Watch Over Me
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Chapter One: I'm So Tired
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by: Akiko, Keeper of Sheep
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He was in Hell.
Well, he couldn't be too sure - Hell was, after all, a mythological incarnation of humanity's collective belief that there is such a thing as Good and Evil, and that Evil must have its place. Still, if he could conceivably believe in Hell, he was certain it would feel like this.
Everything burned and froze at the same time. Everything ached, bone-deep, the sort of ache that seemed to stretch into eternity. Tremors wracked his body, so strong, so constant that it pressed the breath from his lungs. Any conscious movement on his part seemed to take Herculean effort. The world was blurred and dim, like he was looking at it through grimy glass.
He was helpless.
It wasn't a new feeling. Every time he practiced with his brothers, he felt more and more like the weak link. Each time, he'd reassured himself that even if he was an impediment on the battlefield, he had a use. He had a purpose. He wasn't superfluous, no matter what his brothers might have thought.
Someone was speaking, he was sure of it. It sounded muffled and far too soft, like he was listening from under water. He tried to answer, to reassure, to beg for an end to the misery, but he couldn't seem to move his mouth, and his tongue felt too big, too dry.
He was being moved now. Cold air was rushing over his clammy skin, and the shivering worsened. There were more voices, all blended together until the sounds became one monotonous hum. He stopped trying to decipher it, stopped trying to speak. He was tired, so tired.
A hand was resting on his forehead, warm and strong. Another hand rested on his shoulder, soft and furry. The murmuring grew quieter, and then stopped, and the edges of his vision began to go gray.
Struggling to focus, he could see a figure of green, a streak of red, and suddenly, clearly, two frightened brown eyes peering down at him as everything faded away.
'That's wrong,' Donnie thought as he drifted into blissful unconsciousness, 'Raph's not afraid of anything...'
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Cold!
Donnie jerked, the freezing water crushing the air from his lungs like a kick to the chest. It splashed over his body, up over his shoulders. He kicked weakly, batting at the arms holding him ineffectually.
"...get a good grip..." a voice murmured overhead.
"...try to...underneath..."
"Yeah...hold him for..."
It was like talking on a cell phone with bad coverage. They were speaking too quietly for his tired, fevered mind to catch all of the words, and if the chill hadn't been seeping into every atom of his body, he would have been frustrated beyond belief.
Arms were hoisting him up, different arms wrapping around his torso from behind. Then he was being lowered, slowly, into the bitterly cold water again. He whimpered, flinching away from the chill, and a soft voice whispered beside his ear.
"It's okay, Donnie. I've got you," the voice said.
Something in the voice made him want to cry. It was scared, and sad, and it should never be either of those. And it said it was okay, but it wasn't. He was weak. He was freezing. He hurt. That wasn't okay.
He felt betrayed. He trusted his family to take care of him, to never hurt him. Why were they doing this? Why were they forcing him through this torture? Why couldn't they have just let him slip away into that warm, dark place where he didn't ache to the bone?
Someone was stroking his side reassuringly. It sent little warm shivers through him that helped keep the cold at bay. It wasn't much, and it wasn't for long, but it was enough. Calmer, Donnie let his mind drift into the blackness once more.
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He was hovering somewhere. It was nothing, and yet it was something. Softness pressed in all around, and blessed warmth. He felt horrible, and he felt alone, but he knew he was safe here.
In an instant, he wasn't alone anymore. Something cool was being laid on his forehead. It wasn't the terrible freeze of the water he'd been submerged in. It was soothing, beating back the prickly heat of the fever.
More coolness was being spread over his face, his shoulders, his neck and chest. The sticky sweat of sickness was being cleaned away by gentle hands, and the comforting voice of before was speaking softly as its owner worked.
"You really scared me for a minute there, Don. The way you just went over like your strings were cut..." A deep sigh here, and the hands faltered for a moment before resuming their wonderful work. "We were all pretty freaked. Thought Mikey was gonna start cryin', but he did great. Leo...Leo was alright 'til we got you home. I dunno what's up with him, but..."
What had happened to him? Why was everyone so afraid? He knew he felt terrible, but he wasn't dying. In fact, he thought for a while there that dying would be preferable to this.
"Swear to God, Donnie, when you wake up, you're teachin' me everything. An' you are never, ever gonna hide anythin' like this from us again. I swear."
'Sorry, Raphie. I didn't mean to worry you.'
He wanted to say it out loud, wanted to let his brothers know that he was okay...well, not really okay, but he wasn't dying.
Was he?
This unsettling thought followed him into the familiar darkness.
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It hurt to breathe.
His lungs were a mass of pain, his throat was swollen and scratchy, and he felt like his tongue was twice its usual size. The skin around his mouth was chapped and stinging.
He needed water.
No sooner had he thought this than a damp cloth was placed against his mouth. He moaned weakly, then regretted it when he began to cough. He didn't have the energy to hold it in, and his throat screamed as the force of the action tore at it violently.
A powerful arm slid under his shoulders and levered him up. The angle helped to ease his cough, and the warm body pressed against his side calmed him. The cloth, which had been suddenly removed, was pressed to his mouth once more. A trickle of water was squeezed onto his tongue. He fought the urge to sigh, knowing what the consequence would be.
He knew from the feel of the arm around him that it was Raphael again. He wondered vaguely if his other brothers or his father only came in when he was asleep, or if Raph was the only one nursing him.
Maybe Raph was the only one willing to nurse him.
That thought made him sob once, harshly, and the wracking coughs that resulted nearly jerked him out of Raphael's arms. As he struggled to control the convulsions, he defiantly pushed the idea away.
His family loved him. They were worried about him. They wanted him around. They needed him.
They loved him.
They loved him.
Feeling a well of despair forming inside him, Donnie prayed the warm, welcoming blackness would come again soon.
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A/N - Okay, so there are a few fics out there that beg the question: what the heck happens when Donnie's the one who's sick? Well, this is kind of my thought on the subject, because I'm apparently not the only one who never seems to think of Leatherhead or Dr. Honeycutt or any of the other characters perfectly capable of at least trying to help. Plus, you know you love the image of Raph in a nurse's uniform. Heheh...
Raph: Okay, Don, bend over and cough.
Don: O_o...
Anywhoz...on to chapter two!
