"Leo, stop pacing, you're gonna wear that rug out. Again. And I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want to be the one telling April we need another new rug." Don said, his face buried in a book, "At least not for another month."

Snapping his head up, Leo conceded. Claiming a spot next to Don on the beaten couch, Leo placed his hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Sorry, Don. Its just that... this illness, with Mike, its harder this time... I just-" Leo abruptly ended his quest for the right words, the stress of the night taking away his characteristic eloquence.

Leo was worried, that much was obvious, though considering Don had read this particular paragraph seven times already, it was apparent he was just as concerned. After all, its not exactly normal for Mike to run off like that.

"Its gotten worse."Don supplied with a lingering nod.

Shooting a grateful smile, Leo shook his head, "Not necessarily worse just...harder."

A beat of silence pervaded the room followed by another long sigh.

"I guess its just knowing Splinter was perfectly healthy, despite his old age. And one rough winter and..." the proceeding gulp was as loud as thunder, the emotion hardly swallowed down without a choke. Leo continued his sentence, " Mike's never been the healthiest of turtles. In fact, he's been sick more than the three of us combined. Its like we so much as sneeze and suddenly Mike's got pneumonia, again. And... how long, y'know? How much can his body take? I jus-"

"Mike's stronger than you give him credit for, Leo. I mean, look at him," Don interrupted, "He's been sick more times than we can even count and he can still keep up with us. The constant illness made him a solid four inches shorter than Raph and he's shorter than the both of us- and when he puts his mind to it, he can hold his own just as well as you, Mister Obsessive. As morbid as it may sound, he's used to it. He's taken his disadvantages and made them his strengths...more or less. That's just how he's always been. It doesn't mean its right, and it sure doesn't mean we can ignore it...but... we underestimate him. I underestimate him all the time."

Leo chuckled at the last part, "We all do. Guess its the 'Big Brother Syndrome' Mike always complains about."

Don seemed to contemplate this for a moment before replying, "Well. Considering I'm next in line for being 'Baby of the Family', I sort of see his point."

Quirking an eye ridge, Leo let the subtle jab slide. Instead, he stood, saying, "Hey, younger or no- you still have a calming nature, Don. Thanks. I'm gonna make some tea- feel like rejoining the good side?"

"Har. Har. That was such a Mikey comment."

"I know, its terrifying. I'm beginning to think his inner monologue is channeling into our own brain frequencies. " Leo quipped with a mock shudder, "So is that a no?"

"More like a- oh hey, Leo! They're back!" Don said, already on his feet, book neglected.

"Raph! Where the shell have you been? That was way longer than thirty minutes! Where was he, anyways? And why did-"

"Oh my Gy-osh, fearless! Calm the hell down, would ya? He's fine, just a little banged up- nothin' to get so riled up about!"

I could still feel Raph's hand on my head, my nerves ebbing to their own unknown tune. Then the sheer magnitude of his statement washed over me causing me to have this overpowering need to grin. Raph is proud of me? Suddenly the doom and lectures that haunted the doorway to the lair faded away and I marched on through, a haze of good feels, my incredibly charming smile planted firmly on my face.

Reality came crashing back as Leo and Don both stormed towards me, Leo speaking much faster than his usual calm drawl while Don simply took one look at my hands and began shuffling me towards his lab just as Leo and Raph's discussion began its inevitable escalation.

I guess somewhere along the journey to the room of death, Leo decided Raph would be the easier turtle for his answers. All things considered- he'd have a better chance asking Karai.

Mike froze as Don entered into the lab. He never liked being poked and prodded and the coldness of the lab certainly does nothing to help quell the uneasiness that bubbles up within the youngest's stomach.

With a huff, Don sat Mike down in his swivel seat, his mind reeling with the many questions his logic supplied. The only sound being the various drawers opening and closing mixed with the shuffling of medical supplies as Donatello searched for the correct utensils.

He seems pissed.

"I'm not mad, Mike." Don said, his voice soft with resignation.

Woah, spooky. Ya sure, bro?

Turning around, Don saw the disbelieving look on his brother's face and quickly amended, "Okay, okay. I'm irritated and worried- but I'm not mad."

Claiming a seat in another chair, Don made eye-contact with Mikey. His gaze softened as Michelangelo broke the connection, a small sigh his only response.

"Stop sulking." Don stated. Noticing the droop of his brother's shoulders, Don's face softened as he merely stuck his hand out, palm skyward silently telling Mike to do the same. Michelangelo obliged, tearing his gaze from his feet to the wall on the opposite side of the room with a miserable groan.

"I'm not going to lie, Mike, I have no idea how you managed to break both of your thumbs. I won't pretend you're gonna tell me anytime soon, but I would like at least a half truth whenever your voice heals, capiche?" A nervous grin found its way on his little brother's face, his features turning into the look of his trademark mischief.

With an irritated huff, Don grabbed hold of the splint, ready to set his digits as painlessly as possible, an act of which involved going rather quickly.

It amazed Don that a turtle could scream so vividly yet make no more noise than a quiet gale. Years of treating his brother told Don to fiddle about in his lab for a few minutes before pressing his brother any further. He doesn't handle the barrage of medical inquiry too well in the first place, much less directly after the setting of both thumbs. After what Don deemed was a fair amount of time, he swiveled about, pill bottle in hand.

"Alright Mikey, so I want you to take these capsules every three to four-oh." Don stood and stared at his brother who had fallen asleep sitting up, his head resting on the table, his newly bandaged hands his only makeshift pillow. The scene was heart-warming, really, but the idea of drool all over his neatly written notes didn't seem to bode well in the intelligent turtle's head. With a smirk, Don shook his little brother. When he didn't stir, Don sighed. He knew he'd be tired, he had just hoped he would make it to bed. Once Mike was zonked out- he didn't tune back in for anything short of an earthquake. Grumbling to himself, Don picked the ill-fallen turtle up and carried him off to his bed.

He'll wake up for food, eventually.

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