The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'A' is for Abasement

By: Soniclover28

Abasement: to make somebody feel belittled or degraded.

Hamato Yoshi—no, that wasn't him anymore—Splinter was in a deep trance. All was quiet, and all was peaceful.

Inhale…

Exhale…

He repeated this several times, letting the elements around him calm his spirit, and refresh his mind.

When Splinter was in this deep of a trance, only the loudest of noises could break him from his meditative state. Only the shrillest scream could shatter his concentration. Only the hardest shake could throw him from the spiritual world.

This was one of those times.

"Daddy!"

The rat's eyes snapped open, revealing sharp brown irises. Splinter stood and rushed towards the obvious cry for assistance.

"Daddy! Dad, Donnie broke the T.V.!" A voice exclaimed in distress.

Sighing in relief that his sons were not in danger, the mutant rat entered the living room to see four kid turtles.

One was pouting on the couch, one was stamping his foot and yelling, one was staring in awe at the sparking television, and one was trying to calm the yelling turtle down.

"Yame!" Splinter barked.

All movement ceased in the room.

The rat turned his head to the turtle that currently wasn't in a state of panic.

"Michelangelo, what happened in here?"

"Donnie broke it," the freckled turtle pointed a green finger at the damaged electronic.

"How?" Splinter asked. He was confused for a moment. It wasn't like his third oldest son to break things; especially since he was usually the one fixing everything, despite being only seven years old.

"He was messin' with the wires and he broke it!" The oldest of the four brothers exclaimed. "Space Heroes was on!"

Ah.

That was why his usually calm-mannered son was so enraged.

"I am sure you will be able to continue your program after Donatello fixes it. Because he will fix it, correct?" Splinter said, glancing at his techno-talented son.

"Hai, daddy; I should be able to fix it in about twenty minutes."

"But twenty minutes is forever! Space Heroes will be off by then!"

"Perhaps, but I am sure it will come on again. In the meantime, it is time for your lessons. Come, you may fix your television afterwards," Splinter informed the four boys, already turning towards his dojo.

"Hai, sensei," The brothers moaned, and reluctantly followed their father.

"…And then you must flip the fraction, and that is when you may multiply straight across."

"Oh, I see now; thanks, dad," Donatello smiled in understanding, and fixed his mistake.

Splinter was marveled by his son's intelligence. He was only about seven years old, but he was already starting to learn algebra, and then geometry. Donatello was already reading at a college level, and would soon surpass even Splinter's knowledge on academics.

"What's this word, daddy?"

And then there was Michelangelo.

"That word is 'red', my son."

His youngest son should be learning at a second grade level like his other two brothers, but, unfortunately, he was pretty much stuck between kindergarten and first grade.

A few seconds of silence.

"Daddy, what's this word?"

"That is the word 'fox', Michelangelo."

"'The…red…fox…'m-…ma-…malk…malked…"

A snicker was heard.

"Stop it, Raphie!" The freckled turtle snapped. He looked up at his father again. "What's this word, dad?"

"That word is 'walked.' That is not an 'm', my son; it is a 'w'," Splinter explained, pointing to the confused letter.

"'The…red…fox…walked…to…the'…d-…du-…duz-…duzh-a," The young turtle tried to pronounce the word in his little book, but didn't recognize the strange pronunciation. Splinter simply gave the book a glance and corrected his mistake again.

"That is a 'b', my son," Splinter pointed to what was confused as a 'd', and then the letter confused as a 'z', "That is an 's'. The word is 'bush'."

"Oh…"

Another moment of silence.

"Daddy…?"

"Yes, Michelangelo?" Splinter replied, already turning to look at the next word of the sentence. However, the book was closed and placed in front of the young turtle.

The youngest of four brothers looked up to his father with wet eyes.

"Why can't I read like Leo and Raphie…?" He asked so innocently, so pitifully, that Splinter didn't have the heart to stare into his glistening baby blue eyes for long.

"Because, Michelangelo…" Splinter paused, "Everyone learns at their own pace. You cannot just put a seed into soil and expect it to bloom the next day."

