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Splinter
It’s not the first time his sons come to him with the impossible. Michelangelo calls him mid-battle, breathless with adrenaline, shouting about swirling portals and wild doppelgangers. The call ends abruptly in a buzz of gunfire, and Splinter's heart stills. The unimaginable has a way of clinging to the shadows of his sons; waiting to whisk them out of Splinter's reach. It has happened before, months lost to space and war, and he dreads the inevitable reoccurrence.
They call back an hour later and the knot loosens in his chest. Donatello spins a concise tale of portals, Bishop, and destruction, but more importantly, turtles. Interdimensional doubles pulled across the void in a madman's desperate search for power.
“They aren’t too upset,” Donatello says. “This…Leo assures me they have experience with portals,” Donatello hesitates. “You’re here too. Well, not you but their Splinter.” There’s a shuffle, a rise of familiar scuffling before the voice changes.
“You’re not going to believe your eyes, Sensei!” Michelangelo shouts. “It’s like a mini cuddly you! You’re going to freak when you see our mini-me’s!” Michelangelo pauses. “And one Hulk. Hey! Should we like, call our Raph Kid Hulk now?”
“I’ll show you Hulk, you little-.”
“We’ll be home soon, Sensei,” Leonardo says, and the call disconnects with a soft click.
Splinter is surprised to hear of his own involvement. These events historically only have eyes for his sons. He looks around the lair, at the mess of the open foyer, and his tail twitches. He’s putting away the last of Michelangelo's paints when the Battle Shell arrives.
His sons stumble from the vehicle and he sags at the ease in their steps. No serious injuries, then. Another figure steps out of the Battle Shell and Splinter blinks at the shock of color. They look nothing like his own, all different sizes and slim proportions, but he finds familiarity in their scents. The hint of paint on Mikey, the sharp cut of motor oil on Donnie, and the hovering wisps of incense on Leo. Various smells spill from this larger version of his own temperamental son, but he finds it in the small things, like the hidden smell of soil in the cracks of his scales. All so different, yet similar. A new scent follows, and he freezes.
It is not possible.
“Sensei,” Leonardo says. “Are you ok?”
Splinter moves around the boys on legs that haven’t trembled in a decade. It’s another rat, smaller than him, but with a scent that sucks the air from his lungs. He pulls in a breath of a smell long forgotten. “Hamato Yoshi.”
The mutant turns at his name, and heat crawls up Splinter's throat. Even his eyes are the same. The other turtles shift at his declaration. They fall into a loose circle around their Master, and Splinter’s heart beats at the protectiveness.
Leo moves first, an echo of his own son. “Wow, Dad,” the boy laughs. “He used your government name!”
The action pushes Master Yoshi into movement. “Of course he did!” Yoshi says. “He’s me after all.”
Splinter swallows against the lump in his throat. “No, I am not you,” he corrects, “but I did know you.” A hand lands softly on his shoulder and Splinter squeezes it. He marvels at how perceptive his youngest can be. Splinter bends into a deep bow. “It is an honor to see you again, Master Yoshi.”
The smaller mutant is silent before slumping forward with a grunt. Splinter straightens at the noise. “No need for all the stuffiness,” the man laughs. “Why, I haven't been a master since they closed my last dojo!”
Splinter blinks.
“But dad,” Mikey says, “you’re our Master now!”
“Purely by accident,” Yoshi waves. “I’ve been retired for a long time! And I go by Lou Jitsu now.”
“Lou-?”
“-Jitsu!” Yoshi grins. “Famed action movie star!”
His sons hum in interest, but Splinter stays rooted. Lou Jitsu? He has never heard Master Yoshi use such an alias. Splinter searches for his Master in the man's slouched form, but there is nothing. Could he be wrong about this mutant? But the scent.
“Why don’t we show you guys around while Master Splinter makes tea?” Leonardo says. A steady hand pushes him toward the kitchen and he’s grateful for the distraction.
“And maybe a little one-on-one action after,” Raphael says. “I’ve been itchin’ to fight brick house here since he fell from the ceiling.”
Splinter shakingly pulls out a bag of tea leaves and an ancient tea set as their voices become background noise. Calm your mind, he breathes and turns on the stove. He’s setting up the small table in the training room when boisterous laughter floats from the garage. Splinter swallows, he even laughs like him.
The boys filter into the training room just as he settles at the small table. He watches with a critical eye as both sets of turtles fall into drastically different warm-ups. Splinter pours out a small cup of tea and hesitates, whiskers twitching, before pouring a second cup. Lou slips into an easy fold on the opposite side of the table and reaches for the olive branch.
Splinter keeps his eyes on the boys with each sip, not yet certain how to face this Yoshi. “So,” Lou starts. “The boys tell me you were my- his pet rat?”
“I was,” he smiles. The memories are hazy now, but the love always remains. Even now, he finds traces of his Master in the precise katas of his sons. “It was through him that I learned the art of ninjutsu.”
“He taught you after your mutation?”
Splinter shakes his head. “No, I was his student before the incident.”
“Wow,” Lou coughs, “I did not realize rats were so smart.” Splinter’s eyes slide to Lou, and the man hastily leans over the table. “Not that I’m saying you aren’t!” Lou stammers. “I’m sure you were a very smart rat- are a very smart rat! Even more so after the mutation!”
Splinter hides his mirth in the next sip and watches the boys spar. These versions of his sons show promise, their movements sharp and powerful, but there is slack in their form. “Your sons are still training.”
It is not a question.
