A/N: man am i ever mad - every time i went to work on this chapter, something or someone always got in my way, saying i needed to do this or that first... so really, this chapter would've been up three days ago if people would've just left me alone for once -- (sigh - one can dream) anyways, here it is -- and advance notice: the rest of the chapters following this one will be one huge flashback, going all the way back to "the incident" at calsci and working back through the six weeks of emotional struggle to the present, which will be what the last chapter is.

Warning: (see 'Warning' at beginning of Chapter 1)

-enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review please-

Chapter 2 - Shades of Grey
Don wasn't even suppose to be there right then, really; he'd already been there for the past month or so, having decided to move back in temporarily so that he could be there to help their father in trying to get through to Charlie, to get him to open up and, at some point, to smile again. He knew perfectly well what it was that his brother had witnessed, the type of emotional hell it had slowly put him into - he had been one of the first to arrive on scene when the call of a hostage situation in the math department at Cal Sci had come through the 911 switchboard.

He had had no choice but to merely watch as the appointed FBI negotiator tried his best to talk down the gun-totting lunatic that had taken Charlie and his students captive, had had to have been physically restrained by Colby and David when the gunshots had started and kept on going every five to ten minutes, having been about to run into the building and take that bastard down himself. He would never forget the feeling of absolute terror that would hit him like a punch every time a single shot would ring out, followed by a gradually smaller cacophony of screams from those who were still alive, and he would wonder yet again whether or not it was Charlie who'd been killed that time, if his baby brother's turn to die had come.

He had yet to think of a single moment in his life where he'd felt as powerless and terrified as when he was waiting outside that building, listening to each shot and wondering after each one if today was the day he would have to break their father's heart by informing him that his youngest son had been shot and killed inside his own classroom. Alan would of course demand to know why he hadn't stopped it from happening, and Don would have no choice but to tell him that he'd been forced to wait outside behind the safety of the police barricades, unable to cross those last hundred yards that stood between him and being able to save his little brother from being executed. The only thing that would've come close to being as devastating as Charlie's death would've been the look of broken-hearted disappointment that would mar the eldest Eppes' normally loving features, effectively destroying what little of Don's soul that would be left.

At any rate, he had stayed at his family's house for the first three weeks, trying desperately to get through to Charlie who'd barely spoken or done much of anything since that day, but at the end of the three weeks, he'd been forced to play babysitter to a criminal turning state's evidence. One phone call had been his only warning, after which he'd been stuck for three weeks solid in a safe house with their witness while problems with witness protection were slowly worked out, and the trial progressed, also achingly slowly. It hadn't even been as relaxing as he'd been assured it would be; those three weeks had been occupied with three bomb threats, four attacks on the house, and two escape attempts from their witness, not to mention several killer migraines.

And so, tired and almost entirely drained, Don had been ordered to go home to his apartment to rest up for a few days, but decided to make a quick stop at his childhood home first to check up on things. The phone messages that his father had left for him at the office had been encouraging in the sense that although Charlie hadn't improved much, it sounded at least like he hadn't gotten any worse either, which was a relief.

Presently, he made quick work of pulling into the driveway of the Craftsman home and turning off the engine of his SUV, slowly releasing himself from his seatbelt and all but dragging himself out and towards the house's front door. He had just reached it when the sound of another car pulling in drew his attention back to the driveway where he saw his father in the midst of parking and exiting his vehicle, the fact that Don hadn't noticed his car wasn't already there being a testament to his level of exhaustion. Immediately spotting his son's sagging form, Alan allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the attempt Don made to stand up straight and smile as though he was perfectly fine, when he was clearly dead on his feet.

"I take it protecting that witness was a little more taxing than they let on," he said frankly as he reached Don's side, opening the door to allow them both to step into the front entranceway, and closing it tightly behind them before getting straight down to business. "What we're going to do is get a good solid meal in your stomach, then you'll head upstairs for a shower, after which you will sleep either in your room or on the couch until you're awake enough to drive back to your apartment." Before Don could even begin to think of objecting, he found himself being steered towards the kitchen where he was made to sit at the counter. However, being off of his feet at last only seemed to serve to remind him of just how tired he was, of how long it had been since he'd had a decent sleep, or a peaceful day, and he didn't even notice that his eyes were drifting shut...

Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake, and he blinked his eyes open, taking a second to remember why he was at the kitchen counter before he sat up as straight as he could, thereby allowing Alan to carefully deposit a bowl of soup where the agent's head had been resting. He stared at the steaming liquid a few moments longer before looking over at his father who'd left and returned with his own bowl.

"Is Charlie home tonight?" Alan answered in between slurps.

"Yes, like always - I wasn't able to convince him to accept Larry and Amita's dinner and movie invitation."

"Should I go get him then? He should eat something." The eldest Eppes frowned for a moment in thought.

"A few hours ago, he said he felt sick to his stomach..." Alan suddenly smiled, startling Don a bit. "When I checked on him before I left for my book club, he was completely wrapped up in his work!" Don's eyebrows jumped in surprise and his spoon dropped back into his bowl with a clatter.

"He was working-working? As in, math-working?" Math was one of the things that Charlie hadn't done since the incident, and if that was indeed what he'd been working on, then that had to mean he'd taken a few steps forward in a positive direction... right?

"I don't know what else it could've been - he had one of his math notebooks open and was scribbling away, didn't even pause or look up when I accidentally knocked a glass off of his dresser!" Alan's optimistic smile was contagious, and within seconds Don was outright beaming. He stood from his stool then and started for the stairs, visibly ten-times more energized than he'd been upon first entering the house.

"I'm gonna go and see if he's up for a break yet," Don called cheerfully over his shoulder, and Alan's smile broadened as he set about filling a third bowl of soup.

By the time Don made it to the top of the stairs, he could already feel his newfound energy drying up, but he refused to let his smile leave his face as he knocked moderately loudly on Charlie's closed bedroom door, wondering if he'd even hear him if he was still in math-mode.

"Hey Charlie, can I come in?" As he'd expected he got no answer, and so moved his hand to the doorknob. "I'm coming in," he called as he slowly opened the door, hoping Charlie would hear him and get the hint that he wasn't alone in the house any more so that he wouldn't jump out of his skin when Don walked up to him.

Upon entering the dimly lit room, Don frowned at the unoccupied desk chair until he vaguely recalled seeing the bathroom door closed on his way to Charlie's room. After a moment, he decided to take a peek at what it was that Charlie had been working on while he waited for him to get back, knowing beyond a doubt that there was no way he'd understand what was there, but just wanting desperately to see evidence that he was getting his brother back, that the Charlie they all knew and loved was slowly, but definitely returning to the surface of the frighteningly hollow persona that had recently taken his place.

However, when he looked down at the torn out page that lay on top of the open notebook, he realized quickly that it wasn't math that Charlie had been working on, and though the letter on that page that was addressed to Don and their father was written in perfect English, he found he could not comprehend the words he was reading.

-

--

Don and Dad,

I want to start by thanking you both - not only for tolerating me these past six weeks, but for doing so my whole life, every time something happened so that I lost myself in "my world", and put the burden of looking after my well-being on both of you; I know that I should've been stronger back then, and in the present, and I want you both to know how much I've appreciated your efforts, even if things haven't turned out the way you thought and hoped they would. That being said, I want both of you to remember that what I've done is in no way your fault - I am the reason I am here, I am to blame for this.

I can't say I ever saw myself writing something like this, but then again up until six weeks ago, I wouldn't have said that I saw myself sitting back and letting twelve of my best students be executed in my classroom either - things change. I use to always believe that in the days following something truly terrible, nothing but good could happen, that one's emotions and attitude had nowhere to go but up after they'd hit rock-bottom, that if there really was a God, he would reward a man with the ability to move on with his life rather than leave him to drown in the wake of the tragedy.

He's left me to drown, Don, Dad; He's left me to drown, and I've run out of both the energy and the will to stay afloat.

Dad: you don't need to worry about house payments - I've saved enough over the years that I was able to set up an automatic monthly withdrawal from my account for all utilities, and I've set up a second account for emergency use. I've updated my will so that the house will be yours again, and I don't imagine such a familiar responsibility will be at all difficult for you - you always were better at maintaining it than I was on even my best day.

