Responsible

The ticking of the clock seemed to get louder and more insistent the longer Splinter tried to tune it out. It had been three hours since Donatello had gotten the frantic phone call from Michelangelo and gone flying from the lair, dragging his clumsy human pupil with him. Splinter didn't know what had happened, but it hadn't escaped his notice that Donatello had grabbed the battered red toolbox-turned-portable-first-aid-kit on his way out the door.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

Splinter winced as the echo of his own words bounced mockingly through his mind. He glared down at the book in his hands and slammed it shut with a satisfying thud before tossing it aside. He had meant to caution Donatello of the consequences of teaching a costumed dimwit the precise and difficult art of ninjutsu – even though he had given his son permission to try – but now, waiting in vain for his children to return, his warning had turned back on him like a double-edged blade.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

Splinter didn't know whether or not he had set out to create warriors when he had taken the four Turtles under his wing, but that was what he had done. He had hardly had time to be a father to Miwa before he lost her. Hamato Yoshi had purchased four little pets. Splinter had been unexpectedly saddled with four little sons. He hadn't known how to be a father. He had known how to be a martial arts master, so that is what he had been. And because of that, he now had four young, strong, exceptionally talented ninjas under his command. Ninjas who were now embroiled in a war against his old nemesis and a sinister alien threat.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

They were ninjas...but they were also four loyal, noble sons for whom Splinter now cherished a deep, fierce love. True, he hadn't known how to be a father, but they had taught him. He had been amazed how quickly the deep chasm of burning loss in his soul had been filled by their warmth and laughter. They could not replace Tang Shen and Miwa...but they had healed his grieving heart in a way he had never believed possible.

They had trained him to be a father, and now they were responsible for any joy or pain that touched him. Splinter closed his eyes, willing his anxiously beating heart to slow down. His sons had no idea of exactly how vulnerable they had made him.

One of the perks of being a rat was having keenly heightened senses. The faintest echo of sound drifted into the lair, causing his tufted ears to twitch and his eyes to snap open. He tensed as the clanking and rumbling grew louder. Before he had a chance to go investigate, the sound stopped and he could hear the sound of exhausted panting in the adjoining subway tunnel.

"Thank God. Finally!" Leonardo.

"You sure you don't want us to push it any further, Donnie?" Raphael, sounding uncharacteristically out of breath.

"No, this is good." The tone of Donatello's voice indicated that he was too tired to pick up on his brother's sarcasm.

"Oh, well, as long as you're happy..."

"I'll be happy when I'm eating. I'm starving!"

"Me too, Mikey," Leonardo said. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up and we can talk about what to do next. I think we should – " He broke off suddenly. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. "Raph, why didn't you say something?"

"What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, guys, I don't think I'm gonna push any more. We'll get home faster if I don't help'."

"Whoa, take it easy, Dude. You're gonna end up on your face." Michelangelo again. "C'mon, let's go inside."

There was no more talking – only the sound of shuffling footsteps. Splinter picked up the scent of each of his sons with an underlying current of sweat, dirt, and – the fur at the back of his neck bristled – blood. He rose quickly to his feet and waited for them to appear. Another moment more, and his sons came into his line of vision. Raphael was leaning heavily on Michelangelo, left arm slung over his little brother's shoulders, while Leonardo and Donatello walked close behind. Thin rivulets of blood were slowly trickling down Raphael's right arm to drip crimson beads from the ends of his fingers.

"What happened?" Splinter asked sharply.

"Fish-face bit him," Michelangelo replied. "His teeth had poison."

"Venom," Donatello corrected automatically. His brown eyes were unfocused and tired but he ducked the open-handed swat from his orange-masked brother easily. "He'll be okay, Sensei," he went on, seeing Splinter's brows lower in concern. "I gave him an antidote."

Splinter wasn't sure who or what Fish-face might be. He knew his youngest son wouldn't elaborate, but it didn't concern him. He'd get the details from Leonardo later. Instead, he simply sent a silent prayer of thanks up to whoever was listening, grateful once again for Donatello's innovation and brilliance. "Where have you been all this time?"

