fanfic [TMNT] Wisteria
Title: Wisteria (or, Oh God It’s a Fail!Title)
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Rating: G [K? Whatever that system is; it's everyone-friendly]
Summary: Raphael and his brothers experience their first sunrise above ground.
Warnings: None, technically. Pre-slash? Hints of future!pairing, if you look real close.
Notes: A gift fic for Geaven, who is very generous and kind. I’m becoming a tea nut because of her. XD Also: turtle-tots, yay!
His brother was like wisteria.
The first occasion wherein Raphael laid his eyes on such a tree was a memory he held to himself fiercely, with meticulously precise detail cut into the finest of marble and doused with inks and paints da Vinci himself was not worthy to lay his hands on. Hosted proudly in a frame forged of fine crystals and gleaming palladium tipped with amethyst stones, the memory hung suspended in the deepest core of his heart, protected with such ferocity that would certainly make Thor himself quake in the knees.
And he had only seen it because of his brother.
None of them had ever had the opportunity to look upon the sun rising in the morning, and Raphael’s brother one day - for whatever reason, there was little evidence of provocation - decided that he wanted to see one. Not through a small box of metal and wire, buttons and plastic, he informed their father; he wished to see it with his very own eyes, for surely it could not be the same; surely it was much prettier than what the television conveyed.
And, he added, hadn’t they been very good boys of late? Father did say so, and he always rewarded them for good behavior; perhaps Father would award them with a sunrise?
Raphael had not immediately been impressed by his brother’s idea, as he did not have much interest in pretty things or the sun coming up; but it took little time for the implications to sink in and he joined his brothers in begging Father to allow it. After all, to see a sunrise one must go topside, and if there was one thing Raphael was certain of at the tender age of seven it was that he liked the surface. It whispered of freedoms and open range he did not currently have, and he refused to skimp on opportunities to go Up There.
He was not sure if it was the simplicity of the request, the earnest look of his son or the boy’s sly reasoning that brought the smile to Father’s face and his assent. Raphael did not, in fact, care what it was at the time; he only cared that his brother - his wonderful, clever, sweet and totally awesome brother - had achieved what had once seemed impossible: a trip to the surface under their request and did not involve food or other necessities! Father never allowed such visits topside, especially when it was recreational, especially when there was light and they could be seen!
Raphael had joined his brothers in raucous cheering and an almost-painful group hug that he belatedly suspected almost squashed his smaller brother, and two nights later Father had them trussed up in layers of clothing, warning them of the dangers, instructing them to remain close, quiet, and conservative (the last seemingly directed mostly to Michelangelo while it still applied to them all). The stars were fading as the small family traversed the morning streets of New York, the boys (all four) somehow managing to remain as behaved as their Father wished.
Leonardo and Michelangelo were the two most impressed by their Father’s choice in location, for the myriad of blooming trees, blossoms and shimmering emerald grass appealed to Leonardo’s love of peace and tranquility, while charming Michelangelo’s love of art and sanguine personality. They begged Father to allow them to pick some of the blooms: Leonardo to accentuate his room for meditation practice purposes, and Michelangelo for reasons he refused to divulge (though Raphael later discovered his room smelt of them, and much later realized his pillow had its feathers replaced), as well to render them properly on paper.
There was no one in sight, nor would there be; Father explained this place was mostly for lovers and was unfrequented by most others - especially in the wee hours of the morning. He smiled as he said this, with the secretive touch to his muzzle he always bore when he had a surprise for his charges. Raphael could never help but smile himself whenever he thought about it.
The sky had lightened considerably, and it was then that he saw the wisteria tree. With the receding darkness came colour from all corners, a cacophony of blues, reds, pinks and whites outlined by the morning sun with glittering flames; yet Raphael only had eyes for the wisteria that swayed quietly at the northern end of the tiny, manmade glade and the brother that stood beneath it.
“What tree’s that, Father?” he suddenly asked.
Father looked to him. “It is a wisteria, my son,” he said, knowing full well it was not a ‘real’ tree as one might say, yet knowing such concepts may be above his son’s ability to comprehend then.
