Chapter Text
Part of the Charlie Work means looking after drunk punchy whores. At least, that’s what Mac and Dennis told him when he objected to this task. It wouldn’t be the first time that he dragged her drunk ass out of the apartment and into the bar to work. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. But this is the first time that he really didn’t want to do it.
He had no intention of setting foot in Dee’s apartment ever again, and definitely not by himself. But Mac and Dennis can’t be bothered to partake in these menial tasks; that’s what Charlie is for. They have “other business” to take care of. Always the go-to excuse.
You can count on Charlie to be the only one to do any actual work in the bar. Even if it means physically leaving the bar to make sure one of its employees makes it to work. He doesn’t get the luxury of working on “other business” like Mac and Dennis do. You certainly wouldn’t catch him taking days off like Dee tries to do.
They need him. He wonders if any of them realize that.
Charlie walks up to the door to Dee’s apartment and knocks. Mind you, he doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing at the doorknob. This is just part of the protocol. Barging into Dee’s apartment is a pastime of the Gang. By actually knocking, it was his way of letting her know “your buddy is here” before he barges in.
It’s been a long time since he knocked on her door.
Is that why the door isn’t opening? Maybe he’s just a little rusty. This is how it works, right? Knock on the door, yank the door open. If his nerves weren’t eating away at him they definitely are now. Dee never locks the door.
He starts to debate on whether or not he should try again. The locked door is a convenient excuse to leave this awful place. He could just as easily tell Mac and Dennis “I don’t know where the bitch is, she locked the door. Probably out shopping or something.” He can then huff some glue to forget about it, go back to setting rat traps and only see her apartment in his nightmares.
But just as he started to turn away from the door, he thought he heard a muffled shout from behind it. Weird. If she was in the living room, he would clearly hear her through the door. Must have been a ghoul or something. She’s not going to get any sleep if there’s a ghoul floating around in there. Even if she isn’t there, the least he could do is make sure it leaves her alone when she comes back.
He knocks again and grabs the doorknob. The door still won’t open. This time, he hears several muffled shouts immediately after the knock. He’s not imagining it this time, there’s definitely a ghoul in here!
Charlie grabs his keyring out of his pocket. He keeps three keys on him at all times- one for Paddy’s, one for his apartment and one for the Waitress’s apartment. He knows better than to try his apartment key on Dee’s door. Dennis told him before that his apartment key doesn’t work on any other door. He decides it would be best to try the Waitress’s key.
He tries to put the Waitress’s key into the hole but it’s not working. He’s not too surprised by this- it didn’t work on the Waitress’s door yesterday either. Perhaps keys have an expiration date? That would explain why he keeps needing to have new ones made. Charlie tries ramming the key in, scraping away at the teeth inside the lock, doing whatever it takes to get the door open but it’s no use. All it did was make the ghoul inside angrier.
Charlie took the key off the ring and chucked it down the hallway. Clearly it’s defective. No matter, this sometimes happens with the Waitress’s door. That’s why he always keeps a hairpin handy. An expert in his element, Charlie effortless unlocks the door with the hairpin and opens it.
He sees the interior of Dee’s apartment and feels his stomach turn a bit. Charlie didn’t want to step inside. There was always the possibility that she could be coming back from wherever she was right now. If he got too far in she could close the door behind her, throw him against the wall, and grope him. There’s nothing he could do to stop it. An unlikely scenario, sure…but…it’s possible.
Instead he peaks inside and shouts “Dee? Dee are you in here? Mac and Dennis sent me to find you. I picked the lock on your door…
“Charlie?” came an excited voice from somewhere. “Oh, thank God…”
“Hold on a second” Charlie said, feeling his confidence rise a little bit. He steps inside to investigate. “I’m pretty sure there’s a ghoul in here.”
“No, there’s no ghoul. It’s just me.”
“You’re the ghoul?”
“I’m not a ghoul, Charlie! I’m in the bathroom!”
“Oh, ok.”
That made much more sense. Charlie started to feel the tension dip from his shoulders a bit. Dee’s just taking a shit. He can just wait for her on the couch…ok maybe not there. He’ll just stand and wait at the entrance of the apartment. And when she comes out he can quickly shoo her out of here and back to Paddy’s.
“Come in here.”
Charlie frowned. That was quite the unusual request. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Uh…should I just wait for you to pinch it off or…”
“I’m not taking a shit, Charlie! I’m…I’m seriously injured!”
The panic in her voice was unmistakable. What if she really was hurt? Was this why she couldn’t come to work? Could this have something to do with the locked door? All of the nerves in his body felt frozen and frayed. It’s really more of a Dennis move to spring this kind of trap. But then again, he thought he knew Dee…
He could feel the fear racing through his body. Either outcome was really bad.
“Please…help me.”
This was what convinced him. The quiet desperation in her voice was what made it obvious that she really was in trouble. That she needed help. That she needed him.