"We, uh...we had to push the Shellraiser home," Donatello said, shifting his feet awkwardly. Splinter's frown deepened in confusion, but he could see an unusual amount of distress lurking in his son's eyes and decided it could wait.

"Aside from Raphael, are any of you injured?" he asked.

Leo shook his head. "No, Sensei."

"Very well. Michelangelo, bring your brother into the main room. Leonardo, fetch me the first aid kit and some warm water." Initially, Splinter had thought to take his injured son into the kitchen, but the slightly off-balance list in Raphael's posture indicated that he would probably fall off one of the stools.

Michelangelo walked Raphael over to the lowered bench in the center of the lair. His shell clunked hollowly as he dropped back against the seat. Leonardo appeared again carrying the larger first aid kit they kept in the lair with one hand and balancing a basin of warm water in the other. He set it down at Splinter's feet as the master sat beside Raphael.

Splinter's eyes touched on his other three sons. "I will take care of Raphael. The three of you should get cleaned up."

"You guys go ahead," Donatello said, backing toward the subway tunnel. "I've got to work on the Shellraiser."

"You first, Leo. I'll stick with Raph," Michelangelo said. He ignored the halfhearted elbow in his ribs and shifted closer to his brother in a manner that definitely wasn't a snuggle.

Splinter lifted the injured arm, carefully removed the elbow pad and wrist guard, and peeled away the blood-soaked tape wrapped around the knuckles. He dipped a clean cloth in the water and started sponging away the blood that had flowed from the twin rows of deep punctures on both sides of Raphael's shoulder. His son remained still and pliant under his hands, and that alone was enough to worry the master all over again.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently.

"My stomach hurts."

Although he had been hoping for an honest answer from his obstinate son, he hadn't been expecting one. Splinter looked Raphael over carefully. Although the bite wounds had nearly stopped bleeding now that he wasn't exerting himself fighting or pushing the Shellraiser, his face was sweating a little and his color seemed wrong. His left arm was folded tightly against his plastron.

"He barfed earlier," Michelangelo explained. "Donnie said he thought he might have some cramping for a while." Bright blue eyes narrowed in a glare. "Don't think I've forgotten that you owe me half a pizza, Bro."

Despite his discomfort, Raphael huffed a laugh and smooshed his hand against his brother's face, pushing the smaller Turtle off the bench. Michelangelo just grinned and climbed up again. Splinter took one of the sterile syringes in the first aid kit and used it to direct a stream of warm water into the deepest of the punctures. Raphael shut his eyes but didn't flinch as clots of blood mingled with remnants of Xever's gelatinous saliva were flushed from the wounds.

Splinter wiped the blood and fluid from his son's muscular arm and blotted the last of the seepage from the wounds. "These will need to be left open to drain, but we'll bandage them for now."

Ordinarily a wound on the shoulder would be tricky to cover, but bandaging tape adhered easily to the Turtles' smooth green skin and Splinter was able to tape nonstick gauze pads over the punctures. Leonardo came back out into the main living area just as his father was putting away the last of the first-aid supplies. Michelangelo, satisfied now that Raphael was all right, bounced up and jogged off to take a shower.

Splinter stood. "Do you want to lie down?"

Raphael shook his head. "Feels better when I'm sitting up." He picked up a pillow and hugged it against his stomach.

Splinter beckoned to his eldest with his eyes. Leonardo followed him to the kitchen and waited in silence while his father filled the tea kettle and put it on the stove to boil. "What happened?" Splinter asked. He stood with his hands on the counter and listened while the leader of his team told him about the fight. How they'd tracked the stolen parts to Stockman's lab, only to find the scientist in the company of the Purple Dragons and the Shredder's henchman, Xever. The mutant was even more powerful than before, now that he possessed a pair of robotic legs...and, apparently, some highly dangerous venom. How Donatello had come crashing through the wall to get them out of a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of their control. How the Kraang had been drawn to the energy signature from the power cell and attacked, stealing it back.

