Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I don't make any money off of them.
I is for Injury by 3rdgal
Don's cry of pain drew Charlie's attention away from the blackboard. He saw his brother clasping his left hand to his body. "What's wrong?" he asked as he rushed to Don's side.
Don pulled his good hand away to study the injury, but Charlie's view was blocked by brother's body. "That's really bleeding," Don mumbled to himself.
Charlie quickly turned away and found a pile of rags on top of the washer. He grabbed one and ran back to Don's side. "Here," he said, shoving the cloth into his brother's uninjured hand. Don accepted it and applied pressure to stem the flow of blood. He felt Charlie's hand on his elbow and followed his guidance until they were upstairs in the bathroom. Charlie stood Don in front of the sink and turned on the tap. He was about to grab the first aid kit but stopped as Don removed the rags to begin rinsing the wound. "There's so much blood," Charlie weakly whispered in alarm.
Don picked up on the faintness of Charlie's voice and looked up in concern. "It's okay, Charlie – it's not that bad."
"I think I might..." he trailed off as he started to sway.
"Charlie!" Don snapped. "Don't you dare pass out on me!" Charlie's eyes widened but he still looked wobbly. "If you're going to pass out, at least sit down so you don't fall and hit your head." Charlie obeyed, weakly slumping onto the edge of the bathtub. "Put your head between your knees," Don suggested. As he obeyed, Don muttered, "I swear I have to do everything myself."
He opened the medicine cabinet and fumbled for the first aid kit. He found a bandage and ripped the package open with his teeth. He awkwardly tried bandaging his injury with his good hand, swearing several times as the bandage kept slipping. "I could really use some help," he grumbled.
Charlie glanced up, saw the blood soaked rags on the sink, and quickly lowered his head back down. "Sorry," he apologized meekly.
Don ignored him as he managed to bandage the the injury, flexing the area to make sure it wasn't wrapped too tightly. Satisfied with his work, he tossed the bloody rags in the trash can and wiped off the sink before moving to sit next to Charlie. "You okay?" He asked softly.
"I'm really sorry," Charlie apologized again without lifting his head.
"You never told me that you're afraid of the sight of blood."
"I'm not," Charlie protested childishly. He raised his head slightly, eyeing the bathroom.
Don chuckled. "I've got it bandaged and I threw away all the bloody stuff. You can look now."
Charlie lifted his head the rest of the way and sighed in relief upon seeing the bathroom back to its old, sterile condition. He glanced at his brother's bandage and shuddered. "I'm not afraid of the sight of blood," he repeated insistently. "It was just that it looked so bad – it had to really hurt."
Don rolled his eyes. "I've been punched, shot, drugged, jabbed with a needle..." he trailed off as Charlie's face paled at the list of injuries. Don clapped him on the shoulder and laughed heartily. "But you're right," he deadpanned. "That paper cut really did hurt."