Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback (and not lynching me for that cliff hanger).

Warning: this part contains minor violence and Charlie h/c. Don't read if you don't like that kind of thing.

Many thanks to my beta lostinwonderland1226.

Proving Ground

Part 5/6

by Megan

When dealing with people, let us remember we are not dealing with creatures of logic. We are dealing with creatures of emotion, creatures bustling with prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity.

-Dale Carnegie

"Good evening, Professor. Having a rough night, are we?" Tony taunted as he moved his hands to Charlie's throat.

Unable to respond, much less breathe, Charlie closed his eyes and focused on forcing air past the crushing pressure on his throat, and blood pooling in his mouth.

With a grunt, Tony used his bulk, and the fact Charlie was still exhausted, to easily haul him up and away from the stairs, and push his back against the unforgiving wood of a bookshelf.

Charlie's vision blackened around the edges, and he was sure his neck was going to snap due to the tremendous pressure being exerted on it. The moment his back pressed against the shelf, he felt the grasp around his throat loosen enough for him to take a gasping breath. Spitting out blood at the same time, he was slightly satisfied to see it had landed on Tony's arms. Tony didn't flinch.

"Why?" Charlie managed to croak out.

"Do you know what it's like always having to prove yourself to someone? I couldn't prove myself to Dad with brains, so now I'm going to do it with brawn. You had your chance, professor."

"You're not going to get away with this, Tony." Charlie closed his eyes and tried to quell the terror that was rising in his gut. His limbs went cold with the realization that he was going to die unless he did something quick. "My -"

"I don't care! As long as I have my father's approval, I don't care what happens to me!"

Charlie felt one of Tony's hands leave his throat and dig into the front of his shirt with bruising force. As Tony's anger spiked, Charlie felt himself pulled forward, and then slammed back against the shelf once, twice, three times. His muscles screamed in agony with each impact, and he was certain he was going to break in two. A groan escaped his throat.

As Tony's fit passed, Charlie felt his attacker's muscles relax slightly and realized this might be his only chance. With all the strength he could draw from his burning muscles, he brought his knee up and felt it solidly connect with Tony's groin. The reaction was instantaneous.

Tony shrieked in equal parts agony and surprise, and completely released Charlie at the same time.

With his mobility greatly reduced, Charlie turned for the stairs and called for his brother at the same time.

"Don! I need -" his speech cut out and he saw stars as something hard connected solidly with the back of his head, driving him to his knees. He was forced the rest of the way to his stomach as a boot pressed painfully into his lower back and started crushing him.

"That was very stupid, professor!"

"As are you. Step away from him and get on the ground," Don's dangerously low voice commanded.

Charlie turned his head and saw his brother, water still dripping from his hair and a gun in his hand as he slowly descended the stairs. The pressure on his back increased as Tony thought through his options.

"I said step away!" Don yelled.

He'd just shut off the water when his brother's terrified voice had permeated his recently relaxed mind. Throwing on a pair of pants, he'd grabbed his gun and run full speed to the stairs. The sight of Charlie, lying helpless on the ground with blood all over his face, had almost stopped his heart.

"Don't do it, Tony," he growled when he saw Charlie's eyes squeeze shut in pain and heard a moan escape his throat.

"I could kill him right now. Squeeze the life right out of him."

"Do it and I'll put a bullet in you. Get away from him!"

"You're bluffing," Tony sneered.

"He'll do it," Charlie's quiet voice responded. "He's very protective of... younger brother."

Inside, Don was cheering: way to go, Charlie.

Realizing he was in a no-win situation, Tony slowly stepped off of Charlie and moved backwards until Don ordered him onto the floor. The sneer never left his face.

Even though it hurt, Don stepped over Charlie in order to get to Tony. He quickly patted him down and drew his cuffs from the pocket of his pants, being as rough as possible as he yanked Tony's hands behind his back.

"Don't. Move," he ordered.

Rushing to the coffee table, he grabbed the phone and quickly called Terry, who promised to call David and get to the house as soon as possible.

Keeping one eye on Tony, Don rushed to Charlie's side. His younger brother was struggling to sit up, his harsh breathing filling the room. Crimson blood stained his chin and was starting to soak into his t-shirt. The metallic smell assaulted Don's nose as he knelt down.

"Here, Buddy. Let me give you a hand."

Gently placing his hands under Charlie's arms, he maneuvered his brother so his back was against the wall. His first aid training told him Charlie would be able to breathe easier sitting up. What he wasn't prepared for was the yelp of pain, and the way his brother's face contorted with agony when his back touched the wall.

"Charlie? Charlie, what's wrong?" he demanded, fearing his brother was seriously hurt. I just had to take that shower and leave him alone! Don chastised himself.

"My... back," Charlie ground out.

Don watched as Charlie twisted around so his left shoulder was pressed against the wall, his back to Don. The sound of Charlie's harsh breathing abated somewhat as he found himself a comfortable position.

Curious, and scared at the same time, Don left his right hand on Charlie's shoulder for support, and used his left to gently raise the back of his brother's t-shirt. His breath caught in his throat.

