Title: Where Are We?
Genre: Drama, Angst
Time line: Now, sort-of. Get jiggy wid it.
Summary: Taking a whole new train here – come along for the ride!
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.
This time, when Charlie flopped from his side to his back, he managed to kick all the covers off the bed, using one foot. Don stopped his inspection of the north wall and approached thin mattress on the floor where his brother slept. Patiently — and carefully, because his own head still throbbed — he extricated the sheet from the pile of bedding, shook it, and lay it over Charlie. He was careful not to touch the swollen and discolored right foot, but simply folded the sheet it around it.
His brother radiated heat, and Don didn't need a thermometer to tell him that Charlie had a fever. He decided the sheet would be enough for now. He lowered himself to the floor, brushed some sweaty dark curls away from the lump on Charlie's temple. It was growing dark, but he could see the bruising. At least the skin wasn't broken, maybe that was a good thing. Don didn't really think it was, though, because Charlie wouldn't wake up.
A critical eye took in the rest of his brother's injuries. What happened to his foot? How did he ever get here on that foot? Don didn't remember helping him. Don didn't remember getting here himself. He had no idea where "here" even was.
His eyes took in the tattered, soiled, blood-stained makeshift bandage on his brother's right arm. He wanted to get a look at what was under there, but he was afraid. He didn't have any other bandage, unless he started ripping up the sheets…and they didn't look all that clean, themselves. Besides, it had obviously bled — a lot — and he didn't want to get it started again with no way to stop it. His eyes tore themselves away again to search the room.
It seemed large enough, maybe 20 x 20. Nothing on the floor except two thin mattresses, one of which he had woken up on, with a headache, maybe an hour before. He didn't really know, because his watch was gone. He didn't seem to have any head injuries, either, so he wasn't sure about the headache. Well, he was sure he had it, just wasn't sure why. The light in the room was coming through a skylight in an impossibly high ceiling. Don guessed it was at least 20 feet high, as well. They appeared to be in a very large, perfectly square cube. He had been around the walls three times already. First quickly, each subsequent time more slowly. There had to be a door. How else would they have gotten in here? But for the life of him, Don couldn't find a door. He looked up at the skylight. Could they have been lowered through there? He couldn't see any way to open it, from here. It didn't look big enough for a man, though —especially not limp, unconscious ones.
Charlie shivered in his sleep. How could someone so hot to the touch shiver? Don decided to add one of the thin blankets over his brother. Sitting back on his haunches, he cautiously reached out a hand and touched the foot. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of — he wanted Charlie to wake up, after all. But he didn't want to hurt him, and that looked like it should hurt. To his surprise, the foot seemed cool, and a new worry worked its way in. He hoped there wasn't decreased blood flow to that foot. Maybe it was because he had left it uncovered; the room was chilly. He decided to go ahead and cover it with the sheet. He was going to leave the blanket off, but it was such a light blanket, and he didn't seem to be getting any response from Charlie anyway, so he draped it over his foot as well. He wished there were something in here he could use as a splint. He knew that if they were here very much longer, he would have to start moving that leg around for Charlie, make sure the blood was flowing. He hoped they wouldn't be here much longer, though,
His head was getting fuzzy again as he crawled up towards Charlie's arm. He was really worried about things he couldn't see. Even sleeping — or maybe unconscious would be a more accurate term — Charlie was holding the arm close to his side, as if he wanted to protect it. Don's eyes went back to Charlie's face. The bruise on his temple, the eyes drawn together in pain. Don's hand was shaking — he didn't really know why — as he carefully laid a palm on his brother's forehead. Hot. Don remembered…he remembered…something. Charlie coming by the office to help, when he'd called, but hoarse and fighting a cold even then. When was that? How long had he made his brother, who already wasn't feeling well, stay at the office?
A sigh he wasn't expecting escaped him. He looked at Charlie for another long moment, then up to the southeast corner of the room, where a video camera hung a few inches from the ceiling. He looked directly at it, hoped that whoever was watching them was sitting on the other side of the camera right now. "Please," he said to the lens. "He's sick. Help him."