Charlie pushed forward, perhaps ignoring his better judgement. He got to the bathroom door and paused. This was it, his last chance to turn back now. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow as his hand quivered inches from the doorknob. He had no idea what he was about to see if he opened that door…or if he would regret opening the door at all.
All he knew was the thought of his buddy in pain was too much to bear. It was almost worth making himself vulnerable again.
He slowly opened the door.
Peeking inside he saw something that made his jaw drop. Something that would tie his gut in knots. Something that he would see in his nightmares forever.
Dee was sitting on the bathroom floor looking up at him. She looked terribly woozy, and was awkwardly smiling at him. Behind her, the wall was splattered in blood. The blood pooled behind her and around where she sat. She didn’t seem to really notice it, but her hand was still gripping the revolver. It looked like one of Frank’s.
“Hey, buddy” she said quietly. Still smiling softly, still swaying in place.
Charlie felt his pulse spike. “Jesus Christ, Dee! What happened to you?”
She softly jerked her head as if she was gesturing at something. “I missed my spinal cord.”
He stared at her incredulously with his mouth wide open, and then looked around at the pool of blood. “Do you need me to help you find it?”
Her demeanor changed at an instant. She looked frustrated that Charlie didn’t get the point.
“No, dumbass! I shot myself! I must have flinched, because it didn’t work!”
And then it hit Charlie like a ton of bricks. This is why she locked the door. This is why she never called the Gang. It’s not the first time she’s tried something like this before. She’s casually talked about this kind of thing, almost as if it was some sort of dark joke. But this...this is different. This is serious. She really wanted to go. To leave everything behind. To leave him.
Yet here she sits, with years of rage and frustration and hurt etched on her face, but with a steely determination deep in her eyes. Something that very few people noticed about her, but something that Charlie sees every time he looks into her eyes. This wasn’t an issue of aim.
This was the fighter in her. It was the flinch that caused her to miss. It was the will to stay alive as blood was pouring out of her head and she slipped in and out of consciousness. It’s what kept her going for hours of agony, unable to move, with no hope whatsoever of any one coming to find her. She probably thought no one ever would. Yet she kept fighting.
Dee’s a goddamn fighter. He’s always liked that about her.
Charlie doesn’t know what to say. In the past he went along with the rest of the guys as they mocked and ridiculed her when she talked about suicide. But there’s nothing that he can say today that would shake her. Nor does he really want to.
The guilt of being a part of that abuse when he knew it was wrong, when he told her he didn’t like to do it, started to eat away at him now. Now that he knew where it led to…now that he knew he had a hand to play in it…
He opens his mouth to try to say something that would make the discomfort go away. All that comes out is “Are you ok?”
He immediately regrets it, thinking it’s a stupid thing to ask. “Obviously I’m not ok, you stupid son of a bitch. Can’t you see my brains all over the wall?” This is what he expects her to say. Instead she looks sad and tries to make a genuine effort to answer his question. Perhaps she was just relieved that he doesn’t use the state that she’s in as an opportunity to berate her.
“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know what part of the brain it went through. I can talk just fine, but I’m having a really hard time moving. I haven’t been able to leave this bathroom. Probably been sitting here for a couple hours ever since I came to.”
“Well, is there anything I can do to help?”
Dee looked a little taken aback at his generosity. She shifted uncomfortably and turned her gaze away from him. There was something that she could ask of him, but who was she to ask it? Charlie just stared at her, wondering why she can’t just spit it out.
“Umm…well I need help moving around, as I can’t really do it on my own. Do you…do you think you could help me…get to my car?”
This request made Charlie very nervous. “What do you mean?”
Dee still couldn’t make eye contact. She started to get very quiet, as if every word she was about to say hurt her as much as her wound. “I mean…I need to get to the hospital…they’re the only ones who can fix me…and I can’t…get there by myself.” Her voice was barely audible, and she looked incredibly ashamed. “Do you…think you could…carry me to my car?”
Now Charlie understood why she couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes when she asked that. He felt his breath quicken and his hands get sweaty. “…carry you?”
“You don’t have to!” Dee said quickly, finally looking him in the eyes. Charlie could see the nervousness spike in her as well. “You could drag me if you wanted to. I just need help getting there.”
Charlie didn’t know what to do. He was now put in a position where for the first time in years he has to physically touch Dee. Of course, he doesn’t have to touch her. No one was making him. Dee wasn’t making him. Not that she could, she was the one that was vulnerable here. He was the one in a position of power. He could just as easily walk out of the room, which his instinct is telling him to do.
And doing that might condemn her to death. Not an option.
But to touch Dee again…to actually touch her, even in a situation like this, made him conflicted. Dee’s touch is both the greatest source of pleasure and anxiety that he’s ever known. He never forgot how soft her lips were against his, how gently her hand caressed his face. He never thought he could feel that kind of intimacy in his life, and the last place he thought he would get it from was Dee.
And yet the thought of Dee’s touch led to anxiety, the feeling of being trapped, pain, and betrayal. These feelings strip away the soothing warmth that comes with her touch and instead leaves him feeling cold and clammy. It wasn’t worth feeling one if it comes with the other.
