this was adorable to write, thank you @jointed-custody
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Splinter was beginning to worry about one of his sons. Donatello was just so quiet compared to his brothers. He was concerned his small, thin son had something… wrong with him.
Splinter brushed that thought aside and told himself that it was a terrible thing to think. His son, no matter how he grew up, was perfect as he was. Quiet or no.
But, Donatello was just different though. From his much rowdier, much louder siblings. Endless words were always pouring from the other three, muddled and nonsensical as they were. But they talked, constantly, and Donatello… didn’t.
Splinter’s son had talked plenty as a smaller turtle, as a true baby, but the words had all been simple sounds. Not Japanese or English, not even close. Even Michelangelo, as distractible as he was, had begun to pick up larger and larger words the last few months. Donatello would simply watch everything, and make gestures when he wanted something.
Splinter wished they had a more permanent home, so he might settle down long enough to see if he could figure out why Donatello wasn’t speaking.
As they prepared their latest hiding spot for the night, and old service tunnel, wide enough to play in and unused for years and years, Splinter sighed deeply as another shrieking match began.
Leonardo and Michelangelo and Raphael were screaming at each other again, fighting over something that Splinter hadn’t caught as he set up their sleeping piles. Donatello was watching them fight, as he usually did, and simply avoided Raphael and Leonardo tackled each other into a roll. Michelangelo started wailing where he stood, and Splinter wished for the hundredth time that ear plugs came in ‘giant rodent’ format.
He grabbed Leonardo and Raphael by their shells, and tucked his squirming toddlers under his arms. “Boys, you will cease this nonsense this instant.”
His sons only responded by continuing to scream at one another, and Splinter swallowed a grumble of inappropriate language. He turned to his other sons. “Michelangelo, would you please tell me why your brothers and you were fighting?”
Michelangelo’s wailing increased in pitch, and he threw himself at Splinter’s waist to bury his face and continue his crying. Splinter tilted his head towards the ceiling, and sighed very, very deeply. He slid his tail around Michelangelo’s small waist, and bent to give him a semblance of a hug as he kept hold of Leonardo and Raphael.
“I do not suppose you will tell me, Donatello,” Splinter asked his quietest child, even though he knew his son would only respond with hand gestures or a mumbled hum.
Donatello shrugged, and then-
“Raph left his favorite toy back in the other tunnel, and he’d trusted Leo to remind him to not. And Mikey is upset because Raph promised him a turn tonight, and now he won’t get it unless we go back. Which we probably won’t, because you said the tunnel was going to be filled up tonight by the rain.”
Splinter’s eyes widened, and he stared at his son. Donatello shuffled his wide feet, kicking up dust as he did and undoing the work Splinter had put into getting them all clean earlier.
“It’s alright though,” Donatello continued, miraculously. “Mikey and Raph can just have a few of my toys. I don’t really require more than one anyways.”
Splinter noted vaguely that his other sons had stopped their crying, and were squirming free of his grasp.
“Really, Dee?” Michelangelo exclaimed happily, echoed by Raphael. Donatello shrugged, and pointed at his backpack on the side of the tunnel. Michelangelo and Raphael grabbed Donatello in a tight hug, and then went to retrieve their promised gifts. Leonardo quickly followed them, likely hoping for his own share.
Donatello watched them go, and then turned back to Splinter. Splinter continued staring at his son, because until recently, the most words he could get from his child had been maybe three at a time. And his other sons were only just beginning to use proper sentences; when had Donatello learned to use such precise and complete ones?
“It’s okay tou-san,” Donatello said, apparently reading Splinter’s staring as him being concerned. “I don’t mind. I can just make some new ones later on.”
Splinter blinked, and replied, “I- yes, I suppose you can.”
Donatello nodded, and then scurried off to play with his brothers. Splinter stood up slowly, and watched his three year old sons divide their toy collections equally again. Donatello was only three, and had never spoken so much before, or so clearly, and yet…
Perhaps Splinter had been interpreting Donatello’s quietness incorrectly. Perhaps, his son had simply been waiting until he felt like speaking. To add to that idea, his son had never seemed lost when Splinter spoke to him, understanding and following each conversation perfectly.
And Donatello did typically create his own toys, as… inexplicable as some of them were to Splinter. Made from broken toys, turned into new ones that twisted and lit up, sometimes even making noises they hadn’t been designed to make…
Splinter put a hand on his chin, and considered his quietest child in a new light.
Interesting. If this was how far his child had come, without even having started formal education yet, how far would he go?
Splinter made a note to start collecting more advanced literature than just picture books, and perhaps even a few early grade workbooks. If only to see how advanced Donatello had managed to become, just by listening and watching.
It didn’t take long after that to start adding textbooks to his scavenging lists, and Splinter could not have been more proud to haul ten pound books almost nightly; bringing them back to the hiding places he left his children. It was troublesome work, but Donatello’s bright smiles always made the ache in Splinter’s back worth it.
