A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews.

Unfortunatly, my beta has been under the weather and it might be a while before the next update.

And you bleed just to know you're alive

1000101

Martha Billing's office was pretty small, as was the whole company's branch in Carmel. Don and David had arrived first thing in the morning and were now waiting for Mrs. Billing to arrive. David was studying Don, which annoyed the senior agent tremendously. David had seen his friend's behavior fluctuate over the last week, changing from a sedate almost depressed man to the edgy and wired agent he was seeing right now. He knew that Don's behavior would startle any witness they might encounter, and had mentioned to him to try and stay quiet.

"Hello agents," Martha Billing greeted the two men sitting in her office. "Malcolm mentioned you're interested in a man called John Eppes."

"Actually." David eyed Don only to see him sitting quietly. "That's not his real name. But yeah, we're looking for him."

"I don't know what I could tell you. He paid in cash, didn't leave an address…" Martha trailed off.

"Do you have surveillance cameras?" Don asked, his voice having an edge to it.

"No."

David leaned in towards her. "Who talked to him?"

"I took the order, but I really don't remember the guy," Martha said apologetically.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Martha shook her head sadly. "I have no idea. Maybe he'd look familiar, but…" Martha tried hard, but had nothing to offer the two agents. She was obviously aware of their distress.

"If he comes back," David said, handing her his business card. He wanted to get out of the room as fast as he could. Mrs. Billing couldn't help them and the look on Don's face was getting from bad to worse. "Thank you."

1000110

"Damn it!" Don yelled as he banged his hand on the car's closed door.

"Don," David put his hands up in an attempt to placate the senior agent. They had just left Martha Billing's office with nothing to go on.

"I have to find him, David," Don said in a raised voice.

Seeing his friend's anguish was tearing him apart. "I know," David almost whispered.

"Do you?" Don looked at him, frantic. "Do you know what it's like to know your little brother is being tortured? Bleeding somewhere? That he's out there, alone, waiting for me to get to him and I'm not there?" He lashed out at his friend, not even noticing the tears sliding down his face. "Do you know what it's like to hear him scream?" Don's voice cracked and he stopped talking, seeming to deflate suddenly. He leaned back against the car, his head down. David stood in front of him.

"Don." David waited for his friend to look at him. "No. I don't know what it's like. But I know we'll find him. I know I'll see him again - and so will you."

Don nodded, keeping his head low. He wanted to believe.

1000111

November 8th

For the first time in many days, Charlie laid on his back. The cuts from the glass weren't hurting anymore and Charlie could handle the pain from the cuts John had done with his knife.

John got upset last night. Charlie wasn't sure what had unsettled him and it didn't matter. He got upset a lot. Last night, John had thrown Charlie on the floor and put his booted foot on the young man's chest. He had applied pressure until Charlie couldn't breathe and had passed out. Charlie now had a painful purple boot print on his chest and thought he had heard at least two ribs fracture.

Breathing was painful. Moving was so painful, Charlie's vision had clouded and he thought he would pass out when he had made his last journey to the bathroom. So he lay on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get the burning sensation out. He tried to imagine what his family and friends were doing right now. He figured Don would be interviewing people, trying to find him. His friends were probably teaching a class and his father… he worried about him.

Alan, like his sons, was the kind of guy who needed to do something. He didn't do the waiting helplessly part too well. How much was the situation hurting him? Was he okay? Was he handling it somehow? Charlie found himself praying that he was. He dreamt of letting his father hold him and make all the problems go away the way only a father could. The way his father had always done.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He missed everyone so much. It was the first time he realized just how lonely he felt. He had spent the last 12 days practically alone, and he missed having someone else around. Anyone else. He missed the sunlight, missed walking, missed teaching… and he missed people.

Charlie wiggled the fingers in his broken arm, testing its limits. He did that a lot, as if expecting to find that it had all been a dream. He found that it still hurt as much as it had the last time he checked. The pain was real, it made him feel real, the broken bones were real, and no amount of wishing would make that go away.

The mathematician closed his eyes, whishing for peaceful sleep to come. The dreams didn't have as much pain in them, they didn't feel as lonely as real life and even though his dreams of his brother often got him beaten, at least he wasn't alone there. But the dreams weren't real.

He didn't want to have to escape reality. He knew it was a dangerous road to take, and one he might not be able to get off of once he started going there.

Charlie opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Time moved slower than ever.

1001000

"Don," Alan called out to his son.

"Yeah." Don was sitting in the garage, staring at Charlie's familiar handwriting on the chalkboards. He hadn't been able to say more than a few words to anyone since his conversation with David, and he chose to get some time alone in one of Charlie's favorite places.

"What's wrong?" Alan asked after entering the room and taking one look at his son. "You got home late last night, did something happen?"

"Unfortunately, no." Don kept staring at the boards, trying to hear the sound the chalk made when Charlie wrote on them.

Alan spoke again, disturbing Don's efforts. "You lost me."

"How have you been sleeping?" Don changed the subject. He didn't have to look at his father to know how badly he looked.

"The same. It's easier when I'm in his room. It's almost like I can feel him there." The older man admitted sadly. "You?"

"Same."

Alan waited for Don to elaborate, and allowed his eyes to wonder the room. "Smells like chalk," the older man said.

"Smells like Charlie."

Alan looked back at his son, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Yeah." Letting another second go by, he spoke again. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just-" Don looked down at his hands. "Not finding him."

"Don." Alan tried to console his son.

"Don't tell me I'm going to find him. It's been almost two weeks and we don't have any leads." Don finally looked at his father. "It doesn't look good." Don went back to staring at the blackboards.

"This came for you." Alan handed the agent a small envelope.

