A/N: This is a day late, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATIE!!!!

Chapter 7 -Dreams-
~~~

When Beverly came back with the soup, Don was sleeping. She briefly considered waking him but decided against it.

He probably hasn't slept in days. She set the bowl carefully on the stand next to the bed. She started toward the door but a sound from the bed stopped her. Donatello was moaning, twitching in his sleep. Slowly, Beverly approached the bed. She saw him grimace. Sweat coated his brow.

"Donatello?" Cautiously she reached out, brushing the back of his hand with her fingers.

"Noo… Mikey, run…" He half-sobbed, twisting to one side as if to ward off a blow. "Not Mikey… leave him alone…"

"Donatello!" Beverly called him more urgently, taking his hand firmly in her own.

He shot up from the bed, gasping, jerking away from her. Though he was unsteady on his feet, his hands came up in a defensive stance. Beverly scrambled backward. She'd seen her own brother take the same stance and she knew a strike could come like lightening. Don stared around, as if he wasn't quite sure where he was. Beverly sat up, getting slowly to her feet.

"Donatello," she called.

The turtle flinched but his eyes focused on her. Traces of anger and fear remained, and a burning, desperate determination.

"He can't... have Mikey." The words slurred.

"Hey… You're safe now. It was just a dream." Beverly spoke softly.

Don blinked. He swayed, his hands coming down as he relaxed. He tipped to one side, nearly falling over. Beverly came slowly forward, holding out her hands. She reached out, but didn't quite touch him.

"Donatello? Are you awake?" she asked.

"What? 'm awake…" He passed a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the confusion. "B… Beverly?" He looked up at her, finally focusing. She saw a wary look replace the sleepy confusion.

"You were having a nightmare," she told him. "Are you ok now?"

"I… I think so," he muttered. He sank down reluctantly, as if his legs could no longer hold him.

"Here. I brought you some broth," said Beverly, gesturing toward the nightstand.

She stayed back. She wasn't about to risk coming within reach of his fists, now that she was certain he'd had at least some sort of combat training. She was beginning to realize that her visitor might not be as harmless as he seemed.

"Thanks." His gratitude seemed genuine. He gave her a shy look from those soft brown eyes. Beverly made her way back to the rocking chair and perched, watching as he sipped the soup. When he'd scooped the last of the broth up, he set the bowl down with a sigh.

"Thank you," he said again. "I was really hungry."

"You're welcome."

She hesitated. She'd intended to dress his wounds, but it was obvious that some of his strength was already returning. She wasn't certain getting within reach of those powerful hands was a good idea.

"Beverly?" His voice sounded strained, as if he were trying not to speak even as the word slipped forth.

"Yes?"

"I think… I'm going to be sick," he whispered.

He was leaning slightly forward, his head down and his eyes closed. Beverly jumped up. She grabbed a small plastic trash-can and hurried over, just in time to hold it for him as the broth came violently back up.

Donatello was sweating, shaking. Hesitantly, she laid her hand on his shoulder, feeling his skin, clammy and cool under her fingers. He swallowed hard several times, obviously trying to fight back the nausea. His face had paled to a mottled grayish-green. He looked sick and weak and thoroughly miserable.

"I… I'm sorry," he whispered, shivering.

Seeing that he was able to speak again, Beverly lowered the can. "Are you done?" she asked.

He nodded, swallowing again. "I think so."

"Ok. I'll go clean this out and bring you a bucket in case it happens again. Donatello, are you hurt? I don't see blood, but are you in any pain?"

He shook his head, not looking up. "'m just… cold." He shivered. "I'm really sorry, Beverly. Please, let me take care of it." He started to struggle to his feet again, but she put a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

"You'll do no such thing," she said softly "Sit still. I'll be right back."

He looked up, as if he would protest again but Beverly forestalled his objection by simply ignoring him. She carried the bucket to the bathroom, emptying it and cleaning it efficiently.

It's a good thing nursing gave me a strong stomach, she thought, rinsing the can with boiling hot water. She fetched a pail from under the kitchen sink, and poured a cup of cold water, carrying them back to the bedroom. Don was still perched on the side of the bed, his hands on the edge of the mattress as if he could barely hold himself up.

"Donatello?"

He looked up, and his face, if it were possible, went paler, his eyes flicking between the glass of water and the bucket in her hands. He shrank back as she approached, the muscles in his legs twitching slightly, as if he was fighting the urge to run.

"What's wrong?" Beverly stopped, confused and concerned.

"N… nothing," he whispered. He ducked his head, closing his eyes, as if in pain.

She walked over slowly, watching for any sign that he'd lash out. His trembling increased slightly as she came closer, but he didn't move. She set the bucket on the floor and the water on the nightstand. He flinched at the faint clink.

"What is it?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

"I… It's nothing. Really." He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. He met her gaze with a shaky smile.

"Donatello. What did Jack do to you?" Beverly looked into his eyes, determined. "It's ok, you can tell me. He's my brother. I lived with him for thirteen years. I know what he's like."

