Author's Note- This was written late at night, so it's very weird. If it's too weird, let me know. This chapter took about fifteen minutes; most of my chapters I put a good three or four into, not including beta-reading them. Thanks to my way cool friend Ben for the firearm info. And Lisa for the medical stuff.

Chapter 5- The First Consequence

"God, please don't let me be too late," Don whispered as he leapt out of his car, gun in hand. He could not let Leary take his family away from him. He had barely been able to survive the death of his mother. He knew he wouldn't be able to survive the murder of his father and his baby brother.

He entered the house quietly, sweeping the area with his gun. He could hear noises coming from upstairs. His stomach twisted as he realized it was his father shouting.

He knew where they would be. In every case, Leary would rape and murder his victims in their own bedroom. No doubt he had Charlie handcuffed to the bedposts and Alan taped to a chair. Don't heart contracted with pain as he slowly approached the stairs, trying hard not to think about what he was about to see.

Slowly and cautiously, he ascended the stairs, and realized the noise had subsided. Now he could only hear low murmurs. It was Leary, saying something to Charlie. Don vowed that this time Leary would not escape, even if he had to kill him.

"Please, just kill me." Don froze as he heard Charlie's voice.

Oh, God no, he thought, his heart beginning to hammer.

"God damn you; kill me!"

No, no, no! He thought, his pace quickening.

"Are you ready, Daddy?" Leary asked. Don had no time to think. His brother was moments away from certain death.

"NO!"

"FBI; freeze!" Don shouted. The knife stopped, no more than an inch away from Charlie's heart.

"Don," Charlie whispered, tears running down his cheeks. Don's heart broke when he saw his bleeding brother pinned under the murderer. No wonder he had asked for death.

"Drop your weapon," Don said firmly, inching forward until he was next to his father. He freed Alan's right arm from its restraints.

"Thank God," Alan whispered.

"You heard me. Drop the weapon or so help me God, I will shoot you," Don threatened, his brown eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage.

"Very well," Leary said. And he plunged the weapon into Charlie's navel.

"CHARLIE!" Alan screamed.

Don's eyes widened in horror as his brother cried out in pain. For a moment, his entire focus shifted to Charlie.

And that one moment was enough for Leary. Leary reached behind his back, drew the Magnum, and fired. The shot was deafening as Don flew back, struck by the powerful force. He landed hard on the floor, and lay there motionless.

Alan stared at his eldest son, his mouth open as if to call his son's name. But no sound came out, for the utmost horror and grief had stripped him of his voice. In less than three seconds, his most precious gifts, his children, had fallen before his eyes.

"Stupid bastard," Leary said.

"You're the stupid bastard," Alan whispered, barely able to speak. He turned to Leary, his eyes dark with anger. "You think that by killing my sons, you'll be able to see your brother and sister. You think that by murdering, raping, and torturing innocent men and women you'll bring them back. Well I have news for you, you sick bastard," Alan said, his voice thick with grief and rage. "You'll never see your brother and sister again. They're dead; and killing others will only drive them further away from you. They hate you!"

"Shut up! That's not true!" Leary said, his gun hand beginning to tremble.

"Every word of it is true. So go ahead and kill me if you want, because you'll never see your siblings ever again!"

"No!" Leary screamed, and began to pull the trigger. Alan closed his eyes.

"Dad!"

Gunfire erupted once more in the Eppes' house. Though, this time, it was not the deafening roar of the Magnum. Instead, the slightly quieter sound of Don Eppes service pistol echoed through the house.

Leary blinked hard, staring down at the bloody hole in his chest. He shook his head.

"George. Diana," he whispered, and toppled off the bed, dead before he hit the floor.

Alan frantically freed himself and nearly dived onto the bed next to Charlie. He stroked his son's face, while pulling the knife from its bloody sheath. He pressed his hand against it to stop the bleeding.

"Charlie, can you hear me?" He whispered, his eyes welling up with tears again. "Come on, son, talk to me."

Sweet relief washed over him as his son's eyes opened, revealing two pain-filled brown orbs. They focused on him, lighting in recognition.

"Dad?" He whispered, searching for hope.

"I'm here, Charlie. I'm here," he said comfortingly, stroking his son's forehead.

"Hey, Dad," a voice said behind him. Alan turned and saw Don, leaning against the doorway, service pistol in hand. His face was pale, but he was smiling. He gripped his stomach, as if nauseated.

