WARNING: WILL BE SOME SMALL EDITING.
The highway was pitch-black and the night young. A long mathematician navigated the California highways, heading towards to LA.
He had fought with the volume control on the radio for the first few miles before it had finally rejected the abuse and popped off to roll under the passenger seat. With a sigh, Charlie leaned back and accepted the fact that he would be listening to classic rock for the remainder of the trip.
He watched the headlights bounce ever so slightly, and found himself on the topic of simple harmonic motion and the effects of periodic sinusoidal oscillations on drivers. He was pushing himself - getting back to LA after a month away would be a nice reprieve from the mundanities of political obligations.
He of course knew the danger of considering himself an outlier, but he was too tired to care. Besides, Don often did the same thing, whether he admitted to it or not.
A double digit number flashed by, revealing only thirty more miles until he hit the Washington border. A neon 3.33 flickered into view shortly after the other sign and Charlie decided to stop to grab a sandwich. It seemed he had forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch again. Hopeless, Allen would say.
He hadn't even been doing any math - well, besides calculating other cars' stopping rates. It was pretty mindless though - tenementary data was easily memorizable and applied just as conveniently.
The Bee Gees croons echoed in his head as he drove, lamenting love and the sad extremities of life. Combined with the broken radio controls, Charlie had been forced to take a few rest stops.
He was fishing change out of his jeans when he felt his phone vibrate in the back pocket. Thanking the man he quickly shoved the money into his pocket and went back to the car, pulling his phone out.
"Dad-"
"Charlie, where are you?" Allen interrupted his youngest son.
Charlie frowned at the urgent tone.
"Thirty minutes out. Why? Is something the matter? Do you need me to get there faster?"
"No, take your time - I don't need another one of my boys hurt." Allen quickly assured him.
Alarmed, Charlie sat up. "What happened to Don?"
"He, well, you know him," Allen sighed shakily. "Got 'clipped,' according to him, but it was a fairly decent hit."
"I'll be back soon," Charlie said simply, then hung up.
Forgetting his tiredness, he threw the volkswagon into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, sandwich sitting untouched in the seat beside him.
Was spinning' round a dead dial
Just another lost number in a file
Dancin' down a dark hole
Just searchin' for a world with some sound
"Dad, just relax," Don told Allen, exasperated.
"Don't tell your father what to do Donnie," Allen shot back.
"Alright, alright, I'm resting. See? Laying down."
"Son, your arms are going this way and that. Don't go pulling your stitches. "
"Well I'm itchy," Don said irritably. "
Allen opened his mouth to reply but a doctor entered and interrupted.
"Mr. Eppes? Your son is ready to go. We have a prescription painkiller for him, and recommend that he get at least two weeks rest."
"Two weeks?" Don looked incredulously at the admittedly attractive redhead. "I don't have enough vacation time for that."
"You have plenty," Allen said, looking ominously at his son.
The doctor took that moment to hand them papers and leave.
Don sat broodingly for a time, staring into space.
"Hey dad, did you call Charlie?" He suddenly asked.
"Yes."
"C'mon dad, he doesn't need to get up here any sooner."
"Well I told him not to hurry," Allen said reasonably.
"Do you honestly think he's going to listen? Jeez dad…"
"Well I'm sorry I'm trying to be a father," Allen huffed.
Don signed the discharge papers aggressively, ending his signature with a sharp dot.
"Let's go home Dad."
"I was trying to find my day him, but all I heard was a drone…
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?"
Is there anybody alive out there?"
Charlie slowly uncurled his hands from the steering wheel as he drew closer to the blazing lights of California's largest city. Their father hadn't sounded that alarmed, but knowing Don the injury was more severe than was let on.
He attempted to change the radio again but the Eagles continued to blast in his face. Charlie rolled down the windows to let the sound escape, letting the cool air rush pleasurably over his face.
Despite his relaxed state, he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't see when the black car flew up the ramp, nor did he see the shattered headlites.
All he saw was an empty highway and the sound of Bruce Springsteen strumming the air.
I was driving thru the misty rain
Yeah, searching for a mystery train.
Bopping thru the wild blue
Trying to make a connection with you.
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to hear some rhythm.
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm.
I just want to hear some rhythm
Charlie woke up with drums beating an eclectic rhythm.. It took him some time before he realized that the radio was in fact off, and he was sitting in a ditch looking over the gravel shoulder from a culvert. The clock on the board now read 11:57.
A few minutes passed by as he slowly processed the situation. If the clock was right, he had been in and out for over twenty minutes. Somehow no one seemed to have stopped. Charlie pinched his forehead only to find a piece of glass already there. He then realized that there was a strong breeze on his face, and he looked up to see his entire windshield gone.
With a groan, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the air bag - which had somehow popped - out of the way. He eased out of the car and stumbled to the front, where he found a hood still intact but an entire front smashed.
Charlie stood miserably, bemoaning the setback. He didn't have any immediate symptoms of a concussion and his limbs seemed to function decently - he could probably get away with a trip to a Walgreens.