“I don’t…I don’t want to do that.”
He could see the quiet urgency in her eyes fade and were instead replaced with annoyance.
“What do you mean, you don’t want to do that?”
The discomfort was overwhelming Charlie’s senses. He avoided eye contact and made himself small.
“I don’t want to…touch”
Dee stared right through him, the frustration building inside of her to the point of rage as she realizes what this is about. She responded with the coldness and callousness that only she is capable of.
“Oh goddamn it, you’re still hung up about that? I’m dying here! I can’t fucking move and you’re too much of a titty-baby to even drag me to my car? What is the point of you even being here if you’re not going to do anything? I don’t need you! Screw it, I’ll drag myself!”
And with that, she dropped from her sitting position onto the ground, half her body soaking in her own blood on the floor. It was not possible for her to even return to her sitting position again by herself, she was committed. Dee let go of the gun in her hand and with a fierce grunt she used her right arm to pull her body forward. She strained tremendously, and only moved ahead a few inches.
But Dee was not done. She repositioned her arm again, and pulled herself forward again, only gaining a few more inches. She did it again, and Charlie noticed the blood vessels popping in her head. She was using too much energy just to move a foot forward. But there was no way that Dee was just going to die in the bathroom, not now. She’ll die halfway across the living room from exhaustion if she has to, but she’s a goddamn fighter. Charlie looked at her in awe.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she snapped as she repositioned her arm a fourth time. “I’m doing the best I can!”
She heaved forward, repositioned her arm again, and heaved again a fifth time. By now, Dee was huffing and her face was starting to get sweaty. She looked a little dizzy…
“No hold on!” Charlie said, something clicking inside his head. “I’ll…I’ll help you.”
“No, no” said Dee, her voice thick with her trademark sarcasm. “I’m doing just fine, can’t you see? I wouldn’t want to offend you…with my touch.”
“You’re not going to make it to the door,” Charlie said with more firmness this time. “You’ll black out from exhaustion. Let me help you.”
Dee stared at Charlie for a bit, scanning his face. Then she released the tension from her body so she would be easy to move. “Fine.”
Charlie looked over her, a bit unsure as to what he should do. He committed to it, he knows he can’t turn back now, but where to touch her? Does he wrap his arm around her and heave her over his shoulder? Does he drag her out of the room by her hand, leaving a blood streak along the floor as he went? And could he touch her skin at all? Would that trigger some sort of panic attack? Would it make him feel trapped, helpless, and unable to move…?
“Oh don’t mind me, I’m just getting comfy in a pool of my own blood!” snapped Dee.
Charlie came to a quick decision. He thinks he figured out the best way to get her out of here. He grabs a fistful of hair and tries to drag her. She screams blue bloody murder.
“AH! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”
Charlie immediately lets go and Dee winces in agony. Profanities race through her head, all compound words featuring the word “dick”. But she’s in too much pain to say them. Finally, after a few minutes she leans up to look at Charlie and manages to get out:
“You were just pulling on the hairs…that were right next to…THE BULLETHOLE!”
Dee sighed and laid back down in the blood. This made Charlie feel silly. Was Dee right? Was it really that difficult for him to simply grab her hand? Would he ever be able to do it?
It was now or never. He had to try.
“Give me your hand.”
Dee looked up at him, eyes wide as if she wasn’t sure what she just heard. Then, after briefly hesitating, she extends her hand.
Charlie looks at her hand and then back at Dee. The steely determination is gone from her eyes, now he saw nothing more than quiet desperation. It was the face of a woman who has been forced to be tough all her life and is now accepting being vulnerable for once. She was putting her trust in him, and asking for him to do the same.
Charlie swallowed and knew he had to move quickly. If he hesitated, he would never take her hand. Not knowing what to expect, he exhaled and lunged at her hand.
The instant his hand made contact with hers he felt a warm sensation cascade across his body. It did the exact opposite of what he thought it would do. It didn’t make him panic, it didn’t spike his anxiety. It calmed him.
Charlie looked at their hands with surprise, then he looked up at Dee. She was smiling softly at him. It made him smile too.
This was what he missed.
And then without thinking, he yanked her up by her hand and wrapped his other arm around her. He tried to hoist her up onto him but Dee’s legs couldn’t offer any support.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Dee, staring around at the room as if she thought this was somehow a dream. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You didn’t think I was going to drag you out did you?” Charlie said with a cheeky smirk at her.
“Yeah, I did!” said Dee, trying not to think about how their bodies were pressed against each other. It was weird. “You grabbed me by the hair, dickhole!”
But Charlie crouched down, and with his arm around her, he threw her over his shoulder. A lifetime of manual labor made her feel light as a feather to him. “No way. You’ll just make me clean up the blood in your living room. And there’s no way in hell I’m coming back to your apartment after this!”
Dee rolled her eyes. “My hero.”