When the turtles are away, the rat will play- apparently. Splinter thinks it's time he focus on himself while his sons are away, and what's a better way for self-improvement then some good old exercise? Enjoy, and see him go from dad to big daddy right now at Big Stories here!

Art by  silver-stag

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Splinter never thought he would find the absolute quiet in his home disconcerting. Even while he could, and did, meditate in absolute peace and quiet, he felt himself waiting for something— to hear Raphael and Michelangelo arguing over whose turn it was on their video game console, the sound of a soldering torch in Donatello's room, or Leonardo hard at work in the dojo.

It had only been three days. The boys— his sons— were out, making their first trip abroad without him, and he was left alone in their home under the New York sewers. Splinter let out a sigh, just to hear something more than anything else, then picked himself up from his meditations, and aimlessly walked around the lair. He had been trying to ignore it, but the four of them had left a mess in their haste to catch their boat. The rat massaged his forehead as he looked over the disheveled living room, and then began picking things up. He puttered around the place, putting away the boys' games and grabbing a few spare weapons that had been left haphazardly around the place.

"Iya…" he muttered, shaking his head as he picked up one of Raphael's spare sais, picking up the blade as long as his forearm. "If I didn't know any better, I would think he was leaving this out as some sort of… half-thought out trap for Michelangelo…"

With a weary sigh, Splinter collected a few other bits of Raphael's personal effects and moved to the turtle's room, a large sign declaring "KEEP OUT!" plastered over it that made the rat scoff. He opened the door, but before he could find the light switch, the rat unexpectedly tripped over something that nearly sent him sprawling on the floor, though he caught himself at the last moment.

"Raphael," he groaned in exasperation, groping in the dark for whatever he had tripped on. His hand wrapped around a dumbbell, and as he flipped on the lights, Splinter's eyes went wide. An entire half of the room had been given over to supplements, protein powder, and workout equipment of all kinds— some of it most certainly wavering on the notion of legality.

The rat stared, mind boggling at what his son had in mind, but then his eyes fell to the dumbbell in hand, stroking his chin. A thought came to Splinter; he needed something to distract and challenge himself while the boys were away. Raphael, surely, wouldn't mind if he looked to improving himself. And at his age, maintaining strength could be exactly what he needed.