#few seconds later the local sirens are going off everyone's phones are screaming and the announcement is made over the loudspeakers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

managedmischiefs · 5 years ago

Text

bloodied jeans//spencer reid

here’s another fic for y’all! let me know what you think! give it a like or a reblog or just read it and be like omg

requests are open if you wanna see me write anything specific, or if you just wanna talk

genre: angst, a lil fluff

warnings: guns, blood, stab wound, me not knowing specific details of the angels/demons episodes, season nine finale spoilers, yet again! an overuse of pet names but get used to that warning

word count: 6.2k

///

"Be careful out there, okay?" I hear Spencer say over the phone to me, the way he always does. "The unsub is armed and dangerous, Rose. We don't-"

"I will, I promise. I've got a vest, you've got one too. We'll be okay." I promise him, glancing over at Emily, who gives me an uneasy smile.

There's an all hands on deck situation in Texas with an armed unsub hiding out in some restaurant. There's been shots fired inside and there's cops waiting outside for the BAU to arrive.

"I'll be there soon," I tell Spencer and hear sirens over his line. "I love you."

"I love you too," and then he hangs up.

Emily doesn't bother to say anything as she drives, just keeps her eyes on the road. Spencer and I always get nervous when approaching situations like this one. We started working at the BAU together and fell in love instantly, but it took us years to confess our feelings. But now that we've been dating for four, going on five, years, we're very protective of each other. Both of us have and will jump in front of a bullet for the other and it's gotten us in trouble, but we love each other.

We arrive at the scene and find the rest of the team gathered at the hood of Hotch's car. I smile and stick myself to Spencer's side, feeling his arm wrap around my waist. As Hotch discusses a plan to get in, Spencer kisses my temple, whispering a promise that we'll be okay.

But just as soon as he does, shots ring out. Spencer immediately tucks me under him and covers my body with his as everyone ducks. Local police start to fire back at the unsub and the team all rush towards the restaurant to get in the action.

I draw my weapon and duck behind an opened car door, waiting for the right opportunity before sticking my head out and firing my weapon. I'm unsuccessful at first, just hitting a window and breaking glass.

I hear JJ fire from beside me and I look over just in time to see her roll her eyes at something. But I'm stunned because I had thought Spencer was right beside me and I'm thrown off guard. We never separate from each other. Hotch doesn't like it because he thinks being together in the field will cloud our judgement ion dangerous situations, but it makes the opposite happen. We've defused bombs, saved children, talked guns and knives out of the hands of unsubs- with minimal injuries to either of us. We bring out the best in each other but I need Spencer beside me to ease my anxiety.

"You good?" JJ shouts at me over the echoing gunfire.

"Looking for Spence," I respond, but I'm sure she already knew that. She sends me a shrug before moving to fire her gun towards the unsub again. She grimaces and sinks back down when no positive results are seen.

This gunfire continues on for what seems like forever, but in reality, it only ensues for, at most, a minute. The cop between JJ and I has been shot down and we tried to revive him but it was no use. My mind is spinning and I don't see this ending any time soon. The unsub keeps reining fire down on us and I'm not sure where he keeps getting ammo from. But, as far as I can see, he's shot three police officers and doesn't plan on stopping.

"Morgan!" I shout aimlessly, hoping he's near by. And just like that, he's right by my side, gun clutched in his hand. "We need a plan. Where are the others?"

"I'm not sure. We're all split up." Morgan tells me, looking around frantically, ducking down when a bullet comes dangerously close to us. "But we gotta stop this guy. Snipers are setting up right now on those buildings up there. I'm thinking we could get a good shot at him."

"Good," JJ nods, gasping when another shot comes close to us. "Let's hope snipers get here soon. This unsub isn't stopping."

Surely enough, snipers arrive just seconds later and I watch them set up. At this point, JJ and I have both run out of bullets and we have nothing left to do but wait it out. We watch intently as the snipers scope out their target and try to get a good shot. It's a hopeless feeling, to be shot at and know that there's absolutely nothing we can do to try and defeat this unsub. If me and JJ try to move to get more ammunition, we'll get shot. The unsub is shooting aimlessly and we're likely to get shot if we break our cover and neither of us are willing to risk that. The best bet is to wait it out but it's a crushing feeling.

The more the moments pass, the more I wonder about Spencer. Is he okay? Where even is he? Morgan didn't mention him and he said everyone was split up. Did his revolver run out of ammunition? It's likely. His gun only carries six bullets at a time. Is he okay?

The snipers try once to take out the unsub once and fail, then try again, and fail. The gunfire on the police lapses for a moment and I think for split second that they've got him, but then it continues. I curse loudly, ducking further behind the car door.

"Hang in there, Rose," JJ calls, mimicking my position, eyes stuck on the snipers.

And with just one more shot at the unsub, the gunfire ceases. There's a moment of hesitation among everyone where we wait for it to begin again, and when it doesn't, there's a collective sigh of relief. Clearly, the snipers must have been successful at their jobs. Thank god.

We all rise slowly, guns drawn despite the lack of ammunition, and some start to drift towards the restaurant to retrieve the unsub. But the first thing I do is look for Spencer, like I always do. He's always my first priority. He's tall, he's over 6', he's not hard to find. So when I don't spot him immediately, I panic.

I go to my right and see an empty area between the two cop cars, and even further right is empty. Then I start running, past where JJ and I were, to the left of our positions. I almost miss him at first, and I probably would have if it weren't for his black converse poking out from around a car tire. I find him leaned against the tire helplessly, eyes drooping closed and his mouth half open, tongue sticking out.

"Spencer?" I squeak out, rushing over and dropping to my knees beside him. "What's wrong?" I place my hand in his and instantly feel something warm and wet, and I don't need to look to know what it is.

Silent tears pour down my cheeks as I inspect him, looking for a gunshot wound. The source of the bleeding is his neck and Spencer's trying to lift his hands up to meet mine, but I shake my head at him. "No, no, sweetheart, relax. Save your strength. Relax. Hands down. Medic! Medic!" I scream as loud as I can, hoping someone will hear it.

I press my hand against his neck in the weakest attempt to curb some bleeding, watching his chest start to heave. "You're doing so well for me," I encourage him. "Just keep your eyes open. Keep your eyes on me."

Spencer's head starts to lull, turning to me. He can just barely keep his eyes and he surely doesn't have any control of the rest of his body, just laying there limply. But he's breathing, for now.

"Come on, keep your eyes on me, baby, that's all I need. Medic! Could you talk to me? I'd love that, sweetheart," I press my other hand atop mine and grimace at the amount of blood covering my fingers. "Could you talk to me, bub? Tell me a fact you've got in that big brain of yours."

"R-Rose," he manages to stutter out, but I can barely hear him.

Three paramedics finally rush over and get to working, pushing my hands away from Spencer and telling me to "step aside," but I refuse. I'm hysterical as I cry for my dying boyfriend, holding my bloody hands in front of me like I'm the one who shot Spencer. "I'm his girlfriend and I'm federal agent, I have to-"

"Rose," I suddenly hear Morgan behind me, "just come over here."

"No! I have to be right here!" I resist it when he grabs my arm. But then he just wraps his arms around my waist and drags me away. I kick and scream for Spencer as I sob, breaking down in Derek's arms with my boyfriends blood staining my hands.

The team looms over us as Spencer gets loaded into an ambulance and rushed to a hospital. Morgan just holds me and lets me cry, rocking me back and forth. But eventually he picks me up and carries me into the back of a car, presumably Hotch's, and they drive off.

"He's gonna die," I cry, feeling Morgan wipe the blood off my hands with a rag, but it barely does anything. My hands aren't slick but they're still red, a reminder of the horror I just witnessed. I may not have Spencer's remarkable memory but I'll never get that image out of my mind. "Spencer's gonna die and it's all my fault!"

"He's not gonna die," Morgan tells me firmly. "He got shot in the neck, that's not a bad spot. He's gonna go into surgery and lose his voice for a few days- that's it."

"He could be paralyzed," I counter stubbornly. looking up at him. Spencer always liked my stubbornness, he said its a good quality to have so we can debate about topics, but it just seems to frustrate Morgan. Who is he to be frustrated right now? "And he lost so much blood." I look down at my clothes to see that they're covered in Spencer's blood too. These are going in the garbage at my earliest convenience. "I'm gonna lose him."

"Shh," Morgan pulls me into his chest again and despite the fact that I'm upset with him, I need someone to hold me so I just melt. "Just relax. Reid is gonna be okay."

I practically sprint into the emergency room but Morgan catches my waist before I can start yelling at an innocent nurse, reminding me that we already know Spencer is in surgery and he will be for a while.

"Here," Hotch says, "here's your go bag. Clean yourself up. I know you don't wanna go to the hotel and shower but at least change out of your vest and clean up the blood on your hands and your face."

///

After a while of waiting on eggshells, I take Hotch's advice. I go to the bathroom and wash myself up, changing into sweats, and like I promised myself, I throw my stained clothes in the trash. My hands are still stained red and I'm sure they will be for a while. But I feel a tiny better as I pull my hair into a tight ponytail, getting the gross and dirty strands out of my face.

I resume my seat in the waiting room, knees to my chest. The team is away, finishing up the case, leaving me to my lonesome. It's a painful thing to go through alone, to say the least.

"Anyone here for Reid?" A nurse says after hours of waiting.

I jump up quickly, rushing over to her. "Yeah, yeah, I am. Is he okay?"

"Come with me," she smiles, leading me away from the waiting room. "The surgery went well and he's going to be just fine. His throat is probably going to be sore for a while and it might be challenging to speak at first, but he'll be just fine. The anesthesia is wearing off and he should be waking up very soon." She stops at a room and gestures inside. "You're welcome to see him. Visiting hours end at midnight."

I thank her softly and then she walks away, leaving me with Spencer. I walk in and even though he looks like a mess, I smile. He's alive and that's enough for me. There's a bandage on his neck and his curls are flopped over his forehead, hands resting at his sides. If I didn't see him almost bleeding out, I would've thought he was peaceful.

I bring a chair to the edge of his bed and sit down, sliding one of my hands in his, squeezing gently. I don't get a response but I'm not expecting to, not for another minute or so. I lean down and press my lips to his knuckles, leaving them there for a couple seconds. My own exhaustion is starting to settle in now as my adrenaline disappears from the long gun fight we had.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it to find a few texts from the team, all asking how Spencer is doing. I respond to them, letting everyone know that he's out of surgery and he's okay, but not awake yet.

Just as I'm setting my phone on the bedside table, I feel Spencer's hand start to tighten in mine. A smile comes to my face and I scoot in closer, my eyes filling with tears again. "Hi," I whisper, reaching forward to sweep his hair off of his forehead, "hi, bub, you waking up? Can you hear me?"

There's a groggy sound in the back of his throat and then he coughs, grimacing at the painful feeling. I jump up and grab the cup of water with a straw from the side table, holding the small plastic cup to his lips. "Drink, my love, nice and slow. It'll help you. Your throat is gonna be sore for a while,"

Once he takes a few sips and then pulls away, his head falls back against the pillow again and he lets out a small sigh of relief. I set down the cup and wipe my tear stained cheeks, sitting on the chair once more and grabbing his hand. "How are you feeling?" I ask, moving as close as I possibly can without actually being on the bed and risking hurting him, even though that's where I wanna be.

Spencer scrunches up his nose. "Did you get hurt?"

I let out a little laugh, rolling my eyes at him. "You're the one laying in the hospital bed and you're asking me if I'm okay? You're incredible. How'd I ever get so lucky to find a man like you?" I tease, leaning down to kiss his knuckles again.

Spencer chuckles, very gently turning his head to look at me. His eyes are open now, bloodshot- but still beautiful. He gives me the weakest smile I've ever seen from him. "I'm just amazing, what can I say?"

I laugh, nodding. "That you are." I reach up and push his hair back again. It's growing out and he constantly complains about it in his eyes. "How are you feeling? And you've gotta answer me this time. No flattery."

Spencer sighs, squeezing my hand just a bit tighter. "Sore. Really sore. It feels like someone's squeezing my neck. But it's not painful. And I'm just tired- really tired."

"Alright well," I'm cut off by my phone buzzing on the bedside table, "just relax. Close your eyes and try to get some sleep." When he doesn't immediately do as I instruct, I furrow my eyebrows. "What's wrong? Do you need something?"

"You changed your clothes," Spencer observes, his eyes scanning up and down my body. There's a small pout on his lips.

"Um, yeah," I look down at my sweatpants and remember the red handprint on my thigh that was present just a few hours ago. "They were bloody so I threw them out,"

"That's a shame," Spencer quips, his voice cracking. "Those jeans looked really good on you,"

I bark out a laugh, tossing my head back. "I'll buy a new pair of jeans, Spencer. Go to sleep, you crazy boy," Spencer gives me another weak smile before closing his eyes and letting out a small breath. I reach over and answer it to Morgan's stressed out voice. "Hey, Spencer just woke up and-"

"The unsub has a partner." Morgan says quickly, cutting me off.

I furrow my eyebrows and start to rack my brain for any evidence I can remember from this case. "We didn't profile a partner. There's been no evidence of a partner until now. How?"

"Yeah, well, there was plenty of evidence of a partner at the crime scene. Garcia found out his name and he works at the hospital and we think he's coming for Reid." My eyes instantly move to Spencer and I'm not sure if he can read my panic but he can sense that something is amiss.

"Okay, tell me about this dude," I squeeze Spencer's hand as a way to reassure him that everything is going to be okay. But his eyelids flutter open and I know that he's trying to listen in to this conversation.

"His name is Cameron Delgado, and he's been stalking all of us. Like, he knows medical details about all of us, especially Reid." Morgan tells me. He starts telling me about his involvement with the unsub and how we could have possibly missed it until now.

As just a precaution, I jump up a grab the bin of Spencer's personal belongings and sift thorough it, getting his gun, cuffs, and his badge, tucking them into the waistband of my sweatpants for good measure. The confusion and panic is evident on Spencer's face now but I just shake my head at him.

"We're five minutes away. Hang tight, Rose. Is Wonder Boy okay?" Morgan asks.

Before I can even respond, a male nurse wanders in and my senses are spiraled into overdrive. I stop responding to Morgan and focus on the nurse's every little move. Morgan's yelling over the line, wondering what's going on and why I'm not responding, but I ignore him.

He glances at Reid's chart for a moment before picking up the insert for his IV. He's about to add something before I speak up. "What is that?" My assertive tone makes Spencer's eyebrows pop up, because I'm never aggressive in situations like this. I've always been known to be patient and calm. But this is my boyfriend's life we're talking about and I'm not risking anything. Even if this is just a nurse doing his job, I'm going to be safe rather than sorry.

The nurse looks at me, surprised that I'm asking anything or questioning his medical expertise. "Um, it's a painkiller." He says, about to add it, but I put my hand atop his, effectively halting him. "M'am, please-"

"What's it called? The medical name? What's it called?" I glance at Spencer and I think he's starting to catch on. But the downside is that I think the unsub is catching on too.

The unsub spits out some name that I can't even begin to re-pronounce and Spencer starts to shake his head. "No, no, I'm highly allergic to that. I'll go into shock, I've almost died because of that. Don't give me that!"

Cameron, the unsub, shrugs his shoulders and smirks. "Doctors orders." And then pushes the IV.

I quickly whip out my gun and cock it, seeing Spencer ripping out his IV in the corner of my eye before any of the medication can get in his system. "Cameron Delgado, put your hands up, you're under arrest," Does this gun have bullets in it? Let's hope so.

Cameron puts his hands up and laughs. "Oh, come on, little lady. You're not gonna shoot me."

"You just tried to kill my boyfriend so I'd think twice about that." I snap, not letting my face falter. "Now, do you wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

"How could you possibly have a hard way?" Cameron laughs, looking to Spencer as if he's going to give him some sort of male support for his sexism. But Spencer is starting to decline significantly, given the loss of vital fluids and antibodies from his IV. "Oops, it looks like your plan backfired. Maybe he won't die from an allergic reaction but maybe he'll die from an infection, or shock, or what's that thing called? Sepsis? I wouldn't know. I'm not a real nurse, or a doctor. Not like your fancy boyfriend here. But you wouldn't let your fancy doctor boyfriend die. Would you? But you took an oath. You wouldn't call in a nurse to readminister an IV while you've got a gun pulled on an innocent nurse, would you?"

He's right. I would never put an innocent life in danger, but I don't want Spencer to get worse. So I need to get Cameron out of the room. Either Spencer will hit the nurse's button or his pressure will drop and a nurse will be notified. But I have to move quickly. Spencer's condition is getting worse and if his BP starts to drop, a nurse will come in and that defeats the purpose of this whole thing. I need to get Cameron out of the room ASAP. But how?

"Maybe I would," I tell him, just a bit softer. "Maybe I'd call in a nurse to help Spencer. You'd like that, huh?" There's a twitch of his eyebrow and I know I've impacted him in some way. I start to lower my gun in the slightest because even though he hasn't pulled anything, I'm almost positive he's armed somehow and I'm not wearing a vest. But I have to get him on my good side to get him out of the room. "Women are generally nurses, right? You're not actually a nurse." Now that my gun is facing the floor, I step towards him. At first, he steps back, but then he lets me advance him, blinded by sexual desire for me. "You just like to look at them."

Cameron scoffs, his eyes darting over to Spencer. "C'mon, lady, your boyfriend is right there. He's-"

"Oh," I roll my eyes, and my next words feel painful on my tongue, "he probably doesn't even realize where he is or what's going on. It's fine."

There's a lazy smile that etches itself across his face and it's one I recognize instantly, from the days I used to have one night stands in college, and even from Spencer. He's turned on. And despite the fact that I probably look like hell with my ponytail and sweats, he wants me. And I'm realizing that this is probably why this unsub wasn't involved with the other murders- he'd probably take too long with the women and the other unsub couldn't afford being caught because Cameron wanted to bang them.

"So why don't you go show me what you think women are really worth?" I keep my voice low, partly for sensuality, and partly because I don't want Spencer to hear. I feel guilty enough that he's struggling without his IV and that now he has to hear me seduce a serial killer. "It won't be hard to find an empty room in-"

"You're lying, Fed!" He quickly pulls out a knife and slashes across my stomach. I'm stunned for a second but my adrenaline doesn't let the pain catch up to me. Cameron darts out of the room and I follow, just barely hearing one of Spencer's many monitors starting to beep.

I chase after Cameron and he winds up to be a surprisingly slow runner so it doesn't take much. But the moment he catches up to me, I'm dodging swings from his knife. I know I have a gun but there are innocent people around and I can't just go shooting for the unsub. I'm fighting as best as I can, throwing punches and trying to get him defenseless. It's not easy by any means, what with civilians around.

I kick in his knee and make him fall, swinging my leg around his neck. I catch his wrist in my hand and try to wiggle the knife out of his hand, but he swings it around and plunges it into my calf. I curse loudly and the pain actually registers this time, but this means that he's given up his only weapon. So, without a second thought, I pull the knife out of my leg and slide it across the floor as far as I can, getting it across the entire hallway until it hits the nurse's station desk. Cameron is completely in my control now but still thrashing around. My pain is starting to register which means I'm losing my energy, and in my lapse of focus, I'm pushed to the floor.

Cameron is seemingly covered in my blood, smirking deviously as his hands wrap around my neck. I try to push him away but I'm losing blood and starting to get weaker. "This," Cameron snarls as his hands tighten at full force around my throat, "is what women are worth to me."

