I thought I should probably update, and there aren't many story lines out there untaken… so I'll just say Charlie's POV of his own situation. Please comment! They mean a lot to me, even if they aren't so nice. Obviously I don't own anything. As if I even need to say that in the first place.

Charlie's eyes were open to everybody that gave him a glimpse, but he wasn't seeing anything in front of him. He felt the bright burning rays of the island sun and the sympathetic stares from somewhat oblivious survivors, people that probably avoided Claire's emerald stares in fear of conversation of the "ticking time bomb of responsibility." He felt as helpless as his situation. A dirty junkie washed up on a shore where he shouldn't have been able to do harm to anybody else, but somehow he just managed to. And here he slumped, smothered in himself, just another thing that wasn't going to help anybody.

He filed through all the memories that led up to who he was. He remembered watching in fear as his brother was pushed violently into the chain fence in grade school. He remembered the clanging sounds and how the echoed from the pavement, bouncing into the gray sky. Liam would eventually sink to the ground, blood trickling from his cheek, and cry silently to himself. Giving up. It seemed to run in the family.

What were people at home thinking about the disappearance? His brother would not have been terribly upset, though at the thought of a smirk on his face on hearing the news burned a hole deep into his chest and stung the tears from his eyes. He knew inside that Liam would never get satisfaction from that sort of thing, but he didn't know how Liam would react.

As much as he could not tear his love from his brother, he hated him. Here he was on this bloody f-ing island, sweating for pinch of powder and Liam could be at home with his loving family and warm by the fireplace. A beautiful daughter, a wonderful wife, no heroin and a steady job. Hell, he even had the "dad" reading glasses. Never mind the useless little brother junkie who can't even be of use to bloodied up plane crash survivors, much less to his own family. People who didn't even know him wanted him dead. He ran his fingers over the blood-crusted rope burns on his neck. Sometimes, he even wanted himself dead… it hurt to think it might be true.
He finally let his eyes see what was ahead of him. The sky was turning a sadder color of orange and purple as the day was dying. He got to his feet and started heading for the caves, wishing at the time that he were invisible, shielded from accusatory stares that his imagination could only enhance. Invisible at least until Claire came back, until Claire was safe, and he'd feel like he could start something right again.

It's impossible to end this kind of story! It was kinda weak but tell me what you think. I write these stories for you!