Title: Six Steps to Purgatory

Rating: PG-13 (For naughty language)

Authors Notes: Just a little plot bunny who decided to gnaw at my ankle until I gave in. I expect this to run five more chapters, but since I'm devoted to an SG-1 fic right now, don't expect these chapters to come flying out like there's no tomorrow.

Authors Warning: Just some dirty language that'll filter in and out, and a bit of violence towards our chaste little Charlie. This could also stand a beta read over.

Disclaimer: If you tie someone up and hide them in your basement, eventually they'll turn over all of their human rights to you. I'm working on the brothers, but for now all character's belong to CBS and the creators.

Six Steps to Purgatory

Chapter One: Step One: Disobedience

Charlie would never say his handwriting was poor, or anywhere below average. As a mathematician it was necessary for his script to be legible, whether on a chalkboard or a piece of paper. He had never gotten any complaints from his students or any of the other CalSci professors. Larry himself, his best friend Larry had promised him what Don called chicken scratch was in actuality easily identifiable.

"Is that a one, or a seven?"

Charlie leaned forward from his place in the back seat of Don's SUV to snatch a pad of writing away from his older brother. "It's a seven," Charlie said, glaring at his brother's teasing expression. He took a glance out of a tinted window to see David making his way back to their position. "That's not the important part, anyway." Charlie's sour mood evaporated quickly, as it usually did.

Don turned slightly in the driver's seat to reach back and ruffle some of his younger brother's curly hair. In all truth he hadn't really understood any of the numbers or writing on the page. Aside from the advanced mathematics degree he probably needed to understand it, when Charlie wrote fast he had a tendency to take his horizontal lines veridical, not to mention the kid's chicken scratch turned into random lines in pretty variations.

Retrieving a pencil behind his ear, Charlie leaned forward as David slipped into the black SUV.

"Don't worry," David assured him, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out his own small pad of paper. "I got it."

With a chuckle David handed the information back to a nearly salivating Charlie who quickly flipped the pad open and studied the data. Then in mere seconds the professor was fast at work, his pencil scribbling furiously.

"The mother gave it up?" Don asked David, turning the SUV on.

"Not exactly easily, but she did eventually." David pulled at his tie lightly. "I sure wish Terry was here. She's better at getting information out of stubborn people."

"Well," Don said, eyes locked to the rearview mirror where he could monitor the traffic behind him and Charlie who seemed impervious to outside forces. "She'll be back in a few weeks."

David nodded. "The sooner the better."

"It's the steel district near Montgomery Road!" Charlie pitched forward as far as his seatbelt would allow. He waved a piece of paper frantically. "At first I wasn't sure due to conflicting data, but I didn't know at the time I had been supplied false data and I had to take the time to weed through what was actually useful and what wasn't. Finding the location became extremely difficult when I discovered that purposely a false trail had been set up, hidden ingeniously within the original patter of robberies. I had to first discover the fake trail and decipher it according to--"

"Charlie!" Don barked, then slide the startled younger man a smile. "Montgomery Road? You're sure they're hiding somewhere among those old steel factories?"

Charlie blinked in a stunned fashion, then nodded. "Yes, I'm positive. If you can get me more data I can probably identify which factory--"

Don waved a hand while David flipped open his cell phone.

"It's fine Charlie." Don said. "You've done all you can, we just don't have the time to get you more data to narrow it down."

Charlie settled his shaking hands onto his lap and listened in a detached way to David notifying other agents to their current location and their intended destination. While Charlie detested dangerous situations, he had to admit that speeding off to catch the bad guys was a sort of thrill. The butterflies in his stomach were somewhat pleasant.

"Now I want you to stay in the car," Don said as they neared the steel factories. "There isn't any time to drop you off anywhere so I need you to not move."

"Sure, Don," Charlie nodded.

"No, no," Don objected. "This isn't a sure, Charlie. This is a serious, real, dangerous situation I'm taking you into. For your safety, my sanity and Dad's health, promise me you'll stay in the car. That means no getting out because you've figured something out, and no wandering around wanting additional data. You stay in the car with your pad of paper, your pencil and your brain. You keep your seatbelt on and your butt in that seat or the FBI will never consult with you again, at least under any of my cases if I have any say. Do you understand?"

