Warmth | Splinter Appreciation Week 2025
Read on AO3
Raphael had never been good at waiting. Patience, sitting still, silence, all of these were virtues of a good ninja, and he'd never been fond of a single one. He was an actions kinda guy, a get up and get shit done kinda guy. Having nothing to do made his hands twitchy. Still, sometimes silence couldn't be avoided—sometimes it was necessary.
Sometimes, it drove him crazy.
He watched threads of scented smoke drift into the air from the incense on the bedside table. It blanketed the silent room in familiar warmth, and had the added bonus of covering the faint, musky scent of unwashed fur. It had gotten too cold to want to risk giving the old man a bath, he was already on his way out, no one wanted to give him pneumonia.
Raphael's eyes continuously watered as he watched the little ember on the end of the incense stick. He told himself it was from the faint chill of the farmhouse room, from the dry air, from his unblinking stare, but it wasn't really any use. He wasn't any better at lying to himself than he was at sitting in silence.
He flinched at the rattling inhale of breath beside him and reflexively tightened his hand over his father's. The pulse that beat, steady and slow, beneath his fingertips, began to quicken.
It seemed to take effort to tear his eyes away from the incense, the little coal left a spot in his vision as he looked over to his father and found him already looking back. All the hard edges in his expression went soft, the taut lines in his body rounded as he leaned forward and adjusted his grip to hold the thin, chilly paw in his own hands.
"Sensei," he said. He brought the paw up to his chin and closed his eyes, trying to will them not to tear up again. It had been what, four hours since he last spoke to his dad? It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't.
Except it was, because every time he said goodbye, he was sure it would be the very last.
"Raphael," he replied, a smile in his aged voice.
He took a deep breath, bracing himself to look at the silver-streaked face and drooping whiskers. He found himself smiling in spite of it all. "How are you feeling?"
Splinter hummed while he considered it, which lapsed into a little cough.
"The medicine your brother gave me seems effective."
Raph pointedly didn't look at the IV in Splinter's other hand, he did not. "Good, good. That's...good."
Splinter tugged his hand free and stroked it over Raphael's head. Immediately, all his work to not tear up went out the window. No matter how old he and his brothers got, this one sweet gesture of comfort and love had never ceased. Raphael closed his eyes and tried to commit it to memory.
"I know you are troubled," Splinter said quietly. Even his whisper held a hint of that rasp in the back of his throat. "Were it that I could ease your suffering—"
"No, no." Raph cut him off and scooted impossibly closer to his father's bedside. "Sensei, you're the one—" he broke off with a choked sound. "You shouldn't be feelin' bad for us. We're gonna be fine. You worry 'bout yourself, okay?"
He busied himself by tugging the quilt up closer to Splinter's chin and tucking him in, smoothed the thinning ruff of fur around his neck. He ignored how clumps of it kept trying to come away on his fingers.
He could do this, he could do this, he had to do this—
He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump of emotion. "Everyone else is gettin' some dinner, they'll be back up soon ‘n bring you some.”
"Hm. Thank you, Raphael."
"Sure thing."
He settled back in the chair, Splinter's hand in his, and let the silence wash over them again. It made his ears ring.
Downstairs, Mikey and Shadow laughed in unison about something or other. Splinter’s ears angled toward the open door, an idle smile on his face as he listened.
“I will never tire of the sound,” he said.
“What, Mikey’s big ol’ cackle?”
Splinter’s smile grew wry. “Of my children’s laughter.”
Raph let himself smile back. He knew perfectly well what Splinter meant, but he could never resist a dig on his brother, even when he wasn’t around to hear it. Splinter had said something similar probably a thousand times; he had always been a loving father, but in his old age he became downright doting. He doted on all his sons, adults as they were, and on April and Casey. He especially doted on Shadow, who loved to sit beside him and watch her cartoons. She liked to brush and braid his hair, clipping little doll’s accessories into it and grooming him like a regular show pony. April probably had a hundred of pictures of that scenario alone. Splinter had never been anything but a Dad, so of course Shadow was naturally drawn to him.
