Title: Fever
Day: Febuwhump 2023 Day 11: Fever
Fandom: TMNT 2003
Word Count: 5458
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Splinter, Raphael
Warning: Mentions of throwing up
Summary: With three of his four young sons sick, and dwindling supplies, Splinter is tired, worried, and overworked. Thankfully, Raphael is more than willing to help his father take care of his brothers—and he doesn't want to let his father down.
Notes: The turtle tots here are definitely older than in Fathers and Sons, but not yet as old as they were in the flashbacks of Tales of Leo. I'm thinking, idk, somewhere between seven and eight maybe?
Not gonna lie, part of this was inspired by a little girl in my classroom who had a fever, but had no one to come pick her up and so sat there silently crying at her desk and my heart broke because I could do absolutely nothing about it.
Also, no joke, if you work with kids, you will learn to narrate how you're thinking and it's a hard habit to break. I'm constantly finding myself explaining what I'm doing to absolutely no one that needs to know just because teaching.
Additionally, the book that Raph reads from is an older chapter book called Shadow Castle by Marian Cockrell. Like, copyright 1945 and it says that a single copy cost forty-five cents old. I read it as a child, because I think my mother had read it. It's not something most people wouldn't look twice at nowadays, and I can see it being a book that got left behind and Splinter picked it up as something for his boys to read.

Fever

Splinter sighed as he wrung out another cloth and laid it across little Michelangelo's forehead. The small turtle coughed and whined, curling into Splinter's touch. Splinter rubbed the back of his son's shell, hoping that he could give him some comfort. Fortunately, Michelangelo was quick to drop into sleep this time, as his tired body pulled him into more healing sleep. Splinter carefully extracted himself from the turtle's surprisingly strong grip and pulled the blankets up around him. He let out another quiet sigh and stood.

It wasn't unusual for his sons to catch something in the winter. They were young, living in a sewer and, Splinter assumed, at least, cold blooded. It was honestly more surprising that they didn't get sick more often.

Another cough caught his attention. Donatello. Splinter turned to go check on that son, although he stopped in surprise as he saw Raphael standing by the ladder that would take him up to his brother's bed, a wet rag in his hand.

"Raphael, what are you doing?" Splinter asked him.

Raphael turned serious eyes on him. "Helpin'," he said, in his young, high-pitched voice. His eyes were serious, though. "Donnie's coughin'. You were with Mikey. I thought I could help." He didn't take his earnest, serious eyes off of Splinter. "Leo's prob'ly gonna need ya too."

"Leonardo is on the lower bunk," Splinter said, curious as to his son's reasoning when it came to which brother he was going to help. "It would be easier for you to reach him."

Raphael shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm used t' climbin' and 'sides, Leo looks like he's gonna need the bucket soon and that's gross."

Splinter's attention immediately redirected to Leonardo who, indeed, was curled around his stomach, a distressed look on his face that Splinter well recognized. Leaving Raphael to tend to Donatello, Splinter immediately refocused his attention on Leonardo, quickly grabbing the bucket. In short order, his serious son was leaned over the bucket, heaving as his body seemed intent on rejecting food he hadn't even been able to eat. Splinter rubbed Leonardo's shell, muttering words of comfort to his son as he cried and his body shook with the force of throwing up.

He all but ignored Raphael tending to Donatello, grateful to his protective son for caring for his brothers. He even went over to Michelangelo when he began to stir, calming his brother down while Splinter tended to Leonardo.

He would have to make sure to let his son know how much he appreciated his help when this was all over.

Most of the time his sons took turns being sick, usually being bundled up and taken into his sleeping area in a usually fruitless attempt to keep the others from getting sick. This time, three of his four had decided to get sick at the same time. It had started with his sons feeling cold, having a headache, a sore throat, and an unsettled stomach, and then quickly progressed to a fever, coughs, vomiting. It hit them hard and fast, and it left Splinter scrambling to keep up with it.

