Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

All the thanks to Amber, Sam, and all the other squadders who looked over this for me.

WARNING - Psychological torture.

Written for the beautiful Sophie, for the Squadders Secret Santa. I hope you like it, love.

Inescapable

The biggest mistake a serial killer can make is let someone escape.

Regulus knew he was lucky to be alive, knew that it was more his good fortune than the self proclaimed Voldemort's mistake. He also knew that it was his own ignorance that had gotten him into the situation in the first place.

Everyone had heard of Voldemort. The mere name generated a fear in the students of the university, as they waited with baited breath for the monster to claim his latest victim. He'd named himself in taunting letters to both the police and the press, and the fact that the police still couldn't catch him was only exacerbating the fear.

The students were warned to travel in groups, to be in their homes or dorms before darkness fell, to never go out alone after dark.

Regulus ignored the warnings. He was swamped with work, barely having time to eat and sleep, never mind follow the news of the nutjob terrorising the campus. He knew the name, had heard it whispered as he passed by groups of students huddled together, but if asked, he wouldn't be able to tell that six people had been taken so far, nor would be be able to tell that he personally fit the 'type' of the victims perfectly.

As the clock ticked closer to ten, he huffed and puffed his way to the campus library. It would be closed, but he had a key, a perk of being a teacher's pet. He couldn't believe his own stupidity in forgetting the one book he needed to study to write his latest essay.

He'd almost made it to the library. Almost.

A sharp pain on the back of his head, and the world around him fell away as consciousness left him.

Regulus thought about that moment often. Unsurprising really, when that was the moment that began the never ending nightmare he lived.

Ten years on, and he could still remember the feeling of the knife running across his bare shoulders. He could still remember the high laugh that tormented him for days. He could still remember the promises of rewards for good behaviour, the promise of a quicker death if he screamed as loud as he could.

Of course, he'd known the moment Voldemort took off the shining silver mask he'd been wearing when Reg first awoke that he wouldn't be leaving alive.

He'd had therapy obviously. The police had been amazed that he'd managed to escape with bruises and cuts, but little other physical damage. Most of it had healed eventually, and he'd been left with only one scar.

Unfortunately, it was a scar that would forever define him as an almost victim of Voldemort.

The knife was so sharp; it took a few moments for the cuts to sting, even as he watched the blood bloom along the defined cuts. He tensed his hand, biting the inside of his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He wouldn't give the monster what he wanted, wouldn't beg and plead for him to stop.

Regulus watched as, with meticulous attention to detail, a snake was carved into his left forearm, worming its way out of the mouth of a skull.

A flash of memory told him that the papers had dubbed this as 'The Dark Mark' the mark Voldemort left on all of his victims.

He tried to pull away, hoping a sudden jerk of movement would dislodge the 'art', would ruin the mark that this monster seemed to proud of.

It didn't work. All it did was earn Regulus another punch to his already tender gut.

Over the years, Regulus had managed to hide his past rather well. He lived in long sleeves, even when the English weather decided to go against the grain and blossom beautiful summers. He kept his head down and got on with it, never getting close to people, never answering anything more personal than 'did you have a good weekend?'.

He managed it admirably; until Barty came along.

They worked together in the research labs of the hospital. Barty, an intelligent man a year older than Regulus, had been persistent in his quest to gain Regulus' friendship. He'd invited him for drinks, to dinner, and when that didn't work, insisted Regulus joined him for lunch whenever they worked on the same project.

Somehow, he'd managed to smash his way through every wall Regulus had raised against people, and within a year of meeting, Regulus didn't know how he'd ever got along without Barty.

Friendship slowly turned to romance, and it was then, when Barty finally convinced Regulus to stay the night at his flat, that Regulus thought it would all fall down. He'd developed a swarm of butterflies in his stomach, had broken out into an anxiety induced sweat, and felt faint as Barty tugged on his sleeve, trying to help him from his shirt.

Flashes of running flew through Regulus' mind, and he pulled away violently, almost collapsing onto the sofa.