Dad, I need you to know that I love you, and how much it always meant to me to have your unwavering support since I was a kid, the second of the two loving constants I knew as my parents the entire time I was growing up - you helped me through the toughest years of my life, and were the best father that I ever could've hoped for.

Don: I recently took the liberty of sorting through my files and retrieving any information I still had from the different cases of yours I assisted on, and I've put all of it into CalSci's outgoing mail - you should receive it in a few days, and if you find anything is missing, I'm sure that Larry would be more than willing to brave my office to find the rest.

When all is said and done, I need you to remember this: you were my anchor whenever I started to drift away, my protector whenever I got myself into more trouble than I could handle... you were my invincible big brother, whom I loved and looked up to more than I ever could bring myself to let on, for which I am sorry. You really have always been there for me Donnie, when it counted the most.

I have no doubt that you will both be angry with the choice I have made, but anger is something I can handle; after six weeks of avoiding seeing the disappointment in your eyes, anger is something I would welcome. You both need to believe me though when I say that this is in everyone's best interest - you'll both be better off, can both have real lives without me around, and my students' parents can see the man that let their children down receive the end he deserved in the first place.

When it is done, and you find this note, I don't care if you cremate me or put me in a coffin, just as long as I'm buried next to Mom - please; if I've earned just one favor from either of you, I'd like to use it on that request.

I love you both, and hope that one day you and everyone else can forgive me for letting them die.

Charlie

--

-

By the time he was finished reading it, Don was leaning heavily on the desk for support, his knees too weak to hold his weight as he continued to stare numbly at the page. Disbelief was his first reaction, his mind at first refusing to acknowledge the meaning behind those written words, then suddenly shoving said meaning right in his face: this was a suicide letter... Charlie's suicide letter... his little brother was going to kill himself... that is, if he hadn't already done it.

Don hesitantly retrieved the letter from the desk and on closer inspection realized that the page had been stained with tears that had long since dried, leaving the page slightly warped where they had landed. Tears burned the backs of his own eyes as he stared for a moment longer at the heartbreaking words on the sheet before remembering once again the closed bathroom door he'd seen just minutes ago. With determination born of sheer panic, he blinked back his tears and forced his legs to move, carrying him at a dead run from the room, and back down the hall where he stopped in front of the bathroom door. He immediately began pounding on it.

"Charlie! Open the door Buddy! Please!" he yelled, unaware that his desperation had saturated his words until his father came running up the stairs from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" he asked breathlessly, looking back and forth between Don's suspiciously bright eyes and the piece of paper still clutched in his hand. Without a word, Don shoved the page into his hands and continued pounding on the door.

"Charlie, open this door or I swear to God I will break it down! Charlie!" He paused only for a moment to press his ear up against the door, hoping for an answer but hearing only a faint sniffling sound coming from the other side. The sound, however small, almost made Don cry with relief. He's still alive, he hasn't done anything yet - I'm not too late...

A sharp gasp from behind him cut off his next round of yelling and pounding and he turned around to see that unlike himself, Alan hadn't felt the need to hold in his tears. Looking up from the letter, Alan's tear-filled eyes met Don's, his voice almost too choked for Don to understand when he spoke.

"Help him Donnie, please." His statement broke down the last wall of restraint Don had and he turned back around, taking two steps back before he braced himself and kicked in the door, hoping in the back of his mind that Charlie wasn't behind it to get hit. The second the door cleared the frame, Don raced inside to kneel beside Charlie who was slumped against the wall beside the bathtub, shaking convulsively with his silent sobbing, tears streaming constantly down his face as he stared down at what looked to be a family picture clutched in his trembling hand. He barely noticed that Alan had come in behind him as he frantically checked Charlie's wrists, his whole body, for any sign of self-inflicted injury, running his hands through his hair, up and down his arms, and checking his stomach and legs at a feverish pace. When his search turned up absolutely nothing, Don briefly sat back, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow his hammering heart.

