The Writ of Kat (sparkleblsm) wrote in sparkle_stories, @ 2009-01-08 20:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | drabbles100, fandom: numb3rs, rating: pg13, type: incest, type: slash |
Where You Go . PG13
Fandom: Numb3rs. Don/Charlie
Words: 543
Disclaimer: Not mine, I wish.
Author’s Notes: Written for drabbles100 on LJ. Prompts #40 Sight, #71 Broken, #75 Shattered, #88 He, #97 Writer’s Choice-Blood.
Summary: Don cannot cope with things.
Charlie hadn’t seen Don leave the building after work, he had been talking with Meghan. He had gone to his apartment, but there was still no sign of Don.
He did this sometimes, usually after tough cases or when he was mentally worn-down.
Charlie tried Don’s cell and got only his voicemail, leaving a message he sighed and closed his phone.
He went back to the house, dropping his bag on the couch, he rolled his neck around, trying to loosen the days’ stress that had seemed to have taken up residence.
His dad poked his nose out from the kitchen, asking how he was. “Fine, dad.” Charlie answered, amused by his father’s never ending stream of worry.
His cell phone let out a shrill tone and Charlie answered, seeing the Caller ID read ‘Don’s Apt.’
“Don?”
Silence.
For a minute, after which a loud ‘Shit!’ and the sound of shattering glass was the last thing he heard after the call was ended.
With a quick, “Semi-emergency,” to his father, Charlie bolted out the door, heading for Don’s apartment.
Out of breath, Charlie banged on the door, “Don? Don! Let me in.”
Seconds almost turned into minutes before he heard the latch being turned back and the door slowly opened.
He could smell it as soon as he saw Don, he had been drinking - heavily.
That and he saw blood on the crisp white shirt Don had been wearing all day.
Charlie entered, and pulled Don to the couch, sitting his down and trying to see where the blood had come from.
“Damnit, look at me Charlie. Too fucked up to help myself, can help everyone else, but I’m too fucked up for me.”
Charlie just focused on Don’s bloodied hand and decided to haul him to the bathroom to tend to the wound.
Yanking Don to his feet, he got the both of them to the bathroom and there he saw it.
The mirror. Smashed into hundreds of little pieces. This is how Don cut himself.
Damn, was he that mad at himself?
Charlie just flipped the floor mat and covered the shards, thankfully Don still had his shoes on as did Charlie.
He sat Don down on the tubs edge and found some hydrogen peroxide and gauze in the cupboard on the wall.
He knew the peroxide would hurt and part of him hoped it would snap Don back into soberness so he could explain this mess.
After practically wrestling Don down and cleaning the cuts, Charlie had been able to bandage the wounds and maneuver Don into his bedroom where he stripped him to his boxers and a t-shirt and let him collapse onto the bed.
Charlie kicked off his shoes and jacket and oxford shirt, leaving him in jeans and a t-shirt, he laid down on the bed next to Don to get some sleep before he had to help a sobering Don clean up the mirror and get him meds for the headache he was no doubt going to have tomorrow.
Don drifted off rather quickly and Charlie was thankful, but before falling asleep Don muttered something that Charlie would never forget and never forgive himself for.
“So fucked up…can’t help self…not supposed to…not allowed…can’t want Charlie.”