His brain didn't leak through his ears. That was something, Charlie supposed. Three days. He had spent over three days doing nothing else but sleeping, feeling sick and fighting off a migraine. He didn't really remember the first day and probably wouldn't even have known it was over if not for Caleb's comment about sleeping through the whole day the next morning. It wasn't like there were any windows after all, so Charlie's sleep schedule was all thrown out the window.

On third day, he was finally starting to feel half human. No more dizziness and even the headache had turned into dull throbbing that was easy to ignore. What was impossible to ignore though was the feeling of impending doom.

When Johnson and Charlie had spoken about the fights, they had their suspicions. Several people went missing after all, with a few turning up dead. Still, Charlie went into it with the hope that it might be all explained. Maybe once the fights were done the people decide to leave the town, not wanting to have anything to do with it anymore. Some might've been hurt during the fight. Things could have gone wrong very easily, Charlie knew. He had seen several boxing matches which turned lethal, despite strict rules and immediate medical help.

However, his experiences ever since Kenneth brought him into this house belayed that belief.

Charlie had seen how lax Kenneth or the others were about the safety of their chosen fighter. He might've ignored that, perhaps thinking it was just Kenneth and his sadistic streak. But after the treatment he got from the so called doctor... Charlie couldn't fool himself anymore. The man didn't care, at all. And his words heavily implied that after the third fight there will be no need for Charlie to worry about any brain damage.

As if it wasn't enough proof, the way Ben was behaving did the rest of convincing.

While Charlie wasn't deluding himself, he knew that Ben wasn't really his friend, the man at least had the decency to treat him as a human being. And since the night after the second fight, Charlie could see regret in his eyes every time he stopped by. He wondered how long it would take him to stop coming altogether.

So far though, he was in luck.

It was around noon, time for lunch. Caleb was most likely still sleeping. Charlie had noticed the kid liked to stay awake late and then sleep through half the day, or at least he hoped he was sleeping. He didn't know why else there would be total silence coming from the room and no sign of Caleb.

That meant Charlie had the place to himself. He had already taken a shower, relishing the hot water and the fact he was able to stand without needing to lean against the stall drunkenly. He was careful of washing his hair, last thing he wanted was to mess up the wound on his head. Just the thought of ever again meeting that doctor sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

Charlie wondered if the man truly worked with living people. Maybe he was a pathologist working on dead bodies? God, Charlie hoped so. He couldn't imagine approaching the man in time of need and seeing that look of utter disdain on his face. Hell, Charlie was feeling bad even for the dead if they had to put up with the man.

His stomach growled and it reminded him that he haven't had a good meal in days. The last two he was living on whatever sandwich could be easily prepared. Today he was hunkering for something more filling. He had a feeling he would need the energy later.

Looking through the small pantry the kitchen was equipped with, all he could come up with were eggs. Lots of eggs and some ham. Oh well. An omelette it was then.

Charlie leaned down a bit, looking for onions. He hissed, his side and chest reminding him of the hits he acquired during the fight, of all the bruises still littering his body.

Moving much more carefully, he grabbed the onions and stood up. Now cleaning and chopping the things would be another challenge. Ever since the fight, his left hand felt wrong. The knuckles were red and raw, stinging and pulling whenever he turned his hand into a fist. What was worse though was the pain shooting up to his arm from behind the knuckle of his middle finger. He could see slight swelling and holding a knife was pretty much impossible at this point. Any precision and force from his left hand was gone, which was quite a problem, seeing as he was left handed.

He was pretty sure he could have used some help, but hell would freeze over before he asked anyone inside this house. Wrapping the hand and icing it from time to time seemed to at least alleviate the pain.

With a sigh, Charlie took hold of the knife and proceeded with the very slow task of chopping the onion with his non-dominant hand. He was almost done with that when he heard footsteps above. Shortly after the upstairs door opened and he could see Ben walking down the stairs.

It wasn't the first time he thought about overpowering the man, then roaming through the house. It would have been the logical thing to do... if he hadn't been a cop trying to get down a bunch of other dirty cops. He had to stay and he couldn't really afford to escape. So far he didn't have enough information about the operation. It would all be mostly his words against Kenneth, Douglas and Richard. Seeing how much pull they had in the town, how deep their connections went... Charlie was starting to doubt he and Johnson could even take them down if they weren't caught red handed. That meant... Charlie had to stay and pray that he could get a word out to Johnson in time.

