All righty everyone, we are getting down to it. Only one more chapter after this one. These last two turned out to be my favorite two chapters . . . which is sort of funny about this chapter, because I wrote this chapter during a three-hour long layover in the Seattle airport when I was super sick and dosed up on an unnatural amount of cold meds. Apparently those conditions lead to me writing what I think is some of my best work!
Anyways, enjoy this chapter as always, and please read and review as always! You guys are awesome.
Chapter 9 (Charlie)
A small part of Charlie was aware that he had probably gone too far the other way in over-smothering Don, but he preferred it because he felt much less guilty that way. He spent almost all of his time at the hospital for the next couple weeks until Don was released. He hadn't even touched his Cognitive Emergence work since the day of that first visit.
Even after finally leaving the hospital after nearly a month, Don was unable to do much. For awhile, he didn't leave his and Robin's house much other than back to the hospital for rehab, but Charlie and their father both had no problem going over there nearly every day—and Don and Robin seemed to enjoy the company.
By now, Don had been at home for nearly two weeks. Robin was only a couple weeks away from being due to give birth. Things were changing rapidly.
Today, Charlie had been taken on the responsibility of picking Don up from the hospital after what was sure to have been another grueling round of physical therapy. It was awful, Charlie felt, because he'd vowed to himself that from that day at the hospital on, he'd try so hard to help his brother no matter what. And he could see how exhausted and drained Don always was after a rehab session, but he didn't know how to help. He didn't know what to say or do to make his brother feel like everything would be okay again.
Don was too tired to say much until he was situated in the front seat of Amita's red Volkswagen—which Charlie was now using due to the death of his Prius. Pretty soon after Don had been released from the hospital, Amita and their father had forced Charlie to start driving again, knowing how nervous he was to get behind the wheel again. He'd done okay; it had only taken him a time or two to feel reasonably comfortable driving. He'd actually been a little surprised about how not hard it had been.
Except now. He stuck the key in the ignition, but he froze before he could turn on the engine. A flashback crashed down on him, sweeping him quickly away from reality.
He'd just gotten the engine running and was immediately moving his hand to the windshield wiper knob. The blades swept back and forth quickly, but they couldn't keep up with the powerful rain.
Charlie looked over to Don, who shrugged. He put the car in reverse to back out of the long driveway. Another of Aunt Irene's birthdays had come and gone; thankfully it was over. Don and Charlie had come together separate from their father—he'd had to come early to help set up, but Don and Charlie had been working, thank goodness. Somehow, Amita and Robin had wriggled their way out of attending the occasion altogether. Lucky them.
They drove away from Aunt Irene's old house, thankful to be departing. The ride started out in a comfortable silence.
"Man, this is nasty," Charlie commented quietly. He was leaning forward slightly, as if that would help him see better through the streams of water sloshing down the windshield.
"Yeah," Don snorted in agreement. "I haven't seen it rain this bad here for a long time."
"Amita and I went to Scotland over the summer while we were living in Cambridge," Charlie shared, "It was pretty much just like this the whole time we were there. Made it a little difficult to actually see much of the country."
"Yeah, I bet," Don was laughing. "Probably were looking at the ground every time you were walking outside."
"Pretty much," Charlie said. "So I still haven't seen much of Scotland, except the pavement in some of the cities. But you know, we did ride in cars sometimes, but that looked just like this."
"Kinda like a wet painting," Don described. "Everything looks kind of mixed together."
"Yeah," Charlie agreed.
They sat in a companionable silence for a few more minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Later, Charlie would be unable to remember what he'd been pondering so carefully, other than the wet road. But the brothers just sat, enjoying each other's company. It wasn't often anymore that the two of them went places together without anyone else. Charlie relished in his brother's comfortable presence.
"Charlie, you're drifting a little," Don warned suddenly. Charlie had realized this the instant before the words had left his brother's mouth. His Prius had suddenly crossed the center line, despite Charlie's efforts to keep it in the correct lane. He pulled the wheel harder to the right, and the little car complied easily.