“Yes,” Lou nods. “They’ve come a long way in the last few years.”
Splinter hums, yet another difference. “You did not teach them from childhood?”
“Only the basics,” Lou admits. “I believed they would not need more than that.”
“What about the Shredder,” he questions. “He has always been a threat, no matter the dimension. Were you not worried that he would find you?”
“It was different for us, for me,” Lou says. “Shredder and his clan were nothing more than a myth. A dark shadow who stole the potential of many in my family, including my mother.” Lou stares at the empty cup before grabbing the teapot. “I was determined not to let the myth take me as well. So I left my clan and responsibilities.”
“That is-”
“Foolish, I know,” Lou laughs. “But I was young and I wanted more from my life than waiting for the bogeyman. So I changed my name and became Lou Jitsu! The greatest action movie star that ever lived! Oh, I was everywhere! I lived, I loved and I had a good time,” the man shoots him a grin. “A really, really good time.”
Splinter listens but the story is unbelievable. Master Yoshi built his life around honor and duty; he would never abandon it.
“It was a good life but,” Lou sighs, “destiny always has a way of finding you. Even after this…whole situation.”
“That is where we are similar,” Splinter allows. “The Shredder has been an enemy to our clan for generations.”
“He was a demon here too?”
“At the end, but the monster wearing his armor was a different kind of evil.”
“We had one of those too,” Lou sighs. “Three actually, but we’re not talking about them. I don’t think we’ll ever talk about them.”
Splinter nods at the unspoken horror. Another unfortunate similarity. “Did you bury him?”
“We did,” Lou answers. “But at a cost.”
“There is always a cost with the Shredder.”
“A lesson hard learned,” Lou frowns. There’s a lull before Lou shifts. “So, what was I like here?”
How does one sum up a lifetime? “You were everything,” Splinter breathes. “A brother, a student, and a mentor; but more importantly, you were my family. The only one I ever had .” Splinter sets down the trembling cup. “You were complicated but honorable,” he finishes. “You remained a good man until the end, despite all that happened to you.”
“He sounds amazing,” Lou chuckles but it’s low. “I have only recently lived up to my clan's legacy.”
Splinter looks at this man, really looks at him. It is hard, the ghost of his Master clings heavily to this mutant, from his familiar scent to the way he swirls his tea, but Lou glows through the apparition. The scent of soap and oil on his fur, the hint of paint under his nails. There’s a calm to this man that Master Yoshi never had the chance to reach. Splinter looks at his own hands, scratches at the orange spray paint stubbornly clinging to a claw and puts the ghost to bed.
“You are not what I expected,” Splinter admits, “but I am glad that there exists a universe where my Master lives.” Splinter watches their boys and smiles. “One where he is happy, and surrounded by family.”
Lou reaches for the pot with a grin. “You sound like Gram-gram.”
“Who?”
“An old relative,” Lou waves. “Thank you for what you said about me and-well me ,” he chuckles. “I have not known you long, but I think destiny made you all those things to your boys.” Lou sets a gentle hand against his shoulder, and Splinter’s transported back to a small apartment. “You’ve trained them well, your sons. You’ve loved them well. If I couldn’t-I mean if it wasn’t going to be me, a version of me, who saved them, then I’m glad it was you. You’re a good ma-uh rat, I mean.”
Splinter laughs around a thick throat. “Also,” Lou continues. “I finally have someone to talk to about raising four boys! You can’t believe how hard it’s been!”
“Oh, I can,” Splinter laughs. “It was an…experience raising them. Despite appearances, Donatello was the most difficult.”
Lou leans over with a bang. “Here too?! Everyone assumes it’s Orange but he never blew up the microwave and refrigerator trying to turn it into a robot! Do you know how many fires I’ve put out!”
Spliners nods, remembering the years he lost raising the genius. They trade stories, each crazier than the last, and it’s nice, this newfound middle ground.
“And then Blue!” Lou says. They’re facing each other now and working through the last of the tea. “Gets in his mind that he’s some grand explorer! It took me three hours to pull him from the pipes-”
“Dad!” Leo shouts and his face is red enough to match his markings. “You’re embarrassing me!”
“It is alright,” Splinter smiles and glances at his own son. “We had a similar incident with Leonardo. He thought he was a pirate for the better part of his childhood. Once, he led his brothers into the sewers to raid-”
“Father,” Leonardo coughs. “I’m sure there are other stories you guys could be sharing.”
‘Yeah!” Michelangelo grins. “Tell them about the time I beat everyone- especially Raphael -and became the Battle Nexus-!”
“Again with this!” Donatello groans.
“I wanna hear it!” Mikey grins. “Then I can tell you how I became the greatest mystic warrior!”
“That technically hasn’t happened y-”
“Don’t rain on his parade, D,” Raph says. “We can talk over lunch. Oh! We can show you one of Dad's old movies! I’m sure Donnie keeps a copy of one on him.”
“I have copies of all of them.”
“Great!” Leo says. He jumps on Leonardo's back. “What do you say, cousin? Show us to your entertainment room?”
“S-sure,” Leonardo blinks. “Am I supposed to… carry you the whole way?”
“Yes,” Leo sighs. “The manners on these guys.”
“I’m not carryin’ Brickhouse over here.”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
Splinter gathers the cups and heads for the kitchen. The sound of bickering fades the deeper the others get into the lair, and a rough hand lands on his shoulder.
“You ok, Masta' Splinter?”
Splinter smiles at his son. “Yes, Raphael. I believe I am.”