Hello everyone! How is everyone doing today? Hopefully well ^.^.
So, this little nugget of a story was bouncing around in my head and I wanted to try a slightly different style of writing. I normally write in 1st person, it's what makes me the most comfortable. However, I wanted to give 3rd person a shot. And with everyone's favorite rat dad! Now, the versions of this TMNT are going to be combination of the 2003, 2007, and 2012 TMNT. I go into more depth on how they look in my other story The Ultimate Weapon, but a quick low down is that Master Splinter resembles the 2012 Master Splinter, the turtles look more like the 2007 but with the 2012 heights, the farmhouse is the one from the 2003 series and April and Casey (who are only mentioned) are kinda a combo of 2003 and 2007.
I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to add another chapter to this story or not. And if I do, if I'll keep it in Splinter's view or not or keep the 3rd person or change back to my usual 1st person. But, if enough people would like me to continue this, I will heavily think about it. ^.^
Now, onto the story!
Happy reading!
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Something is not right.
Hazelnut eyes snap open and Splinter sits up in a flash. Something is very wrong. But what?
Frowning, Splinter's ears twitch as he scans the loft of the farmhouse that he and his sons are currently sharing.
There is a lump in the bed next to him, breathing softly and evenly. It is only thanks to his superior hearing that he can hear anything at all.
Leonardo.
There is a snort from the bed on the other side of his eldest, pressed into the corner. Splinter's ears twitch again as his second eldest snorts then murmurs and rolls over.
Raphael.
The rustle of cloth and a soft hum draws the once human's attention to the bed in the furthest corner of the room. The lump curls further under his covers before settling once more with a sigh.
Donatello.
Splinter's heart drops when he turns his gaze to the final bed directly across from his, under the window.
It is empty.
Michelangelo!
Eyes wide, Splinter leaps from his bed, his movement barely making a creak as he stands. His eyes dart around as he hurries to the bed, placing one slender paw onto the covers.
Splinter's ears flatten and his lips form a thin line.
The quilt and sheets are cool to the touch. Wherever Michelangelo has gone, he has been gone for a good amount of time.
Splinter strains his ears, hoping to possibly hear his youngest downstairs. His orange-cladded son was known to have late night binges, having the highest metabolism of all his brothers.
Michelangelo. Where have you gone, my son?
Splinter's tail twitches, his anxiety spiking the longer the house remains silent of any sign of his youngest.
"Sensei?"
Splinter twitches as the drowsy voice of Leonardo cuts through the air. Hands flexing at his sides, Splinter turns toward his son but his ears are trained for any sign of the pitter patter of his smallest son's feet.
Leonardo is fully sitting up now, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stares at his master and father.
"Father?" He calls out softly. "Is everything all right?"
Squaring his shoulders, Splinter glances at his eldest.
"No. Michelangelo is not in his bed and I have a great sense of foreboding."
Leonardo's eyes widen and even in the darkness, Splinter can see just how young his son looks without his mask.
"Mikey's missing?"
Splinter nods before tensing when his ears pick up something downstairs. Eyes narrowing, the ninja master turns toward the stairs, listening.
Downstairs. But where?
Leonardo, sensing that his master is focusing, slides out of bed and silently glides over to his hot-headed brother's side. He covers Raphael's mouth before shaking him gently.
"Raph," Leonardo hisses. "Raph, wake up. But remain quiet."
Instantly, the body under Leonardo's hand tenses and golden amber eyes open. He shoots his older brother a questioning gaze when Leo lifts a finger to his mouth before releasing his immediate younger brother's mouth.
"Don't panic," Leo whispers. "But Sensei is trying to find Mikey. He's not in bed. Can you wake Don so that I can help Sensei look?"
A frown forms on Raph's lips but he nods, shooting a gaze over Leo's head at the tense form of their father. Leo slides back, allowing the emerald turtle to climb out of bed, a sliver of pride when the bed barely creaks as his bulkiest brother exits his warm bed.
"Mike better have a good reason fer dis," Raph breathes in Leo's direction. Leo remains silent as he watches Raph approach their brainiac brother.
He will worry about consequences later. At the moment, he just wants to make sure that his youngest brother is all right.
Splinter closes his eyes as his remaining sons shift around behind him. He can hear the occasional whisper but when one has ears as big as his, it would be hard for him NOT to hear his sons whispering to one another. However, the voice that he thought he heard downstairs was far too faint for even him at the moment.
