How Did It Come To This?
By: Montez
Disclaimer: I keep hoping, but it just ain't happening. I still don't own them.
He slowly, gradually opened his eyes. Blurry, at first, his vision soon cleared as his hearing decided to return as well. The first thing he noticed was a squirrel curiously watching him from the edge of the roof. Seeing he was not a threat it soon scampered off out of his line of sight. He tried turning his head to follow its movements, but spots danced in his vision, as pain, he hadn't initially been aware of, assaulted every fiber of his being.
He laid there, blinking at the clear, cloudless, blue sky that floated above him, chastising himself for getting into this situation. Trying to take a deep breath to begin an inventory of his injuries, he soon found what was going to be number one on his list: "hurts like hell to breathe!". Not since he had regained consciousness had he felt panic, until now; not being able to breathe increased his heart rate, which in turn did what? Made him breathe faster, translation: More pain.
He knew he was alone. Having no idea when someone would come looking for him, he tried to will himself to calm down. He didn't want to pass out for fear of not waking up again. It was then he heard a sound that was like a lifeline; now if they would just quickly find him he figured he at least wouldn't die alone. That was a real fear at this point, his chest continuing to flair with pain at its inability to work properly.
Hearing two doors slam shut he thought, knowing his death was imminent, "At least they're both here, they'll help each other through this." The slamming of the front door heralded their entrance into the house, "Now if they'll just make their way into the kitchen, they might…" The voices grew closer as they filtered through the open kitchen window.
"Let me run out to the garage and grab that file for you." The familiar sound of his youngest voice brought tears to his eyes. "How is this going to affect him?" Lying on the surprisingly warm ground he remembered the months of self-imposed isolation Charlie had put himself--as well as the family--through during Margaret's last months. He prayed his son would not loose himself again.
"Hold up Chuck let me grab a water and I'll come with you. You want one? Hey where's Dad today, Isn't that his cars out front?" Hearing his eldest's voice brought pride to his soul. "Have I ever really told him how proud of him I am?" Don had stuck to his convictions joining the FBI, even amid his parents vehement protests. He knew he would be good at it and that he was. The family had to learn to assimilate the constant fear and worry that every family of law enforcement personnel did. However, he knew Don was good at his job as were the people with whom he worked. They would help his eldest through this, who then in turn would help his youngest.
"Stop calling me Chuck." Charlie's voice was nearer the door now. "Yeah grab me one too. I don't know where…" Don's attention was immediately drawn to his brother as Charlie's voice stopped; mid-sentence. Charlie was standing part-way out the back door , as if frozen in time. Don closed the refrigerator door and walked toward his little brother. Uneasiness crept into Don's soul at the horrified expression on Charlie's face.
As Charlie had opened the back door, he quickly noticed the over-turned ladder on the ground next to the garage. His heart constricted as his eyes were drawn to the still figure lying next to it. Don approached his brothers side, trying to see what had caused the soul-chilling look on his little brother's face. As Don stepped past Charlie, through the open door, his mind was thrown into overdrive as he processed the scene before him. He never realized he had left the porch until he was halfway across the yard. "DAD!"
His older brother's panicked yell snapped Charlie from his trance as he automatically grabbed the phone from the base next to the back door. His fingers found the magic numbers that would summon help, as he too crossed the yard, just behind his brother. Don dropped to his knees next to his father. Relief to see the older man's eyes open soon gave way to fear as it occurred to him that his father hadn't moved, or said a word in response to his voice.
"Dad?" Don's tone was gentle, but frantic, "Dad, can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened? What hurts?" Don watched as Alan closed his eyes, tears slipping from the corners. Slowly opening them again Alan looked at Don. Alan wanted so much to tell his son how proud he was of him, to tell him not to worry, things would work out, but he didn't have the strength or breath. He hoped he was conveying it through his eyes. He hated to worry his sons.
Alan's eyes moved to Charlie, who had emerged from the garage with a hand full of bath towel from the dryer, he had been unable to find a blanket. Quickly Charlie dropped on the other side of his father. Looking into Alan's pain-filled face nearly took Charlie's breath, so he frantically started covering his father with the towels.
Don quickly noticed the labored breathing in his father's chest and panic reached further as he mentally started running through all the possibilities of what could be happening. Neither son noticed their father's slight movements until each felt Alan's hand brush against their legs. Don and Charlie, both, quickly, but gently grabbed their father's hands, not raising them for fear of further injuring him. They each felt a tender squeeze in return. They watched as Alan struggled for air, opening then closing his mouth. Attempting to lick his now-dry lips he opened it again as if to speak. Each son leaned in closer, so their father wouldn't have to strain. The words Alan whispered sent ice through Don's and Charlie's souls as they felt their father's grip go slack and his eyes close.
"Love…you…both."
A/N: Should I go on or leave it like this? I do have ideas, but I'm not sure.