28Thanks to Splinter again, as well as KuwabaraMikey17 (you didn't say what was confusing, but thanks for saying it anyway- I am trying to address this) and somellamafreak for the reviews. I am trying something different with this story, i.e. two POV, and I am not sure if I am editing it together in a smoothe way.
TMNT are owned by Mirage though I have tried begging on my knees.
SPLINTER:
Michelangelo is now here, taking his "turn" at the death watch- I mean, at helping out while I am ill. At the moment he is trying to raise my spirits.
I gather they all feel that I am depressed and need cheering up.
I have Donatello to thank for this. As I suspected, he reported to his brothers some of the things I spoke of in my sleep, during my death-dreams.
However, I would rather Michelangelo simply read out loud from one of his comic books than listen to his jokes.
I do not like to hear him read from his comic books, but it would be less painful than his attempts to cheer me up.
"Okay, so, why can't bears fly?" he asks enthusiastically, as he prepares my broth and tea on the hot plate. "Give up? Because they can't afford the plane tickets!"
The "jokes" have been going on for the last half hour. I do not know how much more I can take. He had appeared to be ready to stop earlier. I noticed that, as he was mixing some more barley water, he suddenly looked worried, and glanced around the room, as if sensing something.
"What is the matter, my son?"
His face cleared quickly, and that irrepressible grin returned.
"Nothing, Sensei!" And then he launched into another joke- something about elephants and diarrhea.
"I love that one," he is laughing- genuinely it seems- at this joke, and he looks as if he will not stop. But he does- long enough to tell me another one. "Oh, oh, oh, here's one Donny still doesn't get- If the water on the inside of a fire hydrant is h2o, what is the water on the outside of the fire hydrant? K9P!"
I stare in disbelief at the way he cannot breathe for all his laughing.
I try to tell him that I should rest quietly, perhaps even take another nap, but for some reason he feels that I should remain awake for a while.
"My son, I am- grateful for your attention, but I really feel that I would like to take a little nap now," I try yet again, but he seems determined to keep me awake and cheerful.
"Aww, Sensei, you don't want to have more night- I mean, you need to eat something first, and then you need to wait for it to settle. It's not good to go to sleep on a full stomach."
And, he insists that I drink my broth.
I am tired of broth, and try to tell him this as well.
I may as well talk to the wall. He pointedly hands me the bowl and sits there, eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to drink it.
I stare at the broth. The smell is turning my stomach.
"Oh, I just remembered the best one!" he begins again, but my head is killing me.
"Really, my son, it is not necessary to try to entertain me with all of these jokes," I try again, desperately fighting to keep the edge out of my voice.
But Michelangelo is not to be dissuaded.
"You know what they say, Sensei- 'Laughter is the best medicine'," Michelangelo grins.
"They also say 'Silence is golden'," I hint to him.
"They also say 'Feed a cold, starve a fever'," he counters, pointing at the broth.
"They also say 'Leave me alone, or I will have to school you severely'."
He looks at me, a cross between shock and amusement. This sudden outburst of temper doesn't bother him at all- though it does unsettle my own peace of mind...
"Please drink your broth, Sensei," he says mildly, before I can apologize. "And then I will leave."
When did my son become so clever?
I drink the broth, and true to his word, he leaves.
And I feel guilty for being so abrupt with him.
Until I recall some of his attempts to entertain me.
Then I lay down to rest with a clear conscious.
MIKEY:
That entire time I'm in there, the room remains warm and nothing dark or sinister seems to appear.
Sensei doesn't seem to be having any dreams.
He wakes up and I am determined that he will not have any more.
How can he worry about death? It's just the flu...
Or is it? I can't shake that feeling I had, or that image still in my mind from this morning.
So I tell him jokes- some of the best. I think he likes them, but he has never been the type for laughing really loud.
He is giving me a hard time, however, with the broth.
I smile, remembering how many times he has forced us to drink broth when ill or injured. I swear, Sensei must think broth is the universal cure, and will handle everything from the common cold to near-death-
Damn! I wish I hadn't thought that, and I nervously look around the room again.
He notices and asks me what the problem is.
"Nothing, Sensei!" and I launch into some more of the best jokes I know.
He keeps insisting that he doesn't need any more jokes, and then he is sort of refusing to drink his broth. But Don was adamant: Sensei must remain hydrated. So I coax him to finally drink it.
I had to cut a deal, however. I told him I'd leave him alone.
I know, sounds odd, since I am so worried about what happened earlier. But I know that if I do this now, in about fifteen minutes I can return. He'll be asleep, and then I can continue my watch.
Maybe the guys are right, and maybe what I thought I saw is just me coming down with the flu, as well...