Glancing through his rearview mirror Don watched with trepidation as a number of emotions filtered through Charlie. Don flicked his eyes back to the road ahead of him and then again to his brother who had finally settled with determination.

"I promise, Don. I won't get out."

Real honesty and loyalty filtered through the car along with an edge of innocence Don was sure Charlie would never lose. His little brother, Charlie was an adult, but still Don knew he could look just as innocent and virginal as a kid, and it wasn't an act. Don was sure Charlie couldn't help being that way, and Don grew to appreciate it at times. Charlie wasn't ignorant or so naive, he was merely less than wise to deception and other tactics criminals fed off of. Charlie didn't always understand people could be manipulative and hurtful, but Don figured that's what he was there for. There was a reason he was Charlie's older brother.

"Don't break that promise, buddy," Don warned.

"I won't," Charlie promised.

Don turned sharply down a side street, the first of dozens of steel factories in sight.

"SWAT is already in place," David said, packing ammunition into his gun. "They'll be ready to go once we get there. Johnson and Greene are arriving at the scene as we speak."

Nervously Charlie tucked a foot under him. "Do you have a specialist at the scene? Someone who knows the place?"

"No, but we do have blueprints and enough manpower to set up a fairly good sized perimeter and expand outward or inward as we see fit."

"I'd like to look at these blueprints."

Nearly a block back from the steel factories, Don, David and Charlie spotted SWAT and the FBI, suited up and ready to move in. They were located just out of the range of visibility for anyone inside the factories, giving them the element of surprise.

"I don't think so, Charlie. We know what we're doing. You just stay still."

"They've been stealing for months now, Don. Criminals have established patterns that tell us when they steal in large quantities, most don't like to sell what they've stolen until the heat goes down and statistically their merchandise calls for a large space in which to store it. Just look at the blueprints for more than a second before you go rushing in there. Concentrate on larger areas, or those factories that have basements."

Then suddenly Don was jerking the car to a stop. He didn't pause or offer Charlie any further words. Don's hand struck the door lock, effectively setting it. His door slammed loudly and Charlie watched him race off, gun drawn.

"Be safe, Don," He whispered, touching the window lightly.

His hands had evolved from nervous shaking to outright trembling seconds after losing sight of Don. He tended to do so whenever he thought of his brother's dangerous profession. It was a natural reaction he supposed, one that any normal, concerned sibling would have. Don was good at what he did, probably one of the best. He didn't take chances and didn't pull stupid, heroic stunts. Don was a professional who followed protocol in tense situations. Don reduced his odds of being placed in the deceased category daily.

For all the work he did still Charlie felt helpless as he sat in the SUV. The FBI agents on the scene had filtered into the maze of factories along with the highly capable SWAT team and police officers. A quick glance to the street told him only a few others were in range and even they seemed to be productive in some way. A police officer down the street was obviously monitoring progress on his walkie-talkie and radio inside the patrol car while his partner stood guard for any suspicious behavior. Across the street stood a relatively young FBI agent consulting with someone dressed in non-work attire, and they were both going over large sheets of paper, probably blueprints.

His hand drifted towards the seatbelt clasp. Don had told him to stay in the car, but if those were blueprints, he could be of use.

What was the balance? On one hand he placed Don's direct order to stay put, and on the other the need and necessity to help Don in any way. If he could narrow down the FBI's search, he could quite possibly save lives. The criminals hiding inside the factories had already killed innocent people and Charlie had no doubt they wouldn't hesitate to murder an FBI agent, or a member of the LAPD or SWAT. But what of the promise he had made to Don? Charlie liked to keep his word, but was it worth the price of Don's life?

Damn the consequences to hell, Charlie decided and tugged his seatbelt off. Leaning forward into the front of the vehicle he hit the unlock mechanism for the door.

His sneakers hit the pavement of the street simultaneously as shots rang out. Dozens of quick bursts filled Charlie's ears and he lost count. Fire and return fire was lost to him as the sounds began to blend together into a swarm of noise. He crouched down on the pavement with his head low. The gunfire continued.