Don opened the envelope slowly. Upon seeing its message he looked away, clutching both the envelope and it's content in his hands.

"What does it say?" Alan asked worriedly, seeing how hard Don was working to keep from crying. When he didn't get a response, he read it in his son's hand. "It's a number," he said, confused.

"It's from John. We haven't been able to tell what it means." Don rubbed his hand over his face.

"Don't touch it." Don jumped when his father reached for the only link he had to his young son.

"Why not?" Alan looked at Don pointedly, intentionally trying to remind him of their agreement not to hide anything.

"It's not written in ink. Don't touch the number."

He searched his son's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It's written in Charlie's blood."

Alan dropped the hand that had been reaching for the note and only stared at Don, shocked. "No," he whispered unconsciously. "Why?" Alan shook his head, looking away from Don and the note and turning his attention to the boards.

"I don't know, Dad." Don put his hand on Alan's arm. "I don't know."

1001001

November 10th

Charlie half-sat, half-laid down in his bed. He hadn't seen John in a while. He didn't know how long, but it felt like more than a day or two. Hunger was bothering him again and he hoped John would let him eat soon.

As if hearing his thoughts, John opened the door.

"Hi, Charlie. How have you been?"

"Fine," Charlie replied, knowing the answer was irrelevant.

"We have guests today. You should change your clothes."

Charlie stared at John, not knowing how to react. "What?"

"I'll help you," John said while walking towards the cabinet and getting Charlie a fresh set of clothes. "Sit up."

He sat up, clenching his jaw as his ribs protested the movement with a wave of pain and nausea. Once the violent reaction became too much to handle, he stopped moving. Noticing Charlie's problems, John sat next to him on the bed, putting his arm around the mathematician's back and pulling him upright. Scooting further back on the bed, John sat behind Charlie so he'd be able to use him for support. "You okay?" he whispered in Charlie's ear.

"Sore." Charlie's voice quivered.

"I'm sorry I keep doing that, buddy." John rubbed his hands over Charlie's shoulders. "It'll get better."

Charlie closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

"Let me do this for you." John grabbed the bottom of Charlie's shirt and started pulling it up. "Put your hands over your head." A groan escaped Charlie as he lifted his arms, stretching his injured back and abdomen muscles more than they were willing to go. John pulled the shirt off Charlie in one swift motion. "Don't move." John ordered as he grabbed the fresh shirt. Charlie could feel his captor's scrutinizing gaze as he inspected Charlie's cut and discolored torso. The mathematician stared ahead, ignoring the looks his battered body got. He felt more than saw the shirt being pulled over his stretched arms and then his head. "There you go," John said when the shirt was in place.

Charlie didn't answer. Not only did he have nothing to say, but his lack of use of his voice was beginning to take effect in some soreness.

"Now your pants," John stated. Charlie bit his lip nervously. He wasn't sure how they were going to pull that off since he couldn't stand, but he was sure it was going to hurt.

"You should lean back completely." John took the pillow so Charlie could lay flat on his back. He got up from the bed, leaving the empty bed for the injured man. "Lie down."

Charlie laid back fast, trying to cut down on the time his abdomen muscles had to work.

"This is going to hurt," John warned. He put his arm under the small of Charlie's back and lifted his mid section so he could pull the mathematician's pants down. Charlie screamed in agony as his ribs protested the movement and breathed heavily with the effort. "God, please stop," Charlie mumbled between labored breaths. "Please," he begged without a voice.

Once the pants were off, John put Charlie back on the bed. "I want to take a look at those cuts." He motioned to Charlie's thighs. "You rest for now."

Charlie did just that and tried to calm his breathing down. It didn't help that he was naked and exposed to John.

"These look good," John said after inspection. "We can keep the dressing off." Charlie nodded absent mindedly, still trying to calm his breathing since it's frantic pace was causing pain.

He clenched his jaw as John put the new pants up Charlie's legs, moving his wounded knees in the process.

Charlie's voice was barely audible. "What now?"

"Like before. I lift you up so you don't have to use anything." John smiled, putting his arm under Charlie's back again. As his abdomen lifted, pain exploded through out his torso. A whimper escaped his lips and his vision clouded. He realized too late that he wasn't breathing as his broken ribs moved against his insides. It wasn't long before everything went dark and Charlie slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

1001010

Opening his eyes slowly, Charlie looked around. He was sitting in the wheelchair next to the living room couch. He could see the sun outside and longed to feel its warmth. He had spent the last two weeks in the relative cool basement and missed the warm weather.

"You're awake," John said happily as he entered the room.

Charlie gave him half a smile and sized himself up. He was completely dressed, shaved and cleaned. His hair was wet after being washed and combed. He was propped awkwardly in the wheelchair, but he had to admit it was a fairly painless position. He suspected John had given him something for the pain, but he wasn't sure. It took his usually observant mind a second to realize something else, something he wasn't so accustomed to – he wasn't chained to anything.

"You feeling okay?" John approached his young prisoner.

"Yeah." Charlie's voice was hoarse. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Listen to me, buddy." John sat on the couch in front of Charlie, taking his attention. "Your arm and ribs are broken. Your legs aren't working. If you try to do anything, I will stop you. You're not strong enough to get away from me and I don't want you to make me hurt you." Charlie knew the man was right. He wouldn't get the leverage - he couldn't out run John. He knew the numbers were against a violent attempt of escape.

"Our neighbors are coming for lunch. I told them about your problems. You tell them that I hurt you and they won't believe you. And I will make you regret doing it. Do we understand each other?" John spoke calmly, but there was no doubt he would keep his word.

"Yes."

John nodded once and left the room, leaving Charlie alone.

The mathematician barely noticed when John left, his mind already reeling with activity. He could feel a plan forming.

1001011