"Here, my son," Splinter said as Leonardo finally seemed to be finished. "Lay back, rest."

Leonardo sniffed and clung to Splinter. The old rat allowed him to do so for a moment, just long enough to calm down the young turtle. He rubbed his shell and, when he felt the grip on him relax, leaned him back in his bed, propped as best he could on the thin, worn pillows that Splinter had scrounged for them. Splinter reached for the bottle of anti-nausea medicine that he had sitting nearby, shaking out one of the very few pills that were left in it.

"My son, take this," he said.

Leonardo whined and turned his head away from the pill. Splinter sighed.

"Leonardo, please."

"Don't wanna," Leo's scratchy voice came back. "'M tired of throwin' up pills."

Splinter softened a little. "I know, my son. But we must try. You need to be able to drink and eat. This should help."

Leonardo whined again, but reluctantly did was Splinter asked him to do. Splinter gave him a little more comfort before laying him back and turning his attention to the other sick turtles.

Donatello was whimpering again, holding tightly to what Splinter recognized as the stuffed bear that Raphael had long ago claimed. His eyes were glassy and dull, small tears in the corners of them, and peeking out from under the blankets.

"My son?" Splinter said. "How do you feel?"

Donatello clutched the bear closer. "Hot," he said, his voice very small, "Head hurts."

It was unlike his intelligent son to use so few words, or to stay buried under blankets when he was hot. He only did that when his head was hurting him very badly. Splinter looked at the clock. Donatello could have more medicine if he needed it.

"May I feel your head, my son?" Splinter asked. Donatello whimpered, but loosened the grip he had on the blankets, allowing Splinter room to feel his forehead. As he feared, Donatello was warmer than he should be. Even the cloth Raphael had put on his forehead was now warm. "Your fever has gone back up. I will get you some more medicine and a cool rag."

Donatello nodded, and then retreated back into his blankets when Splinter's hand left. The medicine was easy enough for Splinter to find, but the bowl was nowhere to be found.

"Odd," he said, half to himself, and half because he had gotten used to narrating his thoughts to his four small children. "Where is the bowl?"

"Here, Mas'er Splin'er."

Splinter turned to look and saw Raphael carrying the bowl full of water.

"It'd gotten all warm, so I got some more," the small child explained. "I got some more rags, too, 'cause Donnie and Mikey's felt all hot." He glanced at Leonardo as he sat the bowl down. "I dunno 'bout Leo's."

Yes, Splinter was definitely grateful to his son. "Good job, my son. Thank you so much for your help in caring for your brothers. It has been most needed."

Raphael straightened and practically glowed under the praise. "What else can I do?" he asked.

"I must give Donatello some medicine. While I am doing that, will you please take these old dishes to the kitchen?" Splinter asked him.

Raphael nodded, and Splinter returned his attention to Donatello. He was a little more cooperative about taking the medicine that Leonardo had been, but it was clear that he wasn't happy about having to take it. Splinter couldn't blame him. The pills were a bit hard to swallow. He allowed his son to bury himself back under the blankets again, adding one more to help cut down on some of the light.

From there, Splinter turned his attention back to Michelangelo. The small turtle was still asleep, but Splinter could see his skin becoming more flushed. With a sigh, Splinter reached for more of the fever reducers, and doing his best to rouse his sleepy son, got him to swallow another pill.

Raphael had been slowly clearing away the dishes while Splinter did that, apparently taking his time to make sure that none of their dishes got damaged. Splinter would go wash them later. In the meantime, Splinter looked at his meager supplies of medicines. If this kept up, he would run out soon. He'd need to go get more.

Splinter looked at his three sick sons. They should sleep for a while now. He was loathe to leave Raphael alone with them, but Splinter wasn't sure there was another choice. Some more soup or clear liquids would be good for them as well. Perhaps he could go to one of the small corner stores that didn't usually ask too many questions. He would scavenge food from many places, but he did not trust the medicines he found on the streets. Splinter sighed and stood up, feeling the weight of caring for three sick sons settle on his shoulders.

