Ch. 9

Inner Turmoil

Confirmation was good, so the signal was a go. Agents in Kevlar vests and protective glasses rushed from concealment to converge on what used to be a meat packing plant. Guns raised and voices shouting, they rushed in to surround the last of the wanna-be smugglers and the remainder of their dirty cargo. The young men barely had time to register the numerous bodies surrounding them with various guns pointed at their heads, let alone take the time to grab weapons for themselves. They held up their hands, stumbling back and tripping over themselves. Several agents lowered their weapons and were on them like vultures on bad meat. Handcuffs clicked into place as other agents spread out to clear the area.

Don hauled one of the perps onto his feet. The guy looked no older than twenty, with a ratty looking face and stringy black hair. The guy was panting in panic, looking around wildly.

" What the hell!" he whined.

Don shoved him toward another agent to be taken away. " Shut up," he snapped. The second agent dragged the kid away, with the rest of the gang following, struggling pathetically and spitting out one continuous string of curses.

A voice in his ear-piece announced a section of the plant to be cleared, and other voices soon followed confirming the same. Don headed over to a crate containing the weapons nestled in straw. David was already there lifting up one of the guns by the butt. It was similar to the rifle David had hanging from his shoulder – sharp shooting but easy to handle. There were also various automatics, rapid fires, and sniper rifles of the kind that would have Agent Edgerton salivating over once he got a good look.

David checked the gun for a clip, but it was empty. He set it back in the crate, then shook his head in disbelief. " That's some nasty fire power they got. Think any of it made the streets?"

Don could only shrug uneasily. One of the agents, a tall blond woman, was crouching by the crate holding a clipboard and pen, taking inventory. The weapons had been intended for the military, but had been stolen en route – not by the recently arrested smugglers – but a group with a little more experience and a lot of bad luck. The group had been caught, but the weapons had remained at large until the young thugs somehow stumbled onto them.

There were three crates in the warehouse, which seemed a good sign. There had been seven crates in all, and those already confiscated had had every gun accounted for.

Megan came up to join Don and David.

" Not to get anyone's hopes up or anything," she said. " But I'd wager that every gun on the list will be in these crates. These boys may have stomach enough not to rat on their buddies, but they didn't strike me as the type to just up and start selling weapons on the street. The guys I talked to always seemed the most nervous when talking about the guns, almost like they didn't want them."

The blond agent moved on to the next crate, lifting guns to check the ones beneath. It didn't take her long to inventory everything, and her final analysis was a thumbs up: not a single gun was missing. Megan grinned proudly like a little kid who just kicked butt in a board game.

" See?"

Don grinned back. " Since when have I ever questioned you? Okay, people, let's get these weapons out of here and clean up."

The tops were placed back on the crates, then the crates themselves were hauled out into an awaiting armored truck. Don, Megan, and David headed from the warehouse to the cars parked outside the compound. David hurried on ahead, being one of the ones to escort the truck to the nearest military base. Don and Megan were left alone to talk, which for once Don found suddenly uncomfortable. He already knew what the conversation was going to be about.

" So, you and Charlie have a good talk?" she asked. Don visibly grimaced. Outside the weather was warm, but there was a cool breeze that made it comfortable, even pleasant. Yet Don found no pleasure in it.

Megan lifted her brow. " I take it that's a no."

" Hey, I tried. believe me, I tried. You said not to push the matter, so I didn't. But Charlie... It's like he's shut himself away, and keeps shutting himself away deeper and deeper. He keeps telling me he needs time to think, but it's like the more he thinks, the worse it gets. Crap, he hasn't been back to school for two days. First he couldn't stand the thought of not going, now he won't go at all."

At this, Megan furrowed her brow thoughtfully. " Weird."

Don sighed. " You're telling me."

" Well, then, tell me how he's been acting around home? Are you still trying to get him to talk?"

A muscle in Don's jaw twitched. " Yeah."

" And?"

" I told you, he says he has to think. Other than that, he doesn't say much, not even to dad. Dad tells me he's working on some kind of project, keeps locking himself in his room, hardly comes down. Dad can't even tell me if it's more PvsNP stuff. Last time I saw Charlie was yesterday, and I gotta say he looks like crap. He looks sick, scared."

