Author's Note: Nope, not abandoned!

Also, don't hesitate to wait until I've posted more chapters to read them all in one go if that's your preferred way of reading. I know chapters are short.

To the Guest: I'm happy you do! One-to-one interactions are planned for Splinter and his precious teenage babies.

Thanks a lot for reviewing!

To the Guest: Thank you for your support! It means a lot.

My Sons

Splinter watched his sons huddled in his arms as if they were toddlers once more. His sons that he had abandoned, no matter how unwillingly; and because of that, because of him, they were hurting.

He wrapped his tail around the four of them, like a seat belt, like he could still protect them from the dangers of the world.

And of course it was a lie, because he had failed them in the worst possible way; failed to do what he had always demanded of them.

To come home alive.

And as he watched them, as he drank in their scent and their moves, as he hugged them just like they hugged him, he tried to guess the extent of the damage he had done.

To Michelangelo, who was holding on for dear life. Michelangelo, his happy-go-lucky child, the one who went through life as if he didn't have a care in the world, and who was now crying all he was worth in his father's arms.

To Leonardo, whose rigid body was shaking in Splinter's embrace. Leonardo, who carried swords Splinter recognized, the ones he hadn't intended to gift him until much, much later in his life, when Splinter himself would be an old and retired rat–except he would never become that. Splinter would never grow old, he would never see his children blossom into adulthood.

To Donatello, who while he had his head pressed against Splinter's shoulder had put his arms around all of his brothers, like they were his lifeline in this impossible situation. Donatello, who had welcomed him and offered him a logical explanation for his presence here, but couldn't rely on logic to deal with his overwhelming grief.

And to Raphael, who was sobbing like he hadn't in years. Had he finally learned that tears weren't a weakness? Or was his sorrow so deep that he didn't care about himself anymore?

And his words, his words were knives in Splinter's heart. What did his son feel guilty for? What could he possibly have done that would weigh on his conscience so heavily that his first words to his deceased father would be 'I'm sorry'?

Splinter thought about it as he stroked the top of Raphael's head, slowly, delicately. Did he and Raphael quarrel right before his death? Had Splinter been that careless that he had allowed his son to leave him thinking he wasn't on the best possible terms with his father? The terms of love. The only ones Splinter would ever accept.

"What are you sorry for, my son?"

Raphael didn't answer the question. He hid his face deeper in Splinter's robe and shook his head, like he couldn't say anything more.

Splinter decided he would have to broach the topic again, later and in private. He would not allow his son to hurt himself on his behalf; he would go to the bottom of this.

Maybe this was why he was here. To mend what could be mended.

But just in case… Just in case he wouldn't stay long enough for that, he had to say something. Something vague enough that it would apply. Something strong enough that it could reach his son, through the grief and through the pain.

"I love you, Raphael," he whispered. "Never forget that."

He tightened his embrace on all of them.

"I love all of you."