My vision starts to get spotty but just in time, there's a screeching pop and Cameron has a bullet in his head, falling to the ground beside me. I let out a breath of relief, chest heaving as I try to replenish my lungs with the air it had been deprived of. My vision isn't even fully restored before I'm pushing myself up and trying to get back to Spencer's room to make sure he's okay. Patients and nurses are starting to poke their heads out of rooms to see if the commotion is okay again.

"Rose!" I hear someone shout, but I ignore them. Morgan and Hotch come into view, then JJ and Emily a moment later. Morgan puts a hand on my waist and stops me, eyes widening. "You're bleeding a lot, you need to get checked out."

"I'm-" as soon as I speak up, a wave of dizziness passes over me, "Sp-"

"Spencer's okay," JJ promises, speaking as if I'm a child. I wonder if this is how Henry feels when she talks to him. "But now you're not. You got stabbed and choked and right now you need to see a doctor. And Spencer is not the kind of doctor I'm talking about,"

"No," I shake my head, my stubborn side pushing to the surface again, but grab onto Morgan's hand when my hips start to involuntarily sway.

"Nurse!" Hotch shouts as he sees the inevitable coming. A combination of the stress, the gunshot, the blood loss, and the choking hit me all at once and I black out, falling right into Morgan's arms.

///

I'm not sure how long I'm out for, but when I wake up, there's a nurse checking my vitals. My head is pounding and my stomach is aching, and my first thought is Spencer. How is Spencer? Is he alive? Did he get an infection? Did any of that medication get into his system?

"Oh, you're awake, Agent." The nurse smiles at me as she sees my eyes open. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?"

"Spencer," I choke out, my voice raspy. I grasp at the uncomfortable blanket around me, scrunching up my nose. "My boyfriend. Spencer- is he-"

The nurse smiles and holds up her hand. "You've had lots of other agents come through here and they've all told me he'd be the first person you'd ask about. He's asking about you too. He's doing wonderfully, recovering perfectly. He's more worried about you than himself, actually. He tried to get out of bed a while ago, actually, to see you and some of your coworkers had to tell him no."

"You're awake!" I look to the doorway and find Penelope standing there with a huge smile, holding a tray of food in one hand and multiple phones in the other. "Spencer made me promise to be there when you wake up but he also made me promise to get you lots of food so I was conflicted on what to do but-"

"Pen, it's okay. I'm okay," I promise with a weak smile. "I just wanna see Spencer." I look back at the nurse, the weak turning desperate. "Can I go see him?"

"Well," she sighs, "your stomach is just bandaged, you didn't need stitches there, but you have twelve stitches in your leg. A doctor will have to check you out for you to be discharged, and then you can see Doctor Reid. So I'll notify your doctor. Eat up, and be careful of your throat, it's very bruised. I'll be back soon."

The nurse leaves and Penelope takes her spot beside me, moving the hospital tray over the bed. "She's serious." She tells me, sitting down on a chair. "Spencer won't stop asking if you're okay and if you have the appropriate number of red and white blood cells or if they're giving you penicillin, because you're allergic, but you obviously know that, duh, and all these other questions. He's really worried about you."

"Yeah, well," I let out a sigh, my neck aching as it rolls to face her, "he had to watch me seduce the unsub. Spencer had to take out his IV and I needed the unsub to leave the room so I had to seduce him and now I feel like I need to bathe in holy water."

Penelope grimaces, her face contorting with displeasure. "Ew, ew, ew. I can't imagine being you. Disgusting, Sorry, not sorry. Just eat, and hopefully, the doctor will be here soon. I've brought you new clothes so you can change into ones that don't have blood on them, and I'm gonna text the team to let them know you're awake and then you and Boy Wonder can reunite and live happily ever after. Yay!"

I laugh lightly, reaching for the bottle of water and cracking it open. "Yeah, hopefully, there's no more crooked cops that wanna kill us and we can get on a plane and go home. It's time for me to convince Spence to use his vacation time."

Penelope frowns at me, putting down her phone. It's only seconds later that the team is walking into the room with smiles on their faces, clearly happy to see that their second injured team member is doing okay. "Hi, guys, thanks for coming,"

"Of course," Alex smiles, patting my uninjured leg. "You know we're always here for you."

"I just," I give a small smile and let out a sigh, "wanna get out of here."

"You wanna see Reid." Hotch fills in my missing sentence. "But he's fine, I promise. He just really wants to see you too. Soon. Your doctor is on his way. So get some rest, eat some food, and we'll be on a plane soon."

The team gives me final smiles before leaving my hospital room, only Penelope staying. She smiles, adjusting her seating position. "Pen," I smile, "you don't have to stay here. You can go home or-"

"I'm not leaving you alone in a hospital where Spencer was almost killed and you were stabbed. Absolutely not. I'm traumatized. I know I wasn't here and you should be the traumatized one but- I'm gonna stop talking now," She throws her hands up in surrender, making me laugh. "So I'm staying here until you get discharged unless you need me to get you anything."

"Okay," I nod slowly, "thank you."

It takes a painstaking half hour for the doctor to show up in my room. But he's smiling and tells me the same story that the nurse told me about Spencer. But he thanks me for protecting the other patients and staff by taking down the unsub before he could hurt anyone. He checks out the stitches in my leg and tells me everything looks good, then hands over the discharge papers. I've never signed a document so quickly in my life.

"Alright, we're gonna take out your IV and then you'll be good to go. Just don't be harsh with your neck, Agent, there's internal and external bruising. And, of course, be careful with the stitches in your leg. Don't run or do anything like that and make sure to clean it every day." I grimace as the nurse pulls out my IV, meaning I'm completely free to go.

"Thank you," I thank them both, swinging my legs over the bed. Penelope is holding my clothes out to me with a huge smile. "Go change, hot stuff, and go get your man."

I jump off to bed and throw my arms around her shoulders, squeezing her in a hug. "Remind me to throw a Penelope-Garcia-Appreciation party on our next day off, okay? Actually, don't. It'll be a surprise."

"You're the sweetest. But you can dote over me when you're not stressing over our resident genius. Get changed and I can bring you over to his room." Penelope pats my back and forces the clothes in my hands. "Off you go."

It's a bit of a challenge to change my clothes with stitches in my leg and a gash in my stomach but the promise of getting to see Spencer is enough to get me through. I'm pulling my hair into a bun as I walk back into the hospital room, smiling at Penelope. "Okay, take me to him, please, I can't wait any longer,"

"Yeah, let's go, beautiful," Penelope leads me out of the cold room and down a hallway. We take an elevator ride down a few floors and then we come out to a familiar floor and I completely abandon Penelope because now I know where I'm going. I rush, as best as I can, to Spencer's room.

He looks up the moment he hears my shoes against the tiled floor and smiles, sitting up the tiniest bit. "Hi!" He grins, eyes instantly tearing up. "Are you okay? What-"

"I'm okay," I promise, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "I just wanted to get back to you," I mumble into his shoulder, wary of his bandaged and injured neck

"You saved my life," Spencer breathes out, arms wrapping around my waist but not too tight. "You chased that unsub and you- you saved me."

"Yeah, well," I pull away and smile at him weakly, "you did have to watch me seduce him so I guess saving your life made up for that."

Spencer scrunches up his nose, pushing a fallen piece of my hair behind my ear. "Yeah, I heard some of that. I don't think I heard all of it because after I took out my IV, my head started spinning."

I place a hand on his cheek, smiling as I notice his eyes have their shine again. "You don't do that to me again, okay? You can't- I was so scared out there." Tears start pouring down my cheeks uncontrollably. "I couldn't find you and I was calling your name and then I found you and you couldn't even talk and I was covered in your blood and-"

"Hey, hey," Spencer cuts me off, pulling me back into his chest as my body shakes with sobs, "I'm sorry. I didn't try to get shot, you know that but I'm not gonna try to get shot again, I promise." I laugh, nodding against the uncomfortable fabric of his hospital gown. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you like that. It was an accident. I'm not gonna leave you in the field like that ever again, I promise."

I nod once more. "Okay," I whisper, "I'm holding you to that." I lift my head once more and let Spencer wipe my tears with his thumbs. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, my neck is sore. Not too much pain though, not yet at least. I'm just tired," Spencer lets out a small sigh.

"Okay, well, why don't you get some sleep?" I suggest, leaning down to kiss his cheek before slipping off the bed. "Hotch said we're leaving as soon as you're discharged and that should be soon. So get some rest and I'll be here when you wake up."

I move the table away from the bed and pull the book off of Spencer's lap, effectively removing his main distractions. I'm about to drag over a chair, but Spencer grabs my hand before I can. "Don't go," he begs softly, squeezing my hand. "Will you lay with me? You've been away for hours and I know you'll be right there but I want you right next to me."

"Yeah, of course, I will," I nod, gently climbing onto the bed, kicking off my shoes. I situate myself under the thin sheet and rest my head on Spencer's chest, finding comfort in the steady beat of his heart. But I look up at him and sit up just once more, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you."

He smiles, kissing me again. "I love you too." And so, I rest my head on Spencer's chest and close my eyes, drifting off to a peaceful sleep with my boyfriend right beside me.

///

"Rose?" My neck aches as I turn it too quickly when my boyfriend calls my name. But he's pointing to a pair of seats while holding a blanket, eyebrows raised. "Good?" I nod, giving a thumbs up.

He nods back, putting the blanket down to claim the two seats. Rossi slips past me and claims a seat by himself, already pouring himself a drink. "I'm glad our two favorite lovebirds are okay," he says as he passes me, patting my shoulder.

I sit beside Spencer and pull the blanket over my lap, making sure it's evenly distributed between the two of us. I'm half asleep already but Spencer is, not surprisingly, reading a book. So I cuddle up to his side after moving the armrest up and rest my head on his shoulder, letting my eyelids flutter closed.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, setting his book down a moment later, "you know what we should do when we get home?"

"Hotch already approved vacation time for us," I mumble, too tired to entertain his playful tone.

"You should buy a new pair of jeans."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I saved your life twice so I guess I must."

"That was weirdly backhanded," Spencer chuckles, and the simple and oh-so-familiar sound brings a smile to my face. "But, you know, again, thanks for doing that,"

"I'd do it every day of my life. You know that,"

"I know," he sighs, slumping back in his chair, book long forgotten. "So what about those jeans?"

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler #gublernation #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction

260 notes · View notes

221bsunsettowers · 4 years ago

Text

Carlos/TK: You Had a Speech, You’re Speechless

Summary: It was just supposed to be a quick trip to the bank. Carlos should have been right back. Now all TK can do is wait to hear his husband's voice again.

Thanks to @brilliantbanshee for the prompt/couple choice, and @prodigalleverage @meloingly @magnusluvsalec and @itswoxo for helping me choose which direction to go in, and for being so excited to read this story!

Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo

Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star

Pairing: TK/Carlos

Prompt: Communication Suddenly Cut Off

(No major character death, though there is major character wounding. Blood and a gunshot wound are mentioned.)

(can also be read on Ao3)

"Mmm, baby, you were right, that was exactly what I needed," TK sighs happily, laying his fork down on his now empty plate.

"I thought you might be hungry after that long shift," Carlos smiles, and TK leans across the table to kiss his husband, smirking as he whispers in Carlos' ear,

"Now I'm ready for some dessert," TK smirks as a flush quickly spreads up Carlos' cheeks,

"Hold that thought, please," Carlos begs, nipping at TK's bottom lip, chuckling at the moan his action elicts. Standing up, Carlos reaches into his wallet, extracting a check with a smile and a sigh. "My abuela still insists on doing everything on paper, so I got a check for Christmas." Bending down to kiss TK again, he gestures at the bank across the street. "I need to deposit it so I can tell her it's safe and sound in the bank."

"You are too adorable to be real," TK grins, shaking his head, planting a kiss on Carlos' cheek. "I'm going to enjoy the last few sips of this horchata, and then when you get back here, we can head on home."

"What, you don't want to come wait in line with me?" Carlos teases.

"If I come with you, I won't be able to keep my hands off you, so unless you want to scandalize the local bank tellers..." TK trails off with a mischevious grin, laughing as Carlos immediately blushes again.

"If I wasn't an officer of the law, I'd be cutting right to the front of the line, sweetheart." Carlos leans down for one more kiss, before heading across the street and up the bank's front steps.

TK can't stop smiling as he leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the iced horchata in front of him. He finds himself just watching the bank entrance, waiting for Carlos to emerge, imagining the epic eye roll and immense amount of teasing he would get from Marjan if she could see him now.

The waitress comes over to pour him a refill, and TK glances away from the bank for what he will swear was less than a minute. By the time he looks back, the door is swinging shut behind a group of men.

And then his phone rings.

Carlos' picture flashes on the screen, a photo from their wedding day, a candid Michelle had caught of Carlos' just gazing over at TK, eyes soft and smile stretching across his face. TK grins, immediately answering, but before he can get a fond word out he hears something that almost makes him drop his phone. The sound is muffled, smothered by wherever Carlos must have quickly hidden his phone, but it is clear enough that TK forgets how to breathe.

"This is a robbery, people, so cooperate or someone's getting hurt!" a man's voice yells. "I will shoot you if I have to!"

Later, when an officer is taking TK's statement, TK will find he can't remember this part of the story. He will suppose he must have gone on autopilot as he got the attention of the waitress and told her what to say. The waitress will still remember the instructions exactly, the fear and excitement of the moment having kept them fresh in her brain. She was told to call 9-1-1, say there was a robbery at the bank, tell them there were hostages so not to use their sirens, make sure to tell them Officer Carlos Strand-Reyes is one of the hostages, that he has opened a direct line from inside the bank to his husband's cell phone.

What TK will remember is the absolute terror that came from being able to hear everything happening inside, but not being able to do anything. He couldn't offer Carlos any comfort, couldn't tell him he loved him, had to keep himself muted and listening to the constant stream of terrified shouts and hostile yelling, and no word from Carlos. He knew Carlos was staying quiet so the robbers wouldn't see the phone, so they wouldn't figure out he was a cop (and TK will be forever grateful it was Carlos' day off and he didn't have his uniform or badge on him), so he could take advantage of a moment and try to stop what was happening (and damn Carlos' beautiful, kind, giving heart, TK thought, a thought that will rack him with guilt later, but one he will always find at the forefront of his mind whenever Carlos is saving someone else at the risk of his own safety-and yes, TK recognizes the irony given his professional choice).

The second police officers begin their sprint up the street, TK is running towards them, heading right for the highest ranking one there. In the three years he and Carlos' have been together, the year and a half they have been married, TK has gotten to know everyone at the station, just like Carlos' knows every member of TK's team. Thanks to the waitress passing on the message to 9-1-1, all TK has to do is hold out his phone and they know they have their best shot at figuring out the safest way to end this situation.

Having to let his phone go feels like severing his lifeline to his husband, but TK knows it's his best weapon against those who could actually take Carlos away from him forever.

All he can do now is wait, and he's never felt more helpless in his life. He runs his fingers over his wedding band, normally a soothing motion to ground him, bring him back, but today all it does is remind him that his husband is somewhere he can't follow.

A hand on his shoulder, and TK whirls around, collapsing into his father's arms. "Hey, ssh, it's all going to be okay, son," Owen murmurs into TK's ear, rubbing circles on his back as TK shakes in his embrace. TK buries his face in Owen's shoulder, trying to shut the world out for even a second, but it doesn't work. Carlos is in trouble, Carlos is in danger, Carlos is in a room full of people who don't know how beautiful and perfect and important he is, he could be collateral to them, a casualty along the way, and TK is spiraling as he feels the tightness of a panic attack clutch at his chest.

His father guides him to the curb, gently pushes his head down between his knees, and reminds him to breathe, count his breath, match his breath, there you go, and TK can hear Carlos' voice echoing the words with Owen, and TK breathes. It's enough to keep surviving, but it's not truly living again until he has Carlos back in his arms.

Suddenly there is yelling, everyone is in motion, moving towards the bank doors, and then there is a gunshot.

One single gunshot.

And somehow TK knows. Call it soulmates, call it a fated bond, call it whatever you like, TK is screaming before the cops rush up the steps, he is wailing before the bank doors open, he is sobbing before hostages are hurried outside and the robbers are shoved to the floor.

Carlos turns, slowly, as TK is sprinting towards him.

Carlos turns, meets TK's eyes, and collapses onto his knees. He looks down in numb shock at his left hand, pressed against the bullet hole in his stomach, as blood pours from between his fingers.

And then Carlos' body collapses completely, until he is face first on the cold tile floor, and TK can't even produce words, just a tragedy of heart shattering sounds as he desperately lunges up the stairs and drops to his knees next to his husband. TK's fingers find Carlos' pulse before the paramedics can even reach out a hand, and he sags in terrified relief, because Carlos is alive this second, but what about the next, and that next second is why TK allows himself to be moved to the side as the paramedics get to work. He knows he cannot assist on this one, he's barely breathing himself, just out of sight of the love of his life.

Stumbling into the back of the ambulance, TK grabs Carlos' hand, the actions of the paramedics a blur around them. "Stay with me, baby," TK begs, fingers back on Carlos' too slow pulse. "I love you so much, please don't leave me, Carlos, you can't, please baby, stay with me."

Around him TK hears a whirl of sounds, but Carlos is silent.

*** And this is how it has been since, everything around TK a whirl, and the voice he needs the most locked behind an operating room door where TK can not follow.

Owen made TK sit and get a few sips of water in him. Members of the 126 had come in and out as they were able, making sure at least one of them was there at all times. TK had called Carlos' family, who had been out on a day trip and immediately turned back around (TK was just so glad they had heard what had happened from him and not from a television set). Clean clothes and coffee had appeared, and TK had been coaxed into taking two minutes to change his clothes and scrub Carlos' blood from his hands (an action that had left him sobbing in Judd's arms by the bathroom sink).

Owen has just run to the bathroom himself when TK is approached by a group of people, maybe ten or so in all. "Hi, we're so sorry to bother you," a young woman says, and TK looks up at her, exhaustion and confusion clearly showing on his face. "The nurse said you're the family of the man from the bank who saved us."

"I wanted to say thank you!" pipes up a small voice in the middle of the group, and TK cranes his neck to see a little boy holding the hands of two men. "My Daddy and Papa said that he made sure they made it home okay." The little boy reaches up to one of the men, who hands him a stuffed animal tiger, which the boy then hands to TK. "Can you give this to him when he wakes up?"

TK cradles the tiger in his hands, and chuckles wetly, nodding. "My husband actually calls me Tiger," TK says softly, and finds within himself a smile to give the boy. "He will love this."

"Have you heard anything?" another member of the group asks, and just then a doctor comes out, and TK makes a beeline towards him.

"Family of Carlos' Strand-Reyes?" the doctor inquires, and TK puts a hand up.

"I'm his husband," TK says, voice shaking, running a hand over his tear-streaked face. "Is he okay?"

"He's going to be fine," the doctor says with a smile, and TK feels his body sag in such relief, he would have hit the floor if his father hadn't suddenly appeared behind him to keep him standing. "The bullet was lodged inside, but it was as easy a removal as one could hope for, and no internal organs were damaged. Your husband is extremely lucky, Mr. Strand-Reyes."

"We both are," TK exhales, and he knows he's crying again. He can hear the group around him clapping and cheering. "Can I see him?"

"Of course, he's being moved to his room now," the doctor assures him, and TK clutches the stuffed tiger to his chest, practically nipping at the doctor's heels as they walk towards Carlos' room.