"Don," Alan said smiling. "Charlie's alive! You scared me to death! I thought you were shot, but I guess you were faking."

"I wasn't faking, Dad," Don said, lifting up his hand. Alan's heart froze in terror as he saw that Don's hand, which had been clutching his side, was stained with blood.

"Oh, my God," Alan murmured.

Don began to fall forward, and Alan had no choice but to abandon Charlie on the bed to catch his eldest son.

"Shit," Don murmured in obvious pain. He lay in Alan's lap, soaking his father's clothes with blood.

"Oh, Don," Alan said, stroking his eldest son's hair. Suddenly, he heard Charlie moan.

"Leave me here, Dad. Charlie needs you," Don said. Alan shook his head fervently.

"Don, I'm going to have to pick you up. I'm not going to leave you here. Ready, go!" Don exhaled sharply as his father lifted him into his arms, cradling him as he would a baby. He gently laid him on the bed, next to his brother.

"Take it easy, Don," Alan said gently as he ripped open Don's shirt and applied pressure to his son's gunshot wound. The blood was dark, and his skin was deathly white and cold. Alan realized that if Don did not receive medical attention soon, he was going to die.

"Dad," Don murmured, wincing as waves upon waves of pain struck him. He knew the pain was a good sign; as long as he felt pain, he wouldn't die.

"I'm here, Don. I'm here," Alan said. He glanced at his other son, who seemed to have fallen unconscious again. One hand remained pressed firmly against the knife wound, while the other rested on his other son's wound. Suddenly, he perceived the faint sound of sirens, steadily growing louder by the second.

"Help's coming, Don. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

"Dad, I'm starting to go numb," Don whispered, and Alan could see fear in his son's eyes.

"It's okay, Don. You going to be all right, trust me," Alan said, but his tears showed that he himself could not believe what he had said.

"Donnie?" Alan turned to Charlie, realizing his youngest son was awake. He was staring at the pale form of his brother, bleeding to death right next to him.

"Shh, Charlie," Alan said. He removed his hand from Charlie's wound, and saw it was still bleeding. He closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't happening. He couldn't lose both his sons…

"Don?" Charlie called again, his eyes dull. He looked so much like a little boy, looking for his big brother for protection.

Don turned his head, and smiled weakly at his brother. Weakly, his hand floundered about, searching for his brother's hand.

Alan's heart broke as he guided his fading son's hand to Charlie's. Don could barely find the strength to grip his brother's limp hand.

"Hey, Charlie," he said, his voice breaking. Suddenly, he was afraid. He was afraid that he would never see his brother or father ever again.

Charlie gripped Don's hand. He did not understand what was happening. The pain he felt in his stomach distracted his mind, and he did not see the growing bloodstain surrounding his brother's body.

Red lights danced on the ceiling as sirens roared. Help had finally come.

"Dad," Don said, his voice suddenly panicky. He couldn't feel anything anymore. "Dad, tell Terry… tell her she is the best partner I ever had. Tell her-"

"Don, you're going to tell her that yourself," Alan said, his heart skipping a beat. Don's skin was growing paler.

"Tell her that she gave me some of the best memories, like our date at the Laundromat."

"Don-" Alan began.

"Dad, I love you." Don then turned to Charlie. His little brother's eyes betrayed his confusion and pain. "I love you too, buddy."

"Don…" Charlie murmured.

"Don, stop that. You're not going to die," Alan said, shaking his head violently in denial. He could hear the rapid steps of what was most likely FBI agents down below him.

"Die?" Charlie repeated. Suddenly, he could see the blood on the sheets. Don's blood.

"Police! Put your hands up!" An officer dashed into the room.

"Call an ambulance!" Alan cried.

"Put your hands up!" The officer repeated.

"I can't put my hands up; my son's bleeding to death!" Alan shouted back.

"Stand down, officer," Terry Lake said from outside the room. "He's not our- oh, God. We need medics! We have an officer down! I repeat, officer down!"

Her face was pale as she ran to the bedside. She took Don's arm, trying to find his pulse. She found it, faint and erratic.

"Out of the way!" A paramedic shouted. She pushed through the police and FBI officers now flooding the room.

"Where's Leary?" Terry asked Alan.

"On the other side of the bed. He's dead," Alan said, not taking his eyes or his hand off Don.

"Please, sir, let me take care of him," the paramedic said gently. Alan looked up, gazing into her green eyes, and she could see his torment.

