TMNT are the property of Mirage! I can handle this bit of news because Buslady has found me a YOSHI figure with lil' Splinter perched on his shoulder! Thanks, B.L.!

Aftermath- Part A

They were both unconscious by the time the Battle Shell reached home. Don and Leatherhead arrived back just as Splinter and the others entered the Lair from the elevator, carrying Leo and Raph as best as they could.

"Put them in my room," Splinter commanded, leading the way, as Leatherhead rushed over to take Leo from April and Mikey.

"But Sensei, I think they'd be better off-" Don tried to say, following his father anxiously, but Splinter was deaf to his son's wise suggestion.

"No. I need them in my room. I must have them here. I do not want them in the infirmary. I do not want their last moments-" He forcefully stopped himself from expressing this terrifying thought of his, and took a deep breath. Instead he began arranging the bedding, dragging the extra futon from its storage place to a position next to his own. He worked in spite of his own injuries, his own exhaustion.

"Gather everything we will need, Donatello, and bring it in here," he continued, as Casey and Leatherhead carefully lowered both injured turtles to the floor, sitting with them, supporting them until Splinter gave them the word to put them to bed. "We will make this the infirmary. Michelangelo, we will need much water and every towel we own. We must clean the blood from them before we can begin anything else."

He looked at these two foolish sons, more dead than alive. Both were still seeping blood- both were so coated in the blood of their enemy, of the men they had killed, of their own-

Splinter turned and busied himself with preparing the other futon. Leonardo would take this one on the left, he thought, and Raphael would go in his. This way he could sit between them, tending to them both.

He moved his low table to a position between the two. It would be good for holding the things needed to care for these foolish sons- he forced himself to breathe deeply again. His emotions were struggling to gain control of him. The events of the past few hours- indeed, of the past few days- were threatening to overwhelm him, to master him, to conquer him

These foolish sons! Anger at them, at their suicidal mission, was making itself heard clearly, and he was desperately trying not to listen.

I have no time for anger! I must save it for their recovery! I have no time for anger!

As he waited for the water and medical supplies, he looked again at these blood-drenched, badly wounded Ninja; these two might warriors who had taken on and defeated on of their most deadly and powerful enemies, as well as his corrupted and defiled "super soldiers"; these two brave and determined fighters- and only saw two foolish sons- two young turtle tots-

Two much-loved children.

Don returned with the needles, thread, antiseptics and every scrap of bandaging material he owned. He wasn't happy with having his brothers in here. What was the point of Sensei having him set up and maintain an infirmary for all these years if he wouldn't make use of it? It would be hard to care for them in here, especially if one of them... both of them...

Don deposited the supplies, and moved over to Leo. His brother needed a transfusion; he was sure in fact that both of them needed this. He'd have an easier job of doing it in the infirmary, where the items were ready to hand. Why did Splinter insist on having them in here?

Then he looked at his father, working at every little thing he could think of until the water and towels arrived. He needed to rest. He needed his own wounds, his own injuries dealt with. He still had blood on himself, he still had blood seeping through the bandage across his forehead. Instead, he busied himself as if he didn't dare sit still, as if time spent working was the only precious thing in the world.

It dawned on Don, as he watched his father moving with such determination, that he needed a robe. Victor had returned his robe to them, but it was bloodstained and needed cleaning. Don hurriedly rummaged the closet, and grabbed the robe that Mikey had seen in April's shop a while ago. It was a gaudy red, with embroidered dragons all over it, and Mikey had so fallen in love with it that he scrounged up the money to buy it for Sensei as a "birthday" gift (though none of them really knew his real date of birth).

And Splinter had thanked Mikey warmly for the gift, wearing it for that day and then putting it away, insisting that it was too fine for everyday wear, but that he would always put it on for birthdays and other celebrations "involving our family"- the others knew he did not wish to wear it, but Mikey had been satisfied, and that was all that mattered.

He grabbed this robe and wordlessly persuaded his father to put it on, for it was cool in here, and he needed to be covered.

Splinter sighed, accepting the robe, looking at his two foolish sons.

"Yes- it is a family occasion after all," he whispered in Japanese.

With those few words, Don suddenly realized out of the blue that Splinter wanted Leo and Raph in here in case one of them- or both of them- died.

Family. Splinter wanted his sons to spend their last moments in a familiar place; a family place.

A family place. He thought of the past year- how he'd spent time in this room, feeling safe and loved in that family place, and it cam home to him just how frightened his father was that the family might lose one or both of them.

It was odd- this was Splinter's private room, and usually the guys were summoned here for discipline or special occasions. But it was also a family place, a place where each of them could come to when they needed a father, not a sensei.

A family place. Now he understood. Now he grew scared. Then he pushed it down and got to work.

Mike and April came in with large basins of water, while Honeycutt delivered the towels, and they set to work; Splinter, Casey and Mikey working on Raphael, Leatherhead, April and Don cleaning up Leonardo.

As Splinter was bathing Raphael's face, he had a vivid memory from long ago, when the turtles were five years old. Raphael and Leonardo had gotten into a fight just outside the old Lair, out in the sewers, and had come back home covered from head to toe in raw sewage. Splinter knew that Leonardo would bathe himself willingly, but Raphael had come home angry and defiant, and did not wish to wash away what he considered "wounds of honor! I was in the right, Sensei! I ain't washin' it off until Leo admits that I was right!"

"This!" and he ducked his son quickly in the deep tub, making sure that he also surfaced just as quickly. Raphael came up spurting water and laughing, and Splinter engaged in a brief water fight with this energetic, laughing, happy child.

