A/N: Written for the NFA Near Brothers Challenge. We were challenged to write a fic depicting the interesting and often sibling-like relationship between Tony and Tim. This oneshot is what I thought of.

Disclaimer: Not mine! Not mine! If I owned NCIS, I would not currently be beating my brains out trying to grade crappy undergraduate essays.

Double Vision
by Enthusiastic Fish

"Let me guess, you never inhaled."

"I inhaled."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Once. A little bit."

"How was it?"

"Didn't like it."

"You didn't like it?"

"No."

"He didn't inhale."

Tim wasn't sure why he was thinking of that particular conversation. It had been years since he, Tony and Kate had talked about drug use, that Good Wives case. Tim was sure of one thing, however: he would never even be tempted to use drugs again. He wasn't sure why they hadn't believed him because he had most definitely inhaled...and he had most definitely hated the experience. He wasn't enjoying this one either.

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know. How are you doing?"

Tim stared at the people staring at him. Dramamine. Who in the world would have thought that you could use Dramamine as a recreational drug? Who would want to? This wasn't all that much fun. So far as he could tell, this was about as much fun as his first foray into recreational drug use.

"I asked you a question."

The funny thing was that the people didn't seem all that angry at him. They had drugged him. They were getting ready to rob him...he thought anyway. Why weren't they just getting on with it?

"He doesn't look very good. How much did you give him?"

"I don't know. I just put the bottle in."

"The whole bottle? There were 100 pills in there!"

"It wasn't full!"

Tim blinked at them. It was strange that he was still standing. He didn't know why he was when he felt so lousy. In fact, why had he followed these two people at all? That didn't make any sense.

Why am I doing what they say? That's pretty stupid. Tim stopped walking. They tugged on his sleeves.

"Come on, just a bit farther."

Tim resisted, but he stumbled and fell forward...onto his face. They rolled him over and dragged him somewhere. They rifled through his pockets...and found that while Tim was rich, he didn't carry much with him.

"Man, I thought you said he was loaded!"

"He's an author, a bestseller! I saw him. He is loaded! I swear!"

"He doesn't even have his wallet with him. You idiot! What if we killed him?"

"He's not dead!"

"Not yet."

"Shut up!"

Tim looked at them with a vague interest. There was someone a lot more interesting just behind them.

"Wow...how did you find me?" he asked.

The two men looked down at him.

"What?"

Tim ignored them. "I was out by myself tonight. Why did you follow me?"

Would you rather be alone?

"No, of course not."

"Oh, great. Now, he's seeing things!"

"Let's just get out of here."

"And leave him here?"

"This was all your idea! I'm out of here, man."

There was a sound, kind of like bushes. Big prickly bushes. Tim hoped that the two men would get caught in them and gouged to death by sharp pokies.

Now, that's not very nice, Probie.

"They started it."

You shouldn't lay around.

"Why not? I don't see anything else to do."

You could get up.

"Why?"

Good question.

Tim knew...or he thought he knew that this image of Tony was just part of his high, that he was seeing things. Of course, he wasn't sure why he was seeing Tony of all people. Tony wasn't the one to go to in a pinch...or maybe he was.

"What's going on, Tony?"

You're the one who should really be answering the questions.

"You're not asking any. I am."

Come on, Probie. You're really disappointing me.

"Why? Because I'm laying around after getting drugged? I guess you'd be saving yourself."

Do you know how cold it is out here tonight?

"Nope. Not at all."

It's cold. You should be very cold.

"I am a little, now that you mention it. So?"

So...get up, Probie. You're a smart guy...sometimes. You should know enough to know that you can't sleep out here.

"Oh, shut up."

I see. You can't get up. You're such a weakling, McGee. You always drop the ball when it counts.

"I do not! I'm drugged. I'm tired and I'm not feeling very good. That's not my fault."

No, it's not, but you should be doing something about it, not just sitting around.

"Oh, what do you know. You always put me down. You never think I'm worth anything. Well, I'm sick of it...so you can just go away...you hear me? Go away!"

