[A/N: This is kind of a departure for me, so it's hard for me to vouch for it. I usually go for more action-suspense heavy pieces and this one is more "experiential", I guess. The story came literally out of nowhere – I was just waking up one morning and it leaped into my consciousness. I hope, at the very least, it's mildly entertaining.

I need to express my great thanks to the inimitable Course Jester for doing the beta reads and making many fine suggestions which have improved this piece substantially. You, sir, rock. Also, thanks to Frea O'Scanlin for looking at some key scenes and distracting me with shiny objects while she took a scalpel to them. It was eye-opening but very educational. I recommend the experience to everyone.]

Aftershock

A very quiet voice is talking. It's calming, soothing, even jovial. Chuck recognizes it immediately. It's his father. And all at once the feeling overwhelms him.

He's a child again.

He opens his eyes, and he's in his old house, playing with his old toys. The sight of them brings giddy joy and a sense of release. He lets the feeling surge through him unimpeded, sweeping away the tension in his mind and the heaviness in his heart. And in their absence, he feels free. At peace. Happy.

In front of him a confrontation looms; a lethal grudge match between the green army man in his right hand and the Lego robot in his left. Things aren't looking good for the army man, but Chuck knows it's too soon to tell. Sometimes the less imposing fighter has a secret and things end differently than—

A sudden, stabbing pain cuts into his head and Chuck winces, recoiling from the memory. Whatever that was, it wasn't fun and he wants to stay in the fun right now. After a moment's consideration, he decides he'll just let the robot win this time.

Outside, the day is sunny and warm and a golden glow spills into the living room. It's a perfect day for play.

Chuck doesn't see his father, but he hears him. There are questions about school, about his progress in science and math. He ignores them as long as he can, then replies with quick affirmations. Tiny little lies. Well, maybe they were lies, he wasn't sure. Being sure meant he'd have to remember, and remembering was what made his head hurt. And this was play time.

When his father seems appeased by his answers, Chuck breathes a quiet sigh of relief, and turns his attention back to the epic battle on the carpet. Soon afterward, the robot has lost his right arm but manages to wage a furious counterattack with his head-mounted laser. The army man dives behind a yellow Tonka truck for cover and Chuck grins. Ha! Things are getting good now.

As his father drones on in the background, the sun tears across the sky outside at hyper-speed, like a time-lapse video. With eyes trained downward, Chuck senses more than sees the shadows from the furniture race along the walls, but he's determined not to let this oddness or his father's endless monologue distract him. Only when gloom settles on his arena and he can no longer see his own hands does he realize that no one seems to be making any effort to turn on the lights. Huffing in frustration, he puts down the two combatants.

Fight called on account of darkness.

Chuck stands and pulls himself back to the world around him. Where is his dad anyway? He can hear him but he doesn't seem to be anywhere nearby. And where's Ellie? If it's dark outside she should be home already. He stands and looks around, trying to decide which way he might find his father or sister. But the darkness in all directions gives him pause, and he ends up calling out instead.

"Dad? Ellie?" For a few seconds there's only silence.

"I'm right here, Chuck," his dad says from over his shoulder, and Chuck spins – but there's no one there. Rattled, he backs away to start searching the house, calling to his father and sister as he runs first through the kitchen, then the bedrooms. He flips the light switch in every room, hoping the illumination will reveal his father engrossed in some inscrutable task or Ellie bunkered in at the end of an over-stretched phone cord.

But each room turns up empty, and soon the unexplored parts of the house are set off from the rest by the lingering of shadow. Struggling to keep his growing anxiety from blossoming into full-on panic, Chuck approaches the workshop door, the last place in the house his dad could conceivably be.

He hesitates. He's not supposed to go in there, but he's looked everywhere else. It's here or nowhere. As he ponders this dilemma, Chuck makes a disquieting observation: His father's constant dialogue has stopped.

"Dad?" he calls out. There's no reply.

