Daffodils and Dandelions

Oneshot. A Turtle Tot Easter story. Donatello makes a mistake and decides to fix it by offering a new beginning. A story for a friend.

~*o0o*~

His stomach had been turned inside out and back again; guilt and unpleasant anticipation made his insides crawl, and his palms sweat. Swallowing was a painful ordeal at the dinner table, and he'd spooned most of the contents of his plate onto Mikey's when Master Splinter had left the room.

Of course supper had been eggs. Any other day, Don might have smiled at the irony. Now it simply made the young ninja very sad.

The sun was setting outside, and his brothers were in the kitchen, laughing and arguing like a group of noisy, fussy chickens while Splinter helped them lower hard-boiled eggs into chipped mugs of dye. Mikey was begging their rat master to take the egg out of the dye, even though the turtle had taken it out for the third time perhaps two minutes ago, still unsatisfied with the slight hint of orange that looked more yellow than anything else, and Raph's egg was probably going to wind up a mess because he insisted on dipping his egg into both red and green dyes. Leo was more patient, so his egg was probably going to wind up a dark, speckled blue….

Small and speckled blue eggs….

Curled up on the couch, Don shivered and drew his knees up to his chest, where he hugged them to himself, feeling miserable.

It had been an accident.

He'd just been playing. He'd aimed at nothing-certainly hadn't meant any harm. This was something more along the lines of what Raph did, of what Raph normally wound up regretting.

But it had just simply happened. To it. To him.

Earlier that afternoon, Donatello and his brothers had been goofing off in the sewer tunnels outside their home. Mikey had been searching for a rubber band in the rain canal, and had been delighted to find one wrapped around a soggy old newspaper. He'd wanted Donatello to make him a slingshot, like the one he'd seen on TV. The young scientist had really only wanted to search for geodes, in the off-chance that one had floated in from the stream of debris, but Mikey had annoyed him so much that he had at last he agreed, provided that Mikey find the right sort of stick.

It took the chucklehead a surprisingly short amount of time to do so-a few branches had floated by, and it didn't take long for Donny to fashion a crude one. Of course, once it had been finished, Mikey started sling-shotting wet debris at Raph, who then immediately decided that a swift and terrible response was indeed in order. He demanded that Donny make him one, and though Leo had tried to lecture on the wisdom of using something Splinter had warned could take knock someone's eye out recreationally, Raph soon sent a clump of wet newspaper flying at the back of Leo's head, which meant war was declared. At least it wasn't pea shooters this time.

Soon, Don insisted on joining in the fun with his own, and the turtles were scavenging for things to fling, and without thinking, Donatello had scooped up a small rock.

He hadn't meant to actually hit anyone-excited and breathless with giddiness the seven-year-old was, he'd had enough playtimes in which one of the four turtles had gotten injured and run off crying to Splinter, effectively ruining the fun and leaving the others guilty and ashamed. He just wanted to see how far the rock could actually fly.

He hadn't realized that birds would actually build their nests in the sewers. It had been in such an odd, unlikely place on the pipes, Donny had at first been angry at the stupid creature for trying to roost there. Didn't it realize that its nest would probably slip off the thing when water began chugging through it, or that it had four boys at play underneath it? He supposed he ought to have put up an orange warning sign, like the ones that he'd seen the sewer workers leave from time to time.

He hadn't seen the creature-not until it was too late. He'd looked up with a grin only to see the stone hurtling towards a dusty-red bird who had been perched snugly in her nest, plumage puffed out.

Don had let out a warning cry, but it was too late; the rock had struck the bird and the creature had fallen with an alarmed squawk , tumbling directly out of its nest, landing directly into the water with a soft splash.

The other three turtles had stopped their wild play at Don's exclamation of distress, and turned to see Don frantically scooping something out of the water before it could be swept away. He'd laid the wet thing on the concrete, breathing heavily.

Its wings were ruffled to one side, and the creature's black eyes were shut. Its twig-like legs did not relax their splayed position in the air, even when Mikey hesitantly poked her with his slingshot. She did not stir.

The boys crowded around her, splashing her with water and calling her softly, but there was no response. They shuffled their feet, and Raph turned his head away, cursing softly and looking sick.

Don's eyes had traveled up to the nest whose occupant might never have existed. But among the tufts of feathers in the nest, Donny had been able to make out two tiny, speckled eggs.

And then the turtle had promptly burst into tears.

~*o0o*~

Splinter had taken their slingshots away, which the turtles were only too happy to have confiscated. The boys had stuck the bird inside of an old plastic container, and had soberly collected what 'flowers' they could find, which, in the NYC sewers, meant the occasional dandelion that stubbornly insisted on growing beneath the cracks of the concrete pathways.

