Charlie was perched on a tree root, hunched over his knees and trying to control the shaking in his hands. "Adrenal response," he'd once described it to Don.At the time he'd been excited, but now he was sick with fear. He averted his eyes from the spot where he'd thrown up a few moments ago and tried to calm his racing heart.

Get a grip, man! he yelled at himself. Don's counting on you.

If he's not already dead, a different voice in his head argued.

He's not! I won't let him be!

Let him be? the second voice sneered. How's that work exactly?

"Shut up," Charlie mumbled aloud, effectively silencing the voice in his head. He took several deep breaths, over and over, until the shaking in his hands had almost subsided. He braved a glance up at the cabin and wondered what Gary was up to.

Killing your brother, the second voice piped back up.

No, Charlie argued with it. He's going to use him to lure me back. I'm sure of that.

Charlie dropped his gaze to his lap, studying the object that lay there as if it were a deadly snake poised to strike at any minute.

"It's called an Empty Lung Technique," his brother's voice echoed in his head. He remembered that day on the shooting range when he'd intently listened to Don as he became the teacher in their relationship. "Okay? So line it up... Aim."

Charlie closed his eyes, his hands cautiously hovering above the object on his lap.

"You're going to exhale," Don's voice returned in his head. "And count to three before you inhale. On two, you squeeze the trigger, right? Just like I taught you."

Charlie's hands reverently slid along the cool metal barrel across his lap. He opened his eyes and carefully wrapped his hands around the stock. He lifted the weapon up, surprised by its weight as he tightened and adjusted his grip. His finger rested on the trigger and he closed his eyes again.

"Just tease it," Don had said, drawing out the second word to emphasize his point.

Charlie breathed deep and steady, his heart finally beginning to beat at a more normal rate. He turned the weapon in his hands, mesmerized by how the sunlight glinted off of the shiny barrel.

"Hey Charlie!" Gary's voice drew him from his thoughts. "I know you're out here somewhere!"

Charlie lay on his belly, snaked up to the edge of the rise he was hidden behind and peered over the top. He saw Gary standing in the doorway, gripping Don in a chokehold and using him as a shield. Charlie could tell Don was in even worse shape and he suspected the missing arrow and copious amount of blood running from his shoulder were to blame.

"Hey, Charlie!" Gary repeated, the anger in his tone increasing. "I think your brother here needs you! He ain't looking so hot!"

Charlie saw that while Gary was using Don to shield his body, his brother's head was sagging to his chest leaving Gary's head exposed. Can I really shoot with that much accuracy? That's a small target, and the consequences of missing are... unthinkable.

"Charlie! Don't be anti-social – Don's not going to be happy if you are." The blond man pulled a knife from where it had been tucked into his belt, slid it under Don's chin and lifted his head with it. "Do I have to make Don call for you to come?"

Damn, Charlie growled. With Don's head raised, his target grew even smaller, partially obscured by Don's face. I can't shoot now. Don's too close.

"All right Charlie," Gary chuckled. "You asked for it." He slowly moved the knife so that it was resting over Don's good shoulder. "Last chance!"

Charlie swallowed against the bile that rose in the back of his throat and quietly slid the rifle so that it was supported by the rise of the hill. He held the butt of the weapon firmly against his shoulder and sighted down the barrel until he was looking at Gary's face. Line it up, he said to himself. Aim.

Don suddenly cried out in pain as Gary drove the knife into the front of his good shoulder, twisting it as he scanned the woods around the cabin. "You hear what you're doing to him, huh? You hear that, Charlie?"

The young professor blinked back tears and steeled himself against the anger he felt as Don was tortured in front of him. Exhale, he calmly chanted. Count to three.

"That was just a warning!" Gary raged as he yanked the knife out of Don's shoulder. "The next one is for real – right through the heart!"

One...

Gary's eyes darted around, but fortunately he was keeping his body still so that he was an easier target.

Two...

Gary raised the knife at the same instant Charlie teased the trigger ever so gently...

The gunshot was deafening but – unlike that evening at the gun range – Charlie didn't so much as flinch at the noise. He watched in slow motion as the knife dropped from Gary's hand, clattering to the wooden floor below with a muted thump. Gary himself began falling backwards into the house while Don fell away from him, landing on the porch in a jumbled heap. Pausing for only a second to ensure Gary was down for the count, Charlie launched himself from his hiding spot, his focus solely on his brother. He couldn't make his legs move fast enough as he sprinted, all the while begging God not to take Don from him.

He finally reached his big brother's side and fell to the floor beside him, his fingers automatically pressing against Don's throat as he searched for a pulse. Although it was weaker than it should have been, it was there and Charlie collapsed on top of Don in relief. His tears began to flow as he gathered Don in an awkward embrace, whispering words of comfort and thanks in his ear. Charlie clung to him, afraid to ever let go, and rocked him as he wept.

He needs help.

Charlie nodded as the voice from earlier returned. "Right," he whispered to himself. The young man gently set his bother back down and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back soon, Don."

Charlie rose and moved to stand over Gary, wincing at the bloody hole in his forehead.

It had to be done. There was no other choice.

Charlie numbly nodded, idly wondering when the voice had decided it was on his side. He shook his head to clear it and moved toward the back of the cabin. Although Gary had undoubtedly told him many lies when he was convincing Charlie to come to the cabin, he strongly suspected that having a radio wasn't one of them. If the meth lab had been as successful as Gary had bragged then he had had to have a way to contact his buyers.

