A/N: Hey! There was so much positive response to my first fic, that I thought I would try again with a different fic. Hope you enjoy, please review at the end!

Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs. Unfortunately. *sigh*

A/N part 2: Oh yeah, I forgot. I apologize in advance if there's anything in here about baseball that anyone doesn't understand. As my pen name would suggest, I know a lot about baseball, and I don't know how much other people know about it. So if I made it confusing, I'm sorry.

Super Brother

August 4, 1981
1:30 PM
Pasadena, CA

Swoosh. Thwack. Don grinned; he loved the sound of a baseball smacking into a leather mitt. It was so satisfying, a way to signify a well-completed throw. It was part of the thrill of the game. The eleven-year-old loved every aspect of the game: the way he twisted his body in all directions so as to scoop up a ground ball, the smooth transition from leaning over to standing upright in order to throw the ball perfectly to first, and the tense feeling in that split second as he watches the ball sail from him to first base, wondering if it will make it on time to make the out. And batting. Don loved batting. He loved staring the pitcher down, silently taunting him. He loved bearing his feet and swinging his body around, watching the fast-moving ball as it soars toward him almost in slow-motion before finally, it makes contact with the bat and the ball soars back the other way, towards the fence and away from Don so that he can sprint down to first base before the ball meets back up with him.

But possibly Don's favorite part of baseball was base-running. He relished in the thrill of pushing his body forward as hard and fast as possible, wind roaring in his ears underneath an over-sized batting helmet. Don loved waiting until the pitcher's back was turned before silently and stealthily turning to steal away another base before he could get caught. It reminded him of sneaking downstairs late at night and soundlessly pulling the lid off the cookie jar and swiping a few to take back to his room, no one the wiser because of how quiet he was. And Don loved running from third to home as the ball raced him there; he would let his feet glide out from underneath him as he slid in the dirt, brushing it all over to cover the previously white base, milliseconds before the catcher's mitt, ball inside, could brush against his shirt to make the out. Instead, a run would be scored.

Now, Don found himself in the on-deck circle, swinging the bat to prepare for his turn at the plate. These were some of Don's favorite times, these pick-up games with no adults around. Just him and seventeen other of the neighborhood boys in the park near their homes, playing an informal game with no pressure from coaches or parents and no prize at the end.

Don turned to look at his brother Charlie, who was a month shy of his sixth birthday. Charlie sat in the dugout, watching the game. Most of the time, watching Charlie was a pain. But during these baseball games in the park, Don didn't mind bringing his brother along. The younger boy was content to simply sit and watch his brother, rarely making a noise. As long as the young prodigy had a notebook to write down all sorts of calculations that Don, who was twice Charlie's age, didn't understand, Charlie was easy to keep an eye on.

Turning his attention back to the game, Don cheered as his teammate, John, stole second base on a passed ball. Next pitch, and the batter struck out to make two outs in the inning. Don's team was down 2-1 in the seventh inning. The batter, Chris, walked dejectedly away from the plate.

"It's okay, Chris," Don encouraged his downcast teammate. "Can't hit it every time. And John stole second, so it could be worse."

As he took his place in the batter's box, Don could hear Charlie calling to him.

"Come on Donnie!" his little brother cheered. "You can do it, Don, let's go!"

Don chuckled a little to himself. Charlie was quite the little cheerleader, as he started a few of the other boys cheering, too. He turned his attention to the pitcher.

The pitcher was Nolan Eckheart, a boy who played against Don in Little League a lot. Nolan seemed to be Don's nemesis. He would taunt Don, sneer at him, and threaten to beat up Charlie. The protective streak in Don swore that he'd let Nolan kill him before he'd let him lay a finger on Charlie.

As Don dug his feet into the batter's box, Nolan shook his head slowly and glared at Don before grinning at him. Don narrowed his eyes at the other boy, more determined than ever to wipe that smug grin off Nolan's face by whacking the ball cleanly over the fence for a two-run home run.

Nolan made his first pitch. Strike one. Taking a step out, Don took a few practice swings before turning back in. Then came the pitch, ball one. Charlie was still cheering in the dugout. Next pitch: ball two.

"Come on Donnie, you got it!" came Charlie's little voice. "Count is 2 and 1, you have a good chance!"

Don sighed. Trust his brother to know Don's chances of striking out when most boys Charlie's age were just learning how to add and subtract.

The next pitch came, and it was strike two. All of Don's team were on their feet, cheering him on as well as heckling Nolan. Don could tell by Nolan's face that the other boy was getting angry. Time to take full advantage.

