Fifty four days.
That was how long Spencer Reid had been in the hands of these madmen. Fifty four days.
Fifty four days, packed with more pain than he'd known the human body could withstand. Fifty four days of sadistic torture he had seen countless times in the course of his job, yet had never known this intimately before. Fifty four days in which Spencer had seen things, had done things, that he knew would leave him changed forever. Fifty four days, four captors, three dead bodies. Spencer had watched three other men die since he'd been taken. Watched as, one by one, they were brought in, as they were tortured right alongside him, only worse. Watched as their bodies fought so hard to stay alive. And watched as they gave in to the inevitable.
When he and the other members of the team had first taken the case in Seattle, Washington, they had known the men they were hunting were terrible, horrible human beings. They had seen the end results of the four already dead and they knew the things the men were capable of. Spencer often wondered if that knowledge made this whole ordeal better or worse. The people who were brought in had no idea what was waiting for them. They could guess, their terrified minds coming up with countless ideas no doubt, but they didn't truly know until it was happening. Was it easier for them, not knowing? Or was it harder? Did it make it more terrifying to wait and not know what would come their way? Spencer had known from the instant he'd woken up in this dark, dank cell, just what was waiting for him. He'd known. The Unsubs kidnapped men in their twenties, men with dark hair and a slender yet athletic build, tortured them for a week, and then they killed them before dumping their bodies back in the slums of Seattle. They had a week cooling off period before taking the next victim.
At least, that had been their MO so far. Until they took Spencer.
Oh, sure, they tortured him that first week. He remembered trying to use every ounce of his training to try and find a way out of this. To try and do anything that might get him free. He'd tried to talk the men down, tried to play every trick in the book. Nothing. It had done nothing. When it came time to kill him, when his week was up, he had been so sure he was going to die. Only, they hadn't killed him. No, the ringleader of the group had stopped his friends and he'd given Spencer a chilling grin. "Let's keep him." His voice had held a sick pleasure that he didn't even bother to hide. "Let's see how long this little excuse for a Fed lasts. He can watch our work. And maybe, maybe, we'll let him live. Let him go tell everyone just how great we are. And he can see that no matter what he does, no matter how many of those hundred dollar words he uses, he's no better than the rest of the scum."
So hard started Spencer's personal hell. The man was true to his word. After a week of 'rest' for him, they brought in the first victim. Spencer had to bear witness as they tortured man after man. He had to watch them fight, and in the end, watch them die. When the men came to this little cell with their guns and unlocked the bars at the front, there was no chance for Spencer to fight them, no chance to stop as they were taken down to the torture room and the thick metal collar he wore was padlocked to the chain on the wall that acted as his leash. With shackles on his wrists and ankles and that collar on his neck, he was useless. The torture and the sporadic food and drink kept him weak as well so that he didn't know if he could've run with the heavy weight of his shackles anyways. The shackles served dual purposes. The neck collar allowed him to be leashed down, the ankle ones held a chain between them that could be locked to a hook in the floor, and the chain between the ones on his wrist was to lift and drape over a hook that held his arms well above his head, leaving him exposed and at their mercy.
Spencer tried so hard to find a way out of there. Oh, how he tried. But time and time again, he failed. He failed and was forced to watch three men die because of it. Two of them, he had been holding at night in their cell when they finally passed. In the cell, the men didn't hook them to a wall. They were too weak to fight and the men had guns to subdue them when they came. There was no escape to be had there.
On the cooling down weeks, Spencer got a reprieve. Sometimes days would go by where he would see now one. He would wake up to find food or water shoved into the cell. Otherwise, nothing. Then suddenly they would be there, shoving a new one in at him, and the whole ordeal would start all over again. Sad as it was, he marked his countdown by those deaths. The men never deviated from schedule and he used that to help him gauge how long he had been here.
Little by little, Spencer felt his sense of self eroding away. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality and nothing terrified him more than that. He had to be strong. He had to! The team would find him. Eventually, they would find him. He had to believe it. Because if he didn't, he very well might go insane.
Seventy one days.
