turtle tot stories | tmnt 2012

Little Davinchi

Thanks to fruitloupewatermelon for the idea!
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Splinter emerged from his room, green walking stick in hand. He'd been in his room meditating for at least an hour, and he'd decided to check in on his sons for a few minutes before returning to his meditation.

He walked out into the main room of the lair. Three little turtles were there already. Donatello sat on the couch reading a book, Leonardo sat in front of the TV watching Space Heroes, and Raphael was splayed out on the floor, snoring loudly.

"Hello, my sons," Splinter spoke up, jolting Leo and Donnie to attention. "Is everything all right?"

"Yep!" Leo answered enthusiastically.

"Mmm hmm," Donnie mumbled from behind his book.

Splinter chuckled. He did a quick scan of the room. Something was missing. Someone was missing.

"Where is Michelangelo?" he asked.

"I don't really know," Leo replied. "I haven't really seen him today."

"I thought I saw him go in the kitchen," Donnie informed them.

"Then perhaps he is there," Splinter concluded. "Thank you, Donatello. You three continue to behave yourselves."

He glanced over at snoring Raphael, then turned and headed for the kitchen.
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Sure enough, little Michelangelo was in the kitchen, sitting on one of the tall stools at the table. He was scribbling something on paper, constantly switching different-colored crayons to draw with. He looked up as his father entered the room and beamed.

"Hi, Daddy!" he said happily.

"Hello, Michelangelo," Splinter replied, smiling back. "Might I ask, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing a picture," Mikey explained, not looking up from his drawing. "It's gonna be a really good picture, like the kind you have in your room."

"Interesting," Splinter said.

He walked over to where his youngest son sat at the kitchen table and tried to peek over his shoulder at the drawing, but little Michelangelo quickly covered it up with his three-fingered hands.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed. "No peeking! It's a surprise."

"Ah," Splinter chuckled. "I see. A surprise. Well, then, I am very excited to see the finished result. I will leave you to work on your masterpiece."

Little Mikey nodded, not even looking up from his drawing. Splinter smiled, then turned and headed for his room, leaving his little son to draw in peace.
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Hour upon hour passed. Afternoon turned into evening, and evening turned into early night. Donnie, Leo, and Raph (even after his long, loud nap) were exhausted, and Splinter was walking them to their bedroom. He walked into the kitchen, where little Mikey was still scribbling his drawing.

"Michelangelo," said Splinter. "It is time for you to get some sleep."

"But Daddy!" Michelangelo's head instantly shot up from his drawing. "I'm not done!"

"You may finish your drawing tomorrow," Splinter told him.

"But I have to keep going!" the little orange-clad turtle insisted. "This drawing is special!"

"Michelangelo-"

"Please, Daddy? Please? Just this once? Pleeeeeeaaaaaassssseeee?"

"My son, every young child needs their rest."

"But I gotta finish this drawing! If I go to sleep now-"

"Michelangelo!" Splinter snapped. "Go to sleep. You may continue your drawing in the morning."

Little Mikey sighed, lowering his eyes.

"Yes, Daddy," he said sadly, sliding off of the stool and trudging off to his room.

Splinter walked out after him, turning off the kitchen light behind him and leaving Mikey's little masterpiece in the dark.
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Little Michelangelo lay awake in bed, waiting. His brothers were sound asleep, snoring softly (except for Raph, who snored quite loudly). But Mikey wasn't asleep. Not yet. He had work to finish.

He'd been laying awake for a while, waiting for when he thought Splinter would be in his room. If his father caught him, his plan would fail.

Mikey decided he would try.

Slowly and quietly, the little orange-clad turtle slid out of bed, tip-toed across the room on his big green feet, and carefully opened the bedroom door. He walked out, slowly and quietly closing the door behind him, and headed stealthily for the kitchen.

Little Michelangelo turned on the kitchen light, then climbed back onto his stool by the kitchen table. His drawing (flipped upside-down so no one could see it) and his crayons were exactly where he'd left them.

"Hello, Drawing," he whispered. "Sorry I left. I'm back now."

And with that, he went straight back to his work, coloring and drawing his way toward finishing his masterpiece.
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Splinter opened the door to his sons' room the next morning, checking on them like he did every other morning.

Three little shell-backed shapes were sleeping soundly in their bed, tiny little smiles on their faces as they rested.

Three little shell-backed shapes.

Michelangelo.

Panic rose up inside of Splinter as he realized his youngest son was missing. Where was he? Was he safe? Why wasn't he in the bed? Was he in danger?

Some of the panic faded from inside as Splinter realized a possible place his son had gone.

The mutant rat walked to the kitchen and peered inside.

Sure enough, little Michelangelo was there, out cold. He lay snoring with his head down on the table, his precious drawing sitting only an inch or two away from him.

Splinter broke a little smile at the sight of his son sleeping. He must have snuck out and spent a long time finishing his drawing, and now he was exhausted, out cold.

Splinter walked over to the table-careful not to wake his sleeping son-and picked up his drawing from the table. What he saw warmed him from his head to his tail-tip.

It was a picture of him, Splinter, and his four sons, each wearing their respective masks over their green faces. The five of them were drawn holding hands together under a bright blue sky and yellow sun, standing on light green grass that had flowers drawn all over it. There was even a little butterfly on one of them.

Drawn messily and barely readably in the corner of the paper were the words "Surprise, Daddy!", and a big red heart.

Splinter smiled even wider. He bent down and kissed little Michelangelo on his sleeping green head.

"Thank you, my son," he whispered.

With that, he carefully wrapped his arms around his little son and picked him up. Still smiling, he carried little Mikey to his room, so he could get more rest.

And he held the drawing in his hand the whole time.