Wiping the encrusted sands of sleep from their eyes, Leonardo, Donatello and Michelangelo stretched and yawned as the trudge to the kitchen for breakfast time. Bidding each other a simple good morning as they poured their cereal and coffee, the boys slowly began to wake up their brains from their eight-hour nap.
"Mornin' Don," Leo hummed while fishing through the cupboard to find the box of Cheerios.
"Mornin', Leo," Don replied with a yawn as he poured his coffee before turning to his youngest brother to say, "Mornin', Mikey."
"Mornin', dude," Mikey recommenced cheerily while he searched through the box of Apple Jacks for the prize as he mumbled, "Mornin', Raph."
Surprised that hadn't responded to his morning greeting, Mikey looked up from his prize-searching quest to repeat himself.
"I saiiiiid," Michelangelo whined, "Good mo-"
Turning his head only to find that his brother wasn't even downstairs, the orange-clad turtle shoveled some cereal down his throat and turned to the brothers who were actually present.
"Hrrr dud'f's," Mikey chomped, "Whrr's Rff'ull?"
"Heck if I know," Donnie shrugged as he sipped his coffee, "Now that I think about it… he was a little off yesterday."
"'A little'," Leo scoffed, "C'mon, Donnie: when we had our sparring match, Mikey actually beat him! …No offense, Mike-"
"Hey, none taken," Mikey replied, "A-an' after that, I thought he was gonna beat me up! But he just said 'good job' and walked away."
"Weird," Leo commented.
"Yeah," Donnie added with a pause before questioning, "…He actually told you 'good job'?"
"Crazy, right," Mikey flared, "Somethin's up with that dude."
Don scratched his chin for a moment, until a thought came upon him.
"Well, he was coughing a lot last night. Maybe—"
"Hrrk'hhmm!"
Just as Leonardo was about to pursue his train of thought, a deep, anonymous cough racked the kitchen as an exhausted-looking Raphael trudged his way through the kitchen. However, the red clad turtle appeared to be much more worn out then usual…
With his deep green eyes staring hazily at the breakfast nook, Raphael was silent as he took his seat at the table. And, boy, did he look awful: his face was flushed, beads of sweat were stained across his forehead, and the poor guy looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Once he sat down, all the disoriented turtle did was emanate a slight groan, a gruff sniffle, and rub his temples with his two forefingers. He just looked… painfully distracted. Worried for their hot-headed brother, the turtles stared at each other as a flood of anxiousness washed over them.
"Er, mornin', dude," Mikey began quietly as he made an attempt to get some sort of reaction from Raphael, "You want my prize?"
"Huh," Raphael mumbled as he lifted his head from his hand, "Oh. N-no thanks, pal. "
'Pal'? Okay, Raphael had called Michelangelo some pretty crazy things: Sludgebreath, the Brainless Wonder, but never—ever— did he call his 'pal.'
"How'dja sleep," Donnie inquired- though he already knew the answer.
"Um, great," the red-clad turtle lied, "L-like a bay-heck, hurk-hem-baby…"
As the hot-headed brother broke into a fit of coughing, Leo, Don, and Mikey shot each other a look of concern.
"Uh, Raph," Leo said slowly, "You okay? You seem a bit… beside yourself."
"Why d'ya say that," Raph responded with a cough, his throat sounding a little scratchy.
"Well, for one thing," Donnie intruded as he stared at his red-clad brother, "You're pouring hot coffee into your cereal bowl."
Looking down at his blunder, Raphael's face blushed with a low tint of burgundy underneath his already flushed cheeks. Trying to play it off, Raphael cleared his throat before he retorted back at his brothers.
"Wh-what, a guy can't try sobethin' new?!"
"Alright, quit the act, Raph," Leonardo insisted, "We know something's up. "
"He's right, Raph," Donatello added, "You're sweating profusely, your thinking is clouded-"
"L-look," Raph interrupted as he sniffled, "I'b tellin' you guys- I'b fide!"
"You sure don't sound 'fide'," Leo mimicked in a stern tone, "Raph, I think you might be coming down with somethin'."
'Crap, they know,' Raphael thought to himself.
Raphael hated getting sick, but even more than that, he hate people knowing that he was sick. It was just a weird pride thing that Raphael had ever since he was little. He didn't like to be told that he was weak, and even if he was, he never liked to show it.