But... that was hardly something Ben knew. Still, the man didn't seem afraid for his own safety. Wasn't worried about Charlie or Caleb trying to escape and Charlie had to wonder why that was. Did he truly look so unthreatening to Ben? Or was it something else?

When Ben saw Charlie in the kitchen, there was a smile on his face.

"You're up and about," he said, looking almost relieved.

Charlie couldn't help it, he had to ask.

"Why do you even care?"

He realized it came out harsh, but Ben didn't seem offended at all. He just shrugged and put down a bag with some groceries.

"Is there enough for two? I had missed breakfast."

Charlie paused with the knife in the air, the look of disbelief clear on his face.

"Are you serious?"

"Well, I am hungry, and you seem to know what you're doing."

Charlie blinked and wondered if the concussion wasn't more serious than he thought. Surely the man that was helping to hold him as prisoner didn't ask him to cook?

But Ben stood there and his stomach gave a hungry growl.

Charlie snorted, shook his head. Then he pulled out a pan and tossed the onions on to fry, along with some ham.

"You do realize I have a knife here?" Charlie couldn't help the question, even as Ben settled down at the table.

"So? You didn't try to kill me the first week, I doubt you would try now."

"No, but I could." As if to prove a point, Charlie took the knife in his right hand and moved, leaning into Ben's personal space. The knife was slightly shaking in his hand, but the edge was still pressed against Ben's neck.

For a moment, they stared at each other, unmoving.

"Let me out," Charlie hissed.

The onions sizzled and Ben swallowed.

"Careful, don't burn it."

Charlie frowned, jaw tightening. He saw a sheen of nervous sweat popping up on Ben's forehead, but the man didn't move a muscle to protect himself. Though the look in his eyes was steady, almost daring.

"Do you really think there are no safety measures in place?" Ben spoke, voice only slightly trembling.

Charlie inclined his head.

"What measures?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"You really think I will tell you?"

"I do have a knife to your throat."

"Yes, and you should be using it better. You are burning our breakfast," Ben pointed out somehow cheekily.

Charlie sighed. Who was he kidding. He couldn't hurt this guy. He did wonder though what safety measures he meant. Was there someone else upstairs? He didn't hear any voices, but that hardly meant anything. If someone was up on the first floor, Charlie would be none the wiser. There could be traps, or it could just be Ben trying to save his hide.

He pulled the knife away and took a few steps back. He wondered if there would be a backlash, a punishment. But Ben just let out a sigh and straightened, running a hand over his neck where the knife left a slight dent in the skin.

"Even if you managed to get out of the house... where would you go really?"

This time it was Charlie who shrugged.

"Wherever. Out of town."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"This house is miles from the nearest farm. No woods around to hide in. They would find you within an hour. And if you were lucky enough... they have your ID. Friends in the nearest towns. You wouldn't get too far before some copper would shoot you on a made up charge."

"So what... what happens to me once the fight is over?" Charlie asked, not even trying to hide his anger. He realized how screwed anyone who got caught in this situation truly was. How inescapable it looked.

For the first time, Ben's eyes didn't meet his.

Charlie nodded, wanted to say he understood. Wanted to call Ben a hypocrite and a bloody bastard. But then he caught the look of distress on his face, the uncertainty.

"Look, I don't know. I swear. No one returns after the third fight, but... that doesn't mean a thing. Kenneth said they just... drop whomever off in the next town, with a few bucks from the fight if they won."

"Even you don't believe that bullshit," Charlie snorted, then turned back towards the pan. He had lost his appetite, but he also wasn't willing to throw out food. So he cracked a few eggs, cursing as an eggshell dropped into the mix. For a moment there was silence as he hunted for it with a spoon.

"I don't have much choice," Ben said, deflated. Charlie might've felt sorry for him if not for the fact he knew what was in the plans for him.

"Bullshit. Everyone has a choice."

Ben didn't speak. Charlie shot him a look, but the man was staring off into the distance.

"What about Caleb?"

