A/N: I would like to thank everyone for their comments. A very motivating thing, comments. However, though I would like to be quick about dishing out the chapters, this story is rather tricky to write. Lots and lots of emotional turmoil ahead, not just for Charlie but for Don as well, and I want to get it right. Not skimp on anything that could be very interesting.

Alice I – I didn't take offense to your comment. If anything, I agreed with it. The funny thing is, the reason I like Charlie's character so much is that I can kind of relate to it on certain aspects. And yet I find him a difficult character to write about. Emotionally he can go in all kinds of directions. But then again that is what's making this story so fun, and his character fun to work with. I find him at his most interesting when he's emotional and unable to cope. As for a beta, I probably should get one, but I'm too lazy.

Ch. 5

Reasoning

A harsh, pulsating beep assaulted Charlie's ears to stab into his brain. He winced, and habitually reached out to slap the alarm clock that insisted on screeching at him. When the sound finally died, Charlie brought his hand to his face and rubbed. He winced again when he dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and pain ruptured throughout his eye-socket. He sucked in a sharp breath, causing a throbbing pain to his side. Charlie bolted upright in his bed and arched his back from even more pain stinging his flesh and making his muscles feel as though they were being ripped. He held the sheets of his bed in a death grip until the pain slowly ebbed away enough for him to function on a mental stand point. He then gradually melted into a slump, shivering and glancing around in absolute confusion.

Sunlight spilled through the gap in his curtains in three narrow shafts that fell on the edge of his bed, a discarded shoe, and bare floor. Charlie stared at the light, then glanced around again in uncertainty. He began remembering things that made his stomach clench and his heart pound mercilessly. He remembered waking up, walking home, Don, Don saying something. What he did not remember was going to bed. It was strange how fragmented his thoughts were being. The things he tried to remember, or remember clearly, he could not. The things he wanted to forget he remembered all too clearly.

Charlie put his hand to his throbbing side, only to snatch it away with a grimace. The area was tender, yet so far it only hindered his breathing if he breathed too deep.

Leon kicked me there, Charlie thought, and he cringed. No, the fall did that. It was the fall. Leon was only a dream.

Three days.

Don had said something about Charlie being gone for three days.

So why am I still alive? Leon?

No, it was the fall. I was unconscious. That is the only logical explanation, the only possible conclusion. Leon had needed me, so why get rid of me? I was unconscious for three days, in an unknown place that is hard to find, so couldn't be found. Leon was a dream, just a dream...

Charlie pulled back the covers and forced his stiff and aching body from the warm safety of the bed. He stood tentatively on legs that at first did not want to cooperate. He wavered when his head spun and his legs quaked. He shook his head clear, then forced his legs to move and take him to the door. Once the blood started flowing to his rigid limbs, his head quickly cleared.

Charlie shuffled to the door, opening it a crack and peering out into an empty hall thick with silence. Charlie did not know why, but he felt relieved for the emptiness. He did not want to encounter anyone. At least... not yet. Not quite yet. He stepped out of his room and made his way to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and walked up to the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. The bruise on his eye was a massively dark stain crawling up to become one with the even darker bruise on his forehead.

Maybe I should see a doctor. But the thought made Charlie ill, though he was not sure why.

Three days. That was how long Charlie had been exposed to the elements. Statistically, he should be dead. A corpse for the wild animals to pick at, rotting like discarded food in the heat of the sun.

Unless Leon...

No, that had been a dream. a dream, a dream... a dream a dream a dream...

Charlie lifted his hand to his ribs. Bile shot burning into his throat. He whirled to the side, dropping to his knees and opening the toilet lid just in time, heaving with all he had despite the agony it caused.

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Don's eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. Since waking, they had yet to turn elsewhere other than the stairs. His mind was being just as rebellious. He had slept in his clothes, and needed to shower and change before going to work. He had his bag with his extra clothes next to him by the recliner, but that was as far as he had gotten in terms of getting ready. He found he couldn't even move, not yet, not until he saw Charlie head down the stairs.

