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Hamato Yoshi looked over his new furry form; his pink hands, pink feet, a muzzle that stuck out on his face, and most disturbing to him: a long, pink tail.

A rat. Why a rat? How? He had thought the idea of mutation on that level to be a fictitious concept. The idea of a human and an animal merging DNA was absurd.

He looked at the sky; the sun was setting. Thank God for short winter daylight. The night, the shadows, would buy him time to figure out what to do. Surely he couldn't go about his everyday life in the form of a man/rat hybrid.

“Waaah!” his racing thoughts were disrupted by a distressed baby's wail.

He looked around frantically. A baby in an alley? That could never be a good thing. His first thought was to check the dumpster.

“Waaah!” The cry rang out again and he found the source before he could even make it to the dumpster. Lying at his feet was a crying human-like turtle. The mutant infant was stuck on his shell. Splinter knelt down and took the little one into his arms.

He bounced him lightly and hushed him. “It is alright, little one. Do not cry.”

The infant pouted and stared up at the large, warm creature that held him. Fervent brown eyes met curious baby blue ones.

Splinter stroked the green infant's freckled cheek with his thumb. “Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”

The baby seemed to settle down, cooing contentedly.

“There you go,” Splinter smiled. He felt a light tap on his foot. He looked down and saw another baby turtle, but this one was larger than the one that he held. “Well hello there,” he said. He set the infant in his arms down next to him on his stomach and lifted the one at his feet.

The baby smiled. Splinter noted that his eyes were a darker blue than his presumed younger brother.

“Aren't you a brave little one?” he cooed and tickled his chin. The little turtle giggled and grabbed onto the amusing hand. He observed it curiously for a moment, and then stuck it in his mouth of only a few teeth.

Splinter chuckled and removed his hand from the toddler's mouth and playfully tapped him on the nose.

Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation in his spine that he'd never felt before. Was it his spine? It felt to him as sort of an extension of his spine. He turned to look at the source of the said sensation and saw another baby turtle holding the end of his new tail. This one was smaller than the one he held, but only a little bit larger than the tiny freckled one.

The little one seemed mesmerized by the strange, moving appendage in his hands. He cooed as he stared at it and giggled when it whipped and tapped him on the nose.

Splinter chuckled. “What is that, little one?” he cooed. He set the turtle in his arms next to the smallest one that still lay on his stomach and scooped up the curious one.

Big mahogany eyes stared up at the rat curiously, aiding a blank expression. Tiny olive green hands reached up and touched the rat's whiskers. The child's blank expression switched to one of fascination.

Splinter smiled and removed the little one's hand and held it in his own. He massaged it with his thumb as he observed it: two chubby fingers and a thumb. Strange, yet ever so precious.

He returned his glance to the little one's face to find him watching him. Then the little one smiled.

“Waaah!” another cry interrupted the moment. Splinter looked down and saw the cry was coming yet again from the smallest turtle, still lying on his stomach, except this time another larger baby turtle was attempting to crawl on top of him and was biting him on his arm. This turtle was almost the exact same size as the largest turtle with the dark blue eyes, who just sat up curiously watching the action.

“Oh no, no, no,” Splinter swiftly set the small brown-eyed turtle down next to his bigger brother and scooped up the little troublemaker who was squishing his smallest brother.

The little one protested, attempting to bite the arms that held him.

Splinter giggled. “Your brother does not want you to squash or bite him,” he cooed as he cradled the fussy toddler. “There, there, settle down now.” He attempted to stroke his cheek, but the little one glaring with green eyes attempted to bite his hand. He then scooped up the fussing infant that had been squished. “Oh no, little one,” he cooed, “what happened?”

Seeing his freckle-faced little brother now in the neighboring arm, the green-eyed troublemaker giggled and reached over and attempted to grab his face.

Splinter firmly grabbed his hand. “No, no,” he said, “do not harm your brother.”

The larger turtle whined and kicked his feet. Splinter ignored his fussing and set him down next to the other two on the ground. The rambunctious tot then proceeded to attack the largest turtle, except this one did not cry, but wrestle back.

Splinter smiled at them and continued to console the smallest of the four. “It is alright, little one.” Once the baby was calmed he returned him to the ground with his brothers. He attempted to sit him up, but he began to fall backwards. Splinter gasped and caught him. He then proceeded to put him on his stomach again. The other three began to crawl in all directions. The littlest one watched them and attempted to pull himself up, but fussed when he found he wasn't strong enough.

“What's the matter?” Splinter cooed. “You can't get up?” He scooped the little one up again and cradled him. “That's okay.” He tickled the little one's chin and finally saw him smile. “There's a smile. Aw, aren't you precious?” He then gathered up the other three into his arms the best he could and sat down behind the dumpster.

He sighed. What was he to do? He purchased those turtles and now they were children, his children. It was his responsibility to care for them now, but surely a mutant rat and four mutant turtles could not live in everyday society among humans. They would never be accepted, and could even be in danger. He shuddered at the idea of anyone harming those four precious children. No. He would never let that happen. Not again. This time he would succeed as a father.

Where would he raise them though? Certainly not in his apartment. If he could not go back to work, then he could never pay the rent and then surely he and his new sons would be discovered. He had to live somewhere that was safe and free.

The mahogany-eyed toddler crawled away from his new father in a seemingly aimless direction. He stopped on a manhole cover and stuck his finger in a hole.

Still holding the smallest to his chest, Splinter got up and pursued the curious little one. “What are you up to?” he asked and knelt down to scoop him up.