Still, he had one more son to check on first. Splinter looked around for Raphael, spotting him in front of the television, a blanket wrapped around him. Splinter frowned a little. He had been so eager to help before. Perhaps he was just tired. Splinter certainly was.

"My son?" Splinter asked as he approached him.

"Hm?" Raphael looked up at him, rubbing an eye. Splinter could see now that he had a glass of water with him, and his blanket was tied like a cape, similar to the superhero that was on the television screen. Splinter felt a bit of relief. Not cold, then, just acting out his show.

Splinter smiled down at him. "My son, come. Would you like something to eat?"

"I took some of the lef'over crackers earlier," Raphael said, looking a bit guilty. "I'd kinda like more."

Splinter felt his heart twinge a little. Had it been so long since he had fed his one healthy son? It was likely. "Do not feel bad about that, Raphael. It was fine for you to feed yourself. But come now, and you can help me make some more soup."

Raphael seemed to consider that, then held up his arms to Splinter. Splinter couldn't help but give into it, and lifted his son up, tired though he was. The little turtle immediately nuzzled into Splinter, and Splinter felt a little guilty. Had he been unintentionally ignoring this son? He'd have to take steps to rectify that.

He took Raphael to the kitchen with him, where Splinter worked on heating the meager soup that they had, his motions slow with fatigue. In truth, he and Raphael could have eaten something more substantial, but Splinter was simply too tired to try to fix anything else.

Raphael sat at the table while Splinter cooked, being quiet and playing with a couple of the toys that they boys had. Normally his games were loud and filled with his toys having battles together, but at the moment, he was keeping his game quiet, seemingly distracted by his brothers' sickness, as he kept glancing back towards them. Raphael was often the loudest and most brash of his sons, but Splinter knew about the caring heart and protective nature he also held, and his own heart softened a bit at seeing this side of his son.

Soon enough, the soup was fixed, and he put a bowl in front of Raphael, setting one down for himself too. He hadn't heard any movement from his other sons. He'd let himself and Raphael eat, and then he'd stake some to his other sons. Leonardo would likely refuse to eat anything, and Splinter would have to try to coax him into even trying a little of the broth. Michelangelo would want Splinter to feed it to him. Donatello could easily go either way, depending on his mood, but chances were if Splinter left it within his reach, his son would eventually eat it on his own.

For a moment, Splinter closed his eyes, relishing in the relative quiet and the lack of demands on his attention. He was so very tired, and the silence was nice. Although it was a little too quiet. Splinter suddenly realized that Raphael had stopped eating and opened his eyes to see his son staring intently at his bowl, his brow furrowed.

"My son? Is something wrong?" he asked, praying that Raphael wasn't about to be sick all over the table.

Raphael looked up at him, his face turning a little red, as if he had gotten caught thinking about something he wasn't quite ready to share. He glanced toward the cabinet where Splinter kept what dry goods he could manage to find. It was, unfortunately, heading towards empty. "What are the others gonna eat?" he asked. "'s not much left. Donnie said somethin' 'bout sick people needin' lotsa nursh… nuroshan… nurshamament…"

"Nourishment?" Splinter tried.

Raphael's head bobbed. "Yeah, nour'shment when they were sick. He said that was food. But… we don't gots a lot left." He looked at his bowl. "Can I give some 'a mine to them?"

Splinter's heart both broke and warmed at this. It warmed, because Raphael wanted to help his brothers so badly. It broke, because his son was aware enough to be concerned about their food. Splinter understood that, had they been normal animals, this would have been a typical thing to be worried about. However, after seeing so many human children who did not have to worry about such things, whose parents took that worry as their own and left their children without it, Splinter wished that he could give his sons that same security.

