(written for @fluffyjuly day two: nursing back to health)
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003)
Word Count: 1760
âOh, Mikey.â Don sighs, turning around the corner into his room.
Mikey looks around, vaguely wondering what the hint of worry and sympathy in Donâs voice could possibly be referring to. His room looks the same as itâs always looked: comics strewn on the table, fairy lights decorating the wall, Walkman abandoned on his eye-searingly orange beanbag, blankets and sweaters pooled around him on the floor, small tissue papers scrunched up and discarded everywhere⌠Itâs all normal.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â He asks, and huh. His voice sounds strange. Like heâs Batman. Even though he isnât trying to do a Batman voice. âWhy do I sound like Batman? âM not ready to go protect Gotham. I donât even have a Robin yet.â
âYouâre sick.â Don shakes his head, making his way over to the nest of warmth Mikeyâs sitting in. Does he want to join? Awesome.
Instead of stepping in, though, Don leans over and places a hand over his head. Oh, that feels nice. Like ice and chilly water bottles straight from the fridge and bright popsicles sitting in the freezer. Popsicles sound amazing right now.
âOh, wow, youâre really burning up.â Don mumbles, a deep indent between his brows. âHow did none of us see it sooner?â
See what? Mikeyâs head? Mikeyâs head has been attached to Mikey this whole time, and Mikey has been in his room all morning. Heâd woken up all groggy, tried to get out of bed, plummeted on the floor, and promptly decided to stay right there.
Did he accidentally skip breakfast? Oh. Whoops. That might explain why Don came looking for him. But if he thinks heâs going to be able to drag Mikey out and force some of Raphâs protein porridge down his hatch, heâs got another thing coming.Â
ââMikey?â Don says, an expectant look in his eye. Oh, he missed something. Whoops times two. Heâd been too busy imagining Raph and his angry porridge.
âIs the porridge mad at me?â Mikey asks.Â
Don blinks. âPorridge? What porridge?â
âRaphieâs. Is it mad âcause itâs not down my hatch?â
Don just stares at Mikey, his face doing a funny thing between frowning and bursting out into laughter. He coughs unconvincingly. âUm. No, no oneâs mad at you. Not Raph. Certainly not his breakfast.â
He stands up and puts his hands on his hips, sighing. âBut I do think something else should go down your hatch. Like medicine. Acetaminophen should do the trick.â
âNo.â Mikey immediately scooches back, shell hitting the bed frame. His stomach is folding in on itself right now. If he puts anything in it, itâll keep folding over and over until it implodes, painfully.Â
âWoah, Mikey, easy.â Donâs eyes go wide as he backs up, his hands raised. âNo need to yell. The medicine is good for you.â
Did he yell? Crap. He wasnât trying to yell. He doesnât like yelling at his brothers. He doesnât want them to be sad or upset or have that look on their faces.Â
Mikeyâs eyes sting, and that makes his nose and throat burn.Â
âWhatâare you crying?â Don asks, and he kneels again, trying to meet his eyes. âDonât cry, Mikes, itâs okay. I know you feel terrible right now, but I promise itâs temporary.âÂ
âWhatâs goinâ on? I heard shouting.â Another voice pipes up from the door. Mikeyâs blurry eyes catch a faint hint of red. âWowza, this place is a sty, Mike, do you neverâMikey?â
Immediately, Raph rushes to him and crouches, bent low towards his face. âWhyâre you crying?â He interrogates, worry threading through his words like yarn through needles. âWhat happened?â
âHeâs sick. Iâm trying to convince him to take some meds, but Iâm having⌠technical difficulties.â Donâs fingers rap against his knuckles, fidgeting. âCan you help me get him in bed?â
âSick, huh?â Raph huffs, the worry dialed back from an eleven to a four. âSeems like everyoneâs sick now. Casey came down with something last week. Thatâs why you donât hang out with bozos like him.â
âYou hang out with him all the time.â Great, from imitating Batman to imitating Squidward with that nasaliness . âYouâre a bozo.â
Raph and Don each put one arm behind his shell and one under his legs, carefully not dislodging the three quilts heâd wrapped around himself. He feels a little like a giant burrito, being picked up and placed on a softer, flatter surface, and that image makes him giggle.
âNow heâs laughinâ.â Raph shoots Don a quizzical look. âHas he finally lost it?â
Mikey tries to explain the picture in his head between spurts of laughter, tears rolling down the sides of his face, but he doesnât get very far. His entire body feels too hot, skin stretched thin and taut. And suddenly, he canât stand being a burrito.
He kicks and flails his limbs, trying to get rid of the hot-hot-hot, blissfully cool air hitting his exposed skin.Â
âWhat theâMike, woah, stop.â Raph rips the blanket from him at once, and Mikey finally takes an easy breath, eyes closing. âYouâre gonna hurt yourself.â
âOkay, we have to get some Benadryl in him. Preferably the kind that knocks him out for two to four hours.â
âIâll get Leo. If he screams bloody murder again, I donât want my eardrums to be the victims.â
âYou donât have to get him, heâs right there.â Mikey mumbles, relishing the sweat cooling on his skin.
