. "Yes, Leonardo. It is."

Brow wrinkling in confusion, he looked around. "Why didn't you wake us up?"

Sorrowful lethargy seeping into my very bones, I gave a half-hearted shrug. I couldn't even muster an answer. How pathetic.

Suddenly his eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. "Father, can I wake them up?"

Sure, what the hell. I nodded.

He clapped his hands together and squealed with delight. Turning on his heel, he quickly disappeared into the room. I made a face, instantly regretting my decision. This was not how a father was supposed to be, lazy, selfishly wallowing in their own sorrow. I tried to urge myself to get over it, but the words seemed empty and did nothing.

Not even able to face it, I got up slowly and stepped away from the table, my back to the chaos that was now ensuing behind me as I heard Raphael yell in anger, Michelangelo squeal and Donatello cry out amidst the chorus of squeaking bedsprings and Leonardo's happy squeals and gigles. Obviously Leonardo saw jumping on them as the best method of waking them up. He could have chosen better…

I gulped down my tea, wincing as it was too hot to swallow. Shuffling my feet slightly, I went to the pot and poured another cup. Ignoring the situation would not help, I knew, for it would soon come to me.

Sure enough tiny feet thundered against the floor as Michelangelo scrambled into view. "DAAAAAAADDD YYYY! Leo JUMPED on me!"

Leonardo appeared next to him, chest puffed out, making a face. "Well, you wouldn't wake up!"

Then Raphael appeared and jumped upon his brother's shell, toppling the surprised turtle to the ground. "DON'T do that AGAIN Leo, or I'll POUND you!" he yelled in his high pitched, young voice.

Leonardo immediately began crying as his brother sat on his shell, smacking his head with an open palm. As soon as the waterworks began he hopped off, as if the sudden distance would erase all guilt. Jabbing a finger at his bawling brother he stared at me. "HE started it!"

All the turtles chorused loud complaints and cries. My head pounded. It was too much. I rapped my staff angrily on the ground. Already, it was happening already. "ENOUGH! Leonardo, that is no way to wake your brothers. As punishment, you must make their breakfast. Raphael, that is not the way to solve your problems. Everyone, SIT!"

I was not in the mood to deal with breakfast anyway. Maybe it would work out. I tried not to look at the fact that I was being lazy, it was easier that way. My body still feeling incredibly heavy, laden with the grief within me, I sat down on the lone armchair that we had. It was in the area I had designated as living quarters. Perhaps it was enough distance away that I may be able to deal with this emotion.

I heard Michelangelo tap the table with a giggle. "Waiter! I want chocolate oatmeal!"

Leonardo grumbled. "We don't have chocolate oatmeal! There IS no such thing as chocolate oatmeal!"

"But I want some!"

Donatello piped in. "Can you make omelets?"

"What about chocolate oatmeal?"

"We have eggs, right?"

Raphael snickered. "No, he needs to make me EVERYTHING in the kitchen, 'cause I'm EXTRA hungry! Go, fetch!"

Once again, bad idea. Not even turning, I yelled from my armchair. "All of you, one bowl of cereal. If I hear any bickering, then you all get nothing, am I clear?"

They all sighed in unison. "Yes Sensei."

Fortunately the rest of breakfast went without major incident, though Raphael did 'accidently' spill his cereal on Leonardo's lap and Michelangelo did 'accidently' try to hit all his brothers' noses with little bits of cereal. Not moving from my chair, not even looking in their direction I warned them to clean up all their mess.

Naturally this resulted in Michelangelo trying to use dish soap on the table, squirting it on it and with his bad aim getting Donatello on his head.

He squealed. "EEEW! It's so slimy!"

Michelangelo giggled. "Aren't turtles supposed to be slimy?"

"That's amphibians you dummy!"

"I'm not a dummy! Take THAT!" He purposefully aimed the soap at his brother and ended up squirting some in his mouth. Both Raphael and Leonardo erupted in screeching laughter.

Gagging, Donatello began to retch and spit on the floor, crying. "DAAAAADDDDY!"

My anger rose sharply and harshly. With the swift, purposeful movements of a predator I got from my chair and stalked over to my quarreling sons. Perhaps my own tumultuous emotion showed on my face, but they all immediately became silent, staring at me with wide eyes. But I was riding an emotional roller coaster right now and I could not stop it.

Grabbing Michelangelo by the arm I turned him and gave him several hard swats on his rump with the palm of my hand. He immediately began crying. My anger sharpened at the sound. "SILENCE!" Eyes wide, he clamped his mouth shut and managed to swallow his other cries, biting his lip to help him do so. Tears poured from his eyes. The air was deathly silent save some slight whimpers. I looked around to see the others with tears brimming in their eyes. They all held their hands over their own bottoms in anticipation. Indeed, in my current mood, I was daring them to try anything else.

