Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs.

UFO

Creepy

Ratio 1/1

Underfoot

Parasite

Consider Yourself Adopted

Charlie is seven and Don is twelve.

Alan

"You stay here. Right here," Alan said, "where I can see you."

His youngest son climbed onto the park bench, legs nervously kicking the air as seven-year-old hands gripped the wood on either side of Charlie's knees.

"Do you think he's hurt?" Charlie asked.

Alan barely heard the small worried words. He was still out of breath. They'd covered the whole park, every inch, even the thick knot of woods that rested on the park's west fringe.

He'd barely been able to get the change into the payphone's slot. Breathing hard, Alan knew it was a miracle the police had understood his call. They were on the way now, as was Margaret, but Alan just wanted to kick himself for not calling both earlier. He'd just been so sure, so positive Don was going to be around the next tree, or mixed up in the next rowdy group of boys. There were dozens of children playing in the park that day. They were zooming beneath the cloudy skies. They were everywhere, like a sea of ants.

Tethered now to the bench where he'd sworn to meet both his wife and the police, and where his youngest son was at least in sight, Alan could only wait. Again he scrutinized every inch of the park. The playground crawled with children. The wide open fields carried scores of youngsters, all of them running and tumbling under the overcast sky. Their happy shrieks scratched at his nerves, but Alan looked past them. His gaze lingered on the distant tree line where Charlie had last seen Don.

He ached to keep searching for his missing child, but after dragging Charlie all over the park for almost an hour with no luck, after desperately calling out and climbing through the woods, Alan knew he needed help.

No one in the park, child or adult, had seen Don. Even Charlie hadn't seen his big brother for quite some time, and Alan was past terrified.

"Do you think he's scared?" Charlie asked, eyes now searching the faces of all the children that ran and screamed and laughed around him.

Alan looked down at his son. He knew those little legs had to be tired, but they were swinging back and forth with an energy that desperately needed to be spent. Anxiety and fear were plain upon the young face.

The distant rumble of thunder reached Alan's ears next, and then the sounds of parents calling to their kids, telling them it was time to clear out before the coming storm arrived.

"Do you think he's cold?" a tiny voice asked.

The skies broke open and a soft drizzle set in.

"I don't know, Charlie," Alan said, scooping his son up and hurrying over to a small pavilion that thankfully had a roof. There were several picnic tables bolted to the cement foundation. Alan set Charlie on top of one and sagged against the tabletop. Other harried adults soon joined them, bringing their own children.

"I want Mom," Charlie said, and Alan nodded in silent agreement, not needing to tell his son again that Margaret was coming, but she was probably stuck in traffic.

Charlie

"Charlie, stay near Dad. I'm going to go play catch with some guys, okay?" Don said.

"Okay," Charlie agreed, nodding his curly head and leaning back over the frog he'd captured. He tapped it and watched it jump. It was cool, because although at first he'd thought the number of times the frog jumped each time he tapped it was random, he was starting to think that maybe there was a pattern.

Time passed. Charlie heard Don laughing. He knew Don's laugh because it was always so loud when his brother was really having fun.

Charlie heard feet running towards him and looked up from where he was playing just as Don and a few older boys went sprinting past. They were all laughing and grinning. They were running after a baseball.

It sped across the grass and rolled off into the woods. The boys followed.

The frog jumped the opposite direction, and Charlie followed.

By the time the police arrived, the rain fell steadily in fat, icy drops that Charlie caught in his hand. He looked over his shoulder. His Dad was frustrated. He was not happy with the police. They were talking and talking.

The probability of Don being in the woods was extremely high in Charlie's young opinion, so he could not understand why his father and the rest of the now suddenly concerned and involved adults were wasting time standing around with the police when they could just go look for Don again. He'd already told them over and over he was sure Don was probably in the woods, or had least gone that way. Sure it was raining, but water wasn't going to melt them.

Don wasn't stupid. He wouldn't get lost. He'd never run away and upset their parents like this.

Knowing what he knew of his big brother, Charlie knew that Don was missing because something had to be keeping him from coming back. So why, why, why was everyone standing around talking?

Frustrated, Charlie just couldn't wrap his young mind around what they were doing.

He's probably hurt, Charlie reasoned, looking worriedly at the trees again. And now he's all wet. He could get hippothermia!

Charlie had told his dad (and the police) about the boys and the baseball and the woods, but they'd had no luck at all in finding Don hidden in the creepy trees, or the older boys for that matter. As far as Charlie knew the police hadn't even tried looking there yet.

A raised, panicked voice broke Charlie's agitated train of thought. A policewoman with frizzy hair had said something his dad really didn't like. Charlie swallowed. All the adults were acting wrong. He turned away from them and turned his attention back to where he'd last seen Don chasing after a runaway baseball.

Charlie imagined Don flying across the soft grass. He imagined the other boys running with him, and how they'd vanished into the dark and hungry looking trees.