"But I'm not trying to be a flower, daddy," Michelangelo shook his head, "I wanna be smart like Donnie. Why can't I be smart like Donnie?"

Splinter was about to reply, but said turtle beat him to it.

"Technically, Mikey, it's okay that you're not caught up to us."

"Huh?"

Donatello tapped his noggin, "Your brain is different from ours."

Splinter knew where this was going. He had had his own suspicions, but his third oldest had just confirmed them.

"Donatello, your brother is no different from you as he is not different from Leonardo and Raphael," Splinter scolded.

"But dad," Donatello interrupted, "It's obvious. The hyperactivity, the short attention span, the impulsiveness; it all adds up. It has to."

"Wait, so is something wrong with Mikey?" Raphael asked, looking up from doing his math.

"No," Splinter almost said, but Donatello beat him to words again.

"Well, no and yes. He's not in any danger or anything like that. He just has ADD."

"Donatello!" Splinter almost never raised his voice.

Donatello flinched and turned to look at his father. The rat stood and narrowed his eyes.

"That was not for you to share. You-"

"Wait, what's ADD?"

Splinter paused when he heard his youngest son's innocent voice again.

"It is nothing. It just means you are able to have much more room for improvement," The rat worded carefully.

Michelangelo blinked.

"Oh…"

"That is all for today. Dismissed," Splinter suddenly said, watching as his sons closed their books and started to carry them off to their room.

"Donatello." The most intelligent son froze in mid-step.

"Yes, dad…?" The young turtle squeaked.

"Stay. I must speak with you."

"Hands off, Mikey!"

"But I wanna hold 'im!"

"No! He's mine!"

"But Raphie-!"

"He's mine!"

Crash!

A wail of pain suddenly echoed through the lair, and Splinter had to cut his lecture short to rush to his son's aid.

He entered the four young turtles' room to see a crying Michelangelo and a fuming Raphael holding his pet turtle in his hands.

"What happened, Raphael?" He asked, picking up the crying child.

"He was tryin' to take Spike from me!" Raphael exclaimed, holding up his baby turtle in his hands.

"And then he pushed me down!" Michelangelo cried, clutching his father's kimono and burying his face into the crook of his furry neck.

"Nuh, uh! I told you to move an' you tripped!" The little turtle retorted.

"Liar!"

"Crybaby!"

"Raphael, that was no way to handle the situation. If he simply wished to hold Spike, then you should have at least allowed him to do so," Splinter scolded, patting his youngest son on the back of his shell.

"Last time he held Spike, he tried to paint a rainbow on 'im!" The emerald-eyed turtle argued.

"I just wanted to make 'im pretty!" Michelangelo glared through tears.

"Spike's not a girl! He's not supposed to look pretty!"

"Yame!" Splinter intervened, "Michelangelo was punished after he attempted to do such a thing. You should know better than to hold your brother to what has been done in the past, when there is nothing you can do to change it."

With that said, Splinter placed his freckled son back on the ground, and held his hand out to Raphael.

"Give Spike to me."

"What? Why?!" The emerald-eyed turtle cried, pulling his pet closer towards his plastron. However, Splinter simply extended his arm further, his eyes narrowing. Reluctantly, Raphael placed the un-mutated turtle in his father's paw.

Splinter then turned to Michelangelo with Spike, and—much to Raphael's horror—handed him to the freckled turtle.

"Be gentle with Spike, Michelangelo; he is very precious to your brother," the rat said softly.

"M'kay, daddy; I will," The little turtle nodded, eyes already trained on the little turtle in his hands. He slowly sat down on his and his brothers' bed, and smiled in awe as Spike turned his head to look up at his holder.

"Raphael, sit beside your brother until he is finished holding Spike. If I hear that you even touch him before Michelangelo is finished, I will allow your brother to hold him the rest of the night. Am I clear?" Splinter asked, turning to his hot-headed son.

"Hai, daddy…" Raphael sighed, settling himself beside his little brother.