Spencer knew it had been seventy one days exactly that he had lived in this prison. He knew, because just today, they brought in the fifth victim since his arrival. From the instant they brought this one in, Spencer knew there was something different. The man looked like he was closer to eighteen than any place in his twenties, but he still fit the image. Dark hair, slender build. Shorter than some. He'd been stripped down to his boxers, same as they all were. His curly hair seemed to stick out every which way and his bright blue eyes scanned things like they weren't missing a beat. Spencer would've bet a full course dinner that this guy was somehow, in some way, connected to law enforcement.
Like any other, the guy tried to talk his way through the first session. He tried to use his voice to stop it. When he realized he couldn't, he didn't break down as some did. He bore up underneath the basic beating he'd been given. The men liked to start the first day 'easy'. But still, he'd passed out before the end. Then it had been Spencer's turn. A lighter version than the new guys, as they wanted to keep Spencer alive, but it left him aching even more when they were dumped back in the cell.
As had become habit, Spencer tended the new guy once the goons were gone. He knew the routine and he knew they wouldn't be back for hours yet. So he did a check over the new guy's body and he made sure that there was nothing broken, nothing too serious. Not that it would've mattered, as he couldn't do anything about it either which way. And in the end, nothing he did would help. Every single one of them died. Still, he couldn't help himself. He had to try. He had to care. The day he stopped caring would be the day they won.
Eventually, the guy woke under his touch. When he felt hands on him, he instantly scrabbled back and Spencer let him. He didn't make a move towards him. In a soft, hoarse voice, Spencer tried to reassure him. "It's okay; I'm not trying to hurt you. I was just checking your injuries." He kept down on his knees, hands resting on his thighs, trying to convey to this other man that he wasn't the one to be scared of here.
To his surprise, the guy recovered quickly. "I saw you earlier, in that room. You're stuck here, like me."
"Yes."
"These guys, they're the ones on the news, aren't they? The guys that kidnap and kill guys every other week, right?"
The steadiness to the question was yet another surprise. Spencer licked lips gone dry and nodded in the darkness of their cell. Only a low light from down the end of the hall gave them any form of light. Spencer's eyes had grown used to the darkness. The newcomer, he knew, would be slightly blind. Because of that, he corrected his nod, adding a soft "Yes."
"Oh man." With a groan, the guy shifted, adjusting so that he was sitting and reclining back against the wall. "Oh, man, Jim's gonna kill me. I can just hear it now. He's gonna rip me a new one over this."
Spencer wondered idly who Jim was. A brother, maybe? Or a partner. Most people who came here spoke of a significant other. Then again, if this guy was associated with cops, maybe Jim was his partner in the work-sense. For now, Spencer filed that away as something to think about later. He focused on the man a few feet away and asked him the same question he had asked each man. "What's your name?"
There was only a small pause before the guy answered. "I'm Blair. Blair Sandburg."
Blair Sandburg. Immediately Spencer committed that name to memory, adding it to the end of his list. Christopher Turren, Benji Elkins, Amos Shearson, Kurt Martin, and now Blair Sandburg. Those names were burned into Spencer's mind. He swore to himself that, if he ever got out of here, he would make sure that the world knew about these men. That their families would know they fought bravely until the very end. On the seventh day, he always asked the person if they had a message they wanted delivered. Something they wanted said. If the men let him out of here one day like they joked about, if his team ever rescued him, then Spencer swore he would deliver them. From each man, he carried a message. One to a brother, two to wives, one to a mother. Who would Blair want his to go to? Maybe this Jim fellow.
Abruptly he realized that Blair was speaking again. "Who're you?"
"Spencer Reid." Though he didn't bother with his title, knowing it could cause more trouble than it was worth in the long run, he never denied the men his name. He was the last friend they had. Far be it for him to deny them that.
Only, this man proved his connection to cops even more when he said "Shit! You're that Fed, aren't you? Jim said a Fed got taken too, but they're keeping it under wraps." Then he quickly added on "They're still looking for you, man. They came out to Cascade when a lead brought them our way. They're still looking."
A lead. Oh, God. He wanted to hold on to the promise of that. Hope sounded so good. It sounded Heavenly! But Spencer wasn't sure how much hope he had. He tried to cling to it, tried to maintain his calm. But it was so hard.
They sat in the dark for a while. Blair seemed to sense that Spencer wasn't in the mood for more questions. He stayed quiet for a while and, at one point, the both of them dozed.