Don set his feet as the next pitch left Nolan's hand. As it crossed the plate, Don's arm swung around in full swing, satisfaction setting in as he felt his bat make contact with the ball. Immediately, he took off sprinting down towards first, briefly looking up to see how far he had hit it. The right fielder was chasing the ball down, and was scooping it up as Don rounded first base. He sprinted to second, coming in easily before the ball reached him.

His teammates and Charlie were jumping up and down with excitement. In the dugout, John was giving high-fives to everyone. Don grinned. He just drove in the tying run.

He drove his excitement out of his mind and focused on the next play. The next batter was Jason, who could be counted on to hit a single whenever the situation called for it. A single would do, Don figured. He was fast; he could most likely make it home.

1:45 PM

An inning later, Don's team was up 3-2. Jason had driven Don in, and the inning had ended soon after. Don and his team were now in the field, and only Charlie remained in the dugout. The younger boy's eyes rarely left his older brother, something Don appreciated although he would never admit it.

Most of the inning went by without incident. Don stood at his position at second base and watched as their own pitcher, a twelve-year-old named Matt, struck out two batters in a row. They only needed to make this last out, and then they could return to building their lead.

The batter made contact with the ball on the first pitch. It soared gracefully past Matt's head, but he didn't catch it. Now it was up to Don. He ran to his right and still had to stretch his entire body out in order to catch the ball. Don realized that he had no time to get his mitt up there; he would have to try and make a bare-handed play. With his right hand reached out, the ball came directly at Don. The first thing the ball touched was the tip of his index finger, bending it painfully inwards.

The ball dropped, but Don recovered it before he could think about the pain in his finger. He quickly threw it to first, making the out. His teammates cheered, but Don's index finger immediately began to swell up and throb. He knew it was definitely jammed.

He decided not to say anything to his team or Charlie. It was the middle of the eighth inning; there was only one more to go. All he had to do was make it through. It was likely he wouldn't get up to bat again, and hopefully the ball wouldn't come to him in the final inning. So he sat on the bench next to Charlie, pretending like nothing had happened.

"That was so cool, Donnie!" Charlie exclaimed. "I can't believe you made that play after you dropped the ball! Do you know what the chances of that are? Do you?"

"No, Charlie," Don replied wearily. "I don't know. And I really don't care."

"Oh," Charlie said, some of the light fading from his expression. "How come you're not excited, Donnie? You're playing such a great game!"

"Thanks," Don said tersely. Charlie was right, this was one of the best games he'd played all summer. But the throbbing in his right hand prevented him from being too excited.

1:58 PM

Don was wrong. His team was hitting incredibly well this inning. Two runs had been scored, and Don's team was up 5-2 when Chris hit a single. Don was up now, with runners on first and third. As he stepped into the batter's box, Don could hear Charlie yelling for him.

"Donnie! You forgot your batting gloves!"

Nolan laughed out loud. "What is he, like your caddy? I hate to tell you, Eppes, but we don't use caddies in baseball."

"Shut up, Nolan," Don replied quietly before turning towards the dugout. "It's fine, Charlie. I don't need them!" Truth was, he didn't want to force them over his swollen finger.

After two balls and a strike, Don could barely grip the bat anymore because the pain spread throughout his hand. But he was so intent on not letting his team down that he was forced to ignore it. The next pitch came, and Don swung forcefully. He made contact and the ball sailed away, far away. His finger bent a little at the hit, so Don's pain increased ten-fold, but he knew right away that he had hit a home run.

Once he had jogged around the bases, Charlie was the first one to meet Don back at the dugout. The younger boy enveloped his brother in a hug.

"Donnie, that was so cool!" Charlie said. "You should teach me to hit like you can!"

Don didn't say anything. Instead he accepted the high-fives from his teammates before reaching for his water bottle and taking a long drink. When no one was looking, Don took a look at his finger. It was incredibly swollen and was turning deeply black and blue. There was no way anyone wouldn't notice if they even gave Don's hand a passing glance.

For now, he simply hid it inside his mitt as he stood with his team to cheer the current hitter on.

6:15 PM
Eppes Residence
Pasadena, CA

Charlie sat on the kitchen floor, writing a Fibonacci sequence in a notebook as his mother worked around him, making dinner. It was something of a routine; Charlie sat and occasionally asked his mother some questions while Margaret moved quickly about the kitchen, answering her son's inquiries, amused. They performed this ritual almost every day.

"Hey, Mom?" Charlie said. "Did you know that Donnie hit a home run today? It was so cool! Donnie's team won 8-2!"

"No, I didn't know that," Margaret said, returning to the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce. "I haven't seen your brother. Do you know where he is, Charlie?"

