Disclaimer: I own nothing but a few action figures. Dance, turtle puppets, dance!

Change

You either adapt to change, or you are subject to it.

The fates had riddled his life with change so abrupt and so profound, that it would have left a less determined soul in ruins. The events in his life that led him to New York, the irreversible mutation, the responsibilities of a father being immediately thrust upon him...

If he had the opportunity, he would change nothing. He would trade no memory for what could have been; instead, he cherishes each day. Perhaps it is the old man in him that recalls even the most frustrating of times in the fondest reminisce.

Life was a journey made down a river with many currents, and he had navigated it well. He had used every resource available to shelter and provide for his four young charges. When the surface world tore into their lives, destroying their home, and giving them the exposure that ignited it all, he had guided his sons through the chaos. He had always mastered these changes.

Yet he finds himself in the kitchen, in that obscene hour between night and morning, like so many nights past. The usually soothing tea does little to calm his nerves as he watches the clock move in its petty pace.

Change is timeless; but he is not.

So he waits, an old master -a father- waiting for news of his sons. Will they return to him whole? Will they return at all?

It was not too long ago that he was in constant motion with the times. But now, he's finding himself being swept along by the current, nearly overwhelmed by it.

Helpless.

One night, at some obscure hour such as this one, his sons will return to him as three, or two. Perhaps not at all. And he will be helpless to this change, no longer strong or young enough to rebound. To heal.

So he waits. The silence in the lair was deafening and the constant noise that he had learned to tune out was suddenly the only thing he wished to hear. His heart ached with it.

There was always something laying wait in their future- something so drastic that it would change their lives. He was confident that his sons could indeed handle anything life had in store for them, so long as they had each other. But could he? Or had he become a liability to their very existence? His heart ached with the thought.

They had control of their destiny now, just as his own control was slipping. But he would not be a victim of circumstance. He will be strong until the end, for that was who he was. What he was. What he will always be for his sons. His heart ached with pride, and the tea cup slipped from his hand.

He watched the white porcelain fall slowly to the floor, then shatter with a startling sound. His right paw clutched the kimono over his chest as his breathing became erratic.

No more waiting. No more worrying. No more helplessness.

His heart ached, but it wasn't emotion. His fingernails bit into the skin as his hand spasmed.

He would not fall prey to it -ruled by it- for this night, he was the change.

His other hand struck out for support, catching the chair off balance. The wood toppled over, and he went with it.

Yes, a change was coming. And his sons will have to face this one alone...