Closer to him he could hear screaming and feet rushing away from him. The remaining personnel from the street were rushing in to assist.

There was a pause in gunfire and Charlie took this time to raise himself from the ground and throw himself back into the SUV.

He lay on his stomach across the back seat with his hands covering his head as the battle began again. He was somewhat aware of the blood pounding in his ears and his poor feet sticking out of the open backseat door.

Charlie wasn't quite sure how long he was laying stretched across the back seat. Time seemed to slow as his thoughts ran away from him. The ratio, velocity and probability of the bullets flashed through his mind, numbers running out of control. Estimated death rate, number of injured based on number of bullets fired, range and location. God, he didn't even know where Don was. How was he supposed to calculate what the risk his brother's fatality was without proper data? He wouldn't be settled without the data and he saw no real way to attain it with his current position, and he knew for sure he wasn't moving for anyone less than Don, David or someone who was going to take him to them--so he was promptly stuck.

Charlie gasped for air in a mild anxiety attack, attempting to pull his non-responsive legs into the SUV. Why couldn't he move? What was wrong with him?

Then with a vicious tug his legs were being pushed up towards his chest. The door near his head was flung open along with the two in the front. Rough hands wrapped around his upper body and pulled him upward, then the doors were slamming again, keeping most of the outside light out.

"Who the fuck are you?" A deep, threatening voice asked.

Charlie blinked through moisture, suddenly aware of people pressed into either side of him, and two more in the front seat. He didn't recognize any of them, and they surely didn't know who he was.

"Where are the keys?" The man from the driver's seat demanded from Charlie, waving a gun at him.

"I don't know," Charlie said, eyes wide in desperation. "My brother took them."

The men in the front seat exchanged a quick look and Charlie found another gun trained on him from the passenger seat as the man in the driver's ducked down, most probably to hotwire the car.

"Get us the hell out of here!" The man from Charlie's right demanded. He gripped Charlie's right arm tightly, most likely leaving some sort of bruising.

The SUV roared to live as the man in the driver's seat reemerged, throwing the car into drive.

These were the criminals, Charlie realized. How they had gotten past Don and the dozens of men trying to find and apprehend them was something he didn't want to think about.

"Let me go," Charlie said to the man on his left, the only one who hadn't show any real aggression. "I won't tell anyone you took the car. I won't say anything. Just let me go."

"Sorry kid," The man in the passenger front seat said, less than regretfully. "You've seen us. Can't have you making a positive identification."

More gunfire erupted from outside the SUV and Charlie thought for a mere moment someone was wise to the criminal's plans. Someone was coming to save him. As gunfire was returned Charlie realized he had greatly underestimated the men committing the string of robberies. There were far more than he had accounted for, far more men than the data had told them there were. There were enough men shooting at the FBI, LAPD and SWAT teams that these men, probably the leaders or most important men, could get away.

"If you don't let me out now," Charlie said, his voice cracking with fright, "You'll be caught. I'll only slow you down." What he really wanted to say involved Don's position in the FBI and a string of curse words. He wanted to tell them Don would be on their asses faster than they could ever imagine. However part of him was even more afraid they'd find out he was family to an FBI agent. He didn't want to lose his life over something so trivial.

The grip on Charlie's arm tightened as the guy on his right side laughed. "We ain't getting caught, and we ain't letting you identify us neither. We got ourselves a Fed's car which is gonna get us away from here without anyone looking twice. We'll dump the car before they get wise."

Dear lord, Charlie realized, they were right. The police blocks would be cleared for Don's SUV and they'd drive right on through without a second look, not with the diversion their associates were creating. These were the men who had been robbing LA blind over the past month, and they were far from amateurs. They had managed to get past the FBI, SWAT and the LAPD which proved they had more than luck on their side. They'd most certainly have a backup car that would transport them to a second base of operations, and there was no way in hell they'd let him go.

"Pity," The driver told him as he took the car further from Don who could be injured and in need of help or worse. "You should remember to keep the doors locked. We were just looking for a set of Fed wheels, not you especially."

"They were," Charlie said softly, hoping he hadn't just made the last mistake of his life.