Splinter stared at the manhole. The sewers. Probably not the cleanest place to raise them, but the safest? Possibly. How often do humans travel into the sewers? He presumed not often.

He heard the two oldest by the dumpster whining. “What is the matter?” He moved closer to see them shivering and huddling together. The sun was setting; they were cold. Splinter looked around the alley for something to cover them and discovered his torn clothes. He set down the older turtle in his arm down next to the two oldest and retrieved the torn shirt. He wrapped it around the three of them and then added the smallest into the bundle. He lifted the bundle and held them closely to his chest as he lifted the manhole cover and cautiously climbed into the sewers.

Once he reached the floor, he set the bundle of turtles down and, before they could crawl away, he climbed back up and shut the manhole. He gathered the fussing and shivering bundle back into his arms and traveled on to find a place to reside.

Within thirty minutes and three miles of travel, he had found an abandoned subway station. That could work. He walked to the several different areas and envisioned how each could, over time, be made to be more homey. He even found an old room with a working sink and toilet. Perfect. It was like it was abandoned just for them.

He settled down in the largest room in the center and held the little ones closer to him. Surely there were not nearly enough materials in their new home to help them survive. He would need to return to his apartment to get some necessities. He couldn't imagine leaving his turtles alone though. They could crawl off and get lost or worse.

His thought process was interrupted by the green-eyed troublemaker's yawning. They were getting tired. Perhaps he could go and retrieve his items after the little ones fell asleep. That could work, but even still he would need to be quick.

It was only five minutes before all four of the turtles were fast asleep. He kissed each one of them on the head and carefully laid each of them down on their stomachs, making sure to put the smallest on the outside so he wouldn't be smothered, and then covered them with the shirt.

He watched them for a moment more before silently slipping out of the station and into the sewers. He looked for the first manhole he could find and went back to the surface.

To avoid being seen, he climbed a fire escape and traveled the rooftops to his apartment building. In less than ten minutes, he was there. Knowing he couldn't just walk right into the building, he jumped down to the fire escape and climbed in his window.

He went to his bedroom closet and retrieved a large camping backpack. He folded up his cot and stuffed it in the bag. Next he grabbed as many blankets as he could and two pillows, folded them up and stuffed them in the pack as well.

He came across an all-too-familiar box. He sighed and slowly opened it. Inside was a framed photo of his former family, several bottles and sippie cups, a few baby blankets, and one unopened pack of diapers; the only things salvageable from the fire that he found were worth keeping. He stuffed the poignant contents of the box into his backpack.

From his wardrobe, the only clothing he wished to take with him was his dark red kimono. He slipped the kimono on and decided that that would be his entire wardrobe from then on.

His kimono having reminded him of his passion, he proceeded to his 'office' where he found his ninja weapons. Making certain that they too had their own compartment, he stuffed in as many weapons as he could fit.

The next priority was food. He went to his kitchen and gathered all the nonperishable things that he could find: canned soups, canned fruits and vegetables, even canned meat. He stuffed them in their own compartment.

He opened another cabinet to find the things he could never live without: his teapot and teabags, hundreds of teabags. He shoved them in with the rest of the food, and went back to the window to go on his way.

When he returned to the sewers, he was relieved to find his boys were just how he had left them. He unrolled his cot and set it down on the ground and next to it, he laid down the two pillows. He picked up each turtle and placed them on the makeshift bed.

He then unpacked the diapers from the bag and put one on each of them. They looked awkward on them because they completely covered the bottom of their shells, but they were imperative. It may have been a sewer, but he could not have them messing on themselves or around their living area.

After the sleepy little ones were situated in their diapers, Splinter covered them up with two of the blankets, one to a pair.

“Sleep well, little ones,” he whispered. He knew he was not going to sleep easily so he sat up and watched them a while. He smiled when he realized he had unintentionally laid them in order from largest to smallest.

The largest had rolled over onto his back, his mouth hanging agape. Splinter smiled; such a brave little one he was for one so small. How the toddler approached him, a large and strong mutant rat, with a smile on his face, though not knowing what was to become of himself. His bravery much like that of a lion. Leo. Leonardo. Yes, that would be a perfect name.

Splinter reached down and stroked his forehead. “Leonardo.”

The second largest was still on his stomach and had slightly retreated into his shell. Quite the rambunctious little one; how he seemed to love to wrestle and fight. He reminded Splinter of a puppy, or more wild, a wolf puppy. Ralph. Splinter cringed. The name reminded him of an elderly man; definitely not suitable for his rambunctious little one. Raphael? Yes, perfect.

Splinter stroked his hand. “Raphael.”

The third had rolled to his right a bit more to be closer to the smallest. This one had so far proven to be very curious; always observing. His observant behavior could one day serve him a great deal of knowledge. Perhaps knowledge that could change the world. The world. Donald. Splinter looked at the little one again and tried to fit the name with him. No, that would not do. Donatello? He smiled; yes.

He lifted the little one and moved him further from his younger brother so that he would not mistakenly squash him. “Donatello.”

Finally, he watched the tiniest of the four. He was the only one that had not moved much from where he was laid down. He still laid on his stomach, snoring very lightly. This one was perhaps too young to show many character traits; couldn't be more than six months old. Even still, the little one seemed very sweet and angelic. Angelo. Splinter contemplated; it sounded okay, but he knew for certain he could do better. Michelangelo? The painter of the Sistine Chapel.

He looked at his youngest and smiled. “Yes,” he said aloud and adjusted the blanket over the little one. “Michelangelo.”

He kissed them each again and retired to his cot beside them. “Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo; perfect names for perfect little boys.”