Title: (Not) Simply A Stick
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Donatello, Splinter
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Splinter finally explains to Donatello why he chose the bo staff for him.
Word Count: 2,063
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 395: Stick and Fannish Fifty Number Eight
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.







Donatello edged into the lair. It wasn't as though he was breaking any rules. He had never been, and would never be, the rule breaker that Michelangelo and Raphael were and even Leonardo had a greater tendency to break rules than he did. He simply did not want to have to look at anyone else at this late hour. He did not want to have to face any of his brothers especially, not after his bo staff had been ripped out of his hands and unceremoniously splintered in their latest battle. If it had not been for being able to use the mechanizations around them to save the day... Donatello shuddered, his shoulders sinking and his heart still aching, at the thoughts of what could very well have happened.

It was not simply because of his weapon. Deep down, he was aware of that fact. He was aware that they had been incredibly outnumbered and that none of his brothers' weapons had proven, in the end, much more resourceful than his own. Still, they had been able to take down considerably more of the enemy while Donatello had found himself feeling powerless to help himself, his brothers, or the world at large yet again. His tail was literally sticking between his legs as he slunk through the main room of the layer, heading for his study.

He would not sleep tonight. He would brood instead, pulling up all of his files on possible better weaponry, not just those weapons that had already been made but those that he felt certain he could create. One's imagination was truly the end to what modern technology could do, but like every other power in the universe, he knew all too well how devastating it could be if it were to be made and fall into the wrong hands. That seemed to be what happened every single time he designed a better weapon. Someone else would steal it, use it, almost kill his brothers with it... and then, at the end of it all, Donnie would have to destroy his more modern, more powerful weapon and resort back to his old bo staff.

He sighed, and a candle flickered to life in his Sensei's dojo. Donnie froze, hoping he had not been seen, but Splinter's smooth voice cut through the quiet, late-night air. "Come inside, my son." It sounded like an invitation, but Donatello knew when his father, especially as his Sensei, was ordering him.

Head ducked, tail tucking swiftly back into his shell, Donatello entered his father's dojo. He was not in the least surprised to see the staff Splinter was holding in his hands and above his bowed head as though an offering, nor did he have the heart to protest being given yet another replacement of the same old, largely pointless (or so it far too often seemed) weapon. "Thank you, Sensei," he said and started to reach for it only to have Splinter snatch it away from his grasp.

"For what, my son?"

Donatello frowned, deep lines appearing on his young, green face. "For the replacement of my weapon, Sensei," he spoke, as always, with respect and honor.

"Replacement?" Splinter's tail swished, appearing only once and swiftly from underneath the folds of his tattered, purple robe. Donatello wished he could afford to buy a new one for him, but without being able to go above ground more often, or to be able to charge for their heroic services, there was little they could actually afford. He had begun to sell a few of his programs, those that evil could not twist, but they were much more than enough to keep them with pizza, and the occasional meal of sushi, flowing.

"Oh, yes," Splinter was saying, and the ridges above Donatello's worried, sad eyes shot up in surprise with his next words, "I shall have to see about that in the morning."

"But... Is that... not what you have there?!" Donatello couldn't help blurting out.

He missed the slyness in his father's smile, and the second swishing of his tail. "Oh, this? This is merely my old staff. I dust it off every now and then in fond memory."

"You fought with a staff, Sensei?!" It was easy to understand why his father often walked with a staff these days, now that he was too old to actually enter into combat, but he was an expert with every weapon known to Ninjitsu! He had taught them all they knew about every one of their weapons! Why he would have chosen a meager stick above any other weapon was beyond Donatello's imagining.

"Why, yes." His wiry tail swished again, then curled around his folded legs. "It was my weapon of choice actually."

Donatello's jaw felt agape. "Why?!" he finally managed to cry out.

"For many reasons, not the least of which is that the bo staff is one of the most noble weapons known to Ninjas."

"What do you mean noble?" Donnie asked, frowning and sinking down to the floor. His position naturally mimicked his father's, his legs folding in front of him in the traditional style of meditation.

"It is easy to go too far with a blade," Splinter replied, opening his eyes and looking directly into Donatello's startled orbs. "I always thought it the best weapon for those who absolutely want to restrain from imparting a final blow. They are also, I have found, the most useful."

Donatello's head tilted to the side, his dark eyes narrowing to curious but suspicious slits. "How do you figure?" he asked. "Even Mikey's num-chuks hit better than a staff!"

Splinter's ears swiveled back and forth on top of his graying head. It was impossible, in the dim candlelight, for Donatello not to take notice of his ripped ear. "With more force, perhaps," Splinter answered patiently, "but not with more accuracy, not in the hands of a true master. However, I have always found them the most useful, because wherever life may take you, say around the world, in a laboratory, or at a global meeting of peace treaties, there may not be a blade, but there is always something that can be fashioned quickly, and relatively easily, into a staff."

