Chapter Text
Wind and ran thundered through the New York alleyway, shaking the gutters of the apartments that lined it on either side. The inhabitants of those apartments had all closed their windows and pulled shut the blinds a long time ago. There was no going out in this kind of weather, their only choice was to wait it out.
In the middle of the alleyway, out of sight from the cars and taxis on the road, there was a shack. Pulled together from discarded shipping pallets and stolen laundry, it shook and rattled in the raging storm. Splinter sat in the center; his newly mutated legs drawn up towards his chest. While the shack provided shelter from the wind, rain dripped through, drenching the top of his head. He held out a jacket in front of him, creating an additional shelter for – for his children.
This is no place for a child, he thought distantly, watching as the four young turtles played on the concrete ground.
The four didn’t know any better though, and their laughs and shrieks of joy as they chased each other through their small shelter almost drowned out the thunder overhead. Splinter’s mouth twitched up into a smile every time one of the kids crawled under his legs to hide from their brothers.
He was calling them brothers, anyway.
They were all very clearly different kinds of turtles. The largest one seemed to be the oldest, as he was already walking without much hassle. His jaw and protruding snaggletooth that Splinter found endlessly endearing pointed toward some kind of snapping turtle. The smallest one, fittingly enough, seemed to be the youngest, as he was still crawling, his large round shell bumping up against Splinter’s foot every so often. The other two seemed to be close in age, one with distinct red markings over his eyes, and one with –
One with a shell that was soft to the touch. The young turtle, while clearly an infant, seemed to know that the shell on his back was vulnerable. He always kept his shell pointed away from his brothers, especially the oldest. He was the first to back up when the red-eyed turtle and the snapper got into wrestling matches. And while him and his red-eyed brother seemed to be in the process of learning to walk, always made sure to fall forward instead of backwards when he tripped up.
Splinter didn’t know much about turtles. Honestly, he didn’t know soft-shelled turtles were even something that existed.
He leaned back, resting his back against the alley wall. He continued holding the jacket up, not wanting his young children to get wet.
For the hundredth time that day, he wondered what exactly he was doing. He had never cared for a child before, let alone four children, let alone four infant, mutant, turtle children. A sigh echoed through their small shelter, as Splinter tried to quell the rising panic in his gut. This home would only work for so long. They needed somewhere new to go. He glanced at the fur covering his arms and legs, and a rush of bile rose in this throat. No one would take him in – not in this state. What was he going to do? How was he going to provide? What if –
A small tug to his side broke him out of his thoughts. His soft-shelled son had a grip on a shirt, and was trying to pull his small frame onto Splinter’s lap. His forehead was furrowed tight in concentration as he scrambled for purchase, and Splinter could almost imagine a pair of eyebrows above those focused eyes.
“What are you doing, little one?” Splinter chuckled as he let go of one end of the jacket. He placed a gentle hand underneath the young child, (and ancestors above, he really did need to name them,) and carefully helped the child up.
The other three took that as their cue, and they all immediately started climbing, trying to join their brother on the warm lap. Splinter laughed, wincing slightly as his oldest son’s claws dug slightly into him.
They all made it there eventually, sprawled out in Splinter’s arms. The youngest turtle immediately fell asleep, one chubby hand wrapped around a clump of his fur. The other three curled up around him, and their giggles and shrieks quickly turned into sleepy snuffles as they all started to doze off. Splinter smiled at the sight, his eyes starting to feel heavy as well. He drew the jacket over his own head, creating a makeshift tent for his boys. A small nap would do him well, and he could look for a new place to stay when the rain finally stopped. He closed his eyes, and let the sound of the rain lull him into a fitful sleep.
When Splinter awoke, it was to soft whining, and gentle tugs on his whiskers.
“Hmm?” he sleepily mumbled, as he blinked his eyes back into focus. He pulled the jacked off of his head, and the light from the streetlights illuminated the scene in front of him. His red-eyed son stood on his chest, right in front of his face. There were tears in his eyes as he whined again, and gave his father’s face another pull.
“What is it?” Splinter murmured, much more awake. He looked around. Evening had fallen, and the rain had stopped. The streets were eerily quiet. The child in front of his face started to cry, his wails quickly turning into hiccupping sobs. His oldest child and his youngest quickly rose from their slumber and joined in, their wails adding to Splinter’s panic.