The next time he woke, curled up in the fetal position on the floor, Spencer lay there for a while, simply not moving. He could hear Blair's breathing and he knew the man wasn't asleep. It was proved a moment later when he heard a soft voice asked "How often do they come?"
Spencer licked his lips again, wincing at the split that still wasn't healed. "Once or twice a day. Unless you piss them off. Then you get an extra session." He paused, then added "But if you get too hurt, they'll patch you up. They're good at that. They want you to survive until the seventh day. It's an important part of their ritual."
"How long have you been here?"
The whispered question was one that Spencer had also expected. Closing his eyes against the dark that had always terrified him, he whispered his number, and he ached a little more inside. "Seventy one days."
He heard Blair gasp. There was a soft rattle of chains and brush of skin against cold floor. He could tell that the man wasn't sure about asking the next question. Spencer had a feeling he knew what it was. Without opening his eyes, he answered without having to be asked. "I'm their…their pet. The Fed on the leash. I feed their ego by simply being alive. They can look at me and see that they're so much smarter than the FBI. And they enjoy the psychological torture of making me live through the deaths."
"I'm so sorry, man. So, so sorry."
A tear slipped out of Spencer's eye, going over his nose to drip down to the ground. He didn't bother with it. In here, he had learned that tears were nothing. Tears here, alone, in the dark, were sometimes the only thing that allowed him some sanity. "I've watched four men die. Christopher Turren, Benji Elkins, Amos Shearson, Kurt Martin. They won't be forgotten. I won't forget them." Even softer, he added "And I won't forget you, Blair Sandburg."
"I know you probably won't believe it, but we'll get out of here, Spencer. We will. Jim, my friend, he's a cop. He'll find me. He'll tear everything apart until he does."
Spence said nothing. In the dark of their cell, his tears continued to fall.
Three days went by—four to go. In those days, Spencer had to watch as Blair was tortured worse and worse each day. He had to live through his own torture as well, but that had become terrifyingly commonplace for him. It was the pain of others that hurt him the most. Watching and knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Blair held stronger than most did. He was tougher than he looked and he held firm to his belief that he would be free. Spencer envied him that rock steady belief.
At night, the two young men huddled close together for warmth and whispered back and forth. Spencer often did this with the ones that came in. It made it easier for the others and it gave him some of the positive human contact he so craved. He held them as well as the shackles would allow and lent them his heat, gave them the only blanket they were ever allowed, and he did anything he could to keep them sane. Nighttime was always the worst, when the light went out down the hall and they were in the pitch black. It was always the worst. For Christopher, he had simply talked to him, telling him stories. Benji, he had hummed for the twenty year old young man, soothing him into sleep. Amos and Kurt, he hummed and occasionally rocked. Blair, he discovered, enjoyed the stories. They'd discovered that one night when the man's back was tore up from the strap and his stomach ached from a beating, leaving no way for them to cuddle together for heat, and Spencer lay against the wall and ignored his own pain, bringing Blair's head into his lap.
"I'm fine, Spencer." Blair tried to insist. There was a shakiness to his voice that showed his control wasn't as strong as he wanted it to be, though. Despite his protests, he easily lay down in Spencer's lap, facing outwards.
Spencer adjusted the chain on his shackles so it didn't touch Blair's head and then he started to stroke at the dirty curls, mindless of the blood and filth there. If he hit a knot, he simply moved gently past it. "Hush." The word was given in a low, easy voice. The voice he'd learned since he came here. It showed nothing of his own emotions. "Hush now, Blair. Save that for when you're with them. With me, don't worry about it." He kept stroking at his hair, never stopping the soothing gesture. "When I was a kid, my mom used to read to me. I remember it was the most relaxing thing on the face of the earth, listening to her voice above me. She was a Professor of fifteenth century literature and she had a vast collection of books."
"My mom read to me too. It was always relaxing." Blair whispered to him. One of his hands curled around Spencer's leg almost hesitantly, a silent seeking of contact to help ground him in this darkness. Neither man could see the other and there was something about the absolute blackness of it that made it just a little easier to let go of the societal constraints that would've kept them from seeking comfort through contact.
