DISCLAIMER: I am not currently in possession of the rights to the turtles, now that that's settled, enjoy the fic

A/N: I'm just gonna state this at the beginning to clear any possible confusion- I kind of have a little headcanon of my own for this fic. You'll see it develop throughout the story, but in case something is a tad different or whatever, don't freak out. Just throw your hands up and enjoy the ride!

Latex, hypoallergenic cleaners, and sterilized wood. That is the definition of the ever-famous doctor smell. I hate doctor smell. Not that I've ever smelled an actual doctor room, before, but, Donny pretty much has that covered. I mean, ever since-

"Mike, open your mouth for me, 'kay?"

Mikey heaved a particularly dramatic sigh while finally opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out in the process. Being sick always caused Michelangelo to somewhat 'regress' back into his terrible twos leaving the three brothers to make a valiant effort to care for the conniving and discourteous, hyperactive turtle. That very quality coupled with Donatello's sudden change in demeanor often made for an interesting time of sickness. It's as if the instance one of the turtles became sick caused the usually benign Donatello to transform into the strict and relentless 'Doctor Don'. The results, of which, were often far more comical than they probably should have been.

After a couple seconds for Don to look around, he finally spoke,"Well, it doesn't seem to be getting any better." With a pointed glare straight at Michelangelo, the purple-clad turtle continued, "In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Mike, you do realize that if you keep this up your cold can easily turn into something much more serious." Thinking it best to allow his comment to simmer within the younger turtle's head, Donatello silently walked to the other side of the room to retrieve some medicine.

Mike fidgeted a bit in Don's "thinking chair", his thoughts wandering to his current state. It's not my fault I'm perpetually sick. So maybe I pushed myself harder than I knew I should have. Dang. This feels a shelluva lot like when I last had bronchitis. Dumb genetic deficiencies.

From the other side of the room Don gave a barely audible "ah-hah!" as he finally found the medicines he was looking for beginning the short trek back to the now shrinking turtle. Of all the brothers, Mike was ill most frequently. Considering that they're giant coldblooded turtles living in the damp and drafty sewers of the not exactly clean and shiny Big Apple, the three older turtles had nearly rock hard immune systems. This could be shown in the factual knowledge that each turtle only managed to get a slight cold once every two or three years. Mikey, on the other hand, found himself to be sick once every two to three months, give or take. Not to mention, unlike the predictable and usually mellow cases of the common cold the three eldest turtles hardly ever found themselves with, Mikey's illnesses often varied. It was always a guessing game as to what type of illness Mike would find himself with along with how severe. So it was safe to say that, of all the turtles, Mikey lost the 'healthy genes' bet.

Donatello had often searched for an explanation to such a phenomenon. Of course, as the Hamato luck would have it, the variables were few and far between. All four of them were raised together and in the same manner. It was as simple as Michelangelo simply being born that way. After all, even as a young child, Mikey still had the same problem. Though he was used to it, all three turtles understood Michelangelo's frustration with his health. Don wanted nothing more than to find a cure. Yet as each sickness would come and go, Don was left with the same somber explanation and no real way to cure it. After all, how can you cure something you don't have any control over? So, as always, he set off to fix the symptoms.

"Okay, Mikey, I want you to take these after you eat a light meal, and I mean a piece of toast and maybe a small amount of soup, got it? And this time, actually rest afterwards. I mean eyes closed. No comics, no video games, no horror movie to keep you up when you need to sleep this off. Take it easy. Am I clear?" Donatello said, his voice full of authority.

Having heard (and dutifully disobeyed) this order many times in his life, Mike began to open his mouth in protest only for Don to send an irritated glare his way eliciting a small wince from the suddenly guilty turtle.

Mike's flinch didn't go unnoticed as Donny's face melted from doctor to brother in the blink of an eye.

Squatting down to Mike's level, Don reached out a three-fingered hand and placed it atop Mike's shoulder in a familiar and comforting gesture. "I'm just worried, Mike. You know that. I just want you to get better-"

"Each time it's something different, blah blah. I know Don, no worries." This time it was Don's turn to wince at how harsh Mike's voice had gotten simply within the last five minutes of his latest 'checkup', "Guess I'm just tired is all, but I did hear you mention a meal, so I'll just go do that."