'Alright, just calm down, Raph- just be cool. They can't make you talk. Just play it off; you can push through this.'
"Wh-what," Raph protested angrily, "I-I am ndot! I feel great, I-"
"Na je nun ta so ro un in gan jo gin yo ja," a voice, which belonged to their father and sensei, Master Splinter, echoed as he made his way to the kitchen.
The turtles all turned to each other as they heard Splinter approaching the kitchen.
"Good morning, my sons," Splinter sang in a cheery voice.
"Good morning, Sensei," Leonardo said with a bow.
"Mornin', Sensei," Donatello toasted as he lifted his coffee cup to his father.
"Wassup, Sensei," Michelangelo cried, throwing up a peace sign.
"Hi, S-sen- h-ha, heh… huur'Schoo!"
Just after Raphael sneezed, his green eyes shot open wide with embarrassment- he hated sneezing in front of his family. He couldn't explain why: it just… it showed weakness. Surprised by their brother's involuntary action, Leo, Don, and Mikey stared discerningly at Raphael quickly before turning to their father. The old, wise rat quirked his eyebrow inquisitively as he gazed upon his young pupil.
"Bless you, Raphael," Master Splinter consented, "I must say- that was quite a sneeze… Are you feeling well this morning?"
"U-uh, yeah," Raph claimed falsely as he sniffled a bit, "Great! Fresh as a daisy! I-it, er, it's just cold in here, that's all."
"Dude," Mikey interrupted, "It's July."
"Thanks for that 'Calendar-Fact-of-the-Day', Michelangelo," Raph grumbled through clenched teeth at his youngest brother.
"Your brother has a point, Raphael," Sensei added, "Are you sure you are-"
"Yes," Raphael intruded, a bit angrier than he intended.
"Uh," the red-clad turtle began again, "I mean, er, yes, Sensei. I-I'm alright."
Stroking his beard in curiosity, the wise rat continued to stare knowingly at his red-clad son.
"Very well," the rat proclaimed warily, "Let us proceed to the Dojo then."
Once Master Splinter had completely exited the room, Raphael gave a sigh of relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Rising from his chair, Raph found that he was pretty dizzy. Nearly catching himself on the breakfast nook, Raphael attempted to find his balance amongst the chair next to him. Realizing form the firm sound of Leonardo clearing his throat, the red hero-in-a-half-shell knew his brothers had seen the entire thing. Turning around slowly to find his brothers staring at him with a mixture of anger and worry in their eyes, Raph coughed a bit and began to speak.
"C'mon, fellas," Raph sniffled, "You heard what I told Splinter- I'm okay!"
"I dunno, Raph," Donnie cautioned in an anxious tone, "You don't look very well."
"-Yeah, you look kinda green," Michelangelo added as he stuck his freckled face close to Raphael's.
Feeling the glares from his elder brothers, Mikey giggled sheepishly as he realized how high the level of stupidity was in that last remark.
"I mean, like… greener than usual," the orange-clad turtle added.
"Raph," Leo began as he laid his hand on his ailing brother's shoulder, "You can barely even stand upright. Are you sure you're-"
"For-the-last-time: YES," Raph exploded as he jerked his shoulder from his eldest brother, "And so help me, Leo- if I hear another word about it, your head's goin' through the wall. That goes for everyone. Now, let's… go."
With one shaky, uneven step after another, Raphael made his way to the training room with his brothers travelling close behind him. As they began their sparring practice: paired with Leonardo on Donatello and Raphael on Michelangelo, the blue and purple-clad turtles engaged in conversation about Raphael once Splinter stepped out of the room.
"Whatever it is he's sick with," Donatello pondered, "He must've picked up from you back when you were… iggh… infested with germs!"
"Excuse me, 'Infested,'" Leo retorted furiously, "I had a little cold, Donnie! And it was gone by the next morning-"
"Thanks to my doctoring," Donnie smiled confidently.
"'Doctoring'," Leo huffed, "You wouldn't even come near me without carrying a bottle of disinfectant with you!"
"Uh, guys," Michelangelo uttered, trying to break up the quarrel.
"Like I always say- better safe than sorry," Donnie replied as-a-matter-of-factly.