The silent admission had been what sparked Spencer's first recital to the man. Closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall, he perused his mental library until he found a story. Then, he began to recite. He felt Blair's slight twitch that betrayed his surprise. But as Spencer continued to 'read' and continued to stroke the man's hair, he felt as Blair began to relax. There, in the dark, one man soothed another with words that had often comforted him on many a lonely night, and for just a little while, the nightmare was pushed back.
Two more days had gone by. Blair had been here for five days and Spencer found himself aching when he thought that there were only two more left. No matter his best intentions, he grew attached to the men who came in. It almost destroyed him each time they died. It felt like a part of him went with them. But this time was worse. This time, he not only ached at the idea of Blair's death as a human being, but he'd truly begun to like Blair. The man had a bright, quick mind and he was so, so strong. Stronger even than Spencer. The idea of him dying in this little hellhole, it ripped Spencer apart.
Always he lied to the men who came through. He would tell them that help could come, that they might get free. To hold on, never give up hope. It was better than the alternative. How could he tell them that he was afraid no help was coming? How could he tell them that they were doomed to die?
He couldn't. So, he lied.
With Blair, for the first time since the very first, it didn't feel like a lie. Spencer's strength, his will to get free, grew strong and stronger. The fire in Spencer fanned just a little brighter, having never completely gone out. Maybe it had something to do with Blair's firm resolve that his friend would come for him. Or maybe it was the strength and life that Blair seemed to hold. Whichever it was, it infected Spencer, bringing back to life parts of him he'd thought were gone. With that came determination. He was not going to let another person die in front of him. He would not hold another man and watch the life bleed out of their eyes. He refused! He would get them out of here. Somehow, he would get them out. But how?
He'd tried before to attack and get a knife. He'd tried to get any kind of weapon that he could. Always, they beat him and laughed at him for his pitiful attempts. Now that he was weaker than ever, the hope of getting a weapon was even less. What was he going to do? He had to get Blair out of here and he had to do it before the seventh day. The seventh wasn't just death; it was the worst torture yet before death came. He had to save Blair that fate.
It was on Blair's sixth day there that the answer came to Spencer, right there in front of his face. He was in the torture room and Blair was hanging from the ceiling, trying valiantly not to cry out as they took the strap to his buttocks and legs. Spencer had been watching him, trying to will his friend strength, when the guard in front of him shifted, impatiently waiting his turn, and the most incongruous thing caught Spencer's eye. A paperclip, right there on the guy's pants pocket. Just half hanging out, barely visible, but there. And that flame in Spencer flared to life.
With the speed of thought he was famous for, Spencer built a plan, knowing he would have short time to implement it. He ran through it once in his mind and knew he had no more time to second guess it. It was now or never. If it didn't work, well, it had to work. It had to!
He took one steadying breath to prepare himself for the pain that was coming. Blair's pain filled cry echoed around him and Spencer took complete advantage of it. He reached forward and grabbed at the guy's hip, right at his pocket, and he jerked on him. "Please!" He cried out. "Please, stop! Please!" With one hand he grasped the paperclip, using his other hand to shield it. All the while he shook the man's hip like he was trying to yank him back.
Quick as a flash, the man spun and backhanded him, sending Spencer spinning into the wall. The young genius curled his hands in tight and fought to keep his footing. No one saw as one hand curled a little extra and a paperclip was shoved in the tight space between wrist and shackle. The guy reached out and grabbed Spencer's arm, yanking him back around, only to backhand him again. "Keep your fucking hands to yourself, you little bitch!" A knee came up, knocking him right in the groin, and Spencer instinctively doubled over. The collar around his neck caught him, jerking him back, and the nausea intensified. He twisted to the side and threw up the day's lunch even as his body tried to find a way to curl in on itself.
He heard the sounds of chains moving and someone talking but he couldn't understand their words over the ringing in his ears. Then his leash was being unhooked and he was jerked forward and thrown to the center of the room where he landed in a painful heap on the ground. The pain on his body actually worked to clear his head. It gave him back clarity in just enough time to hear the lead captor tell Blair "Since the little bitch wants to get grabby, we'll go ahead and give him a reminder of his place, and give you a preview of what you've got in store for you tomorrow, pretty thing."