"Sorry," he mumbled, a little embarrassed at his momentary lapse in attention.
"It's all right, you're good." Don brushed his words off. "Roads are just a little slick. Just be extra careful."
"Don't worry, I will," Charlie assured him.
A bend loomed up ahead. Charlie made sure to brake early and smoothly—he didn't want a repeat of his near-miss seconds before. He snuck a quick glance towards his brother. Don looked relaxed; Charlie felt a little less nervous at his brother's apparent confidence in his driving abilities.
He turned the wheel gently to the right, pleased when the Prius entered a well-controlled right turn. The rain gusted harder. Charlie was surprised; he wasn't even sure that was possible.
Damn. The rear of the car suddenly seemed to be acting independently of Charlie's actions on the steering wheel. He wrestled, but the car drifted back into the other lane. He slammed on the brakes reflexively.
The guard rail raced up towards them, and Charlie didn't have time to figure out what to do.
"Charlie, watch out!" Don was sitting up in his seat. "Charlie!"
"Charlie!"
Don was leaning forward in his seat, looking at him concernedly. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"
"Yeah," Charlie gasped. When did he start breathing so heavily?
He noticed how light it was in the car. The sun was shining brightly; it made him squint. Don was still looking at him, but why?
"Charlie." Don reached across to squeeze his shoulder. "What's going on buddy?"
Don was really concerned. Charlie racked his brain, trying to figure out what was happening. He wanted to give Don an answer, to reassure him that everything was fine. He looked around, out the windshield. Oh, they were in front of the hospital. Right. That made sense. He was here to pick Don up from physical therapy.
He took a deep breath. "Yeah," Charlie exhaled. "Uh, nothing. I was just, you know, thinking. It's just . . . well, it's been awhile. Since we've gone anywhere together. In a car. You know?"
Charlie watched realization creep up on Don's face. He found it a little funny, because he was a little unsure of what exactly was going on or what he was saying, but Don seemed to know perfectly. Don was calm, his face a picture of quiet understanding.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Sure has been." He looked Charlie square in the eye. Charlie was taken aback by the strange mixture of pain, strength, and acceptance radiating from his brother's eyes. "We need this, though. Okay? We'll be fine. You're fine. Now drive."
Charlie finally turned on the engine, but he hesitated after that. He stole a glance over at Don again, taking in the sight of his brother, alive. It could have been worse, he told himself, not for the first time. Don could have died. It could have been worse. He scanned Don's form up and down, his eyes finally resting on Don's one leg that was extended down to the floor of the car.
Damn.
Last time Charlie had driven Don somewhere, it had resulted in the older Eppes brother now sitting there with only one leg—one foot, five toes total, one ankle, one knee. He couldn't do this. He turned off the engine.
"Charlie," Don soothed. "Hey, come on. What's up? Obviously you're not okay. Just tell me what's going on."
"I don't know—I can't seem to—I just . . ." he trailed off, breathing heavily. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Charlie feared that Don would think him weak, like a baby. He couldn't hold himself together. He tried again, forcing his voice to convey confidence he didn't feel. "I don't know, Don. I just can't stop thinking about it. Somehow it got into my head, and I can't get rid of it. I can't stop remembering what it was like that day, and I can't do this."
He couldn't bring himself to look at Don's face, but Charlie heard his brother sigh. "Charlie," Don breathed. "Hey, it's fine. I understand. You know, everyone keeps telling me over and over again how they can't imagine how hard this is for me, but hey. I gotta think this is pretty difficult for you, too."
Damn it, Don. Why did Don always have to know exactly what to say, and why did he always end up having to put his own personal issues aside to help Charlie deal with his? Charlie just wished once and for all, that he could be better at dealing with his own problems. And that he could help Don with his, just once, instead of the other way around. But it was always this way. It always seemed like Don knew what was up with Charlie better than Charlie himself did. He couldn't really stop the tears that started to fall, much to his dismay. He tried to wipe them away quickly, before Don saw, but who was he kidding? It was pretty obvious.