Don fervently wished that they had been daffodils instead, which Splinter had called a Springtime flower when he'd ran to ask him about it whilst reading a picture book at age three.

Several hours later, his brothers were busy getting ready for Easter tomorrow, but Don felt no inclination to join in, nor did he want to conspire with his brothers on their annual plot to capture the Easter Bunny. All he felt was a deep sadness that kept gnawing away at his conscience, and guilt, which filled him up with a hot, black sense of depression. He kept venturing outside the lair to look at the little can, and each visit made him feel the worse.

But he couldn't not stay away, either. The idea was unbearable.

On his fourth trip out of their home, Don awkwardly carried their wobbly ladder along with him, setting it down with a slight grunt as he peered up at the little nest that still lay among the pipes. The small eggs peeped out of him from their bed of twigs.

Donatello bit his lip as the ladder wiggled when he cautiously put his foot on the first step. When it held however, he tried taking another step, and gulped when the contraption shook again. Either he and his family would have to find a new ladder, or he'd need to seek out a roll of nature's miracle healing substance: duct tape.

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he climbed a step higher, surprised when the ladder did not sway again. He took another step-and, with a lurch of foreboding in his stomach, looked down. He tried to smile winningly.

"H-Hi, Master S-Splinter."

The rat was holding the base of the ladder so that it did not quiver, but he certainly didn't look happy. His countenance was stern, and his dark eyes were resigned, but kind. After a moment, Donatello climbed down, shoulders sinking, smile fading.

"My son, you did not have permission to be up here, and certainly not on this thing."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter, but I-"

A warm gray fingertip found its way to Don's chin, and made the reluctant turtle look up into Splinter's eyes. The turtle swallowed past a lump in his throat, and the rat's expression softened.

"Donatello. It was an accident. A lesson. One you would do well to keep in mind in the future."

Don simply nodded, throat too tight to speak. Splinter wiped away a hot tear that splashed onto Don's cheek, and bent down to the turtle's level. He clasped the turtle's shoulder, and the turtle became very interested in staring at feet.

"The creature's suffering was swift, and it is now past," said the rat softly. "While there can be no undoing what has been done, keep your lesson, for it is well-earned, and will serve you and others well. However, there is no need to cling to unnecessary pain when it casts a storm about your eyes, and makes you so very unhappy as to make lessons-and the peace they mean to bring-meaningless."

Splinter wiped away another tear, and gave his son a crooked smile.

"After all, what sort of shadow should be here in a season of new beginnings?"

Donatello glanced up at his sensei, and managed a watery smile; Splinter glanced up at the pipes where the eggs were perched.

"And another good lesson," mentioned Splinter, holding the ladder again as Donatello scurried up the steps, "Which you have taught your brothers and myself today, is the honor of a warrior taking responsibility for his actions."

~*o0o*~

"Are you sure we can't color them?"

"No, Mikey," snapped Don, readjusting the lamp light fussily. "You definitely can't boil them, and you can't color them-they're too small. You could break them. Go color some rocks."

Mikey rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch, arms folded.

"Duuuude. You just really don't get the point."

The four turtles were gathered around the little nest, which now sat on a small, rickety old table in the living room. Raph had dug out an old lamp which Splinter had found a few weeks ago, and now Leo was bent over the eggs, peering at them intently as Don went over the notes he'd collected from online.

"Don, are the eggs going to hatch very soon?"

"Not for another few days or so, from what I can tell," explained Don, turning one over with an extreme amount of care.

"And out of them are going to come out little cardinals?"

"What, little baseball players from St. Louis?" asked Raph snidely, though his eyes were alight with curiosity. "Birds are ugly when they're born, Don. They probably won't look nothing like that adult lookin' one you had in the picture."

"Not for awhile," commented Don, turning around to look at the eggs again. "We're going to have to feed them some seed and bugs for some time, till they start trying to fly and Splinter can take them to Central Park."

"Why, can't they stay here?"

The ninja with a purple bandanna slowly shook his head.

"Nope-they wouldn't get enough sun and food from down here. I'm not exactly sure what a cardinal was doing in the middle of the New York sewers, anyhow. We mostly just get lots and lots of pigeons."

"Winged rats," commented Mikey. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Duuude, imagine if Sensei had wings!"

Raph scoffed.

"Don't look now-we already got our own pigeon right here."

"Hey!"

While his brothers squabbled, Donatello glanced at his notes again, and turned over the egg again, shivering as he pressed his fingertip tentatively against the eggshell, imagining that he felt a tiny, fluttering pulse from within, although that might have been the blood racing in his own hand-he couldn't be sure.

It wasn't long before Splinter admonished his sons to turn in for the night, which Donatello did so reluctantly. His eyes kept wandering back to the nest snug underneath a warm light, and hoped that the holiday of new-beginnings might bring the birds something pleasant.