I'm not going anywhere, McGee.

"Why not?"

Because you don't really want me to go.

Tim didn't bother to answer that...because it was true, although he couldn't figure out how Tony knew that.

Admit it, Probie. You don't want to be here alone. That's why I'm here.

"So. What if that's true? Why you? Other people are a lot nicer to me than you are." A shiver ran through Tim's body, followed quickly by another one, more violent. "I'm cold."

Then, get up, you idiot!

"But I'm tired."

Oh, please. Probie, don't make me come over there and give you a slap, Gibbs-style. You're tired? You've stayed up all night before. Don't give me tired. That's just stupid.

Tim pushed himself into a sitting position.

"I really don't feel very good, Tony," Tim said, his voice slurring. "I don't like this...at all. There's something wrong."

So? Suck it up and stand. You think that Superman laid around? Did the Ironman sit back and say he was feeling sick? Did...Did Captain Kirk let the Borg destroy the world?

"Captain Kirk didn't fight the Borg. That was Captain Picard."

Kirk. Picard. Who cares? Neither one of them shirked their duties. They're tough guys...and they're scifi tough guys.

"Whereas I am just a stupid nerd without the ability to tie my own shoelaces, right?"

I didn't say that, Probie.

"You didn't have to." Tim lay back down on the cold hard ground. "I'm obviously not good enough."

Oh, stop with the self-pity, Probie. If there's any breaking down to do, I'll do the breaking. Now, get back up. Now!

Tim sat up once more, but he felt short of breath. "I'm tired...and it's hard to breathe."

It will be easier if you stand up, McGee.

"Liar. You're such a liar, Tony. You call me stupid. You tell me I'm weak and then you say that I have to get up. You can't say anything nice about me, can you. Everything is always qualified, as if you're afraid that I'll somehow feel good about myself."

Get up and prove me wrong, then, Probie.

"And stop calling me Probie!" Tim shouted and struggled to his feet. He really did feel terrible. It was hard to breathe. His vision was a little blurred. He wondered how much Dramamine he'd been given because he could barely get a decent breath. He felt winded as if he'd just run a mile full out. He couldn't figure out why Tony kept telling him to get up. "There. I'm up. Now what?"

Now, let's take a walk, Probie.

"Where?"

Take a look around. You're not in a good place. No one will see you out here. So, you have to take a few steps toward the light.

"That's a terrible thing to say. It's not like I'm dying."

Just walk, McGee.

"Fine." Tim took a step...and then, another...but then, he stopped and looked at Tony. "Why am I doing this? I felt a whole lot better when I was lying down. It wasn't hard. All I had to do was breathe."

Walk!

Tim walked a bit further, but then, he stopped again. "No! Tony, I'm tired of listening to you!" He looked around and realized that he was on a sidewalk. How had he gotten here?

Are you okay, Probie?

"Do I look okay to you?"

No. Not really.

"Yeah, well, you'd say that anyway."

True.

"Actually, Tony, I'm feeling a...little..." He stopped and panted for a few seconds. "There's something wrong with me."

Yeah, Probie. Duh. You've been drugged.

Tim looked at Tony again. "Come on, Tony. Help me, then."

Sorry, Probie. No can do.

"Why not?" Tim stumbled and nearly fell.

Don't lay down again, Probie. You need to stay up.

"Can't...sorry, Tony. Can't anymore."

Yes, you can. You're strong enough.

"I don't think so."

You're almost home. Look! You can make it.

Tim looked up and saw his apartment building, just a block away.

"I don't know if I can make it that far."

You can. Come on, Probie. You didn't give up when your sister was accused of murder, when everyone thought I was dead, when that homeless guy got accused of murder. You can't give up now when it's your life at stake.

"But it's too hard."

No, it isn't. It's not too hard. You're just giving up...and you can't give up. So...take another step. Like on What About Bob?, just like that. Baby steps down the sidewalk. Baby steps down the sidewalk. Baby steps up the steps. Baby steps up the steps.