Still- I can remember that dark shape, and the cold, and the fear- I swear, if I'd had hair, it would all have been standing straight up! As it was, my skin was making a pretty good attempt at doing so!
I replenish the things I will need for the rest of my time with Sensei, and after fifteen minutes I carefully reenter his room. He is either asleep or pretending to, so I quietly restock stuff, get comfy, and pick up one of my favorite comics.
You know- watching with someone gets a little boring. You tend to doze off.
I guess I doze off. I feel cold- cold as if there is a blizzard going on in the middle of winter, yet it is August. I struggle to open my eyes, and the room is rather dark.
Then I see it! Something dark and shapeless- darker than the darkness in the room- it is near Sensei, slowly drawing closer- I feel like I can't move-
Sensei wakes up, sees the darkness, feels the cold- he cries out, startled, and throws up a hand to ward off this dark thing-
And then my head snaps up and I open my eyes. I find myself breathing hard, my heart racing, and weirdest of all-myself standing over Sensei, 'chuks spinning.
"It is all right, Michelangelo!" I hear again. Funny, I don't remember until he says it that he had already said it before. I guess that is when I wake up.
No, not wake up- return to here. Again I feel like I was somewhere else, and just came back to here.
I reluctantly put my weapons away and sink down next to Splinter. He is sitting up in his bed, eyes on me.
"What- what was that- thing, Sensei?" I finally am able to ask, still shaking with cold and- and- fear, I guess.
"You saw something, my son?" He looks at me, worried. For the third time today someone feels my forehead, to see if I have a fever.
"Sensei! It was a dark shape! It was coming towards you!" I insist, moving my head out of his way. "The room is freezing, and dark. Well, it was dark", I add, noticing that it is lighter than it was. Could I have dreamed this?
"My son, I would be grateful if you would get me some tea," he says, not addressing this any further- I must have been dreaming, he seems so unconcerned.
Maybe I am coming down with the flu, like Sensei.
I busy myself- I have to go get more water, so I turn on the hot plate to get it going, and leave for the water.
But I know that it wasn't a dream...
SPLINTER:
I am aware that Michelangelo has crept back into the room to continue his portion of the death watch- I mean, his turn at being here for me. I pretend to be asleep. Even if he knows that I am pretending, he will be quiet now and leave me alone.
I hear the rustle of his comics, and know that I will be left alone as long as I remain in this position. Though I would dearly love to sit up and meditate. I feel better now, and would like nothing more than to go to my corner and continue what I was unable to complete this morning.
Chain of thoughts are very strange. I start thinking of meditation, and I follow this thought until it comes to this morning, and how I was unable to finish; then I realize that I do not recall even getting very far into beginning. I remember that I was just becoming calm and opening my mind when something dark and shapeless appeared- and the room felt so cold- so very cold- and then I apparently fainted, which is something I had never done before.
This reminds me of my depression; my fear that the end is drawing close. I try not to follow this particular part of my chain of thought, but I find myself being pulled along it firmly though unwillingly. I think about my regrets, my fears for my sons, and my nightmare. I am tempted to laugh at this irrational fear, this foolish fever dream, but for some reason I am unable to. I see myself again with Emma-o in Jigoku- I see the heads on the poles come to life as Emma-o consults his book, and condemns me once again to eternal punishment for my failure with my sons- and I hear the voice of the dark something that I had heard before, laughing at my fear, my panic-
- my death-
I open my eyes. The room is dark, and it feels as if it is freezing. I see out of the corner of my eye something dark and shapeless moving across the floor towards me. I do not know why, but I throw up a hand as if to ward off an attack, and the room becomes bright again. I see Michelangelo standing over me, his weapons going as if he is preparing to attack someone, his eyes wide with fear. He appears to be in a dream of some sort.
"It is all right, Michelangelo!" I say, but he continues to stand guard over me, tense and waiting for battle. "It is all right, Michelangelo!"
This time he hears me- his eyes suddenly focus on the present. He looks stunned, then embarrassed, and he puts away his weapons and kneels down.
And asks me what that dark shape was.
I look at him, concerned.
"You saw something, my son?" and I feel his forehead to see if he, too, has a fever. He is adamant that he saw something- something dark and shapeless coming across the floor. He is describing my dream.
I ask him for tea, and he leaves the room to get some water.
I must think about this. Could Michelangelo be picking up my depression about Death? For I find that I am still worried about this.
Could he be picking up on my dreams?
Or could something really be here?
I shudder, and suddenly think I see something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn, nothing is there.
For some unexplainable reason, I feel relief when Michelangelo returns and starts to prepare my tea.
Yet, I notice that I find myself turning my head every so often, thinking that something is in my peripheral vision- though I see nothing when I look directly.
And I also notice that Michelangelo is doing the same.