Donatello gaped at him. For once, he was astounded, completely wordless. Was his father just pulling his leg, trying to convince him of the superiority of the simple, stupid stick, or did he actually believe what he was saying? His Sensei never lied, but he would be sly about admitting truths Donatello or any of his other brothers did not wish to hear.

Splinter stood suddenly. "Come. Follow me," he ordered and walked out of the dojo.

He paused in the living room. "If you were to be attacked here," he questioned, "what would you fashion into a weapon?"

"I mean, that's easy," Donatello answered immediately. "There's the TV that has glass and is heavy too. Mikey's skateboard. Even one of the chairs could be thrown and used to batter the enemy." He grinned, admitting aloud, "I'd probably have as much lucky with anything in here as with my staff."

"Very well." Splinter, his hands joined behind his back, moved forward. "Too easy," he murmured, pausing in the kitchen. "Too easy," he said again, passing back through the training room. He did not even glance into the bedroom where all of Donatello's brothers slept soundly but continued forward into Donatello's little nook in their lair, his hideaway away from all other life and things that bothered him. "And in here?" he asked, stepping into Donnie's computer laboratory. "If you lacked the time to create something from your computers?"

"I..." Donatello paused. His old chair would not hold up for long. He could perhaps strike one enemy over the head with it, but that would be all. "The computers are quite heavy," he started.

"No," Splinter spoke sternly, his tail swishing. "Beyond the computers, Donatello. What else could you use?"

"I..." His face fell. He knew what Master Splinter wanted. "I could fashion any piece of wood into a staff."

"Precisely," he said. "Wherever you are, wherever your life may take you, there is bound to always be something that can be fashioned into a staff, my son, meaning that you will have protection wherever you may go."

"You..." Donatello's eyes slowly met his father's. "You don't expect us to stay here forever?" he questioned in a soft whisper, not wanting to be overheard by any of the others. It wasn't likely that his brothers would wake, especially not with how greatly they had been snoring, but he did not want to risk anyone possibly overhearing and taking the wrong notion, especially not this late at night.

"Of course not." To Donatello's surprise, Splinter's eyes even twinkled as he related, "My journeys in this world are nearly over, my son. I do not expect to venture with any of you everywhere you go, but I do expect that life will take you to many surprising places -- when the time is right. I am in no rush for those times to arrive, mind you," he admitted, "but I know they will come. I am also fully aware that with your vast intellect, you will travel in many places and many circles where your brothers will not. I have selected the bo staff for you because of all the weapons, I find it to be the most reliable, and I want you to always have the means of protecting yourself."

"Beyond that," he continued, hands still folded behind his back and his furry chin dipping a little, "there will come a time when Raphael's anger gets the better of him and when Leonardo is not as swift as he thinks in pulling away his blade. Even Michelangelo's num-chukkas may one day prove more fatal than he has ever considered they could be. You, however, my son, as long as you control your mind remains in control of your actions, as it so often does, will never have to endure such, especially not with the staff. When I am gone," he concluded, lifting his staff slightly into the air again, "I want you to have my staff and carry a piece of me with you always."

There were tears in Donatello's eyes. "I... I don't know what to say, Master," he said, his voice cracking, "Father."

"You need say nothing, my son," Splinter spoke with the humility and kindness he had always possessed wherever his sons were concerned. "Simply do not give up on the staff, and be ready to inherit my staff when the day comes."

"Yes, Sensei." Donatello gulped down his emotions.

Splinter twirled his staff in the air before pointing it directly at the center of Donnie's plastron. "And now, to bed with you before I decide to make you do flips for coming in so late and alone at that! You know this city is dangerous!"

Donnie gulped again but forced his emotions to stay in check, as he knew his father had and would always expect. "Yes, Sensei," he said again and began to slip back toward the bedroom. He paused when they were about half-way and looked back at his beloved father. "Sensei?"

"Yes, my son."

Donatello gathered all of his courage in a quick moment and then swiftly, as swiftly as Mikey sometimes sprang on him, leapt back and hugged his father. Moving away before he could be struck for being disobedient, he told him, "Thank you, Sensei," and slipped into the room he had always shared, and had, at times, feared he would always share, with his three brothers.

They were all still snoring loudly as Donatello's tired, weary eyes finally began to slide closed sometime later. His father thought he was capable of attending peace talks throughout the nations. He beamed as he begun to dream.

Back in his dojo, Splinter smiled though still with a touch of sadness and shook his head ever so slightly. No, my son, he thought, touching his own staff for comfort. I know you are capable of leading them. He would miss his children when he did finally have to leave from this world, but he would watch over them from afar even then and always, always love them. Still smiling, he stood, stretched, and at last headed to bed himself.




The End