It's okay Eppes, don't have a heart-attack, Charlie's all right, you still have time to help him, to fix your baby brother's broken heart - besides, he hasn't even done anything to himself. Maybe he wasn't serious - maybe this is all some sort of sick joke, a serious misunderstanding, or even a nightmare that I'll be waking up from any second now...

That's when he saw it, tucked between his brother's leg and the side of the bathtub, almost completely out of sight: a medium-sized, overturned orange prescription bottle that looked suspiciously like the one filled with sleeping pills that he had picked up himself from the pharmacy for Charlie a little over a month ago. Snatching up the bottle, Don's breath caught in his throat, his heart all but stopping in his chest as he stared into the empty interior, looking from it to Charlie's face, realizing only now that his skin had gone paper-white, a thin sheen of sweat coating his features. No...

"Dad, how many pills were in this bottle," he bit out as he handed the bottle to their father over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Charlie who still hadn't looked up from the picture. Grabbing the offered bottle, Alan's fear skyrocketed as he recognized the label, and he rushed to answer around his closing throat.

"As far as I know, Charlie hasn't used any so that means... that means there had to have been around sixty of them... are you sure they didn't just spill onto the floor?" His tear-clogged question was one of desperate optimism, but even so Don humored him with doing a quick sweep of the bare floor, about to answer in the negative when a faint, muffled whisper caught his attention.

"Please don't cry Daddy... I'm not worth your tears." His heart-wrenching words drew both of their gazes to him, and Don was almost relieved that he had finally broken out of his trance and looked away from the photo, until he saw the look in Charlie's eyes - he looked... empty, like he was already dead. Don shivered involuntarily, peripherally aware of Alan rushing over to kneel beside his youngest, looking as though he were unsure if he should touch him, like he would somehow shatter in his grasp. Don however held no such fears and took firm hold of Charlie's face between his hands, flinching at how clammy his skin was, but remaining undeterred.

"Charlie, how many pills did you take?" Charlie looked him straight in the eye but said nothing, and Don shook him a little, his steadily rising fear and anxiety lending his voice a biting harshness as he gripped his face harder. "Tell me Charlie - how many pills? Tell me!" Charlie's eyes had started to alternate between sliding around, unfocussed, and drifting shut, though he seemed to be making a valiant effort to keep them open, at least for a little while longer.

"All... all of... them... I think..." he whispered, his blinks lasting longer with every passing second. His eyelids drooped shut again, but he seemed to lack the energy to pull them back open this time. "So tired... think... m' gonna sleep..." He began to slump in Don's grasp, and in a panic, Don fisted his hand in his dark curls and gave a sharp tug. The resulting pain had the desired effect and Charlie's eyes shot back open, looking somewhat confused, the only emotion left in once lively eyes.

"Give me your cell-phone - I... I need to call an ambulance." Their father's urgent demand brought Don out of his reverie and he shook his head, swallowing to make his voice work again.

"No, they'll take too long to get here, then to get him to a hospital," he said, as he quickly stood and deftly scooped his brother's thin frame up into his arms. "We're taking him ourselves in my car - I can use the sirens, we'll get there in under ten minutes."

Nodding his agreement, Alan followed closely behind as Don all but ran back down the stairs and out the front door, glad to see that the jostling of his movements were keeping Charlie's eyes from closing. After he'd deposited Charlie in the backseat with Alan, he jumped into the driver's seat, flicking on the siren as promised before pulling a sharp four-point turn on the lawn so that he could drive around Alan's car, speeding off down the quiet neighborhood street seconds later.

"You gotta keep him awake Dad," he said urgently, not taking his eyes off the street as he maneuvered at break-neck speed through the late-night traffic. "Talk to him about anything and everything, just don't let him fall asleep. He... he won't wake up again if he does." Satisfied at the shaking nod that he saw his father give in the rearview mirror, Don once again focused solely on the road and not getting them killed enroot, his focus only broken by Charlie's whispered words and his rapid breaths that seemed to be getting more and more difficult to pull in.

"Tina Willows." Both Alan and Don exchanged a confused look in the mirror before Alan looked back down at Charlie whose upper body lay shaking badly in his lap, his now tear-less gaze half-lidded and unfocussed, starring blankly at the SUV's ceiling.