That brought Ben back to the present.

"What about him?"

"He's just a kid. Why the hell would you be holding him here?"

Ben shook his head.

"Leave it be, Charlie."

Charlie slammed a hand against the counter and spun around.

"The hell I will! Why is he here? How long is he here?"

For the first time, Ben's eyes turned cold and Charlie realized danger lie that way. Still, he was too pissed to let the topic slide.

"That is none of your business."

Charlie glared at Ben.

"Are you using him for fights too?"

Ben stayed silent and that more than anything answered Charlie's question. Fuming, he turned back towards the stove. He couldn't hide his disgust and he didn't want to.

Behind him, Ben sighed.

"Look..." Charlie's back tensed. "It might not seem so, but... Caleb is better off here than he was out on the streets. We are taking care of him and he's... happy."

"Of course he is happy. He's a junkie and you are providing him his drugs!" Charlie hissed, stirring the eggs with anger.

"To be fair... we are trying to slowly wean him off. At least the Doc is."

Charlie turned to look at Ben, truly confused.

"Why? What is so special about Caleb that you dragged him into this situation?"

Ben looked like he was starting to regret his decision to stay for food.

"Just drop it, alright? The kid can take care of himself, probably better than you. He doesn't want to leave. Ask him if you want, but stop pestering me."

"Well, I am not keeping you down here," Charlie bit back as he turned off the stove.

Ben threw a longing look at the eggs, his stomach giving another grumble.

Charlie didn't know if he should roll his eyes in exasperation or throw the whole pan at Ben's head.

He divided the food onto two plates instead.

"Thanks," Ben's eyes glinted and he practically inhaled the food before Charlie took more than few bites.

"Are they keeping you starving?" Charlie wondered out loud. Ben chuckled and shook his head.

"Nah. But our stove broke and I haven't had a warm meal for the last two days."

"Poor you," Charlie rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to take a look at it?" he offered, sensing an opportunity.

Ben snorted.

"What, and risk you causing a gas leak? Not a chance. Kenneth will bring someone to fix it soon."

Charlie shrugged. He could hardly care less whether 'Kenneth' got some warm food. Though he perked up at the idea of someone else coming to the house. Maybe he could use the situation to his advantage somehow...

Or maybe he could use the fact Ben seemed to enjoy his cooking. Now was there something that would work as an anaesthetic? Something that might put Ben to sleep perhaps...

Damn, Charlie could use Blake's brain just about now. After algebra, chemistry was his second least favourite subject in school. Oh well... back to his original plan.

"How's the head?" Ben asked while Charlie was finishing up with his plate. Charlie swallowed the bite, then shrugged.

"Not too bad."

"Anything you need? While I am around."

Charlie's eyes slipped down to his left hand.

"Maybe some painkillers? I think I busted it," he admitted.

Ben frowned.

"Is it broken?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Don't know. But if you call back that son of a bitch doctor, something definitely will be broken," he warned and meant it.

Ben chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Chill, man. I don't want to call him either. Not fancying another chewing out for being a softie."

Charlie wondered if he really did get a chewing out or if it was just for show.

"I'll try to score you something tomorrow, alright?"

Charlie nodded.

"Thanks."

Depending on what Ben brought him, he might succeed even without the expert advice of one Lucien Blake.

Charlie haven't seen anyone else for the rest of the day. Caleb must've sneaked out to the bathroom during one of Charlie's short naps. While the concussion was slowly getting better, he still had moments when lying down sounded like the best solution.

Not like there was much else to do anyway. Charlie was hardly in a condition to exercise. Reading anything longer than few minutes made the letters go all haywire and worsen his headache. And the sound of movement from upstairs let him know the house wasn't empty either.

Sleep it was then, especially seeing how he planned on trying the lock later that night.

Trouble was, the short naps kept being interrupted by nightmares. Charlie couldn't stop seeing his kid brothers, locked up in a cell or lying on the street with a needle in the arm. He always woke up covered in cold sweat.

Ben's assurance that Caleb was okay with his situation and that they were actually trying to help did nothing to dissuade Charlie's concern and inner demons. He knew Caleb was technically an adult. But all he saw was Ray, turned twenty, looking utterly helpless as he was confronted with the fact he might've just killed a man during his boxing match.

