Hey :)

Chapter 3. This is going slow Im starting to realize that. Probably cause two chapters here are what should just be one. Sorry about that in advance, I will try to move this along faster in the future.

Thanks for reviewing everybody. I heart you :))

Of course he didn't tell Carlos the whole story. Not even close.

It would have been stupid and pointless. Seth knew that no matter where he would go in his life from now on -no one else would ever believe that story. They'd sooner lock him into a mental institution.

On top of that, Carlos wasn't someone he trusted per se. An acquaintance that went way back, yes, but that meant little to nothing in his world, except maybe that the man was just as crooked as he.

No. He knew where he was at here and it wasn't among friends. Especially not with all those other thugs and low lives hanging around and a bounty on his head. He wouldn't be able to relax with any of them around -but he'd had nowhere better to go so there hadn't been a choice. He would just have to be careful, stay alert.

Normally, he and Richie would have kept wake in shifts in a case like this. As it was, he was alone.

It was almost frightening how easy it was to go back to his old routine despite that fact, even with the glaring gap of Richie by his side, having his back. He acted like he always did. No-nonsense attitude but good company nonetheless, just enough that the man didn't notice how concerned he was about always having a wall in his back, or how often his eyes flickered to the night sky, and then back to the house, to where the kid was.

No matter how exhausted and beat and rattled he really felt, this was no place to show that kind of weakness. So he stayed calm on the outside and told the man as much as necessary between old drinking stories, downing liquor with him until he felt pleasantly numb. Not drunk of course, as much as he might have wanted to. He couldn't afford that.

In the end, Carlos only found out that he'd run into trouble in some bar, that Richie was dead and that he needed the kidnapped FBI agent in the house alive and well, that he wouldn't cause any trouble like running or alerting the cops to this place. He didn't elaborate on the reasons, simply letting Carlos assume what he would. His own safety was all the man would really care about in the end anyway. He knew that normally he wouldn't have allowed him to stay here under those circumstances –too risky if the police was searching the area- but apparently he was at least somewhat convincing in his promises and, well, Carlos did owe him. Big time.

Although his nerves were wearing thin, he kept the conversation shallow until finally the doctor showed up. Then he watched the nervous old guy fuss over the kid with a rusty stethoscope and swabbing alcohol, his scowl deepening with every second once he realized that the doctor wasn't paying much attention to the fever, more concerned with the wild array of scratches and bruises he was being presented with. While he was working he kept shaking his head, murmuring into his beard as he touched discolored skin and abrasions carefully. In between he kept stealing reproachful glaces at Seth.

Seth stared down at the bed motionlessly, seeing what the doctor was seeing and finally unable to keep memories from flashing in front of his eyes.

'Please, Seth, stop-' Another wince as his fingers dug into fair skin with too much force, a pain filled gasp, frightened eyes… 'Let go, please…'

Richard's fingers, sharp claws tearing open that same skin, Spencer, screaming…

He shook his head harshly. Not now.

It didn't help. Suddenly, it was too much.

"Out," he rasped.

He needed to be alone, didn't want that man here. He didn't need someone to tell him how things looked, how guilty he looked, or was. He barely waited until the doctor had patched up the worst before he threw him out without another word. Carlos looked mildly put off but didn't protest.

He waited till the door was closed then he shrugged, indifferent, "Forget him, eh? Ain't like he hasn't seen worse running with us. He's not gonna say anything." He scratched behind his ear, quiet for a moment. "Now, Seth, I hate to bring this up again, but ya know, I can't have this boy running around the neighborhood, drawing attention-"

"Does he look like hes gonna go anywhere anytime soon?" Seth snapped, irate.

Carlos grimaced, undeterred, "Ya know what I mean. Whatever you want him for, I don't care, man, but here, lemme sleep a little calmer tonight, alright?" With that he walked over the bed and half crawled under it before Seth could even think about stopping him. When he came back out he was holding a bundle of thick rope in his hand. He got to his feet and pushed it into Seth's hand. "Here ya go. Just in case, eh?"

Seth stared at the rope in his hand with a blank face, unmoving for almost a minute. His fingers clenched around it as he glanced over at the bed, his jaw tightening. "I'll see you tomorrow," he finally got out from behind clenched teeth. He didn't look up again, just waited until Carlos finally took the hint and left the room.

