Fic: Unstoppable, 16/? (Don/Charlie, NC-17)
Charlie felt like a voodoo doll stuck full of pins. Spread out on his back on a cold, paper-lined slab while the x-ray technician manipulated his limbs into the right positions. He was having a really hard time not flinching every time he was touched. He knew no one here wanted to hurt him, but it was like his body had been rewired to expect pain and his brain couldn't tell it otherwise. It didn't help that the slightest touch hurt, no matter how well-meaning the person doing the touching. He was starting to regret his decision to decline the stronger painkillers he'd been offered.
Once Charlie was done, he was gently manhandled back onto his gurney and trundled out into the hallway to await an orderly to take him back to the ER. He turned his head, following the sounds of gentle snoring, and saw that his father was asleep sitting upright in a wheelchair across the hall from him. Right where he’d left him.
Charlie let out a shaky sigh of relief - he wasn’t alone.
His dad had stuck doggedly by his side since he’d arrived at the ER. He’d been there the whole time Charlie was being stitched up, receiving a few stitches of his own, too.
With all of the cuts criss-crossing Charlie’s torso, they’d needed to shave his entire chest so they could stitch the worst gashes shut and tape up the minor ones. Charlie had been injected with so much local anesthetic that there were entire sections of his body that felt completely numb.
The whole ordeal had lasted upwards of an hour, with his father holding his hand the whole time. Normally he would have been mortified being treated like a little kid like that - especially in public - but after everything they'd been through, Charlie was just grateful his father could stomach being around him at all, let alone show him affection.
But Charlie had needed to go in alone for the x-rays (Carlyle was worried because some of the nails looked like they might be embedded in the bones and he wanted to rule out any fractures they may have caused), and his father had taken advantage of his absence to get some much-needed rest himself. He was still fast asleep by the time a pair of orderlies arrived to wheel them back to the emergency room.
Once there, Charlie’s eyes immediately sought out Don, hardly breathing until he saw that his brother was still sleeping and his vitals were still scrolling across the screen in a strong, steady rhythm.
"Hey, Charlie. How're you feeling?"
Charlie's head snapped up and to the left, the sound of the unexpected voice startling him. It was just Dr. Carlyle, but Charlie's heart was racing like he'd run a marathon.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," Carlyle said.
"It's okay," Charlie answered, once he was able to breathe again. Even though he trusted Dr. Carlyle, he didn't really know him and he couldn't help feeling jittery with him around. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his family, so he tried to get rid of him. "Don's sleeping, and so's my dad."
"I know," Carlyle said. "Your brother was awake earlier. I talked with him."
"What?" Charlie said, trying to sit up so he could see Don - see if he was awake now and needed him. He grunted as the movement pulled at his fresh stitches.
"Just relax - he's going to be fine," said Carlyle in a soothing voice. "He was a bit confused, and he's got some memory loss, but there's a good chance the memories will return over time. I'd like to keep your brother for another 24 hours for observation, just to be safe."
Charlie's mind raced at a sickening speed. If Don was suffering from memory loss, then what did that mean for them? Charlie felt physically ill thinking that he might be alone with the memory of what happened between them. He didn't think he could handle it if Don didn't remember.
And then he thought about how selfish that was: if Don didn't remember, then surely that was a blessing - at least he wouldn't have to suffer through reliving the night’s events over and over again every time he closed his eyes.
Charlie was suddenly aware that Dr. Carlyle had been talking and had asked him a question. He hadn't heard a single word the man had said.
"I'm sorry...what?" asked Charlie, still mostly distracted.
Carlyle gave him a sympathetic smile. "I just wanted to know if you'd like something a little stronger while we remove the nails? It'll probably knock you right out, and that way we can give you a tetanus shot while we're at it...
"...Mr. Eppes," Carlyle prompted, and Charlie realized he’d lost focus again, his eyes wandering over to Don. "Would you like to speak with someone about what happened to you tonight?"
Charlie's mouth went sticky dry at the suggestion. "You mean like a psychologist?" he asked.
Dr.Carlyle nodded. "Dr. Katz is a wonderful counselor."
Charlie shook his head firmly, clamping his lips shut like he thought Carlyle might try to force him talk right that very minute.
"Okay. That's fine, I won't push you. But if you change your mind, just let me know and I can get the ball rolling, okay?" he waited until Charlie gave him a small nod before continuing. "And the drugs? Did you want something to knock you out for this?"
Charlie shot a panicky look towards his brother. Why wasn't he waking up? He wanted Don to be awake so he wouldn't have to go through this alone. But again, that would be selfish. Still, he couldn't help the way he felt. He wanted Don near him so badly it was almost a physical ache.
To his embarrassment, his eyes pricked with hot tears, and before he could reign them back in they'd spilled over onto his cheeks. He brushed them away quickly, and then tried to pretend nothing had happened.