He hears Leoâs familiar footsteps get closer. Theyâre uneven, like heâs tip-toeing to avoid the mess in the room.Â
âHow did you do that?â Leoâs soft, amused voice asks. âNeither of them heard me, and you had your eyes shut.â
Mikey doesnât know; his head is swimming too hard to give a real answer. His awareness is just in-tune with his brothersâ presences. One moment heâd known Leo wasnât there, and one moment heâd known he was. His instinct had made him relax before his conscious thought needed his five senses. Something deep behind his ribs had finally felt complete, when soaring blue joined flaming red and sparkling purple. And so heâd known.Â
Or, maybe, heâd just guessed and turned out to be right. Thatâs probably more likely.Â
âSenseiâs bringing some capsules and a wet cloth.â Leo says when Mikey just gives him a pathetic moan in response. âBut. Until then.â
Mikey hears Leo rummage through his stuff, his eyelids too sticky to open. And then feels soft fabric slip over his feet.Â
He whines out loud, the hot-hot-hot coming back, but Leo puts a gentle stop to his squirming. âI know, I know, the socks suck. But youâre gonna need them. Youâll be feeling pretty terrible for a while, and theyâll help. Youâll switch between hot and cold, youâll shiver, youâll cryââ
âYouâll have a massive headache that youâll complain so much about, the whole lair will be able to hear you.â Don volunteers, wry.Â
âYouâll try to eat somethinâ, say youâre feeling great, and not ten minutes later, throw all of it up in the bathroom.â Raph adds with a snort.
ââWeâre very well-versed in Michelangelo Sick Days , is what I mean.â Leo chuckles. âSo believe me when I say you need your socks, even if it doesnât feel like it right now.âÂ
Affection drips from their voices, gooey and melty, like a spoonful of honey in warm tea. Mikey smiles, a knot rising in his throat. Next to the more physical one that was already there, that is.Â
A quiet click of a walking staff on the ground reaches his ears, and he sighs, the final piece of him fitting solidly into place.
âMy son.â Master Splinter speaks, low and quiet. âYou did not come to eat, and your brother says you are sick. How do you feel?â
Mikey opens his mouth to make a joke, a non-cringey one, hopefully. But he erupts into coughs, the hard and aching ones that come from the depths of his lungs.Â
Immediately, four hands come to steady him: one on his plastron, probably checking for worse symptoms, one on his ankle, rubbing the joint in soothing motions, one on his neck, holding him up so he could breath, and one gripping his clammy hand tightly, promising him a calm after the storm.Â
âNot awesome.â He groans finally, and frowns. Ugh, back to Batman.Â
Sensei hums, concerned, and shifts. A second later, Mikey feels something cool placed on his forehead, and exhales. Wow. Gosh, that feels wonderful. He feels like heâs on cloud nine.
âIf you would be so kind as to relieve your brother of some of his medical duties, Michelangelo,â Sensei says, âI am sure he would appreciate that.â
Don steps forward. âAlright, Mikes, sit up.â
Mikey does, because above all else, he is a good ninja and an obedient son, and if the drugs Don gives him can make him pass out for a bit, that would be great, please and thank you. But since heâs also Mikey, he keeps his eyes shut the whole time, and simply opens his mouth, waiting to be served.Â
He can clearly picture Don rolling his eyes where he says, âOh, of course, your highness, your wish is my command.â He pops the pills on his tongue and gives him water to wash them down. Mikey immediately flops back on the bed.Â
They all stay there for a little while, talking to and about Mikey while Sensei replenishes his wet cloth, and he tries to listen, he swears. But the weight bearing down on his eyelids starts spreading to his whole body, and he can do little but fall victim to it.
âThink it finally kicked in.â Raph remarks quietly.
âHmm, let him sleep. At least itâll be peaceful for a while, before the fitfulness starts.â Don. âIâll try to make him that tea you taught me last winter, Leo.â
âSounds good. Or, yâknow, I could make it. My tea is always the best, right, Master Splinter?â
Thereâs the sound of an ambivalent hum, and then more chuckles and bickering, getting farther and farther away. The cloth is finally removed, and Mikey feels a stroke and a soft peck on the top of his head.Â
He jolts awake, grabbing the hand, blinking owlishly up at Sensei, who reels back in surprise.Â
âPapa.â Mikey calls, a moniker he hasnât used in ages.Â
âYes, my little clementine?âÂ
Mikey tightens his grip. âWill you be my Robin?â
Sensei looks utterly bewildered. âUh. Yes?â
âGood.â Mikey nods, turtling back into his blankets. âThatâs good.â
A slow, exhaled chuckle. âSleep well, Michelangelo.â