Title:Sensory Overload
Author: DreamBrother
Summary: Acompanion piece to Sensory Deprivation; Charlie's POV. Can be read as a stand alone.
Disclaimer: I'm fine with not owning them. Honestly.
Author's Note: Had to get this out of my head first. To all those who requested a happier follow up to SD (optimistic bunch that you are), be patient, I'll get to it, just trying to figure out which way to write it; a narrative like the first chapter or a conversation-type thingie. Let me know which one you'd prefer if you review. Also, should I thank Audioslave for the song 'Like A Stone' which accompanied me as I wrote this? Still not sure of the ending, as with SD, if you're an optimist, Don survives. If you're all for Titanic endings, may he RIP.
Sensory Overload
The day was destined to be filled with ironies, it seemed. For once, it was the brother who was a mathematician who was getting shot at, who was the target, rather than the brother who was an FBI agent. But real kicker was the fact that the brother who was the intended target had his senses go into overload while the brother who took a bullet for him slowly experienced all his senses leaving him. Charlie would have given anything to reverse their positions. But his only consolation lay in the fact that it was now up to him to make sure that his brother made it to the hospital, that Don didn't cease to breathe before the people in white coats and scrubs could return the favour Don granted to many strangers and families; saving the lives of their loved ones.
Charlie had barely caught a glimpse of the man who aimed the gun at him on the street, a person he didn't even recognize. A glimpse was all he saw, before he saw the suit clad form of his brother glide in front of him, blocking his line of vision, his brother knowing instinctively that while he couldn't draw him gun in time to shoot the gunman before he fired his own weapon, he could make sure the bullet came nowhere near Charlie. The force of the impact of the bullet making its way into his brother's body knocked him into Charlie's waiting arms before Charlie even heard the gunshot, his body reacting instinctively in its own way to catch his brother as he fell, as his normally sharp mind registered sluggishly that the reason for the fall was that Don had been shot. From that moment, Charlie's attention became limited to his brother, and his brother alone, barely noticing Megan, David and Colby pulling their own weapons to bring down the gunman before he could fire a second shot, his brother's shooter dead before he hit the ground. He didn't notice the screams emanating from the pedestrians around them, not the sounds of the gunshots, didn't notice the quick response of his brother's team, as Megan and David knelt next to the prone form of his brother, Megan pressing a hand down on the wound in his brother's chest as David whispered that the best course of action would be for them to rush Don to the hospital themselves, that Don didn't look like he had the time to wait for an ambulance to arrive and make the return trip back to the nearest hospital. All that Charlie could concentrate on was the weight of his brother's body on his lap, the sounds of Don's harsh breathing despite the fact he was shot only a few seconds ago, the sight of crimson quickly overtaking as the dominant colour on his brother's previously white dress shirt. Worst was the look in his brother's eyes, the mixture of confusion, pain and worry. Worry, Charlie was certain, for him. His brother was always weird like that, worrying about Charlie before worrying about the fact that he had a brand new hole in his body.
The next few moments were a blur for Charlie. Try as he could, he wasn't able to properly recall them. All he knew was that somehow, he was sitting in the backseat of his brother's SUV, behind the driver's seat, as Colby and David placed his brother's head and shoulder on his lap, les legs stretched out in front of him, parallel to Charlie, as they slammed the doors shut, David taking the role of the designated driver, Megan, in the passenger seat, on the phone with the nearest hospital informing them of their imminent arrival and Colby remaining behind to handle the scene of the crime, despite every impulse wanting him to go with his boss.
Considering that Charlie's sense of touch, as well as his ability to see and hear, went on overload as he cradled his brother, it seemed logical that his sense of taste and smell diminished. He regretted his loss of smell for only a small moment. Despite the coppery tang of blood in the air filling his sinuses, he could smell the unique scent he always associated with his big brother. It always seemed to catch him at the weirdest of moments, maybe when he subconsciously wanted his brother by him and Don somehow always turned up, but what mattered was that he could smell it now: a mix of whatever aftershave, perfume or deodorant Don used that Charlie wasn't aware of the name of; he wondered how Don would react if he caught Charlie snooping through his bathroom at his apartment trying to find out; along with the slightest hint of gunpowder, not enough to overwhelm him or make him uncomfortable, but it was simply present. It was what made up Don, and Charlie didn't question it. Despite his unwillingness to have his sense of smell diminish, given a choice, Charlie knew what he would pick.
His sense of hearing was in overdrive, but it was limited to certain sounds. The most prominent of them all was the raspy sound of his brother's breathing, the harshness of it reminding Charlie continuously just how hard his brother was finding the simply, life-giving act of drawing in oxygen. The more time that passed, the quieter his brother's breathing became until the only thing that assured Charlie was the slight rise and fall of his brother's chest under his hand.
His hand…his sense of touch was acute. He wasn't sure who was gaining comfort from whom, whether the weight of his brother in his lap and his hand continuously running through his brother's hair was meant to give comfort to Don or Charlie was deriving it for himself. Either way, he couldn't stop. What Charlie didn't like about this particular sense was the feel of his brother's blood running through his fingers, even as he pressed into the wound fruitlessly, trying to lessen the blood loss. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that in the near future he would be taking a leaf from Lady Macbeth's book and trying to continuously wash the real (and imaginary) blood of his hands. He may not have pulled the trigger but it was for his life that Don risked his own. So much for Larry saying he wasn't a Renaissance Man. He could also feel his brother's slowing heartbeat underneath his fingertips, as well as the lessening rise and fall of his brother's chest to indicate he was still breathing.
But the sense that hurt Charlie the most, and the sense which was functioning at its peak, was his sight. No amount of tears could fully distort the picture of his brother lying in his lap, covered in blood. As soon as Charlie had an opportunity, he was going to his brother's apartment and throwing away every single red item of clothing that Don owned, he never wanted to see that colour on his brother ever again. It's a good thing Don never wanted to dress up as Santa Claus. All this was assuming Don survived, of course. Along with the blood on Don's chest, Charlie could also see a thin line of it making it way down his brother's cheek from his mouth. There was also the added heartache derived from the look in his brother's eyes. Charlie could see the pain and weariness in his brother's eyes, as he fought every second to keep his eyes open, to keep his eyes on his brother, his sight never wavering away, all the way till he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Don was in bad shape, they both knew it, but Charlie wasn't going to accept it. If he had to talk his brother into staying alive till they reached the hospital, then that is what he would do. God knows, he had enough practice when it came to talking, as his brother loved to remind him. It was his weapon, and he yielded it to help his brother fight the battle against slipping away forever.
It was only when he felt his brother's heart skip a few beats under his hand, when he could barely feel the rise and fall of his chest, when he couldn't tell if his brother was awake or unconscious or… did Charlie's voice waver and he broke his stream of ramblings. Every sense zeroed in to search for his brother's reply to his calls that he didn't even notice the car screech to a halt in front of the hospital's emergency entrance, didn't notice the door to left open or the sight of the people in scrubs appearing, to take his brother away from him, away where he couldn't follow. Throughout all this, his heightened senses still not pick up a response from his brother.
The End (?)
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