Carlos is so still on the hospital bed, but he is breathing without assistance. TK can hear the beautifully familar sound of the in and out of his husband's breath, finally he can hear Carlos, finally he can hear his husband again. Collapsing into the chair next to the bed, TK tucks the stuffed tiger in the crook of Carlos' arm, before carefully resting his head on Carlos' chest, encircling his husband's wrist with his fingers. The steady beat of Carlos's heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his pulse, lulls TK finally into a semblance of sleep.

"Two tigers, huh? How'd I get so lucky?"

TK whips his head up, blinks his eyes, and then there is Carlos', eyes open, talking. TK can hear his voice, he can hear his husband's voice, a little weaker than usual, but still the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

"Carlos," TK chokes out, and he is immediately climbing onto the bed, avoiding wires and wounds, and wrapping Carlos' in his shaking arms, feeling Carlos' arms come up to hold him close.

"Sweetheart," Carlos breathes out, his voice ruffling his husband's hair, and TK clutches at him tighter, before picking his head up and kissing Carlos', deep and slow, pulling back just enough to rest their foreheads together and meet Carlos' eyes.

"I love you, so much," TK whispers against Carlos' skin, pressing kisses along his jaw, another on his lips. "You're a hero, you know. That's where that tiger came from. You saved a whole lot of people, including the dads of the little boy who brought it for you."

"I'm sorry," Carlos starts, and TK kisses him again, this time stopping the words on purpose.

"Do not apologize, baby," TK assures him, running his hand down his cheek. "You have the most amazing heart, the most beautiful soul. You've always been my hero. I wouldn't have expected anything else from you."

Carlos smiles, and TK can see he's fighting to stay awake, the flow through the IV bringing him back under for more healing. TK brushes a kiss across his husband's forehead, before snuggling in under Carlos' arm, bringing his head back to Carlos' chest. "Get some sleep, hero," TK says, lacing their fingers together. "I'll be right here."

"I love you so much too," Carlos murmurs, and TK hears every word.

@bikingthroughhawkins @officereyes @i-had-bucky @highqualitykhakis @meloingly

You can still request concussion, shot with an arrow, confrontation, ambulance ride, dehydration, magical curse, or stabbing for TK/Carlos, Buck/Eddie, Geralt/Jaskier, or Magnus/Alec :)

27 notes · View notes

crackedoutgiraffe · 5 years ago

Text

To the Moon and Back

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/N: Chapter 6

You had left your phone on the conference room table while you looked through the files. It started ringing unexpectedly. It was Garcia.

“Hey Garcia,” you eagerly greeted her, you hadn’t spoken to any of the team for about 6 hours. They were all out doing FBI things.

“How much do you love me?” she asked

Confused, you answered the peculiar question, “I love you very much, Garcia.” “What would you say if I told you I had the name of the unsub?”

“Wait, you figured it out?” you jumped out of your chair with excitement.

“Sure did,” she giggled, “I believe your unsub is one Robert Adams.”

“Do you have a location, Garcia?”

“His credit card just made a purchase at the Seven Stars Restaurant,”

“Thank you, Garcia,” you said as you ran out the door. “Wait, why did you call me?”

“No one else was picking up,” she replied. “Good luck, be safe,” she hung up after that. The team left one SUV for you just in case you needed to go anywhere. You hopped in and started for the restaurant. You tried to call Hotch, but he wouldn’t respond.

Then you tried Rossi, and thankfully he responded, “Rossi, where are you right now?” you asked frantically

“We’re at the school. Why? What’s wrong?” he could hear how scared you were on the other end of the line.

“Garcia called me and told me that she has the unsub’s identity,” you breathed out, trying to drive at the same time.

“Y/N, I’m going to put you on speaker,” he added. “Alright, you have me, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid.”

“Garcia, she called me and said that the name of the unsub was Robert Adams and that he was at the Seven Stars restaurant, I’m pulling into the restaurant now,” you got out of the car and headed toward the entrance.

“Alright, Y/N, do not engage wait outside we’ll be there in five minutes,” Hotch sounded scared

“Alright. Is there anyt-,” you started but you were knocked out by an explosion from the restaurant.

“Y/N, hold we’ll be there soon,” Hotch calmly said, but you couldn’t respond.

You were knocked unconscious by the blast, you finally awoke to sirens and people surrounding you. You could see all the team members around you.

Everyone stayed by your side for a few moments until Morgan received some news, “Hotch he’s still in there.”

“Ok. Prentiss, come with Morgan and me to catch the unsub,” Hotch started. “Rossi, take Y/N to the ambulance.”

Rossi helped you to stand up while you were holding your head. He led you over to an ambulance, “Rossi, I’m fine, really.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, “but you may have a concussion.” The paramedic checked your vitals and performed a concussion test. You passed, so a hospital visit wasn’t necessary.

While the paramedic was checking your health he was also checking you out, “Alright Ms. Y/L/N, your vitals are good and you don’t seem to have a concussion,” the paramedic briefed. “Make sure that you visit your primary care physician. Also, do you think I would be able to get your number?”

He wasn’t bad looking, he seemed nice, “Sure,” you smiled. You looked past some of the cops at the restaurant and saw Reid looking your way. It seemed like he was giving the paramedic a death stare. You got up off the ambulance and hobbled over to the rest of your team. Prentiss and Hotch had apprehended the unsub, and they loaded him into a police car.

“What did the paramedic say?” Hotch asked.

“He said I’m good to go,” you responded happily.

Reid looked upset from where you were standing, “seemed like he said more than that,” Reid mumbled.

“Alright, go pack up your guys’ stuff and meet me at the airfield in 30,” Hotch continued. You all went to the SUVs. You decided to ride in the back with Rossi driving and Prentiss in the passenger seat. The three of you promptly arrived at the hotel just behind JJ, Morgan, and Reid. Rossi came to help you out of the car, which was quite sweet, but you didn’t need it.

You got to your room and started to pack. Starting with the bathroom then going to the main room, double-checking that you had everything. As you were cleaning up, you made the bed and straightened out the pillows.

Just then your phone rang, “Hello?” you answered.

“Hi, this is Jeremy. I was the paramedic that treated you tonight,” he said gingerly.

“Oh hey, how’s it going?” you giggled while grabbing your bags and heading toward the door.

“We had to take a few people to the hospital, but other than that pretty good,” he commented.

You left your room and started to close the door, “So, a pretty slow night?” you joked. In the hallway, you saw Morgan and Reid waiting and staring at you. “Hey, Jeremy. I’m going to have to call you later, ok?”

“That’s cool,” he sighed. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you finished and hung up the phone.

“Who’s Jeremy?” Morgan asked, poking you in the side.

“That’s classified, Agent Morgan,” you replied with a smile. “Who’s driving?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll drive,” Morgan replied as the three of you got in the elevator.

The drive to the airfield was quiet. You were sitting in the back seat staring out the window, when you did look through the windshield, you could see Reid look at you occasionally. Finally, you got to the plane. You chose a seat at the back, put your headphones in, and pulled out a book. The volume of your music was low just in case anyone needed you. You looked up to see Morgan with a confused look on his face, then he took off his headphones and you could hear screaming coming through them. “Very funny, kid,” he quipped at who you could only suspect was Reid. His phone started to ring and he picked it up, “Hey baby gir-,” he quickly pulled the phone away from his face, more screaming.

You gave up trying to figure out what that was about and went to sleep. When you woke up, you were starting to land. Hotch stood up once the plane landed and told all of you to be in the office at 9 tomorrow. You grabbed your bag and got off the plane, rushing to get to your car and get home and see your cat. The second you got to your car, an immense wave of relief came over you, your first case with the team was done. You had done pretty well. One thing you were less than pleased about was the way you felt toward Spencer. Could you really not fraternize with your co-workers? It’s not that hard, Y/N. Get it together. You got to your house and plopped down on your bed. Checking the time, you groaned. It was 3am. You dragged yourself out of bed to take a shower, you ended up falling asleep wearing only your towel.

You woke up to your alarm at 8 and sighed. Realizing you slept, in a towel, you went to your closet to grab some semi-professional clothes. You put on as much makeup as you could stand, which wasn’t much, and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Checking the clock on your oven, it was 8:30, so you didn’t get to eat breakfast and settled for stopping at Starbucks for another coffee. You were able to arrive at Quantico at exactly 8:50 leaving you just enough time to get up to your desk at 9.

Walking into the office was a nightmare, everyone at their desks seemed so tired. Walking past Reid’s desk, you noticed that he was working away, he didn’t seem tired at all, “How are you so chipper right now?” you asked, sitting down at your desk.

“This is my fifth cup of coffee,” he smiled at you with that lovely smile of his.

Garcia was walking past his desk right as he answered you, “Alright, Dr. Reid, I’m cutting you off for now,” Garcia insisted grabbing the coffee cup from his hand. He looked up at her and frowned.

“Thank you, Garcia,” Morgan added from his desk. “If he would have finished that, I don’t think he would shut up for hours.”

You giggled from your desk, trying not to pass out.

“We have a new case,” Hotch walked out of his office toward the round table room. Everyone groaned as they pulled themselves up from their seats. You all hobbled over to the roundtable room, Reid was practically skipping in front of all of you. “Go ahead Garcia,” Hotch instructed while sitting down.

“Alright, friends, this week you are traveling to the lovely Los Angeles. Four women have all been found in the woods. They were all sexually assaulted, stabbed 13 times, and their hair was burned off. Next to their dumpsite, CSI found the bodies of four men, they were all shot in the heart,” Garcia explained while flipping through the slides on the TV.

“They were all y/h/c-haired and y/e/c eyed in their early to mid-twenties,” Reid added. “Was there any relationship found between the women and the men, Garcia?

“Good eye, Dr. Reid, and yes. The women were all dating one of the men,” Garcia smiled. “Your first victims are 21-year-old Alisha Davis, liberal arts major at UCLA; she was dating 23-year-old Joseph Marin. Next was, 22-year-old Brittany French, chef at a local restaurant and her boyfriend Michael White, 24. Then was 23-year-old Paulette Queen, a nanny for an established family, she was involved with 23-year-old Daniel Roberts. Finally, Jemma Boone, 24, was working at a jewelry store, dating 25-year-old Nicholas Phillips.”

“How far apart were the killed?” you asked.

“The coroner estimates two weeks apart,” Garcia sighed. “Jemma was killed approximately 10 days ago. There also is evidence that he was keeping his victims for about 2 days before killing them.”

JJ spoke up from her side of the table, “The killings seem very ritualistic. They were each stabbed 13 times, they were all y/h/c.”

“The number 13 is considered an unlucky number in some countries. The end of the Mayan calendar's 13th Baktun was superstitiously feared as a harbinger of the apocalyptic 2012 phenomenon. Fear of the number 13 has a specifically recognized phobia, triskaidekaphobia, a word coined in 1911. The superstitious sufferers of triskaidekaphobia try to avoid bad luck by keeping away from anything numbered or labeled thirteen. As a result, companies and manufacturers use another way of numbering or labeling to avoid the number, with hotels and tall buildings being conspicuous examples (thirteenth floor).It is also considered unlucky to have thirteen guests at a table. Friday the 13th has been considered an unlucky day. There are a number of theories as to why the number thirteen became associated with bad luck, but none of them have been accepted as likely,” Reid started to ramble.

“Colgate University also considers 13 a lucky number. They were founded in 1819 by 13 men with 13 dollars, 13 prayers, and 13 articles. To this day, members of the Colgate community consider the number 13 a good omen. In fact, the campus address is 13 Oak Drive in Hamilton, New York, and the male a cappella group is called the Colgate 13. In the Mayan Tzolk'in calendar, trecenas mark cycles of 13-day periods. The pyramids are also set up in 9 steps divided into 7 days and 6 nights, 13 days total. In the standard 52-card deck of playing cards, there are four suits, each of 13 ranks. In a tarot card deck, XIII is the card of Death, usually picturing the Pale horse with its rider. A baker's dozen, devil's dozen, long dozen, or long measure is 13, one more than a standard dozen,” you started rambling too, everyone just stared at you.

“He is focusing more on the women,” Prentiss noticed.

“What makes you say that?” Morgan questioned.

“There is no evidence that the men were held in captivity,” Prentiss continued. “Also, more things were done to the women than the men, their hair was burned and they were sexually assaulted.”

“So it’s more about the women than the men,” Rossi chimed in, “What does that tell us about the unsub?”

You had an answer to the question, “He may have had his heart broken by a y/e/c-eyed, y/h/c-haired girl.”

“I know we just got back but there is going to be another murder in 4 days. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch sighed.

Everyone got up to leave, including you. You headed for the elevator to head home and grab your go-bag. On your drive home, there was one thing on your mind, a serial killer who only killed y/e/c-eyed, y/h/c-haired, and was going to kill someone who was 25, how could this go wrong?

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds

69 notes · View notes

jessadamsdraws · 5 years ago

Text

Sanders Sides Ghost au

Chapter one: The “haunted” house

‘There was a house in the sunshine state of Florida, near a small town at the end of Maron road that is considered infamous among the local housing community. It was an old three-story house that was first built in 1951. It was built for a wealthy university professor and his wife of two years. The man’s name is unknown in the community, long forgotten because he was a very reserved man and because the files are no longer there due to a fire at the precinct that destroying many files. According to many people who lived in the community he only would leave for work early in the morning and come late in the night. Only his wife would attend any social gathering events mainly in a women’s book club. If anyone did see him, they would try and talk to him, but he would keep the conversation very briefly and he would not be very normal. He wasn’t one for small talk as many would recall and would just nod in agreement or talk as if he were from another planet (like many of the local children would say).

But, one thing that everyone would agree on was that the man was indeed intelligent. He was the top teacher at the old University (now a theater), as well as, a part-time teacher at the local high school. Many students didn’t like him. He was strict and very cold. However, many students that struggled academic wise were very fond of him. Even though he wasn’t very good at socializing he was a great teacher. “Even if he could never attempt it, he loved teaching.” One student said.

However, for all the things that were good most come to an end. The professor was found dead in his home with multiple stab wounds. The killer was never found.

Years later (1964) another man moved into the house. Patton Smith was very different than the last owner of the house. He was bubbly and loved telling jokes, everyone who knew him would say ‘he could put a smile on your face without saying a word.’

He would work at the Cawalty Foster home. There he would cook and clean, tell the children so many dad jokes that most would groan at them but still have a goofy smile on their faces. He was just so loved by everyone. But the house claimed its second victim. He started going to the foster home less and less. Many of the children became worried, then one day he stopped coming. He was found dead in the same spot as the old owner.

After that many people called the house cursed and the bank, for the longest time, refused to sell it. Many locals believe that it's haunted by both owners, seek out the person that wronged them. But, years later and being much wiser and needing to sell the house. The bank finally fixed to house and put it back on the market…’

Thomas looks up from his Joan’s phone, pausing in the middle of reading the small article that Joan begged him to look at. For you see Thomas and his friends were standing in the front yard of said house and Thomas (without knowing it) had just bought.

“Told you that that’s the house. I remember reading about it while scrolling Reddit years ago.” Joan said while fixing their beanie.

“Thomas this is so cool. You will be living in an actual haunted house!” Talyn stuffing their hands into their pants pockets.

“Come on, guys. It's not haunted. It just had some not-so-nice-things happen inside its walls.” Thomas said, more to himself than to Joan or Talyn.

The truth was he was so excited to be having his own place now. Living with Joan and Talyn had been fun and an enjoyable experienced but, the apartment was barely big enough for one let alone three. Joan and Talyn had made it work because they aren’t at home as much, with Joan having a day job and Talyn a night one. Thomas’s job was very much unique. For he worked at a very popular and highly rated theater. Many traveling shows would perform there, and Thomas would end up working behind the scene making sure everything ran as smoothly as possible. Making sure the tech team was on cue for lights and effects and so on. When there wasn’t a big play in town the theater would host one of their own. Sometimes they would hire new play writes that wanted a shot in making it big, sometimes (if it was meant to be a musical) they would hire Thomas to write the songs for it (which was his favorite part of this job).

The main reason for the big move was mainly for space but it was also because Thomas didn’t drive. I was currently on a college scholarship that would pay for him to get his A.A degree but after that, he was on his own. Because of this he needs money which was the theater but the transportation system in Florida is the worst, buses were always late and there wasn’t really any taxi’s around, and Uber was WWWAAAAAYYYYYY out of his price range. However, this house was a 10-minute walk from the theater a 30-minute walk from the campus he was attending, it was a win-win. Plus, the house (even though big) was a steal. But Thomas who had no idea about the two deaths that surrounded this house had already paid for the house and was now the owner of a haunted house. Lucky him.

“Well, even if it is haunted it's too late now you already signed the paperwork is it indeed yours so, let get these boxes in before it rains” Joan picked up on of the boxes that were lying on the yard floor and walking straight throw the front door. Thomas could feel his anxiety and blood pressure going above this comfort limit.

For the first few days inside the house was almost torture. Thomas’s imagination would play tricks on him so often that he would have the sudden reg to run out screaming if there was any kind of noise. Even common sounds of pipes shacking or a police siren outside. He would end up talking to himself trying to calm his nerves saying that it wasn’t real. Some nights he wouldn’t get sleep at all.

But as he continued living in the house things started to get better. He would be able to sleep in peace (or as peaceful as he could muster), he could finally unpack his instruments and computer into one of the biggest rooms in the house and decided it to be the drama room. For you see Thomas would sometimes he would take a copy of the script that they would be hosting that no one would miss home with him. He would act out a part or to by himself just for fun. He did not have the courage to actually audition for any part himself. No, he was content with being behind the scenes and making sure that the play was a success.

One thing he did notice a lot was the house would randomly get cold from spot to spot. But never in the same spot twice. Like wherever the source of the cold spot was it would move around in the house.

‘I need to call someone about that before January.’ Thomas noted while walking up to the third floor of his house. He hadn’t actually gone up to the third floor in the now two weeks living there. Considering that the first week he was a bundle of nerves, jumping at his own shadow.

The house itself was very weirdly built. The stairs that lead to the second floor did not lead to the third, it more or less cut off like the third floor didn’t exist. It was only when you took a sharp left and another left did you see a door, once opened will you find a very narrow and claustrophobic staircase that led to the third floor. Which Thomas was currently climbing. The one thing that he observed from the very narrow staircase was it felt more like they were leading to an attic rather than another floor of the house. The saw that there was only one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and not in a decretive manner. Like how one would use in their attic or garage, one thing was very current, Thomas didn’t like it. For one this staircase was easily the hottest area in the entire house. There was no air vent for the AC to pump through and no window or anything really, just a one-way staircase that leads up to another door that leads to the top floor.

Finally making all the way up Thomas notices something less. The higher he climbed the more he could see his breath, but he wasn’t cold at all. It was like suddenly the air around him got cold, but he didn’t. Thomas grabbed the handle of the door and turned, but the knob didn’t.

‘Oh, come on really?’ Thomas breathed as he tried to wiggle the knob and bang his weight against the door. But Thomas wasn’t really built for such things so all his attempts where failures.

“Guess - gonna have ta call - someone about -bout this too.” He said in between pants of breathes as he made his way back down the small staircase silently muttering to himself about having to actually talk to someone on the phone which was something he’d rather not do.

The next month in the house was just great. He would go to class then go home to change then head out for work then coming home to watch re-runs for Parks and Recreation before turning in late and repeating. It was a much better lifestyle. Joan and Talyn would come to the house when they had a day off and would try being ghost hunters seeing if the “legends” were true.