Thankfully, Dr. Carlyle was pretended nothing had happened, too, carefully keeping himself facing away from Charlie as he prepared an injection. But when he finally turned to add the injection to Charlie’s IV, Charlie freaked out.
“NO! Don’t! Get that away from me!” he shouted. “I don’t want it!”
Next to him, his father jerked awake like someone had splashed ice water on him. “Charlie?” he asked, then glared daggers at Dr. Carlyle. “What did you do to him?” he demanded with a snarl.
Dr. Carlyle held his hands in front of him placatingly and took a step away from Charlie.
“I was just going to give your son something to help him sleep while we work on him.”
Charlie reached out his hand to his father who grabbed hold of it with his uninjured left hand, giving it a strong squeeze.
“It’s okay, Charlie, I’m right here,” he said.
Charlie craned his neck to look over at Don, still lying unconscious in the next bed. “I don’t want to leave Don. What if he wakes up and I’m not here?”
Dr. Carlyle was the one to answer him. “Your brother was given some strong pain medication. I doubt he’ll be waking up anytime soon. But if you’re adamant, I can stick to the local anesthetics and take care of you here.”
Charlie looked back and forth between Carlyle and his dad, trying to figure out if he was just trying to calm him down enough to slip him the injection. In his head he was working out optimal paths of escape, figuring in potential obstacles, and quickly came to the conclusion that because of his injuries he was well and truly trapped. If the doctor wanted to knock him out...like Weiss had...
Charlie's chest constricted painfully, wheezing in what little air he could squeeze past the tightness of his throat. His eyes widened and his hands fisted the thin blanket they'd given him. He knew he was verging on having a panic attack but he couldn’t help feeling like he was cornered.
"Relax, Charlie. Just try and take a few long, slow breaths, okay?" Dr Carlyle said. "I promise I won't give you the injection. See? I'm putting it down."
Charlie did his best to breathe slowly and he was able to head off the attack before it got out of control. He kept his eyes locked on the doctor, just in case he went back on his word. But after a few minutes with Carlyle keeping his promise, Charlie was finally able to breathe again. Feeling utterly spent, he slumped back against his pillow and closed his eyes.
"That's good, Charlie," said Carlyle. "Relax. No one here is going to hurt you, I promise."
"I’m okay now," Charlie said, rubbing at his bruised throat when his voice came out shaky. "I haven't had an episode like that since I was a kid, though. Sorry," he said, sheepishly.
"You have nothing to be sorry about. Frankly, after the trauma you've suffered I'd be more worried if you didn't shows signs of anxiety." Dr. Carlyle hesitated briefly, like he wanted to say something but was afraid he'd upset Charlie.
"What is it?" Charlie asked.
"Would you like to wait a while before we take out those nails? I'd understand if you want some time to calm down a bit...but the sooner we get them out, the sooner you can be done and you'll feel a lot better once it's over."
Charlie felt like one large, raw nerve, but the nails were a constant, painful reminder of what Weiss had done to him, and he just wanted them out. He nodded his head and said, "But I'm staying here. And I don't want anything stronger than a local."
Carlyle agreed with a somber nod and left to get his equipment.
***
Something was wrong. Don was having a nightmare, but on some level he knew it was more than that. Charlie was in danger. He needed him, and Don couldn't reach him.
He surfaced slowly, his eyes blinking open to stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His brain felt foggy and slow, but he vaguely remembered talk of an explosion...Megan...Megan had told him Weiss was dead. And there was a doctor, and something about Charlie...
A holler of pain came from close by, and it definitely sounded like Charlie. Suddenly alert, Don bolted upright, head spinning sickeningly as he tried to find the source of the sound.
When the world stopped spinning, he saw his father, Charlie and the doctor who'd talked to him earlier frozen in a shocked tableau - all of them staring at him. For a moment Don just sat there and stared back, completely confused by what he was seeing.
Charlie was lying down on a hospital bed with the doctor pulling something out of his foot with a tool that looked disturbingly like pliers. And Charlie's legs...Don couldn't understand what he was seeing. His brother's legs were mottled with bruises and bandaged in numerous places. Don let his eyes travel upwards and saw that Charlie's arms were similarly marked. But why? Had he been at the school when the bomb went off? Were his injuries the result of shrapnel?
It wasn't until he noticed the dark bruising on his brother's throat that everything clicked back in place - memories flooding his brain fast and furious, full of horrific images that Don wouldn't have believed were true if he didn't have the physical proof right in front of him.
"No. Nonononono. Charlie - Oh God, Charlie!" Don's voice hitched and he felt lightheaded. The words 'what have I done?' never made it past his lips.
