Akumas & Yōkai

Public school was a breeze compared to the Cathedral. The kids there were also nicer. There were a few students who had taken it upon themselves to sit with Matt during lunch and recess. But no amount of friends compared to his home life. Without fail, the turtles treated him as if he was the prodigal son, celebrating his return from a long day at school.

The lessons continued, both for the turtles and his one-on-one private training sessions with Splinter. Splinter was kind when it came to learning the new abilities, as he took into account Matt’s skill set. Or, lack thereof.

“You’re getting good at that, Matty,” Raph told him from where he watched from the couch. “Soon you’ll be able to take down Lizard Space Pirates like Jupiter Jim!”

The new skill set helped Matt in his concentration and mastery of his senses. He had to be six steps ahead of Splinter. Be able to anticipate his every move before he even thinks about it. It was the only way his abilities could challenge the Jitsi master without getting beaten every time.

He knew that Splinter was going easy on him, but it helped him in understanding the moves. By the end of his first month of training, he was able to block a loose punch and throw his own with ease. Matt felt as though, for the first time since the accident, that he had control over his body.

Matt also decided that Splinter was a better sensei than whomever Elektra had. She was robotic like, letting her guard down only when she felt like she could — and that itself seemed rare. He was still unsure what war she was being trained for and how it involved him, but he didn’t dare ask Splinter.

Splinter was still on the fence regarding the whole thing. When he landed the first blow, back at their first session, it had caused Matt to fall on the soft mat. Splinter had simply shaken his head and said it was a mistake, despite both of them having worn several layers of protection for this very purpose. Matt got up and insisted they try again.

‘Just like your father,’ Splinter had said, and Matt was still unsure if it was a compliment or not.

As he continued to train, he felt stronger. He was able to hone in on his senses with more ease than when he had first gotten hit by the ooze. 

Splinter was still cagey regarding his life prior to the ooze - Matt secretly called it B.O for Before Ooze whenever one of those invading questions entered into his mind. He wanted to be understanding of the man, who had seemed to stop transforming after about ten months. He was short now, barely reaching Matt's lower rib cage. Splinter was also now covered head to toe in fur and had a long, thin tail.

There was no denying it now that Splinter was a rat man. Though, it didn't take away from him being a good father to all the boys.

When Raph's birthday rolled around, the little boy wanted it to be Jupiter Jim themed, and Splinter went out of his way to get them decorations. The lair had been, according to Leo, covered in glow in the dark stars to emulate a nighttime sky. He had gotten streamers and balloons and crudely drawn Jupiter Jim's adversaries on them for Raph to pop with his spikes - that Matt knew the boy was sensitive about. Raph had loved the party so much that he insisted they had one just as big for Matt’s.

So, in October, when the 21st rolled around, they didn’t hold back. Matt had been sent to school, cupcakes in tow, and the class sang him Happy Birthday as he stood there awkwardly in the front listening to the harsh voices often associated with 6th graders.

“Are you going to have a birthday party?” One of the boys, Chris, asked at lunch. He had shared half of his PB&J with Matt, and so the birthday boy felt like he owed his friend some sort of explanation.

“My apartment doesn’t have enough room,” he said lamely.

“Neither does mine,” Chris replied, “we usually have it at the park near my house. There’s not much to do, but we usually just play basketball.”

“See, there’s another thing,” Matt offered honestly, “who wants to go to a party where the birthday boy can’t do anything.”

Chris was left stumped with that. Matt, however, knew that he could play basketball if he really wanted to. He played with the boys all the time. He was pretty good, too, considering he never really played back in Hell’s Kitchen.

“What about,” Marie, another one of his lunch friends, said smartly, “we have a book club. You like to read, don’t you, Matt?”

Matt was taken aback by the claim. He had always used to read, his dad said that having a smart brain was better than having quick hands. Jack had always been supportive of Matt’s education, it was something Matt had loved about him. Jack, himself, had been a high school drop out, claiming that it was better that way since he could spend more time with his boy. His mom had died around the same time.

“I mean, I guess,” he shrugged, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Sounds like a pretty lame party, though.”

He could tell that Marie was frowning. She was the smartest girl, no, the smartest kid , Matt had ever met. Elektra had been a polished street smart. Sure, she had known who the emperor of one of the old Dynasties was, but she also knew how to be seven steps ahead during a fight. She had told him that much.

Marie was all book smart, which, according to his dad, made her a little arrogant. She acted as if no one had ever doubted her plans before, and for some reason that made Matt’s heart swell in a mean sort of pride.

Jack had always been cautious of certain people and made sure his son knew how to see someone for their true colors before he got too close. People who were all street were just as dangerous as someone who was all book. Street smart people knew how to manipulate you physically and outsmart you, while book smart people knew how to do that mentally and financially. People needed a good balance, as Matt had learned.

“Well, wouldn’t they?” Matt pressed. “Who wants to sit around and read books? Especially braille ones.”

She pouted, stumped like Chris was. 

Matt sighed. “It’s fine,” he pressed, “really, I don’t need a party.”

“You just never do anything,” Chris whined, before clamping his jaw shut.

“What Chris means to say,” Marie covered, “is that you’re our friend, and we just want to make your birthday memorable.”