Charlie stumbled through the back door of the two-room dwelling and found himself in front of a large old barn. Must be the lab, he thought to himself. The radio couldn't be in there, though. If it ever gave off a spark while the two men were cooking up a batch of meth the whole place would have turned into a giant fireball. Charlie looked to either side of the barn but saw nothing of any promise – just a rusted out Jeep and an outhouse. Figuring he had nothing to lose, Charlie walked to the Jeep and verified that it had no radio and wouldn't be running any time soon. He turned and propped his back against the rusted piece of junk and held his head in his hands. What am I missing? Think, dammit! Don's counting on you.

His frustration mounting, Charlie started to storm back to the house when something about the outhouse caught his attention. Is that an antenna? He jogged to the small building and ripped the door open. He nearly collapsed, giddy with relief, as he found himself looking at the communications part of the drug operation. There was a CB radio and a police scanner – he supposed so that Gary and Ralph would have advance notice if anyone ever did want to pay them a visit. He flipped the radio on, holding his breath until he heard the low-level hum of electricity. Now, which channel should I use? Charlie desperately tried to recall a conversation he'd had with Larry a couple of years ago about his addiction to chatting on the radio. What was the channel he had said was designated for emergency use only? Channel nine? Yeah… like the beginning of 'nine-one-one'.

With a shaking hand and hopeful heart Charlie tuned the radio to channel nine. He picked up the microphone and took a deep breath before pressing the button. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" He held his breath as he waited for a response.

"Operator KRJ94585," a static-filled female voice radioed back. "A.K.A. Buttercup One. Son, this channel is for emergency use only."

"Thank God you're there!" Charlie exclaimed in relief. "This is an emergency! My brother – he's been shot and stabbed, and he's bleeding very badly. I need help!"

"Calm down," the voice softened. "Where are you?"

"In the mountains somewhere," Charlie replied. "We were attacked and then brought back to this cabin."

"Where is the person that attacked you?"

"They're both dead." Charlie took a shaky breath as the tiniest flicker of regret crossed his mind. "My brother's an FBI agent. Please… you have to send help."

"It's okay," Buttercup One assured him. "What's your name, son?"

"Charles Eppes."

"Okay Charles. I can track this transmission and get a fix on your location – just make sure you leave the radio on, okay?"

"Okay," Charlie agreed. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Now, you go try to stop your brother's bleeding and help will be there before you know it."

Charlie raced back to the front of the cabin, shuddering in revulsion as he passed in front of Gary's unseeing eyes. He forced the feeling from his mind and knelt beside Don, gently rolling him onto his back and wincing as Don's head lolled limply to the side. "Don?" he called pleadingly. "Wake up for me, bro." He patted Don's cheek lightly, frowning when his brother didn't stir. "Don!" Charlie's heart sank as Don remained unconscious but he took comfort in the fact that the injured man's heart was still beating.

He retrieved the first aid kit from Don's pack where it still rested in the bedroom, and sat down cross-legged next to his brother. The younger man lifted Don into his lap, making sure that he had his knee under the arrow wound on Don's shoulder. He checked to make sure that the knife wound hadn't gone all the way through the other shoulder and let out a deep breath when he saw that it hadn't. Charlie grabbed two thick gauze pads and applied pressure to each puncture wound, making sure that he also applied pressure to the back of the arrow wound with his knee.

Don moaned as new waves of agony assaulted his body but his younger brother was relentless as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Hurts," Don groaned, only semi-conscious. "Stop."

"I'm sorry, Don," Charlie whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry." He bent over and placed another soft kiss on Don's forehead, letting his lips linger there as he continued to apologize and urge the injured man to hang on. "Help's coming, Don. Do you hear me? Don't you dare give up."

"Char..." Don breathed.

"Shh, I'm here. Hang on, Don."

"Good... shot."

Don had been awake enough to realize what he'd done? "Shh, be quiet. We can talk about that later."

"Don't... tell... Dad."

Charlie felt a painful laugh tear from his throat. "I don't think we can keep this one a secret, Don." He kissed his brother again, trying to ignore the waves of heat coming from his fever-wracked body. "Just hold on, okay?"

"...'Kay."

--

Charlie didn't realize he'd dozed off until he woke to feel Don slipping from his grasp. For some reason he couldn't make his eyes open, so he blindly tightened his grip and was confused as two hands grabbed his, gently prying his fingers loose. Knowing that he had to control Don's bleeding, Charlie desperately struggled to adjust his grip.

"Sir, you have to let go," an unfamiliar male voice spoke in his ear.

A chill went down Charlie's spine. Was there a third man that he didn't know about? No, I won't let you hurt him again.

"We won't hurt him," the voice assured him. Charlie decided that he must have spoken aloud. "We want to help you both but you have to let go."

He's trying to trick me, like Gary did. No… I won't fall for it.

"No tricks..." the man lowered his voice and Charlie could hear only a muffled noise as he conferred with someone else. "...Charles. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Charlie shook his head, afraid he'd wake up to an even worse nightmare than the one he'd just lived through.

"Come on, Charles," the man urged. "Buttercup One sent us. Do you remember speaking to her?"

"Yes," the young professor shakily answered. "She sent you?"

"Yes, that's right. She got your location and sent us to help." Charlie felt a gloved hand probing next to his ear. "I really need you to open your eyes, Charles."

"My name's Charlie," he slurred as he obeyed. He saw a young man his age dressed in a dark blue paramedic's uniform smiling at him. "How's Don?" Charlie tried to turn his head to see for himself, but the medic stopped him.

"He's going to be fine," the man said as he continued to probe at Charlie's head wound.

"You're sure?" the young Eppes weakly demanded.

"Positive."

"Good," Charlie sighed and let his eyes drift close. Don was okay – that was all that mattered.

"Open your eyes for me, Charlie!"

But the young professor was oblivious to the medic's frantic calls, having already surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

TBC