Warning: Contains (or shall contain) major ooc-ness and Sweets!whump. Sorry for any pain, horror or otherwise my writing may cause you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or any characters herein.

Booth's heels clicked against the hard, tiled floor. His pace was quick and his course planned; his steps taking him to a place where he had been so many times before. Usually it was a place that he enjoyed visiting, filled with people he enjoyed as friends. So, it was a bitter feeling that blossomed within him, when he realized that it would no longer hold that same meaning- not if he had to tell them, not if he had to tell them here.

'Stop that.' Booth commanded himself, his stride growing longer and longer. 'You don't have time to think, not on that.' Every part of Booth suggested otherwise, but he shook the thought off. It would not help him now, would not help his friends, his family. He would have to deal with this, get through this, and pull everyone else along with him, kicking and screaming. 'Let everything be fine,' he prayed for not the first time today, and then let himself come to a stop. He had reached his destination, and the stillness of the Jeffersonian was shattered when Booth threw open the lab doors.

Instantly, the staff was on him like a pack of wild dogs. Flurries of 'What happened?' and 'Oh god, is it true?' and even 'God damn it Booth! Give us a straight answer!' ricocheted off his federal issue jacket and onto the tiles below. The chairs where the team had obviously been waiting were overturned in their haste, and Booth could only stare at the abused furniture as he reached into his bag. He couldn't face the team, not now, not like this, so he fixed the upholstery in a dark gaze and upon finding the right folder, threw the papers down loudly on the table in front of him.

The team froze. Then, slowly they all came to stare at the documents bundled before them. The implication Booth made was clear, and, surprisingly, Hodgins was the first to sink back down and hesitantly, fumble the papers into his hands. Cam and Angela soon followed suit, one on either side of Hodgins, eyes focused on the obvious federal jargon before them. Booth made note of this; knowing full well that if his wife didn't already know the horrors of that folder, she would be down here with them, probably craning her neck over the three, trying to read. As it was now, Bones was up in her office, watching her phone and hoping-just hoping that the call would be made, that they could call this whole thing off. That call wasn't coming, so all Booth could do was stand and watch as the rest of the team glanced over the horrors that he hoped they would never have the encounter.

It was no surprise to Booth when the looks darkened, from pure worry to something else entirely. Hodgins' left hand clutched in a fist, his eyes hardening with anger that mirrored Booth's own when he first read the print. His other hand squeezed Angela's shoulder comfortingly, as her eyes had quickly begun to tear. On the other side of him, Booth watched as Cam's professional façade came tumbling down. The usual mask of dominance and understanding slipped, leaving a horrorstruck expression in its wake. If it had been any other situation, Booth would have laughed. The great Jeffersonian team, who had stayed strong through mass murders and angry serial killers and a fucking sniper who took down one of their own, brought down by six sheets of paper in a plastic binding. Absurd. Booth had read it though, seen the horrors written down there, and he understood. God, he more than understood. And as he watched them reread the lines, hoping to whatever-the-hell they believed in that they read it wrong, he prayed that they had. That they all had.

His prayers weren't answered. Angela is crying now, soft moans that are muffled by her hands, as she tries to get a grip on her emotions. Hodgins' hand rubs circles on her back, but Booth can see the angry tears that threaten to slip out and knows he is no less affected than she is. Cam is still rereading, scouring with that doctor-brain of hers, tallying up broken bones and bruises, trying to remain clinical in something she is just too invested in. Booth knows she's finding too much, and with every little tidbit of medical slur that is thrown in her face, her heart just keeps on breaking. There is no way to piece them back together either, nothing, except for the one person- one person who they need to come back. Their little family may never be the same without him.

He's there, teetering over that chasm of thought, when a voice brings him back to reality "This is all true?" Hodgin's voice is wavering. "That-that," and his voice breaks. His chest expands as he takes a breath, tears in his eyes threatening to fall. Booth watches his hands clench and unclench as he tries and fails to get his anger under control. "That monster did that to Sweets? Our Sweets?"

The agent feels himself nodding. Back on the couch, the entomologist stares, still processing the information, as his wife breaks into new sobs. Cam is the only one who seems to have composed herself, but Booth can still see the parent in her raging underneath her seemingly calm exterior. The pathologist has pulled the tattered remains of her professionalism across her face, to the point where someone who didn't know her would think she was unaffected by the news. That is, until her eyes widen and a soft gasp escapes her throat, coupled by a startled glance at Booth, who quietly understands why she chose to be affected now. Her brain has come to the only viable conclusion as to why he would have put them through this, and every part of her body is trying to tell her it couldn't be so. Booth can only brace himself for the question, yet he knows it will do no good. There is nothing that can prepare him for hearing that.

"You said Sweets was kidnapped." And both Angela's and Hodgins' heads snap up. "Was he… did….Was Sweets kidnapped by his father?" All heads turn to Booth, whose eyes are ringed with red. He opens his mouth once, twice, and then closes it with an audible snap. Shaking, his hand runs through his hair, pausing when it blocked their faces from view, a barrier between him and them. 'Get yourself together, Seeley.' His mind commands, and with an audible sigh he forces his hand away from his face. Beseeching looks have masked his teammates' faces, begging him to tell them wrong, for Sweets to jump out, laughing from behind them and tell them it was just some horrible joke. It hurts him that cannot give them that comfort.

"Yes."

And he watches as one word seals the fate of them all.