I must be quite a sight right now.

Deep shame welled within me on top of everything else. I felt like hiding. What a horrible father I was. They deserved so much better. Blinking, I looked around and sighed. "Clean this up." I said in a soft voice. Swallowing, but not quite managing to get it past the growing lump in my throat, I backed up. The tears threatened but I managed to keep at bay. Turning, not saying a word, I walked back to my chair slowly, stiffly. As if I had just aged considerably.

How would Tang Shen have handled this? I am sure she would have been much better. Even with Miwa, she could always soothe her best.

The four turtles cleaned the mess in such stark silence that I had to turn around to make sure that they were doing what they were supposed to. They were, in fact, industriously cleaning their mess, lips quivering as tear drops trickled down their cheeks.

The lump in my throat became painful and I put a hand on my eyes, hiding in my self imposed blindness. I was so ashamed. How rashly I had acted, I could not believe it. I had allowed my own emotional turmoil to hurt my sons. I should get up, tell them how I had over reacted, but my body would not move. My desire to be alone seemed to weigh within my soul. The battling within me left me so exhausted. It was no use. Nothing was of any use.

Yet still, the tears would not come. They should not come. I was stronger than that.

I had never cried in front of Tang Shen, not even while she died. The tears had come after that. Would she have thought less of me for that, or wished that she could have seen them? Why was I thinking of this? It would not bring her back, it would not bring Miwa back. What would my sons think, of how I had failed to protect them? Would they think that the same fate would befall them? That I would fail them too?

God, would this wretched day never end.

I was not sure how much time had passed, but I started when a small hand touched my thigh. Taking my hand from my eyes, I looked to see Michelangelo standing by my feet. Eyes swollen with tears, he hesitantly tried to crawl into my lap.

But I gently held him back. I could not cuddle right now. I just could not. He bit his trembling lower lip. "I-I-I'm sorry D-Daddy. I'm sorry!" Not looking down, he looked me eye to eye as the tears slowly welled over his lids.

His tone seemed to twist my insides. The guilt and sorrow grew stonger. I gave a slight smile. "It is ok, Michelangelo."

I could sense the others gather around me, mouths still clamped in silence. I felt like shrinking into my robe, or better yet going back to bed, and never getting up. Michelangelo looked at me in a way that seemed deeper than his years. "What's wrong Daddy? Why are you sad?"

He was asking this, after I punished him so harshly? It somehow made me feel so much worse. I touched his cheek. "Nothing, my son." The lie felt bitter on my tongue, but I swallowed it. I had to. Looking at all of them, I gave a weak smile. "I am simply not feeling well. No lessons today, just please try to keep quiet and clean up after yourself."

With small murmurs of "Yes, Sensei" they silently dispersed. Michelangelo lingered, looking at me with dark eyes. After giving him a pointed look, he slowly backed away and headed to his room.

They surprisingly obeyed me, for the most part. Perhaps it was because my mood had penetrated them, for all of their movements were slight, as if they had to stay in their own bubble or else they would burst. They all played on their own. Except for the sounds of their play they were eerily silent, all their movements depressed and slow. I could see them dart their eyes to me every once in a while.

Several times I turned to see Michelangelo staring at me with wide eyes. I would stare back at him. The look in his eyes, he wanted to say something. But my mood was testy. Though I was sad, I was upset, depressed, this seemed to put my temper at a hair trigger. Perhaps he knew this, or at least sensed it. For he didn't approach me, he stayed his distance.

The entire scene, the entire situation weighed even heavier on my mind. Everywhere I looked I could see reminders of myself, of my actions, of my failures. The very depression that enveloped me seemed to steep itself into every inch of my home. It made me feel heavier. My sorrow seemed so deep. Every other thought was of Tang Shen, Miwa and that tragic night, then I would see my sons and the blow was just as deep.

The day dragged on painfully. Lunch was eaten in silence, my son's depressingly muted. My own mood had indeed affected all, and it only made me feel worse. Every once in a while one of them would try and do something deliberately playful, lighthearted. But I could not bring myself to laugh or even smile. It seemed to break down the overall mood even further. Dinner was no better. It had to be the worst day in a very long time. Though we had hardly moved, in fact had been lethargic and sedentary most the day, we were exhausted. When I told them to go to bed, nearly an hour before their regular time, there were no complaints. We dispersed with nearly no word or gesture to each other. It was almost as if we were simply friends or acquaintences instead of family. How much it hurt, I could not even have imagined.

Was it like this in previous years? Surely it had to be similar, but before they were younger. Their reactions had to be different, less defined. Did that mean that next year it would be worse? I did not even want to contemplate it.