"Who is Tina Willows Charlie? What are you talking about?" he asked quietly, involuntarily tightening his hold on Charlie's shoulders when Don took another sharp turn, trying to keep him as still as possible.

"Tina Willows: twenty-two years old, was... working... on her third... year in the math program at... CalSci - been in... my classes since she got... there... really a brilliant... student, an enthusiastic learner, a great... worker... had time for... class, two... jobs, was engaged to be married a month... from now... even invited me to her wedding..." Charlie paused for a moment, his voice becoming even rougher. "...she was the first to die."

"Charlie..." Alan breathed, unsure as to what to say in the face of Charlie's raw anguish. What could he say, really? What could he possibly say to his son to ease the crushing weight that the death of his students had put on his heart?

Neither he nor Don could come up with anything before Charlie continued, his voice taking on a haunted tone around his dragging breaths.

"Peter Murray: twenty-three, on his... third year in the... program... too - just got to know him... this year... he'd just... barely been passing in... his other math... courses, and when he came to... mine, it... took me a week... to convince him to not drop... out - he turned into one of... my best students... he died right after... Tina, trying to... get the gun from him; Gary Hoskins: sixteen, on full-paid... scholarship... to CalSci after acing every math... test since... grade one, and... proving... to his teacher in grade... ten... that he could do quadratic and... calculus equations in... his head... reminded me of me, actually - young, too smart... for people to want to befriend... him, in way over his... head, but enjoying himself... too much to quit... he died in my arms after taking a bullet... to the chest for... looking at him the wrong... way; Henry Parker... Uni Adonis... Carl Staton... Colleen Jebreen... Casey Walker... Ian Wyoming..."

"Charlie... stop doing this to yourself," Don pleaded from up front, having to free one hand from the wheel to swipe away the moisture in his eyes that was blurring his vision too much for him to be able to see the road. The more names Charlie listed, the quieter and sadder his voice became, and Don swore he could hear a wheezing sound coming from him each time he spoke and breathed.

Either Charlie chose to ignore his plea, or he was too out of it to hear him, because he hardly paused in his tearful reminiscing.

"...Barry Erwin... Paula Baker... Nick Hart..." Charlie shook his head despondently. When he spoke again, the wheezing and gasping had escalated to a frightening level, breaking up his sentence, but not enough so that they couldn't understand what was being said. "Th-They... were in... my... c-care... under... m-my... s-sup-superv-vision... I sh-shouldn't... have l-let hi-... him hurt... th-them... it... it's all m-my... f-fault... I'm so... sorry, so sorry... p-please b-believe me... I ne-...never m-meant... to... let th-them... die... never... meant..." Charlie was sobbing hysterically by now, only making his breathing worse as he jerked and shuddered in his father's grasp.

Terrified and feeling hopelessly useless, Alan bit back the urge to yell at Don to drive faster, knowing that Don was already going as fast as he could go while still avoiding wrapping them around a telephone pole. It just feels like we should be there by now... the hospital has always been such a short drive from the house - so why is it that right now, I feel as though we've been driving for hours and getting nowhere when every second counts?

"There it is, just down the street! We're almost there, we're almost there, just a little further now, we're almost there..." Don's exclamation made Alan want to cry out with relief, and his subsequent self-assuring mantra instilled in his head and heart the foolishly optimistic thought that they were home-free now, that the ordeal was almost over and that they could relax a little with the comfort that the help they needed was literally in sight.

He looked down then and saw that Charlie's eyes were dangerously close to closing, his breaths more choked wheezes than actual breaths. His mouth went dry.

"Charlie...?" What little of his eyes that were still visible finally shifted to look directly at him, and he found he couldn't quite describe the trepidation he felt as one final tear escaped the corner of Charlie's eye, streaking down his face as he forced his voice to work, despite the fact that it looked as though he could hardly even breathe.

"L-love you... Dad... Donnie... t-tell... their... parent's... m' sorry... s-sorry... love you... both..." His voice trailed off and before Alan could think to prevent it, his eyes closed completely and he went limp in his lap. A second later, the terrible wheezes ceased, throwing the vehicle's interior into a silence that made Don's blood run cold.