Charlie was saying something to him. He looked worried. But Don couldn't hear past the whooshing rush of blood in his ears. Couldn't think past the lead ball of sick in his gut.
He'd fucked his brother.
Like a skipping record the words echoed in his head in an endless loop. He couldn't look at Charlie - couldn't stand to see him hurt like that. But when he closed his eyes all he could see was the memory of his brother laid out beneath him, eyes screwed tightly shut as Don relentlessly pushed deeper inside of him.
A pallid chill slithered up his spine, coiling in his stomach and making him break out in a cold sweat. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to survive long enough to regret what happened. But here he was, and he'd fucked his baby brother and there was no going back from that.
The world resolutely refused to end, and now Charlie was starting to sound scared, and that wasn't right. It was Don's job to protect Charlie, not scare him, and if that meant opening his eyes and facing him, then that's what he'd do.
The look of relief on Charlie's face was so far removed from what he deserved that it seemed absurd, and Don actually laughed. But Charlie wasn't laughing. Charlie was looking at him like he'd lost his mind - and maybe he was right.
He'd fucked his brother.
Somewhere in the logical part of his brain, Don knew that he'd done it to protect him and that Charlie was alive now because of it. But that didn't change the fact that he’d fucked his little brother.
***
Charlie struggled against the doctor, who was holding him back from getting to Don. He huffed angrily up at the freckled face of the man pinning him to his bed, but he didn't have the strength to push him off.
On the bed next to him, Don was having a major meltdown. He knew Don better than he knew pretty much anybody else, and he knew his brother was in a pit of guilt six-feet deep and digging himself even deeper. He tried talking to him - knew he was saying more than he should in front of the doctor - but Don wasn't hearing him.
Finally, with Charlie begging him to look at him, Don opened his eyes and faced him. And then he laughed - a hysterical, terrifying laugh that sent chills down Charlie’s spine.
"Don. Don, are you listening to me?" Charlie asked, sounding desperate even to his own ears. "None of this was your fault!"
"How can you say that, Charlie?" Don said.
Behind him, Charlie was aware of Dr. Carlyle excusing himself from the room. A kindness for which Charlie was very grateful.
"I can say it because it's true. There's nothing you could have done differently that wouldn't have ended with at least one of us dead."
When Don's only answer was a bitter snort, his father stepped in. "You should listen to your brother, Don. Richard was a dangerously unstable man and he was wearing a bomb! Even if you'd come in guns blazing, chances are he'd have blown us to kingdom come before you could take him down."
Charlie saw the minute flinch at the mention of guns and suddenly he knew where Don thought he'd gone wrong.
"That's it, isn't it?" Charlie asked in a hushed voice. "You think you weren't fast enough on the draw! Don - Dad's right. The moment you unlocked the door of your apartment, Weiss was ready for you; it didn’t matter what you did. In fact, putting your gun down was probably the only way to keep us alive and I think you knew it."
Don was shaking his head, his face scary-blank. "I was tired and I didn't figure it out fast enough. If I'd been thinking right, I would have known something was off the minute I got home."
"And then what?" asked Charlie.
"And then I would have called for backup," Don replied, but even as he said it a light dawned behind his eyes as an alternate scenario played out in his head.
"And it would have been a hostage situation, only with you on the outside and me and Dad alone with Weiss on the inside. And we both know Weiss would have taken both of us down with him rather than surrender," Charlie said.
Don's head fell forward, burying his face in his hands. But eventually, he straightened up and looked at them again. He looked drained and resigned, but at least he seemed more in control, which Charlie took to be a good thing.
"Right. So...where does that leave us, then?" Don asked, sounding so lost.
Charlie wished he had an answer to that, himself. All he could do was shrug and look to their dad. Thankfully his father was willing to take charge of the situation and he stood up on shaky legs to take a position halfway between him and his brother.
"That leaves us as a family," Alan said, resolutely. "What happened tonight stays strictly between the three of us - the FBI doesn't need to know everything, and neither do our friends. We can deal with this together. Are we agreed?"
"Agreed," Charlie said, readily. The last thing he wanted was for Don to lose his position over this - even if he didn't do anything wrong, he'd be facing a mandatory psych evaluation, and would probably never be cleared for field work again.
Don groaned, clearly only just now realising the ramifications that faced him. "Agreed," he said, giving their dad a decisive nod. "As far as the FBI knows, I don’t remember anything and I might never get those memories back. But that doesn't mean they won't piece together what happened from the evidence left behind in my apartment."
"What evidence?" Alan asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
"What apartment?" Charlie pointed out.
Don frowned at them. "Am I missing something?"
Charlie shared a look with his dad, who then turned to Don and said: “Son, I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that Ian made sure any incriminating evidence was destroyed. The bad news is that it was destroyed along with most of your apartment.”