Despite Mikey's other name suggestions, and Raph's assertion that it wasn't a name, they all took to calling the wolfdog Momma or Momma Dog. Though most dogs would likely turn their nose up at a sewer, Momma had definitely seen much worse than the lair, and she immediately commandeered a corner of the living room for herself, fetching blankets and pillows from around the lair that caught her fancy with which she made a nest for her three pups. She seldom left her nest, actually preferring to let the turtles or Splinter bring food to her instead of leaving her pups unattended even for a moment.
Momma and Splinter had had a curious effect upon one another, but hardly a surprising one. When he had seen his boys come back, one of them carrying Spot, the other three each carrying a puppy, Splinter had inquired as to what they were doing, but before they could answer, Momma had come trailing after them, having briefly become distracted by something she heard in the tunnels and so lagging a bit behind. She stopped the moment she saw Splinter, her head lifted, tail lowered.
The two had regarded each other in utter unmoving silence for what seemed an eternity, before Splinter finally made a gesture of welcome with one hand, which Momma seemed to understand implicitly, despite the fact that it was thoroughly unlikely that any rat had ever waved her into his parlor before.
In fact, she and Splinter seemed to understand one another at all times. The rare moment she left the nest with her pups was to come into the kitchen and sit beside Splinter when he and the turtles were eating. She never begged from the table, though they would have been pushovers if she had. She simply sat and regarded them as if they were an interesting mystery, but she acted as if she knew Splinter, as if she had always known him, in fact. And Splinter responded to her in much the same fashion. Perhaps it was recognition of old grief in each other's eyes, and a shared parental bond.
The turtles didn't wonder, as it felt quite natural that it be so. In the meantime, their own lives had resumed pretty much as normal, dealing with whatever problems the New York streets threw at them, finding more mutagen canisters, and spending their rapidly dwindling free time on cartoons.
As for Spot, he slowly drifted out of their lives, gradually spending more and more time away from the lair. At first he was a little shy, but soon he found the back alleys of New York were to his liking, particularly with their preponderance of pests. He had a particular thing for squirrels in the park, but the turtles suspected he also went after pigeons, rats and anything else that crossed his path. They were happier not knowing, and it was easier not to know when he didn't come home. It was clear to all that Spot would do just fine out there on his own.
It was not long before Momma had gained significant weight. She also did a considerable amount of self-grooming. Once out of the pen, she had little trouble picking the mud and mats out of her fur. Half-wild to begin with, the matter of cleaning herself up was one she was quite able to deal with. It startled the brothers one day to come home and find what they at first took to be a white dog in their living room. With all the mud, Momma's color had been anyone's guess. But when she took a short jaunt out to some water source, getting properly soaked and then dried off, she turned a surprisingly pure white.
Even clean, however, it was impossible to figure what she was crossed with. Her fur seemed a little bit long for a wolf, but none of the turtles was an expert in the subject. Her eyes were brown, but with a strain of yellow to them. The only real proof she was a wolfdog lay in their own instincts. They just knew she wasn't a dog, in the same way that they knew themselves to be turtles.
The pups were growing fast, but they basically looked like little black and white burritos with legs. The only major sign they were mutants was that their eyes had opened when they were only a few days old, and their back feet were larger than their front, which seemed destined to become more like hands.
One night, Momma came into Donnie's lab right after the turtles had gotten home with another canister. Silent as a wraith, she entered the room, took a running leap, and landed on the lab table in front of Donnie with the grace of a cat. She lowered her head so that she was eye-to-eye with the turtles, looking from one to the other, and finally at the canister. Her point was made. It was time.
"I suppose explaining to her that the effects are unpredictable at best would be a waste of time," Donnie remarked.
"Probably," Leo said dryly.
Though there was something about her that made the others feel as if it was not permitted to touch Momma, Raph wasn't a bit shy about taking either side of her head in his hands and ruffling the fur. She met his gaze levelly, in a way she would never have looked at a human, or even another wolf or dog. But he was a mutant turtle, and that made him different.
"If this goes sideways, we'll make sure your kids are alright," Raph promised.
Momma reached forward, resting her muzzle on his shoulder where it met his neck for a brief moment. She didn't lick him, perhaps it was too intimate a gesture, or perhaps it was beneath her. But when she withdrew her head, she looked him in the face again, as if to commit the moment to memory.
"Okay, time to go," Leo said.
They had agreed to drive Momma and her pups out to the woods when the time came. If her brain melted and she turned vicious, it would keep her away from anyone she could hurt. If all went according to plan, she would take her pups and fade away into the woods she had so long craved. After that, it would be up to her what she would do. Like all the mutants the turtles had freed, all they could offer her was the freedom of choice.