"Dad?" His voice sounded small, completely unlike his stoic, unshakable FBI agent persona - this was uncharted, unprecedented territory... and God help him, he was more scared than he'd ever been in all his life.

"He's not breathing." Alan's voice was a hoarse whisper, hardly willing to believe it was happening until his shaking hand found it's way to Charlie's unmoving chest. "He's not breathing Donnie! DRIVE FASTER!"

In response to his father's terrified, yelled words, Don's foot slammed the gas pedal the rest of the way down, making it so that they were pulling up in front of the ER in under ten seconds, Don jumping out of the driver's seat and lunging for the back seat's door the second he'd managed to stop. Caring little for being gentle at this point, Don practically tore Charlie from their father's grip, pulling him into his arms and clutching him tight to his chest as he sprinted through the automatic doors and into the busy emergency room. For a few seconds he whipped back and forth, searching with wild eyes for a doctor before running up to the front desk, his brother hanging limply in his arms.

"Please, you have to help him," he gasped out to the receptionist who looked from Charlie to him with wide, unblinking eyes. "He downed an entire bottle of sleeping pills... he's not breathing... please, help him..." He hadn't even finished speaking before she was rushing out of the enclosed workspace and moving towards the double-doors.

"Follow me," she said quickly and Don was right on her heals, Alan two steps behind him as they raced past almost a dozen curtained off areas before finally finding an unoccupied doctor, to whom the receptionist quickly described the situation. Without sparing her another glance, the doctor hijacked three nurses from surrounding cubicles and quickly rolled a gurney over to Don who wordlessly deposited Charlie onto its sterile surface, watching with a sort of numb detachment as he was wheeled into a curtain cubicle further down where the doctor immediately began CPR. Don stayed where he was only long enough for the doctor to announce that Charlie was breathing again, then he turned and shuffled mutely past his father who followed after him as he slowly made his way back through the double doors, asking him shakily if he was all right as he inched his way towards a set of free chairs.

All right? He's actually asking if I'm all right? No I'm not goddamn all right! Why in the hell would I be all right?! Charlie... Charlie just tried to kill himself... Jesus... Charlie tried to kill himself - it almost worked too.

Don's steps faltered, and his heart rate sped up simultaneously with his breathing.

Charlie had swallowed all those pills long before I got there... what if I hadn't decided to go ask him if he wanted a break? What would've happened had I decided to leave him be for just that little bit longer? ... I would've lost my little brother, that's what would've happened - it'd been so close, too close...

He felt his legs start to buckle and his hand automatically went to the wall, bracing himself as his head swam, his vision blurring and becoming so unfocussed that he barely saw his father's concerned gaze suddenly appear in front of him, his ears ringing so loudly that he didn't even hear Alan's voice, telling him to calm down, take a deep breath. He couldn't think clearly, couldn't manage to speak - he just kept on seeing Charlie's empty eyes, kept on hearing his rasping voice begging his family to believe that he'd never meant to let his students die... let his students die - like he actually had a choice in the matter.

He obviously thought he did... and look where it got him?... How could you do it Buddy? How could you do this to yourself, to us?

His breaths were coming so quickly that he suddenly found himself unable to draw one, and his dizziness finally got the better of him as his vision went black, his hand slipping from the wall as he collapsed. He vaguely felt a pair of warm arms hook themselves under his own, catching him mid-fall and lowering him carefully the rest of the way down. Very faintly, he could hear his father alternating between calling out for help and practically begging Don to wake up, to speak to him, to open his eyes, and part of him wanted desperately to listen, to not add on to his father's grief and worry tonight, but the rest of him was suddenly too tired to be willing to fight off the darkness that was steadily closing in, wrapping around him in an oddly comforting embrace. It was an embrace of... nothingness - it was peace, it was silence, it was away from this new crisis that had sprung up six weeks after its predecessor to pick up where it had left off in terrorizing this family.

As he allowed himself to sink down further away from reality, his thoughts couldn't help but bring him back six weeks, back to the nightmare that seemed determined to change their lives forever...

TBC