Leonardo sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "This probably means that both Stockman and the Purple dragons are working for the Shredder now. The only good thing about tonight is at least we know that the Kraang aren't working for him."

The steaming kettle whistled and Splinter began steeping peppermint and ginger tea. "And what of the human?"

"He tried to help and got caught by the Kraang," came the frustrated reply. "Donnie had to choose between getting the power cell back and saving him. After the Kraang were gone, we cut him loose and headed home. Mikey, Raph, and I pushed the Shellraiser until we got it onto the main track headed to the lair, and then Donnie climbed out and helped push it the rest of the way."

"Do you know where the Kraang might have taken the power cell?"

"No. I don't know what we're going to tell Leatherhead," Leonardo said with a wince. He rubbed his tired blue eyes with his fingers. "I've got to figure out what we're going to do next."

"Yes. You do." Splinter checked the tea, found it ready, and poured it into Raphael's favorite mug. He rested his hand on Leonardo's shoulder and the blue-masked Turtle lifted his head. Splinter's brown eyes softened as he held out the steaming drink. "But you do not have to do it tonight. Take this to your brother. It will help ease the cramping. Once his stomach is settled, you may give him some pain medication for his shoulder. And see that he goes to bed."

Leonardo smiled. "Hai, Sensei. I'll carry him if I have to." His grin broadened as he looked out the the main room. "I don't think I'll have trouble with Mikey, though." The orange-banded Turtle had rejoined his brother on the bench after his shower. He'd propped a pillow against Raphael's legs and was already curled in a warm little ball, sound asleep.

Splinter chuckled. He waited until Leonardo had reached his brother's side, then turned back into the kitchen. He took a few minutes to dampen a towel in the sink and fill a glass with cool water, then went in search of his fourth son. Donatello was rarely hard to find, though, and tonight was no exception. The Shellraiser had been parked on the tracks just past the turnstiles, near the lab. He couldn't see Donatello, but he could hear the grating sound of metal on metal as his son worked buried in the subway car's innards. The smell of fuel and oil mingled in the air and stung his sensitive nose.

He stopped just outside the half-open door to the car. "Donatello? Come out of there a moment."

"Huh? Uh, hai, Sensei," came the muffled reply. There was a shuffling, a clank, the subway car lurched a little, and then the purple-masked Turtle hopped out, wiping his grease-covered hands on an even more grease-covered rag. His mask was darkened with dust and sweat, and there was a thick black streak across his snout where he had absently swiped a hand across his face. One side of Splinter's mouth lifted in a spare, fond smile, and he held out the items he carried.

Donatello smiled. "Thanks." He stripped off his mask and took the wet towel, wiping away the worst of the grime on his face and hands, then drained the glass of water without stopping to breathe.

"I spoke with Leonardo," Splinter told him after he had finished. "He told me about what happened tonight." His son winced a little – although whether it was from shame or because he was regretting putting his sweaty mask back on, the master wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry, Sensei," Donatello said quietly, looking at the ground. "You were right. You warned me about instructing that guy. I thought I'd keep him from getting himself hurt but it just backfired. I'm responsible for losing the power cell."

"You are also responsible for saving an innocent person from the Kraang."

"But at what cost?" Donatello asked, lifting his hands in a pleading gesture. "You know I'd do anything to save my brothers – anything – but losing that power cell could have disastrous consequences. I'd already made a mistake by trying to train the Pulverizer. He drove on the way to Stockman's lab so I could make the antidote for Raph, but after that...we told him to stay inside the Shellraiser, but he didn't. He went after the Kraang even when we told him how dangerous it was. We warned him, but he didn't listen – and then when I could have stopped the Kraang, I didn't. I saved him. I'm glad he wasn't hurt, but...Sensei..." He swallowed hard. "Should I have chosen to get the power cell back instead?"