The handcuffs holding him in place weren't locked properly. Regulus held himself stiffly, praying that he didn't do anything to alert Voldemort to it. He flinched, gasping when a well aimed kick had him doubling over.

"Time for you to rest now, Little Snake, but I'll be back soon."

He watched as Voldemort sauntered slowly out of the building where he was being held, heard the clanging of steel doors. Was it worth it, to try and run when he had no idea where he was? Was it worth the punishment if he was caught?

Pulling his wrist from the cuffs, he took a moment to rub the raw skin, flinching at the first touch. Standing on shaky legs, he made his way slowly to where Voldemort had walked, constantly looking around himself for any sign of the evil bastard waiting in the shadows.

The feeling of being watched was prickling at the back of his neck, but he forced himself onwards. Reaching the doors, he pulled against the heavy metal, thanking every deity he could think of that it opened.

It was unexpectedly bright outside, and Regulus blinked against the light, his eyes having got used to the darkness. Without waiting for his eyes to fully adjust, he moved away from the door, trying to get his bearings.

There was nobody in sight, and he jogged along a dirt track, wishing for cover, praying that Voldemort wouldn't return faster than expected. His whole body ached, but he forced himself to keep moving, to keep going, to put as much space between himself and the building he'd been held in as possible.

"Regulus? What is it? What's wrong?" Barty asked, his lips pulled down as he crouched in front of Regulus, a hand gently resting against Regulus' own.

Regulus shook his head, trying to breath in and out like his therapist had taught him long ago. Barty shifted, sitting beside him on the couch, a hesitant hand reaching out to help Regulus sit forward.

"Deep breaths, Reg. Come on baby, breathe with me," he murmured, taking even breaths himself to try and encourage Regulus to copy him.

When Regulus finally calmed himself down, he chanced a look at Barty, surprised to find only compassion on the handsome face.

"You must think I'm insane," he whispered, rubbing a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted.

"Of course not," Barty argued softly. "I think something bad has happened to you, and you got scared. If we're moving too fast, Reg… You know we don't have to do this yet? We don't have to do it ever. As long as I have you in my life…"

Regulus shook his head. How could this perfect man, this kind and compassion man, care so much about him? He didn't want to stop, he realised. He didn't want the mark on his arm to stop this good thing, this light in an otherwise horrible life.

Taking a deep breath he stripped away his shirt, holding his left arm out to Barty. Barty held him gently, and, after a moment, he raised Regulus' arm to kiss the skin at the bottom of the large scar.

"This tells me that you're so strong, Reg, and it tells me you're a survivor. It doesn't change who you are, not to me," he murmured, before pressing soft chapped lips against Regulus'. "It doesn't stop me loving you."

It was the first time those words had been said, and a single tear fell from Regulus eye, dropping unchecked onto his cheek.

Regulus wrapped himself around Barty, burying his face against his neck, inhaling the scent there.

"I love you too."

Life changed in small ways for Regulus after that. The biggest change was that, three or four nights a week, he didn't have to worry about nightmares. Wrapping himself around the comforting warmth of Barty stopped them in their tracks, and he slept the best he had since his escape.

He ate better, he smiled more, he grew more confident in his work with Barty by his side, always there, always encouraging.

He even smiled at strangers now.

Everything was going well.

Until he came home, to find DI Dawlish waiting in front of his flat, a sorrowful look on his face.

"Son? Son, can you hear me?"

Regulus flinched away from the voice, fear flooding him. He'd been caught, he'd been found, he was going to die -

"Regulus? I'm Officer Dawlish. You're safe, kid, you're in the hospital. Can you open your eyes?"

Blinking, Regulus opened his eyes to find himself in a stark white room. The police officer talking to him was standing next to the bed, and there were two other people in the room, a doctor and nurse, if their uniforms were anything to go on.

"You were found collapsed at the side of a main road, Regulus," the officer told him, probably reading the confusion from his face. "Can you tell us how you got there?"

Regulus flinched again, shaking his head.

"I know it's hard, son, but if you can tell us how you got there, we might be able to find the man who did this to you. It was the man who calls himself Voldemort, yes?"