Horror curled in Spencer's stomach. He knew what was coming. When hands grabbed his wrist chain and attached it to the ground, Spencer pulled deep inside his head. He knew what was going to happen and he did everything he could to hide from it. When the first pain ripped his body, he was far, far away in a place deep inside his mind where nothing hurt.
He came to lying on the floor of his cell with Blair right beside him. It was black around them. That was enough to tell Spencer that it had to be night. He felt one of Blair's hands stroking his hair and that was what had drawn him back to himself. None of his captors would be so kind. Try to rip his hair out, yes. Stroke it gently? Never. The gesture told him that he was safe once more. Or, as safe as they could be.
Something must've given him away because Blair's hand stilled for a second before stroking at his face. "Oh, Spencer." He breathed the words out like a soft prayer. "I wish you hadn't done that. You shouldn't have put yourself out like that."
Spencer didn't care. The aches in his body were nothing. He focused on one thing and one thing only. Curling his fingers in, he dug at his shackle. A quick probe showed him what he wanted. It was still there. His mouth stretched in a grin that couldn't be seen in the dark and he felt his lip split from the width of it. He didn't waste any time in starting to get up. "How long have they been gone?"
"At least an hour. Spencer, lay down. You're…you're badly hurt. They had to patch you up and give you some medicine."
There was a quaver there that told Spencer that the damage must really be bad. He didn't feel it, though. Adrenaline was filling him and it gave him the strength to push up to his feet. An hour, huh? That should be long enough for them to be well into their cups. Only once had their captors come down at night, but Spencer had heard them talk and he knew they liked to drink each night. If they were lucky, the guys would stay up there and get drunk and never notice what Spencer was doing.
A quick feel told him the part of the cell he was in. Spencer used the wall as a guide to bring himself to the front bars. Then he walked along those until he found the lock that held the door to their jail cell shut. He stopped once he found it and tried to get himself ready. It had been a long time since he'd picked any locks. But his fingers remembered the work, even if his mind didn't quite. His left hand was half numb, something that had been there for a while now, so it took him a bit to bend the paperclip and get it in the position he wanted. Finally he got it shaped just right. He gripped it tight in his hand and reached through the bars, his slender arms making it much easier than it once would've been.
Blair was coming up behind him, the sound of his feet and his chains actually making a nice cover as Spencer reached for the lock and slid the clip in. It scratched lightly as he closed his eyes, though it was just as dark with his eyes open, and he focused entirely on trying to feel what he was doing. Come on, come on! Please, please, let this work! If there is any deity out there listening, please, let this work. Let this work!
It was to his extreme shock when he heard the click that signified the lock disengaging. He heard Blair's near silent gasp and knew the man had heard the click too. His hand brushed Spencer's arm, letting him know he was there, and Spencer blessed that Blair wasn't just a civilian. He wasn't a full cop, but had partnered with a cop as an observer long enough that he wasn't just a civilian anymore. That meant that he had enough training to keep him calm. Right now, calm was what they needed. Getting the door open was only the first step. Getting out came next.
Spencer pushed at the door and it slid open. He almost gasped with relief. No, don't celebrate. Think, Spencer! You've planned this countless times early on. You planned what you'd do if you ever got the door open. Now, get you and him out of here! Then you can celebrate. Right. Right. He turned his head toward Blair and made his voice as soft as he could. "Between here and the torture room, there's that door on the left. Have you seen it?"
"Yes." Blair whispered.
"It's never locked. Sometimes, when we pass, I see light under it. I think there's a window in there. We get in there, we might be able to climb out and make for freedom."
Blair didn't even flinch at the plan. His hand brushed over Spencer's arm in silent agreement. Maybe it wasn't the best plan. However, it was their only plan. Now they just had to move as quietly as possible to avoid getting caught. To do that, Spencer whispered to Blair the only thing he could think to do. Neither man cared what it looked like or how odd it may have seemed. They didn't even think about it. They both simply bent and gathered the chain between their ankles and then, bent double that way, they shuffled forward with steps as silent as they could make them.
The walk down the hall was the longest one Spencer had ever made. His ears were constantly on alert, waiting for the sound that would signify someone coming. He kept a hand on the wall to guide him and his ears as alert as could be. Blair stayed right at his side, their arms brushing, keeping them connected. In the dark, they might lose one another.
