AN: I'm so so so so so sorry. This chapter was really hard to write and school has been kicking my ass. I'm going to try to post the next chapter tomorrow but I can't promise you. Good news is there's only three or four chapters left! Then I'll write some more stuff, I have a lot of ideas.

CHAPTER WARNING: IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT. NONE of it is graphic. NONE of it is explicit. It is IMPLIED, but if it makes you uncomfortable please read at your own volition! This chapter is very important, so if you can, I suggest you read it.

Thank you for sticking with me!

It was a curious and terrifying sensation.

Shawn had never experimented himself - he didn't need to be more aware of his surroundings than he already was, and it terrified him when his mind was muddled with something more than alcohol - and now he was wondering exactly how anyone could find the sensation of meth messing with their body pleasurable.

It was too hot, way too hot.

He couldn't stop from twitching. He wanted to move; that must be why he was called speed. A good part was that he no longer felt the desperate craving of hunger, but then again he also knew that was a bad thing because although he couldn't feel it his body desperately needed sustenance. He couldn't stop his eyes from darting around the room, noticing insignificant things like the pattern in the dust on the floor next to that guy's left knee, which looked like a German Sheppard, or the scratches on the wall on the other side of the room, which looked like someone had nearly torn their nails off trying to dig through the dirt. But his mind couldn't make sense of what he was seeing and so it pounded its unhappiness and drew a desperate groan. No, this was not pleasurable at all.

Sure, there was an initial rush that felt like he was floating above the ground, and a nauseating euphoria that made him question his own consciousness, but then the deep seated heat settled in and his heart began to drum his displeasure against his painfully (though not as painful anymore) aching ribs. His eyes blurred as sweat dripped down into them.

He could feel hot lips dragging against his skin but it didn't matter because at the moment he was fighting to drag in breath. His heart beat against his throat and tried to force the air back out of his lungs. He could hear Spencer wailing and thrashing, too loud, much too loud, a sharp sound that drove into his skull like a knife, and he wanted to stop it but he couldn't. He couldn't even seem to remember what was going on around him except that he was slightly panicked and slightly happy. The needle-mark itched and his body twitched spasmodically as he moaned and laughed and whimpered. Nothing was doing what he wanted it to. Could he even move of his own volition anymore? Could he even think clearly enough to try?

Reid was distraught.

Meth was not the same as heroin. In fact, it was almost the exact opposite. The only thing that was the same was how they made him see things he didn't want to.

Dilaudid had made him feel slow and pleasantly sleepy. Meth made him feel twitchy and he could feel his blood pressure rise. The feeling of a foreign substance entering his veins made him panicky. The high that came almost immediately after didn't get rid of that feeling. The heat and pounding heartbeat that came after that only made it increase.

He had too move. He had to get rid of this heat, he had to slow his heartbeat, but he had to move. He couldn't stop twitching, thrashing, screaming at the hallucinations to go away. His voice sounded far too loud to his own ears. His mind was working faster than ever and he couldn't even comprehend what he was taking in, what he was thinking. He could hear the sickening sound of skin against skin and vaguely knew what was happening but wasn't in control enough to process it. He could hear someone yelling at him and thought they were yelling at him, but he wasn't sure. At the moment, all he was thinking was Shakespeare: his brain had decided of its own volition to recite every play and sonnet he had ever read in chronological order of when they'd been written word for word... at about, let's say, 20,000 words a minute. Which, while reading that fast was fine, reciting that fast was much too fast, and he wailed his displeasure, trying to drown out his own droning mind. He was on sonnet 34 when he felt his neck snap to the side and his racing mind focused instead on the sickening crack the hit had made against his face, and the terrifying sound of metal sliding against leather, and the agonizing feeling of choking.

His eyes raced up and around but didn't focus on anything. He could feel too-hot tears streaming down his reddened face and desperately wanted them to stop, wanted the meth to stop, wanted the humiliation to stop. Perhaps a saving grace was that he was too drugged up to really comprehend what was happening, thrashing and coughing desperately. His mind continued with sonnet 35.

Shawn was in no pain now, and he thought that was a bad sign but really he couldn't remember right now because he was busy counting the knots in the wooden braces that held up the ceiling. He wasn't sure why but he thought it was important, and there were no hats here to count. But he knew there was something wrong, his body felt strange and heavy, and so he lifted his arms and kicked his legs, connecting with something that grabbed his wrists and held him. Aliens was the first thought that came to his mind, and he started to panic before laughing hysterically at what Gus' reaction would be to him being abducted by aliens. Yes, that explained the probing, aliens definitely explained it.

But even if this was an alien he was not the kind of person to go down without a fight. His father simply hadn't raised him that way. He kicked and bit and screeched angrily, fighting the faceless alien, because he couldn't seem to focus on the alien for more than a few seconds, though he thought it looked vaguely human. Spencer's yelling had stopped and he forgot for several long minutes that they had been abducted together, so he looked over and saw another alien attacking the young doctor. Now he really had to get free! He couldn't let them hurt Spencer, the young man was too kind, too innocent.

But his mind must've been moving too fast, or two slow, because the next thing he comprehended was absolute, mind-numbing darkness. And it was such a relief. The darkness felt so good against his eyes, within his head, cooling his far too hot body. He couldn't hold back the contented sigh at the silence and the darkness.

But he could hear Spencer sobbing and shifting, and that made him very sad, and very, very angry. He stood - his back and legs ached from the damn probing, he would make those aliens pay.