"The cuffs," Regulus choked out. "He didn't fasten the cuffs. I got out, metal door, long dirt track. I ran for hours, until I couldn't anymore. He's going to come after me, isn't he? He's going to find me. He's going to kill me."

Panic was rising quickly in Regulus, and despite the officers best attempts to sooth him, he was eventually sedated into a restful sleep, afforded the privilege of forgetting, if only for a few hours.

"Regulus," DI Dawlish greeted him solemnly. "Can I come in? I need to talk to you about something privately."

Nodding automatically, Reg unlocked the door, leading the Detective Inspector up the stairs to his flat. Opening the second door, he held the door open for the man to proceed him into the living room. Hanging his coat and scarf up, he followed on.

"Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, a soft -" he broke off, the air leaving his lungs in one breath, leaving him gasping for breath. All the windows in the living room were wide open, and a silver mask lay innocently on the coffee table.

"No. No, no, nononono," he moaned, his hands reaching up to grasp at his hair, pulling harshly as he shook his head. "It's not real, it's not real, you're dreaming, it's not real."

"Regulus," Dawlish said, his voice soft yet authoritative. "Come and sit down. This is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Hands guided him to the couch, and he sat down, his head falling forward as he practised his breathing.

"There was a murder," Dawlish said, once Regulus was calmer, and sipping at a glass of cold water. "The MO was the same as those from Voldemort, including the mark on the arm."

"Voldemort is in jail," Regulus whimpered. "For life. You swore, he'd never get out."

"And he hasn't. We checked immediately, and he's still in the high security prison; there hasn't been any activity out of the ordinary, Regulus. It's not him."

Eyes fixed on the mask, Regulus swallowed hard. "It is," he whispered. "Why else would that be here?"

Dawlish shook his head. "Regulus, listen to me. The man who called himself Voldemort is still in prison. He hasn't escaped. I don't know how this copycat has gotten hold of the mask or your identity, but it could have been someone who knew Riddle before, someone who knew what he was doing. It could be a fan of his. There are some sick people in the world."

Riddle. The name made Regulus shiver. He'd never understood why the man's real name left him with more fear than his self styled killer name, but he'd never been able to hear the name Tom without his stomach turning to stone.

"I can't do this again," Regulus said quietly.

"We'll catch him," Dawlish murmured. "I know this will be hard for you, but can you look at some pictures for me? Of the victim?"

"Why?"

"She worked in a coffee shop near your work, I want to know if you know her. And also… the mark Reg. I want you to look at the mark. If anyone can see a difference, it will be you."

Not seeing any other option, Regulus nodded, glancing over the file Dawlish lay out on the table. The pictures were horrifying, the obvious torture sickening to look at.

"I know her," Regulus whispered. "She works… worked in my regular coffee shop. She's… was lovely."

Dawlish nodded as though he suspected as much, holding out a picture of the mark carved into her arm. Regulus looked at it carefully, horror filling him up.

"It's perfect," he whispered. "Absolutely perfect."

Taking the picture back, Dawlish closed the file.

"I'm going to call for an evidence team to come and look around the flat, see if we can pick up any prints. If there anyone who comes here often?"

"Just Barty," Regulus replied, curling in on himself on the couch. "Just Barty."

"He's…?"

"My boyfriend."

"Do you want me to call him, have him come and pick you up? You shouldn't stay here at the moment, especially not alone," Dawlish offered.

Regulus nodded, before he put his face in his arms, shielding himself from the world and wishing that the childish proverb of 'if I can't see you, you can't see me' would come true.

"Reg?"

Arms wrapped around him, and Regulus tensed for a moment before the familiar scent of Barty surrounded him and he relaxed into the warm embrace.

"Barty," he whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "I can't… I can't do it, Barty. I can't do it again."

"You don't have to baby," Barty murmured, pressing soft kisses to his hair. "You're not alone, Reg. I'm here, I'll look after you."

"I think it best Regulus doesn't stay here for time being," DI Dawlish said softly, and Regulus felt Barty nod, his arms tightening slightly.