“You’re throwing big words around again,” Matt smiled, seemingly not bothered by Chris’ comment. On the outside, in the real world, he felt the need to be restrained. He would never do what he could actually do when everyone thought he couldn’t see. There was danger in being remarkable. Danger in being true to oneself. Everyone said to be yourself and to be different. What they didn’t tell you was the mob mentality that seemed to follow.

“I only do it because I know that you know them,” she said slyly. “What about a spelling bee? You don’t need sight for that game! Just ears!”

“Marie,” Chris warned, “not all of us are Queen Bees. You’re the only one here who likes those kinds of things.”

She huffed, “well, it was just an idea.”

“I’m fine with just getting ice cream,” Matt offered, “and hanging out with the two of you. We don’t need to invite the whole class or anything.”

That brightened their moods.

“We can go to Ronda’s Creamery! It’s just around the corner from my house, and then my mom can drive you two home.”

“Can we do it tomorrow?” Matt asked, “I have plans tonight.”

Marie agreed. “I still have to ask my mom if it’s okay. She really wants to meet you, Matt. And your dad.”

Matt looked away, his shoulders slumping. “He’s not my dad,” he said weakly.

“Your guardian,” she corrected, with an infliction in her voice.

“Alright, sounds like a plan!” Chris whooped just as the lunch bell joined in chorus, signaling the end of the period.

As Matt rode the bus home that day, he wondered why he had corrected Marie like that. There was nothing wrong with people assuming Splinter was his dad. Matt was lucky to have the older man as a father figure in his life, but it still felt like a betrayal to Jack Murdock. 

Recently, his dreams had been filled with sounds of gunshots and images of his dying father. Vivid images. There wasn’t really anything he could do to distract himself from the nightmares, even when the turtles snuck in—something that happened more and more as the cold air made its way to the sewers.

When the bus got to his stop, he climbed out eagerly, excited to walk home. Walking gave him something to do instead of sitting in a moving vehicle. He had more control over his speed and was able to take in his surroundings easier than when he was riding in a locomotive. New York had some exciting things to smell and hear anyway.

As he followed the sewer line carefully, he listened for the subway station to place him, even though he knew the sewer system better than anyone. Even the city planners. He climbed through secret tunnels and jumped down pipes—going a way Splinter wasn’t privy to, but gave him extra training with his senses. He was springy. It was something Mikey had called him the first time he landed a flip. Matt had agreed, loving the way the world felt around him when he was falling. When his body didn’t have to rely on touch, his hearing and echolocation kicked in full. It felt freeing.

He climbed through the passage way and braced himself for the boys tackles. But instead he was met with five still bodies, four of which were trying, and failing, to hide giggles.

“Um, what’s going on?”

“Yellow,” Splinter started, “the boys wanted to surprise you-”

“It’s your birthday!” Leo yelled, unable to hold it in any longer as he ran forward and gripped his hand. “We made you a party!”

“It was my idea!” Donnie interjected, grabbing the other hand. 

“We have a ball pit!” Raph cheered.

“And a tramp,” Mikey called out.

“A what?” He asked flabbergasted.

Instead of elaborating, they dragged him to an area that had previously been blocked off due to the lack of structure. They—probably Splinter—had covered the whole with a fabric of some sort, but before Matt could figure out what it was, he was being pushed into it.

He had been caught off guard, and it was frightening. And then fun as he bounced on the fabric in response. Tramp. Trampoline!

Someone joined, but he was too caught up in the glee of it all to figure out who, as they provided him with an extra bounce. He began performing flips and tricks in the air, his lungs feeling like they were underwater, but he didn't care.

They jumped for what seemed hours, each taking turns to bounce Matt higher as he continued to twist. When his body finally cried out in exhaustion, he landed on his back and cried uncle as he laughed hard.

“There’s more!” Leo told him, trying to pull him up.

And so the party continued. There was a ball pit which had been another previously unfilled hole Splinter had modified. A food portion where Matt had to guess the ingredients by taste alone. Some were treats while others were tricks, but he played along anyhow.

They converted one of the spare rooms into a ‘felt room’ where fabric had been tacitly glued on the walls and floors, each with a different feeling to them. Some were soft while others were rough.

They then played a game where the turtles would run down the sewer and hide from Matt, and he had to find them as they played a radio quietly. Of course, Matt used his other senses, accidentally, but it was fun nonetheless.

At the end of the party, when they were all too wiped out from their third time on the trampoline, they all laid down on the canvas and fell asleep. It had been a Friday, so Matt didn’t have to worry about homework or waking up early to catch the bus the next morning. Splinter had stopped by at some point and threw blankets over them, as the boys seemed to get cold rather easily. 

“Happy birthday, Yellow,” he said with as much affection as he reserved for the turtles. 

Matt smiled at him in the darkness and listened to the lull of his boys as they slept. 

He couldn't remember a better birthday. Sure, Jack always went above and beyond to ensure that Matt’s birthday was special, and he was grateful for that. But this one? They had done so much to make Matt feel normal; something that Chris and Marie had tried to do with his fake self. 