However, that was something for him to deal with later. Instead, he reached across the table and put a hand on the side of Raphael's still red face. "Oh, my son. That is a very noble thing that you wish to do," and something he, himself, had done for his sons before. "However, there is enough here for your brothers to also have something to eat."

Raphael looked at his father with earnest eyes. "What if I have lef'overs?"

"Then I will add them to the supply we have for your brothers," Splinter said. "But only if you promise me that you eat your fill first."

Raphael looked at him, looked at his bowl, and glanced back in the direction of his brothers. "Okay," he said simply.

Splinter caressed his son's cheek with his thumb, and then pulled his hand away, allowing Raphael to start eating again. As he predicted, Raphael did leave soup in his bowl, claiming that he was full, and Splinter did not try to push it. Raphael could be stubborn when he wanted to be and, while Splinter did not want to encourage self-sacrifice for the sake of his brothers, he also wanted to encourage Raphael thinking about his brothers and trying to help them.

While Splinter prepared three cups of soup, Raphael wandered back towards his brothers, checking in on them. He could hear Raphael talking to Michelangelo, comforting Leonardo, and climbing the bunkbed to check on Donatello.

Splinter brought the three cups into the sleeping area, sitting them on the nightstand. Raphael was still up on the bunkbed with Donatello, and Splinter passed him one of the cups. "See if you can get your brother to eat any of this," he said.

Raphael nodded, and immediately started to try to coax Donnie to eat some of it, poking around the blankets. "Hey. Hey Donnie. I gots ya some soup."

"Mmm… my head hurts, Raphie."

"Didn't ya tell me that food can help that?"

"…yes."

"Then come eat some!"

There was a groan, but Splinter could hear the rustle of blankets being pulled back. Donatello was in good hands. Splinter could turn his attention to his other two sons. Leonardo, predictable, did not want to eat any of it. Splinter managed to get him to eat a few bites of broth, but when his son outright refused more, Splinter relented, not wanting his son to throw up the little he had managed to keep down. Michelangelo wanted Splinter to hold him, and feed him his soup. Normally, Splinter would have refused, but his normally active son was so lethargic that Splinter fed him anyway. Michelangelo ate all of his soup, and by the time he was finished, Raphael had managed to get Donatello to eat about half of his cup before the turtle had disappeared under his blankets again. Splinter helped Raphael down, and then they both took the cups and the remaining soup back to the kitchen.

Splinter sent Raphael off to play, telling him that, if he wished to, he could watch more television, while Splinter took the time to go over the supplies that they had.

It was not looking good.

They had two cans of soup left. Neither were the best for upset stomachs, being more hearty and having less broth. He was out of rice and out of pasta. He had a bag of beans that he might could stretch, but even that wouldn't last long. The medications were quickly running out as well. There were, maybe, four doses left of the fever reducer, and with three sick turtles, that would only last one more round. Likewise, he had two pills of the anti-nausea medicine left. He could half them or even quarter them and hope it was enough, but it wouldn't last long, especially if even one of the other started being as nauseous as Leonardo was.

There was no way around it. He would have to go on a supply run.

He glanced out of the kitchen area and over to the sleeping area. Raphael had pushed the couch that sat in front of the television aside, making it visible from the beds. Michelangelo was still asleep, but Raphael sat on Leonardo's bed, his arm holding the now upright turtle against him as they watched some action cartoon. Donatello was still a huddled lump under his blankets, and Splinter was fairly sure that he was asleep.

Splinter did not want to do it, but if they were to have the supplies they needed, then he would have to leave Raphael in charge here, looking after his brothers, while he made a supply run.

The boys would be due for another dose of medicine soon. He would go after that. It would be dark enough, but there would still be places open. He would prepare everything that Raphael might need while he was gone, and he would be as quick as he could. It was not an ideal plan, but it was the best that he had.

Plan in mind, Splinter sat about readying everything, keeping an eye on the clock. When the time came, he gave his sons their medicine, and then drew Raphael aside.