Only inches above the waist of Charlie's jeans, Don could see a blue discolouration in the shape of a boot starting to form on the pale skin. Raising the shirt further, he could see another bruise starting to form right below his shoulder blades. The skin was red, and the tissues were starting to swell. His anger at what Tony did to Charlie grew even more.

"Charlie, how did this happen?" he asked, his voice almost breaking with the effort it took to not march over to Tony and kick his face in.

"Oh my god!" Alan exclaimed, shocked. "What happened? Are you two all right? And why is there a strange man handcuffed on my living room floor?"

Despite feeling groggy from the cold medicine, Alan's sharp eyes took everything in. What stood out was how unresponsive Charlie was being to Don's ministrations. It was then he saw the blood staining Charlie's clothes and face.

"I'm calling an ambulance," he declared.

"No!" Charlie had managed to calm himself down enough to make his voice sound stronger and more stable than how he was feeling. "No ambulance... just cuts and bruises."

"Charlie, look at yourself!"

"It's all right, Dad. Please, I just need a minute." Charlie closed his eyes.

A loud knocking on the door caught everyone's attention.

"Don? Don, it's Terry," a voice called through the door.

"Terry?" Alan asked. "Donny, what the heck is going on?"

"Dad, just go let Terry in, okay? I'll explain later."

Once he showed Terry and David to the living room, Alan rushed over to his two sons. He could vaguely hear David reading the strange man on the floor his rights, but it was Charlie that was holding his attention.

His youngest son was pale, and breathing harder than he should be. Don's hand hovered above Charlie's lower back without touching it. Almost like he was protecting it.

"Charlie, I want you to let me call you an ambulance. Or at least take you to see a doctor," he said, leaning down to Charlie's level.

"I'm fine, Dad. Really." Charlie turned his head just enough that Alan could see his eyes were open. "Could someone give me a hand up?"

Immediately, Don and Alan responded, each grabbing him under the arms and lifting him to his feet. Only a small groan escaped, but other than that and the blood, Charlie really did seem fine.

"Dad, why don't you take Charlie upstairs and get him cleaned up? I'm going to have to go to the office to finish up with this first," Don ordered.

Alan helped Charlie up the stairs, supporting him occasionally as his balance was slightly off. Charlie seemed content not to talk. Alan had decided that if Charlie was hurt more seriously than he was letting on, he would be taken to the hospital kicking and screaming if need be.

Arriving at the bathroom, Alan gently pushed his son down onto the edge of the tub and got his first look at Charlie's throat.

"Charlie! What did he do to you?" Alan exclaimed as he gently took Charlie's chin in his hand and lifted to get a better look at his throat.

"It's not as bad at it looks," Charlie croaked out, his voice hoarse. "Could we talk... later?"

The purple bruising around his youngest son's throat formed the shape of two hands, causing Alan's anger to flare. Not only anger at the man that had done this, but at himself. If I hadn't had that stupid humidifier on, I might have heard sooner. He had been in bed resting peacefully while his son was being beaten in his own living room.

"Open up, Charlie. I want to see where this blood is coming from."

"I bit my tongue," Charlie replied as he obediently opened his mouth and allowed his father to turn his head side to side as he examined him.

"It looks like you bit the inside of your cheek as well."

Going over to the sink, Alan soaked a face cloth with warm water and passed it to Charlie with instructions to clean up his face. While Charlie was doing that, Alan went back to the kitchen and returned a few moments later with what looked like a glass of water.

"I want you to gargle with this, but don't swallow it." At Charlie's questioning look, he elaborated. "Warm salt water. It will clean those cuts in your mouth."

Nodding, Charlie stiffly got to his feet and stood in front of the sink. The warm water felt heavenly on his burning tongue, and within moments the metallic taste was out of his mouth. Feeling his adrenaline surge starting to fade, all Charlie wanted to do was go to bed and forget what had happened.

"Is there anything else I need to know about, Charlie? Did he hurt you anywhere else?" Alan raked his eyes over the rest of his son's body, looking for anything out the ordinary.

Charlie's fingers automatically went to the back of his head. He had completely forgotten about getting hit there with all his other injuries warring for his attention. There was a good sized knot back there, but no blood that he could feel.

This movement was not lost on Alan, who placed his hand on top of Charlie's, and gently touched the bump at the base of his skull.

"Go lie down, Charlie, and I'll get you an ice pack."

Alan tried to calm his racing heart as he put Charlie's ice pack together. His anger and curiosity over not knowing what had gone on was starting to get to him. Don's explanation for Charlie's hospitalization had been vague, but feeling feverish at the time, he hadn't pushed Don for all the information. His son was okay, and after coming home later in the night from the hospital, he hadn't been as bad off as Alan had been expecting. His groggy mind had imagined all the worst case scenario's. With his impatience growing, he didn't think he could wait for Don to return for an explanation.

Upon arrival at Charlie's room, Alan found him stretched out on his stomach on the bed. The blood stained shirt was on the floor by the garbage pail, and Charlie had not bothered to put a clean one on. Instead, he'd opted for pulling the covers up to his shoulders.

Quietly, so as not to disturb him, Alan placed the ice pack on the back of Charlie's head, and also set down a container of ibuprofen and glass of water on the bedside table. Waking up Charlie to give him pain killers when he was so soundly asleep wouldn't do him any good.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Please review