That was mean. But it was true. His school self was a mask. He couldn't risk letting anyone outside the Sewer Squad—a working title—know about his powers. He had been tempted to let Elektra in on the secret, but hesitated due to not knowing much about her sensei. Would he have recruited Matt too for his war if he had known about his gift?

Matt pushed the thought away. It was silly. There was no war—at least he was trying to convince himself of that—and even if there was, no one would be horrible enough to recruit children. His stomach churned at the thought, and he rolled over to face Mikey, who was asleep sucking the equivalent of a thumb.

He smiled softly before a deep frown took its place. A wave of protectiveness washed over him, and he reached out slowly to lay a hand on top of the toddler’s shell. If there was a war, he wanted to be ready. Ready to do what his father did; lay down his life to protect his family.

It was cold on Halloween. Not that Matt minded that much, the cool air was actually refreshing when compared to the stuffy lair. The trampoline added extra heat, despite the four younger boys being cold-blooded.

They were going trick-or-treating that night; the turtles’ first ever. It was a big deal. Matt had made the rather unhelpful suggestion of the boys just going as themselves. They shot it down almost immediately and proceeded to hound Splinter for costumes.

In the end, Raph went as Jupiter Jim and Leo was Lou Jitsu. Donnie was Victor Frankenstein — Matt had made the error of reading to him a children’s edition of of the book — and Mikey was dressed as the Creature, just happy to be included.

Matt, however, was stumped on what he could be. He was getting a little old to dress up, and candy had lost its appeal when he could taste all the artificial flavors in full. Splinter surprised him, nevertheless, by buying him a costume.

At least he hoped he bought it.

Splinter couldn’t keep a straight face as he handed the outfit over, doubling over before Matt had even opened the box. He couldn’t immediately tell what it was on his powers alone, but he was getting better.

“Is this…? Is this a turtle costume?”

Splinter replied only in laughter.

Matt flushed, and a large grin crept over his entire face, “you cannot be serious!” He cried with no actual anger in his voice before cracking up himself.

When the night rolled around, Matt told Splinter that he was fine watching over the four all on his own.

“Nonsense,” Splinter smiled widely, “what kind of father would I be if I let the preteen out alone on Halloween?”

And so he came with, not bothering to change into any costume.

They met up with Chris’ family outside their bodega before finding Marie at the nearby neighborhood park.

Even though Matt couldn’t see the boys, he could easily tell by shape alone that they were four mutated turtle humanoid-children squeezed into Halloween costumes. Though no one that night seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

“Woah, great Lou Jitsu costume, little man,” Chris’ dad offered, “I used to watch all of his movies. They got kind of repetitive as time went, though.”

Splinter made a noise of disapproval, but no one but Matt seemed to notice.

“And-Woah!” The man’s eyes caught Splinter. He had met him before when all the parents met up before the ice cream trip, but Splinter had disguised himself as a human. It still boggled Matt how no one batted an eye. Maybe it was a New York thing.

“Like a real New York rat. Right on, man.”

A wave of displeasure rolled off of his guardian, and Matt walked faster to catch up to Marie and Chris. He liked his friends. They were nice to him and made him feel important. Marie was quick on her feet, while Chris was always good for a laugh.

By the end of the night, Chris was carrying Mikey because the boy didn’t understand why Matt suddenly couldn’t when he could see just fine.

“Home life is different from here, Angelo,” Matt tried to explain, but Mikey just shook an angry fist at him until Chris volunteered.

When the night rolled to a stop, they all sat down at the park and traded candy. Matt was planning on giving his all to the boys anyway, so he didn’t care what was going where. He was, however, more interested in the conversation between Chris’ parents and Splinter.

Matt could tell that Splinter was playing nice. He, in his whole lifetime, probably never had to deal with PTA parents before. He could also tell that he was very close to snapping, until Chris’ mom said, “you are a real angel for taking in Matt, especially when you already had four others.”

The compliment played a nice effect on the man, and he ducked his head embarrassed, “it was nothing.”

Chris’ dad barked a laugh. One of those laughs that caught you off guard by the sheer force behind it alone. He laughed like Splinter had told the world’s funniest jokes, and Splinter didn’t correct him.

When Matt was out and about town, he listened for Elektra, going as far as to ask the front office of his school if she attended. It was silly, but he wanted to hang out with her again, even just to ask what he had done wrong. He did everything short of wandering the city looking for her. A part of him thought that she needed to be saved. That whatever life she was leading was one she didn’t need to be in. He wanted to be her hero and steal her away back to the lair.

Another part of him thought that maybe Splinter might know who her sensei was and would insist that they had to rescue her from them. That they were bad news and had an illegal fighting ring underneath the city.  Most of him just wanted her around. 

“Want to play?” Raph asked when Matt finished his set for the day. It was a weekend and New York was cooling down as it entered into mid November. 

“Sure, what are we playing?” Matt asked as he stretched. 

“Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu.”

“How do you play?” Matt asked as he finished tidying up his workout area.

“Well,” Raph raced over and began helping the older boy clean, “I’ll be Jupiter Jim, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he smiled knowingly.

“And you’ll be Lou Jitsu, and we’ll stop crime! Protect the innocent.”

“Like superheroes.”

“Exactly like superheroes.” Matt could tell that there were stars in the boy’s eyes as he felt known without giving much explanation.