They climbed a short grassy incline up to the road and the car parked on the other side of the street with the rest of the vehicles. Don got into the drivers side while Megan crawled into the passenger side. But instead of starting the car, Don just sat there, staring vaguely out the windshield. An image of Charlie had popped into his mind, one of him sitting huddled in the corner of the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. It was the first thing Don had seen when he came to the house yesterday. Charlie had been wearing that distant, spaced-out look, which was a normal look for him – not the fear, however. He had looked sick with unease, and when Don had moved closer, he saw that Charlie was shivering. When Don moved even closer, Charlie shrank back without ever looking at Don. And for a moment, Don thought Charlie had been about to cry.

Don had almost wanted to cry himself, or at least start cursing non-stop. Charlie's behavior was driving him crazy; breaking his heart and making him angry at the same time. He wanted to yell at Charlie, shake him until he snapped from his terror, then hug him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Don just wanted it to end. He just wanted his brother back.

" Don?"

Don snapped his head around to look at Megan. Her demeanor was one of pure sympathy.

" What do I do, Megan?" he asked, and found the asking easier than he had thought. He hated asking for help, but felt he never had needed it more. This was far too important than his pride.

Megan sighed, then shrugged. " Don't stop until he talks to you. Persistence pays off, Don, believe me. Charlie will talk. Be patient, be present, and he will talk."

" But how long do I have to wait? How long will this keep going on?"

" Not long, I would think. Charlie..." she sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth. " Okay, this is going to sound a little wrong, but Charlie is weakening emotionally, mentally. Now's the time to take advantage of that."

Don looked at Megan quizzically. " You mean advantage of him mentally going all to pieces?"

Megan winced. " Yeah. Exactly. But it's not as bad as it sounds. You're not really using it against him. You're giving him what he needs... someone to trust, a shoulder to cry on, stuff like that. He wants to talk, Don, he just doesn't realize it yet."

Once again, weariness became like a led-laden pack on Don's shoulders. He started the car and pulled from the curb to head back to headquarters. Paperwork could wait until tomorrow.

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Don pulled into the driveway of Charlie's house.

Yep, Charlie's house, get used to it Don, should have already, he thought. The late afternoon made the day golden, and as Don got out of the car he caught the distant but pleasant sounds of dogs barking and children shouting in play. It brought a brief smile to his lips, and memories of running up and down these same streets with his own buddies, making similar sounds. But it didn't ease the tension tightening in his shoulders. He took a deep, cleansing breath and headed to the door.

How do you talk to a guy who won't even let anyone touch him?

Don opened the door and stepped into the cool interior. The air smelled good, spicy, and he could hear his dad clattering around the kitchen. Don's gaze, however, went straight to the couch, but he found it empty. He did not know why, but he felt a strange inkling of relief at that. He had never really realized how badly he'd been shaken up seeing Charlie huddled like a frightened child on that couch. Don never liked seeing Charlie frightened period.

Don made his way into the kitchen where he saw his dad sprinkling pepper into a big pot. From the smell alone that made his stomach grumble, Don knew it to be chili.

" Hey dad," Don said.

Alan gasped, and nearly dropped the pepper-shaker into the pot. " Donnie! Whoa, don't sneak up on me like that."

Don squinted in confusion. " I wasn't sneaking."

Alan held up a finger as he set the shaker down and grabbed the salt. " Not intentionally, mind you. But all that FBI training has apparently caused you to develop a silent streak over the years. I didn't even hear you come in." Alan shook some salt into the pot, then stirred it with a wooden spoon. Don smiled, feeling slightly proud – not of startling his dad – but of having the ability to move without being noticed.

" What kind of chili is that?" he asked. " Your's or your great uncle's?"

Alan smirked. " Great Uncle Lou's."

" Do I need to run out and get the antacid?"

Alan's smirk broadened into a grin, and he looked at his oldest son with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. " Oh, come on Donnie, it's not that bad. You just need an iron stomach for it like mine."

Don snorted derisively and rolled his eyes. " Yeah, iron, this coming from the man who drank that whole bottle of Mylanta the last time you made this stuff."

Alan waved a dismissive hand. " Relax, Donnie, I lowered it down to two-alarm."

" That still may not be enough. Hey, wait, doesn't Charlie hate that chili?"

Alan slowed in his stirring, and his smile faded. " He, um, probably won't be having any. Hasn't been feeling too good?"

Don stiffened. " Still? Where is he?"

" Well, he was on the couch. But that kid can be as sneaky as you when he wants to, so he's either in his room, the solarium, or out in the garage."