"Shut up, Tony," Tim mumbled and stumbled again.

No. No falling over. Baby steps up the stairs. Baby steps down the hallway.

"You look like an idiot, Tony, prancing around my building."

"You're not looking so beautiful yourself, McGee.

"Where are my keys?" Tim asked.

How should I know?

"You're here. Tell me where I put my keys."

If you got robbed, Probie, what makes you think you still have them at all?

"Good point." Tim slid down the wall.

Hey, no sitting!

"I'm not. I'm getting my spare." Tim felt around on the floor, panting and found the loose board in which he'd wedged an apartment key. Then, he crawled to his door and got it open. He nearly fell over as the door opened.

Get up, you wuss.

"I'm not a wuss."

Yes, you are.

"Are not."

Are too.

"Not."

Too.

"Shut up."

Just get up. You need to call someone.

"Who?"

I don't know. Pick a person...or call 911.

"I don't need 911. I just feel sick."

You've been drugged.

"I just feel sick. I don't need anyone. I just need to sleep it off."

Call someone or I'll tell Gibbs that you're being stupid again.

"You're acting like a twelve-year-old."

You're just being dumb. Get up.

Tim finally got to his feet again, if only to get Tony to stop talking...not that it helped. He wandered to his phone. It was silly, but he called. Maybe Tony would shut up if he called him.

"What do you want, Probie? I'm on the verge of a very promising line of inquiry. Is this important?" Tony asked...or rather shouted. It was very noisy. Tim wondered why when he was standing right in front of him.

"Tony! How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You're in my apartment...and you're on my phone at the same time! Wow."

"Are you drunk or something, Probie? Because this is a terrible time for drunken ramblings."

"Not...drunk."

"Probie...are you okay? You sound..."

"I...I think I'm in trouble, Tony."

Gotta give him more than that, McGee.

"I'm giving him what I have, Tony. I told you. And you should know it anyway because you're..." Tim stopped and tried to think. It was hard. "I don't...feel...very good, Tony."

"McGee. What's going on? I can barely hear you." The noise on the other end of the line diminished.

"I'm...home...I can't...drugs. That's what it...is..." The breaths were harder and more painful. "Help...me...Tony."

Vaguely, Tim heard a voice calling for help, but he was suddenly falling...falling endlessly.

"Tony...help me."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was more surprised and annoyed than anything when Tim's number came up on his phone. He was out at a club, picking up a very hot chick. He was not in the mood to be bothered by the biggest homebody in the universe. Still, on the off chance that Tim was calling for a legitimate purpose, he answered. He had to admit that he wasn't paying a whole lot of attention at first...but Tim sounded off, really off. Tony walked away from his target, out of the club, onto the street, in an effort to hear Tim better.

The last thing he heard was, "Tony...help me."

That was all it took. For Tim to ask for help, particularly from Tony, that meant something was seriously wrong. He got in his car and sped over to Tim's apartment, all the while asking Tim to say something...because the phone was still connected. It was only when he pulled up to the building that Tony realized he should have called for help...911 or something. He dashed up the stairs to Tim's apartment, saw the door standing open. Bad...bad...

Tim was on the floor, the phone beside his hand. His face was flushed and his breathing labored.

"Come on, McGee," Tony said frantically, shaking Tim to wake him up.

Tim moaned and opened his eyes.

"All right. Good, Probie. That's good. Wake up."

"Tony..." Tim said, blinking slowly. "Why...are there two of you?"

"What?"

See ya, around, Probie. The other Tony disappeared.

"Come on, McGee, up we go."

"I'm tired of...standing up. You kept telling me to get up... and...and walk and I'm tired of it."

Tony was now very worried, not only about Tim's breathing. "What did you take, McGee?"

"Didn't take...anything. Drugged."

"What drug? Rohypnol?"

"Dramamine."

"You got drugged with Dramamine? You've got to be kidding."