This really is not the time for you to be showing off your stealth skills, Michelangelo, Splinter thinks as he shuffles closer to the stairs. He and his sons freeze when a floorboard downstairs creaks and Splinter finally hears what he's been searching for.
Whispering.
Bolting down the stairs, Splinter is practically flying when he reaches the main level. Leo, Raph, and Donnie are right on his heels, not making a sound as they all pile into the living room. Splinter presses a paw to his chest, his heart pounding as he scans his youngest.
Michelangelo doesn't even twitch as his four family members appear in the space with him. He doesn't appear to notice them at all. His vibrant blue eyes are trained on a single wooden door next to the fireplace, a slight crease in between his eye ridges and a troubled frown on his face.
"What's he doin?" Raph whispers as Splinter cautiously moves forward.
Donnie runs a hand down his face as he studies his only baby brother.
"I think Mikey is sleepwalking," Donnie mutters, using his hand to muffle some of the sound.
A deep frown tugs at Leo's lips as he watches his father approach their youngest member.
"Mikey hasn't sleepwalked in years," Leo whispers back, shoulders tense. "Why would he start up again now?"
Donnie shrugs as he also watches his father move as though to not startle their youngest and smallest member.
"It could be a number of things. Mikey used to sleepwalk when he was overly stressed or if he was having a very intense dream."
Raph presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, resisting the urge to growl in frustration.
"And why da shell would da knucklehead be stressed? Da Shredder is gone, we're on decent terms with da Foot and Casey and April are back from dere honeymoon. What else is dere?"
Splinter's ears flatten against his head as he listened to his 3 oldest sons talk. Everything they just said was right. Michelangelo hasn't had an episode in sleepwalking since he was six. And now, the ripe age of sixteen, it feels very out of the blue for his bright-spirited son.
"Michelangelo? My son? Are you all right?"
The small sea green turtle doesn't remove his gaze from the basement door. Doesn't give any indication that he even heard his father call out to him.
Movement catches Splinter's eyes and he drops his gaze to the young turtle's hands. Mikey is pulling at his fingers, wringing his hands in the way that he does when he's nervous or upset.
"I told you," Mikey whispers, voice high in distress. "I can't let you out. The others would be upset."
Splinter's sharp gaze snaps to the door, straining to hear if someone will reply back to his son or if this is just part of his dream. When no voice replies but Mikey shakes his head, Splinter steps closer.
"My son?" Splinter calls out gently, hovering a hand over his son's shoulder. "Who are you speaking to?"
This time, Mikey reacts to his father's presence but the unfocused glaze in the sky blue eyes tells Splinter that his son is still asleep.
Mikey wrings his hands as he shoots the door a look but keeps his face toward Splinter.
"She wants me to let her out of the basement, Daddy. But I keep telling her that I can't do that. She'll make a mess of the floor."
Unnerved, Splinter purses his lips as his tail thumps softly against the floor. His sons almost never call him 'daddy' anymore, deeming it too childish for them now. Only Michelangelo falls back on such a title when he is truly distressed or upset. Splinter glances back at his eldest three sons. Raphael appears disturbed while Leonardo and Donatello appear just as confused as he feels.
Whiskers twitching, Splinter turns his gaze back to his youngest, who has returned his eyes to the door. A sense of dread fills Splinter but he shoves it down as he moves to comfort his obviously distressed son.
"Who can you not let out of the basement, my son?"
Mikey's shoulders hunch up as he gestures toward the door.
"Her! The black-haired lady in the basement," Mikey states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "She wants to come out but she can't. We just cleaned the floors and we promised April to not dirty them again."
"Anybody else gettin weirded out by this?" Raph whispers and Splinter can't help but secretly agree with him.
He remembers dealing with Michelangelo's sleepwalking episodes all those years ago and never was his son so clear in his dialogue as he is right now.
Why do I feel that I am going to regret asking this?
Steeling himself, Splinter finally rests his hand on Mikey's shoulder.
"And why do you think she would dirty the floors, my son?"
An upset whine emits from his youngest and Splinter instantly regrets his question when Michelangelo turns watery ocean blue eyes toward him.
"Because her guts keep spilling out, Daddy! Every time she drags herself across the floor she leaves blood and entrails everywhere." Splinter's stomach twists as he stares at his son in shock, who merely continues, not even realizing that his entire family is now tense and slightly sick. "She keeps promising that she'll find her legs but she never does and without her legs she's going to mess up the floors."
This...is new.