Alan lifted the spoon from the pot and tapped it methodically onto the rim, knocking bits of meat and sauce back into the mixture. Don studied his father's lined face, and knew from his troubled expression that he had something to say, something difficult, just not the words to say it yet.

" He doesn't look too good, Donnie," Alan stated at last. He then looked at Don suddenly, imploringly, even a little scared. " He hardly comes out of his room, doesn't talk, and I don't know if he's been sleeping or eating at all. I mean I'm assuming he's not because I never see him at dinner and he has dark circles under his eyes. He acts unsteady on his feet. I think he's losing weight, Don. He looks like he is. You can see his ribs when he hunches up on the couch like he keeps doing. He won't even go outside, not even to feed the fish. He loves those fish, Don! And this constant silent treatment..."

Don held up his hands, halting his father before he could go on. The last time Don had seen his father this distressed was when Charlie didn't come home from classes, and Don had made the call that he was missing.

" Dad, calm down. Listen, I'm going to figure this out, okay? I promise. That's why I need to find Charlie."

" Why, to talk to him? Don, he hasn't said a word all day, not even that line about him needing to think."

Don blinked in surprise. " Nothing?"

" Nothing, Don. It's like he's suddenly decided to take a vow of silence. I've been trying to talk to him all day, not even about what's bothering him, but other stuff. Even math. This is scaring me, Donnie. One more day of this and I'm dragging him to the hospital, kicking and screaming if I have to."

A shock of alarm shot down Don's spine, accompanied by an image of his timid, good-hearted, caring little brother stuck in some mental institution with schizophrenics and bi-polar maniacs. Because that is exactly what would happen if Charlie was forced to go to the doctor against his will. He would fight it, they would sedate him, then strap him down. The next thing they would know, the doctor will have convinced them to sign papers committing Charlie, just until they found out what was wrong. But they would never find out, because Charlie would be far too lost in his own terror, having been ripped from his own world. He would never be Charlie again, and Don would have permanently lost his brother.

" Dad," Don said, a little forcefully. " I – will – talk to him. Okay? I will find out what's wrong. Just please don't do anything like... what you said. If something did happen to Charlie other than what he told us, it will only make matters worse. I talked to Megan about it and she said so. So let's just try what we can before we resort to force."

Alan stared at Don for a moment, then sighed and turned back to the pot simmering with chili. " Yeah, you're right, Donnie. It's just scaring me, it really is."

Don moved forward, putting his arm around his father's shoulders and giving them a brief squeeze. " I'll talk to him dad. And I'll keep trying to talk to him. I don't care how long it takes."

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All of Charlie's usual house-haunts were a bust, leaving only one – the garage. Don slowly descended the stairs, hesitant because he did not know what he was going to find, and in truth did not want to know. A large part of him expected to see Charlie in a sea of blackboards, scribbling down an unsolvable equation that he once said he would never work on again.

What Don found instead sent his mind reeling in shock, causing him to pause on the last step.

Charlie wasn't doing anything. He was sitting in the middle of the floor, on his knees, with his back turned toward the stairs. He was hunched up, staring at something on the floor. Alan had been right. Don could see the faint outline of Charlie's ribcage through his dark-blue T-shirt. One arm was draped loosely over his leg, the other was pressed to his side, and he appeared to be rocking slightly back and forth.

Don approached Charlie with the cat-like silence he never realized he had possessed until today. He moved around his brother, trying to see his face without getting too near and startling him. It still gave him the impression of approaching a wild, hurt, and frightened animal. Charlie was staring at a wrinkled, stained piece of paper covered in equations, and through Charlie's mess of hair Don could see parts of his face. Tears dripped from Charlie's eyes onto the paper.

Don would never understand Charlie's equations unless explained to him, but that did not mean they didn't spark some familiarity if Don saw them again. What he saw on the paper was new to him, a whole new project telling Charlie something that Charlie could not deal with. Not PvsNp, but something far worse, something painful.

Pity and sorrow swelled in Don's chest, and for a brief moment he forgot all else except for his brother's agony. He reached out a hand, and the tips of his fingers touched Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie reacted in the blink of an eye, jerking to life then scrambling back, falling several times, until his escape was blocked by the wall. He huddled against it, shaking and tensing as though bracing himself for something. Then his eyes met the alarmed gaze of his older brother, and the tension subsided... though not the shaking.

Charlie looked confused, horribly confused, as though he had forgotten where he was.

" D-Don?"