"Of course. He can come and stay with me," Barty said immediately, dropping another kiss to Regulus' head. "I've been telling him to move in with me for weeks anyway, he spends more time at mine than he does here."

People hustled around them when the evidence squad arrived, and Barty left Reg on the couch while he went to pack him a bag of clothes and necessities. Reg could hear him talking quietly to DI Dawlish, but he'd tuned out.

He just wanted to go to sleep and stay there until this had all gone away. He didn't move until prompted, letting Barty lead him from the flat into a taxi, and then from the taxi into Barty's home.

He was ushered into a warm bath, relieved when Barty didn't leave him alone, instead sitting on the edge of the bath and running soothing hands through Regulus' hair, rubbing the shampoo and conditioner into every strand.

He even helped Regulus dry and dress, wrapping him up in the slightly too big dressing gown that Regulus always admired him wearing.

Fear still coursing through him, Regulus felt safer when he was once more wrapped in Barty's warm arms.

Barty held him close, rocking him slowly in his arms.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," Regulus whispered, barely audible with his face buried in Barty's chest.

"Like what?" Barty asked, a small frown on his face.

"Like this," Regulus reiterated, tightening his grip on Barty's shirt. "A mess. I'm clinging to you so much, you have to be getting tired of my meltdowns. You deserve someone strong and whole and I'm… anything but. You shouldn't have to deal with me."

Barty shook his head forcefully, his own arms tightening reflexively. "We'll get through this together, Reg," he murmured, pressing chapped lips to soft hair. "I love you; I want to help you. I want to protect you."

Regulus let out a choked sob, burying his face further into Barty, as though he was trying to burrow all the way inside him. Barty just held him tight, until he'd cried himself into exhaustion.

"Come on, baby, let's get you to bed," he murmured, helping the shorter man up. He led him to the bedroom, settling him under the covers. Sitting beside him, he stroked the hair from Regulus' forehead.

"You're not going to sleep?" Regulus asked, raising his hand to shield a yawn.

"Not yet. I've a bit of work to do, but I'll be just in the living room if you need me, okay?"

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

Barty smiled. "Of course.

Feeling more secure in Barty's home, it didn't take Regulus long to fall into a deep sleep. Barty moved away from the bed slowly, perching himself on the edge of the dresser to watch his boyfriend sleep. Regulus had his face pressed into Barty's pillow, inhaling the scent there, and he was still wrapped up in Barty's dressing gown.

Barty felt a stab of guilt but he shoved it down hard, unwilling to disrupt his plans over guilt that he shouldn't be feeling. He needed Regulus, and now, Regulus needed him too.

Tiptoeing across the room, he placed a shining silver mask on the bedside table, identical to the drawing that he'd found online, where Regulus would see it when he first awoke. From his wardrobe, he withdrew a knife, carefully wiping away the prints before he left it on the spare pillow on the bed.

With a glance at Regulus, he shifted over to the window, opening it quietly to let the cold air into the room. The breeze made him shiver, the winter air uncomfortable against his skin. Leaving the room, he quickly made his way to the living room, arranging his books carefully around the sofa.

He didn't think Regulus would notice, but there was no point taking chances at this point. After this, he wouldn't have to do anything for a while. Regulus' own imagination and paranoia would keep him needy and reliant, and Barty would, of course, be there to look after him.

It wasn't like he was doing any harm - well, no physical harm anyway, and he'd be there to help Regulus afterwards, so he wasn't really causing any permanent damage.

He felt bad about the girl; but she was a means to an end, and beyond that, Barty hadn't liked the way she'd smiled at Regulus. He could see the lust in her eyes whenever they stopped by the shop for coffee, could see it the way she'd flicked her hair more whenever Regulus was nearby, the way she ignored Barty completely in favour of asking Regulus about his day.

She really should have left him well alone. Regulus was his, after all.

He was doing the best thing for them; he was keeping them together. He settled onto the sofa, a book on his lap, opened to a random page.

All he could do now was wait.