His son had taken off his mask at this point, and rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps he had been watching too much television. Splinter sat that aside. That was a problem for another moment.

"Raphael," Splinter said. "You have been very helpful to me while your brothers have been sick. Your care for them has allowed me to be able to care for all of them better. But now I need you to do more."

Raphael stopped rubbing his eyes and stood up straighter. "Yes, sensei?" he asked, responding like they were in training.

Splinter couldn't help the faint smile that graced his muzzle. His caring, protective little boy. The smile faded quickly, though. "You were right earlier when you noticed how low we were on food. We are also low on medications."

Raphael looked agitated at that. "But how are they 'possed t' get better without medicine?"

Splinter squeezed Raphael's shoulder. "I know, my son. That is why I am going to have to make a supply run. And, as you are the only one not ill, I will have to leave you in charge of looking after your brothers."

Raphael's eyes got wide. "Me?" he said.

Splinter nodded. "Yes. You know how to use he rags to cool off your brothers. You can fill the bowl and carry it. You know how to get them drinks and I have left the soup out, in case they want more. Do not attempt to heat it, my son," he said in warning.

Raphael nodded. "Yes, Sensei."

Splinter continued. "You know how to get the bucket, and you can set it aside for me to take care of when I return. You are good at caring for your brothers, Raphael. Can I trust you with this, my son?"

Raphael squared his little shoulders, and jutted his chin out. "I'll take care of 'em!" he declared. "And if… if anyone tries 't come in, I'll fight 'em off too!"

"Let's hope that doesn't happen," Splinter said. He glanced at the clock. "Your brothers are sleeping. I will return as soon as I can. I must go now."

Raphael nodded, and Splinter gave his shoulder one last squeeze before he turned to gather his bag. He headed toward the entrance, and looked back once, seeing his brave son standing in the middle of their lair, feet planted, determination written all over his young face. Splinter wasn't sure if he caught the slight shine of tears in his son's face, but he knew that, if they were there, it would change nothing about Raphael's determination, nor about what had to be done. With one last look at the lair, and one last prayer to the ancestors to watch over his sons, Splinter headed out.

Normally, Splinter did his best to avoid stealing. He took old things, thrown out things, leftover things, whatever he could find. He took advantage of free giveaways, turned in bottles and whatever else he could for money, and kept every piece of change or money that came their way. Occasionally, when he was on the surface, he found himself stopping a mugger or someone else up to something bad and usually took their money, but that didn't happen often.

Today, however, was different. He had precious little money at the moment, and he had a great need. He wasn't going to steal for himself, but for his sons? He'd do anything he had to. The small corner shop he had targeted tonight was one that was not up to the best standards. It was dingy, there was often at least one light that didn't work, and the cashiers were usually fairly apathetic. It would suit his needs well.

He darted in when someone else entered the shop, not completely hiding his presence, although his clothes were concealing, acting like one of the homeless that often wandered about shops like this. He "shopped" around, slipping medicine and whatever else he could into his clothes. The soup cans were a bit harder, but he managed to smuggle a few into his bag, and then slipped out before he was noticed.

The soup was not enough, though, and so he carefully and quickly hit up a few other shops, taking what he needed. It was more than he would usually take in one go, but he didn't want to have to leave his sons alone again, not while they were sick. Finally, he had what he thought was enough, and headed back down the sewers and towards home. All in all, he had been gone for a couple of hours, and it would be closer to three by the time he returned. He was anxious to get back to his sons.

As soon as he entered the lair, he sat his burdens down and went to check on his sons. Michelangelo and Raphael were on Leonardo's bed now, a book in front of Raphael as he slowly read through it to his brothers.

"'I understand,' said the dragon. He led her into the house and dis.. disap-pear.."

"Disappeared," came Donatello's muffled voice.

"Disappeared," Raphael continued without missing a beat, "through a doorway s…sons..ee..ah..led… k-konsee-ah—"

"Concealed."