"Spencer." He winced harshly at his own voice. It was too loud, stabbing into his head, even at the whisper he had spoken in. He tried to lower it more. "Spencer, please. Did they hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I couldn't breathe!" Spencer sobbed, his voice equally quiet. "I couldn't breathe Shawn! H-He- His- In my thr-oat-" Reid raised his hands to his mouth, stifling himself, because his ears couldn't take anymore of his own wailing.

"It's okay," Shawn said angrily, swaying. "I'm going to get you out of here." He could feel hot, sickening rage pooling in his stomach as he carefully headed over to a different corner of the room where his inventory told him there was a small, rusted, bent nail. He picked it up, going back over to Spencer, who was attempting to stop crying.

His heart sank as he realized the chains were not handcuffs, as he expected them to be. Instead, they were metal that had been bolted together tightly around Reid's wrists and neck, and would be impossible to remove without tools. Both of them flinched and looked up as they heard a helicopter slowly pass overhead. Hope filled Reid.

"They're looking!" he whispered. "They're looking for us!"

"There's hundreds of cabins though. They won't find us. We have to contact them." He glanced around nervously, listening closely. There wasn't any noise upstairs, but that didn't mean anything. "I'm... I'm going to pick the lock on the door. I'll call them, I'll call help. And I'll be back. I can't get you out of those." Spencer nodded diplomatically.

"Don't get caught. I think the drug is finally wearing off and... And I'm s-scared to be like that again." Shawn shuddered, identifying with the feeling, and nodded before creeping up the stairs.

"I have helicopters searching the cabins for signs of activity," Karen Vick stated as she entered the conference room. "That doesn't mean they'll find anything, but I have to do something." Hotch nodded, focusing intensely. Morgan, Rossi and Prentiss were bouncing around profile ideas. Everyone jumped when Juliet ran in, practically shouting, Lassiter following after her with a bewildered expression.

"I've got it!" she cried before slamming her hands down on the table. "I've got it! It's the drugs, that's the missing piece. We're all forgetting that!"

"O'Hara, calm down. Talk to us," Lassiter said calmly, though his voice was tinged with urgency.

"It's the meth," she responded, looking Hotch straight in the eye. "You said there's someone in the department, right? Well, what if this isn't related to drug activity at all!"

"The gang unit?" Lassiter asked slowly, finally getting on the same page. "McNab!" he shouted out the door, and the rookie came running eagerly, his eyes tinged red from crying. "Check to see if any of the confiscated drugs from the gang unit are missing from lockup. Keep it on the down-low."

Juliet was still staring straight at Hotch, not breaking eye contact. "Sir, we should check cabins with those that have been rented to the people in the gang unit or those suspected of being related to drug activity." But Morgan was already on the phone, relaying the information hurriedly to Garcia.

Vick was proud of O'Hara. But the girl still looked anxious, biting her lip - she supposed that was understandable. Everyone looked up as the conference room telephone rang, and Hotch and Rossi shared a look. Rossi reached out and pressed the speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God," Shawn breathed, nearly sobbing. His legs were trembling so much he was sure he would collapse, and he didn't want to cause noise, so instead he sank to the floor. That small action combined with the relief of contact made him burst into tears. "I didn't- I didn't think there would be reception- I-"

"Shawn!" Juliet nearly screamed, stepping closer to the phone. "Shawn, where are you?!"

"Spencer, are you alright?" Lassiter asked with something that was almost concern. Hotch held up a hand, trying to keep them from panicking the man.

"I don't know when they'll be back... Ambulances, w-we'll- Spencer needs an ambulance, I think I p-probably do t-too-"

"You think?" Prentiss was concerned.

"I don't know, I don't know. I can't feel it right now. Shhh, shut up, I- I don't know where they are. Like, ten minutes ago we heard a helicopter. P-Please... We're in the mountains somewhere. I haven't heard any cars. I c-can't get Spencer out, I t-tried-" He broke down again, trying to stifle his sobs as reality was coming back to him much quicker than it had left. "Please... Before they come back, don't let them touch us again. It's Bernard, Agent Bernard... Y-you gotta stop him, man, he hates me, h-he might kill Spence-"

"Calm down, we're on our way," Rossi soothed as Hotch whirled into action. "How bad is Reid hurt?" Shawn tried to get his breathing under control as his ribs were starting to ache again, sniffling.

"Not too bad. He was beaten on the way here and he..." His eyes widened as his mind began to whirl. "Oh God, he said that... no way..."

"What, what's wrong?" Rossi tried to stall his fluttering heart.

"Bernard... Bernard-"

"What the fuck?" Shawn couldn't help but jump as the harsh voice shouted behind him. He turned to see his still-unnamed assailant and his body began to involuntarily tremble. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'm- I-" For once he had nothing to say. His mind was completely frozen. He was terrified. He could hear Agent Rossi yelling on the other end of the line.

"Do you want them to hear you that badly?! Fine!" Bernard, Adam, whoever he was, entered behind the man, and his face looked murderous. Shawn was too scared to even move as they hauled him to his feet and dragged him back downstairs, the phone still clutched in his hand. Spencer was screaming at them, cussing and thrashing, and he could make out Juliet's voice through the phone.

But there was pain. Indescribable, tearing pain, and he couldn't stop himself from screaming anymore. He screeched and begged while Adam held him harshly and hands pulled his hair and lips roamed. "Stop it! Please stop it! Make them stop! Oh God!"

Humiliation was washed away by the tears and pain. He could hear Spencer begging too, crying along with him, and he hated it. He wanted to be saved. He had done everything right, he had called for help - twice now - he hadn't provoked them, he hadn't lost control.

They would still be too late. They would still find them dead.

And he cried.