"Sir, please," she said. Alan slowly got off the bed. More paramedics were entering the room, some attending to Charlie. Most, however, surrounded Don.

"He's losing blood fast. We need to get to the hospital now!" The first paramedic shouted, staring grimly at Don's wound. "Call in a chopper!"

"Right, ma'am," an officer said, beginning to talk into his radio.

The first gurney appeared, and was wheeled next to Charlie. Two burly male paramedics lifted the dazed professor on it, and separated Don and Charlie's hands. Don's hand fell limp, for he had fallen unconscious.

"Don, no," Charlie whispered as he was wheeled out of the bedroom. He needed to be with his brother. He had finally realized that his brother was badly hurt.

"Don't worry, sir, we'll have you to the hospital in no time."

"Don," he called, hoping that they would realize where he really wanted to be. But they did not stop.

Alan watched from the window as Charlie was loaded into the ambulance and taken away. He closed his eyes, silent praying for his boy's recovery.

"Sir, why don't you go with him?" The green-eyed paramedic said.

"Miss-" Alan started.

"Lisa," the paramedic finished for him.

"Is my boy going to make it?" Lisa glanced up from Don's body.

"Sir-"

"Alan," He said.

"Alan, I really don't know. But I promise you, I won't let your son die without a fight." A second gurney appeared, passing between Alan and Lisa. He gazed hard into her eyes and knew that she truly wouldn't let Don die. She was willing to fight for him.

"Thank you, Lisa," he whispered, a tear crawling down his cheek. Lisa nodded, and helped the other paramedics lift Don onto the gurney. Alan could suddenly hear the sound of a helicopter, landing on his front lawn. For the first time that horrible night, he felt hope.

But then, Lisa's voice, high with worry, shattered his hope.

"I lost his pulse!" She cried. Then the panic began.

"We need oxygen now!"

"Get the defib up here!"

"Starting CPR!" Lisa cried. "Keep pressure on the wound, Peter!"

"We need to get him outside!"

"We need to keep him breathing!" Lisa shouted back.

"Don!" Alan cried. He stepped forward, only to be pushed back. Terry Lake stood between him and his son.

"Move, Terry!" He cried. "Don needs me!"

"Mr. Eppes, Don needs you to calm down and let them do their jobs," her voice was quiet, and her eyes were filled with worry. She wanted to be by Don's side almost as much as Alan did, he could tell.

"We have an officer down, gunshot wound to the side… officer, what was he hit with?" Another EMT asked, radioing in the damage.

"It looks like a 357 Magnum. Hollow point," an officer, holding up Leary's gun.

"Shit. We're coming in with a gunshot wound, possibly to the liver," the paramedic continued.

"What does that mean?" Alan demanded, overhearing the report. "Terry, what is he talking about?" Terry's eyes were filled with sadness. She knew all too well, what was going to happen.

"The Magnum 357's bullets can be hollow tipped. When they strike something, the tip shatters, causing a lot of damage. And if it hit his liver…" Terry looked at the dark blood, and knew it had to be true.

"Oh, Don," she whispered.

"I got a pulse!" Lisa said, her voice filled relief. "Let's get him out of here."

"I'm coming with you," Alan insisted. Lisa glanced at him, but turned back to Don.

"Alan, I'll take you in my car," Terry offered. "They need as much space as they can get on the helicopter."

Alan watched as his eldest child was taken out of his house. Suddenly, a horrible feeling rose in his stomach, unlike he had ever felt before. What if that was the last time he ever saw his son?

"Don," he called suddenly, breaking past Terry. He ran down the stairs, out to his lawn, to where the helicopter had landed.

"Don!" He yelled over the whirring of the rotors. The medics had placed an oxygen mask over Don's face. Alan caught sight of a syringe injecting something in his son's arm, and heard Lisa's commanding voice giving orders.

Don seemed conscious, though barely. Alan saw no signs of pain on his face, which was a small comfort.

"Don!" He cried again. Don turned his head ever so slightly.

"I love you, son!" Alan yelled. He could have sworn he saw Don nod, but he could not be sure.

Then the door to the helicopter closed, and it lifted off, carrying his eldest son to the hospital. Alan watched it leave, a lump rising in his throat.

Chapter 6, Where You Left Me, will be up in a few days. Or not, I'm still debating if I should kill a certain someone. Thanks for reading!