Irrational by asesina
Summary: Don wakes up to find himself under the watchful care of a worried younger brother.
Category: gen, family
Spoilers/warnings: none
Numb3rs belongs to CBS.
First Numb3rs fic. Can take place in any season. I hope you like it!
Don Eppes grimaced painfully as he came to the brink of consciousness, desperately attempting to fight his brain's tendency to head towards the light and the pervasive sounds that were interrupting his reverie.
"No," he mumbled, scrunching up his face in pain as he continued to fight the sound, that voice...
"Not ready," Don added sleepily as he made a pitiful attempt to roll onto his side and escape the unwelcoming tumult of the real world.
This time, a firm grip on Don's shoulder brought his mind careening into conscious thought as a strong hand shook him awake.
"Wake up," commanded the omnisicient voice.
"Can't," Don moaned with the rebellious flair of a petulant child.
"You have to," the voice countered.
Reluctantly, Don allowed his eyelids to flutter open as he found himself face-to-face with a particularly worried mathematics professor.
"Don," Charlied breathed as he quickly offered his other arm to help his brother sit up.
Don winced in pain as he recalled the precise cause of his unconsciousness.
"I hit my head, didn't I?" Don asked sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the growing welt on the crown of his head.
"Don, you were out for almost a minute," Charlie whispered. He attempted to calm himself, but the residual panic in his eyes betrayed him.
"It's fine, Charlie. I just need some ice," Don intoned casually, trying his best to hide the pain in his voice.
"How many fingers?" Charlie asked suddenly.
"Charlie, what the hell are you doing?" Don asked with mild annoyance.
Charlie frowned and held three fingers in his face.
"Just tell me, Don," Charlie asked.
"Five," Don said with smirk.
"Don't do this, Don," Charlie pleaded.
"Fine, it's three. Now get that ice, buddy! I don't want to look like one of the Coneheads," Don said with a brief smile.
Charlie disappeared into the kitchen and came back moments later with a ziploc bag full of ice.
He handed it to Don carefully and tried to help his brother put it behind his head.
"I'm good, Charlie," Don said as he grabbed the bag and held it against the lump on his head.
"So, I guess now isn't a good time to move the rest of your old textbooks upstairs, huh?" Don asked slowly as he leaned back onto the ice.
"No, you're not doing anything else today," Charlie said sternly.
"You're not scaring me with that Clint Eastwood voice, Charlie," replied Don as he gave Charlie a sideways glance.
"I mean it, Don. You always push yourself too hard. I think that you also might've blacked out because you're tired from work," Charlie added softly, throwing his brother a worried glance.
Don shook his head and was instantly rewarded with a radiating wave of pain that crawled over his scalp.
"Charlie, you worry too much. You're like Dad- you're both mother hens," Don said with a soft chuckle.
"I wish that you wouldn't take your pain so lightly," Charlie said quietly.
"It's a bump on the head, buddy. I appreciate the concern, but you're too irrational sometimes," Don answered.
"Irrational? How so?" Charlie shot back.
"Well, we were just moving books. It's not like I was in a shootout," Don shrugged.
"Don, head injuries are always a big deal. Statistically, you had a chance of getting a concussion, a hematoma, or even going into a coma," Charlie said grimly.
Don searched Charlie's face for any sign of humor or irony, but his brother was being completely serious.
"You watch too much House, Charlie," Don said with a grin.
"It's also not irrational to worry about your brother," Charlie added softly.
Don opened his mouth as if to say something, but he paused, sensing that Charlie was going to continue his thought.
"You always protect me, Don. When I was in danger, you always had an agent tailing me. Why should you be exempt from that kind of treatment?" Charlie asked earnestly.
Don sat quietly for a few moments, brow furrowed in thought.
"Because I'm the oldest," Don said with an impish grin as he tried to hoist himself into a sitting position.
Charlie flew to his side and paused, unsure if Don was ready to accept his assistance.
Don looked up at his brother and sighed in resignation.
"You can help me up, buddy," he finally said.
Charlie put an arm around Don's shoulders and helped him sit up straight. Don suppressed a grunt of pain and Charlie's worried gaze returned to his head.
"It's fine, buddy," Don said as he affectionately patted Charlie's shoulder.
Charlie nodded slowly as he stood up and turned to look at the books on the floor.
"Well, bro," Charlie began, "these encyclopedias aren't going to move themselves."
"I'll be ready in another minute, buddy," Don said with a quick smile as Charlie turned away from him.
"Oh, and Charlie?" Don called.
Charlie turned around with his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Thanks," he said genuinely, grinning widely at his younger brother.
"Any time," Charlie said softly, returning Don's grin with a warm smile of his own.
End