(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."

[thesevencodes]

"I - "

Leonardo hesitates, looking from Donatello to the door, back and again. He grabs his own wrist and squeezes lightly in frustration; the sound of Don emptying his stomach is still echoing in his head, dull panic ringing in his ears. What's he supposed to do about an ill brother? He would normally turn to Donatello in this sort of situation, but -

"...I...okay. Okay, I'll be right back. Um." His fingers slip on the doorknob several times before he can grip it, his eyes still on Don as though his sick brother could relapse at any moment. "Don't - just, stay there."

Idiot, like he's going anywhere -

He suppresses the groan in his throat and pushes the door, the scent of vomit leaving his nostrils at the open air.

Towel. Water. He could do that.

[meanandgreen]

Raph's awake again. He has been most of the night, just like every night, silently guarding the apartment as his brothers sleep. He's not tired. No, he's not tired, but his eyes are heavy as he leans his forehead against the cool window glass. He's starting to think if these daily mostly-all-nighters are really helping anyone. The lack of sleep is definitely gonna put a hamper on his reaction time, and that wouldn't do much good.

He should talk to his brothers about taking shifts...

Then he's snatched mid-thought by the distant sound of choking. It plucks at something inside him like a taught rubber band, and he moves out the door and down the hallway before the sound registers. From Leo's room. Not good.

His heart is pounding when Leo's bedroom door opens, and Leo himself is in the hall looking pale-faced and shaken. Raph feels something in him drop like a stone.

"Donnie. He's - ?"

[thesevencodes]

"Yeah. He's sick." The word 'again' is clipped from his sentence as he talks to this shadow he thinks is probably Raph. "I'm going to get him some water." Pause. "And a towel. And medicine."

If they have any; Leo blinks and moves to the front door, intending to rummage around the kitchen area for the water and something to settle Don's stomach. No way is he taking the tap water from the bathroom. "Watch him, Raph. I'll be right back."

[i_speak_softly]

Don turns his head just enough to blink at the empty doorway.

Leo never did trust himself to provide adequate medical attention to a sick or injured brother, but Don hardly thinks that this will tax even Leo's limited first-aid abilities. It's only indigestion. Food poisoning, at worst.

He'll kill Mike for it, as soon as he can get up.

"Have thirds, Donnie, there's always more..."

"Mike, I shouldn't..."

But he had anyway, because the idea of thirds was just too novel to pass up.

Never. Again.

He wonders why it's taking so long for Leo to get a glass of water, and hopes this will not be a repeat of the infamous "What's the dosage for tea?" incident.

"Leeeooo..."

[meanandgreen]

Raph swallows hard, eyes moving nervously between Leo and the open door. But Leo retreats and Raph is alone, the sickness in his brother's voice tugging at his heartstrings. Then he acts, because he's useless standing there, paralyzed with worry and fear. So he opens the door a little further, grimacing at the scent of vomit and the sight of his brother sprawled out on the floor.

He crouches down and puts a hand on Donnie's shoulder. "Aw, man. Don - " He scrubs his face with his trembling free hand. Don't think. Act. "I'll help ya back in bed. Floor's too cold."

[i_speak_softly]

Don doesn't think his vomiting was so unreasonably loud that it should have woken up someone three rooms away.

... Unless, maybe, it was Leo who had woken Raph.

Either way, this is really not necessary. He resists Raph's efforts to move him from the floor. "Bed's too far from garbage can."

Raph is not swayed by this impeccable logic, so Don tries to imitate Klunk's trick of increasing his mass when he doesn't want to be picked up. "You want to be useful, go explain to Leo how the sink works."

[meanandgreen]

Yes, he is totally unswayed. There's no way in hell he's gonna leave his brother on the floor, and this whole dead weight thing isn't gonna do much either.

He tugs a little harder on his brother's arm, heaving his weight around his own shoulders. "Garbage cans move, Don. Just don't hurl on me."

[i_speak_softly]

"You realize you're only increasing the likelihood of further hurling," Don says, as he's hauled upright and propelled towards the bed.

Still, it does feel good to collapse onto the huge pile of blankets thoughtfully provided by whoever's responsible for Luceti's housing.

He flings an arm out, pointing vaguely towards the door. "And once again: water."

[meanandgreen]

He stalks across the room in a bit of a huff to retrieve the garbage can, then sets it down at the edge of Don's bed. "Leo's getting you water. He told me ta stay with you, an' I'm not leavin'."

He sits down at the foot of Don's bed, cradling his head in his hands with a weary sigh. Praying. If he knew what god to pray to, or if one even exists, he could call it praying. But right now, he's just pleading the dark, the empty walls, and all the nightmares that come crawling from them.

Don't do this to us. Don't let this happen. Please don't let this happen...

"I-I should've told you...when I had the chance." His voice is a harsh whisper, full of an unidentified emotion. "Like it'd change anything..."

[i_speak_softly]

He's feeling much better now; he really just wants to drink something, wipe his face, and go back to sleep. But it seems Raph has other plans.

"I should've told you... when I had the chance."

Well, that sounds ominously like a death-bed confession.

"Wha -?" He props himself up on his elbows. "Raph, I'm not dying. It's just an upset stomach. Why are you and Leo acting so weird?"

[thesevencodes]

No medicine. Christ. Leonardo dully watches the stream of water as it pours into the glass. A towel is slung over his shoulder, but there wasn't any medicine. A towel and water. At least he has what Don asked for.

He spends several moments zoning in and out of existence while the cup grows heavier in his grasp. There's a clinic in town. Doctors. They can help, can't they?

(No. You needed Bishop. You needed technology. You don't have that here; you're helpless.)

His mind his yanked back into his head by the cold of water as it overflows, and he reaches for the faucet to turn it off. His hand is shaking. Water continues to spill over his hand. He swallows.

(At least do what you've been asked.)

He turns and finds his way back to the bedroom, pushing the door open and pulling the towel off his shoulder with a free hand. "Here."

[i_speak_softly]

Finally.

Don pushes himself up into a proper sitting position, so he has both hands free to take glass and towel. He drinks first, swishing a gulp of water around his mouth and spitting out the grossness into the garbage can.

After that he sips slowly, letting the cold water go down easy.

When the glass is mostly empty, he wads up the towel over the top of it, and upends the whole thing, letting the water soak into the fabric before righting it again and setting the glass on the nightstand. He wipes the towel over his sweaty brow, then scrubs his face.

Lastly, he folds the towel, dirty part to the inside, and lays it beside the glass. Once all is in order, and he feels marginally like a person again, he turns to his silent and watchful brothers.

"Okay, guys. Spill."