Caleb might've been a stranger, but Charlie knew he needed help.

Unfortunately, trying to convince him about it would be a much more difficult task. And it had to wait until the next day most likely, seeing as Charlie didn't catch sight of the boy.

It was now past one in the morning. The whole house was silent.

Charlie grabbed the home made lock pins and silently sneaked out of his room. By now he didn't even need to turn on the lights. He knew the layout, had walked it several dozen times in the last week. He was glad the stairs didn't creak, though he did cringe as his knee popped when he scooted down next to the door.

It took him a moment to get a good hold of the tools. His right hand was naturally more clumsy and his left was sore. Charlie tried for a bit, but quickly realized that precision at this moment was difficult.

Cursing under his breath, Charlie took a pause, flexing his fingers then cringing. He wondered what were his chances during the last fight with an already sore hand. He doubted it would magically fix itself within the next three or four days. Though if they decided to help him out a bit with adding gypsum to the wrapping, he might have a chance.

With a sigh, he resumed trying to work on the lock. The lock pins had slipped out of his fingers several times. There was a moment when he thought he heard a slight click and he froze. Could it be?

Unfortunately, before he could actually finish the movement, his hold slipped a bit. One of the pins stayed in the lock, while the other clattered to the floor.

The sound seemed louder than a gunshot for Charlie and he held his breath for a long moment. Logically, he knew no one could really hear something so small. That didn't slow down his heartbeat however. Shaking his head, he decided to give up for the night. Not like he could just waltz through the house as he pleased and use the phone right now anyway. He needed to make sure Ben would be out of the house or at least truly asleep.

He was disheartened by the fact something as simple as unlocking a door was taking him such a long time. The Doc would have it open in a jiffy, what with his surgeon precise hands. But Charlie wasn't Blake, he reminded himself as he pulled the pin from the door, then started blindly running his hands on the floor, trying to locate the second one in the total darkness.

It took him another moment, but Charlie wasn't about to give up on this. He couldn't afford for Ben or god forbid Kenneth to find it and realize he was indeed trying to get out. He was pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy the consequences of that.

Finally, he got a hold of the damned pin. Tired and frustrated, Charlie made his way back to the room. Another fruitless night.

It seemed that food was the key. Charlie would've laughed, if he wasn't too busy trying not to burn the slab of meat currently frying on the pan.

Ben had stopped by as promised, with a bottle of pills. Charlie glanced at it, looking for the label but finding nothing.

"What's this? Aspirin or paracetamol?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I have no clue. The Doc gave it to me last time I pulled some muscles in my back. Works like magic though. As long as you don't overdo it."

"Thanks," Charlie said, genuinely thankful for once, as he pocketed the bottle. It might serve both his purposes. Ben shrugged it off, looking hopefully at the pan.

"Think I can get a bite?"

Charlie laughed. He was actually counting on it, having prepared enough for several people.

"Sure. Grab a plate."

Ben did and this time they ate mostly in silence. Charlie asked about the weather and what date it was, but that was about it. He didn't want to bother Ben with questions this time. He had a different goal.

Sometimes during the third bite, he noted the door on Caleb's room opening to a slit. Charlie was facing it, while Ben had his back towards it and haven't noticed. The door lingered open for about a minute, then slowly closed. Caleb obviously didn't want company. But Charlie was sure the smell of freshly fried meat would lure him out sooner or later.

All he needed was to set a plate aside for the kid and wait.

Once Ben returned upstairs, leaving Charlie with some trashy novels to read, it was a question of minutes. Charlie made sure he pulled his chair to the side, out of Caleb's line of vision. He also put the plate in clear view.

He opened the novel and let his eyes roam the pages, even though his mind was miles away.

When Caleb spotted him, it was a bit too late for him to turn back. Not that he would. The kid looked positively salivating at the sight of the steak. Charlie looked up from his novel as if this was the most normal occurrence and gave him a nod.

"Hi," he said as Caleb stood in the doorway, unnaturally sheepish. "Left you a plate over there," Charlie added a bit unnecessarily.

Caleb shot him a look of suspicion, then grabbed the plate.

