It was a forever change in Hamato Yoshi's life. Losing his precious family, being driven to hiding by his rival did not seem to be enough, now he got himself transformed into one of the most hideous pest on this planet and burdened with four defenseless baby turtles. Should he be a lesser man, his sanity would have left him long ago. Yet here he was, comfortable in a part of the sewer he deemed suitable for raising his little ones. Taking on the name Splinter to remind himself of his shattering past, he did a fine job with his sons considering they had nothing to do with him more than pets in the first place, if he had to say so himself.
Saying that four baby turtles gave him a hard time would be an understatement, however. Splinter had little to no experience nurturing infants, and they were no ordinary infants, to say the least. He had to adapt his inadequate knowledge about baby human with turtle, making several sneaking into library and gathering whatever he could on the matter. Fortunately, the animal side of the turtles helped. They pointed him to what he should feed them, warned him when they were ill and he just had to act accordingly.
The difficult part was their mind. Developing intelligent was what Splinter struggled the most with. They knew he would care for them, and would cry to no end until he paid attention. Sometimes, they were docile and obedient, while other all four threw a tantrum that could wreck anyone else's nerve. They surely made the rodent regret his decision more than once.
But, Hamato Yoshi was no ordinary person. He had lost everything except for his humanity, and abandoning those little ones would be the the same as abandoning it. He refused to give up. He was patient, to the extend that he learned to care for all four of them at the same time. Multitasking became another training he took on, and with his foundation as a ninja master, it was a great support. Instead of focusing on his surrounding for enemy, he focused on the tiniest change they made, just so he could tend to their every need.
The task alleviated the pain in his heart gradually. Splinter would still stare at the picture of his old family from time to time, just not that often. He would grieve for his love and his daughter, but those little ones' laughter was more than remedy to him. Entertaining his sons would keep him from seeking vengeance, which would be foolish at the time to do so.
That was another matter he found difficult. Toys were scarce. The broken ones he found scattering in the junkyard or floating in the sewer could not last under the destructive force that was his four toddlers, given they were thrown away in the first place. Splinter was clumsy when it comes to fixing things, but he had something that could endure his sons day after day: his own body.
Such was proven today when all four demanded his entertainment. Splinter was flat on his back, feet balancing a hyper Michelangelo high into the air. The tot was having all his limbs stretched, making a blowing sound of an airplane. Splinter needed not to see to know that his youngest was perfectly safe, no matter how much the tot thrashed around, for his eyes were occupied somewhere else.
Resting on his chest was Donatello. Rather than joining his brothers' antic, he had shoved a newspaper for his father to hold up, while he read the words sucking on his thumb. At least for now he was interested in something else rather than dissecting his already broken toys. Occasionally he would reach up to move his father's fingers out of the way so he could dwell on the letters.
A tug on his tail reminded Splinter that he had another son to tend to. Raphael had made it his goal to wrestle with the long appendage today, dodging whenever Splinter would whip at him, trying to catch it. The tot's clumsy hands were no match for the tail's agility, and Splinter could not help a smile when he managed to escape his son's grasp. Not that he had any difficulty do so, but Raphael needed to win sometimes.
Leonardo, on the other end of him, seemed fascinated with his ears more than anything else. He lifted, bend, twisted them as far as they would go. Then he would let go in awe as they flickered back. His oldest son would keep an eye on his brothers from time to time, such as when Donatello turned to a new page, Michelangelo flew high into the air or Raphael rolled around hugging his tail.
The soup would be cooked in another ten minutes, enough for Splinter to bond with his sons, like no other parent could entertain their children. He would find them better toys in the future, but for now, he had no trouble making his sons smile like this. It was good training for his multitask skill and surrounding awareness, anyway...