Green, Red, his baby boy, is in his home- safe and alive. He never thought-

Splinter had given up on his own son.

He gags, pressing his hands over his mouth as he gasps for air, fighting to keep the bile down.

He fails, scurrying out of the closet to a nearby bin and releasing the contents of his stomach in there. It reeks, burning Splinter's sensitive nostrils, but he doesn't care as his stomach tries to empty itself again, despite there being no more contents. Splinter glances over his shoulder at the small drawing on a small set of drawers and hurls again.

The drawing looks like it comes from a young child.

It doesn't.

The drawers hold the drawings made by his children, the last drawings that would ever hold their lost brothers-

Splinter can hardly handle looking at them, but it's harder to look at the family portrait Orange made him, one where only he can see the missing gaps, despite Splinter, April and his two turtles taking up almost the entire paper.

But that's what he deserves.

Splinter edges closer to his bedside, tail wrapping around the picture and pulling into his arms. He took centre stage, Orange's arms wrapped around him, chin on his head, as April leaned on Orange's shell, smirking up at Splinter. Purple stood upright, arms folded, but there was a ghost of a smile on their face, something Splinter always guards deep in his memories. Splinter rubs the frame, thumb ghosting over the two places of white over April's and Purple's shoulders.

"What would you two have been like?" Splinter wonders, before pulling the picture away as water drips onto the frame, "What are you like, Leonardo?"

He wonders if he'll get a new picture soon, one with all of them and their no longer missing brother. His children clearly don't realise, think this is just another mutant, but...

Can Splinter tell them?

He can't- he's already lied to them all these years for no good reason-

Would they ever forgive him for this?

Splinter hates how he doesn't even know, how he can't remember the last time his kids came to him and trusted him-

How he noticed they were making those same noises as Leonardo, but-

What kind of parent doesn't notice that their own child is alive and in his home?

Splinter knows he isn't a good parent. He tries, but he knows trying isn't always enough.

But for his children, he will make an effort.

"I wonder what sort of life you've lived, my little..."

Splinter hesitates. His own children picked their names, fancy artists that Orange adored and admired. He had smiled and made sure to memorise the names, the one thing his kids asked from him. Splinter didn't mind using them and his kids didn't mind Splinter's names being nicknames.

Splinter never told them about Green or Green 2. He never told them they were once Green 3 and Green 4. Splinter also never told them that when he gave them the names Orange and Purple, the younger of the other two became Red and his elder brother became Green. It may have been confusing, but it was fitting, considering the eldest didn't have any markings.

Splinter thinks it's fitting that they got to share that name.

He is not good at names, as shown with his kids and his dearest Piebald. At least he hasn't killed her either-

No. His son was alive. Splinter hadn't killed him.

But what about his eldest?

If one of his sons had survived, had the other?

Splinter couldn't afford to get be optimistic, not if reality would just crash down upon him, but...

For the first time in over a decade, Splinter felt something powerful he couldn't help.

Hope.