(Untitled)

[i_speak_softly]

Who: thesevencodes, i-speak-softly, gaijin-ninja, nexuschamp
What: A not-so-dire illness.
When: The wee hours of Sunday morning.
Where: The Hamato apartment, in C6.
Summary: Don feels a little sick. Raph and Leo freak the hell out. An honest discussion is had by all, and Many Theories are Expounded.
Rating: Raph is here. It probably won't be less than PG-13.

Comments

[thesevencodes]

Sleep. A luxury whose intimacies Leonardo, from childhood, has never fully embraced. Unless the heavy hands of exhaustion are present to push him beneath, the eldest always finds himself just barely scraping at the surface of awareness. The pull of danger is always stronger.

Tonight, it digs into his wrist like a claw and tugs. The brittle glass shatters as he passes through, and he's shot upright in bed moments after his brother hits the ground.

"Don?" Sleep drips from his voice as he wrestles his way out of the bed, pupils shifting furiously as his eyes snap to where his brother is a silhouetted lump on the floor. He staggers his way over, molasses thick on his limbs. "Donatello?"

[i_speak_softly]

No, Leo, you idiot, don't sit there.

Don slaps at his brother's knee while Leo is still thirty degrees from kneeling. "Leo -- bucket..."

Don isn't sure that Leo will have time to grab a pail, or a garbage can, or some other convenient container. But he knows that Leo is at least fast enough to dodge a horrible fate, if he isn't too stupid to get out of the way.

[thesevencodes]

The strike against his knee is enough of a prompt for his body to catch up with his mind; he steps back suddenly, eyes widening as he processes Don's words. His head whips around the room furiously until his eyes catch a garbage pail sitting against the far wall.

His hands are numb as he dives for it. This - it can't be - it's happening again. The infection. Oh God. Leatherhead, not even Bishop - the cure. Donatello's relapsing and the cure is back home and none of them know what to do. Don doesn't even know it's happening because he can't remember.

Christ.

When Leo blinks again, the can is on the floor and his hand on the back of Don's shell. He's saying something. What? "It's okay, Don. You're fine." He swallows back its emptiness and tries to regain control of his own words. "I'm here."

[i_speak_softly]

Leo is talking, but the only thing Don cares about is the garbage can that materializes in front of him. He sticks his face halfway down it and vomits spectacularly.

Then he does it again.

Then he withdraws, slowly, shiveringly, and carefully moves the can arm's-length away, making sure it stays upright. He releases it, moans, and lowers his head to the floor.

Oh, and now he's wiping the vomity drool leaking down his chin onto the carpet. Oops.

"You're fine. I'm here."

"That's great, Leo," he groans.

Leo seems intent on staying here, so after a moment Don prompts him to go and get a few things that would make life so much better right now. "Towel, Leo. Water."