When they finally reached the first door, Spencer's heart leapt, but he pushed the emotion back. They got through that door as silently as possible, Blair carefully shutting it behind them, and then they both turned to the other door. Not the one dead ahead that led to the torture room, but to the one on the left .There, in the dark, sat a thin strip of light. Just enough to tell them that some light was getting into the room. Judging by the color, Spencer thought it was moonlight.
They had no way of knowing what was on the other side of that door. No way of knowing if they were walking into trouble. In that dim light, the two looked at one another and they reached a mutual understanding. Death may have waited for them but it wasn't going to stop them. If there was any chance this could get them free, they would take it, and if they died, then at least they went down trying to live. With a nod between them, Spencer took a deep breath and reached out, opening the door.
What he found in there had him almost blowing their escape entirely. A shocked laugh wanted to slip out. He just barely managed to hold it in. It was a storage room. Storage! And what was stored were all of the things that belonged to the people they murdered. Clothes, backpacks, all of it. And on the far side of the room, above a table, was a window. A window with no bars. Spencer could've wept.
The minute the doors were closed, Blair went straight to the pile and started to sift with one hand, using the light to guide him. Spencer whispered "Look for my messenger bag. My cell might be in there. Or my gun." Then he took advantage of the brief pause to kneel down and see what he could do about Blair's ankle shackles. If he could get at least one of them free, then things would be much, much easier. To his joy, the locks gave easily. He'd forgotten just how easy it could be to pick a lock. He very carefully caught the shackles as they came off, making sure they made no sound.
"I got a phone." Blair whispered to him. "I don't know whose it is, but I found one."
"Don't turn it on yet." There was no telling what sounds it might make.
Spencer grabbed up shirts, knowing that they could put them on once they were far enough away to get the shackles off. Then the two made their way to the window. It was about chest level and it would take a bit of a boost to get out of. Spencer looked at it and his mind quickly made the calculations. There was no way they were going to get out this window without making some kind of noise. He looked quickly to Blair and made his decision. "I'm going to boost you out first. There's a very good chance they could hear our chains as we climb out. There's no way to muffle them. So at the first sign that someone's coming, I want you to run, do you hear me? You have the phone and your ankles are free. I need you to run. The minute you're in the forest, call 555-978-6137. That's Derek Morgan and he's my best friend and teammate. Tell him you're with me and to have Garcia trace the call. Say that we can't talk. Then, silence."
"I won't leave you here!" Blair hissed at him.
Spencer shook his head. "You have to." In the moonlight, he saw Blair start to protest again and he quickly cut him off with a low hiss. "Dammit, Blair, I'm going to save someone. Now, do as I say!"
The firm snap to Spencer's tone worked like nothing else had. He saw the slight jump Blair gave before the man spun to the window and wasted no more time. The two looked out, checking to make sure they were clear and free. All they could see outside were trees. From the looks of it, this was the back of the house and it bordered on a forest. How far outside Seattle had they gone? The only thought Spencer gave it was to bless the fact that the trees, which would make it harder to run, should be able to provide them adequate hiding until help could arrive. All they needed to do was get out there and make that phone call.
What came next felt like some of the slowest, most tense minutes that Spencer had ever lived through. He had thought the walk through the hall was agonizing in its fear. It was nothing compared to this. They were both so tense, terrified of being caught, as they got the window open. Then as Spencer helped to boost Blair up and the first rattle of chains came. The two froze, ears pricked to see if they'd been heard. When nothing came, they got Blair the rest of the way out. The man took a look around and made sure no one was coming before reaching back in for Spencer. Getting him out was a bit trickier without someone on the inside to boost him. Noisier, too. Spencer was sure the entire time he slid up, Blair yanking on his hands to pull him out, that the rattling of his chains was going to bring the men running. His heart was in his throat the entire time. Though he was not in the least bit a religious man, he found only one thought repeating over and over in his mind. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.