Matt stretched, and his whole body felt sore and achy. “We can go top side too,” the younger boy snuck in.

“Top side?” Matt smiled slightly, “now why would we go and do a thing like that?”

“Because,” he said, as if it was obvious. He stretched the word in a way that emulated an eye roll, “real superheroes don’t solve crimes underground.”

Matt tried to stiffen a laugh, “are we real superheroes now?”

They stood in silence for a minute, and Matt was sure that Raph was giving him a look before he remembered. “Duh.”

The older boy chuckled lightly, “okay, okay. So top side?”

“Just us.”

“Just us?” He raised a brow.

“Well,” Raph shrunk away, growing quiet, “you hang out with the others a lot and I just thought this could be an us thing.”

The twelve-year-old’s smile grew, and he reached out and patted Raph’s shoulder. They were almost the same height, despite the six-year gap, and Matt knew that in the next year or so the younger boy would surpass him. 

“You’re right. I’ve missed our one-on-one time. School has just been super busy and with the training—”

“It’s okay!” Raph beamed, “I’ve been busy too!”

“Oh?” Matt raised a brow, “how so?”

“Wait right here,” he told him before racing off.

When Raph came back he was holding something behind his back and, despite his abilities, Matt could not, for the life of him, figure out what it was.

“Pops said that creative outlets help center emotions,” he rattled off, sounding like he was regurgitating what Splinter must’ve told him a thousand times, “and so he taught me how to sew.”

A mental image flashed in his mind’s eye of a famed actor sitting in his trailer making his own costumes, wearing a thimble and still pricking his fingers. Despite this imagery, Matt could not figure out where or why Splinter would need to know how to sew.

“I made ‘em myself,” Raph said, proudly revealing the bundled up ball from behind his back. 

“They look good?” Matt offered, unsure, still not being able to figure out what the boy was sharing.

“They’re capes,” he explained, shoving one into Matt’s hands. 

Matt ran his fingers across the stitches. They were jagged, and he could tell that there was a lot of backtracking. The fabric had been cut at an angel, which resulted in the end of it being bunchy as Raph tried to hide his mistake.

The thing with having no vision was that Matt relied on touch alone to pick up how something ‘looked’. He felt, smelt, and heard the worst out of something. He could feel every small flaw and troubleshooted motion.

“What color is it?” He asked, his hands still running over the soft fabric. 

“Yellow! Mine’s red.”

Matt swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. It had almost been a year since his father’s death, but the small things still hurt. Like how yellow and red was Jack Murdock’s signature look. There was no way Raph would’ve known that, and so he pushed the thought down.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Raph smiled knowingly, tying his own cape on. “We’re gonna go save people up top, and you’re my sidekick.”

“Oh really?” Matt smirked as he followed suit with his own cape. “Alright, boss man, shall we go?”

“Yup! Let’s go, Lou Jitsu.”

“Lead the way, Jupiter Jim .”

It wasn’t long before the two boys began ‘solving crime’. Raph suggested that they helped an older lady take out her trash, which mainly looked like Matt chatting with her as Raph did all the heavy lifting. By the end, she rewarded them with the ruminants of freshly squeezed lemonade and homemade cookies.

Raph helped children and senior citizens alike cross the street; no one suspected that he was only six, let alone a mutated turtle. The capes, to no one’s surprise, didn’t really catch anyone's attention. That was New York for you. You could walk around as a giant mutated turtle and none of the locals seemed to bat an eye.

It was the tourists Matt had to worry about the most.

“Well, aren't you just the cutest thing,” a lady from Texas told them as they waited to cross a particularly busy street.

“Thank you, miss,” Raph replied with a bucket full of sincerity. 

“But should you really be drawing this much attention to yourself in a place like this?” 

The tone was patronizing and condescending, which made Matt rest his hand on the unsuspecting six-year-old. “We’ll be fine, ma’am,” he offered cooly, trying to channel Elektra as he did.

“Maybe we should wait for your—”

“Green light!” Raph called out, charging forward and leaving the woman in their dust. When they were far enough away from the lady, Raph slowed down to a halt and began looking around.“You okay, Matty?”

Matt connected with each of the turtles differently. With Leo, he connected with his cool attitude and being charming with adults. When they were out and about, Leo, despite being five, could talk anyone into doing anything for him.

Mikey was his fun side. Whenever the sixth grader was feeling especially frustrated with his braille reading or just school in general, Mikey would sit on his lap and babble on about some story he made up on the spot. By the end of it, Matt’s vexation had faded away into nothing.

Donnie, on the other hand, was his acceptance. The small boy, like his twin, never gave up, despite challenges. Donatello, as Matt had learned from his detailed research on different types of turtles, was a mutated soft-shelled one. A regular soft-shell turtle tended to bury themselves in the sand and were great swimmers, but not Donnie. No. He was loud and proud and jumped into conversations once he was comfortable enough with the individuals in question. He hated being wet longer than five minutes and would occasionally fist fight his brothers if it meant getting his way. Likewise, he rarely let his soft-shell get in the way of doing what he wanted; so Matt rarely let his blindness stop him either.