"Then 'sorry' that every little sniffle is considered a 'germ-invasion' to you!"
"Guys," Mikey repeated in a slightly louder tone.
"Well," Don shot back, "Excuuuuuse me for trying to live a sanitary life!"
"More like a 'germaphobic' life," Leo mumbled.
"Guys!"
"What, Mikey," Leonardo and Donatello replied ferosciously.
"Raph… doesn't look so good," Mikey muttered worriedly, gesturing over to Raphael.
As he stood doubled-over in a bout of coughing and sneezing, Raphael looked up with weary eyes tearing as he tried to regain control of himself. With his brothers rushing toward him, the red-clad turtle knew that he had to be tough: he couldn't let his brothers see him like this.
"I- h'huh-shoo! I-I'm f-fi-ha, h-hup'tchoo! Fine- eh, ah-Ha'schoo!"
'I can't do this,' Raph thought as he started to breathe heavily, 'Not here… not in front of the guys. Oy, my head- my throat- my everything! Gotta push through, I just-'
"Raph, Raphael."
As his name echoed through the air, Raphael looked up to find the source of the voice was a three-headed: no, six-head: no- back to three-headed Leonardo.
"You alri-ri-ri-right," the Leonardo heads asked.
"Hang on, du-du-du-dude," the Michelangelo heads exclaimed.
"Sensei-sei-sei-sei," the Donatello heads cried.
"N-no," Raphael slurred, " 'm fine. Jus'…jus' stop spinnin' the room, will ya?"
"My sons," Master Splinter urged as he rushed into the Dojo, "What is wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Raph!"
"Nothing, Leo. For the last time, I am perfectly-"
Just as Raphael was about to finish his sentence, a strange yet familiar feeling erupted in his stomach. As he tried with all his might to battle with this feeling, his efforts were made futile as the contents of Raphael's stomach pour out of his body and onto the training room floor. Wobbly and disoriented, the red-clad turtle looked up quickly at his family, heaved a low, deep sigh, and felt the energy within his body melt away as he began to pass out.
"Woah, Raph!" Leo cried as he caught his brother before he hit the ground, "Guys- a little help.
"Easy- easy buddy," Donnie muttered as he helped Leonardo lay their ailing brother to the ground, saying, "We gotcha, pal."
Laying his palm on his brother's blazing forehead, Donatello furrowed his brow as he murmured, "Man, he's burnin' up, guys."
"What should we do, Sensei," Mikey asked as he stared concernedly at Raphael.
Gazing upon his ailing son, Master Splinter knelt down to Raphael's level. As his long, bony hand rested atop Raphael's feverish head, the red-clad turtle shivered from the icy cold touch as his temperature contradicted his thinking. With his unfocused eyes staring wearily at his father, Raphael attempted to say something to the rodent. However, with a bout of coughing getting in his way, the red-clad turtle turned his head and hacked into his elbow: forcing him to remain speechless. With a worried look in his eye, the wise rat turned to Leonardo and Donatello.
"My sons," Sensei whispered quietly, "See him to the couch. We shall help him there."
Through the dojo and into living room, Don and Leo took either side of Raph and helped him to the couch.
"Michelangelo," Splinter politely ordered, "Please- fetch me a bowl of water, a wash cloth, and a thermometer."
"Hai, Sensei," Mikey saluted as he went to execute his master's duties.
Walking towards the couch, Master Splinter stood before his sons. Clearing his throat, Leonardo and Donatello quickly fled to the recliner next to the couch so they would not be caught the line of fire. With Raphael sitting on the couch, he stared guiltily up at his father as he used to when he had done something wrong as a child. As he stared at his son, Master Splinter furrowed his brow as he glared at his son.
"You claimed to be 'fresh as a daisy'," Sensei exclaimed forcefully, "These were your exact words, were they not?"
"I-I'm sorry, Sensei, "Raphael mumbled hoarsely with a cough, "B-but-"
"NO 'buts', Raphael," Splinter scolded, "You are young: your health is essential. If you are not feeling well, you must rest. This order is not to be compromised, do you understand?"
"I," Raphael began before realizing that one shouldn't mess with an angry rodent, "Er, yes, Father."
"Here's that thermometer you wanted, Sensei," Mikey bubbled.
"Thank you, my… Michelangelo…"
"Yes, Sensei?"