Sliplping back into the seat, he was pleasantly surprised when the car purred to a start after a second attempt. If he could avoid a ticket he would be just fine, at least temporarily. The immediate issue, however, was getting out of the ditch, and Charlie found his normal sensibility mitigated by a searing headache.
With the help of a passing tow truck Charlie was able to get a lift into Greenwood. After dropping it off at the mechanics, the rattled mathematician headed to the local pharmacy where he purchased wet wipes, antiseptic, and bandages, as well as a brace for his now swollen arm.
His phone dead, he then used a local pay phone to call a cab, silently thanking the gas station clerk for the necessary change.
The twenty nine year old slid into the gloriously cool, dark cabin and leaned against the headrest as he was pulled away from the nightmare.
He would worry about paying the rental agency later. For now, all he wanted to do was sit still.
Don eppes sat on a couch, flipping through channels on a new widescreen tv that sat in front of the hallowed furniture. Unfortunately it seemed that old crime shows were the only things on at 1 AM besides old reruns of Dr. Phil. The agent repositioned himself, taking care not to jostle his bicep as he did. Despite his father's concerns it really wasn't that bad. It had looked worse at the scene, as his team had duly noted. Megan and the others had already checked in on him, as had Larry and Amita, much to his delight. The only one missing was Charlie.
With a frown, he looked at his watch. Allen had gone to bed an hour ago, after obtaining vague promises of an early night. Don wasn't tired at all but it had little to do with the adrenaline of the day. For some reason claustrophobia had latched onto him, and Don resisted the urge the squirm away from the deep cushions of the couch.
He was finally settling on an old western when he heard the sound of retreating tires. Climbing to his feet, he went to the door to greet his brother, more than happy to have his sibling back again. It had surprised him how much he had felt the youngest's absence - it was something he would have shied away from years ago but was now making sure to cherish. It was present now in the subtle spring of his step.
What he was not expecting to find was an equally battered brother.
The curly haired man was dripping wet and seemed to have shrunk in size and age despite the briefcase that was held in a left hand. Large bruises covered his cheekbones all the way up to the hairline and were nterspersed with hastily cleaned cuts.
"Don!" Charlie exclaimed. Before the elder Eppes could react Charlie was a hairsbreadth from his wound, examining the bandaging critically.
"Charlie…" Don began but Charlie interrupted him again.
" Are you alright Don? Dad called me while I was in the gas station Said you'd been shot. I hurried as fast as I could. Sorry I couldn't get here sooner…." Charlie trailed off as he felt a stare bore into his head. Uh oh. A silent Don was never a good Don.
"Are you saying you got into an accident because of me?"
"No, it was completely my fault. I didn't see the guy - I don't think he had his lights on."
"You don't think?"
"I don't know - he was gone when I woke up." Whoops. Charlie felt a sudden need to retract his last words.
"Woke up…" Don said slowly.
Charlie walked into the living room, shedding wet layers as he went.
"You should be resting Don," Charlie said helpfully..
Don continued staring at his brother in bewilderment.
Charlie was used to his brother's angry looks, but he did not recognize the look of self doubt that had had now latched onto the elder sibling's face.
"It wasn't your fault," Charlie reassured him.
The look of guilt deepened on Don's face.
"Sit down Charlie, I want to look at you."
Obliging with a sigh, Charlie leaned back into the soft, warming embrace of the cotton couch.
Don leaned down and tilted his head. "How can you be fussing about my bandages when you can't even clean your own properly?"
"It's fine Don, most have already closed."
Don's eyes slid down to the arm brace. Noticing, Charlie brushed it off. "Just a small sprain, really. I probably won't be carrying my briefcase the next few days or so but it'll heal with no problem."
Don slid a hand behind his brothers neck, feeling the pulse flutter in his palm. Delicate, like a bird. His heart ached a little as he leaned forward to hug his brother with one arm, head on a shoulder.
Charlie was surprised, but welcomed the gesture of affection with little resistance. Even at thirty, he felt the familiar security that Don's presence brought. If there was one thing he could count on, this was it. Even math could not offer a comparison.
"So easily hurt," Don muttered. Charlie frowned in confusion.
It hadn't escaped the elder Don that each time that he was injured, Charlie expressed similar symptoms. It was generally more on an emotional level, but now here was a blatant, physical expression of the man's devotion and investment in his sibling.
What have I done to deserve it, Don wondered. Their early years had been spent with boiling hatred on Don's side, followed by cool disregard in later years.
No, Don didn't deserve it, but he would take it and protect it as best as he knew how.
Don felt a little embarrassed as he pulled back from the hug but it quickly turned into an affectionate smile as Charlie messed with his hair.
"Go take a bath - I'm going to be up for a while," Don said.
Charlie smiled wryly. "I"m not sure I can join you - I'm pretty tired."
"Shoo," Don flapped his hands.
"Don't undo your stitches," Charlie warned, before disappearing into the hallway.
Don smiled wryly.