Then Charlie saw someone that was not in his imagination. He saw a boy huddled beneath the playground's tree house. The kid looked about twelve, Don's age, and had brown hair. He was wearing a soaked blue shirt.

Don!

Alan

"This is my son, my son," Alan tried to make them understand. "He did not run away. He is not playing a prank. Don is not that sort of boy! And besides, I told you, Charlie said he saw Don with some teenagers go into the woods. We've looked all over them but couldn't find him. What more is there to understand? My son is lost! Or maybe somebody's taken him—I don't know. Are you going to help me find him or not?"

The policewoman's partner stepped to her defense "Sir, I promise you we're doing everything we can. These are just questions we have to ask. Answering them helps us find your son."

Anticipating Alan's heated answer, he quickly continued. "And I assure you, we already have people looking."

The uniformed man gestured towards the trees. The rain made them look hazy and unfriendly. "There's a road snaking along the backside of those woods. We have a team already heading that way to begin a more organized search for your son. I promise you that if he's there, we'll find him."

Alan nodded shakily. "Good. Let's go then. They can search on that side and we can look again from this side of the woods. I just need someone with a badge to stay with Charlie until his mother gets here. Her name is Margaret."

"Sir, we'll need you to—"

"Charlie?" Alan interrupted, holding up a hand to silence the police officer. He glanced all around, but could not find his youngest son among the other adults and children crowded beneath the pavilion's roof.

Charlie

Charlie slipped over the muddy tree roots and slid down into a creek. The rain made his hair stick to his face and his clothes feel heavy. His shoes were soaked by the murky water as he splashed across the tiny creek and clamored back up onto more solid land.

Charlie scanned the ground. It was covered in shiny wet leaves, many of which fixed to his shoes as he walked across them.

Near a gnarl of tree roots he saw a small white sphere, and with a cry of triumph the seven-year-old raced over to the baseball and snatched it up from the ground.

With a small grin of self-satisfaction, Charlie clutched the slick baseball to his chest with both hands. Before, when he'd been in the woods with his dad looking for Don, Charlie hadn't really had time to think about it, but now he was sure.

This is the way Don came, he assured himself, smiling again at the baseball in his hands. Overhead thunder rumbled and the sky flashed. Charlie brushed the rain from his face and, as his eyes lifted, noticed a weird pile of stones several feet ahead of him.

Scurrying deeper into the woods, Charlie investigated and found the pile of stones to in fact be a very old looking and lopsided well.

Keeping the baseball in his tight grip, Charlie pulled himself up onto the wide lip of the well and peered down into its depths. His nose wrinkled at the smell of damp rocks and long-standing water, but his eyes widened at the sight of a boy floating in the black water, at least five feet below.

The boy was at least twelve. His arms and legs were constantly moving to keep him afloat. Distressed eyes gazed up at Charlie.

Don

"Don, why are you swimming down there?"

Realizing it was his brother, Don's face broke into a brilliant smile. "Charlie! Buddy, you have no idea how happy I am to see you! Is Dad with you? Please tell me you brought Dad," Don begged with a shivery voice.

Charlie shook his curly head. "No, he's arguing with the police. Don, what are you doing? Why did you go down there? I was really scared when we couldn't find you. I found your baseball. It's not down there."

Charlie held up the baseball for Don to see.

The police!? Do they know what those guys did? Don scowled at the memory. "Charlie, I need you to go fast and get Dad. He'll know how to get me out, okay? I'm really, really tired and it's getting hard to swim."

"I can't."

"What? Why not?"

Charlie looked nervously around. "Well… I'm supposed to be still, but I thought I saw you, so I ran over, but it wasn't you, Don. It was a kid who picked his nose. He was mean so I left him. Then I started thinking about probabilities and thought maybe you were in the woods and we'd just missed you before so I came here and here you are, but I can't tell Dad because he'll be mad I left to look for you, and in the rain."

Don felt the burn in his shoulders. He'd been wading in the nasty water for over an hour and he'd already been worn out to begin with just from playing all day. He didn't want to scare his little brother, but he knew he needed to get out of the well. His whole body was cold and shaking.

"Charlie, I can tell you've been sort of freaked out, and yes, Dad won't be happy you went off on your own, but listen—I'm hurting pretty bad. I need your help. Please go get Dad?"

Charlie

Charlie did not have to run far. The police were in the woods calling out for both boys. His father was more relieved than angry. The rain stopped even as the sky grew darker. Don was pulled from the well. He was more tired than hurt, although he had some nasty bruises.

To Charlie, everything seemed to happen so fast. Suddenly Don was out of the well. Suddenly his mother was there. Suddenly they were at the doctor's, then in the car again, then walking up the driveway. Somehow he'd gotten washed up and tossed into pajamas without really even having a say in any of it.

Splashing across the muddy ground, Margaret gathered both children into her arms and started planting kisses all over their faces. Don quickly squirmed away, blushing furiously and leaving his little brother to be scooped up by their mother.