Splinter has known that his youngest son has a vivid and wild imagination. He always has, even as a child, and many of the things that his son's mind has created due to that same creativity has lent itself to his training which has been marvelous. But, he is well aware that his son's vivid mind will supply Michelangelo with some horrific scenes, many fueled by real life events and the many horror films that he consumes.
Apparently Michelangelo and I need to have a discussion about his horror movie intake. Splinter squeezes Mikey's shoulder, closing his eyes to center himself.
"My son, what if we help your friend find her legs? Then she won't have to worry about...dirtying the floors."
"Who votes that we hide Mikey's horror movie stash?" Donnie mutters, his face pale and he looks vaguely sick. Leo and Raph quickly nod their heads, also appearing to be much greener than they usually are.
"Mike sure knows how to lighten the mood," Raph grumbles. Leo reaches over and pats his emerald green brother's arm.
A sniffle pulls Splinters attention back to his sleepwalking son and his heart breaks when the mutant rat spots large tears rolling down his son's face.
"Michelangelo? What is wrong?"
Mikey shakes his head, clearly upset as his bottom lip trembles and he scrubs at his face.
"She said that we wouldn't be able to get them back in time. She says that they're down too deep. It's why she hasn't gone to get them yet."
Oh, Kame. Give me strength.
Splinter moves his hand from Mikey's shoulder to his head.
"Her legs are too deep where?"
"Too deep in the lake," Mikey whimpers, the sound breaking Splinter's heart. "But it's not fair on her, Dad. She didn't put her legs there but without them she can't come out of the basement."
Yes. Definitely talking to him about his horror movie habits.
Rubbing his son's head, Splinter offers Michelangelo a soft smile.
"You and your brothers are turtles, my son. You can hold your breath for much longer than a human can. And you, of all your brothers, have the best swimming abilities."
"I sure ain't goin' inta no lake ta find some random lady's legs."
Mikey sniffs as he stares up at his father. Splinter waits patiently for his son's sleeping mind to catch up with what he said. However, his smile slips when Michelangelo turns his head back to the basement door. Mikey tilts his head as if listening to someone and he starts wringing his hands again.
"Uh, I don't think they want to go into the basement."
Splinter's ears flatten when Donatello makes a distressed noise. Then Mikey tenses and pales. Splinter's eyes narrow when his son's energy turns distressed and nervous. His youngest shakes his head, dropping his gaze as he shuffles his feet.
"I don't think us trading places will help you."
Nope. We are done here.
Splinter reaches down and takes a hold of his son's shoulders.
"Michelangelo, say good night to your friend, we are going back upstairs."
Mikey tilts his head toward his father but keeps his gaze on the door. Splinter narrows his eyes when his youngest doesn't say a word. Moving his own gaze to the basement door, Splinter studies it. His gut is telling him that the great foreboding that he felt upon waking is coming from this very door. Sharp, dark brown eyes narrow when he sees movement through the space between the door and the floor. However, when a thin tendril of darkness starts seeping out toward his son, Splinter doesn't think. Humming low in his throat, Splinter lifts a single hand and snaps it forward at the same time that he tosses his youngest toward his brothers. When his hand connects with the wood, a high pitch screech fills the air and the darkness seeps back under the door.
Chest heaving, Splinter straightens. He isn't sure what that darkness was but he will fight through Hell itself if it thinks that it can touch his sons. Especially his youngest.
"Mikey!"
Splinter's head snaps toward his sons, fear spiking when he sees Leo holding his youngest brother up, who has gone completely slack in his hold. Michelangelo's eyes are closed and his breathing is labored as a sheen of sweat starts to form on his face. Donnie already has a hand on the youngest's face by the time Splinter reaches them.
"Bring him upstairs," Splinter orders as he presses a hand to Mikey's forehead. He hisses. "Donatello, go grab a bowl of water and a washcloth. Leonardo, pass your brother to Raphael. Then I want you to grab the thermometer from the bathroom. Silently. We do not want to disturb Casey or April." Splinter's ears twitch as he glances up at his red-banded son the moment Mikey is transferred to his hold. "Stay by his side, Raphael. I shall be up in a moment. And if he wakes, keep him awake."
Raph nods and turns to head back up to the loft as Leo and Don rush off to do their assigned tasks. Glancing down, a worried frown graces Raph's lips as his amber eyes study his smallest brother.
"Ya really know how ta keep us on our toes, knucklehead. So, no more horror movies fer ya."
Splinter's lips twitch at Raphael's words, silently agreeing and already plotting on where he can hide his youngest's movies and horror comics.