"Somethings just never change, do they?" Don laughed.

"Hey, I can't keep you on your toes all the time, Donny." Mike replied with a smile, " 'Sides, I might be a little under the weather, but a turtle has a stomach, right?"

"Right." Don said rolling his eyes. And, with that, Mike ran out the door and into the kitchen.

Just as his latest experiment began to reel in the crafty turtle, a small disturbance brought him back to reality. With an agitated huff, Donatello grabbed the abandoned pills from his desk.

"Why that little troll." Don fumed storming out of the lab only to come in abrupt contact with Leonardo, a startled 'oomph' resonating from both turtles.

"Oh, sorry Leo, didn't see you there..." Donny mumbled sheepishly.

"Is everything okay, Don?" Leo asked pointing towards the pills clenched in Don's hand. Confused, Don looked down to his hand. Hamato Leonardo, the reason 'Eye-Spy' was a rare occurrence within their household with his keen sonar for even the smallest of details. Realizing what Leo thought, he quickly replied, "These? Mike's. It seems forgetfulness is a reoccurring symptom throughout his illnesses."

Leo let out a small chuckle in a vain attempt to hide his pulsating worry despite the opacity of his emotions outside of battle, "He never has been a very good patient. Or listener, for that matter."

"No, he's a good listener. It's just selective hearing."

"A valid argument, I'd say. How is he holding up? Despite being- " Leo asked gesturing toward the pills once again, this time searching for the right words "...mischievous as ever."

With an exasperated sigh, Donatello began to recount his little brother's symptoms, "Slight fever, sore throat, mild shortness of breath, aches, and a small headache. If he doesn't rest soon, his temperature is sure to spike and which will likely cause for worse problems. Which reminds me." the intellectual turtle raised his arm allowing the pills to rattle inside his fist.

"I see. Anything I can do to help?" The blue-clad ninja replied, feeling suddenly uneasy about the state of Mike's health.

"Not right now." Donatello called over his shoulder as he walked off towards the kitchen once again, silently praying his brother actually heeded his earlier reminder to have a light meal.

The sight Don saw upon entering the kitchen was enough to freeze him in place, his brain struggling to process the reality before his eyes. Mikey- the Michelangelo- the surprisingly devious terrapin was, in fact, following Donatello's instruction. A quick glance down re-calibrated his brain into a functioning state as he was reminded of his purpose for a second time.

"Ah. You doing that to make up for what you, ahem, left in my lab, hmm?" Donny said as Michelangelo looked up at him sheepishly. Of course, seventeen years of dealing with Mike's frequent illnesses set off warning bells throughout his brain. Often when Mikey is found being obedient amidst any of his sicknesses its due to a lack of energy for his normal belligerence.

Mikey's lack of verbal response finally turned Donny's to his full doctor mode. Walking over to where the orange-loving terrapin sat at the table, Don reached out to touch his head. "Go lay down on the couch, I'll be right there." Mike merely nodded and stumbled over towards the couch as directed, being too miserable not to comply.

Within the short two-minute trek from his lab and back, Donatello arrived to find a slumbering Michelangelo. Normally, Don would have covered him up, leaving the water and pills next to him to take whenever consciousness returned to the small turtle. However, it was apparent that what had originally appeared to be the common cold was progressing far too quickly for Donatello's comfort.

"Mikey, can you wake up for a minute?" Donny said just loud enough for him to stir. "Come on, Mike, just for a second, okay?"

Irritated with his brother's lack of cooperation, Don popped the thermometer into Mike's mouth with the true bedside manner of a caring brother. Michelangelo, for his part, opened a single eye before renewing his efforts to catch his much deserved siesta.

"Man, Mike, you don't look so good..." Don thought out loud. Finally grabbing the thermometer from his mouth, Don glanced at it, a troubled look upon his face.

A/N: So there's the first of many to come! Feed the hungry author?