Thomas was starting to believe they were not, but strange things would keep him guessing otherwise. For example, Thomas was very much a bookworm he had a tall shelf that had all the book has read over the years but could not part with. On occasion, he would feel like reading them again to spark some inspiration or feeling of going on the character's journey again once done he would place them back on the shelf but when he would go back, he would find it in a different spot. Now that wasn’t really the weird thing, no, the weird thing was that the book on the shelf itself was full and correctly alphabetized by book title. Something Thomas didn’t have the passions for or the nerve to do and it definitely could be done on accident. Or how when he (on the rare occasion) was cooking some food would hear his music coming from his Drama room only for it to disappear when he got close. Thing like those made him second guess if the house was truly haunted or not. But if it was the ghost had not hurt him yet in the month, he lived there so the thought was pushed to the back of his mind.

But today he was definitely sure it was haunted. Thomas had just woken up from its long sleep by the sun in his eye. He then turned over and saw the time. 9:15 am.

“WHAT!?” Thomas yelled jumping out of bed but fell because of the sheet he was tangled in.

“Why didn’t my alarm go – GAH I forgot to set it are you kidding me!”

Thomas raced around his room gathering his clothes to wear while a toothbrush was still in his mouth. Finally, fulling ready he grabbed his phone and bag and raced down the stairs.

“Of all the days I had to forget to set my alarm it had to be today. Right when ‘Be more Chill’ is doing their dress rehers--” Thomas didn’t get to finish his thought for you see Thomas forgot yet another thing. The laws of physics, for Thomas, had put on his socks before descending down the staircase, that was hardwood flooring. Sending himself forward and hitting the back of his head on the edge of a stair and tumbling all the way down the rest, knocking him out cold.

“Oh, I hope he didn’t hurt himself too bad.”

“I don’t know he was an idiot for wear socks while running down a hardwood staircase.”

“Don’t call our son an idiot!”

“Virgil is correct Patton, if he had just taken his time, he wouldn’t be lying on the floor like he is now and instead be at work.”

“Pardon me, but shouldn’t we be a bit more worried about if this man is dead or not.”

“Roman if he was deceased, he would be amongst us and not on the floor like he is now.”

Thomas could hear people around him. He didn’t recognize them at all, in fact, the voice themselves sound very echoey like they were there but very far away.

“Well when he does pass on, I hope he doesn't stay here.”

“Now, now Debby downer he’s not dead he’s just … um… Logan what’s that thing called again the thing that makes light.”

“A lightbulb”

“That, he’s just out like a lightbulb.”

“That’s not how the saying…”

“Can you please shut up… ow, my head…” Thomas said finally having the strength to get up.

“Did… did he just...?”

“No, that would be improbable”

“You mean impossible?”

“Well, no, considering our current state I’d literally say that nothing is impossible.”

Thomas finally looked up to see who was talking. But what he saw almost made him faint again. There, standing (well most were floating) in a circle around him were four ghosts. Plain as day clearly see through ghosts each dress in different time period clothes three had blood-stained clothes of some kind. Thomas did what any normal human would do. He ran off the house screaming.

End of Chapter one.

Chapter two coming soon.

The story is inspired by @literallyglitchn @tssidesghostau

go check out their blogs it's amazing. Also, I took some creative changes for what they had but, keep most. The main change is with Patton.

Edit: I fixed the issues with Joan and Talyn. I apologize for the air on my part I did not know they were non-binary. If I ever make any mistakes like this again please let me know so I can fix it in the future. Chapter 2 will be coming out soon. Thank you so much for all of the support I look forward to writing more.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides au #sanders sides #sanders sides fanart #sanders sides fandom

2K notes · View notes

omalleymenagerie · 4 years ago

Text

Alright, so, I was at the #PittsburghProtest yesterday and these are my experiences and takeaways.

CW: violence, police, looting, war crimes, vomiting, social injustice, racism, classism, long as fuck

It was chaos. The original protest leaders left at their designated time and when white supremacists showed up. That was fair on their part, but there were still people there trying to be heard by the police.

There were also people there for the wrong reasons. There was looting. You wanna know where those people were? Not standing directly in front of the cops where they were firing teargas.

Just a reminder, folx, the Geneva Convention states that chemical warfare is a war crime punishable on an international level. Not that the police will ever be held accountable even on a local level. Not the big tough good guys firing caustic gas at civilians. Who's a super brave fascist tool? Is it you, cops? I think it is.

My two housemates and I got there after the official protest was over because we heard the situation was escalating. We weren't going because it was exciting or trending. We went as support. We brought medical supplies, food, water, and several ways to neutralize the CHEMICAL WEAPONS the police were firing. At unarmed civilians. Because they're the good guys. People were already vomiting and running from the teargas when we were dropped off. We went toward it to see what we could do.

People were looting The Exchange, but these weren't protesters. These were opportunists. No one in Pittsburgh wants to fuck up our area. You wanna break shit? Break shit that hurts the community, not helps it. The 7/11s in the area didn't close and were good to us. Then someone broke the front doors of one of them and robbed the place wearing literal rubber masks. Like from a B-heist movie.

Those people weren't there to help the cause. Those people were not there to support the black community. Those people are not the allies that any community needs. Those people saw an opportunity and took it because clearly the cops were more concerned about a bunch of people standing in a line holding signs and chanting to stop police brutality against people of color. Yeah, because we were the threat.

Some of the teargas canisters were thrown back at the officers. Most of them were booted over while still going to stop them from harming protestors. The cops can act the victim on that if they want, but they're the ones with body armor and a full head breathing helmet. So, I'm pretty sure they were more equipped to handle the CHEMICAL WARFARE they were using on us.

My group quickly realized there was no one was in charge. We, three white people, have no place leading a movement like this. We were there to raise up the voices from the black community, not speak over or for them. So, we tried to find anyone who could help us go where we needed to go. We found a pair who seemed to at least have a direction to point us in. An older black gentleman who was mad about the looting and people wrecking up the city, and a younger black woman who was vehement that the looters were not part of this. They actually began their conversation as a heated argument across an intersection, but he went to her and they talked out their differences. By the time we approached them, they had found common ground. It was a beautiful display of conflict resolution. Take notes, cops.

We attempted to get barricades moved so people could actually get in and out of the city, but the cops were surrounding us, literally using city blocks to block us in and it was hard to encourage people to take away the wall between them and the people firing caustic gas at us.

Have I mentioned the teargas enough yet? Have I mentioned how horrific it smells and how it burns your flesh even by secondhand contact? Have I mentioned the people vomiting in the streets after having CHEMICAL WEAPONS used on them? Have I mentioned the screaming? Have I mentioned the terror of being separated from your loved ones when one or both of you were trapped inside the caustic gas?

I witnessed it first hand. The cops fired the canisters. The crowd screamed to run. Several people weren't fast enough to escape in time. One of my group had a full face gas mask, so he ran into the gas and physically aided an individual out who was vomiting uncontrollably. We neutralized the chemicals in their eyes and skin, called for medics who were almost nonexistent, and helped reunite them and their fiancee.

(I am using they/them pronouns as I am not sure of their pronouns and don't wish to misgender them. If you are this person or know this person, please know there was deep bravery in their actions and no shame in having a meltdown. I hope they and their fiancee who was also gassed are doing as well as they can.)

It was starting to get into the evening and my group tried to figure out where the police were set up in case anything bad did happen. We were pretty much loosely surrounded. When we got back to the main group, a line of fully geared cops had formed a block or so away from where most of us were. The police chief had put an 8:30 curfew out and we were told the cops would be taking action if we did not disperse.

That's when a small group of us formed our own line in front of the officers. We were a small, but diverse group. Gonna be honest, not everyone in that line had the same agenda. I don't like cops. I've called them insulting things in private conversations with not cops. Insulting them while trying to preach peace was not the correct way to handle this. Will it elicit a laugh if you outright state that officer over there has never made a woman orgasm in his life? Probably, but they were just making the cops mad. Not gonna lie, most of the people ACTIVELY insulting the cops were white faces.

My group did not follow suit. We listened to the people of color we stood with. We chanted the names of those murdered, I can't breath, no justice/no peace, and black lives matter. We stuck to the peaceful message the protest was meant to send. The officers were asked why they needed shields and armor against unarmed civilians? Why 20 unarmed civilians calling for an end to police brutality required no less than 40 fully geared officers? We weren't the threat. The looters who several blocks away? They were the criminals. The vandals? They were the criminals. We had our arms up or out, universal signs to show we were not a threat.

At one point, a man rode up behind us on a bike, hiding behind us completely and holding a phone out with the picture of a black man on it. The man on the bike was screaming about how they had murdered his brother, but something didn't sit right about the guy. I'm a lifelong theater kid. I know bad acting when I hear it. He wasn't sobbing. He had his head covered with a shirt so no one could get a clear look at him and then rode off just as quickly as he'd ridden in. I won't say this man was there to incite further anger, but I have deep suspicions.

I have never been at the front of a protest line facing the cops before. I have never seen nearly 50 faceless, armored, and armed officers who have permission to potentially permanently harm. I couldn't call them individuals in that moment. They were like a swarm, buzzing with tension. Some of them seemed ready to go as soon as the order was given. Some of them stood as though emotionless automatons. They switched out groups of officers, where they were standing, who had what weapon or shield. There were some that stayed exactly where they were the entire time I stood there.

I made a choice to try to look several of them in the eyes which was difficult through the visors but we were close enough that I could see their eyes. I wasn't being intimidating. I was trying to be one human looking at another human and trying to understand how we ended up here. I didn't lock eyes with any of them purposefully, but one of the officers and I did lock eyes. I'd like to say I was being brave by keeping eye contact. I'll be honest, I had a freeze response to fear. There was so much anger and coldness that I couldn't move for a few seconds. I don't know if the officer took my actions as a threat, but they weren't intended that way. Threatening cops doesn't make them want to hurt you or those around you less.

Several of us had to leave the line before the deadline. I am not ashamed to state I was one of them. Frankly, I'm a trans man, and the idea of being put in jail and misgendered for potentially several days is frightening enough without even thinking about abuses I could face. My housemate looked at me and said, "If they catch you, they will take you." So, he handed me his backpack, and I left.

There were officers everywhere while I walked through the city. Some were "undercover" but they knew they were in the homestretch and weren't even pretending to not be cops. None of which were wearing masks, as a side note. We ain't in the green yet, boys. Masks up.

I also passed several groups of fully geared cops. I just had to keep walking.

I heard sirens blaring from the direction I'd left my companions. I just had to keep walking.

I saw looters laughing about how everything was "on sale" or "so cheap" today. I just had to keep walking.

I walked probably about 5 miles to the place we had agreed to meet and waited. Hoping they would show up. I waited an hour. Nothing. I walked back down the road, hoping I would meet them along the way. Nothing. I went back to the meeting place, hoping they were there wondering where I was. Nothing. I'll note here that I made the choice to leave my phone at home. So, I had no means of communication. I finally decided that waiting 2 hours was probably longer than I should have waited, and borrowed the phone from a pizza place. Many thanks again, my dude, I'd shout you out if I could remember the name of your shop, but I'm definitely hitting you up for pizza later.

While I waited, I watched as cop cars drove by dozens of times. I don't know if they were the same cars or different ones. There were just a lot of them. I listened to sirens blare all around me. I listened to helicopters zoom around the sky. I watched as people from the protest walked by. I watched as people with looted goods walked by. I watched as people went about their lives as though the world were not rioting. I watched as eight horse mounted officers clopped by grinning like cowboys keeping order in the wild west.

I got picked up and was home safe after nightlight. It turned out my housemates were arrested and we're getting those logistics figured out. I'm worried about my partner because we haven't heard from her today.

I'm physically unharmed from my experience beyond some blisters from walking probably 10-15 miles collectively with intermittent running when, you know, chemical weapons were fired in my direction by law enforcement officers.

I am not okay, though.

I'll be honest, I grew up privileged. I grew up not thinking the cops were going to shoot me or my loved ones. I didn't have to be afraid because of the color of my skin. I was never one of those, "racism is over," people because I grew up in the south where racism is alive, well, and thriving. I grew up always afraid cops were going to arrest my father because he pretty much told me if we were ever pulled over the cops were taking him away from me. (Thanks for the long-term trauma, dad. Gotta pay for my therapist's kid's braces somehow, right?)

But that's why I went. Because, statistically and factually, I am less likely to be murdered by the police than any of the POC there just because of the color of my skin. So, I went because I was physically capable of being on my feet outside for that long, which is my physical privilege. I stood with the black community yesterday because I am trying to be the best ally I know how to be.

I may not be able to go to another protest soon, but I will when I'm able. I'm very shaken. My already crumbling worldview is shattered beyond repair and I'm just trying to figure out what to do with all these broken shards of hope.

If you made it this far into my rambling, thanks for taking the time to read. These are my experiences. These are my opinions. I stand with the black community. Your value is not determined by the color of your skin.

(Edited because leaving my phone at home was not a mistake, just frightening. Remember, phones are tracking devices.)

#black lives matter #say their names #Pittsburgh protest #nojusticenopeace #I cant breath #ally

6 notes · View notes

indeciseicelady · 5 years ago

Text

In the deeps (Siren!Shinsou x Reader) Ch. Seven

Hi everyone, I know it's been a few days since I last post and I apologize, but I was sick, but now I'm almost fine and ready to keep writing :D