The second the door clicked shut, Seth all but rushed over to it, locking it from the inside. Then he sank against it, his forehead pressed against the thick wood, his hand balled to a fist against its surface. Keeping a frustrated scream inside, he threw his arm back, wanting to smash his fist into the wood. In the last second he stopped himself, instead throwing the rope in his hand across the room with all his strength.

Then he sank back against the door and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Just breathing for a small fraction of forever, one hand clutching the door knob, the other the gun at his waist. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He tried to fight the sudden swell of rage mixed with panic, of sheer misery coming up, but it was filling his chest, cutting off his air-

-fine. You're fine. Calm down.

He couldn't. It was too hard to keep control anymore suddenly, to keep focus, to keep the disturbing memories off the forefront of his brain. It was all back suddenly, all merciful numbness gone in an instant.

The sound of impact as he pistol whipped the kid in the bank, seeing him being thrown to the ground, blood on his temple, his face first crunched up in pain, then in fear as he dragged him to his feet, pressed the gun to his throat and roughly tied his hands with duct tape...weak hands pushing at his as he let handcuffs snap shut around a thin wrist...

He was suddenly sure he was going to be sick. Motionlessly he stared straight ahead, to where the rope was lying. He wanted to feel outraged at Carlos' suggestion -but what else had he done so far? Coersion, blackmailing, outright bullying and terror. That was it. The extent of the relationship he had with the one person-

And now to make everything worse, he had dragged the kid here, into more danger, into the house of someone who wouldn't bat an eyelash if he never saw him leave said house alive again, who explicitly expected him to suffer more and didn't even care. He stared at the rope. There were stains on it, brown like dried blood...

Nothing was fine. How could anything be fine…?

It took forever before he thought he could move safely. Only then did he drag himself over to the bed, sinking down at the edge of it with much too heavy legs. Spencer remained motionless, oblivious, his breaths so flat that they were almost inaudible. In the grey light around them, he looked even paler than he had that morning, unsettlingly small and lost under the blankets.

Unable to stop himself, Seth found himself staring at the marks of abuse that the doctor had fussed over. They stood out in stark contrast to his skin, glaring reminders of what he'd done. He could account for them all. Inflicted by Richard, thugs, vampires, and him, but every single one caused by his actions.

The sight wiped away his last wall of defense, all blissful numbness definitely gone now. It felt like every nerve in his body was suddenly being lacerated. His hands clenched in the bed sheets as he stared at the kid with pain in his eyes and chest. God, what had he done. Never, never in his life had he felt emotions this intense for anyone who wasn't his family, never had he cared about anyone…and then, once he had, what had he done? This was the result of his infatuation, his obsession…

Unsteadily he reached up, tracing the outline of a cheekbone darkened by his very hand only days ago…

How had he ever managed to delude himself into thinking that what had happened between them in that bathroom would change any of this? What he had done back there was so much worse than the visible bruises even… His mind flashed back to Spencer, face flushed with heat and wet with tears as he tried to catch his breath, fingers digging into Seth's shoulders without him knowing if they were pushing or pulling…

He hadn't asked him for consent –not that the kid would have really been able to give any in his state- not after that first moment. It probably wouldn't have mattered if he'd said no verbally. After all, he'd known all throughout that the answer would be no, always no, if it weren't for the circumstances. It hadn't mattered. He had been unable to stop himself, almost as out of it as Spencer was, reason buried somewhere alongside his brother. He had just taken and taken, not thinking about the damage he was doing, just about what he needed-

He let himself sink forward until his forehead was resting on the covers, his burning eyes pressed closed tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness, "I didn't… shit. I know it means shit, kid, but I am. Wake up. You can wake up, I promise I won't…not anym-"

He broke off mid sentence. How often had he sworn to himself that he wouldn't hurt him any more? And in the end he still had. It was easy right now to mean it, with Spencer looking like this…so injured and helpless… But hadn't he also looked like that down in that bathroom? Of course he had, and still it had just overcome him-

He had to let Spencer go. He had to. If not he would only keep hurting him, and hurting him, and hurting him. He knew he would if he wasn't stopped.

He swallowed hard, fists clenching in the sheets. He'd told himself what he needed to do before, earlier in the car even, but he realized now that he hadn't meant it, hadn't really considered letting Spencer leave his side. Even now, as he was for the first time entirely aware of what he had done, there was still a small part inside of him that simply didn't care, that would result to using any means to tie the kid to him...in any way...