"I don't even remember the accident," Don continued. "I don't even remember most of that day, really. So, you know, I don't even have to deal with remembering that, or having nightmares about that, or having flashbacks back to it like I'm guessing you just did. But, you know, if it's too much . . . if you can't do this right now, you know, just me and you in the car, it's okay. We can call Dad; I'm sure he'd come pick us up."
Charlie's head whipped up to face his brother. He was speechless. Was he really that obvious? Was he really that much of an open book? Don could sure read him like one, that's for sure. He squirmed a little; he felt a bit self-conscious.
"No," he said, with a lot more resolve than he felt, hoping Don would take the hint and leave him alone. "No, I'll be fine. Sorry. We should go."
"Wait, Charlie." Don stopped him. "I'm serious. You don't have to hold it together with me. Really."
Charlie scoffed. "What? I don't have to hold it together with you? What, do you think I'm made of glass? Well, okay, you're probably right, because I did spend two and a half weeks in the house avoiding you and everything else that reminds me of the accident. But that's not my point. What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't feel like you have to hold it together with me. I mean, you're the one who was seriously injured. You're the one whose life was thrown upside-down, you know? You're the one who actually has the right to show a little weakness."
Much to Charlie's chagrin, Don actually smiled, although the expression lacked any real joy.
"I can't do that, Charlie," Don quietly admitted. "If I do, I know I will completely fall apart."
The brutal honesty in Don's voice took Charlie's breath away. That, combined with the downcast and almost hopeless look on his older brother's face, nearly made him dizzy. He'd never heard Don sound so raw and scared before. It frightened him a little; it tore at his heart as he realized once again how much pain Don had to be in, emotionally speaking. It was an area in which Charlie had always so desperately wanted to help his brother—but now that he had the opportunity, he was sure he'd screw it up.
He didn't know what to say. He settled for an awkward pat on Don's shoulder, which got a small smile from the older man.
"Look at the mess we've gotten into, huh?" Don laughed. The humor fell flat though; Charlie couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the statement. Don continued anyway, this time in seriousness. "I mean, it's like we were sucked into a tornado and now we've been spit out and everything's still there, but it's all kind of jumbled around somehow, you know?"
"Hell of a way to describe it," Charlie thought aloud.
"It's true, though," Don went on. "I mean, you know, dealing with this—dealing with losing my leg and everything—it's completely taken over my life, and none of it's the same anymore. Like how Robin's still just about to have a baby and I'm still just about to be a dad . . . that's something that should be really big, but it's being overshadowed by all this. I was so ready to be a father before, but now I'm just not. I don't even know how things are going to be. And other things feel weird, too. I mean, you and I sure aren't the same as we used to be."
"I'm sorry," Charlie cut in before Don could continue. "That's my fault. I should have been there. I shouldn't have stayed at home for so long. I just—"
"Stop, Charlie," Don interrupted, and Charlie felt like an ass. Here Don was, pouring his heart out to him, and he was completely ill-equipped. He couldn't help but pour out his own emotions, burying Don's back down beneath the surface.
"Charlie," Don repeated, "I told you not to feel bad about that, okay? That has nothing to do with what I'm saying here. I was going to say that none of my relationships feel the same anymore. Not with you, or with Robin, or even with Dad. It's like no one knows how to treat me anymore. It's weird."
It was true, Charlie realized. Sometimes, he didn't know how to treat Don. Charlie had seen his brother handle some pretty difficult events, but this was different. He didn't know if Don wanted silent support, or someone encourage him, or someone with whom he could pretend things had never happened. Charlie suspected that was the case with their dad and Robin, too. Don was so difficult to read sometimes. And yet, Don was opening up now and letting Charlie see inside. Something Charlie was determined not to screw up.