~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Cursing; Nsfw later; I don’t know, maybe some deaths; Im still planning; Help.

~~~~~~~~~~

You watched the sky for what feel like hours, and yet, there is no sign of when the place would finally be empty, it is raining “why are people even around on a night like this?” you sigh, you are patience, but for this, oh, not for this, the anxiety eating you alive, so many thoughts you couldn't even get to one end of line of thought without starting a dozen of others. Hugging your knees trying to warm yourself, the rain had made your clothes wet when you first leave your house a couple of hours ago and by now you could feel yourself shivering from head to toe, you waited a little more hoping for everyone to leave, what didn't happen until the time you decided to leave, you knew you were almost hypothermic and you just couldn't stay still in there as your body loses even more heat by each second. You get up slowly, feeling the blood running from the parts that were bent and giving you a tingling sensation on your legs, you stretched your arms and turn to leave, but on your first step a “Stay” hit your ears with the wind and you just stood in place, the cold wind trying to push you into the sea gently and you suddenly remember what the boat captain said to you “they heard voices calling them until the water”, you didn't know how, but your blood got even colder than it already was, you turn around and look at the water, again searching for those mesmerizing eyes, and you find them, you wave your hand a little as if saying “Hi” and you can see then moving a little closer. -I'm cold- you say while rubbing your arms, on such a low voice that you barely hear yourself, the wind again, blowing on you, now a little stronger, like an invitation for you to get in the water –You want me to get in the water, don't you?- You ask the boy, even if you were not sure if he could hear you or not, but you could see his eyes on the water making a movement that you take as a yes –Well, I will not, I am already freezing here- you turned around again to see that now there was only two persons left in there, you and a guy you presume to be around your age, but he was too obsessed with his phone to pay attention on his surroundings, you sigh again, doesn't look like he is going anywhere soon, you sit again, shrinking as much as possible in a failed attempt to warm up. You waited a little more, the cold was getting painfully and you just couldn't wait anymore, there is a limit for how much you could take and it had been pass sometime ago, you take a deep breath and decides to leave, in five minutes, you look at the guy who is still looking at his phone and wishes you had your with you, at least you would be able to kill some time. When the five minutes pass, and the extra five too, you give up, sighing as you get up, you could feel Hitoshi’s eyes on you –If your stare could warm me up I would be on fire by now- you say looking at his eyes in the ocean and continues –I'm really leaving now, so... bye- again, you turn to leave and the wind blows the same “stay” from before, you ignore it and keep your way until it hit you so hard you almost fall of your feet –Fuck!- You hear from behind, you look the phone guy, he’s looking angry at the water –Are you ok?- you ask as you get close to see what he was looking at -My fucking phone fell- he doesn't look at you as he say those words. -Sorry- You feel guilty, if the wind was supposed to make you stay, then you were the reason that guy lost his phone -Do you live here? Do you know if it is deep in here?- He asks, now looking at you –You are not thinking on going after it, are you?- He just gives you a firm nod –Listen, I know it has nothing to do with me, but I don't think you should go in, I mean, it is not that deep, but the water carries things, and you know, the salty water, oh! Also, its dark, you shouldn't risk your life for a phone, you know?- You couldn't let that guy get into the water, you hoped that he hasn't noticed the panic in your voice, but he does is staring at you in a very weird way. -You’re right, it is none of your business- you are got by surprise by his sudden rudeness, you see him taking off his wet shirt and panic again –No! Wait! You can't get in the water!- You scream at him and hold his arm –Don't you know about the infestation?- He now looks at you, angrily, and you pull your arm back –What are you talking about?- he asks you, still angry but know paying attention to what you have to say, you could feel your body heating, you look at the water, localizing the purple eyes on the water –Jellyfish, we- we are having an infestation of jellyfish on the water surrounding the pier, no one knows where they came from and it's the really dangerous ones, that take just a minute to paralyze your body and you drown, I can't get you get in- In your mind you were hoping that he buys your lies, or at least consider the risk and give up, he looks at you and then around and make a disbelief sound -Bullshit, there would be signs everywhere!- He said, now ready to jump into the water, and again you grab his arm and try to push the man back –Wait! Listen to me, please! There are no signs ... because... they don't want the tourists to think that its dangerous! I work at the university and I have notified about them- The man, now listens to your words, mumbles something that you didn't hear and leave, you sigh, relieved, and start to leave that place yourself. -Where are you going?- You hear, you knew well who said that, you sigh in defeat and turn to stare the purple guy –Well, I was going home but… Now that I almost had a heart attack I warmed up a little, So I guess I can stay a bit more- You said, sitting on the edge of the pier as the man has only his head above the water –Good, I though that guy would never leave, but at least I had the great view of you all pretty and soaked while I waited- The last part got you by surprise and you blush and look away, embarrassed, but his eyes never leave you. -So you enjoyed seeing me almost freeze to death, that is nice- You say sarcastically, trying not to let what he said affect you, but you failed, you just couldn't get that blush out of your cheeks –It's not like that, but I did like that you run from your place just to check if it wasn't me on the beach earlier- He say, now with a smug smile on his lips, and you blush even harder, not only for what he said, but you just notices how prettier that smile make him. -Y-yeah, I-Well- I didn't want anything bad... to happen to you, I saw those people and I got a little worried- You confess, running your fingers on your wet hair, noticing it was not as hydrated as before, you sigh again and look back at the guy –Still cold?- he asks, you just nod, he touches your foot with two fingers and run them up your shin –You should get in the water- he says, without stop what he was doing –I am almost hypothermic already, if I get in my body will stop and I will drown- You explain, but he doesn't seen like he was paying attention, instead, he brushes his fingers in a place that tickles so you pull your foot away from his fingers. -You won’t be cold, trust me- he say while moving away a little, giving you space to get in, you look at him suspicious, you know how hypothermia works and you were scared because of your dream and other things, but you wanted to trust him so hard, so you let the irrational part of you make this decision, so you slip from the edge into the water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapters so far.

Ch. One

Ch. Two

Ch. Three

Ch. Four

Ch. Five

Ch. Six

#Shinsou Hitoshi #Shinso Hitoshi #BNHA #MHA #Shinsou x Reader #Shinso x Reader #Siren!Shinsou #Siren!Shinso

12 notes · View notes

bisexualstokes-archive · 6 years ago

Text

Hellbound

Rating: Teen+ Word Count: 11,827 Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide mention Characters: Nick Stokes, Gil Grissom Summary: Nick has been acting increasingly reckless after Warrick’s death, and Grissom tries to approach him about it, but Nick is too distracted by his determination to bring a dangerous serial killer to justice. Notes: I just want to send a thank you to everyone who supported me, listened to me, provided feedback or even just “liked” posts I made about this fic. You all kept me going, this fic probably wouldn’t have happened without all of you! <3

Set in Season 9, after "Say Uncle."

@impossiblepluto, @altschmerzes, @dickgrysvn, @chasingeverybreakingwave, @hands-christian-handersen, @letswaitforme, @underdefined67, @deltajackdalton, @dannilea, @lyingthroughwhispers, @midwrites, @hawaiianohana15, and anybody else who has been eager with anticipation for this fic...IT’S HERE.

Read it on A03

He didn’t hesitate to chase after the so-called “police officer” that ran out of the liquor store with a woman’s purse. Part of him knew it was a stupid idea, to chase after the pseudo-cop without backup. He had even sent his backup away. But some deep rooted instinct had told Nick Stokes to run into the eye of the storm, and he wasn’t going to drag Riley Adams into that storm without knowing she was capable. He told her to call it in, to go help the woman that was pushed by the suspect. He heard her speaking quickly into the radio as he began to sprint.

He didn’t hesitate to pursue the suspect, even as shots were being fired back at him. He’s stared down the barrel of a gun far too many times to be intimidated by a few stray bullets whizzing past his ear. He had only taken a few pauses, to catch his breath, to gather his bearings, to convince the suspect that it was over, and to hear Riley call out to him from the alley, telling him that the now deceased suspect had company in the dumpster turned grave.

He did hesitate, however, as he stared down into the dumpster, staring at his multiple reflections in the shards of broken glass, illuminated by the neon sign in the alleyway. In this moment, he realized that he easily could have landed in that very dumpster. He walked back through the building, the sweat on his skin cooling down his body, the adrenaline surging through this veins slowed to a stop as he spotted every single bullet that he had dodged. He met up with Riley in the alley, nodding before she could even ask the question, “are you okay?” Riley began to talk, to hypothesize on what may have led that poor woman to this dumpster, before offering to walk back to the car and grab their kits so they could start processing.

Nick was only half listening, still panting, the sound of police sirens ringing loud in his ears. He once again stared into the broken shards of glass, and he saw a very distinctive expression in his eyes. An expression he had seen in other reflections; in a suspect’s house, in the one-way mirror of the interrogation room, in a plexiglas box six feet under the ground. It was the expression of a man who was painfully aware of his own mortality, and how easily his time on this earth could come to an end.

But that didn’t stop Grissom from reminding him anyway.

“You know, Nick, you’re lucky you’re not in here, too.”

He could hear the anger and concern in Grissom’s voice, but what stung the most was the notes of disappointment. It was in an alley, just like this one, where Nick had strolled by. He was in the midst of a daydream, of waking up next to a beautiful red haired woman. His hand clutched a piece of paper with a name and a phone number.

A piece of paper which dropped, and that he had forgotten all about when he saw a man sitting on the ground next to a parked car with the engine still running. The man was sobbing, clinging onto a body. Out of instinct, he had began to run towards the scene, shouting immediately to the man. He dug out his phone from his pocket, ready to call 911, but he saw another man, previously hidden in the shadows. The man was speaking in a loud, rushed voice, barking out orders. It was then that the sirens that his mind had previously filtered into white noise connected to the bloody mess that lay ahead.

To this day, he still can’t connect the sobbing man to Gil Grissom. The man, clinging to Warrick’s body as if he was about to fly away at any minute, had a certain darkness, a sadness unlike anything Nick’s ever seen before. He’s met with the parents, the siblings, the lovers of victims before, and seen this look of despair, after losing someone so important to them that they just can’t deal without. It’s a look he never thought he’d see on the face of his mentor, and it just did not suit him. Nick’s stomach had churned as Warrick’s body was covered, and he finally got a good look at Grissom, at the massive amount of blood on his shirt, his hands, even his face, which had transferred onto him as he clutched onto the lifeless body of a colleague, a close friend...a son.

But that broken man, sitting on the ground, clutching a bloodied jacket like a lost child holding a blanket, was not the same man that Nick had looked to when he was in need of a leader, someone to give him guidance. When he needed to get approval on something, to solve a case and bring justice to the victim and their family. When he was in need of support, as he cling onto a human arm, desperate for connection...when he he needed a father.

The bloody mess, however, he had no trouble in connecting to the lifeless body of his best friend, Warrick Brown. It was an image that stayed with him even after the wake, after the funeral. It was another image that haunted his nightmares, but it was a nightmare he didn’t particularly mind, because it was a way of seeing him again. He would always try to talk to him in his dreams, but Warrick would just be still, blood oozing from his mouth.

“Understood,” Nick responded, knowing that Grissom suffered the same, if not worse nightmares.

Super Dave arrived to the scene a couple minutes later, releasing the entire dumpster to be transported back to the lab. Nick collected his kit and stared up at the window, where the liquor store thief had fallen through. It was peculiar to Nick, because that part of the building had seemed abandoned when he chased the suspect through it last night. He told Riley not to wait up and headed towards the shadow, but nobody was there.

He found himself leaning against the window, contemplating on how maybe he was just tired, Halloween night is always a long shift, overtime is guaranteed. He even considered the possibility that maybe he saw a ghost. He can still hear the screaming of the man who fell through the window, after all.

He looked down at the spot where the dumpster once sat, and for the second time that day he could have sworn he saw another ghost standing in the alley. This ghost looked like Warrick, staring up at Nick and shaking his head. But he didn’t look like the Warrick in his nightmares. There was no blood, his clothes were clean.

Nick’s mouth gaped open, he pinched himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. Warrick was still there, putting his hands in his pockets before turning away.

Nick blinked, and Warrick was gone.

———————————----

The Strip never had a nighttime. Neon flooded the buildings, the street, even the air, giving tourists the illusion that it was still early enough to spend some time exploring the various casinos and restaurants. Swarms of tourists and locals alike frequented this adult playground in the middle of the desert, and Nick was no exception.

He was wandering aimlessly, having just parted ways with Greg Sanders. They had gone out for a drink, after a particularly rough case, in which Nick had yet another brush with a suspect and a gun. The case initially started as a gun store robbery, and escalated into a hostage situation. They had tracked down the troubled teenager, who was threatening to shoot up an entire office that his abusive dad worked at. Nick thought that he could talk down the suspect, because that poor kid just looked so scared. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy, especially once he found out that the abusive dad had let the kid’s mother die of an overdose without calling the police.

So naturally, he went into the office, alone with no gun, and instantly the suspect freaked out, pointing the gun at Nick. Nick remained calm, faking a story to try and talk down the youth who was starting to put just the slightest amount of pressure on the trigger. The cool and calm approach didn’t work. The suspect was yelling at Nick, telling him to “stay away” and was threatening to “blow his head off.” Nick decided to try some scare tactics, describing what it’s really like to shoot a gun, describing what really happens when someone’s head is shot at point blank range, which definitely scared him alright...into shooting one of the hostages.

It was then, that Nick decided enough was enough, batted the gun out of the teen’s hand, and pinned him to the ground.

Everyone considered Nick a hero, and the entire crime lab and police department went out to celebrate, but Nick’s heart just wasn’t in it. An innocent man died because he goaded the suspect into pulling that trigger, and it’s a sheer miracle that bullet wasn’t fired at him instead.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must have been getting late. Many of the night shift crew were starting to filter out, although some of them, Nick included, were given the night off. He had sulked into the bathroom, to wash his face, and he could have sworn he saw Warrick in the mirror, standing behind him, but when he spun around, Greg was there instead.

“Hey, man, you all right?” Greg asked him, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“Just...needed a minute,” Nick mumbled. He turned the sink on and splashed water onto his face.

“Too much to drink?”

Not nearly enough, Nick thought to himself.

“Yeah, something like that.”

There was silence, disturbed only by two streams of liquid, flowing in the same direction, in the same pace, but in two separate worlds.

Nick turned the flow off, cleared his throat, and headed towards the door, giving a slight nod to his friend, who gave him a quick, confused look.

“Hey, uh, I was about to invite some, uh...friends back to my apartment if...you wanted to--”

“Nah, G, I’m beat, I’m probably just gonna head home. Why don’t you ask Riley? She’s been giving you looks all night, man.”

Nick did his best to plaster an encouraging smile on his face. Greg chuckled, as he zipped up his pants and washed his hands. It was the first time Nick saw Greg crack a smile in a long time.

“Not really my type, if you know what I mean. Besides, inter-departmental relationships don’t, uh...don’t seem to be going so well lately.”

The smile slid off of Nick’s face, and he nodded, holding open the door. He paused, his lips parted, he took a breath in, as if to say something. But instead, his tongue poked out and licked his lips and he gave Greg a half-smile.

“Yeah...I’ll see you around, Greggo.”

“Hey, Nick--” Greg began, but the door swung shut behind him. Nick found himself wading through the crowded bar. The bar had been dimly lit, a thin layer of smoke flooded the air. There were voices, too many voices for Nick to focus on, he heard mixtures of both serious and irrelevant conversations alike. There was loud music, pounding at such a high volume through the speakers that Nick’s ears felt like they were going to bleed.

He leaned onto the bar counter, to pay his tab, but the bartender told him it was taken care of. Nick didn’t bother asking who paid it, because in that moment he felt a thousand eyes staring at him. He felt everyone closing in on him. He felt everyone patting him on the back, telling him, “good job!” He felt the admiration and support from all of the Crime Lab and Police Department, and yet, he felt so alone.

He also felt like he couldn’t breathe, and ran out of the bar.

He checked his watch, it was half past midnight. After pulling a double to finish that robbery case, he wasn’t expected back at work until much later that night. He knew he wasn’t going to much, if any sleep in that time, so he decided to stay out a bit longer.

Nick remembered the first time he came to Vegas, during his college years, his frat house took a trip to celebrate the start of their senior year. Due to those celebrations, his memory of that trip was hazy, but he’ll never forget seeing the Strip for the first time. He had explored every casino, checked in to every hotel, ate at every restaurant. It was during a taxi cab ride back to the airport when he realized that this was a place he could call home.

For some reason, he also can’t seem to forget that taxi cab ride. He barely spoke to the driver, as he was suffering from one of the worst hangovers he ever had in his life, even though at the time he had zero regrets about it. He remembered the driver asking him why he came to Vegas in the first place, and he remembered the back and forth about college and majors that followed. The driver said he was studying in the same field as Nick, mentioned something about a lecture in San Francisco he was thinking about going to. Perhaps the driver stuck out to Nick because he inspired Nick to spend a weekend in San Francisco, more for educational purposes than pleasure.

Perhaps the driver stuck out to Nick because he’s never quite realized that he met that driver again a few years later, when both men had graduated college, and when Nick transferred to the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

He wished he could feel the same joy and wonder the he once felt, that first time he came to Vegas. He had somehow always managed to keep at least some of that sensation, even with all of the crime scenes he’s had to work on this street. Maybe the Strip had stayed as bright as the smiles on his friends and family’s faces, as he toured them around Vegas. Maybe he was able to still see the vibrance, as he walked side by side with the team, chatting about cases and non-work related topics alike.

But as he walked past tourists who were in awe, he found that the Strip just wasn’t as bright or vibrant. The curtain had been pulled away, he saw the Strip for its true artificial nature. There is nothing that can capture the youthful joy that the Strip attempts to convey. He’s watched relationships and families fall apart because of the gambling addiction that the Strip doesn’t just act as a home for such a terrible thing, it encourages it.

He came to a crosswalk, and ignored his mother’s warning in his head, “look both ways before crossing the street.” He nearly tripped as he stepped down onto the street pavement and lifted his head up to the other side of the street, contemplating entering one of the casinos and hanging around the slots or blackjack table for a bit.

He stopped, in the middle of the crosswalk, when he saw a man standing on the sidewalk in front of him, making direct eye contact with him. The man didn’t look like a tourist, and was dressed in a green jacket. A tall, handsome man with a short afro and shining eyes.

It was Warrick.

He blinked, and Warrick was still there. He pinched himself, and Warrick was still there.

“Warrick?” Nick blurted out, he was about to take a step forward when a horn blared loudly in the air, keeping him glued to the spot. He barely had time to register the car that sped past him--which would have hit him had he moved forward. He spun his head to the left, and followed the colorful blur nearly grazing his feet to his right. He could hear voices from all directions, yelling at him, “get out of the street, you moron!”

He filtered out the shouts, and instead directed his focus back to the man in the green jacket, who had already turned away and was walking away.

“WARRICK!” Nick shouted. The world felt tilted, perhaps an effect of the whiplash from his most recent near miss. He broke into a short jog to try and catch up with the man, but the sidewalk was more crowded than ever before. He waded his way through people as swiftly and politely as he could, but Warrick was getting further and further away.

He kept shouting his name, but Warrick never turned to look back at him. He briefly wondered why he was even in pursuit, Warrick Brown is dead. He saw his body. He carried the casket. He buried him.

Finally, he caught up to the man, and startled him after grabbing onto his shoulder, spinning home around.

“Rick?” Nick panted, but the confused civilian, who was not Warrick Brown, gave Nick a confused look.

“S-Sorry, you...you look like someone I knew,” Nick stammered, quickly removing his hand from the man’s shoulder. The man gave Nick a rude gesture and walked away.

Stupid...He’s dead. Warrick’s dead and he’s not coming back.

He thought he was past this. He thought he was done seeing ghosts. It’s been weeks since he said his final goodbye to his friend. The time for grieving was over, and he knew that Warrick wouldn’t want Nick to live in this kind of misery for the rest of his life.

Besides, the team needed him. Grissom was having a rough time with all of this, between what happened in that alley and Sara leaving him...again. Catherine needed someone to help her focus, she was one of the strongest women Nick has ever known, but he knows her well enough to know she’s been working far too many hours as of late...then again, they all have. Greg needed some guidance, though he’s come far from his lab rat days, Nick noticed him volunteering to work in the lab, lingering in DNA, still holding onto days of old where he didn’t have to face the horror displayed in crime scenes. Riley...well she’s new, but she was thrown into a situation that’s...tough to say the least. She didn’t know Warrick, but she works in void of his shadow.