"Concealed by hangin's. In a few minutes he came back wit' a silver dish piled high with strange… luh-s-ii-oh-uhs..

"Luscious."

"Luscious fruit and tall silver g-gob..lets… goblets frosted from the cold l-liquid they held."

Raphael was towards the end of the book, with maybe a fifth of it to go, and Splinter wondered just how long he had been reading to his brothers, especially, when he turned to cough and clear his throat.

"I see everything is going well, my sons," Splinter said.

Raphael's head turned towards him, as did Michelangelo's. Leonardo's head shifted, but he stayed curled against Raphael's side. The covered lump that was Donatello simply shifted a bit.

"Sensei, yer back!" Raphael said, then coughed. He made a face, and Leonardo handed him a cup of water that he was holding onto. Raphael took it, took a drink, and handed it back.

"Yes, I am," Splinter chuckled. "Has anything happened while I was gone?"

"Leo threw up again," Raphael said, pointing to the bucket. "'nd I've been keepin' cold rags on their heads! I got more water too."

"Very good, Raphael," Splinter said. "If you are all fine, please continue reading while I put away what I have gotten."

Raphael nodded his head, and his brother settled in around him as he started reading the book again.

"The fruit was de..deh-lie-k… deh-lie-s—"

"Delicious."

"Delicious, like nothing Meria had ever tasted. The goblets were filled with ice-cold neck-tar,"

"Nectar."

"Nectar and the moment she drank of it all her wear…wear-i… weariness d-disappeared, and she felt as fresh as though she had not just taken a five-hour ride on horseback."

Splinter let their story fade into the background as he went into the kitchen to put away the food. It was a good haul, and he only felt marginally bad about having stolen most of it. He was, however, exhausted, and he hoped that he would be able to get a full night's rest. With three sick children, though, he knew it was unlikely. He took a minute for himself in the kitchen, just to gather his strength again, and headed out to check on his sons.

Raphael had done an admirable job caring for his brothers, and Splinter took care of anything that he hadn't been able to. Once that was done, he had settled on Michelangelo's bed, taking the book and finishing it out for the boys. By that time, they had all grown sleepy, even Raphael, and Splinter took the time to tuck them into bed. Then, weary himself, he made his way towards his sleeping area. Truthfully, he would have liked a cup of tea, but he was exhausted, and sleep was far more alluring. He laid down and hoped that he could get a decent amount of sleep before one of his sons woke him up.

Splinter wasn't sure how long he was asleep for before a crash woke him up. Snapping awake, he stayed still, waiting to hear more sound. The sound of sniffling, of a child's tears met his ears, and in a moment he was up and heading towards his sons.

Three of the four were in bed, although Splinter could see Leonardo peeking out around his blankets. About halfway between the kitchen and the sleeping area, Raphael stood, a broken bowl and water at his feet, the water soaking into the blanket he had around him. His son was obviously crying, although it was quietly.

"My son?" Splinter said, swooping in front of him and looking him over. "My son, are you alright?"

Raphael looked at him—and burst into tears.

Splinter scooped him up, wet blanket and all, and held him close. "My son, what is the matter? What is—"

Oh. Oh, Splinter suddenly understood.

Heat was radiating off of Raphael, and the little turtle was coughing in between sobs. Splinter held him closer, and Raphael buried his head in Splinter's shoulder. Little hands gripped his robe and his fur, holding tightly to his father.

Splinter made his way over to the living area, to a chair that he could sit the both of them in. Raphael curled up in his lap, still clinging, still crying. Splinter rocked him until his son had calmed down some.

"My son," he said gently. "Why were you up?"

Raphael sniffed. "… was hot," he said. "Jus' wanted 't get some more water 't cool down." He paused, "Leo's hot too. I wanted t' get him some."

Splinter's heart ached. "My son, you could have simply come to me," he said. "I would have gladly gotten the water for you."