He could hear his father in the kitchen, banging pots and tapping cooking utensils as he prepared breakfast. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and fruit from what Don could smell once he was able to sort the smells. According to Charlie, their dad hardly cooked big breakfasts anymore since Charlie was always having to rush somewhere so having to settle on cereal. So there was no way to look at his father's recent bout of heavy cooking other than as preparation for a celebratory meal at the return of his youngest son.

Despite the mind-numbing relief Don felt at having his brother back, it was still not enough for want of a celebration, at least not in his mind. It still did not feel like Charlie was back, which was why his mind would not cooperate, not until he saw Charlie in the flesh this morning.

Even with all the clattering in the kitchen, Don thought he caught the distinct rush of water that could only come from a shower. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the sound but stayed reserved on whether to see this as normal Charlie behavior. It stopped twenty minutes later. Don sat up, staring intently at the top of the stairs. He heard the creak of the floor-boards, the lower pitched whine of the door, and five minutes later saw Charlie's slender form emerging from the darkness of the hallway as he descended.

Don stiffened in surprise. Charlie was fully dressed in a dark-green T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and the jacket he normally wore to classes. All that was missing was his back-pack, which was still lying by the garage door, stained and muddy.

No, something else was missing. It was something that could not be seen unless looked for, but for Don it stood out like the bruises on Charlie's face.

Charlie's normal descent down any flight of stairs was always a visual testament to the energy abounding in the younger man. Even when not bursting with excitement or anticipation, he was always down the stairs within seconds. It had always amazed Don how Charlie could take stairs without tripping and breaking his neck.

Today, Charlie moved slowly, even cautiously it seemed, as though he did not trust each step. His eyes, thankfully, had lost the blankness of yesterday. Not, however, the uneasiness. Don could see it, because it was marring the usual bright countenance of his brother's face. Charlie was feigning, but he never had been good at keeping secrets, let alone lying.

Don rose from the chair, clearing his throat loudly to alert Charlie without startling him. " Hey Charlie."

Charlie's head snapped around, and he looked at Don in brief uncertainty before averting his gaze to the kitchen. " Hey Don. What's dad making? smells great. Have you seen my back pack?"

" Yeah, by the garage. Hey, you feeling okay today?"

Charlie grabbed the strap of his bag and dragged it over to the front door. He then knelt and began rummaging through it. " Yeah, great, why?"

Don's eyes widened. Why? For one minuscule moment, Don actually thought that Charlie was messing with him.

" Why? Charlie, you were missing for three days."

Charlie paused, then looked over his shoulders and up at Don. A flicker of fear passed like lightning in Charlie's gaze, only to be quickly smothered by his mask of normalcy. " I know." He then looked back at his bag, stood, and wiped his hands off on his thighs.

" You know?" Don said, feeling as though he had been slapped. " Funny, Charlie, because you sure as hell don't act like you know. You should be in a hospital, getting checked for broken bones and cuts. Speaking of which, you do anything about those cuts on your back?"

The sounds in the kitchen stopped abruptly, and Don knew that their dad had heard and was listening in, but Don didn't care. Charlie turned, paling and giving Don a momentary look of alarm before averting his gaze beyond him. Don nodded sharply.

" Yeah, I saw the cuts on your back, Charlie. Did you get them cleaned? Because they were looking pretty nasty."

Charlie kept wiping one hand along his hip, and his eyes took on that distant, unfocused gaze he always wore when in the throes of equation cracking or when troubled. " You, um... How did you...?"

Don did not answer right away as he studied his brother. The fear was back, and refused to fade away so easily again. But Charlie was obviously trying to fight it, his throat moving in a tight swallow and the muscles of his jaw twitching.

