Someone was pounding on Don's head. No. Someone was pounding on Don's door. Wait. There were two people. One had a sledgehammer in Don's head, and the other was taking a sledgehammer to his door. He groaned, rolled over, and opened one eye. After some time, he found the alarm clock. Five a.m. Who would be at his door at 5 a.m.? He decided he didn't care. Charlie had brought him home at midnight, but Don must be becoming a lightweight. He couldn't handle it anymore. He needed some more sleep before the long day of Charlie's wedding. He heard more pounding. Who would be at his door at 5 a.m.?
"DOOONNNNNNIIIIIEEE!"
Was that Charlie? That couldn't be Charlie. Charlie didn't scream. Charlie didn't come to Don's apartment at 5 a.m. on the day of his wedding.
Damn. It must be Charlie.
The long wail started again, and Don forced himself out of bed. Passing the bathroom on the way to the door, he stepped inside and quickly opened the medicine cabinet and downed three aspirin. Lightweight or not, at least he remembered where those were.
"DOOONNNNNNIIIIIEEE!"
He looked through the peephole to be sure, then jerked open the door. Charlie stood there, smiling brightly. One of them was swaying.
"Charlie, what the hell are you doing?" Don grabbed an arm and dragged his brother inside, but not before he saw a door open down the hall. Mrs. Mendolssohn, hair in curlers (did they even make those anymore?), glared at him. "Sorry," he muttered, quietly shutting the door behind Charlie.
The two stood and stared at each other. Charlie was still smiling. He lifted up a hand and offered Don a bottle. " 'Killya," he said.
Don recognized the gold liquid and grabbed the bottle. "Charlie," he said quietly, mostly because there was still someone in his head with a sledgehammer, "what did you do?"
Charlie took his now empty hand and grasped Don firmly at the back of his head. He leaned forward, swaying dangerously. "I. Am. Drunk."
Don pushed him back. "I can smell that, Charlie." He lifted the bottle and looked at it — a fifth, almost half empty. "Did you drink all this?"
Charlie had lifted his other hand, and was staring at it. He appeared to be counting his fingers. Don took a good look at his brother. He was wearing the same thing he had been wearing last time he saw him, when he had called a cab from Don's apartment and headed over to Amita's, except his jacket was missing and the knees of his jeans were ripped. He could see that at least one knee was bloody, and the jeans were ripped farther down on his shin, as well. He saw blood on his brother's tennis shoe, and that sobered him right up. "What happened to you?"
"HELLO!" Charlie suddenly yelled, smiling at Don again. "When did you get here?"
Don sighed. No wonder Charlie didn't drink. "Come on, Buddy, let's go get you cleaned up," he said, reaching again for Charlie's arm.
Charlie pulled back with surprising speed and strength. "Wait," he whispered. "Wait just a minute." Looking around for — well, for who knows what — Charlie turned and opened Don's front door again. He looked both ways, like he had been taught. Then he threw up in the hallway.
Don took one look at last night's buffet, and made his own contribution, which landed more in the apartment and on Charlie than in the hallway. "Oh, damn." Don lurched into the kitchen and opened the utility closet, to grab the mop he hadn't used since the last time he'd had too much to drink, but he still had Charlie's half-full bottle in his hand. He put the bottle in the bottom of the closet when he got the mop and bucket. He didn't know what else to do with it. Charlie had closed the door again, and appeared to be sliding down it. He was about to land in Don's…Don bolted back out of the kitchen and caught Charlie. "Take your shoes off," he gasped. "You're not tracking that down my hall."
Charlie obediently kicked off his shoes. He didn't seem to have much to say as Don guided him to the bathroom. At least he wasn't screaming anymore. Don sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, and hurried into the bedroom, where he grabbed the first pair of sweats he could find, as well as a t-shirt and socks. He went back to the bathroom, where he found Charlie sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed.
"Can you take a shower, Charlie? Am I gonna have to help you?" Charlie smiled up at him dreamily.
"I fell down," he said.
"Sorry, Buddy," Don muttered, and turned on the shower over Charlie's head, full-tilt, cold.
Charlie yelped and came to his feet in one motion. They would have flown out from under him if Don didn't already have ahold of him, forcing him to stay under the water. When Charlie could successfully identify Don, and a number of physically impossible things he wanted Don to do, he let go. He added some warm water. Charlie was shivering. "Take your clothes off, finish the shower," Don ordered. "There are some dry things here to wear."
Then he headed back for the front door, and all the glory that awaited him there.