With Raph, it was different. It seemed like all of it and none of it all at once. His grandma, God rest her soul, when she was still alive, used to have a saying for the Murdock men;

Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the devil in ‘em.

So when Matt’s anger seemed to be getting the best of him, Raph was the first to charge out of the situation. Leo egged him on, ready to see some action, while Mikey cheered from the sideline and Donnie watched in awe. Raph was the only one who seemed able to keep a cool head.

The boy had learned temperance early on due to his bigger size and spiky exterior. He had learned to be calm during the storm, while Matt’s first response when people pushed was to push back hard.

When they were far enough away from the lady, Raph slowed down to a halt and began looking around. 

"Thanks, Bud,” Matt said as heat rose to his face in embarrassment, “I think I was close to bitting her head off.”

The boy was quiet in response and Matt frowned, “You okay?”

Another beat.

“Bud…?”

“I don’t know where we are…”

His voice was so quiet and filled with worry that Matt’s protective intuition immediately kicked in. He couldn’t see, so he had to rely solely on Raph’s directions. He took in a deep breath, smelling the petrichor in the air. It was raining somewhere nearby and moving quickly towards them. 

“Okay. It’s fine, bud, really.” 

Raph’s heart beat was going frantic, and Matt could tell that the six-year-old was on the verge of tears.

They had usual routes. They followed specific directions so that things like this didn’t happen. It would have been easier if Matt was older and not with a small child who didn’t understand the significance of street signs and landmarks. It would have also been easier if Matt knew New York better.

“What’s around?” Matt asked, trying to keep his tone even and calm, despite the sudden panic engulfing his senses.

Raph was still and quiet, looking around frantically. He could read and sound things out, but if the word wasn’t familiar enough, he struggled greatly. Matt waited patiently, not wanting to add any more pressure to the boy. 

“Fog…Fogwell? G…G…?”

“Spell it out for me,” Matt clenched his cane as his stomach twisted.

“G Y M,” he spoke slowly.

A large smile engulfed his face. “That spells Gym. The Y makes an I sound. It's sort for gymnasium. Like cry or sky.” He thought back to his grammar lessons, scrunching his nose. “It’s a vowel.”

“What’s a vowel?”

A clap of thunder interrupted them and Matt jumped. “Let’s get inside before we get caught in the storm. You said there was a gym?”

Raph gripped his hand and pulled him towards the building and pushed open the door. If Matt hadn’t been so frazzled about being lost, the words Raph read aloud would’ve resonated more. He would have been able to immediately pinpoint their location, but instead it was the smell that washed over him that made his heart twist in agony.

“Did-did you say Fogwell?” He stuttered slowly.

“I think so.”

Matt swallowed, turning, even though it did nothing. He listened as bodies hit mats and hands hit punching bags. Joyfully low laughter and grunts of frustration. The sound was so familiar, and the taste of iron in the air made his body tense up.

“Matt?” Raph asked, sounding as though he had already said his name a few times with no response.

“My dad used to train here,” he said quietly.

“Your dad?” The boy asked, excitement flooding his voice.

“He was a boxer,” he told him, though he knew that the six-year-old already knew that. “The last time I was here…”

They stood in silence for a moment before he wiped his face haphazardly. “We need to go.”

“But it’s raining,” Raph pointed out, “you hate the rain.”

It was true, the rain messed with Matt’s senses too much for any of it to be enjoyable. He wasn’t used enough to his new-found powers to be able to center himself during storms. The sewer helped hide the thunder and smells, allowing the water overflow to be the only new sound.

“That’s okay. We just need to leave—” 

“Matthew Murdock, is that you? It’s Uncle Roscoe!”

His stomach fell, and his muscles tensed severely. He instinctively pushed Raph behind him, recognizing the voice instantly. Roscoe was no uncle of Matt. He was someone who Jack told him to be weary of.

It was one of the last voices he had heard in this gym the last time he was here. The voice that threatened his father. One of the men, if Matt’s hypothesis was right, who got his father killed. Roscoe Sweeny and his partner, Sammy Silke, were evil in every sense.

“I haven’t seen you in almost a year,” the man continued, his voice low and jovial. He did not know that Matt knew about the deal. He did not know that Matt knew the truth behind it all. “Sorry about your pops,” he tacked on, “must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah,” Matt’s voice was cold, “it was.”

Roscoe seemed to not pick up on Matt’s distaste and continued as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “What are you doing out here? The orphanage lets you wander?”

“We’re just…we were trying…” he was stumbling over his words. 

“We were playing superheroes,” Raph interjected, “our pops—”

“Father Lantom,” Matt interrupted, pulling the name from a distant memory, “he, um, told us that healing comes from serving others. Red, here, suggested the hero route.”

Raph pressed to Matt’s side, looking up at the man. He couldn’t pass for a six-year-old and Matt was sure Roscoe thought of Raph as a preteen too, if he was even thinking about ages.

“It's raining,” Roscoe said plainly.

“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t be out in the rain. Might catch a cold.”

“Might.”

The man frowned and turned his head, “I think Fogwell is in the back. I was just headed out. Meetin’ with some of my clientele, ya know?”

Matt met his question with silence, and Roscoe moved around them. “Anyway, see ya later, Murdock. Sorry about your dad,” he said again.

