Author's Note:

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You're Here

Splinter listened quietly to Donatello's call. He couldn't see his other sons' reaction, but he understood that they were coming back to the lair.

It was relieving news. It meant both that they were safe, and that he would soon be able to see by himself how well they were doing.

Donatello hung up and took a deep breath.

"They're coming back," he said.

Splinter wasn't going to point out that he had already guessed that. Instead, he nodded quietly.

Donatello watched Splinter with the kind of despair that could only break a father's heart.

"Would you like some tea while we're waiting for them?" his son asked.

"It would be much appreciated," Splinter answered softly. "Thank you, Donatello."

He waited for Donatello to lead the way to the kitchen, but his son was hesitating. Maybe he didn't want to lose sight of Splinter, even for a second?

Splinter decided to leave the lab first, and he heard Donatello following him close.

The kitchen looked exactly the same as it did in Splinter's time, and it could have felt like any normal day in his life if the grief emanating from Donatello didn't fill the entire room.

Splinter made sure to sit down at a place where he would still be in Donatello's field of vision while his son made tea. He watched Donatello's precise gestures in silence. Donatello himself wasn't particularly fond of the beverage, but he still knew how to make it.

Splinter only had to show him once. This was how fast a learner Donatello always had been.

His child. His wonderful, amazing child. He had grown a lot, no doubt, but Splinter was sure Donatello still needed his guidance—his help. And Splinter wasn't here anymore to support him.

Except that, by a quirk of fate, he was. An opportunity a master like him could only seize.

Splinter accepted the cup his son handed him with a grateful nod of his head.

"Thank you, Donatello."

Donatello sat in front of him. He had poured himself a cup, but it remained untouched as he watched his father like it was the most enthralling activity in the entire world.

Splinter decided that the time was as right as it would ever be to have a private conversation before the others arrived.

He made sure to keep his tone as neutral as possible, as if he wasn't hanging on to Donatello's answer.

"How are you doing, my son?"

Donatello had a nervous little laugh that meant 'Not that good.'

"Considering the circumstances, I'd say I'm doing fine."

Splinter watched him shift on his seat, as if he was waiting for his cue to say more.

"And?" Splinter provided helpfully.

Donatello straightened up.

"I'm basing this assertion on several observations I've made in the past days. First, I've stopped expecting you to be there every time I enter the dojo. It only happens 63% of the time. Second, I'm now able to focus on my work up to one hundred and seventy-three minutes long before I think it's all worthless. Third, I designed a new invention yesterday and I kept the blueprints on my desk five hours before throwing it into the bin. That's one hour more than the last time."

Splinter lowered his ears, indicating deep concern. "My son."

"Don't you think I'm doing well?" Donatello asked hopefully.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm very proud of you, my son," Splinter managed to utter.

Donatello's shoulders relaxed just a little bit.

"Of course, I can't say I'm at my best, but we don't need that. Things have been calm since we defeated the Shredder."

Splinter must have failed to completely hide his shock, because Donatello grimaced.

"Oh, of course. You didn't know that. Well, you see, after he killed you we didn't have much of a choice."

Splinter added that painful bit of information to this time's puzzle. So the Shredder had been the one to kill him? It certainly made sense. But what was this part about his sons defeating the Shredder? Hadn't he warned them often enough against revenge? And what exactly did defeated mean, in this case?

Before Splinter could find a tactful way to ask for clarification, though, he heard the sound of turtles jumping the turnstiles at the entrance of the lair.

Donatello cleared his throat. "Guys? We're in the kitchen," he called.

Leo's thoughts were a jumbled mess as he entered the kitchen. What was the best strategy to adopt? Should he react like his heart wanted to, and let his brothers catch a glimpse of how lost he was without their father, or should he keep the act for their sake?

Because it made no doubt that Splinter wasn't here to stay. Soon he would leave them once more, and Leo couldn't afford to forget that fact.

Not if he wanted to keep the strength required to carry on.

Here. Sitting at his usual place, with Donnie in front of him, was his father. Drinking tea—something ghosts didn't do. Ghosts could give advice, ghosts could appear and vanish at will, but ghosts didn't drink tea.

It was real. It was so real it tore his heart apart.

You have to stay strong, Leo thought desperately as his eyes filled with the tears he had refused to keep spilling after the burial. For them.

"Father," he whispered.

Mikey pushed Leo aside in his beeline for his father.

"Papa!"

He fell on Splinter's neck in a clinging embrace, one he wasn't going to break ever.

"Michelangelo," Splinter whispered tenderly in Mikey's ear. "My son. I'm happy to see you too."

"I've missed you so much," Mikey cried. "Every day."

Splinter closed his strong arms around Mikey's frame. "I know. I'm sorry, my son."

Mikey breathed in his father's scent. Felt his father's breath on his neck. How warm his body was! And Splinter's muscles were rolling under his skin, making his body flexible and moving and not at all rigid like it was when they had to carry him home.

It was reality. His father was here, his father was alive.

"I love you, Dad," Mikey whispered. "I love you so much."

When he saw the tall figure that shouldn't have been in their kitchen, Raph found himself unable to speak. Until then, he had followed Leo, but Leo stood stunned at the entrance of the kitchen and Raph didn't have the momentum to go past him.

Mikey didn't have that problem, though, and soon he was in Splinter's arms.

Raph wanted to be here too. He wanted his father to tell him he wasn't mad if Raph had messed up, on that rooftop.

But of course this Splinter didn't know what had happened on the rooftop.

Maybe Raph could warn him, so he wouldn't die? He could tell him about the Shredder's trap. He could ask him to listen to Leo when Leo wouldn't want them to split up—although it would have to wait until Raph was alone with Splinter, because of course Leo couldn't hear Raph say that.

And then they might not be orphans so soon in their life. Raph had tried to accept it, he really had, because they needed to move forwards and Raph was determined to do his part and see his brothers happy again, but seeing Splinter and Mikey huddled together right now just reminded him of everything they had lost.

And it hurt. So, so much.

Then Splinter raised his head to look at him, and he smiled, and somehow Raph found himself in his arms, next to Mikey, and Leo was here too and even Donnie and did Donnie have a bandaged foot?

And then Raph closed his eyes and buried his face in Splinter's robe so he wouldn't have to look at his father.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice racked by sobs. "I'm so, so sorry."