Don moved a little closer to Charlie and crouched in front of him. Charlie's eyes never left him. He was watching Don, watching Don and waiting, and Don hated seeing it.

" Yeah, buddy, it's me. We need to talk."

Charlie began to look wildly about, and Don knew he was trying to find an escape route.

" Charlie? Charlie, you need to relax, pal. Look at me."

Charlie averted his gaze to his drawn up knees. His face had taken on a sickly shade of white, contrasted by the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like a ghost; gaunt, lost, and forever trapped.

" Look at me," Don said more forcefully, but keeping a gentle undertone.

Gradually, Charlie acquiesced, lifting his his dark eyes to meet Don's. Another tear spilled over, tracing a wet path down Charlie's cheek.

Don shifted to get more comfortable, folding his legs Indian style. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together as assurance to Charlie that Don had no intentions of making physical contact. They sat in silence for a moment as Don held Charlie's frightened and confused gaze, making sure Charlie wouldn't try to look away.

" What's wrong buddy?" Don finally asked. Charlie seemed to shrink, and his eyes began to rove off to the right.

" Hey, no, Charlie, look at me. Do not look away. Now listen to me. Something's wrong, and I need to know what it is, okay? I can't help you if I don't know what it is."

Two more tears fell from Charlie's eyes. He was struggling to not look away, Don could tell. The muscles in his jaw were twitching, and his throat moved as Charlie swallowed several times.

" Can you tell me about the dream?"

Though tears were already falling, Charlie looked ready to break into a sob. He was trembling even more, struggling against something within; himself perhaps, or his own terror. Megan had been right. Charlie did want to tell. But whatever it was holding him back was strong, and all Don could do to help was try to find the right words to coax him through.

It was hard keeping himself from putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder or embracing him. Don wanted to so badly, and - like Charlie - wasn't normally one for doing such things.

" It's all right, Charlie. Come on, buddy, don't do this to yourself. You don't have to. Whatever it is... we can deal with it. I'll help you to. Don't let it eat you up like this, Charlie. Don't let it do this to you. You don't have to. You're in control, not this... thing you're so afraid of. Tell me what it is. I promise, I'll just listen for now. I won't say or do anything, I swear. Can't you just please tell me?"

Charlie continued to struggle. Don glanced over his shoulder, then leaned to the side to snatch up Charlie's paper. He held it up for Charlie to see.

" Is it this?" Don asked. Charlie's gaze shifted to the paper, and the struggle, for a moment, ceased. Suddenly, with the quickness of a striking snake, Charlie's hand lashed out to grab the paper. He then proceeded to tear it into the smallest pieces he could, his expression haunted by sadness and rage. Pieces of paper fell around Charlie like twirling bits of snow, clinging to his clothes or drifting to the floor. When he was done, he drew his hands back behind his knees, with one hand clutching his side, panting with exertion.

Don was taken back, numbed speechless, and now wholly disturbed.

" What – what was that Charlie?"

Charlie didn't answer, and neither was he meeting Don's gaze. Don decided to try something different, in hopes of helping Charlie to relax a little.

" Hey, buddy, look at me."

Charlie did, resuming his struggle.

" We caught the guys, the smugglers, today. We found the gang, the weapons, and every weapon was accounted for. You know how Charlie?"

Charlie just stared at him.

Don smiled. " That equation you gave us worked out great. You really came through, pal. But you always come through. I know I don't say it much, and I know I should but... I really appreciate your help. I mean we really couldn't have done it without you. Crap, a lot of it we probably couldn't have done without you. Or, at least, not as fast as we do it now. The thing is Charlie, you're always helping me. So why won't you let me help you? If you can come through for me, like you always do, why can't I for you. I want to Charlie, I really want to help. And I'll sit here all night, all week even, until I can. I'm not going to leave you like this, Charlie. I can't and I won't. So I'll wait until you're ready. Okay?"

The struggle was increasing, and Charlie's eyes squinted as he fought back a flood of tears that fell all the same. It made Don suddenly uneasy, and he wondered if he had said the right things, or had made Charlie feel worse by laying on a guilt trip. Charlie burdened himself with the problems of others far too easily, and Don had forgotten that.

Charlie inhaled a shuddering breath, as though breathing for the first time in a long while. When he released the breath, his body jerked in spasmodic, silent sobbing.

" Y-You'll think I'm crazy," he said in a small voice, so helpless and unsteady that it added another stab of pain to Don's already overwhelmed heart.

Don shook his head vehemently. " No, no I won't..."