Once he was gone and Matt’s heart returned to normal rhythm, he allowed his shoulders to fall. “Matty? Who was that?”

Matt swallowed. “He’s bad news,” he told the boy, echoing his father’s own words, “we shouldn’t look for him again.”

Raph nodded into Matt’s shirt sleeve. “Do we still need to go?”

Matt listened intently. “Nah. Mr. Fogwell is a good guy. Just bad men come round. Nothin’ he can do.”

His accent slipped into his father’s Brooklyn one. He always mimicked his dad’s mannerisms when they were here. It was their thing.

“Sounds good,” Raph smiled, his own accent shifting as well to mimic Matt’s. “Can we explore?”

The older boy shook his head. “Just stay close, I’m going to see if we can stay till the storm lets up.”

Raph reached over and grabbed his hand, and Matt squeezed it before leading them to the office in the back. He knocked softly at first, and then louder when he was sure no one had heard him.

“What? Sweeny I swear to Christ if you’re still here—” The door swung open and Matt could tell from body language alone that Mr. Fogwell was angry. He stood up straight, his chest out, and was grinding his teeth. “Oh…kid…it’s you.”

The way he said it made Matt want to cry. There was nothing wrong with the way he said it, but it was the sudden softness of his voice. The shift when he realized who it had been.

“It’s me,” Matt offered weakly. “Um, Raph, this is Mr. Fogwell, he owns the gym.”

“Hello,” Raph said softly.

“What are ya doin’ here, kid?” Mr. Fogwell asked, moving out of the doorway to allow the two boys entrance. Raph helped Matt into one of the chairs before taking one for himself. Mr. Fogwell took the one behind his desk, still perplexed.

“We got caught in the rain, sir,” Matt said simply.

“The rain, huh? And drop the ‘sir’, kid, it’s just Fogwell.”

Matt nodded.

“Aren't ya supposed to be at the orphanage? What are ya doing all the way back here? Not that I ain’t happy to see ya, kid, just worried, is all.”

“Of course, si—” he stopped himself and blushed. “Fogwell,” he corrected, “I, um, actually got adopted back in spring. This is one of my brothers, Raph.

“Nice ta meet ya, kiddo,” Fogwell smiled wide. “Did Matty bring ya out here ta show ya all of his pop’s ol’ memorabilia stuff?”

“We were actually solving crime,” Raph corrected him, “being superheroes and all.”

“Superheroes, huh?” He amused, “I like da capes.”

“Made ‘em myself!” Raph beamed.

“Great job.”

“We got lost and then stuck in the storm. It’s hard to navigate,” Matt explained. 

“No worries,” Fogwell insisted, “is there someone I can call? Adopted mom or pops?”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, cursing himself for not thinking of that earlier. “Raph’s dad, Splinter. I can give you his number.”

“Splinter? Huh, unique name.”

He rattled off the number, and Fogwell pressed it into his old rotary phone. Matt always liked the noise it made, even before he was blind. 

“Sir,” Matt started again, “if you don’t mind me asking…why was Roscoe here?”

The happy, go lucky exterior dropped. “Eh, you know how Sweeny and his goons are. Tryin’ ta suck da lives out of hard workin’ all American Boxers. I kicked them out after what they did ta your old man. Leaning on his good catholic conscious and making empty gestures pertaining ta ya financial state. Told Sweeny I’d call the cops if he showed his old mug here ever again. Didn’t seem to phase him, though.”

Matt frowned as Fogwell finished dialing the number. He listened as it rang once. Twice. Three times before someone picked it up.

“Ello?” He heard a small childish voice say, “who is this?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Fogwell laughed, “is your pops around? I’m here with Matty and Raph.”

“Oh. They’re not here. Matty took Raph out.”

“I know,” Fogwell chuckled, “they’re here. Wanna talk ta ‘em?”

“Hm,” the boy thought for a moment, “Not really.”

Matt hid a laugh behind his hand, disguising it as a cough.

It was definitely Donatello. The kid had figured out how to take apart and put back together—often, not correctly—the household appliances. Which, far too frequently, included the television and phone. 

Fogwell slighted, “can I talk ta ya pops, kid?”

“I’m not supposed to be talking to strangers.”

Matt’s sides hurt from trying to hold in his laughter.

“Kid-”

“Goodbye--”

“Purple!” A voice—Splinter's—called out, “You know the rules. Give me that.”

There was a brief struggle, where at some point Donnie bit Splinter and the man yelled out what Matt assumed was a curse in Japanese. “Hello?”

“Is this Splinter?”

“Who is this?” Splinter returned, his voice sounded disdained and bitter.

“My name is Fogwell, I run a gym in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Oh. I know who you are.” Then he stopped. Matt instinctively leaned forward, as if the closer he got, the more likely he was to hear his Sensei’s heart beat through the telephone. This, unfortunately, was not the case.

So Matt thought about it logically. Hamato Yoshi or Lou Jitsu probably knew Fogwells. Maybe he had even trained here before with his dad, way back when.

“I used to train over at Lou Jitsu’s School of Ninjutsu,” Matt heard him tack on lamely.