" I didn't touch you, if that's what you're asking," Don assured, irritation betraying itself in his biting tone, which made Don want to kick himself. Charlie looked so much like a little kid at that moment, a kid that someone had smacked without provocation. A kid who had been hurt for no reason, and no amount of apologies could mend it. Don remembered as a kid the times he would get so mad at Charlie for some mundane little annoyance, and the remorse Charlie would so sincerely express. It had always brought about such terrible feelings of guilt in Don, which in turn would infuriate him and make him even madder at Charlie. Charlie had the bad habit of laying all responsibility - responsibility that was not even his to begin with - on his own shoulders. Charlie really could do no wrong, despite his annoying attributes, but had yet to ever realize this for himself.

Whatever had happened to Charlie, Charlie was probably blaming himself for it right now.

The thought stifled Don's rising frustration, as did recalling the image of Charlie cringing away from him like a kicked dog.

Don let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from clasping Charlie on the shoulder. " What happened, buddy. Do you remember?"

Don poured all the kindness he could, and worry he felt, into his words, and it seemed to work. Charlie blinked, then squinted thoughtfully.

" I um... It was raining, hard. I was trying to get home before it hit but I didn't. I couldn't see, so I got lost. I lost control of the bike and," he shrugged, almost indifferently, " I fell. I went rolling down this really steep hill, hit my head, and was out. I had some weird dreams. I guess I thought they were real but..." a strange, almost wistful smile spread on Charlie's face. " They were just dreams." Moisture shimmered in Charlie's eyes. " That's all." He then looked at Don, still smiling. " You know how real dreams can be."

Don's eyes roved over his brother's face, stopping on the darkest bruise on his forehead. " Maybe we should get that checked..."

Don raised a hand to point at the bruise, and Charlie jerked back, his smile vanishing into what Don could have sworn was panic. " No! No, I don't need it checked. I'm fine, Don, really." Charlie's voice became more steady, more assured, and the smile returned forced and hesitant. " It's just a bump. I'm fine, I don't need a doctor. What I do need is a ride to school."

He moved past Don, walking in his usual, enthusiastic way. Don turned and watched him incredulously as he headed for the dining room. It was a weird scene, Charlie outwardly acting the way he always did, though his face was marred by discoloration. During Charlie's darker days in high school, when he was the target for every bully and jealous hot-head because of his age, size, and brains, a shiner usually had him jumpy and uncomfortable for weeks.

The fact that Charlie was smiling made the present situation even more surreal. Don's thoughts went to Megan Reeves, and what she might have to say about all this if she saw it. It was a tempting thought, bringing her over to observe Charlie. Don had a hard enough time understanding his brother's ways on a normal day.

Don brought his hands out of his pockets to plant on his hips. He could hear Charlie talking to their dad in the kitchen, asking him for a ride to school.

" Your bike busted up, Charlie?" Alan asked. " I could take a look at it."

" I'll look at it when I get home. I just need a ride."

Don moved closer to the kitchen, standing outside the entry and out of sight. Their father had resumed cooking, but with a lot less noise involved.

" Oh, come on Charlie, your bike can't be that bad off. You love riding to school..."

Don, at first, was taken back that their dad hadn't agreed to take Charlie right off, or suggest it to begin with, or even flat out deny it and force Charlie to stay home. But Don was quick to catch the cautious undertone as his father spoke; something Charlie would not notice since it wasn't meant to be obvious. Alan was slick that way, badgering truths out of his sons without an actual direct confrontation. Don had eventually caught on to it, but Charlie – whose mind was forever in all directions but the here and now – had yet to realize their father's subtlety. Normally, Alan did not resort to such tactics - unless it was absolutely necessary such as now - since it wasn't fair to Charlie.

" I know, I just... Please dad?"

Don heard his father sigh heavily. " Charlie, I don't think it's a good idea for you to go back to work this soon. You were in an accident, out cold for days. You won't even go see a doctor. But you'll go to work? What's going on with you?"

The wheedling was over. Now it was serious.

" Dad..." Charlie's voice wavered, and it shocked and disturbed Don the amount of desperation he heard backing that single word.

" Please."

" Why, Charlie? Why is it so important you go back to work now...?"

Don couldn't take it anymore. He stepped around into view, leaning his shoulder against the entry way frame. " I'll take you Charlie."