Charlie's hand shot up to his head, rubbing his temple hard in violent agitation. He began rocking back and forth. " You will, Don, you will. I do. I am. I'm seeing things, Don. Everywhere. I look, and he's there. I'm supposed to be dead, Don. I'm supposed to be dead. Head trauma, back injury, blood... there was blood. That attracts animals. It's all in the numbers. They say it to me over and over, and I can't find the factors that would make them say otherwise. I always go back to the blood, and the cold. I should have frozen to death, or been eaten. So how could I have survived Don, because of him? He wasn't real, he was just a dream. He is a dream, Don! He was supposed to be a dream, so why am I seeing him! I can't think Don, I can't figure it out! Help me figure it out, please! Please, I need help figuring it out Don! Please...?"

Charlie dropped his head onto his knees and wept fitfully.

Don could only watch, lost in his own confusion. The urge to embrace his brother was almost torturous. But another thankful attribute of FBI training was the ability to always keep a clear head, no matter what else was going on in his brain or in his heart.

" Who is 'he' Charlie? Who do you keep seeing?"

" Leon! I keep seeing Leon!" Charlie lifted his head, looking at Don with wild, unfocused eyes. " He was supposed to be a dream Don. He had to be a dream! It didn't make sense! He said he needed me, as a hostage, against the cops. So why would he get rid of me? I woke up outside, but he had me trapped! He was always mad Don..." Charlie shuddered, and Don didn't think he could shrink any smaller, but he did, as though trying to shrink out of existence. " He was always angry with me... He attacked me... But the bruises are from the fall..."

Charlie's energy was quickly draining away. His trembling sank into occasional tremors, then slights jerks of his sagging shoulders. He rested his chin on his knees, and his eyes grew distant with weariness.

Don's first thought was that Charlie was losing it, but he shoved the thought to the far reaches of his mind. He wasn't even going to begin to explore that possibility. Everything that Charlie had said was more logically along the lines of what Megan had said, that Charlie was suppressing. What he had described did not sound like any dream. No dream would cause this much anguish in a person.

" Charlie... People don't always make sense. I've told you this..."

Charlie lifted his head, looking desperately at Don. " He was a dream, Don! He had to be, he can't be real!" He lowered his head back onto his knees, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes. " He can't be real, Don. B-but I see him..."

Don took another look at Charlie's hand gripping his side.

" You hurt, Buddy?"

Charlie sniffed, digging the heel of his hand into his unbruised eye. " My side is sore."

" Why won't you go see a doctor?"

Charlie shuddered again. " I – I don't... I don't..."

" Want anyone one touching you?"

Charlie nodded.

" Why?"

Charlie sniffed again, then shook his head. " I don't know... I don't know Don. What does that mean? What's wrong with me? I don't understand..."

Crap, Charlie, neither do I, Don thought. His own feeling of helplessness was creeping back in on him. Then he studied Charlie, noted his weariness, the lack of any tension in his body. Charlie was talking, and had told Don what needed to be said. No, the problem wasn't resolved, but things had changed. something had finally been accomplished, and the helplessness coward back some.

Charlie had confided in Don, and it brought to Don a small sense of relief.

But what Charlie had told Don also brought alarm. If what Charlie had experienced was a dream, then Don had no clue as to what to do. If it wasn't a dream, then Don knew exactly what to do. If someone had hurt his brother, they needed to be caught.

They needed to pay.

" Listen, Charlie. I want you to tell me everything that happened in this dream, all right? Everything you can. I know it'll be hard, and you don't have to if you don't want to, but it'll help, trust me. It's never good to just hold things inside, you need to let other people know. If it's just a dream, Charlie, then it can't hurt you."

" It was a dream," Charlie persisted.

" Yeah, okay buddy. It was a dream. Can you tell me about it?"

" I want to forget, Don..."

Don sighed. " But you can't, can you."

Charlie nodded miserably.

" Then just tell me about it... I'll listen."

There was a very long moment of hesitation, another battle within Charlie. But with the truth out, the struggle was far less intense. Charlie had the choice whether or not to tell, but the resigned look on his face made Don aware that Charlie felt he had no choice.

Finally, Charlie nodded, and told.

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A/N: Yeesss, precioussss, yyyyeeessss. Sorry, don't know what got into me. Okay, Charlie's talking, but please don't think it's all resolved Much more diabolicalness (yes, I know that doesn't sound grammatically correct) to come.