"Yeah," he eventually muttered, but he couldn't think of anything else to add. So he let Don keep going. Obviously, these were things Don needed to get off his chest.
"It's okay though," Don said. "I wouldn't know how to treat me, either. I mean, I don't think anyone can really, really understand how this feels, you know? It's just so incredibly hard. And no matter what I try to say, no one can really understand. It just makes me feel kind of isolated. Like I'm on the other side of a big wall or something."
Unshed tears shone in Don's eyes, although it was quite clear to Charlie how much effort his brother was putting forth not to let them break free. Much to his dismay, Charlie still didn't know what to say. He searched his brain, trying to come up with something comforting, but he was at a loss. Instead, he let his hand rest stationary on Don's shoulder.
"How's that for showing a little weakness, huh?" Don grinned, and Charlie grinned back. "How about you, Chuck? Care to share?"
Charlie hesitated. Don can express emotion now, and you can't? Sheesh, Charlie. He took a deep breath. Time to dive in.
"I see it every time I close my eyes," he began. "I always have dreams about it. I keep seeing . . . I keep seeing the way it looked through the windshield as we rolled over. I keep seeing the rain and how it just covered everything. And I keep seeing you. I keep seeing you underneath the car. And you were bleeding, and . . ."
He couldn't continue. The lump in his throat rose up suddenly, exploding through his mouth in several hacking sobs. His face was suddenly wet from tears—just like with the rain. Don wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he cried.
After a minute, Charlie resumed speaking. "You know, considering how I sustained a head injury, I'm amazed at how much of it I remember. I remember all of it. Clearly. And I just really wish I didn't. And I just keep having this dream, even now, where you're laying on the ground, and it's raining so hard, and you're just begging me to help you, but I can't. And I always wake up just feeling so awful. It was worse right after I got out of the hospital, but I still have that dream all the time."
"And that's why it was so hard for you to come see me," Don said. "Is that part of why you were blaming yourself so much?"
Charlie shrugged. How should he know? "I'm not sure. I just know that I spent so much time feeling like everything was my fault that I didn't realize it wasn't over. I was still making things worse. I shouldn't have spent so much time away. I should have been there, and now a part of me feels worse than before."
Don sighed shakily. He was clearly struggling to maintain composure. "I know you do. And I don't really know how to make that better."
Charlie scoffed. "You know, that is so like you. Why do you think the way I feel and my well-being is your responsibility? I mean it's always been like that."
Don seemed to ignore him. "I should remind you that you did save my life, you know. The accident wasn't your fault but I would have bled out and died if you hadn't been there. I feel no blame towards you, I'm just grateful." He paused in thought, and Charlie was stunned. His brother was grateful to him. Before he could really think about that, Don continued. "I think we both have the same problem. We're both just two guys who could use a brother. But we've both got our own issues, and it's just a hard time for either of us to be a brother to anyone."
"Yeah, I suppose it has been," Charlie agreed. "But I think maybe that's not true anymore. I mean . . . look at us."
Don chuckled. "We're kind of a mess, aren't we?"
"Maybe a little."
"So how're you doing now?" Don asked him in all seriousness. "You okay? Or should we call Dad? It's really okay if we do; I'm not going to think any less of you for being messed up. You know that, right? I mean I'm pretty messed up too, so I guess we're in this together."
"Yeah, I do know that." Charlie smiled, his heart warmed by the sincerity of his brother's words. "But no, calling Dad would be the easy thing to do, but I think I need to do this. I need to get us home."
"All right, whatever you want," Don conceded. "We'll just take it slow. If you ever need to pull over and collect yourself, it's okay."
It was good, Charlie realized, having someone with him who understood him so well. He put the car into drive, feeling more confident than he had in a long time. He and Don may both have been a little worse for wear, but at least they were alive. They were alive, Charlie had a feeling they'd be depending on each other to move on.
TBC