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Raph wasn't supposed to be this far from home.
Not by himself, anyway. Their range while solo was microscopic, and together only slightly larger. Which, okay, whatever, it made sense when they were kids. But now they were 12, which was, in Raph's opinion, plenty old to walk around the sewers unaccompanied.
So, he did! Sometimes. Not often—Father had ridiculous hearing, being a rat, and he was always around, teaching them or playing games or watching TV or asking about what they were doing—but on the rare occasion that he was resting, or meditating alone, Raph could sneak away. Not that there was ever that much out there, to be honest, but he liked the alone time. Relished in the thrill of breaking the rules.
Which was how he ended up here: a few blocks from home, alone, standing in the rain that dribbled from the open grate above and looking down at the little creature that had fallen through. It was obviously a bird, but that was the extent of his knowledge; it was clearly a baby, with its weird, scraggly feathers, pink skin, and ugly, oversized beak.
It made a pathetic squeaking noise. Probably calling for its mom, but no mom came—whether that was because mom couldn't hear, didn't care, or simply couldn't get through the slats, the result was the same. It still got plenty chilly at night this time of year, and that was without the addition of being soaking wet. When Raph and his brothers were really little, they would huddle up together under a blanket; even when Father wasn't there, they kept each other warm. But the little bird's nestmates weren't here.
Wrinkling his beak, Raph picked the little guy up. Splinter always told him not to touch animals because then they would be rejected by the others, but there weren't any others around to even reject it, so it wouldn't hurt, right?
It squeaked again, but a little less pathetically, which Raph took as a win. But even in his hands, the bird shivered—he was cold(ish) blooded, after all—so he tried holding it against his throat, which was a bit warmer at least. “Shh, you're okay, kotori-chan.”
When Raph and his brothers got older, Donnie made them all a heat lamp. That was more reliable than just body heat, and they would sleep beneath that during especially cold days—or just when they wanted to relax. Eventually, Donnie made mini-versions for each of them: not as hot, but way more convenient.
Especially convenient if you needed it for an animal you weren't supposed to have.
When he got back to the lair, the lights were as dark as they were when he left, which was a good sign. It would be a lot easier to sneak in if the others were still asleep. He made it back to his room easily enough and began rummaging through his room for something soft, the bird comfortably perched between his plastron and his neck the whole time.
“Yes!” One of his older crocheted blankets—from before he'd figured out how to keep the right tension—would make a perfect little bird bed.
The bird didn't want to go at first, no matter how hard Raph tried to explain that the lamp was way warmer than he was. But once he maneuvered himself so that the bird could feel the heat, tiny talons unlatched.
Lamp: on
Nest: made
Bird: cozy
Rather than going to sleep like Raph would've thought, though, it only looked up at him expectantly.
“What?” The bird cocked its head to one side, squeaking. Raph tried to mimic the sound back at it, and the bird repeated it, louder this time and somehow frustrated-sounding. It opened its mouth at him, fluffing its wings. “Oh! You're hungry, huh?”
Well, luckily for kotori-chan, they ate worms, too. Silent as air, Raph snuck back into the kitchen. The bird was teeny, so he should make sure to get the smallest worms–
“Feeling hungry, Raphael?”
Raph screamed, spinning around and nearly throwing the cup of worms in his surprise. Splinter stood beside the counter, stroking his beard with a small, amused smile.
“Uh– yeah! Super hungry, starving. So I'll just go back to bed, ‘night Father–”
“No food in your room, Raphael,” Splinter firmly interrupted. “You know this. It attracts bugs.”
“Oh. Right.”
Splinter raised a bushy brow, scrutinizing Raph while he fidgeted. After a long, nerve-wracking silence, he asked, “Is there something in your room that you are hiding from me?”
“...No.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Raph chewed his lower lip, avoiding Splinter's gaze. His father said nothing—not pushing, but waiting—and Raph began to sweat. Finally, he mumbled, nearly inaudible, “......I found a baby bird.”
Splinter’s second brow joined his first. “Oh?”
All in a rush, Raph began to explain. “I know we’re not supposed to touch them, but it was all alone, and it was all wet and cold and I didn’t want to leave it there, so I just brought it back to warm up and then it looked hungry and–”
Splinter raised a hand, and Raph shut up, looking up at his father with big, pleading eyes until he heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, his whiskers twitching. “Let me see.”
Relieved, Raph scurried back to his room, Splinter following behind. The bird’s feathers had dried out, leaving it looking much fluffier and less shivery, and it squeaked as soon as it saw them. Raph squeaked back. He set the cup of worms beside the nest and began sifting through them, searching for the smallest. Splinter crouched beside him, watching as he carefully held a worm over the bird’s open, beseeching beak.
“Do you know what kind of bird it is?”
Raph’s face scrunched up in thought. “...a pigeon?”
He looked to his dad for confirmation, but Splinter was squinting at it, no less sure than Raph was. The bird gobbled the worm down with gusto and immediately asked for a second, which Raph provided. A little more sure of himself, he added, “I don’t think it’s big enough to be out of the nest.”
“No, I think you are correct.” Splinter hummed, smiling softly when the bird nipped at Raph’s finger. Raph cooed at it this time, trying to channel an annoyed mama bird, then gave it a third worm anyway. As it ate, he gently pet the top of its fluffy head. “And you found it in the lair, then?”
Raph froze. His father’s placid tone absolutely felt like a trap. “...yeah. Must’ve… hopped over. From wherever it fell.”
“A very motivated little bird, then.”
“Mhm. Definitely.” Despite Raph’s shiftiness, Splinter seemed to accept the answer, which was a relief. After a few moments, he figured he was safe to ask, “So… can I keep it?”
“No.” Raph’s shoulders fell, and Splinter sighed. “Pigeons are not pets, and birds need to be able to fly, my son. It would not be happy down here. However”—Raph perked up again—“it cannot do so if it does not get bigger and stronger. I do not believe it would be harmful for you to keep it until then, do you?”
With a wide smile, Raph threw his arms around his dad’s waist for a hug. “Thank you, Papa! I’m gonna help it get so big and strong!”
Splinter chuckled, rubbing the back of Raph’s head. “I do not doubt that one bit. You will have to ask Donatello to use his computer when he is awake, to make sure that you have everything it needs, though.”
“I will!”