Raphael pondered this. “Wuh-wisteria?”
“Yes. I had seen many in Japan with my Master Yoshi.” Father smiled, and indicated the intricate vines. “The woven braids of its trunk represent the interweaving of all life, it is said.”
“Really?”
“Mm.” Father gestured smoothly, his eyes flickering from Raphael to the two picking flowers, and finally to the one tugging on the swaying vines. “My Master Yoshi likened Tang Shen to the wisteria, for youth and beauty was a trait shared by both.”
Michelangelo released a noise that sounded rather like ‘eww!’, most likely due to the overflow of ‘mush’ Father was ejecting. Raphael would certainly have agreed with him if he’d been able to turn his eyes, or silence the voice in his head that continued to loudly inform him that some of those purple flowers were the exact same colour of his brother’s bandanna while simultaneously whispering, ‘It’s perfect!’ Yet he said nothing, and merely watched his brother as he played; taking careful note of every detail about the scene before him.
He could not fathom why, but it somehow seemed perfect.
“My sons,” Father said softy, “The sun is rising.”
Three of the four turtles looked up, and Raphael struggled not to choke when he saw his brother in the sunlight for the first time in his life. His brother’s olive green skin was more vibrant, his eyes brighter, his smile more sincere and honest than Raphael could have ever suspected. A brief yet terrible moment of doubt struck him: for a moment the boy wondered if his brother was happy at all, for surely no smile like this had ever graced his face! He bounced a little and clasped his hands in glorious wonder while wisteria petals danced around him, looking nothing like the brother Raphael was accustomed to seeing.
And then he looked at Raphael.
In the years between then and now, the Hamato clan’s most temperamental member had never been able to accurately put that moment into words. Perhaps he might have compared it to that first sunrise, but he honestly had not been looking at it; for even if he had, it became doubtful later that it would have been more interesting than the gleam in Donatello’s eyes, or the pure, untainted grin that possessed his face.
Raphael couldn’t help but grin back. After all, it was okay to be sappy and think those sorts of squishy thoughts as long as nobody else knew about it.
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Rating: G [K? Whatever that system is; it's everyone-friendly]
Summary: Raphael and his brothers experience their first sunrise above ground.
Warnings: None, technically. Pre-slash? Hints of future!pairing, if you look real close.
Notes: A gift fic for Geaven, who is very generous and kind. I’m becoming a tea nut because of her. XD Also: turtle-tots, yay!
His brother was like wisteria.
The first occasion wherein Raphael laid his eyes on such a tree was a memory he held to himself fiercely, with meticulously precise detail cut into the finest of marble and doused with inks and paints da Vinci himself was not worthy to lay his hands on. Hosted proudly in a frame forged of fine crystals and gleaming palladium tipped with amethyst stones, the memory hung suspended in the deepest core of his heart, protected with such ferocity that would certainly make Thor himself quake in the knees.
And he had only seen it because of his brother.
None of them had ever had the opportunity to look upon the sun rising in the morning, and Raphael’s brother one day - for whatever reason, there was little evidence of provocation - decided that he wanted to see one. Not through a small box of metal and wire, buttons and plastic, he informed their father; he wished to see it with his very own eyes, for surely it could not be the same; surely it was much prettier than what the television conveyed.
And, he added, hadn’t they been very good boys of late? Father did say so, and he always rewarded them for good behavior; perhaps Father would award them with a sunrise?
Raphael had not immediately been impressed by his brother’s idea, as he did not have much interest in pretty things or the sun coming up; but it took little time for the implications to sink in and he joined his brothers in begging Father to allow it. After all, to see a sunrise one must go topside, and if there was one thing Raphael was certain of at the tender age of seven it was that he liked the surface. It whispered of freedoms and open range he did not currently have, and he refused to skimp on opportunities to go Up There.
He was not sure if it was the simplicity of the request, the earnest look of his son or the boy’s sly reasoning that brought the smile to Father’s face and his assent. Raphael did not, in fact, care what it was at the time; he only cared that his brother - his wonderful, clever, sweet and totally awesome brother - had achieved what had once seemed impossible: a trip to the surface under their request and did not involve food or other necessities! Father never allowed such visits topside, especially when it was recreational, especially when there was light and they could be seen!