And the soft-shelled turtle –
And his soft-shelled son was not on his lap at all.
Splinter scrambled to his feet, holding the other three close. His eyes dartled frantically around the shelter. Nothing. He wasn’t here.
“Little one?” Splinter called out, again cursing the fact that he hadn’t named them yet. “Where are you?”
Nothing.
Cursing under his breath, Splinter exited their small shelter. Holding three of his sons in one arm, he rifled through his meager pile of possessions he had collected outside. Most of it was stuff he had pulled from the trash, and most of it was probably useless, but maybe-
A-ha!
He pulled out a bucket, and quickly put the three turtles inside. Their cries only got louder, pulling terribly on Splinter’s heartstrings. There was no time. He couldn’t afford one of them wandering off as well while he was looking for their brother.
He ran up and down the alley, pushing over boxes and pulling up trash, all while calling out softly for his son. He kept his voice low, even though every part of him wanted to yell. He didn’t need any humans opening up their windows above him, and taking this night from bad to worse.
His eyes kept flicking over to the roads on either side of him. The bright lights of the cars brought forth a panic in him that he was unable to describe. If his son had gone out there –
Would it be worth looking?
Would it be worth that pain?
No, he thought desperately. He would find him. He would find his son. He had to be here somewhere. Splinter quickly retraced his steps, checking and double checking every nook in the wall and every discarded Amazon box. The cries of the three turtles in the bucket faded into the background, as Splinter scurried as quickly as he could.
He isn’t here, Splinter’s mind unhelpfully supplied as he finished looking through the alley for the second time.
His feet stuttered to a stop.
My son isn’t here.
He turned towards the roads once more, trying to find the courage to make his feet move towards them. If something had happened, he needed to know.
He took a step, and at the same time heard a cry that had his ear twitching. He remained perfectly still, almost convinced that he had imagined it.
Again, a wail cut through the silence. It wasn’t coming from their shelter, from the bucket that housed the other three.
He ran in its direction, skidding to a stop in front of a manhole cover.
He couldn’t have –
Another cry, and Splinter was pulling the manhole cover out of the way. The cover had already been raised, creating a two-inch gap, perfect for a curious turtle. Splinter grunted as he tossed the cover aside, and stuck his head inside.
His eyes took a second to adjust, but when they did, Splinter let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob. There, only two rungs down, was his soft-shelled son. He was straddled over the ladder rung, clinging desperately to the side. His shell was pointed toward Splinter, and his face was pressed into the side of the ladder.
“You’re alright, little one,” Splinter cried, reaching his hand out. His son wasn’t that far down. He reached forward, holding on to the edge of the manhole for balance. Another stretch, and his hand wrapped around his son’s soft shell.
And maybe it was because the child was very obviously panicked, or maybe because his shell was sensitive, but as soon as Splinter made contact, his child turned around, his eyes pinched shut, and bit him.
Splinter didn’t know a lot about turtles, but the first thing he learned was that soft-shells have very powerful jaws.
His son clamped down harder, and Splinter yelped, desperately fighting against the urge to yank his hand back.
“It’s okay, little one, please let go,” he whispered, his voice trembling. His son hadn’t opened his eyes, and a faint spot of blood bloomed from where he was biting down. Splinter pulled the rest of himself into the manhole, trying not to move his hand at all. As soon as he got his feet on the ladder rungs, he brought his other hand around to his son’s front, gently prying him away from the ladder and into his arms.
As soon as his son was off of the ladder, his bite slackened and pulled away. His eyes opened, Splinter’s heart shattering as he saw they were red from tears.
“There you are!” Splinter laughed, as he spared a glance down at his hand. A perfect bite mark laid in the palm of his hand, a mark that would no doubt scar.
But any pain he felt was quickly overpowered by the overwhelming relief at having his son in his arms again.
His son smiled, cooing happily, finally feeling safe.
Splinter took a deep breath, enjoying the warm air that the sewer brought. It was – a lot cleaner than he imagined. This might be something to explore in the future.
But for now, he climbed the ladder back up to the alley, looking for his sons that he left in a bucket, and looking to see if he had any bandages.