TMNT © Viacom
story © Turtlefreak121

The Forgotten

Light: The Father

It was one of the few times in which the Forgotten truly wished he could forget for himself. Memories were such a burden, particularly those which carried the reminder of responsibility. Here he was, nearly grown, already Forgotten, and all he longed for were the younger days in which memories were still being made and responsibilities did not exist.

He sat at his table and stared at the brothers who passed him by. Remembered brothers like Michelangelo and Donatello scowled slightly, reminding him as though his own memories of responsibility was not enough, and attempting to guilt him into entering the room.

In contrast, the newly Forgotten brother walked about somewhat thoughtlessly. He was in search for an identity that had been lost the minute he was Forgotten.

The veteran in the Forgotten realm thought for a minute about telling him that wandering about the small, icy Lair was no way to find his identity. The only hopes of happiness rested in the vacant lies of the surface. They were false but when one closed their eyes they could see the light again.

Slowly he felt himself move and groaned inwardly. He did not want to do what happened next but he had to. It was a necessity and he could not overlook it. So he walked forward and ignored the halfway glances of the others.

He entered the room and stared at the Father who was waiting for him or, more accurately, anyone to enter his domain.

Splinter had been a father, a master, and a confidant to each and every one of the three sons since years before. He was strong, loving, and strict. He bypassed many of the traps and, despite all odds, actually saw through to the fact that his adopted children, turtles which owed him their lives more times over than they could ever hope to remember, were strong and capable of surviving a world which did not need or want them.

It was he who had given them the opportunity to be individuals and it was a responsibility he did not take lightly. Not then nor now.

In his care, however, he could not have foreseen that in providing individuality for his sons he could have so very easily taken it away. No one foresaw this power to destroy and now that it had happened, the Forgotten was not so sure he could forgive him.

Still, the Father welcomed him with a smile, as if to show that he was still somewhere within the erect body, alive and conscious. Even this attempt, though, could not evade the fact that something deep within his gaze provided the saddening truth. He was not fully there.

Something was missing from the Father that the unidentifiable child missed dearly.

"I'm supposed to check and see if you want anything to eat," he spoke up slowly, watching the eyes of Splinter very carefully. He needed to see if there was even the smallest chance of seeing his father again.

Yet there was nothing. He was not recognized by the old rat.

"Not at this time, my son," was all that the former master could manage to say.

It took everything in him to not snort at the comment. Truly, the Forgotten almost laughed at the shear awkwardness of the statement. My son, he said. My son, my unnamed, unworthy, truly unremembered son.

What had once been such a dear name, a monicker of shear affection, was a remarkable slap to his face. It no longer meant endearment as much as it meant that he was nameless, one of many. It was pathetic.

He looked about and frowned, his fingers tracing over the nearest dresser. It was an old thing, something recovered from another man's trash. It was worthless and yet within its drawers laid everything that was held dear by the old rat including several spices, herbs, and tea leaves. It was a collection an apothecary would have envied.

"Well, you want tea or something?" the Forgotten questioned.

The question was really more out of manners than anything else and he could see immediately the mistake in asking it. A shamed look came to the Father's face at the question and the Forgotten realized that he had not remembered to ask when he was the host.

It was not a milestone, however. Splinter had Forgotten worse by that point and slowly the surprise faded from his face. Instead he smiled softly, still inviting, and shook his head. "No, that is fine, my son. Let us play checkers instead."

The Forgotten felt his frown stiffen and he sighed, looking away. "No, that's cool. It's been too long since the last time I played. I really wouldn't know what to do," he lied. He figured it would be near impossible for someone to actually forget how to play checkers. He did not want to play, though, and Splinter bought the excuse.

That only left the question of what to do with him now for the next few hours.

"You are so very angry, my son," the Father said quietly. "I have sensed so since the first time you entered my room. You are angry at me, but why?"

Strangely enough, the son thought back to the first time he played checkers with his father. They sat at the ends of the small coffee table. He liked that coffee table, it was lost when their home had been invaded by Mousers. When they played for the first time, the Forgotten was nearly nine and had avoided playing the game with any of his family. His brothers feared his tantrums and his father had never been that close before then.

Instead they sat there and stared at one another. Their hands waved over their pieces before each move, trying so hard to win. The son felt that he had to win else he would never be able to control his anger at that point. He hated to lose. So did his father. Only Don had ever beaten him at the game of wits and so, on his first time, he was inexperienced.

He barely left the first quarter of the board before his father managed to beat him. Yet there was no real explosion or anger. He was disappointed but not because he lost. He wanted to prove to his father that he was every bit as smart and worthy as his brothers. He wanted the game to be the day Splinter looked back on and say "That was when I really knew who my son was."

Looking back to his father, seeing the old rat look at him confused and speechless, he knew that the memory was nowhere in his mind. How could it be when he had Forgotten the son the memory was shared with?

"I ain't mad at you," he responded quietly. "I'm just mad because things aren't the way they're supposed to be."

"I believe you water down your feelings, my son," Splinter sighed and looked to his crossed hands. "It is my failing health and absence of memory that bothers you so deeply. I sense it as clearly as I can sense you in this room."

The Forgotten did not reply. He just watched and wished he had been anywhere but there at that moment. He did not want to cause the Father pain no matter how angry he might have been toward the old rat. He loved him.

He loved the memory of him.

"I feel small," the Forgotten at last responded. "I don't feel like I hate you. I feel like I'm too small to get closer to you and that's what I want. I want to feel like you are here for me to hug and tell my secrets to again. I want to feel like I matter like when I was a little kid that needed you to scoop me up in your arms."

"You are angered by the fact that I cannot remember your name?" he asked.

"YES!" he exploded before rubbing his face. "I don't know what I am if my father can't remember me. Who am I if my father doesn't know? You know everything, Master Splinter. You always have. But I'm Forgotten and I don't know why. It hurts me to try to think of a reason for why."

"Perhaps this is because there is no reason," the Father responded before weakly standing, his once small clothes hanging for him like tattered robes. He looked like he had shrunk and, in a sense, over the past weeks he had. "None we can help in any case, my son." He paused before quivering his whiskers.

Then, unlike it had in weeks, a peace came over his face and he smiled to his son. "It is not something you should worry about, Raphael."

The turtle looked at his father's face and lowered his head. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, Dad. No idea."

Unable to restrain the feelings, he held his hands to his face and shook, his eyes watering without pause. It was then that he felt the warm embrace of someone who he had desperately searched for but only then found.

Raphael hugged his father back. "I'm sorry I thought you forgot me," Raph whispered.

"No, I apologize for not being in the state you need me to be, Raphael, but it cannot be helped," the old master responded in gentle whispers. "I am sorry that my mind is not right in these days but do take my word for it, my son, names and dates can be Forgotten in this terrible time but not the love of the son I have and always will adore."

"I know," Raphael admitted somberly. "I don't want to feel like I don't exist, though."

"You will always exist," Splinter stated gently. "Please remember to keep the kings in the back of your line so that they will always be reserved. Kings are what really matter."

Raph nodded. "I always will. All four."

…

A/N: Written in honor of my great-grandmother and my grandmother who carried the memories on for her.