Then just when they thought they were free, just as they rose to their feet and started to make for the trees, someone came around the side of the building not even two feet away. Spencer saw who it was and he reacted without even giving himself a chance to think. He shoved at Blair and snapped "Run!" in the most authoritative voice he had. It was sharp enough to send Blair running for the trees. Spencer knew there was no way in hell his ankle shackles would allow him to run as well. That left one thing only for him to do—put up enough of a fight to prevent this man from going after Blair. With a hoarse cry, Spencer launched himself right at the man.
Spencer's beaten and weakened body should've made it no fight at all. It should've been easy to beat him. But he had adrenaline running through him and a determination that had almost been beaten out of him, until Blair arrived. All that determination, all the pain and rage that he'd built up while here, all of it came racing to the forefront and Spencer fought like he never had before. He used his chains to deliver a punishing blow to the man's face and he felt only satisfaction when he heard the crunch of his nose before the guy dropped to the ground. Spencer didn't hesitate to grab the gun and rise. The man looked up at him, sneering as best as he could through his broken nose. "Brave little bitch, aren't you?" He snarled out. "Don't think we won't get you. You and that little fucking bastard with you. We'll get you and I'm gonna enjoy carving you up slow, princess. I'll carve your friend up and when he's a bloody mess on the ground, I'll fuck you right there next to him before I kill you too. How about that…"
He never got to finish his sentence. Spencer stared at the man and knew that, if possible, he would deliver on every single threat. A chill ran down Spencer's body. He knew there was only one way this could go and he didn't hesitate. There was only this eerie sort of calm as he squeezed the trigger and watched that bullet go right into the man's forehead.
Almost instantly Spencer began to move. The gunshot would bring the others, he knew. As best as he could, he took off after Blair. He was only a few trees in when he heard movement to the side. Quickly he spun and was just a hair away from firing when he heard a rattle of chains. Oh, God! It wasn't one of the goons. It was Blair! Spencer rushed towards him, whispering "Blair!"
Blair burst from the trees and Spencer grinned widely at him, ready to both bless the man and curse him for not running ahead. Then something materialized over Blair's shoulder and Spencer saw only a face, but that was all he needed. He knew that face. For the second time tonight he lifted the gun in his hand and he fired, taking down another of his tormentors.
The sound of the gun had Blair dropping down into a crouch. He spun and saw the body behind him, eyes wide and horrified. Spencer didn't even blink. He rushed forward and grabbed Blair's arm, yanking him up. "Come on, we've got to move." He gave a tug and pulled Blair forward with him, the two taking off into the darkness. Two were down, two more still behind them. As they ran they could hear the two men racing through the trees. The things they shouted were chilling enough to make their prey run even faster. Spencer moved as quickly as his shackles allowed, cursing each time he tripped and almost fell. Blair's hand was always there, helping him back up, helping to keep him steady.
There was no way they were going to be able to run indefinitely. Up ahead Spencer saw a spot that maybe, just maybe, they might be safe in. It had to be better than this running. He didn't know if his body was going to be able to take much more. He'd already fallen twice now and stumbled countless others. Blair wasn't much better. Decision made, Spencer pointed to a break in the trees that showed the wall of a cliff going up. There, they could put their backs to the cliff, duck by those rocks, and watch around them and hide until help could get there. He could hear the running behind them coming ever closer and he hurried Blair over to their safety.
As soon as they were behind the rocks, Spencer put Blair behind him and crouched them down so that they were hidden as possible. He looked quickly back at Blair and asked "You make the call?"
"Yeah. They said thirty minutes, no more." Blair whispered back.
Thirty minutes. Shit. How long had they been out already? How long since Blair made the call? Almost as if reading his mind, Blair checked the phone in his hand and whispered "It's been twenty already. They should be here anytime, Spencer. We just need to hide a little more."
"Call them back." Something made noise towards the right and Spencer's eyes shot that way, watching carefully. "Call Morgan and find out how close. Tell them two suspects down but we're under cover with two more coming."
He ordered. He heard Blair pressing buttons and felt him crouch down even lower at Spencer's back. Most likely he was trying to muffle the sound. There was quiet and then the soft sound of Blair's voice whispering the words Spencer had given him.