The guilty, wounded look on his face made Splinter's heart ache.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

"You say your decision to train this Pulverizer was a mistake," he said. "It is not a decision I would have made, but although I did not agree with you, I was willing to let you try. You are a good teacher, my son, and more importantly, I knew you wanted to do your best to help him so he would not be hurt. There were consequences for your actions and there may be further consequences that we cannot foresee right now...but I cannot call compassion and the desire to do good a mistake."

Donatello remained silent, but the subtle glimmer of hope in his eyes told his father that he was on the right track.

"Regarding your decision during the fight: I was not there," he went on. "You are the only one who can accurately evaluate your actions tonight. But consider this: your choice saved a life. Two lives," he amended. "If not for you, your brother might have died and the human would have been killed by the Kraang. And there is one thing I know." He reached out and rested his hand on a slumped shoulder. "In war, collateral damage is sometimes unavoidable. But you would not be Donatello – you would not be the son I know – if you ever believed that collateral damage was acceptable. It is not in your nature to willfully make that kind of sacrifice. You have said that you are responsible. This is true. But you are a powerful warrior, and you also have a responsibility to protect those who are weaker. This is what you have done." He paused, making certain that Donatello was listening. "And do not forget, my son: it was I who trained you."

He waited for the implication of his words to sink in, and he saw the familiar light in Donatello's eyes when the ninja understood. The tentative look on his face disappeared as his father said softly, "I am proud of you."

A soft smile began to dawn on Donatello's face. "Hai, Sensei."

Just like that, the guilt was gone. And Splinter was reminded anew how much power his approval had in the lives of his children. He felt his mouth lift in an answering smile at the joy in his son's eyes. His hand tightened on the solid green shoulder and he gave Donatello a tug, pulling him forward to wrap his arms tightly around the hard-shelled body. Donatello stiffened in surprise. Splinter knew his sons did not doubt that he loved them, but he was not, as a rule, physically demonstrative. A hand resting on a shoulder – or a flip that sent them careening across the room – was usually the way he expressed his affection.

But the tension lasted only an instant. Donatello flung his arms around his father and melted into his embrace. The love Splinter felt from his son (and the startling strength of his arms) was enough to take his breath away. He closed his eyes and just held Donatello, hearing the subtle sniffling as the exhausted, relieved teenage boy won out over the seasoned fighter for just a few minutes. When he sensed that the moment had passed, he relaxed his hold.

"Now. That is enough work for today. Go clean up," he said gruffly, cuffing Donatello gently on the back of the head and giving him a little shove towards the lair. "You are filthy."

The brown eyes were a bit brighter than usual, but the grin on Donatello's face outshone the sun. "Hai, Sensei."

Splinter tarried a moment, looking over the broken-down Shellraiser. His son had done an amazing job outfitting the decrepit subway car with technology he had either found or invented. The loss of the power cell was a serious blow – not only for the vehicle, but in their battle against the Kraang – but he did not doubt that Donatello would be able to compensate for the loss of the techology. And he did not doubt that his sons would defeat the Kraang.

"But at what cost?"

Donatello's question sent a cold shiver down his back. War brought inevitable danger. Inevitable loss. And his sons were fighting a battle on two fronts.

If you train him, you are responsible for whatever happens.

He turned and made his way back into the lair. Donatello had stopped on his way to shower to check on his brothers. Michelangelo was awake and teasing his purple-masked brother about how badly he smelled and would he please go shower before the stench killed them all. Leonardo was chuckling at Michelangelo's theatrics and Donatello was ignoring him with exaggerated dignity as he inspected the bandages on Raphael's shoulder. Splinter was glad to see that the lines of pain on Raphael's face were beginning to fade as the tea and medication started to take effect.

He took a deep, slow breath, and deliberately allowed his tension and worry to seep away in a sigh. They would need to make plans, would need to decide how to handle this new alliance between their enemies...but not tonight. Tonight he was not the leader of a clan of ninjas. Tonight, he was simply a father.

Tonight, that was enough.