He needed to be strong. The rock of the team was gone, the threads were slowly unraveling and he felt it was his responsibility to keep everything together, before he unravels, too.

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, and decided maybe he should head home after all. Or, he could walk into this casino, have a drink, play some cards before heading home. He was just about to enter the revolving doorway, when his phone began to ring.

“Stokes,” he answered. Why didn’t he check the caller ID? His head was throbbing. He should have let it go to voicemail. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.

“Nick, I’m sorry, I know it’s your night off, but we just got a call, we got a 419 at a hotel on Fremont Street, and Catherine and I are tied up right now.”

“I can handle it,” Nick sighed. “Just me, or--?”

“Nobody, you’re solo on this one. I just called Riley, and Greg’s maxed out on overtime.”

“Night of the pifflings, huh?”

There was a pause from Grissom, Nick could almost hear a short huff on the other line, the beginnings of a chuckle, perhaps?

“Thanks, Nicky.”

Nick closed his phone and walked away from the casino doors, yet another connection to Warrick lost on him. He had visited that same casino a couple years back, to play cards, with a friend.

———————————----

The scene was a bloodbath. There was no other way to put it, and although Nick has seen plenty before this one, and will most certainly see more in the future, there was something just so...disturbing to him about this particular scene.

The victim was young, far too young, as they always are. A young red-haired woman, stabbed to death. Her entire body was covered in cuts, in varying lengths and depths. Her body was splayed out on the ground, her arm reaching for something that wasn’t in front of her. They found her phone kicked underneath the couch a few feet away, perhaps that’s what she was reaching for.

They didn’t find any prints, knives, hairs or fibers. Nick had searched the room inch by inch, looking for anything that could direct him to finding out who did this. The deranged murderer who did this knew how to work clean, despite the mess of blood he left behind.

Which usually means it’s the work of someone who has done this before. Someone who gets off on the act of the crime, but knows how to ensure they won’t get caught doing it.

Nick thought he had reached a dead end, once he had gotten back to the lab and assembled all of the pictures on the layout table. The victim’s parents claimed they didn’t know anything about their daughter getting into any sort of trouble--they didn’t even know she was in Vegas. The elevator footage for the hotel she was found in was a bust, she entered the elevator alone on the final night of her life. No orders for room service. She was employed by an office in Houston, Texas, she had taken a week’s vacation. She didn’t have any angry co-workers, and her boss spoke highly of her and her relationships within the office. No threatening emails or text messages.

All signs pointed to this crime being completely random. The poor woman came to Vegas, presumably for a vacation, and ended up escaping to her doom instead.

“Whoa,” Catherine exclaimed as she stood in the doorway, staring at Nick’s gallery of pictures laid out on the table and bulletin board. “Need any help?”

Nick stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he hadn’t slept in over a day. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the massive amounts of blood on the floor of the hotel room, of the woman’s arm extended out, reaching for help, of all of the stab wounds on her body. He hadn’t heard her voice before, but he can’t help but imagine her cries and screams as her assailant sliced her.

“Nah, I think I’ve reached a dead end. Trail went cold.”

“Have you gotten any sleep lately?”

Nick frowned and shook his head. Catherine stepped into the room and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe you should get some rest, Nicky.”

“I’m...I’ll be fine. Still adjusting to the shift change, you know?”

Catherine looked back at him with a small twinge of sadness in her eyes.

“Sometimes you just need to look at it with fresh...eyes…”

Her voice trailed off, and she picked up a picture of the victim, a full body shot.

“This looks exactly like a scene I worked last month,” Catherine told him. She ran out and came back minutes later with a file of crime scene photos.

“Alexis Williams, found in a motel room. We didn’t find anything at this scene, either.”

Catherine set her photos next to Nick’s. Both women were laid out the same way, the same position, one arm extended outward, reaching. The other arm wrapped underneath their stomach. The knife slices were different, but as Nick kept staring he noticed a striking similarity on the victims’ back shoulder.

“Hang on...you see that? These cuts are different, like the skin was being peeled back. It almost looks like...an ‘M’ shape...I think we got a serial on our hands.”

“You mean, you got a serial on your hands. I wish I could help, Nicky, but I’ve got too much on my plate. Besides, I bet you could handle it.”

The corners of his mouth raised into a smile.

“A solo serial case? You think so?”

“I know so. You’ve been a CSI 3 for what, five years now? You got this, Nicky.”

Catherine handed him the case file, and left Nick to work. During his investigation, he had found another case file on one other victim, a male, found in a previously four star hotel that closed shortly after his body was found. Hotel, motel, hotel...a pattern, perhaps?

Nick suspected that wasn’t the only pattern in play, as two years later, a male was found in a motel, followed shortly by another female in a different hotel. He had a hunch that the next victim, if they were unable to catch the killer by that time, would be another female.

“I hate being right,” Nick sighed, walking into the break room and throwing down a stack of files and a map onto the table in front of him. He pulled up a chair next to Catherine, who was texting someone on her phone, and drinking coffee. Before exiting the room, she gave Nick an encouraging pat on the back, though he couldn’t help but notice the bags under her eyelids, and the same twinge of sadness in her eyes. It wasn’t just a look of misery, it was a look of loss.

Nick tried to muster up a charming smile, to try and impart some of his strength to her, but he could only just nod back before returning to work.

Six victims, five different crime scene locations, spread all over the city. This last victim was found in the same motel as the second victim. Another pattern, perhaps?

Nick was circling all of the crime scene locations on a map, when he was disturbed by an annoying whistling tune. He didn’t have to look up, he knew it was Hodges.

“You mind, Goose? I’m trying to concentrate here, man.”

“What are you, King of the Break Room? Get a desk, Stokes.”

“Would if I could,” Nick muttered.

“Speaking of Kings, I heard he’s been looking for you.”

Nick looked up from his papers at Hodges, and gave a brief glance at the man as he stood by the microwave, waiting for his food. Smelled like garlic.

He didn’t say a word, and continued staring at the map, having finished marking down all five locations. He already knew what Grissom wanted to talk to him about, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled to engage in that conversation.

Hodges sat down across from Nick, with a freshly warmed up container of spaghetti. Nick could hardly look at it without imagining the noodles as disembodied limbs, the meat as brain matter, the red sauce as blood.

“He looked a bit pissed,” Hodges continued, as if trying to elicit a reaction out of Nick.

“He always looks pissed,” Nick scoffed, and focused back on his map, when he noticed a third pattern. Connecting the dots between the five locations, he noticed that the locations formed the same exact “M” shape found on the victim’s backs.

“...I thought he was going to break something,” Hodges voice trailed in as Nick brought himself back to the world around him.

“Yeah, sounds good, Dave, I’ll-I’ll talk to you later,” Nick rose from his seat and gathered up his files and map, walking on auto-pilot to Grissom’s office.

Grissom was sitting at his desk, rubbing his forehead with a hand, holding his glasses with the other. Nick knew something was up, even beyond the conversation he knew was coming. Maybe it was another migraine. He gave a quick knock on the doorframe, and licked his lips. He could feel his body tense, his chest puffed out a little, ready for a battle.

“Hey, boss, I think I finally got somewhere in my serial case--This last vic was found in the same motel as the second vic, so, I connected the dots on a map and look at this--”

“Close the door, Nick,” Grissom told him as Nick kept talking. His voice was weary, but firm.

“It’s an ‘M’ shape! Just like the knife wounds. There’s been six victims, but five different crime scenes--each point on the ‘M’ is one of the scenes. It looks like the killer’s going back, now that the ‘M’ is completed.”

Nick watched as Grissom looked at the map, and nodded for Nick to take a seat.

“I was thinking, maybe I could go back and check all of the scenes out, compare a list of all the employees, there’s gotta be another connection that maybe will lead us to the killer.”

“Good work, Nick. I’ll look into it. Here, I’m going to need you to handle this arson on Clark Avenue. ”

Nick’s mouth gaped open as he took the stack of Nick’s files and map away from him, and handed him the assignment slip.

“What are you--You’re not taking me off the case?” Nick asked. He could feel his jaw clench, his heartbeat increased.

“I’m not taking you off, I’m just taking it over.”

“I thought we were past this, man. Catherine assigned me to this case, solo, four years ago.”

“Catherine is no longer your supervisor, I am. But...this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Nick gulped, and his heart sank. He braced himself, for the conversation he knew was coming, but had desperately hoped they wouldn’t have.

“You...didn’t go to counseling after the office incident.”

“It wasn’t mandatory,” Nick retorted instantly. “Besides, I was working on this case and finishing my reports on a few other ones, I didn’t have time.”

He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, but Grissom veered off of the script, catching Nick off guard.

“Are you okay?” Grissom asked. Nick skipping out on therapy was nothing new to either of them, he had explained to Grissom a long time ago that it just doesn’t work for him. What does work, is eating healthy, getting as much sleep as he can, going to work.

But the levels of concern in Grissom’s voice sent a shiver down Nick’s spine. He had only been this soft towards him once before, when he had come back after his abduction a few years ago. Lots of things had changed that first day Nick came back to work, but the newly discovered emotional side to Grissom was the thing that had shocked him the most.

Nick was confused. As far as he was aware, he hadn’t been abducted again. He hadn’t been through some traumatic event to add to his already endless list of nightmares. He had made his peace with Warrick’s death, with Sara leaving for the second time. Why was Grissom being so...not Grissom?

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Nick shrugged.

“Last week, you nearly broke your arm trying to obtain evidence in a garbage compactor.

“We caught a murderous pedophile because of that evidence,” Nick pointed out.

“‘No investigation for the dead is worth hurting the living.’”

Nick scoffed and leaned back in his chair. He felt like he was being tested, like Grissom was trying to impart some wisdom through a quote or silly riddle.

“What book did you get that from?”

“I got it from you.”

Grissom made full eye contact with Nick for the first time since he walked into his office. He kept looking at Nick, directly in his eyes as he got up from his chair, and sat in the one next to Nick. Nick’s right hand was clutching onto the seat of his chair, his knuckles were growing white as he tried to maintain a casual posture, leaning his left arm over the back of the chair. He was putting on the best poker face he could muster, knowing what happened the last time Grissom approached him like this, which also happened the same day he saw the softer side of Gil Grissom.

“Your behavior recently...it...it concerns me, Nick. Between the office situation, the compactor, the two bodies in the dumpster...Riley said she even saw you smiling when you had a gun pointed in your face--”

“That woman wasn’t going to pull the trigger, Griss. She was just scared.”

“So was Mrs. Hendler.”

Nick ignored that last comment, licked his lips and continued, “If anything, Riley escalated the situation--”

“That’s not the point, Nicky. This...this recklessness isn’t you. You’re better than this. It’s not acceptable.”

“So? Write me up, then.”

“I’m not addressing this as your supervisor. I’m approaching you as your friend.”

Nick averted his eyes to the floor, a short silence hung in the air. Grissom was waiting for Nick to speak, but he had nothing to say.

So Grissom continued on, tilting his head to try and get Nick to look at him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I know that...I know things have been tough lately. I’ve...We’ve all lost so much in a short time. And I can’t lose anybody else. Especially not you.”

Nick sniffled, releasing his hand from its grip on the bottom of the chair to wipe over his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, missing the days of old where Grissom would communicate his feelings though a short glance or a single word. This openness felt foreign, coming from him. It didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel right in the alley, and it didn’t feel right at the funeral.

Nick tried to smile, the true, heartfelt smile that he would give Sara when they talked about their abductions, during her own rough days. The smile he would give Greg when he needed encouragement. The smile he would give Catherine, to put her mind at ease and let her know she didn’t need to worry. The smile he would give Warrick, so many times for so many reasons, as part of an unspoken pact between them. He lent them his strength in every instance, and it was Grissom who needed that strength now.

That didn’t feel right, either.

“And I’m...I’m worried, Nick, that you….that you’re…”

Nick was distracted in his attempt to smile at his mentor by his newfound confusion at Grissom, who was no longer looking at Nick. He seemed lost in his mind, which was a familiar sight to Nick, but what wasn’t familiar, was the particular redness around Grissom’s eyes. The way his lips curled up, when he was in thought, was familiar, but not the slight quiver of his bottom lip as he bit down. He seemed like he had something to tell Nick, something really important, but seemed like he didn’t want to say it.

“Just spit it out, man, c’mon,” Nick drawled in a heavy accent. He silently cursed himself for his rudeness, but Grissom didn’t seem to hear him anyway.

“I’m worried that you’re losing regard for your own life, Nick.”

Nick let out a cold, cruel laugh and stood up, knocking the chair off of its feet. He thought about leaving the office, but he had more to say. Grissom remained seated, and stared back at Nick with more patience than his real parents ever had with him.

“You think--You think I’m suicidal, or something? Me?”

Grissom opened his mouth, but Nick didn’t let him respond.

“I’ve been there before, Gris. Sometimes...Sometimes I can still feel that gun against my chin--”

Grissom had stood up and placed both hands on Nick’s shoulders, grounding his shaking body to the spot, speaking in that soft, gentle tone that was making Nick grind his teeth.

“I know, I was there.”

Grissom increased the pressure on his grip of Nick’s shoulder, to keep him rooted in reality, but it didn’t help. Nick floated back into a time he thought he was past remembering.

“Not the second time, you weren’t.”

Nick couldn’t stop the single tear from rolling down his cheek, but he didn’t care about any damaged pride at this point anyway. His body was rigid, his blood was boiling so hard and fast he thought it was going to evaporate through his skin. He could feel his breathing intensify as he wriggled himself out of Grissom’s grasp. The office felt smaller than ever, the walls were closing in. He paced back and forth, trying to control his breathing, counting down from ten in his head, mentally singing a song he hadn’t heard in years.

“It was the first night I was home after--after the hospital. I guess I...slept-walked or somethin’ and...I thought I was...I thought I was back in the...I wasn’t adjusting too good.”

Nick gulped down his tears, he did his best to reign in his voice, to speak clearly, but his accent just got thicker, words were getting harder to form.

He closed his eyes, and he was back in his bedroom, on that night he began to describe. He was on the verge of falling asleep on his bed, which felt just a bit too soft. His body was still covered in itchy, small welts, though they weren’t as intense as they were days before. There was a few of them that were open and bleeding, because he couldn’t stop scratching. He was simultaneously cold, from the lack of a blanket, which he had shoved off of himself because it made him feel like he couldn’t move, and hot because he was sweating profusely, oscillating between two worlds; his bedroom, and the box.

The television had been on in the other room, soft bird noises were chirping through the speakers as a british narrator talked indistinctly about the birds and why there were chirping. But the television turned off (later he would find out the tv had been set on a sleep timer) and the lack of noise in the house triggered something within him, because now the house was as quiet as it was when he was in the box, covered with ants, wondering which breath would be his last, and he couldn’t take it any more.

He had kept a gun in the nightstand next to him, having moved the location of his spare gun when he moved houses after his previous brush with death. In his waking nightmare, he must have opened the drawer and pulled it out, and prepared it so that all he would have to do is pull the trigger, before he pressed it against his chin, because if they weren’t going to find him now, they never would--

“Warrick...Warrick was with me, that night. He, uh...He…stopped me.”

Nick took a deep, shuddering breath, rubbing both hands against his eyes. As the stars faded from his vision, he could still see Warrick standing in front of him, telling him to “breathe” as he clutched the gun he had taken from a sobbing Nick Stokes. He kept reminding Nick that it was over, that he was with him now, that he was safe.

“But I’m still here. And Warrick isn’t,” Nick said to the invisible ghost.

Grissom hadn’t said anything, he stood, intent on listening to Nick pour his heart out in front of him. He again placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder, his lips parted to say something, but for the second time in the last couple minutes, he was lost for words. Nick’s head throbbed as he looked into Grissom’s eyes one last time, they were filled with...shock? Anguish? Helplessness? It reminded him of the man he saw in the alley, and he looked away.

He felt stupid for saying what he said, and was full of regret. This wasn’t a therapist’s office, this was his supervisor’s office. Surely, Grissom was going to send him on mandatory leave, tell him to go get his life together.

He couldn't let that happen. It was bad enough he took the serial case from him, he couldn’t let Grissom take a few days of work away from him, too. His work was all he had, at this point. Some scumbag has been murdering people for over four years now, and he keeps getting away with it.

“So trust me when I say, that I am not suicidal, Gil.” Nick spat out in a suddenly harsh tone. “I’ve been there before, I know what it’s like, and this isn’t it. All this so called ‘recklessness?’ I’m just trying to do my damn job.”

Grissom still remained silent, but his face hardened. He almost looked angry, but also a little...disappointed? Nick couldn’t help but smile, though his smile wasn’t necessarily sincere. No strength to be transferred, only spite. Finally, this was the Gil Grissom he needed right now. This was the Grissom he was used to seeing.

This was the disappointment he always feared in this moment, he couldn’t care less.

He headed towards the door, crumpled assignment slip in hand.

“I’m not in that damn box anymore--It’s over. Sara left, again. Warrick’s dead, and I am moving on. Why can’t you?”

He threw the door to open, with such force that it bounced back against the window, nearly hitting Nick as it slammed shut behind him.

———————————

Nick muttered every curse word in his vocabulary as he drove towards the arson he was assigned to investigate. His anger wasn’t subsiding, but he was starting to feel just a bit guilty at the way he left things with his boss. He was growing less angry at Grissom, and more angry at himself, because he knew Grissom only had his best interests at heart, and on some level, he knew Grissom was right, to call him out on his behavior as of late.

He was at a stoplight, over halfway to the scene, when he noticed a familiar-looking hotel to his right. It was one of the hotels from the serial case, the one that was shut down after the first murder.

It was shut down, and yet, there was a light on in the sixth floor.

It wouldn’t take long to check and see why that light was on, and as he got to the front entrance, he noticed that one of the tampering seals was broken.

“Control, this is Charlie Oh-Three Stokes, I got suspicious activity at the Sierra Boulder Hotel off Clayton Street, I’m going to check it out.”

Nick drew out his flashlight as he entered the dark building. He could hear something, sounding like music, playing in the distance. The music was getting louder, as he ventured further into the hotel lobby.

“Charlie Oh-Three Stokes, situation advised. Nearest patrol unit is ETA ten minutes out. Is backup needed?”

“Control, no backup needed, over.”

“This is Captain Brass, Control, please send back-up to Stokes’ location. Stokes, wait for backup.”

Nick rolled his eyes as he reached the elevator. Great, now Grissom’s got Brass in on all of this, too.

The previously quiet hotel was suddenly filled with the sound of an elevator’s descent. Nick saw the meter above counting down from six to one, and he slowly drew out his gun from its holster.

“Stokes, do you copy?”

Ding! The music was at full blast now, the elevator doors opened, and Nick lowered his gun and flashlight as he came face to face with the occupant of the elevator, a radio, playing some pop song from the eighties.

He was reaching for his radio when suddenly, he heard the sound of metal clanging together. It sounded like it was coming from the hall past the dining room behind him, the kitchen, perhaps?

“LVPD!” Nick shouted, ignoring the voices on his radio. As expected, nobody responded to his announcement. The kitchen fell silent, but he could still hear the music from the elevator. He walked past the dusty chairs and tables, noticing footprints in the dust on the floor, heading through the swinging door.

He peered through the narrow window, straining his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He couldn’t see any signs of movement, and slowly pushed the door open…

Wham! His gun and flashlight flew out of his hand as something impacted the side of his head. Dazed, he stumbled backward, reaching his hands out in front of him blindly, as there was a loud crash of metal to his left. He felt someone grab him by his vest, shoving him into a wall. Nick tried to push the mystery assailant off of him, managed to swing at the figure’s face. The figure swung back, hitting Nick in the side of his face. Nick heard a scraping noise on his right, and then felt intense pain in his left shoulder as he was sliced by a sharp blade. He cried out, kicking a foot in front of him to try and push the attacker away, while also applying pressure on the wound. The attacker fell back, and Nick took the reprieve to take in the surroundings. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, his flashlight, which landed across the room, was providing a small amount of light, shining on his gun. The person attacking him seemed to be an older man, he could just barely make out a name tag on the man’s chest in a cursive font--“Marvin.”

“Nick, do you copy?”

He was about to grab the radio, tell them he needed backup, but before he could, a hand grabbed his throat, and he felt a sharp prick against his chin. He grabbed at the hand with both of his own, trying to push it away, but in doing so, the knife started to push deeper into his skin. He could feel a tiny trickle of blood pour from his chin.

The room settled into silence, broken only by ambience of Nick’s heavy breathing, the sound of distant music, and the distant whooping of police sirens. He felt hopeful, the corners of his mouth twitched into smile as he could sense the anger from the man in front of him.

“You hear that, asshole? Y’ain’t getting away with this.”

“Tell them everything’s okay,” Marvin hissed at him. “Or your head will be impaled on this knife.”