Chuck looks up at the door, hoping that if he just waits a few seconds longer, his father will appear and this will all be over. But the seconds pass without event, and he's left with no choice. With a deep breath, he turns the doorknob.

The room is mostly dark, a single work lamp casting a bright cone in front of the desk as Chuck inches forward. His father is not immediately in evidence, but tall stacks of manuals sit on every flat surface, blocking his lines of sight.

"Dad? Are you in here?" he calls again. The sound of his voice seems small compared to the noise of the equipment around him. He takes a few steps in, craning his neck to peek around the nearest table. Somewhere in the room a computer cabinet whines noisily, setting Chuck's teeth on edge and bringing back unsettling memories of previous visits and his father's anger.

Gathering his courage, he takes two more steps.

Without warning, a fax machine chatters, its discordant answering tones a harsh counterpoint to the synchronous harmony of fans and motors. Unnerved, Chuck turns back for the door, and in blind flight he runs right into his father, who lets out a startled "oof" in surprise.

Chuck instinctively throws both arms around his dad's waist, his eyes closed and his cheek pressed hard against his father's chest. He's panting and his heart is racing. His father chuckles softly and lays his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Whoa there, Charles. Where's the fire?" He looks down bemusedly at his son.

Chuck doesn't answer, content to maintain his tight grip as relief washes over him. Eventually, the panic begins to subside, and he opens his eyes while trying to breathe normally.

Everything's going to be okay.

He steels himself to look up and face his father's reckoning, but something catches his eye. It's a monogram over the left breast of his father's bathrobe, a green and red shield with deer on both sides. The image triggers something in Chuck's brain, and he feels a twinge of pain. There's something wrong with it. As he moves in for a closer look, something tickles his left ear, and when he reaches up to scratch it he feels something wet.

He looks at his hand; his fingers are red. "Dad, what—" he begins in a panicked voice as he follows the red trail up his father's chest to the ragged hole still pumping out fresh blood, running in rivulets down his father's exposed skin and soaking the robe. "Dad!" he screams—

And he remembers.

The truth bursts through the sharp pain flaring in his head. His father has been shot and has seconds to live. How and why are still lost to him, but there's no time to chase the answers. Grimacing but determined, he puts both of his hands over the wound and presses tightly. If he can just stop the bleeding, maybe he can save him.

He looks up into his father's face, and what he sees there stuns him. It's not the face of a gravely injured man. His father wears a thoughtful expression, even the hint of a smile. "It's alright now, Chuck," his father says soothingly. "It's going to be okay."

Baffled, Chuck looks down. How can any of what he sees be okay? The warm blood is pulsing out beneath his hands and seeping through the cracks in his fingers. It won't stop flowing no matter how hard he presses. No one could lose this much blood and live.

"No!" he hears himself plead in a child's voice and with all his strength he pushes forward.

He bolts awake into a sitting position, sucking in air and completely disoriented in the darkness. He stares at his hands in front of him, seemingly dark with blood, but in moments his vision clears revealing only skin. Ragged of breath, he takes in his surroundings, and the waking realization hits him all at once.

His father died three weeks ago.

He covers his eyes with his palms and lets out a small sob.

Immediately, loving arms encircle his shoulders and he hears her voice, raspy with sleep.

"Are you okay?"

He counts three breaths before he speaks. "I had a nightmare. It was— it was about…" he falters.

"Shhh," she hushes. "Tomorrow."

"But…"

"Tomorrow," she repeats, squeezing his shoulders gently.

Bowing in acceptance, he rests his forehead on the slope of her neck and breathes her in, the warm scent both familiar and comforting. He's safe in her embrace. She lays her own head against his and pulls him closer, her hand cupping his cheek. They breathe together, inhales and exhales drifting to rhythm as his heart slows its frantic pounding and his mind quiets. Then she kisses his head and pulls his arm around her as she lays down, tucking herself into him.

He surrenders without another word.

[A/N Part II: Since this is part of the Season 4 Premiere Anniversary Challenge, all four chapters have been posted at once. No waiting!]