“Sorry for ya loss,” Fogwell frowned. “Listen,” he changed the subject, “ya adopted Murdock’s kid?”

“Is this a courtesy call? Checking up on me?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Fogwell scratched his chin, turning away from the boys and dropping his voice, “but maybe it’ll turn into one. Who lets a blind kid and his baby brother walk around here alone?”

“Matthew can handle himself,” Splinter said cooly, a nerve obviously being hit. “And what do you mean here?”

“He and Raph wandered in when the storm hit. Now, I dunno about ya, but if Matt was my kid he wouldn't be wanderin’ around Hell’s fricken Kitchen alone.”

“Well he’s not your kid. You didn’t want him.”

The atmosphere shifted in the room and Matt wished that he hadn’t been eavesdropping in the first place. His stomach churned, worse than it had when Sweeny had been trying to sweet talk him earlier.

“That’s not--” Fogwell started agitated. His voice dropped even lower, and even Raph had begun to realize something wasn’t right. “You-- You don’t realize the danger he’d be in if I took him in. Not with--”

“Not with Sweeny and Silke poking their noses. Not after what they did to Jack.” Matt had never heard Splinter so cold and dark before. Fogwell had struck a nerve, and he was looking to return the favor. “Not after what you allowed to happen to him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he accused angrily. 

“Don’t I? You let those two walk over you and your gym. You let Jack take that deal. You-”

“Jack shouldn’t have gone back against it. He knew what they were like. He knew what would happen.”

“Do not blame the dead, Fogwell.”

The room was silent except for Matt’s own heartbeat, which he was sure was loud enough that everyone heard, despite the lack of powers. He was about to suggest that Raph and Matt leave and get water from the cooler in the gym when Splinter started again.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Then there was a click and that was it. He had hung up. Each had inflicted wounds that no apologies from strangers could heal. They were the type of wounds that had originally been self-inflicted, thoughts of what if’s. Wounds that had been closed up with time, but reopened at the slightest suggestion.

Splinter had proposed that Fogwell’s lack of morals had gotten his dad killed, while the man in return recommended that Splinter shouldn't have even bothered taking in Matt. Matt just thought he was the problem. 

When Fogwell returned the phone to its holder, Matt flashed him a smile, trying to persuade him that he hadn’t overheard the heated discussion revolving around him. “He’ll be here soon,” Fogwell told both of them. “How many kids does he have?”

Matt was about to lie when Raph interjected, “five!”

“That’s a lot,” he said surprised, though Matt was sure that there was more to the astonishment than he was letting on. “All younger, kid?”

“Matty’s the oldest!” Raph interrupted again.

“That must be hard.”

“It’s not,” Matt said, his voice hitching at the end. He knew where Fogwell was going with his line of questioning, and he frankly wasn’t in the mood to defend his makeshift family. He knew that Fogwell meant well, but the words exchanged between the two older men had left a bad taste in his mouth. “He’s a good man. He does his best.”

“I didn’t say anything-"

“I’m thirsty,” Raph said once he realized the heat that was practically radiating off of Matt.

The two stopped talking and Fogwell cleared his throat, “I’ll get you a cup of water. Does that work?”

Raph nodded, and the man stood up and left the room unceremoniously.

“Matty?” Raph asked once Fogwell was out of earshot.

“I’m fine,” he lied. His skin was crawling, and the thunder had seemed to become louder than life as it pounded in his ears.

“But-”

“Drop it, Raph,” he snapped, slumping in his chair. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re too young to get it. Not-” he stopped himself before he could throw the insult out. It wasn’t Raphael's fault that he wasn’t human. That he was just a kid. It wasn’t Raphael’s fault that Matt was blind or an orphan. He hadn’t done anything except suggest that they played together. “I’m sorry, Bud.”

“It’s okay.

“No, it’s not,” Matt pressed, using the back of his hand to wipe away angry tears. “You don’t deserve the devil. Not today. Not when you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

The two sat in silence even after Fogwell returned with their water. When Splinter came, he had brought the other three in tow. They wanted to explore, just like Raph had, but Splinter seemed to want to leave as soon as he got there. His baggy clothes hanging awkwardly on him, slightly drenched from the overflow of water in the sewer system from the rain. 

“Matty, wait,” Fogwell tried as they were leaving, “you know you’re always welcomed here, right? Maybe just next time you come with an adult.”

Matt nodded, his tongue too heavy to air a response. 

They began their trek home, slowed down by the rain, neither rat nor kid bringing up the events of the day. When they did get home, however, Matt beelined straight for his room, taking off the cape and began digging around boxes. He pulled out a silky gown that his dad had described as ugly. But he had done it with such praise and devotion that Matt was sure he had been lying. 

It was Battlin’ Jack’s robe. He put it on, and it engulfed him, but he didn’t mind. It still smelled of him, though Matt knew that it would fade with time. Tears fell down his face as he crawled into bed, letting the day wash off of him like the rain on the earth.

They didn’t leave much after the mishap at Fogwell’s, which was fine by Matt. He had unfortunately gotten a cold from the storm, and his whole body was betraying him in a fit of protest. Before the accident, common things like the, well, the common cold didn’t seem to affect him too badly. But now that everything was turned up on his senses, a cold was one hundred times worse.