Raph leaned forward with a sigh, bracing his forearms against the edge of the bed. (Deathbed, his brain helpfully supplied. This will be his deathbed.) (No amount of time in the world would be enough for him to get used to this. His heart hurt. His head hurt. He wanted his dad, and he wasn’t even gone yet.)
"You ever wonder what your life woulda been like if you didn’t take us in? I mean, you sure didn't ask for four lil' squirts to take care of, 'specially not right after losing Master Yoshi."
He shook his head almost absently. “No. I would have been lonely, and I don’t like to think of that.”
“Do you...regret it? Us?”
Splinter laughed. A bright spot in the otherwise oppressive room that made everything feel ten degrees warmer. Raphael looked up, surprised. The mirth remained in Splinter's face as he answered.
"Oh, Raphael, my boy, no. I experienced doubt, perhaps, at my ability to provide what you needed, but I never regretted you for an instant. You were among the first things I ever saw with these new eyes. You—you four—are my entire life's purpose, the thing I was made for." He paused and took a few deep breaths.
Just this was taxing on him. Raphael gave him a moment to catch his breath before he carried on.
"Even though The Shredder was still out there?"
He shook his head a little, a very slight movement against the pillows. "My son, once I saw you, all thoughts of revenge were driven from my mind. From that day forward, you were all that mattered. And trust me, I did not have time to think of any regrets. Four turtles. Four boys." His eyes grew a little faraway, remembering. "I must have been crazy.” He looked sidelong at Raphael, eyes sparkling. “Crazy in love, I think."
Someone dropped something downstairs. Shadow shrieked with laughter. There was a chorus of shushes afterward, Casey's loudest of all—even louder than the original laughter had been. Raph and Splinter both shook their heads, then Splinter murmured another laugh.
In a little while, Shadow would come bounding up the steps to bid goodnight to Grampa Splinter. She was only five. Raph's heart twisted painfully whenever he wondered how much she would remember of Splinter by the time her age doubled, it made him sick to think any kid should have to be without his love. The prospect of losing it forever made it clear enough that there was nothing in the world more beautiful, more steadfast, than his father's love.
The tears in his eyes weren't from the dry air. They were pain and love and fear and everything that had ever mattered to him all at once, streaming down his bare face before he buried it in his father's shoulder. He sucked in a breath of him and tried to write the scent to his memory, tried to memorize every second. There had never been anything more important than this.
Splinter rubbed over the back of his head with one hand and his carapace with the other. The movements didn't last long—he was exhausted. The still pressure on Raph’s neck was more than enough. Being able to hear his sensei’s heart beat and feel his chest rise was enough.
They didn't know if he had hours or days or weeks. Donnie'd called it palliative care, said they could only keep him comfortable now. The cancer was going to keep eating away at him until his body couldn't take it anymore, and they would make sure he wasn't in any pain. He would eventually die of organ failure, likely under a morphine-induced coma, and take his last breath completely, blissfully unaware of it. They had to start the morphine last night, when Splinter's breathing became too labored without it. Knowing the stark reality of it didn’t make it easier to swallow.
They were all trying to grieve away from him, let him have his own final days in peace rather than trying to comfort his sons and do his own grieving on the side, but—but god, it was the hardest thing Raphael had ever done. He'd fight a thousand Shredders, babysit a million Shadows, cry an interstellar river before he tried to mourn like this again. This was his father, this was the backbone of his entire universe, the axis by which everything else moved, the single pillar upholding his sanity in the madness and confusion of his life, and it was crumbling. How was he supposed to keep going after this?
"You will be alright," Splinter murmured.
A wet laugh burst through the tears. Raph pulled back and messily wiped at his face. "You always know exactly what I'm thinkin', don't you."
Splinter gratefully took a tissue to dab at his own tears. "If that were true, you would have gotten into far less trouble as a teen."
Raph sniffled and leaned forward again. There were footsteps on the stairs—Mikey, from the sound of it. "You know how much I love you, right?"
Splinter winked. "You could not hide it from me if you tried. And I love you too, Raphael.” The sheen of tears reappeared in his eyes. “Hopefully enough to last you a lifetime."
He swallowed hard. "Yeah. I think I'll get by."