"It… was just… water," said Don, the words coming forth slowly, painfully, almost against his will. "He threw water on me. Cold… freezing. I… couldn't breathe." He drew in a deep breath. "'m ok. It was just water," he finished faintly.

"Water torture." Beverly sat down carefully beside the trembling turtle. She put her arm tentatively around him. He sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't pull away. "Donatello, have you heard of water boarding?"

"…Yes."

"It's the same idea. The way you were tied… The idea is to make the prisoner feel as if they're drowning. It's an old technique, it's been in use for centuries."

Donatello shuddered. "I just felt so… helpless," he said softly. "I… I'm not used to… not being able to fight back. Trapped…"

"It really was awful, wasn't it?" she said sympathetically.

The turtle shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "I… I'm trained in martial arts. Beverly, not being able to defend myself, being so weak..." The shame in his voice was heart-breaking. "I don't know how I can go home again," he half-whispered.

Beverly squeezed his shoulders. "Donatello. Listen to me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Jack's cunning and strong. He caught you unaware. In a fair fight, I have no doubt you could beat him. You certainly have the muscle. Anyone can be caught by surprise."

Donatello shook his head, refusing to accept her comfort.

Beverly sighed with exasperation. "Listen, why don't you lie back down and let me take care of your ankle. You're a mess."

He let out a startled, half-choked laugh. "I am, aren't I? But I don't want to be any trouble. I can do it myself, if you can lend me some first-aid supplies."

"Nonsense. You can just about sit up. I'm not having you try to bend over and end up falling off the bed," she told him. "Now lie down and let me help you."

"I'm sick of being taken care of," grumbled Donatello. He caught her surprised glance and blushed.

"Sorry," he said contritely. "I was sick a while back. Really sick. It was septic pneumonia. I was bedridden for over a month. I've only been able to return to my normal activities recently. I hate feeling helpless. I hate being a burden."

"You're not a burden to me," Beverly told him gently. "And I'm sure your family, or whoever was taking care of you, feels the same way." He flicked a glance toward her, the wary look coming back. She gave him her most reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry," he said, a bit stiffly. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you."

"Not at all." She shook her head. "You've been through a lot. And you can trust me. Donatello, I'm not going to… turn you over to the army or anything. I give you my word. You're safe here."

At the mention of turning him over, he'd tensed. Brown eyes turned toward her.

"Beverly," he swallowed hard. "Please understand. You've been very kind and I appreciate everything you've done, I really do, but I have to ask one more thing of you. Please. You can't ever tell anyone else about me. There are… people… who would love to get a hold of someone like me. Scientists…" He trailed off, his expression bleak.

"Donatello," said Beverly, putting her hand on his arm. She was surprised at the fierce protectiveness he brought out in her, but there was something about those soft brown eyes… "I swear, I won't ever tell anyone about you. I'll do whatever I can to protect you, from Jack, and from anyone else who might mean you harm."

He relaxed marginally and his face softened.

"Thanks," he said softly. "If there's ever anything I can do to help you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Well, there's one thing," said Beverly with a grin.

"What?" Donatello gave her a confused look.

"You can let me take care of that ankle."

"If you insist," he said with a smile.

"I do." She fetched the first aid kit and began efficiently binding up his ankles. She cleaned the dog bite, palpitating his ankle gently. He hissed in pain as she bent his foot.

"Does that hurt?" She looked up, her eyebrows rising.

"Ahh… Yeah, a little. I don't think it's broken though. It feels more like bruising and muscle damage," he said.

Bev's eyebrows arched as she glanced up at him. "You have medical knowledge?"

"A little I'm kind of like a medic," he said. He grimaced as she began cleaning the wound. "I can treat most emergencies, broken bones, stitches, things like that."

"Hmm. Not easy to set your own bones," she said. She applied antibacterial salve liberally to a piece of gauze and pressed it over the wound. She glanced up. He was avoiding her eyes again.

She sighed, wrapping the wound. "Who's Mikey?" she asked casually.

His reaction was instant. He jerked his leg out of her hands, leaping to his feet. He backed toward the door, watching her with wide, wild eyes.

"How… how do you know?"

"Hey! Hey, take it easy." Beverly stood up, holding up her hands. "Relax. Donatello, relax. It's ok, really. You were calling his name before. When you were dreaming."

"I… I was… dreaming… Dreaming that Jack got…" Donatello shook his head. He swayed, near collapse as the adrenaline drained away.

"He… He's my brother," he said softly.

Beverly walked over and caught Donatello's arm. He flinched, jerking away from her, but she held on.

"Come on. Sit. It's ok. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Slowly, reluctantly, Donatello let her lead him back to the bed. She knelt, applying fresh bandages to his leg. He twitched under her fingers. She glanced up and saw a wary, fearful look in his eyes.

"You're afraid for him?" she spoke softly. "Donatello, I couldn't hurt your brother, even if I wanted to. I don't know anything about him. I don't know where he is or how to find him. I really don't know anything about you."

"Jack could hurt him, if Mike comes looking for me…" His eyes were bleak. "Beverly, I may have led him right into a trap."