Even as I lay down my melancholy got stronger. I was destroying our family with what I was experiencing, what I was allowing myself to do. How could I do this? Everything was dragging so much, would it be better the next day? Perhaps not, this anniversary was worse than any of the others, except perhaps the first.

I just had to go to sleep. Make this day end.

Yet even as I drifted to sleep, the memories continued to plague me. In my dream, I saw Tang Shen die in my arms again and again and again. She screamed, the flames danced in joy, Oroku Saki laughed. Then another dream. I was searching for Miwa. I could hear her crying. But no matter where I searched, where I looked, how hard I dug through the wreckage, I could never find her.

Then I could feel someone…Tang Shen?...holding me. Cradling my head. Stroking my fur, crooning in my ear. I gripped her tiny arms even as she moved me on her small lap…

My eyes opened. Something wasn't right. Then I saw that I was indeed in a lap, my head being cradled in Michelangelo's arms as he gently ran his fingers in my fur.

My first reaction was to get up, scold him and send him to bed. Yet, as I was all day, I simply lay there. Oddly this was comforting, I had never considered…

The lump in my throat was still so painful. It begged release, yet could I do it? No, of course not. I could not do it all these years.

Michelangelo crooned softly, gently rocking me. I found myself clinging to him. "It's alright Daddy. I love you. We all love you so much."

Then it released. I started to weep. At first the tears came out gently, then it came in more racking sobs. The entire time Michelangelo stayed, holding me, cradling me, his grip gently tightening as my cries became more intense. Slowly we shifted, so that I was cradling him to my chest, enveloping him within me, rocking him as I released my sorrow.

He was silent through it all. Simply lying still and allowing him to manipulate as I needed, only moving to coddle me, stroke my fur, snuggle deeper.

I am not sure how long we lay together like that, but at the end of it, when my tears finally ended neither of us said a word. We simply lay there, deriving comfort from each other. I tried to register what had just happened. I had always thought, had been taught, to minimize emotion, to not show it, to do so was weakness. Then why did I feel so much lighter?

Blinking, I looked around the room and was surprised to see the picture on the floor by my bed. Michelangelo must have found it before he came to me. Truly I should be angry. He had not only invaded my room without permission, he went through my personal belongings. But in truth I could find no anger. Instead I simply stared at the picture, almost as if seeing it for the first time. They were my family…

"She's pretty." Michelangleo whispered.

I smiled even as I tucked his head against me with my chin, allowing his face to burrow within the fur of my neck. At any other time, I would avoid the statement as I often did. I never did want to look in on my past, it was too painful. Yet now, without thinking of it, I did not follow my usual path. "Yes, she was."

He snuggled deeper. "She's your wife?"

"Yes."

"Is the baby yours?"

I swallowed. "Yes" I whispered hoarsely.

"Where are they?"

My lip trembled. I should stop. I really should. "They are dead."

"Is that why you're sad?"

I could not answer. Instead I simply nodded. Part of me could not believe I was holding this conversation. Another part…perhaps it was needed more than I had previously thought.

He was silent for a moment. "They still love you, just like we do."

That was not what I expected. Feeling fresh tears start to threaten beneath my lids, I moved him so that I could look into his face. "What did you say?"

He looked at me with wide, innocent, caring eyes and gave me a smile. "They'll always love you. You said love doesn't die. You said so! We love you too. More than anything else in the whole wide world!"

I could say nothing else. I crushed his small body to my chest, embracing him to my heart. He burrowed deeper, wrapping his little arms around my chest, obviously thrilled to be snuggling this close. He loved me so much. All my sons loved me. And I loved them.

How stupid I had been. Perhaps it was time to take the picture out of the cupboard. I could put it on the shelf in the main area. Allow them to ask questions as they became curious. We could talk about them. Perhaps these anniversaries would become easier to bear.

It could be easier if I had the love of my sons supporting me.

Alright, I was originally going to have this as a MikeCentric chapter, but it kind of morphed into more of a SplinterCentric kind of thing...or maybe a mix? My intention was to play on what I had perceived as Mike's empathy, he always seemed like the most emotional of the bunch. I also wanted to play on how the kids can sometimes help the parents through things, after all parents aren't perfect. Thoughts?

Please read and review! Once again, if you have any ideas you would like me to use please feel free to tell me either via review or pm.

ALERT! The TMNT Fanfiction competition time is fast approaching! We have a new Stealthy Stories website, the link is on my profile so please check it out. The competition will take place on Stealthy Stories. At the end of the year you can nominate your favorite author or story for any applicable category, several months will be given to read the stories nominated, then voting will take place. I am helping with the competition this year so please feel free to ask me any questions!