Splinter watched them go, but did not ask where they were going. He seemed to have sensed that the time had come just as they did. Each of them picked up a pup on the way by except for Donnie, who was going to be doing the driving. Momma led the way to the Shellraiser and waited for someone to open the door for her before climbing in. She stayed up front and examined each pup as it was brought on board, going to her place at the back only once satisfied that all three were accounted for.
"You know she could wind up trying to kill us," Donnie told Leo as he slid behind the wheel, "It wouldn't be the first time someone lost themselves to a mutation."
"It's what she wants," Leo replied quietly, "And we really don't have anything else we can offer."
"This is ridiculous. She's a dog. We can't expect her to make decisions and understand their consequences. That's why people put dogs on leashes; dogs don't make good decisions."
Leo decided not to argue about all the reasons people kept dogs on leashes, which primarily was primarily because he didn't know any of them, and instead suggested, "Why don't you look her in the eye and say that."
He knew, of course, that Donnie couldn't do that. None of them could. To look her in the eye was enough for them to know she was no mere dog, and that she seemed to understand things they had not even begun to become aware of, much less make decisions about. The powerful gaze of the wolf has terrified and enthralled men throughout the ages, there is just something in the wolf's eyes that he loves, covets, and fears. The effect on the turtles might even have been more profound, though they had no basis for comparison. Perhaps that wolfen ancestry was all which glowed in Momma's eyes.
But none of the turtles were able to believe that.
After so many long, quiet drives recently, it was almost a relief to Leo when Raph and Mikey started fighting in the back. He'd been paying attention to the road ahead, and so had missed the build up, but it was rapidly apparent that Mikey had been playing some variation of I'm Not Touching You, and Raph had decided to change the game to I'm Touching You With My Fist, and the two were rolling around on the floor like complete idiots.
"The peace had to end sometime," Donnie muttered unhappily.
Strangely, Leo felt the opposite about it. Despite how often he wished Mikey would act more mature, and Raph less hot-headed, the fact was that this was, at last, a return to normalcy for both. Each had in his own way been wounded in the alley that night, and neither of them had fully healed. Even though Raph had been brought home, still Leo felt that he did not truly have all his brothers back.
Yet this abrupt and causeless scuffle in the backseat was in its essence a promise. A promise that Leo would have his brothers whole again, that they would not let the scars left by this change who they were, that they were still them, and that they were free. Free of the pain and guilt and fear of recent days, free to be who and what they were. The moment passed, but the hope it brought with it remained.
"Guys, come on, knock it off back there," Leo admonished, half against his will, "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Besides, you're distracting the driver."
"He started it," Raph grumbled, gesturing to Mikey.
"That's because I'm bored," Mikey shot back.
"I am not an entertainment system!" Raph snapped.
"Not if you do it wrong," Mikey said, rolling his eyes.
Something in the gesture or tone was apparently more than Raph could take, because he launched himself at Mikey again with a frustrated growl. Throughout this performance, neither had made slightest mention of the Game Boy Mikey had destroyed, as if they had carefully discussed the Rules of Engagement at some earlier time and agreed that was off limits.
In the bizarre scheme of the thing that was the brotherly relationship of Raph and Mikey, somehow trying to tear each other apart served only to bring them closer together. Still, Leo decided that he probably ought to be the parent in this situation, and he climbed into the back.
Leo was dimly surprised some time later to realize that he had somehow become involved in the wrestling match, and was just as much a participant as Raph and Mikey.
"Ow! Hey! Quit shoving!"
They didn't get to see Momma mutate. After unloading her and the pups to a secluded glen in the forest they'd driven to, they put down a bowl with some mutagen in it. Momma stood and looked at them, and in her silent way told them to leave. This was to be a private affair of hers.
Somehow it did not feel rude or even surprising that she would seek to undergo this change alone. She appreciated their help, it was obvious, but she had ever been a being apart. She had not belonged to her cage. She had not belonged to the dogs with whom she had been confined. She had not belonged to Irving Laurenson. And she certainly did not belong to the turtles.
She belonged to the wild. She always would.
And so, though the turtles were reluctant to leave, not knowing for sure what would become of her now, none of them suggested staying, and they did not remain nearby in hiding. Instead, they returned to the Shellraiser, out of sight of the glen, and waited.
They weren't sure what they were waiting for, but they knew they would recognize it when it happened.
The trees were covered in sheaths of frost, which rattled in the breeze. The sky was blue-gray overhead, promising a storm in the near future. Shadows and light played across the snow as the wind disturbed the branches of trees and brush, also stirred from time to time by unseen woodland animals.
And then a piercing cry shattered the stillness, ululant and mournful, but not fearful or in pain. The sound was reminiscent of a wolf, and had the almost barking quality of a dog, but the howl belonged to both and neither, and also to something else entirely. Something wilder than wild. Something unnatural, yet strangely wonderful. Something free. The sound of a promise fulfilled.
At last, the wolfdog was home.
A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and goodnight everybody.