As he cleaned the last of the blood from this face, he saw in it the happy child, still there in spite of the battles and triumphs and tragedies and horrors he had endured in recent years.

"My son," he whispered, reverting to the Japanese that had been his own first language- and subsequently theirs- "I owe you a severe punishment. And you owe me a water fight rematch."

Honeycutt kept a fresh supply of water coming, and soon they began to fear they would run out of towels before they finished. It seemed to take forever to clean the blood from them, but eventually they began to look their normal color- though pale, too pale, from loss of blood.

Then the grim process of cleaning, sewing up, and bandaging the worst wounds took place.

Splinter moved from Raphael to Leonardo, and began to stitch the deep and vicious sword wound on his left arm. He'd always hated this part. He had always hated having to inflict more pain on his sons in the name of helping them.

"Do you remember, Leonardo, the first time I had to put stitches in you?" he softly asked, as he made the first stitch, slowly, carefully drawing the thread through the flesh of his son, slowly beginning to pull the wound closed one tiny stitch at a time. "I remembered it while I was in that place. I remembered stitching your foot. Raphael held you still, Michelangelo distracted you, and Donatello helped me. I never told you, but while you were busy with Michelangelo, I allowed Donatello to make a few stitches- his first experience at doing it."

He continued to carefully pull the flesh together, attempting to minimize any future scarring from this wound. Leo, deeply unconscious, didn't register any pain, but Splinter was convinced that he could feel each prick of the needle, each tug of the thread through his flesh.

"I never told any of you how much I hated that first time- or the other times I have had to do this," he whispered in Japanese, eyes on his task. "Perhaps if I had, they you and your brother would not have done this foolish, dangerous thing. Perhaps it would have saved you from this."

Mikey, overhearing his father talk like this, nearly burst out crying. He had been fighting the reactions of the past few days, the past few hours, rather successfully- until he heard his father whispering like that to Leo in Japanese.

He'd felt guilty all the way home. Raph and Leo were so bad off, Splinter was still hurting and looking ill, yet all he could think of was Victor.

Victor had just wanted-

He shook his head, forcing this man from his mind. He needed to think only of Raph and Leo and Splinter at the moment. He would think of Victor later. He would mourn him properly later. He swore he would.

I promise, Victor, he thought. I promise.

Splinter looked up from his task. He could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders from sitting like this, hunched over the arm of his son, carefully stitching the wound. He had just tied off the thread, and was waiting for Donatello to cut it, when he glanced over at Raphael. Casey was just as carefully stitching up one of the more serious slashes in Raphael's leg, putting the finishing touches on a job well-done.

Splinter, in the back of his mind, was amazed at Casey's ability and apparent expertise in doing this. Obviously there were things in this man's past that he had never shared with any of them. Even April, judging from the amazed yet proud look on her face, seemed surprised that Casey, such a big, powerful- and sometimes clumsy- person, was performing this delicate task with almost the same determined precision as Master Splinter.

April, Splinter reflected, had also been more than helpful; her knowledge of first aid had, in Splinter's opinion, kept both his sons from bleeding to death on the ride home. She was like a sister to his sons; like a daughter to him. He watched her with pride and love as she and Donatello worked together, sewing up several smaller yet deep wounds on Leonardo's body.

Finally the work was finished. Don, April and Casey cleaned up the mess and disposed of it in the proper manner, then the humans headed out to various stores where they could buy more medical supplies without drawing attention to themselves- they needed that much.

"Let us get them into bed now," Splinter said, and with the help of Leatherhead they got both turtles settled finally, side by side. Splinter felt as if he would collapse on the floor, he was suddenly so tired.

"Master Splinter," Leatherhead said softly. "You must allow me to tend to your injuries. You need them cleaned and bandaged as well. And then you need to rest. We can take care of Leonardo and Raphael for now. Please allow me to tend to you."

Splinter shook his head, eyes on the faces of both foolish sons.

"I am well for the moment, Leatherhead. I am well for the moment. I do not require anything except perhaps a nice hot cup of tea. It feels as if it has been forever since I last tasted any."

"Master Splinter," Professor Honeycutt said. "You really must allow us to treat you. You have been subjected to horrible tortures, drugged for days, and you are risking your own health by refusing treatment."

Splinter merely shook his head. He watched each face, waiting for a sign that they both still were there; that their spirits had not already gone on ahead of their bodies.

Michelangelo forced a smile onto his face.

"Aww, come on, Sensei," he tried in that coaxing tone of voice he utilized when trying to get something special out of his family, but Splinter, without breaking his gaze from the wounded ones, abruptly raised his hand in a sharp signal to end this conversation at once.

Mikey sighed, shook his head at the other two, and went to the kitchen to fix Splinter some tea.

There was an awkward silence. Splinter realized that he was being rude, and it softened his attitude.

"I cannot thank the two of you enough for coming to my aid," he said sincerely, looking at them both. "I am fortunate that my sons have formed such friendships with you both. I will do as you say in a little while, I promise. But for now..." and he glanced yet again at his two foolish sons.

"I am the fortunate one, Master Splinter," Leatherhead returned, smiling warmly. "The friendship shown to me by you and your family has helped me greatly. I owe you all much."

"I, too, owe much to your sons, Master Splinter," Honeycutt said. "They are the bravest, kindest, most interesting and most generous beings I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I was truly lucky the night they came to my world."

Splinter smiled, and bowed.

Then he concentrated his attention once again on his foolish sons.