Only until I know that this won't happen again, Splinter thinks, glaring at the door. He knows that the darkness he saw has nothing to do with those movies but it will make him sleep easier at night.
But first?
He has a darkness that needs to be sealed away as to never try and touch his son again.
Determination flashes through Splinter as he approaches the door once more. He can still see the shadows moving along the bottom of the door but not daring to reach out just yet. Breathing in through his nose, Splinter releases it slowly and resumes his humming until warmth gathers in his palms. A pale blue light radiates from his hands and he presses his palms against the firm wood. His ears flatten when a shriek echoes out from the basement, high and otherworldly.
A shiver glides down the once-human's back at the sound. He increases his humming, doing his best to not get distracted by the ringing of the screams. That is until he realizes that the screams aren't only coming from the basement but from upstairs.
"Michelangelo," Splinter whispers, attention turning toward the loft. He moves to rush up to his distressed son, hearing his eldest three crying out for him to help their youngest. However, when he goes to move from the door, Splinter's hands refuse to leave the wood.
"What?"
Splinter yanks on his hands, throwing all of his weight backwards. They do not budge. A dark and eerie voice laughs out through the screams and a hoarse voice whispers out around him.
"We shall obtain his light one way or another," the voice whispers directly into Splinter's mind and his eyes widen. "It is only a matter of time. He was ours the moment he walked through that door years ago. And there is nothing you can do. He belongs to US."
Images of shadowy figures standing in a circle flashes through Splinter's mind, some of the figures not having a defined shape while others appear to be in various states of decay. Splinter's mouth waters as the shortest figure becomes visible, a torso with arms bent out to the side, as if her arms are broken, and long black hair covers most of the woman's face. Or what is left of her face. Her jaw is unhinged and as if sensing his stare and she lifts a hand, dragging herself forward and Splinter can see blood and intestines trailing behind her.
THAT is who his youngest was speaking too? Splinter's ears flatten as he snarls, the voices' words echoing in his head.
"You will NEVER touch Michelangelo," Splinter snaps. "Nor will you touch ANYONE from my family. For you will NEVER leave your dark prison, demon. Go back to where you crawled out from."
Closing his eyes, Splinter resumes his humming once more, increasing the volume and gathering more warmth to his stuck hands. Once he has enough, Splinter shoves the warmth from him as the voices continue to laugh and taunt him.
"You shall never be rid of us, Hamato Yoshi," the voices whisper. "Michelangelo is already OURS."
"NO!"
Splinter shouts, eyes snapping open and he sits up. Heart pounding, Splinter glances around, his chest heaving as he frantically tries to gain his bearings. How did he get back up to the loft? He was just downstairs. His eyes instantly snap forward.
Dread pools in his gut as he spots Michelangelo's empty bed.
No.
"Sensei?"
"Master Splinter?"
Splinter barely registers the voices of his remaining sons as he flies from his bed and rushes downstairs. Splinter pauses at the base of the stairs, glancing toward the basement door only to find it turtle free.
Where are you, Michelangelo?
Throat tightening, Splinter wills his heart to stop pounding so that he can hear properly. A small clank of glass is the only indicator he needs before he's sprinting for the kitchen. Splinter vaguely hears his other sons calling out to him as they appear on the stairs but he only has one thought. Making sure his youngest is safe and not in the clutches of those demons. He will not allow such evil creatures to destroy the bright light that is his youngest son. Not while there is still breath in his body.
Splinter's body trembles as he crosses the threshold of the kitchen, eyes flickering around the dark area.
Michelangelo stares back, eyes wide from his spot near the sink, empty glass in one hand and the other about to turn the tap on. The youngest Hamato blinks owlishly as his father stares at him, the once-human's eyes wild and his shoulders heaving with each breath.
"Uh…" Mikey starts, wetting his lips as he glances over Splinter's shoulder when his brothers finally catch up. "Is everything okay, Sensei?" Mikey's snout twitches when his father only continues to stare at him. "Um, I promise that I'm only getting water, Sensei. I just didn't want to wake April and Casey by getting some water from the bathroom."
Without thinking, Splinter crosses the space and tugs his youngest into a tight embrace. Mikey blinks as he is nearly crushed against his father's chest and cautiously wraps his arms around the tall rat mutant's waist, allowing himself to bask in the warmth and security no matter how confused he is.
Splinter presses a hand to the back of Mikey's head, turning his eyes to the ceiling as a familiar burn appears, blurring his vision.
I swear these boys are going to be the death of me.