Raphael had joined his brothers in raucous cheering and an almost-painful group hug that he belatedly suspected almost squashed his smaller brother, and two nights later Father had them trussed up in layers of clothing, warning them of the dangers, instructing them to remain close, quiet, and conservative (the last seemingly directed mostly to Michelangelo while it still applied to them all). The stars were fading as the small family traversed the morning streets of New York, the boys (all four) somehow managing to remain as behaved as their Father wished.
Leonardo and Michelangelo were the two most impressed by their Father’s choice in location, for the myriad of blooming trees, blossoms and shimmering emerald grass appealed to Leonardo’s love of peace and tranquility, while charming Michelangelo’s love of art and sanguine personality. They begged Father to allow them to pick some of the blooms: Leonardo to accentuate his room for meditation practice purposes, and Michelangelo for reasons he refused to divulge (though Raphael later discovered his room smelt of them, and much later realized his pillow had its feathers replaced), as well to render them properly on paper.
There was no one in sight, nor would there be; Father explained this place was mostly for lovers and was unfrequented by most others - especially in the wee hours of the morning. He smiled as he said this, with the secretive touch to his muzzle he always bore when he had a surprise for his charges. Raphael could never help but smile himself whenever he thought about it.
The sky had lightened considerably, and it was then that he saw the wisteria tree. With the receding darkness came colour from all corners, a cacophony of blues, reds, pinks and whites outlined by the morning sun with glittering flames; yet Raphael only had eyes for the wisteria that swayed quietly at the northern end of the tiny, manmade glade and the brother that stood beneath it.
“What tree’s that, Father?” he suddenly asked.
Father looked to him. “It is a wisteria, my son,” he said, knowing full well it was not a ‘real’ tree as one might say, yet knowing such concepts may be above his son’s ability to comprehend then.
Raphael pondered this. “Wuh-wisteria?”
“Yes. I had seen many in Japan with my Master Yoshi.” Father smiled, and indicated the intricate vines. “The woven braids of its trunk represent the interweaving of all life, it is said.”
“Really?”
“Mm.” Father gestured smoothly, his eyes flickering from Raphael to the two picking flowers, and finally to the one tugging on the swaying vines. “My Master Yoshi likened Tang Shen to the wisteria, for youth and beauty was a trait shared by both.”
Michelangelo released a noise that sounded rather like ‘eww!’, most likely due to the overflow of ‘mush’ Father was ejecting. Raphael would certainly have agreed with him if he’d been able to turn his eyes, or silence the voice in his head that continued to loudly inform him that some of those purple flowers were the exact same colour of his brother’s bandanna while simultaneously whispering, ‘It’s perfect!’ Yet he said nothing, and merely watched his brother as he played; taking careful note of every detail about the scene before him.
He could not fathom why, but it somehow seemed perfect.
“My sons,” Father said softy, “The sun is rising.”
Three of the four turtles looked up, and Raphael struggled not to choke when he saw his brother in the sunlight for the first time in his life. His brother’s olive green skin was more vibrant, his eyes brighter, his smile more sincere and honest than Raphael could have ever suspected. A brief yet terrible moment of doubt struck him: for a moment the boy wondered if his brother was happy at all, for surely no smile like this had ever graced his face! He bounced a little and clasped his hands in glorious wonder while wisteria petals danced around him, looking nothing like the brother Raphael was accustomed to seeing.
And then he looked at Raphael.
In the years between then and now, the Hamato clan’s most temperamental member had never been able to accurately put that moment into words. Perhaps he might have compared it to that first sunrise, but he honestly had not been looking at it; for even if he had, it became doubtful later that it would have been more interesting than the gleam in Donatello’s eyes, or the pure, untainted grin that possessed his face.
Raphael couldn’t help but grin back. After all, it was okay to be sappy and think those sorts of squishy thoughts as long as nobody else knew about it.