"Tired...Tony...want to sleep. You wouldn't leave me alone."

"I never do, McGee. Can't sleep now. We're going to the hospital."

"Don't need a hospital," Tim mumbled petulantly.

"Yeah, you do, McGee, but if you throw up in my car, I'm going to have to kill you," Tony said, pulling Tim up. It was hard work. Tim was no lightweight and at the moment, he appeared completely boneless. "Help me out, here, McGee."

Tim was wheezing, but he moved his feet more or less in the direction they were supposed to go.

"You hate me, don't you, Tony," Tim said as they left the apartment.

"Of course not, Probie."

"You told me I was stupid...and..." Tim sagged.

"What did I tell you, McGee? Keep talking."

"...and...weak..."

"I didn't mean it," Tony said, helping Tim out of the building, down the steps and to his car. "Keep talking. What else did I do?"

Tim slumped down in the seat, barely conscious.

"McGee! Talk!" Tony said, urgently, as he put the car in gear.

"You talked about...Bob...baby steps...baby steps..." Tim's eyes closed.

Tony was driving in such a way that even Gibbs and Ziva would have been scared. He knew that because he himself was terrified.

"Don't you die on me, McGee! I will not stand for that! What else did I do?"

No response...so Tony smacked the side of Tim's head...he couldn't reach the back. Tim's eyes flickered open.

"Danced...like Bob...wouldn't let me...stop..."

"Well, you can't stop now, either! Got that? You keep breathing and you keep talking because there is no way that I will let you die in my car! I'd have to sell it!"

The hospital loomed up and Tony was suddenly worried that his brakes wouldn't stop him soon enough. The emergency entrance approached at near-warp speed and the brakes squealed.

"I need some help out here!" Tony shouted. "Someone!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A long tunnel loomed in front of him. The light was getting less and less dim. A deep breath. One more...the tunnel shrank to a fuzzy and dimly-lit room. Another deep breath and a few blinks and the room began to focus.

"McGee?"

A fuzzy shape loomed in place of the tunnel.

"You awake?"

Blink. Blink.

The blobs coalesced into a person. "Tony."

Tony let out a sigh of heartfelt relief. Tim could tell even through the fuzz that he was very worried.

"Yeah. Thank goodness. You...you ever do something like that...I'll..."

"Thanks, Tony," Tim said in the middle of Tony's weak rant. The memories of his recent past weren't completely clear, but Tony figured largely in them all.

Breath. Breath.

"For what?"

"For making me walk."

Tony looked uncomfortable. "I wasn't there, McGee. You were having hallucinations."

"It sounded a lot like you."

"That bad?"

Tim smiled tiredly. "Yeah...but you got me to walk. You got me to do what I needed to do."

"McGee...you know that wasn't me, right?"

"Yeah...I know."

"Then, it was you that made yourself walk, not me. I just got you here."

Tim shook his head, blinking again and was satisfied that the room was as focused as it could be. Tony was at least discernible as himself.

"No. Tony, of everyone I could have imagined to get me moving, it was you that popped up. Not anyone else. I knew you were the one to make me get up."

Tony grinned. "You saying I was your cheerleader?"

"Drill sergeant, maybe? You weren't pulling any punches."

"You think you know me well enough to imagine me in a hallucination?"

"You quoted movies at me. You made allusions to superhero-movies. You put me down over and over...and you wouldn't let me give up." Tim nodded. "I think I know you well enough."

"Okay, McGee. You got me. Just don't do that again, okay? I was...I was worried."

"Not if I can help it," Tim agreed. "That wasn't any fun for me, either."

"...and only you would get an overdose of Dramamine," Tony said, his good humor restored.

"I just like to be unique."

"Whatever! You must be the only guy who gets Dramamine instead of a roofie. Only you could get the two dumbest thieves ever who..." Tony continued his rant and Tim sat back and took it, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Who would have thought that he knew Tony that well?

There was no difference. Both Tonys had been there when it counted.

FINIS!