"In his room," Charlie said. "Hey, Mom? Why would Donnie be sad?" Surely his mom would know why his big brother was sad. It didn't make sense to Charlie. Why in the world would Donnie be sad after playing so great today? Charlie didn't understand. Then again, he rarely understood some people, especially his big brother. That's why Charlie liked math. At least numbers made sense.

"Is Donnie sad?" Margaret asked him.

"I think so," Charlie answered.

Just then, Don himself came into the kitchen. Margaret flashed a quick, reassuring smile at her youngest son before greeting her first-born.

"Hey, Don, I heard you won your game today." She paused, studying Don's face. "Are you okay?"

Don nodded, his hands behind his back. The last time Charlie saw Don looking like this was when he broke the neigbor's window. Don had been in trouble, but protested when there had been insufficient evidence to prove his guilt.

Margaret gave Don that look that told Charlie his brother was going to be in trouble if he didn't tell the truth. Charlie watched the two intently, his notebook and pencil completely abandoned on the floor.

Don heaved a dramatic sigh. "I think I may have done something to my hand," he confessed, slowly bringing out his right hand. Charlie's eyes widened at the sight of Don's index finger. It was swollen twice its normal size and was a dark purple color. The younger Eppes had never seen anything like it.

"Oh, Donnie," Margaret breathed, carefully grabbing Don's hand to examine it. "Why didn't you tell me before? What happened?"

"It was nothing," Don said. "Baseball hit my hand in the wrong spot. It's just jammed. No big deal."

It sure looked like a big deal to Charlie. Donnie actually played with his finger like that? Charlie had never been so amazed in his life.

"Well, let's go tape it up," Margaret said, leading Don out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. Charlie scrambled to his feet and rushed through the swinging door to follow.

"Wow, Don," Charlie said with quiet awe. "When did you do that?"

"Eighth inning," Don replied, slightly annoyed. "It was that ball I dropped."

"That was before you hit the home run!" Charlie realized. How did Donnie do some of the things he did?

Margaret smiled. "You hit a home run with your finger like that?" Don nodded and shrugged. "Wow, Don. I'm impressed. You must be very brave to have ignored the pain like that."

Don shrugged again. "It's no big deal." He winced slightly as Margaret pulled tightly on the tape.

Charlie didn't say anything. If Don said it wasn't a big deal, then it probably wasn't, but Charlie still thought it was amazing. His big brother hadn't even hinted that his finger hurt as he finished playing the game. Charlie had no idea through all that time that Don was hurt.

Charlie remembered the time last month when his dad and Don tried to teach him to ride a bicycle. He had fallen off and scraped his knee. After that, Charlie begged to go back inside. Don must have thought he was such a baby! Don's finger was like a sausage, but he said nothing and then went on to hit a home run and everything!

"Okay, Don, we're done," Margaret announced. "Let's get you some ice for that."

If only Charlie could be as tough as his big brother.

10:30 PM

Creeping down the hallway, Charlie stopped outside his brother's door. He didn't bother to knock; instead he slowly pushed the door open and snuck inside.

"Donnie?" Charlie whispered. No response. He tip-toed to his big brother's bed and climbed on. Poking his Don's shoulder, Charlie tried again. "Hey, Donnie, wake up!" This time, he earned a soft groan in response.

"What is it, Charlie?" Don mumbled sleepily.

"Is your finger okay?" Charlie asked.

"What? Yeah, Charlie. It's fine. Just go back to bed so we can both get some sleep."

"How do you do it?" Charlie wondered.

"Do what?"

"Forget that it hurts," Charlie answered matter-of-factly. "How do you hurt your finger that bad and then just forget and hit a home run? I just want to know how you do that. You're like a superhero or something!"

Don shrugged. "I don't know Charlie, it just sort of happened, I guess."

"Can I sleep here, Donnie, please?"

"Yeah," Don said, scooting over to make more room for his brother. Charlie snuggled in, and Don put his left arm on top of Charlie's head. "Now get some sleep. Goodnight, buddy."

"Goodnight, Donnie," Charlie whispered back.

Now comfortable, Charlie stared at his brother for a moment. Charlie realized that he learned something about his brother today. Don was like a superhero. Even though he was hurt, Charlie's big brother was able to perform well in the game. Similarily, Don was the best at being a brother, too. No matter what happened, Charlie knew that if Don was willing to be in pain to help his baseball team, then he would always be there for his younger brother. In that way, Don was like Charlie's super-brother.

End.

A/N: Ending wasn't too abrupt, I hope? This story definitely ran away to an entirely different direction than I originally intended. I don't know how I lost control of this fic like that, but I sure did! Please leave me some feedback and tell me what you think!