Everything was louder for Matt. Smells were amplified, and his skin crawled with a mix of heat and slick sweat. The sewers were no place for a sick boy like him, but the abandoned apartment he secluded himself in wasn’t that much better either.

He just needed peace and quiet.

He just needed for this to blow over.

Not only that, but he was on his third day, which, according to a quick google search Splinter had conducted—as if the superstar actor had never been sick before—he should’ve been at his peak with his cold. Which meant that his symptoms would only get worse before they gradually got better.

Mrs. Griffenth, his sixth grade teacher, hadn't assigned him anything when Splinter had called him in sick. She had even gone as far as to say he wouldn't have to make up any of the work he would be missing. He was grateful for that, in the back of his mind, but also saddened that he was missing out on school; which meant he was missing out on his after school study sessions.

Not that he was in any shape to do anything at the moment.

“I brought you soup,” Splinter said. Matt already knew. He had smelled it from a block away. Recognized the older man’s footsteps and steady heartbeat. He also knew that it was store bought, and for that he was appreciative.

“Thanks,” he said weakly from the couch. He couldn’t really do anything but sit in silence — as silent as being able to hear the entirety of seven blocks could bring. 

“Your temperature is down,” Splinter said as he placed a cool rag on his forehead. The boy sighed in bliss from the sudden coolness. “And you look better.”

Matt frowned, rolling his shoulders, “I don’t feel better.”

“It’ll take time to heal,” he spoke softly, recognizing that Matt could hear him whispering. He had also showered, Matt noticed, and scrubbed himself in soothing scents.

Matt appreciated the older man and the lengths he went to ensure that Matt felt safe and at peace. Neither of them had brought up the conversation Splinter had had with Fogwell, though Matt wasn’t sure if Splinter knew that he had overheard.

“You’re a really good dad,” Matt opted for instead. 

Splinter stilled and Matt could hear him swallow. “Thank you,” he offered slowly, “I will be back in a few hours. I left the boys home because I know that they tend to be loud.”

Matt nodded, a wave of nausea washing over him.

When he was left alone again, the room felt stiff and empty, despite all the noise that flooded his senses. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he slowly ate the soup before even that was too much, and then went back to sleep on the couch.

“Hey, Matty.”

He shot up, sweat on his brow, as he felt around. There were no other heartbeats nearby. No people in the room with him and yet…

And yet the voice had sounded so close.

But it had to have been the sickness. 

When his heart had stopped racing, he tried to fall asleep again.

“Matty,” the voice said again and Matt was sure, this time, that he hadn’t feigned it.

“Who’s there?” He called out to the empty house.

“I’ll get to that,” the voice returned. He sounded gruff and older, a complete juxtaposition of Splinter. There was a hint of amusement that was coated with annoyance. He sounded powerful and in control.

“Where are you?”

“A few blocks from where you are,” the voice said simply. “You and I, we’re the same, see? We each have superior senses than those around us.”

“Who are you?” He asked again, irritation filling his voice. Being sick gave him a shorter fuse, he had discovered at an early age, and this guy was on the receiving end of it. 

“I said we’ll-”

“I know what you said,” he snapped back.

The man whistled impressively. “Elektra was wrong about you.”

At the mention of his friend, Matt’s mouth clamped shut. All frustration seeming to fade away and be replaced with fear. His stomach was sick with it.

“You’re her sensei,” he said slowly.

“Hello, Matty.”

Matt sat up more alertly, “where is she?”

“She’s safe.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The man chuckled again, and it made Matt’s whole body recoil in disgust.

“There’s a war coming, Matty, and you’re playing for the wrong side.”

His fists balled in anger, “and what side is that?”

“The losing one.”

He gritted his teeth. “You’re a coward,” he spat, “hiding in the shadows like this.”

“Think what you will, Matty, but it won’t stop the outcome.”

“Where’s Elektra?” He barked again, standing up despite his whole body warning him against it.

The man ignored him and continued on. “When the war is at your doorsteps, kid, Hamato Yoshi won’t be able to protect you. He, along with his pathetic skills, will get you and those turtle kids killed. I can protect you. We can protect you. Don’t you want to see her again.”

“Go to hell.”

Another chuckle, “see you on the battlefield, kid.”

And then it was silent. Matt raced outside, the cold pavement sending icy chills up his legs as bare feet raced down the street. He ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He ran until he felt woozy. Matt ran until he was sure he had lost the man.

And yet…

In an alleyway, secluded from the rest of the world, sat a box. Matt approached slowly, his skewed senses telling him that there was something inside. He gingerly picked up the box and felt the tag attached. 

Written in braille was a note:

To Matty,

I’ll be waiting

From, 

Stick

He lifted the lid and pulled out a piece of fabric that had some weird design sewn on it, though he couldn’t tell what it was from touch alone. There was also something else buried within the fabric. Something familiar.

A plastic bracelet made from an ice cream wrapper.

Something unlocked inside Matt that night. Something feral as he clenched the bracelet in his hand and tears rolled down his face. Stick, whoever he might have been, had made a mistake that night. One that would cost him everything. 

He had let the devil out, and Matt had no intention on reigning him back in.