Only to be grabbed into a hug by his father.

"I'm so glad, Donnie," Alan said, smiling despite the tears in his eyes, "so glad you're okay."

Don

It seemed to take forever, but the worst day of his life finally ended and Don was clean, dry, and in bed. Only one obstacle remained, and it was standing just within his door.

Alan was still waiting for an answer.

"I would like to know just how my son ended up in a well."

Don had lied to the police. Apparently his parents were not fooled. Sighing, Don was glad that at least his mother wasn't in the room. At least Charlie wasn't awake to hear this. Shamefully, he studied his blanket.

"I was put in," Don admitted. "There were these older kids… they were letting me play catch with them, and the ball went way into the woods."

They probably did it on purpose, Don thought angrily to himself. I was so stupid, letting them trick me like that.

"They thought it was funny. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't," Don said, his throat growing tight. "I mean, why did they even do it? We were just playing I thought."

Alan's heart broke a little at the high note in his oldest son's voice. It wasn't often that Don wore his heart on his sleeve. He had to tread carefully. He sat on the edge of his son's bed.

"Don, you're young to be learning this lesson, but… Son, you can't give everyone you meet the benefit of the doubt. These older boys, they're the kind of people who go around looking for innocent people to hurt. It's like you said, they thought it was funny. I know you or Charlie would never do something like what they did because you're both good, kind boys," Alan explained.

"Unfortunately, not everyone in this world is good and kind," he added with a sigh.

"I know, Dad," Don said, able to look up from the blanket. "That's why we have policemen."

Alan nodded. "Yes. But Don, remember it's the responsibility of all good people to help the innocent whenever they can. If just one of those boys had stood up for you today, well, you probably wouldn't have ended up in a well."

"Yeah," Don agreed quietly. "I wouldn't have let them do that to somebody."

"I know. That's why your mother and I are so very proud to have a son like you. We know you'll always do the right thing, Don," Alan told him. He then switched his attention the lump mostly hidden beneath the covers next to Don.

Alan could not help his amused smile. "And what's this?"

Don looked down at the lump. "He wouldn't go to his own room. Mom tried, but he got all clingy so I told her to just let him stay."

"If they'd done something like that to Charlie, I would've killed them," Don suddenly said, his protectiveness rising as he watched his little brother sleep. Dark, serious eyes met his father's. "I'm glad they left him alone."

"I would have rather they'd left both of you alone," Alan said, still a little startled by his son's fierce declaration, but happy with it. He patted Don on the head and then lightly touched Charlie's hair as he got up from the bed and moved to the door.

Pausing there, Alan motioned towards the child taking up half the already fairly small bed. "You're sure you don't mind him? I can move him back to his own bed if you think you'll sleep more comfortably."

"He's okay," Don assured, sliding down into the bed. Good nights were said and the light was turned off. The room was quiet.

Until the lump spoke, "They threw you in there?"

Don almost smacked a palm to his forehead. Great. He heard all of that. And here I swore the little termite was asleep. "Yeah. I tried to stop them, but they were stronger."

Charlie surfaced from the covers, and Don watched the curly haired silhouette turn to face him. "Are they… Are they going to do it again?"

"Nope," Don assured. "All we gotta do is stay away from them. Plus if I see them again I'll point them out to Dad. I was too embarrassed to tell the police the truth, but… I don't want them to get away with it. I don't want them to do it to someone else."

Someone like you.

"I hope they get in trouble and go to jail," Charlie said meanly.

"Me, too," Don agreed. "Now go to sleep. Tomorrow I'm going to draw a picture of what they looked like. Do you remember what they looked like?"

Charlie nodded in the dark. "I think so. They were really ugly."

Don laughed. They hadn't seemed particularly ugly to him earlier that day. "What was so ugly about them?"

"I don't know, but mean people are always ugly in cartoons," Charlie explained.

"Not in real life. They looked like regular guys to me. They didn't have extra fingers or weird faces or anything" Don said, scratching his chest through the blankets. The large bruise on his forearm was so tender even brushing against the blankets was a little painful.

Charlie collapsed against the pillow with an overdramatic sigh. "Well how are you suppose' to know then?"

"I guess it's like Dad said. You just gotta be careful."

Charlie was quiet, and Don knew he was thinking. A few minutes passed, and he wondered if Charlie was actually asleep, but once again the silence of the room did not prevail long.

"Don, is there a higher percentage of bad people or good people in the world?"

"Are you asking me for a ratio, Buddy?" Don replied, lighthearted, but he knew the question demanded a serious answer, so he mulled over it carefully. He thought of his father and immediately knew the answer Alan would give, but Don wanted to make sure he knew the answer, too. His own answer. He thought and thought, and when he knew his answer, he realized his little brother was breathing deeply. Don nudged him, whispered his name, but Charlie was asleep.

"Do not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean, if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty." –Gandhi