Splinter nodded in approval, and left the room.

He entered the living room to see Donatello sitting behind the currently fried television, and Leonardo sitting on the couch holding his Captain Ryan action figure. Although he was missing an arm, and the paint on his face was partially scratched off, Leonardo loved him as if he were in mint condition.

Seeing that all was peaceful for at least twenty minutes, Splinter returned to his dojo and resumed his meditation.

Splinter's eyes snapped open, ripping him from his trance and throwing him back into the conscious world. Jumping, he looked down and gasped; for he had felt something on his knelt legs, and it had surprised him.

His gaze locked with baby blue eyes, and Splinter immediately relaxed.

"Michelangelo…" Splinter sighed in relief, "You startled me, my son." The small turtle had placed his hand on his father's knee—most likely trying to climb into his lap, as the youngest had a habit of doing.

"Sorry," He mumbled, proceeding to clamber onto his father.

"What troubles you, Michelangelo?" Splinter asked after hearing the sad tone in his son's voice. Rarely did his youngest come to him upset unprovoked. Usually he would only come crying to him when one of his brothers was involved—physically—and that was mainly for attention.

"'Tired…" Was all he said in a soft, innocent voice.

"I suspect that there is more to you coming to me than simply you asking for a nap," Splinter couldn't help but smirk at the memories that came to him about his youngest protesting against the mid-day sleeping sessions.

The freckled turtle buried his face in his father's chest, and Splinter couldn't help but wrap his arms around his youngest.

"Daddy…?"

"Yes, Michelangelo?"

"I don't wanna have add…"

''Add'…?' Splinter thought, blinking. Realization suddenly hit him, and his heart ached for his little freckled son.

"You mean ADD, my son…" Before he could continue, however, his son spoke first, unintentionally interrupting him.

"Can you take it away…? Or…Or can Donnie fix it…? Donnie's good at fixin' stuff…" Michelangelo mumbled, tracing the pattern on his father's kimono with his green finger.

"Michelangelo… Let me explain something to you… You are no different from your brothers… You are no better, but you are no less, either. Everyone grows differently, and everyone learns their own way… Having ADD only means you have a bit more of a challenge learning than your brothers do, but your brothers have their own challenges, as well," Splinter explained, gently stroking the back of his son's shell.

The mutant rat knew that Michelangelo didn't truly understand what ADD was, only that it meant he was different from his brothers.

"When's it gonna go away…?" Michelangelo asked softly, his voice growing noticeably quiet.

Splinter sighed, his ears drooping ever so slightly.

"I do not know, my son…" He said, closing his eyes. "I do not know."

"Hey…daddy…?" Michelangelo yawned, turning his head to show Splinter his half-closed eyes, "Thanks…and… I love you…"

He laid his head against his father's chest, and Splinter couldn't help but smile fondly down at his most innocent son.

"And I love you, my son…"

After Michelangelo's eyes drifted shut, Splinter carefully stood and carried him to his and his brothers' bedroom. He tucked him in the middle of the bed, where he usually slept, and placed a brown stuffed bear beside his head. He quietly left the room, heading to check on his other sons.

As he moved out of the doorway, however, he caught a glimpse of green bolt inside the bedroom behind him. He almost called to whichever son had run in to warn them of the sleeping turtle, but caught himself just in time as he peeked back inside the room.

Raphael, with Spike in hand, carefully climbed onto the bed, and quietly settled in his spot on the mattress—right beside his little brother.

Sensitive ears pricked when he heard the emerald-eyed turtle whisper quietly.

"Spike wanted to make sure you were okay…"

Splinter smiled fondly and left his sons to rest.

Me: Okay, I'm sorry, but I had to do it! I am TRYING to get back to my Sonic stories but the ninja turtles are just so dang AWESOME! *cough* ahem... Since we're going over our ABC's, that means we have 26 one-shots to do! YAY! (im doing this so that I can work on endings for stories, and work on displaying character personalities and all that nice jazz...)

I hope you all liked! Leave a review and tell me what you think!

Peace! ;)