Stuffed Animals
This is my first fic ever posted, and it's short. I like the little turtle stories and DONNIE ROCKS, just wanted to get that out there. It's Splinter's POV, but definitely a Donnie story. So here goes nothin'. Spelling of Donnie compliments of the subtitles in the new cartoon (Which for some reason keep coming back even though I turn them off.).
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't get paid for this. I promise to put them back when I'm done.
Splinter looked at his 4 small sons who were playing quietly in the living area. The little turtles were terribly cute. For now the play was quiet and he let it continue, though he knew that shortly that would change and he would have to swoop in and save one of them from another. The four young ones never did anything to intentionally hurt another, but if not watched carefully they had a tendency to get hurt. Today each had a stuffed animal. Splinter never ceased to be amazed by what others threw away. As the boys had started speaking Splinter had asked them what kind of animal they would like. Splinter had been surprised how well the animals they had chosen had fit their personalities.
Leonardo had been the first to understand and form an answer to Splinter's question.
He chose a wildcat. Like the cat Leonardo had shown that he knew his place. He was a leader and took that responsibility seriously even as a young turtle. The cat was an excellent choice for the small turtle and Splinter hoped Leonardo continued to live his life in the way of the animal he chose.
Raphael and Michelangelo soon followed Leonardo's lead and chose animals. The strong, short tempered, but fiercely loyal Raphael chose the wolf. He clung to the stuffed animal Splinter made for him, and if truth be told used it and its 'strength' to beat up on the others' animals. He was a wolf, a pack animal and knew his place, though he strove to move up in the pack. Splinter wondered if there would come a day when Raphael took over leadership of the small group from Leonardo who had assumed the mantle so young.
Michelangelo was the otter. Always ready with a joke or game and just as playful as the creature he chose. He could always be counted on to brighten up the room. Splinter wondered what it was about these animals that attracted his sons' attentions. He wondered if they knew how much they were like the animals of their choice.
There was only one son left, the one who was still to utter his first word. Splinter was secretly worried about little Donatello, the smallest of the group, and the only one who was still to speak. Splinter had tried waiting until Donatello spoke the word for the animal of his choice, but the word hadn't come. His brothers were using simple sentences, and little Donnie was still using gestures to get his point across. Splinter had tried ignoring the gestures trying to get the littlest turtle to speak, but nothing worked. He began to wonder if Donatello would ever learn to speak.
The strangest thing was that Donatello always seemed to understand everything that went on around him, often seemed to understand better than his brothers, if truth be told. He even acted more maturely than his brothers did, especially Michelangelo, but that is a story for another day. About a month or so after Donatello's brothers had all earned their animals the little turtle had approached Splinter with a picture book. The story was one of his favorites about a beaver who was rebuilding his home after a flood had washed the first one away. The beaver was a hard worker who cared very much for his family. He was also very intelligent and knew what needed to be done. When Donatello had approached Splinter with the story that day Splinter had misinterpreted his desires. When he started reading the book from the beginning Donatello took it away. He flipped through the pages to the best picture of the working beaver and pointed the animal out to Splinter. Looking at the smallest of the turtles Splinter had known exactly what Donatello had been trying to say, but he still said it without words.
That day Splinter accepted that Donatello was not ready to speak and decided not to punish him for that any longer. The littlest turtle would speak when he was ready, of that Splinter was certain. And when he did decide to speak he would probably have a lot to say. Splinter laughed at the thought, as he worked on the beaver for the little turtle. He knew now that Donatello was going to be just fine. Splinters fears were quelled the day Donatello chose that beaver. One day his words would express an intellect unparalleled by his brothers.
Raphael had his physical strength, Leonardo his balance and leadership skills. Michelangelo had his playful attitude, and quickness. All were strengths that would serve them well in coming years. Splinter had wondered about the smallest turtle, wondered where his strength would lie. Donatello did not possess a physical prowess over his brothers and was most often hurt in the roughhousing that inevitably took place with four young boys. Splinter realized now that physical power was not where Donatello would excel. The littlest turtle was a worker, very intelligent and would prove to be clever. His contribution to group dynamic would be unique. Even now he was compassionate and an excellent listener, the not talking thing did help in that, but Splinter knew that Donatello was special. He had put the finishing touches on the beaver this morning and this was the first time Donatello had been able to join his brothers in their play with the animals.
That evening Splinter got all his little turtles into bed and was settling down for the night himself. He heard one set of small footsteps approach his room. He sat up and at his door stood little Donatello hugging his new beaver.
"Come on in Donatello." Splinter said calmly. The little turtle walked into the room holding the beaver in front of him with both arms. He approached the bed and stood beside it for a moment before lifting his arms to Splinter to be picked up.
Splinter smiled and lifted the little turtle onto his knee. Donatello sat there for a moment hugging his beaver and seemed to be contemplating his next action. He carefully placed the beaver beside him on the bed and looked Splinter directly in the eyes. He then pitched forward embracing the rat in a tight hug.
"Sp'inter," came his small voice from Splinter's side. Splinter looked down at the small turtle for a moment before what had just happened really sank in. A tear of joy in his eye he hugged the littlest turtle back. Donatello snuggled into his side and curled up there as if he expected that he would be allowed to stay. Splinter knew that Donatello knew better, he also knew it was not above his young son to at least try. Splinter allowed the little turtle to stay for a short time longer before carrying the tired little turtle back to his own bed in the room he shared with his brothers.
For the first time Splinter was absolutely sure that his sons, all of them, would be each other's strength. Each had a gift that would complement the others' and together they would be strong. He looked down at the turtle with the beaver, who had just been returned to his bed, and knew that some day that little turtle's mind would surprise all of them, and that day would be coming quickly.