Title: The only pain is to feel nothing at all

Summary: Following the sudden and violent demise of a loved one, Don is hurting like never before and Charlie goes over the edge. Don and Charlie Eppes have never needed each other as much as they do now. Very angsty fic!

Disclaimer: I own nothing! I make no profit and just write for fun!
Strong language and graphic descriptions of a violent nature are used so it has been rated accordingly.

Warning: Character death, but not the brothers! - Would never kill them! -

Author notes: Please note this is my first fanfic so constructive criticism is very welcome! If anyone wants to be my beta please drop me a line! I could do with a fresh pair of eyes!

This takes place somewhere around S1/S2, when Charlie was at his most fragile and adorable!!! Inspiration came through perversely enjoying Charlie's withdrawal episodes every time he goes into shock, extreme worry, stress, trauma, etc. (and how Don gets so angry/upset). Taking everything into account, and for the purpose of this story, I have diagnosed Charlie to be suffering from extreme dissociative disorder and gave him a very bad trip to prove it!

Hope you enjoy it!

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The Only Pain Is To Feel Nothing At All

by SpyingBirdsAgain

Chapter 1

"Fasten the seatbelt, Charlie."

Silence.

"Charlie, fasten your seatbelt!" Don's voice resounded, his head shifting around tensely toward his brother.

Silence.

'Not even numbers.'

"Goddamit Charlie!" finally yelled Don, exasperated, hands dashing down hard against the steering wheel, "can you just do your fucking seatbelt as I asked you to?!"

Silence.

'Is existence ever possible where there are no numbers?'

'Quark–gluon plasma … less speculative.'

'Everything is numbers.'

"Oh God, why … just shit …" cursing under his breath, Don's arms flew across Charlie's body, violently fastening the offending seatbelt while carelessly harassing his brother's puny languid form in the process.

Charlie gasped, his mind suddenly awoken to some kind of primitive thought: 'Anger,' the first thing that materialised inside his head. 'Anger? Is there anger in the Darkness? Oh no, no, no, no …please not here, please …no, please go … please go,' somewhere between a five year old begging the monster to disappear at the count of three and a grown man imploring for his life, Charlie's tears fell down like tendrils of ice, too ethereal to worry about eluding the threatening heat emanating from Don's eyes, purposely bound to the road ahead of them.

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Their way seemed dimly lit, suburbanly quiet. Moonlight and palm trees went unnoticed for a second time, little more than superfluous patterns flickering through car windows. The pungent smell of blood was barely perceptible as it dried out into thick stains, yet intense enough to subconsciously immerse Don Eppes in a world where nightmares, unlike castles in the sky, become sharp unrelenting reality. Beyond the bullpen and crime scenes, beyond reports, photos and the stare of hollow, glassy eyes … Those eyes, he understood, no longer human, always chilling, obscured by horror and the unmistakable realisation of death standing on your chest, laughing in your face as you choke.
Closer to home now, same glassy eyes, only too kind to have them closed for good. They didn't deserve pennies, they deserved rubies and diamonds. In fact, they deserved their life back, plain and simple.
There is such agony capable of crushing down the seasoned FBI agent, violating the son, the friend, the brother …

Silence.

'Silence is invariable, silence is safe. It's okay now, the void is here again. Yes, I see. Anger is gone,' phantomed Charlie, relieved. Finally, he wouldn't have to feel anything again, and that was good. There's no pain in the Darkness, no joy either. The void holds nothing, the vacuum absorbs it all. The Darkness transforms everything into a pure state of perfection, devoid of matter, devoid of space, devoid of time; exactly zero. And Charlie, well, he will soon be transformed too. If he was only to retain his symmetry, avoid disturbances, avoid everything that is not Darkness.
'The Observers', suddenly crossed his mind, 'we must measure simultaneously both position and velocity… the uncertainties … no, no, there are no states of definite position and momentum, no, there is no fundamental reality! There is no fundamental reality!!!' tears broke again, this time with a more distinct sound; Charlie's breathing rapidly deteriorating. 'How can I even help Darkness when there are no numbers!!!??' he was already panicking but then, 'symmetry, symmetry, here, I know, I am sorry, I'm so sorry … all you want from me is to retain my symmetry … devoid … devoid, in vacuo …' and the tears stopped as his eyes shut.

Don's focus travelled from the road to the passenger seat, he'd heard the sobs loud and clear this time. Charlie hadn't cried since Don found him about four hours ago at their neighbors' place, kneeled down by his father side on a puddle of blood which seemed to spurt all over the kid, as if possessed by some macabre will of its own. Guttural sounds and a repugnant gurgling stuffed every room in the house. No doubt it was quite a scene, Alan laid there freshly mutilated, unable to scream; his whole body jerking, convulsing, twitching brutishly as in disgust at the sight and stench of is own butchering. He was once a happy-go-by mother hen but that Thursday night, he turned out to be nothing more than an overrated skimpy goat that didn't make it to the slaughterhouse. And Charlie was there, a sworn witness, staring insanely at the scene before him, trying to hold his father down, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Both men were shivering, both men fast succumbing to shock, disintegrating.

John Malor, quick on his feet, had already contacted the older son and 911. The paramedics arrived three minutes and twelve seconds after Don; LAPD made it six minutes and eight seconds later.

John kept a Browning Hi-Power Mark III inside the house. She was a beautiful black epoxy 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He's never had to shoot a man before and for this he was truly grateful. Only that night, things worked out horribly different. Three shots John fired against the murderer and well dead that mother was but … but not before his hunting knife slashed Alan's chest and arms repeatedly until it found cherished solace inside his neck.

Both brothers followed the ambulance on the SUV and Charlie was numbed, borderline eerie. His body felt cold to Don who held him back as the EMTs worked on Alan just moments earlier. Little bro looked dead pale too, an unwilling white canvass drenched in hues of scarlet red.
After a while he struggled no more in Don's arms, and all that incoherent gibberish stopped coming out of his mouth, for he already successfully computed the outcome: 'DOA.'
Still at the scene, Don and John asked the relevant questions and the paramedics said there might still be time, they had a surgical team on stand-by but Charlie, he just knew better; as clear as Pi recited backwards and every useless probability in the world ... It was right there and then, fate exposed, when he felt numbers and people and places and sounds and life itself coming to a complete halt. His father was crossing the threshold, and in that transcendental moment, Darkness came to put things right, so Charlie embraced it.