It would be so easy...in time he might just understand, might accept-

God...no...

He pushed himself upright hastily, suddenly not even daring to be touching the young man. How fucking sick was he?

It was all too much, the pain, the fatigue and sleep deprivation, the obvious trauma, the vampires, Richie, now this...

He sank down till he was sitting on the floor leaning against the bed frame. There he simply sat staring into the dark. There was no sleeping with all of it still so fresh in his head, every sound, every impression blazing on his mind, engrained into his body in such a way that every creak made his fingers clench around his gun.

He didn't try to sleep.

He just waited. For what he didn't know. For the kid to wake up, for someone to burst into that door, for it all to be gone with the next blink maybe. For an answer to what he was supposed to do come morning possibly. For it all to become less of a nightmare maybe.

None of that happened of course.

He was still sitting there when the light of dawn came creeping into the room through the crack under the door.

Turning his head he saw that Spencer still hadn't woken up. He didn't know if he was dismayed or relieved. He wanted the kid to get better…but he wouldn't know how to react, what to do...worse, he was scared of his reaction once he woke up. He would want to leave. The thought of him gone-

Before he could think any further, Seth got to his feet and left the room quickly, suddenly desperate for a shower.

If he hurried he'd make it back before anyone else woke, avoiding all risk.

He locked the door behind him anyway, just in case. For safety reasons.

If only that were all.

xxx

Spencer didn't wake up during the next five hours.

Later, Seth wouldn't be sure what he had been doing between staring into space and staring at the kid, trapped in his sleep-deprived mind to a point where he couldn't even separate his thoughts, or determine what in particular they were about. It was all a whirl of images and tangled emotions, a trance-like state with phases of anger, pain, grief, and depression as he thought about his situation, and lastly blissful numbness all rolled into one.

After noon, he finally made himself snap out of it and leave the room –if only to make sure that Carlos hadn't been up to any shenanigans and to get a better impression of the other people hanging around the house.

They were the usual crowd, everybody in too deep to be able to afford meddling with the others' business. He played a quick game of cards with them when they offered, listening to the radio instead of really paying attention to the game. They didn't even look up when the news reporter came on, informing America that two of its most notorious criminals had been killed under yet unknown circumstances, having taken seven law enforcement officers with them.

After a while he got up, fished a bottle of whiskey out of Carlos' stash, went onto the porch and drank to his own death. Even to him it was pathetic, sad and pointless…just like his life had been. And how it would be from now on. In a way it was fitting. In a way he was dead. A dead man walking.

He thought about just downing the bottle while he was at it, to act as somber as he felt and wallow, maybe break something. Several somethings. Smash something in until he started feeling better or until the booze started to take effect and it all went away. probably the latter.

He didn't for one reason and one reason only. Spencer would leave him, yes. But he wouldn't leave Spencer here alone, not in his state, not in this house. If there was one -good- thing left he cared about, it was that.

When Spencer woke up, it probably wouldn't be the best idea to be drunk. He would need a hell of a lot more self-control than he had already to do what he needed to do. After wards…when it was all over, when he was truly alone, finished, without a goal left, then he could do whatever he wanted.

As he stared at the bottle, those depressing thoughts swirling in his head, interrupted by other, more hopeful ones that he did his best to suppress because they all included the kid staying -he realized that it was probably best not to go back into the room right away. There was probably only so much staring at the kid he'd be able to take.

He didn't want to go sit with the other men again though, so in lack of an alternative he went to check on the car and sort through everything he'd taken with him from the parking lot by the bar. It seemed utterly pointless considering everything but maybe it would take his mind off of things...

It was about an hour of sitting in the car and going through the maps and documents he'd found with the BAU agents' things before he managed to calm himself down to a near normal level.

He was just reading through a case file that had his and Richie's name on it, lost in the reports in it, when a sudden commotion inside the house made him jump in startlement.

His head snapped up, his eyes fixated on the house. That noise…familiar voice…

It took him another split second to realize he hadn't locked the door to Spencer's room.

Okay that was it with the inner monolouges I swear. Next chapter is Spencer waking up. I still dont know how to go about that though so im afraid the next chapter may take a little longer to write. Sit tight :)