He gulped, and the cheeky smile slid off of his face. Nick knew he had very little options, if he truly wanted to get out of this alive. He was unarmed, injured, cornered with little room to run away. He was starting to panic from the all too familiar sensation of this entrapment, but it gave him an idea for escape.

He cleared his throat, feeling very conscious of the vein throbbing in his neck, and pressed the button on the side of the radio clipped to his chest.

“This is Stokes, false alarm, just some punk ass kids. Everything’s clear here, Pancho.”

Please Jim...please get the message.

There was a pause on the other end, Nick’s heart fluttered in anxiousness. He had felt slight embarrassment in using such an intimate, personal name as a codename, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Copy that, over and out.”

Marvin began to laugh, goosebumps bubbled on Nick’s arms as he sliced his other shoulder, still holding Nick by his neck. Nick could feel the front and back of his vest flop away from him. He gritted his teeth down in pain as the attacker started to hum along to the distant song, unzipping the front of Nick’s vest with the tip of the knife. Nick’s vest slid to his feet, the cord of the radio drooping along next to him. Marvin noticed this, and cut the coiled cord. He ripped the radio from its clip on Nick’s belt and crushed it with his foot.

“Quit yer squriming,” Marvin growled.

Marvin’s hand tightened around his neck as he began to poke the knife all over Nick’s body--his arms, his chest, his thighs--which made him squirm even more. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the stinging all over his body, but there were no teeth attached to his skin like there was before. His lips were becoming dry as he kept his mouth open, trying to inhale as much oxygen as he could. He was running out of air, he could feel his heart beat fast and hard against his chest. He was still gripping Marvin’s wrist with his one of his hands, using the other hand to grip onto the surface behind him as he tried to kick his feet out of his vest, so he could try to kick at Marvin again--

Marvin stopped prodding with the knife, holding it in place at Nick’s abdomen. He twisted the tip of the knife, cutting into Nick’s shirt. The sudden coldness in that region of his body sent a shiver down his spine, and he suddenly remembered seeing a stab wound in the same exact spot on the two male victims.

“I think we’re alone now,” Marvin whispered to Nick, and Nick felt the knife move away from his skin. For a split second, he was relieved, maybe Marvin was going to do something stupid and Nick would get a chance to fight back--

But before he could even come up with that scenario, he felt something impact the tear in his shirt, the tear grew larger, the edges of the tear felt wet, clinging to his skin. He felt like he was burning, like hot lava was pouring out of his body. A loud noise, almost resembling a scream, escaped his body, countered by a deep laugh from the man in front of him.

The pain was so intense he almost felt numbed by it. His breathing stopped momentarily as his body tried to reboot itself--his limbs felt limp and heavy, his hand released from Marvin’s wrist, and fell to his side. His other hand, shaking, was trying to plug the hole in his stomach, but he could feel blood oozing between his fingers.

He stared at Marvin in the face and as he let go of Nick, a wide smile spread across his face. Nick slid to the floor, and gasped, trying to inhale oxygen into his body, regain control over his breathing, but he couldn’t. He started to hyperventilate as the world began to spin, blurred by hot liquid flooding his eyes. Nick’s head fell forward, he blinked out his tears and squinted his eyes between Marvin’s legs, trying to focus on the gun a few feet ahead of him.

Marvin bent down, and pulled the knife out of Nick, drawing out a loud groan from his victim along with the bloodied blade. He then sliced Nick vertically down his torso, tearing his shirt in half. The knife was just barely touching his skin, but Nick could feel the slight sting from the blade. He reached Nick’s pants, paused, and stood up again.

“Gonna need s’more light in here,” he grumbled. He stepped away from Nick’s slumped body, stepping on top of Nick’s leg forcefully on his way to presumably find a light switch.

Nick took this opportunity to roll onto his uninjured side, and he began to sideways crawl towards the gun, one hand still gripping his bleeding abdomen.

He heard more banging, more scraping, Marvin was still humming, although a new song had begun to play in the distance. Nick did the best he could to filter out the sounds, but with every scrape of the knife against the metal counters, every thud against the metal as Marvin drummed along to the music, every inflection in Marvin’s voice, he grew more and more nauseous.

He tried to hold back everything that was rising up in his throat, tried to shove down the fear, tried to remain focused on the gun in the spotlight.

For a second, he thought he could see a pair of legs behind the gun. He forced his eyes shut as he tried to muffle another groan. He blindly pulled himself across the floor, but when he opened his eyes, the world was flooded with white light, and he let out a haunted scream, not from the pain of the stab wound, but from a memory of a systematic torture that lasted over half of a day.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy? We’re just getting started!” Marvin chortled, slicing the back of Nick’s leg. This stopped Nick from crawling for a moment, as he winced at the sudden sting in his left leg, but as soon as the stinging was tolerable, he resumed his crawling.

“C’mon, Nicky, you’re almost there,” a voice called out to him. Nick shook his head, he couldn’t be distracted by the ghost, not here, not now.

Marvin let Nick get a couple inches further, before slicing open his other leg. Nick started a tally in his head, to compare to the amount of wounds on the other victims, to have an idea of when the pain might stop...but his counting was disturbed by three more additions to the total, on three separate places on his body.

He was starting to cry fully, tears burned down his cheeks, but his skin felt cold. He could see a pale white blur in the metal cabinet next to him. How far did the knife go into his abdomen? He must be going into shock.

“Cause of death will probably be exsanguination...Do you really want to go out like that, bro?”

“N...no…..” Nick stammered, his arm reaching out to the gun, still itching slowly forward with his legs, still trying to keep the stab wound closed. He could feel something that definitely wasn’t just his skin up against his fingers.

Where the hell was his backup? Did Brass forget the significance of the nickname? He knew he was there that night, he remembered seeing him next to Warrick, before they abandoned him. Did he communicate the message to Grissom, thinking it was weird to be referred to as “Pancho?”

Nick felt something push him off of his side, onto the ground. He felt a slow, burning sensation on his back, Marvin was now slicing down his shirt, penetrating his skin with the knife deeper than the previous slices. Nick screamed, half crazed, he thought his body was being sliced in half.

But instead, it was just his shirt that was torn in half. He felt blood seep out of his new wound, but he kept crawling.

Marvin stopped humming, the music was gone. He walked on top of Nick, stepping on his head as he walked around the kitchen island, hissing at Nick to “keep quiet.”

Nick kept moving, he couldn’t stop, especially now that the psychopath was distracted, but he also couldn’t stop the sounds of his pain.

“I said, keep quiet!” Marvin shouted in a whispered voice, slicing at Nick’s forearm while stepping on his legs.

“How...how the h-hell can I keep quiet, if y-ya keep cuttin’ me?” Nick grunted in a low voice, not caring if Marvin heard him or not.

“Smooth, Nicky. Now’s probably not the best time to be a smart ass…”

“Wh-what kind of stupid name is ‘Marvin’ anyway?” Nick kept muttering.

He was just inches away from arm’s reach of the gun…

He heard soft curse words just as he was thinking of them to himself, followed by the loud, scraping sound of a table being pulled across the floor. Marvin must have been pulling the table to Nick’s right in front of the door, as a barricade.

Nick let out a short, quiet laugh. Unless Marvin had a different reason to try and close himself in the room, his paranoia could only mean one thing, they came for Nick. They came to get him after all.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to cut our play-date short,” Marvin huffed. Nick’s ears pricked up, his heart sank. Fear spread through his body like wildfire It gave him just enough strength to inch himself further as quickly as he could. He felt like he was moving through water, his hand blurred in front of him in slow motion as it waved for the gun.

“Hang in there, Nicky, they’re coming, they got you…”

Nick’s fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun, he lifted it up, but his hand was shaking so tremendously that he dropped it on the floor again.

Marvin laughed, he was now crouching down next to him, pulling the hair on the back of his head. Nick kept flailing his arm around, hoping to grab back onto the gun.

“Now what in the world do you think you’re doing?” Marvin asked him in a disbelieving tone. “Huh? LOOK AT ME!”

He shook Nick’s head violently, Nick felt like he was being shaken inside of a snowglobe. He couldn’t even focus on Marvin’s face if he tried, everything was hazy, like the room was covered in fog and then moving at fifty miles an hour.

“Worthless piece of shit,” Marvin spat at him, a wad of saliva landing in Nick’s eye. He stomped on Nick’s hand, Nick heard the sound of crunching, squelching. He cried out in pain as his hand was guided towards the gun under Marvin’s foot. The gun was kicked just out of his reach. Even if he could reach for it again, his broken hand wouldn’t be able to hold it.

He let out a scream so loud it curdled his own blood, as a new pain developed on his back...on his shoulder. It started as a small sting, poking slightly into his skin, before the knife began to slice vertically upwards, peeling back a half of inch of skin as it dragged across. The knife stopped, stinging him at another point, and began to slice diagonally, lifting up another half inch of skin along the way.

On some level, Nick was aware of what was going on, Marvin was branding him, just like he branded all of his other victims, engraving what Nick now understood to be his initial into his skin.

But on another level, all Nick could think about was the pain, and how he just wanted it to end. His throat was becoming hoarse from all the screaming. His sobs faded as he realized, there was no point to it anymore. Maybe backup had gone to the wrong hotel. Maybe they figured Nick was as good as dead, anyway. There were other people out there, other potential victims that needed their help. Grissom sure as hell wasn’t going to come help him, after the way Nick treated the man after Grissom offered a shoulder to cry on. Why did he push Grissom away? It was the biggest mistake he’s made in a long time.

“Almost there, almost there, just lie still…”

Marvin was on the second diagonal, when suddenly, he stopped. He stepped on top of Nick again, pressing down on his back with his foot before crouching down, wading his way around the other side of the kitchen island.

There was an eerie silence, for a length of time that simultaneously felt like a few seconds and a few hours. Nick wondered if he was already dead, or if some part of him was still conscious, still holding onto a shred of his survival instinct. He wondered if Marvin crawled out of the room and his body would be left to rot in the assumed barricaded kitchen for all of eternity.

The world felt like it was rumbling, shaking. There was a loud banging, clanging sound that was intensifying with every beat. A few things fell on top of his motionless body. Maybe he would be buried alive once more as the building collapsed on top of him.

The building noise finished with a loud CRASH, followed by shouting—a gruff voice that gave Nick the ultimate relief.

“LAS VEGAS POLICE, PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN!” Brass shouted at Marvin.

Nick couldn’t see what was happening, but he was cheering on the inside as he heard the clatter of metal falling to the ground.

“Get him the hell outta here, and get the paramedics immediately!” Brass barked out. “Gil, he’s in here!”

“Nick? NICK! Oh, God, no!”

It was the man from the alley. The man sat on the floor beside Nick. He gently lifted Nick onto his lap, putting a hand on Nick’s abdomen, cradling him in the nook of his free arm. Nick could just barely make out his face, but the man’s skin was reddened, wet. He could hear anxious gulps and panic in his voice.

It was Grissom.

“Gri…sssssss...ommm,” Nick moaned, his eyes fluttering, he was trying not to slip into the darkness that was calling out to him. He reached his functional hand upwards, grabbing onto Grissoms shoulder. He had something important to tell him. Something really important, what was it? “Tell...ou--”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Don’t move, I’m here, I got you.”

“We got you, Nicky.”

Nick couldn’t stop the rising in his throat, he heaved upwards and something drooled down his chin. He had shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he could see a mixed look of anguish and disgust on Grissom’s face.

“Sssss--orr…y...f-for eeeeev...everythin.”

Nick moved his eyes to the side, and saw the ghost crouching next to him. His vision blurred again, another flood in his eyes preventing him from seeing the ghost.

“M-m-m faaaaault.”

Grissom spoke first, the ghost spoke immediately after.

“No, it’s not.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Not...strong ‘nuff.”

“Nicky, don’t you dare say that. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. Certainly stronger than me.”

The ghost laughed, which made Nick want to laugh too. He tried, but all he could muster was another cry of pain. He could feel his body trying to shut down. He could feel his eyes begin to rollbackward.

“No. No, no, no, no, stay with me, Nicky!”

He looked at Grissom in the eyes, as Grissom grabbed onto his hand firmly, but he relented on his grasp as he quickly realized the hand was broken. Nick could just barely see his reflection in Grissom’s glasses—scarred with that familiar distinctive expression, but this time, the corners of his mouth were twitching upwards. He saw the determination in Grissom's eyes, and nodded at him, the transfer of strength had worked.

He turned his attention to the ghost next to him, who was fading away. He did his job, he didn’t need to stick around any longer.

“B-bye...Ri...rick.”

Nick blinked, and Warrick was gone.

He blinked again, and Grissom’s previously shocked face had turned into one of great bewilderment.

He blinked again, and now Grissom was looking where Warrick has just sat.

He blinked again, and now Grissom was pushing him away, handing him off to someone else.

No...Don’t leave me…

He blinked, and he was strapped down on a gurney. Seeing this sent his body into an involuntary spasm, he could feel something within him telling to fight the straps, but his body screamed at him as he tried to move. Grissom was jogging beside him, covered in blood that wasn’t his.

He blinked, and there was a light above him, which did nothing but piss him off. But the hand—his good hand, that would have ripped it right out of the ceiling was occupied. Grissom was holding it.

He blinked, but his eyes wouldn’t open again.

———————————----

“It could have been a lot worse,” Grissom’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he could picture Grissom standing in the doorway to the hospital room. He could hear soft sniffling beside him.

“Really, Gil, that’s all you have?” Catherine spat angrily. She sounded deeply disturbed, disgusted with Grissom.

“Well, it could have. He’s lucky to be alive.”

The dialogue sounded familiar to him, what year is this? He wondered.

“You’re--you’re acting like this is just another victim! This is Nicky, we’re talking about here, our Nicky!”

“Yes, I know.” His tone remained the same, but the volume of his voice increased, Nick imagined he was entering the hospital room. “And that’s how I know he’s going to be okay.”

A surge of affection waved over him, he wanted to smile at Grissom’s belief in him to make it out of this in a sound, mental state.

“I’ll call his parents,” Catherine sighed. Her voice sounded further away, perhaps she was leaving the room.

Nick tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy, like they were tied to his cheeks.

“No, I will,” Grissom responded. His voice sounded heavier, older, drained. He almost sounded uncertain, as if he doubted that he could make that call.

He could hear the retreating steps of high heels, and a long, deep breath from Grissom.

“Nicky, my boy...the hell you got yourself into...how did we get here?” Grissom asked, speaking so lowly that Nick had to strain himself to hear him. “You...you almost died, thinking that it was your fault. Thinking that I was...disappointed in you.”

He felt something grab his hand, which felt...smooth. Not bumpy, like he expected it to be. He noticed the lack of itchiness, the lack of burning. It startled him, he wanted to fling it away, he wanted to run, but his body couldn’t move. After he got over the initial shock, he felt comfort as his cold fingers were intertwined with warm ones.

“You never, and I mean never did, Nick. Okay?”

Another hand pressed on top of their enclosed hands.

“You’re going to survive this, just like you always do. Consider it an order.”

Grissom fell silent for a few moments, and slowly, his hand was released.

“Judge Stokes, this is Gil Gris--I apologize, I didn’t know it was so late….No, he’s, uh...well, he got injured.”

He could hear distant shouting, his father’s voice, when angered, was the loudest noise in the world.

“Injured? What the hell happened now?”

“He got stabbed, multiple times, in an attempt to bring a serial killer to justice...He’s in the hospital now, but he’s...he’s not…”

A hitch, in Grissom’s voice. Nick could hear him inhale and exhale deeply before continuing.

“He’s not doing too good.”

Nick’s heart sank, hearing the waver in Grissom’s voice. Whatever was going on, he had to fight it. He couldn’t let Grissom down, not here.

“He was diagnosed with peritonitis. He just got out of surgery, but he...he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Wake up, Nick. Wake up.

Nick tried to open his eyes again, and he was in his childhood bedroom. His mother was knocking on the door, telling him to wake up.

“No...five more minutes,” he moaned, shutting his eyes shut again.

Wake up, dammit!

He opened his eyes, and he was on the ground, staring at a broken tree, a broken window. He tried to tell Warrick that his attacker was still in the house, watching the scene from the window, just as Nick had stared down into the dumpster from a different window.

The pain was too overwhelming, being lost in time this way. He shut his eyes again, trying to focus…

Pancho, wake up!

He opened his eyes, and he was in darkness. Not total darkness, no, there was just the slightest of green glows, illuminating the cramped space around him. This was the hell he got himself into, this was the hell he was doomed to be trapped in, forever.

He shut his eyes tight, but when he opened them again, he was still there.

A scream started to rise up his throat, but his throat was so damaged it didn’t sound right.

“Nicky?” Grissom asked, breathlessly. “Nick, can you hear me?”

He wanted to cry, but now his eyes wouldn’t close. The ceiling of his prison was rising, he was left staring at an endless void. But he realized the ceiling wasn’t rising, he was falling. His limbs began to float upwards, he struggled and flailed to regain control, but he kept falling faster and faster...his back felt like it was on fire, his stomach felt stapled shut. His breath couldn’t keep up with him, it was growing faster and shorter.

A hand pressed against his chest, and he stopped falling. His body felt grounded, he was rooted back in reality.

He shut his eyes and opened them again, and he was in a hospital room. Grissom was sitting next to him.

“Gris?” Nick asked. His body still felt heavy, exhausted. The room was spinning, slightly, but he wasn’t nauseous. He must be on some sort of drugs.

His hand slowly reached towards Grissom, he needed to make sure he was real.

“Yes, Nicky, I’m here.”

He closed his hands around Nick’s again, and stared at him intently.

“I’m sorry,” Nick blurted out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“So you’ve said,” Grissom smiled. “Multiple times.”

Nick lowered his head and began to examine himself, to figure out where the pain was coming from. He was dressed in a hospital gown, his arms were bandaged. His hand was wrapped up in a cast. He had an IV hooked up to one of his arms. He could hear the monotonous beeping tone of the heart monitor. Grissom said something about a surgery, he lifted up the blanket and gown, and suddenly remembered the stabbing.

“We got him?” Nick asked. He had many thoughts running through his head, but words couldn’t seem to form beyond a few at a time.

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“Was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.

“Anoth...Another pattern,” he breathed, looking at the bandages.

“Male, then two females,” Grissom nodded. “In fact, you interrupted Marvin’s attempt to kill another victim. We found him on the sixth floor, unconscious.”

“Stupid name…”

Grissom let out a small chuckle, and his smile faded as he cleared his throat.

“I, uh, called your parents.”

“I heard.”

“Oh…”

Grissom’s turn, to hang his head in shame. He sniffled, and released his hold on Nick’s hand. He could sense that Grissom was uncomfortable, that he was about to leave, and Nick’s eyes began to burn. He didn’t want him to go, not yet.

“Saw him,” Nick told him. “Warrick.”

Grissom gulped, and suddenly his brow furrowed, a frown etched on his face. He recognized the expression, he had it at the funeral, when he was giving the eulogy. Nick found Grissom’s hand again, pulled him closer, to bring Grissom back into reality, to make sure their eyes met when Nick addressed him.

“Helped me. So did you,” Nick added, to try and impart the importance of Grissom’s presence to the man himself, because he wasn’t a ghost. He was real, he was alive, he was Nick’s friend, one that he needed more than ever.

“You were there.”

#csi cbs #csi fan fiction #nick stokes #gil grissom #nick and grissom #fic: hellbound #my fic #sorry i like to see you suffer nick

31 notes · View notes

ferrethyun · 6 years ago

Text

BTS x Male! Reader Headcanons (Mythology series)

Okay so these headcanons are based off of my moodboards I started about 3 days ago! Swing over to my masterlist to find them

Genre: General

Au: Non-idol, Mythology au

Warnings: none?

Ghost! Reader/Back story:

Okay! So! The reader is a ghost.

The best way I can explain this mythology series is that people are born into normal families but in very rare cases there’s genetic mutations from centuries back that are specific to culture that can occur in one person per generation Some are very generic mutations and some are very rare.

These mutations are known as mythology mutations and can skip several generations before they occur.

In this case the mutation that had occurred in M/n was the ghost mutation.

His family never had a mutation happen in the past five generations. So m/n was a god send.

His family were highly accepting of this and thanks to the plethora of information on the internet, due to the commonness of his mutation, were able to adapt.

Some of his abilities are: Going through walls, becoming invisible and possessing objects.

Unfortunately, having the mutation also affected m/ns appearance.

He was completely opaque at birth but as he got older he became more and more transparent.

The process slowed once he became a legal adult thankfully.

When he was 18, M/ns grandparents died but in their will was their wish to leave their mansion to who ever had a mythology mutation in their family.

So M/n became the owner of their mansion and moved out of his family home at 19 and into the mansion.

However, he became less and less willing to leave the home and so he began to not care for himself.

This caused him to lose control of his abilities and so he became completely invisible.

He stayed in this state for 3 years and due to the thought of the public believing that the mansion was completely empty, it went up for sale.

(You can see where this is going-)

Obviously, Bts, a group of 7 mythology mutation inclined boys, bought the mansion.

When they moved in, M/n was in shock. So much so that he lost invisibility in front of them and freaked everyone out.

With a lot of screaming, debates on who owned the mansion and phone calls to the housing company later. They finally settled on living together.

And that’s where this begins...

Naga! Namjoon:

Namjoon is a naga. A.k.a He’s a snake.

Literally.

He has a room on the main floor of the mansion and at the back where the garden and library are.

