A/N: Here's an angsty little bugger that crawled its way out a few hours ago. To me, it seems like Master Splinter would feel very torn about the turmoil their family goes through, from both internal and external sources. So I decided to write some of what he would be feeling and thinking about his sons.

I sighed and set my now empty cup of tea down; 1a.m. and I was still no closer to an answer. I rubbed my eyes, wishing desperately I could force the tiredness from them, wishing I could clear the pounding in my head, and the aching in my muscles and bones. I have aged more than I care to admit, and soon, I fear, my sons must carry on without me. I pushed myself slowly up from my mat, grimacing as my joints popped loudly in protest, and began to amble about the lair, my mind and feet wandering aimlessly.

I found myself, sometime later, standing in the doorway to Leonardo's room. I gazed wistfully in at my eldest son's sleeping form. Only in the deepest of slumber did all signs of worry flee his face, allowing him few precious moments of bliss. He appeared peaceful and content, a look I had not seen upon his face for more than a decade. Life has been kind to none of us; however, Leonardo has shouldered a heavier burden than his brothers, taking upon himself the mantle of leadership. I slid my hand down the doorframe and turned away, sorrow welling up within me.

"Sensei, is everything alright?"

I looked up; bloodshot, deep brown eyes laced with concern and rimmed by a purple mask stared intently into my own.

"Yes, Donatello" I smiled softly, "I was merely restless."

He nodded, yawning. "Ok, goodnight Master Splinter." He shuffled slowly to his room, exhaustion evident in every movement. I watched his retreating form, moving only slightly down the hallway behind him.

Donatello. My genius son is practically nocturnal, preferring to continue his research late into the night with the assistance of coffee, much to my dismay, than to rest. His incredible intelligence has saved our family many times, and I am thankful to have been blessed with such a wonderful son. I have always worried for him, though, as the complexity of his thoughts is far above that of his brethren, and often leaves him feeling frustrated and unwanted. Looking down I shook my head; I rue my inability to provide for his intellectual needs.

I turned to my youngest's room. Michelangelo was sleeping soundly, his permanent grin still residing upon his face. His enduring happiness has been an irreplaceable beacon of hope for our family in times of despair and the mere thought of my son's antics brought a smile to my face. Empathetic and caring, Michelangelo has always possessed a unique emotional connection with his brothers, anchoring them in times of need, but, I wonder, how often they do the same for him.

Loud murmuring and scuffling movements roused me instantly from my musing. My ears flattened against my skull and my fur stood on end as I crept slowly down the hallway toward the disturbance.

Reaching Raphael's door, I realized the sounds were originating from deep within his room. I raced to him, fearing an intruder had infiltrated our lair, only to find him flailing about in his sleep, his guttural muttering crescendoing with each syllable.

I reached out, firmly taking hold of his shoulder. "Raphael! My son, what troubles you!?"

He flinched away from my touch as if I had burned him, his eyes opening suddenly. Chest heaving, he stared blankly up, eyes wide yet unseeing. Several minutes passed, his ragged breathing the only sound that pierced the darkness. His eyelids began to droop, and his breathing slowed after several minutes. I slumped against the wall, sleeplessness taking its toll.

My poor tortured son. Raphael. I have worried most about Raphael for some time now. I fear his inner demons are stronger than he believes. The pain pouring out through his amber eyes, begging for help, starkly contrasts his actions that push the world away. I buried my head in my hands. He would accept no help, insisting nothing was wrong, yet wake up in the dead of night shaking and helpless. And all I can do is wonder: what tortures you so, my son?

Blinking back tears, I managed to retire quietly to my room for a restless night. I have grown old; age has crept stealthily upon me, attacking swiftly and precisely. I fear for our family, for I can no longer heal their wounds as I once could, I can no longer provide all the answers, I can no longer anchor this family. And we have already begun to fall apart.