To Charlie's joy, he didn't abscond to his room with it, instead settled down at the table. That was progress. Noting that Caleb's hands weren't shaking as he was taking a bite, and there was no nervous tapping of the foot either, Charlie assumed that the kid must've gotten his required dose. Or not. Maybe Ben was right and they were weaning him off whatever stuff he was addicted to.

"Good stuff," Caleb muttered after the second bite.

"Thanks. Mum's old recipe," Charlie said with a slight smile. Caleb shot him a weird look.

"You enjoy cooking?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Sure. Why not?"

Caleb rolled his eyes.

"That's a woman's job."

Charlie stopped pretending he was interested in the novel and put it aside.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"What?"

"Why is it a woman's job? Why can't a man enjoy cooking?"

The simple question seemed to stun Caleb.

"Uh... dunno. It just is."

Charlie gave him a look.

"Where did you get that stupid idea from?"

Caleb's shoulders tensed.

"My old man. He liked to say that. Along with other stuff."

Charlie frowned. He wondered what that other stuff was and whether it was just words leaving the man's mouth. He knew the type... arrested a few of them too. Usually it didn't end only with words.

"And where is your father now?"

Caleb looked up at Charlie and without much emotion said: "Dead."

Charlie didn't know what to say. Sorry somehow didn't seem appropriate. Caleb sensed that. He shrugged.

"Good riddance. Pity the next guy my mother married was just as much of an asshole."

Charlie felt his gut tighten.

"That's why you ended up on the street?"

Caleb didn't speak for a moment. He focused on the food, stabbing the steak with much more force than needed.

"What's this... twenty questions?" he bit back after a while, still not looking Charlie in the eyes.

"No. Just normal conversation."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I don't think you should be here."

Caleb let out a laugh that was anything but jolly. Charlie internally winced at the sound.

"Pray tell, where else should I be? Back on the street?"

Charlie shook his head.

"No. Somewhere safe. Studying... or working. Anywhere but here."

Caleb put down his fork and knife and leaned back in the chair, giving Charlie a glare.

"School is for pansies. And who do you think would give me a job? Last time I checked homeless bums weren't in high demand."

"Come on, there are places that could help you. Charities, or shelters. There are people who would offer you roof and food in exchange for work."

Caleb just rolled his eyes, looking like he was letting everything pass him by. It was clear he didn't believe him and that he was ready to get up and hide in his room. Charlie didn't want to let that happen. He leaned closer.

"Caleb... is this really what you want to do? Be held prisoner and only occasionally allowed out to fight for the amusement of some sick people?"

Caleb tensed.

"You are the one talking," he spat. "Lost a fight lately?" he asked with a smirk. It was obvious he was trying to throw Charlie off.

"I won actually, not that I am proud about that," he added.

Caleb didn't look very convinced.

"You don't look like much of a winner."

Charlie sighed, then crossed his arms, forcing back the wince as it jarred his hand. Now was not the time to appear any weaker than he already did.

"Well, how many fights have you won? Or fought for that matter?"

Caleb bit down on his lip and looked away.

Charlie instantly regretted the question, though that didn't change the fact he wanted to know the answer.

"Once. I only fought once," Caleb muttered.

Charlie felt some relief at that, as well as confusion. He knew Caleb had been there for about two months. To keep him for such a long time without using him for fights, not to mention keeping his addiction in some semblance of order, didn't make any sense.

"Have you won?" Charlie asked, more absentmindedly than anything.

"Of course," Caleb scoffed at that. "I'm here, ain't I?"

Charlie blinked at that answer. Did it mean...

"Did you..."

Caleb gritted his teeth, his glare daring Charlie to finish that question.

Charlie didn't.

The tightness in his gut just grew stronger.

"I can help you get out, Caleb."

Caleb shook his head.

"For the last time... I don't need your help. I'm fine where I am."

"But-"

"But what? What do you think is out there? I am nothing... nobody out there! Here at least I have a roof over my head. If I win, people cheer. There's nothing waiting for me outside!"

"Caleb-"

"No! I'm done talking. And if you know what's best for you, you will stop talking too!"

With that, Caleb stormed off, slamming the door of his room. Charlie was left in the kitchen, wondering how the hell can he fix this.