His room is far away from Jungkooks due to fire and grass not mixing too well....

He works in the botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city and wouldn’t change it for anything.

He also studies natural science at the university and is in his last year.

He maintains the garden when he can and it’s very pretty. It’s his treasure.

Also he’s hella smart-

Willingly will educate you on whatever you want.

Sometimes talks in riddles and drags out his ‘s’s...

He get’s along well with M/n mainly because he was the one who was able to convince him that it was a good idea to have all 7 of them living in the house.

I mean... He did it somehow?

Is a voice of reason in the group.

He can de-escalate an argument really quickly and thank god for that because this mix of mythologies can be dangerous.

His abilities: He can take the form of a snake, move incredibly fast and detect changes in heat drastically better than someone else.

Appearance wise there’s not much; He has a few scale patches across his body and his pupils are slits. Nothing too much.

One thing the members cannot stand is when he does the thing when he opens his mouth much wider than a normal person can. Freaks everyone out.

Vampire! Jin:

Vampire Jin. Explains his never ending beauty.

Vampires do not live forever in this au but they can live significantly longer than a normal person.

Most like to play up the fiction that they can live forever though...

Jin’s room is in the basement with Jimin’s but they’re on complete opposite sides of the basement.

He chose the basement so that he doesn’t have to bother with the light of day while he tries to sleep.

He’s adapted his sleep schedule so that he’s up in the early evening and asleep at around five or six am.

He’s more than willing to help make dinner before he goes out to work.

Surprise! Jin owns a night club!

It’s his pride and joy because he’s spent so long making it perfect.

He did go to university but that was a long time ago...

He studied acting if you’re wondering.

He likes to go to the local feeding bank for vampires and personally pick out what he’s drinking.

He hates drinking directly from people; he says it makes him feel like a monster.

He and M/n have an interesting relationship due to Jin being able to feel M/n before he sees him; then turns out M/n is invisible right next to him.

They get along none the less.

His abilities: Night-vision, moving at ridiculous speeds and seduction with touch.

He never likes using seduction do to anything however-

Appearance wise there’s not much going on; he’s a little paler than everyone else and has fangs and very amber eyes. He’s also cold to touch.

Everyone respects him due to his knowledge of the past..

This doesn’t stop Jungkook from being a little shit at times though.

Siren! Yoongi:

Instead of Hong Kong, his tongue will take you to your potential death,,,

His room is on the main floor with Namjoon but is on the opposite side and is at the side of the house.

He’s located far from Jungkook due to his room needing to be many degrees colder than the younger’s.

((I feel like I’m ostracising kook :( ))

He works for a music company in the city as a producer and has permission to work from home on rainy days due to his mutation.

His abilities: Siren body and luring with voice.

The siren body thing he can’t really control due to if he gets wet it kinda just happens.

Appearance wise its not much once again. His body has this wet sheen to it and he has a few scales here and there. He also has a second film-esk layer to his eves to be able to see in salt water; he’s also very cold to touch.

He and Jungkook can rarely touch each other, or at least have to be careful when doing so. If their skin directly touches, steam occurs and Yoongi’s skin dries out some. Not good.

He and M/n get on due to the similarities in living styles. Both rooms have to be several degrees cooler than most and both are cold to touch.

Yoongi has to have a separate bathroom due to the involuntary siren body thing when he washes himself.

He originally never wanted to get involved in music due to the voice that he can use to lure people but he couldn’t keep himself from music.

However he’s still uncomfortable talking to strangers and so it took a while for him to talk to M/n.

He also avoids arguments as much as possible due to the potential loss of control over his abilities

Summer elf! Hoseok:

A god send for keeping the group together.

Room wise; he shares the top most room with Taehyung but it’s a large space and their ‘rooms’ are sectioned off by curtains.

They share the top floor because of the massive skylight that allows for both of them to be happy.

His ‘room’ is full of flowers?? This boy loves his flowers.

Ability wise there’s not much to him: He can form wings to fly and grow plants.

Appearance wise is exciting: He has elf ears (Y’all know what i’m talking about) and he literally glows.

He g l o w s.

A yellow ring of light guys.

As I said before; he keeps the group together.

He is not effected by anyone’s mutation in anyway so he easily holds the group together when all 7 + M/n are in one place.

If someone needs to place them self away from the group to cool off or something of the sorts. Hobi will go with them and make sure they don’t feel left out.

As I said. A god send.

Hobi has A degree in dance and has a studio in the city where he usually teaches kids and occasionally teaches adults.

He loves it. The studio is bright due to the skylights and has plants where ever he can get them without getting in the way when they dance.

He gets along with everyone, so obviously he gets along with M/n.

He’s always there to comfort and help if he loses control of his abilities.

He does the same for the other members of course.

Also, he cares for the garden when Namjoon can’t. Like, he’ll care for it for a few days and suddenly there’s 5 new plant species blooming and about 7 new fruit and veg growing and a new tree.

He also created dances that go along to random beats that Yoongi creates.

We love a supportive king

Demon! Jimin:

A little promiscuous shit.

His room is in the basement with Jin as I’ve mentioned but it’s on the other side due to how protective he gets of his space. And the amount of noise he makes when he brings people home.

Furthest room from Taehyung due to their mythologies being complete opposites; doesn’t stop them from being friends though.

His abilities: Seduction without touch, emotional control, control of minor appearance and his demon form.

Appearance wise he can choose what he looks like. He prefers to look normal when he’s out in society during they day (e.g he has no horns and normal eyes). When he’s at home or in the club he likes to have his horns out and his natural red eyes out.

He’s fervently bisexual and is openly feminine. He goes around wearing heels usually due to the feeling of power they give him.

He’s also very openly sexual.

He rarely uses his abilities to seduce someone but when he does...

The whole household disproves and he’s banished to his room for a while and is not allowed to go out for a few nights.

No one’s against him being overtly sexual and having may sexual partners it’s just no one in the mansion really likes using their powers to get their way.

Anyways! Jimin goes to university as well and is doing a psychology course! A mythological based psychology course.

He get’s along with everyone by implementing dirty humour into the conversation.

However he views his and M/ns relationship differently.

Jimin is severely insecure and opens up to M/n only. He doesn’t know why but it helps.

Have it be known that he refuses to get with anyone in the mansion. He simply doesn’t feel comfortable being that close to someone and having a one time thing and then having to see them after.

Angel! Taehyung:

A Prince. Well an angel that looks like a prince

As I’ve said; he’s on the top most floor with Hobi due to the skylight.

Tae likes it because he likes being closer to heaven in a way.

((I hope that doesn’t sound morbid))

As I’ve said again, he’s furthest from Jimin due to their mythologies not mixing well.

Abilities wise: He can spawn wings and fly with them and he has increased strength and empathy.

Appearance wise he looks like an actual prince; he glows. If you look carefully you can see a faint halo above his head and he has the scars where his wings spawn from.

Tae doesn’t enjoy spawning his wings as it’s an incredibly painful process and takes quite some time due to the fact his wings are massive.

Tae goes to university and he studies human psychology. He’s usually in the same building as Jimin but never the same class.

He aims to use his abilities to help people who are struggling though tough times.

He’s similar to Hobi in a way that he helps hold the group together. He can feel when someones anger is rising or an argument is about to erupt. So he helps to negate this.

He’s close to M/n in a way that he helps M/n get though when ever he’s having a rough time emotionally.

Of course he does this for everyone.

Tae likes to go to the children's hospital in the city every Sunday and go around and talk to every single child and help them feel a bit better.

And as a treat; once a month he spawns his wings and lets the kids touch them as a treat.

The kids love it due to how rare it is to see an angel mutation and it’s always something new for them to experience.

He’s lost count of how many parents have thanked him for supporting their kids when they cant be there for them due to work or otherwise.

Phoenix! Jungkook:

Oh boy. Jungkook is one spicy flame boy.

He’s located on the second floor with M/n but they’re on opposite sides.

His room is very, very, very hot. His walls are covered in soot and have to be regularly cleaned off.

There’s his own smoke detector in his room and it usually goes off when he’s mad.

His abilities: Phoenix form and pyrokinesis.

his appearance isn’t anything major. He has a lot of burn scars and he feels ridiculously hot.

He never uses his phoenix form for several reasons. It takes too long for him to do the transformation, he hates being covered in soot and ash when he re-forms and it’s highly dangerous.

He’s usually up first out of everyone. Ironically during golden hour.

He literally thrives in summertime and hates the winter time.

However he does act as a good heater during winter and he helps light the fire.

He goes to university!! And he’s on a sports scholarship for judo.

Unsurprising really.

He’s known as a ladies man on the university campus but doesn’t want t get involved with relationships ever so some girls think he’s a fuckboy.

Rude that’s what that is.

Usually makes dinner for everyone with Jin and It helps because it allows Jin to get to work quicker.

If Jin’s already out before dinner, he makes dinner with M/n.

Their relationship is interesting because Kook still gets freaked out when he’s stirring something and M/n reaches straight through the pot and him to grab something on the other side.

But he also talks to M/n about university and any problems he’s having. Though these problems are usually him getting lost in the mansion.

Anyone who’s always cold, Jin, M/n and Yoongi, like to sit near Kook but not too close. Kook finds it weird but all three explained to him that it helps them feel a bit more normal so Kook’s more than willing to help his hyungs out if it makes them feel better.

Damn son that took forever-- If you have any questions about each member just swing me an ask. Or if you have your own headcanons you should come tell me uwu.

#Admin Tea #kpopwonderlandtag #bts x male reader #bts x reader #(Mythology series)#kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #park jimin #min yoongi #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #bts #bangtan #bangtan soneyondan #(Headcanons)#male reader #reader #mythology au

226 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-writers · 6 years ago

Text

(Written by Admin Jad)

"Finished!" yelled Edward as he placed the last domino piece in its position. Mikey and Kaz - who were both playing video games at the time - turned to face Edward.

"Wow, Ed." Kaz said half-heartedly, followed by sarcasm. "That's amazing... " He removed his headphones from his ears. The headphones left a red mark around his ears, just neighbor the sideburns of his blonde hair.

"Behold, my art!" said Ed as he tipped the first piece over. The domino pieces spread around Ed's bedroom started tipping over in a chain reaction. The ebony colored plastic rectangles made a satisfying 'tick' noise with each peace that fell over. When the final piece was finally knocked over, Ed turned to face his two friends, hoping for some praise. But the two already returned their attention to the screen. "You could at least pretend to be interested!" Ed stood up and stomped his foot.

"Sorry," Mikey said. "I don't lie." He laughed and high-fived Kaz.

"Nothing personal, Ed, we're just not -" Kaz wanted to stand up and place a hand on Ed's shoulder. However, his legs - which fell asleep - failed him. He started tipping over. He tried to hang on to Mikey, but he ended up dragging him down with him. As a last resort, he grabbed on to Ed. The three of them tumbled to the floor, and over the painful pile of dominoes. A series of cursing filled the room.

"Why did you pull us down with you?!" yelled Ed. He rubbed his back in pain. The other two did the same.

"If I fall, we all do! First rule of the Bro Code!" he explained.

Mikey raised a finger. "Isn't the first rule: bros before -" He didn't finish that sentence. The bedroom door was kicked open. An angry woman holding a bar of soap held her hands at her waist. Her face held an angry and stern expression.

"M-mom!" stuttered Ed.

"There will be no cursing in this house!" For the remainder of the evening, the three teens had their mouths scrubbed with a bar of soap over and over.

<~>

"From now on, we're hanging out at my place." said Kaz as soon as he boarded the school bus. He spoke without context, so everyone except Mikey and Ed were confused.

"You got dominoes?" asked Ed, perking up at the voice of his friend. Kaz rolled his eyes and sat next to the pair at the very back of the bus. The three vividly discussed video games and anime throughout the bus ride, occasionally yelling some unintelligible words.

They arrived at the school, suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread and remorse. They fought the urge to leave. A banner hanged over the green double doors. 'School Pep Week!" it read, accompanied by the picture of a roaring lion; the school's mascot.

Coming inside, the three saw flyers taped to every locker in sight, with cheerleaders parading through the halls. "This is dumb." said Mikey. "And useless." He fiddled with a fidget spinner in his left hand, which completely undermined his entire argument.

While ridiculing the school event, a leg shot out from behind a corner, tripping Ed in the process. He landed flat on his face. "Oops. Sorry about that Eddy." said a voice. A tall individual, nearly twice the size of Ed, appeared. He wore a red letterman jacket in addition to a menacing grin.

"Ed, you're bleeding!" warned Mikey. He pointed to the blood slowly streaming from Ed's nostrils. The tall individual saw this as an opportunity. He took out a crumpled napkin from his pants pocket and wiped the blood off Ed's nose. He then proceeded to shove it up the nostril, making Ed yelp in pain. The yelp of pain alerted another individual just around the corner.

"Simon Evans!" yelled the principal. "For the love of God All Mighty, stop it with these shenanigans or so help me, I'll have you expelled!" he warned.

"Won't happen again, sir." said Simon. A cold sweat ran across his cheek. Once the authority figure was out of sight, Simon shoved Ed into the wall. "See you around, Eddy." Even when entering the sea of students, the letterman still stood out.

"You ok?" asked Kaz, offering a clean napkin. Ed gladly took it, discarding the blood-covered one.

"No," he complained. "I'm not."

"You really shouldn't let him bully you like that."

"What am I supposed to do? The dude is twice my size. The principle may act strict but he won't expel his star quarterback. What can I do?"

"Yolo it, I guess." He chuckled. Upon entering homeroom, Ed immediately noticed something was off. For once, there was no paper files, no chalk, and no grading book on the teacher's desk. Ed knew the teacher wasn't absent, for he saw her not a few minutes ago in front of the teacher's lounge.

He took his seat in the second-to-last row and dropped his bag at his side. He entered his dreamscape; started imagining and re-imagining arguments that would never happen. The national anthem blared through the class speaker, for which they all stood. Once the last lyric was chanted, the principal's blurred voice replaced the silence. "Students: First of all, I would like to congratulate our football team for making it to nationals." The class cheered. "And because of that wonderful accomplishment, a pep rally will be held for the entirety of the day. Thank your class representatives and pep committee for that decision."

Books and loose pieces of paper were thrown into the air in celebration. Students shot up from their seats and started dancing. "Sit back down!" yelled the Math teacher. "You lot are two lessons behind schedule! You're going to study for half the day!" And so they did.

The lunch bell rang. The students rushed outside the classrooms, escaping from the torment of education. "Get back here!" the teacher called after them. "The bell doesn't dismiss you! I do!" She was ignored.

Ed quietly took his lunch to the stairwell, where peace and quite rained supreme. "What'cha got there, Eddy?" asked Simon, leaning over Ed's shoulder. Ed jolted upwards, dropping his lunch in the process. "You almost got me in trouble today." he said as he took a few steps forward. "Almost." He pushed Ed into the corner. He forcefully placed his hand on Ed's face. "This time, take what you have coming for you, quietly." A heavy blow landed on Ed's cheek. Then another on his stomach. Then another. And another. Ed waved his arms in anger, but hit nothing.

Simon grabbed both hands and pinned Ed to the wall. In a last-ditch attempt, Ed kicked Simon in the unmentionables. Simon flinched. Ed saw an opportunity and rammed into Simon. He tumbled over. Fell on the stairs, then laid motionless on the tiled floor. Ed sat in the corner of the staircase. He saw a pool of blood forming around Simon.

His heart raced. His breathing became shorter and inconsistent. His screeching echoed throughout the halls, yet unheard to others over the noise of their own chatter. Ed trembled in his corner. He drove his head in between his knees in search of refuge. He found none.

Then he ran. Ran down the stairs, tripping over Simon's body. He continued to scamper through the halls, sprinted uphill through the streets which lead to his believed sanctuary; his house.

He thanked his lucky stars that none of his parents were home. He slammed the door of his bedroom and retreated underneath his bed sheets. He was trembling with such intensity that the bed itself shook. After what seemed like an eternity for him, but only ten minutes in the real world, police sirens disturbed the silence in the neighborhood. Ed held his bed sheets tighter. He was relieved when the sirens became distant. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Eventually, the exhaustion - both mental and physical - caught up to him, and he was overtaken by sleep. "Ed? Ed honey, wake up." said a soft as it gently woke Ed. Though his vision hasn't focused, he recognized the comforting face of his own mother. "Dinner is ready in ten." she said as her hand slightly pinched his cheek, giving it a pinkish tint.

Memories of today's events flooded his mind. He stifled the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. His phone, which was on his bedside, had a beeping red light on the top right corner, meaning he just received an important message.

From his friends: 'where are you?!' From Candy Crush: 'Your energy has refilled.' And from the local news: 'Murder at public high school'.

A wave of nausea washed over him. He stumbled over to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet bowl. After an excruciating session of vomiting, he managed to calm himself down. But it didn't last for long. The squeaking of car breaks was audible outside.

Intreeged, Ed peeked through the curtains and immediately regretted it. Two police cruisers were parked in front of his own home.

They knocked on the wooden front door, loudly. Ed quietly made his way downstairs, making as little noise as possible. He made sure he wasn't visible to anyone who might be watching through the windows. He slowly closed the back door behind him.

His mother - who was in the kitchen at the time - walked towards the front door. She looked through the peephole, had a moment of confusion, then opened the door.

"Can I help you officer?" she asked, still lost on what was happening. "Evenin' Mr.s Breker. Is your son home?" asked the officer.

"He's upstairs in his room. Why do you need to know?"

"Eh, there's no easy way to say this but..." The officer scratched the back of his neck. "Your son is the main suspect of the murder of Simon Evans." She froze.

"It ain't April Fools! My son is scared of butterflies! He ain't about to murder someone twice his size!" "Ma'am, we have a warrant to take him into questioning." Mr.s Breker stepped aside and ushered them upstairs. "He didn't do nothin'." She repeated.

Not even a minute later, the officer came rushing back downstairs. "He's not here!"

<~>

A rapid series of knocks sounded on Kaz's front door. Annoyed, he angrily stomped towards the doors. "What?!" He yelled the moment he opened it. His emerald eyes widened. "Ed! Where were you?! Everything went to shit after you disappeared!" Ed barged into Kaz's home in a rush.

"The cops are after me, man!" He said nervously as he tried to hold his composure.

"The cops are not after you, man. Chill out. They're after whoever... killed.... Simon." His eyes widened in realization. "Ed... Did you...?" he said hesitantly. Ed slowly nodded. Kaz took a step backward. "I think you should go..." Kaz said quietly.

"There's nowhere to go. You're the only person that can help me."

"Ed, if the cops find it that I was hiding you, they'll arrest me!"

"But what about what you said? 'If I fall, we all do'?!"

"We're not like your fucking dominoes, Ed! You act as if your fate matters to us. Well, guess what? It doesn't! You will fall, and you will fall alone!" Kaz pushed Ed out the front door. Ed tumbled over on and fell on the grass. He held back the tears as he disappeared into the night.

Overnight, fifteen-year-old Edward Breker had completely disappeared. Or rather, that's what everyone thought.

Nearly a week after Ed's disappearance, the wall phone at Kaz's residence rang.

"Hello?" answers Kaz.

"Kaz." said a panting voice.

"Ed?" he exclaimed. "H-how's it goin' man?" He stuttered.

"I'm skipping town. Tonight."

"R-really? Where are you goin'?"

"I can't say. But hey, listen. Let's meet up at the Spot. All three of us. "Why do you want to meet there?" "One last hangout, I guess."

"S-sure... I'll call Mikey and we'll bring some Mountain Dew, I guess." Kaz hung up. He turned and faced the officer who was listening to the conversation. "It's him." He said. "He wants me to meet him at the Cliffside." The officer dialed a number on his flip phone and held the phone to his ear.

"We got 'em."

<~>

Kaz and Mikey walked through the Red-Wood forest, with a six-pack of Mountain Dew in hand. From a distance, they saw Ed's ragged figure sitting on a piece of land outstretched from the rest of the cliff overlooking the sea.

The Spot.

"Ed." They called out to him. His head turned in a fast, robotic manner, as if he was possessed. He brandished a smile at the sight of his two friends. They sat next to him, and each opened up a bottle of Dew.

"Been a while since we all came here." Said Kaz, followed by a sip.

"It really has." replied Ed.

"Ed." Mikey said as he put a hand on Ed's shoulder. Ed immediately flinched but then calmed down. "Did you really kill Simon." Ed reluctantly but surely nodded his head.

"I did." Kaz and Mikey turned and faced each other. They nodded. The sound of heavy footsteps crushing the fallen leaves was loud enough for Ed to hear. He jolted up from his place and focused his attention at the source of the noise.

Flashlights cut through the darkness of the night. The barks of the K-9 units were audible.

Heartbroken, Ed faced his friends. Kaz raised his shirt, revealing a communication device strapped to his stomach. "I'm sorry, man. They forced us to do it."

Half a dozen officers had their guns trained on Ed. "Freeze!" Ed relaxed his body. He raised his hands upwards. Two officers approached him.

"Do I at least get to say goodbye?" he asked. The commanding officer on site motioned him to do whatever.

Ed hugged his two friends, an arm around each of them.

"NO homo!" They all yelled in unison, followed by a series of laughs.

"One more thing." said Ed. His arms still enveloped his two friends.

"Which is?"

"If I fall, we all do!" He yelled as he leaned his weight over the side of the outreach. His two friends were dragged along with him. They fell into free fall until meeting their fate at the hand of the jagged rocks below.

2 notes · View notes