Charlie looked at Don, and Don saw, yet again, a flicker of fear. " What? You will? A-are you sure. I-I mean you have to go to work..."

Don raised both his hands in a placating way. " Charlie, relax, it's okay. It's no big deal. I'm just going in to finish paperwork. I'll take you and pick you up, no problem."

Charlie seemed to melt with relief so great Don thought he could feel it pushing the tension away. And in Charlie's eyes was the most heart-felt thank you that no words could ever express. But he said them all the same, and with a small smile.

" Th-thanks... Don."

Don nodded, then looked beyond Charlie's shoulder at his father's withering and questioning look at being undermined. Smoke began coiling from the pan where bacon sizzled. Don gestured toward it, which caused Charlie to flinch.

" Dad, the pan..."

Alan looked at the now smoking bacon. " Oh!" He lifted the pan from the stove, and Charlie quickly moved out of the way, heading to the dining room, ducking past Don though Don stepped out of his way.

Don turned his head enough to see Charlie out of the corner of his eye. His little brother was moving back into the living room, probably making for his bag.

" Don, Don," he heard his father hiss, and turned back. Alan was still at the stove, keeping the pan off the burner. " What...?" He began irritably.

" If he wants to go that badly, just let him. It can't hurt. Amita and Larry will be there. Besides, maybe they can talk a little sense into him."

Alan sagged in apparent defeat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He suddenly seemed so weary to Don that Don wondered if he had gotten any sleep last night, or had kept checking on Charlie just to make sure he was still there.

" Did you talk to him?" Alan asked.

Don raised his eyebrows and let out a slow breath. " Yeah."

" And?"

Don looked to the floor. " He seems... really set against going to see a doctor." Then he shrugged. " I don't get it."

" Donnie, there's nothing to get, not yet. First thing's first, and that first thing is us getting him checked up. Since you're driving him to work, maybe you should take a little detour. Drive him to the emergency room." Alan began shoveling the burnt bacon from the pan with a plastic spatula and setting it on a plate by the stove. " Of course why you haven't been able to talk him into going... I mean if you asked him to jump off a bridge he'd probably do it. Why not something simple like going to a doctor?"

Don shifted slightly in discomfort. It was the same question he was asking himself, even now. Yes he could try and force Charlie to go. He could yell at him, intimidate him, beg him, drive guilt so deep that Don could actually tell him to jump off a bridge and he would do it without question. Don knew he had a certain amount of influence over his brother. He also knew he took advantage of it, even if he was not conscious about doing it. But now, when that influence would probably matter the most, Don found the prospect almost sickening. The mere suggestion of going to the doctor had brought such terror to Charlie... and Don still had the image of him cowering just because Don had tried to touch him burned into his brain.

How would he react to doctors checking him over?

There was something wrong, probably in Charlie's body, but definitely in his mind. It amazed Don that he was able to suppress the urge to force Charlie to tell him what was really going on, what really happened. No fall, no matter how bad, would cause this kind of odd agitation. Grilling someone for info had become an instinctual reaction in Don from years of trying to force others into telling truths, plots, and motives. But Charlie wasn't a suspect. Charlie was his brother; his hurt, scared, confused little brother, and Don did not want to be the one who caused him even more pain and fear. He wanted to be the one to take it away.

Alan looked at his oldest son, and Don could see the same desire gnawing at his father, weighing him down. They were both on the same page, both seeing beyond Charlie's crumbling mask of normality but unable to know what it was they saw.

" Something's wrong, Donnie. And I won't deny that it's scaring the hell out of me."

Don looked at the floor. " Yeah... Me too."

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A/N: I hope this new rendition of ch.5 is more how it should be, and apologize for Alan's shoddy portrayal. I did kind of neglect Alan's character, mostly because I was focusing on Don and Charlie. Hopefully it's now more tidied up and makes better sense. There will be more Alan in later chapters, and more emotion on his part as well. Thanks to everyone who pointed it out and I hope this new chapter works out better. The next chapter will be coming out soon.