"Tell me this: does Raphael look like a turkey?"
Staring at his brother, Michelangelo knew the answer he wanted to give (especially since Raphael was too sick to beat him up). However, the freckle-faced turtle sighed, and gave the appropriate reply to his master's question.
"No, Sensei," Mikey moaned.
"Then please explain why you have brought a turkey thermometer to me?!"
"Well," Michelangelo explained, "I knew I had to be quick… aaand I had to get a bowl of water an' a rag from the kitchen anywaaaay… so, I figured we could just use this!"
Studying the thermometer of poultry, Donatello perked up, "Y'know, Sensei, it's not a bad idea. I mean, if it says 'baste' or 'marinate', then we know it's a… clucking fever."
Though the others hardly found the joke funny, Donnie began cracking up at his own joke. Not finding the joke very funny, Splinter squinted his eyes and gave his purple-clad son the Kanji Glare of Shame. Immediately ceasing his laughter, Don stared at the ground as his cheeks turned pink. After Leonardo brought back the proper thermometer, Raphael sat with the medicinal temperature-measuring device under his tongue impatiently.
"Mmmmrrrfffppp," Raph mumbled, "IIIrrrrmrrrfff-"
"Uh-uh-uh," Mikey tisked as he waggled his forefinger in front of his brother, "No talking with the thermometer in your mouth. But don't worry- while you wait, would you like me to tell you one of my video game stories?"
"Mrrrrfffmmm! Nrrrrrr!"
"You would?! Why, I'd be happy to! Okay it began at Level 7 of 'Throne Quest'-"
While Raphael endured his torture, Master Splinter, Leonardo, and Donatello grouped behind the couch as they discussed the red-clad turtle's condition.
"Donatello," Sensei questioned, "Do you have a diagnosis?"
"Well," Donnie replied reluctantly, "His symptoms are dizziness, coughing, sneezing, sniffling, vomiting: basically, the poor guy's got everything under the sun. If the fever confirms it, then I'm thinking it's the flu."
"How long before he's cured," Leo inquired worriedly.
"Usually, it takes about seven to ten days before-"
"'Srrvvn trrr trrrnnn drrrrsss'!"
"Raphael," Splinter reprimanded, "Do not speak until you hear the-
'BEEP!' Off went the thermometer. Applying his sanitary rubber gloves, Donatello removed the thermometer from his brother's mouth. As the purple-clad turtle studied the number, he sighed sorrowfully.
"What's it say, Doc," Michelangelo questioned.
"Welp, it's a fever," Donnie huffed, "'One-hundred and two point nine' to be exact."
"What," Leonardo exclaimed, "That's crazy!"
"Yeah," Michelangelo added, "And we're cold-blooded!"
"Exactly, Mikey," Donatello replied, turning back to his sick brother, "So, Raph: it looks like you are afflicted with Orthomyxoviridae."
Staring at each other blankly, Leo, Mikey, and Raph simultaneously exclaimed, "What?"
"Uh, y'know, the Flu," Donnie reaffirmed.
"A-are you sure, Do- huh, heh- Hrr'schooo!" Raphael said with a sneeze.
"Aaaah! GERMS! " Donnie hyperventilated as he quickly sprayed the area with Lysol before replying shakily, "Y-y-yeah, p-positive. I-I'm, er, I'm just gonna stand over here now."
Rushing behind Michelangelo, Donnie murmured sheepishly, "All the professionals recommend plenty of fluids and at least a week of bed rest… Sorry, Raph."
Just after he sighed with disappointment, Raphael began to cough quietly as he looked up at his father.
"Master Spli-hinter," Raph choked hoarsely, "I can't stay in bed for an entire week. I-I'll go nuts!"
"Raphael, there is no debating it," Splinter insisted quietly, "You are quite ill, my son. And only with the proper rest will you be brought back to health. Now- lay down your head, and rest."
"But Sensei-"
"This is an order from you Master, Raphael—not a suggestion," Splinter scolded.
Staring at his son, Splinter softened his eyebrows as the pain in Raphael's eyes inflected his soul. His son look so weak, so ill: it killed him inside. Heaving a deep sigh, the wise rat brought himself down to Raphael level.
"Your body and spirit need recuperation, my son," Splinter uttered softly, "You must rest."