Raphael shook his head, and then seemed to regret it, laying his head back on his father's chest. "Nuh-uh," he said. "'Cause I c'n help. I'm good at it. You need m' help, 'n I'm not sick, so I should help!"

Splinter's heart broke a little. Had he put this pressure on Raphael? He had praised the boy for being so helpful and looking after his brothers. Had his own fatigue been that obvious? He thought back to all of the sighing, to the moments he paused to close his eyes and tried to rest and wondered just how much of that Raphael had seen.

"Raphael," he said. "It is my job to take care of you, not for you to take care of me."

Raphael was never one to stay quiet for long, his passionate nature coming through at all times. This was no different. "But I had 't help!" he burst out, his sobs turning into hiccupping things. "'s why I couldn't get sick! 'Cause we gotta take care 'a each other! I didn't wanna… I-I didn't wanna—"

Splinter held his son closer to him, rocking him, his heart breaking a little more. How long had his son been sick and he hadn't noticed? He thought back over the day, at the rubbing of his eyes, of the small coughs, at the sleepiness and not finishing all of his soup, at the blanket around him, at wanting to be held, the quiet play, and his warm face—warm not from embarrassment, but from fever and Splinter had been too tired to even realize it.

Raphael buried his head in Splinter again, his sobs having quieted to silent tears.

"...hurts..." he said softly, and Splinter's heart shattered.

He had ignored his son getting sick. He had not noticed the signs. He had put pressure on him to ignore his own illness and instead help his family. And now his passionate, caring, protective son was curled up in his lap, hurting.

His guilt threatened to drown him, but Splinter pushed it back. "I know, my son," he said quietly. "Some medicine will help. Do you think you can take some?"

Raphael's head nodded, and Splinter stood with him, heading towards the kitchen.

"I am sorry, my son," he said quietly as they moved. He could feel Raphael still, as if he was trying to understand what Splinter was saying. "I should not have made you feel as if you couldn't be sick. I want you to tell me if you are feeling bad, even if it is inconvenient. I would rather know so that we can treat it, then for you to continue helping me and fall even more ill." He found the bottle of fever reducers and opened it up. "Do you understand, Raphael?"

Raphael sniffed, but nodded, and compliantly let Splinter feed him the medicine and drank a glass of water. When he was sure that Raphael was going to keep it down, Splinter carried him back towards the sleeping area, intent on putting him into his bed. However, before he could do that, Leonardo's arms came out from under his blankets and made grabby hands toward Raphael.

"You want Raphael to sleep with you?" Splinter asked. Leonardo nodded, and Splinter looked back at Raphael, who still had tears leaking out of his eyes. "Is that alright with you, Raphael?"

Raphael nodded, and Splinter placed him in the bed with Leonardo. Leonardo almost immediately put his arms around Raphael, and Raphael let him, curling into his brother.

"If anything is needed, let me know," Splinter told the boys.

"We will," Leonardo said softly.

Splinter went back to the place where Raphael had dropped the bowl, intent on cleaning it up tonight. He heard movement while he worked, and was not the least bit surprised when, after he finished cleaning up the mess and went to take a new bowl of water back towards them, Michelangelo had joined his brothers in the bed, curling up against Raphael's other side. Splinter smiled at them, left the bowl there, and, after a few more minutes of making sure everything was alright, went back to sleep.

He did not sleep long, worry waking him within a few hours. But he found that he hadn't of needed to worry. By that point, not only were Leonardo and Michelangelo sandwiching Raphael between them, a still-blanket-covered Donatello had joined them, curled up above their heads, one exposed hand resting on the now-warm cloth on Raphael's head.

Splinter was still tired. He was still exhausted. But at least he knew that his sons would look out for each other. And in the future, he would be more careful not to put too many expectations on his sons.

He sat down on Michelangelo's bed and let out a contented sigh. Perhaps here, in the presence of his sons, would be a good place to do his morning meditation. And if they broke him out of it, so be it. He'd put his sons before everything.