That noise on the right came again and this time, Spencer saw the body to go with it. His eyes, so used to the darkness, had no problems seeing in this low moonlight that filtered through the forest. Spencer knew he wasn't the best shot, so he didn't take it right away. He let the man move closer through the trees, bringing himself ever closer to their hideout. The light glinted off the barrel of his gun and Spencer fought back a shudder. Then the guy turned and moved in another direction and Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief. He shouldn't have relaxed so soon.
There was barely any warning before someone burst from the trees on their left. Spencer spun and lifted his gun, but the man was already there and he swung a hand, knocking Spencer's gun away. That left the two with their captor facing them and he the only one with a gun. "On your feet, you little bitches." The man snarled out. That voice and that face froze Spencer's insides. It was the ringleader of this group of bastards; the one who got so much pleasure out of what they did. The one who had decreed that Spencer stay alive in this hell.
The man smirked at him when Spencer didn't move fast enough. He shifted the gun to point at Blair. "On your feet or I shoot him right fucking now."
There was no threat better aimed to get Spencer on his feet. With his body angled just right and a hand back to grip at Blair, Spencer rose to his feet, keeping Blair behind him the whole time. He had found the courage to do all this because of Blair. He was not going to sacrifice the man now. If one of them was going to get away from this, Spencer knew who it was going to be, and it wasn't him. He had seen too much, done too much. He found that he wasn't afraid to die here. But he'd be damned if he'd let this man beside him die. False bravado had Spencer tipping his chin up. "So, you caught us. Big deal. Back up's on the way and they'll be here shortly. This is done."
"It's not done until I say it's done!" With his free hand, the man pointed to the ground in front of him. "Get over here!" The way the gun shifted added the threat to that command. Spencer knew it was the same threat. Do this or Blair dies. Was there really any choice? The young genius walked shakily forward, ignoring Blair's hissed protest, until he stood right in front of the man, who smirked even more. "Good boy. For that, you get to live a little longer. Too bad for your bitch, though."
Spencer suddenly went cold and calm. He prayed the commanding voice he'd used to get Blair to obey before would work now as well. Hard and sharp, he snapped out "Duck!" and behind him he heard the rattle as Blair dropped down. At the same time, Spencer shot his hands out, knocking the gun off mark even as it fired, and he leapt. The two men hit the ground and Spencer sent his first fist flying, smashing right into the man's face. It took nothing for him to be overpowered and rolled over onto his back. The next few blows meant nothing. If there was anything Spencer had learned from this, it had been how to take pain. When a blow sent him curling up, his hands shot out to brace on the ground. He felt around, trying to find anything to help him. Anything.
His fingers closed over a thick branch, about the width of his wrist, and he wrapped his fingers tightly around it, took a steadying breath, and he swung. The first hit was to knock his captor off. The hits that came after, well… He knew he would never forget what he turned in to that cold night. It would be burned into his memory, the way he beat a man beyond death with a thick tree branch. And when he was dead, when he had long been dead, and Spencer's strength wouldn't allow him to lift the branch anymore, there was a pair of hands on him, pulling him away from the bloody mess. The only thing that kept Spencer from lashing out was that this was a touch he recognized from the past week. A touch he had felt in the pitch black countless times. He let Blair pull him away, let the man turn him away from the carnage.
It was only minutes later that Jim Ellison came through the trees. Off in the other direction, he heard the BAU team taking down the only remaining suspect. He had left that man to them; all his attention had been focused on following that familiar heartbeat, that particular scent that belonged only to Blair.
What the police detective found was a sight that would stick with him through many a night. There was a body, beaten so badly it was barely recognizable, and a few feet away crouched two figures wrapped in bruises, blood, shackles and collars. He knew that one curly head and he quickly moved forward. Blair's sharp blue eyes snapped up to him with a feral light so out of place there and Jim could see the instant that Blair realized who it was. Relief lit his whole face and his body seemed to slump just a bit against the man he held. Then he was smiling and murmuring to the man that was pressed cheek to cheek with him. "Hey, Spencer, Jim's here. Didn't I tell you he'd come? Didn't I tell you he'd find us?"
Spencer felt the tears start to fall as he heard Jim Ellison's voice speaking into his radio. "This is Jim Ellison. I've found Sandburg and Reid. Repeat, found Sandburg and Reid. I need medics immediately."
The tears came a little faster. It was over. It was finally over.