A/N: Happy New Year's guys! Here's to a fantastic 2015 full of happiness and love! And of course, new episodes of awesome shows. Also, there'll be some actual "/comfort" stuff starting next chapter, promise! :)

Reviews are so lovely and so very appreciated, as always!

WARNINGS: Implied/threatened non-con (past), and some pretty terrible physical abuse.

xxx

"The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it."

― Albert Einstein

14.

10 Minutes Earlier

"Wyatt, this is wrong."

After pacing nonstop for the entire time he'd been back inside the house, waiting for either police sirens or Jeremy to return with that piece of shit, Wyatt finally stopped and glared at his brother, who was still secured to the chair.

Brown looked regretful immediately. "You...you know it's wrong."

"Are you patronizing me?"

"No!"

"It sounds like it!"

"I'm not, I'm not." Brown shook his head, shrugging helplessly. "Wyatt..."

"What?"

Brown cringed at the sudden shout and then lowered his head. "Nothing," he mumbled, and Wyatt walked over to him and cupped a hand under his chin, bringing the other's eyes up to meet his again. "What?"

"Nothing." He tried to move his head back, but Wyatt held it in place, giving him a tiny smile. "You could have gone to the police the second you saw me with him, two years ago, but did you?"

"N-no."

"That's right." Wyatt released the other and turned around, satisfied when he heard Brown suck in a quick, shaky breath and choke back something that might have been a cry. Wyatt knew he remembered, that day when he had come to drop off some things Wyatt had asked for, without question, as always—even a pair of professional handcuffs. Hell, if Wyatt had asked for a gun instead of buying it himself, his brother would have given it to him. He knew that.

And unfortunately, Brown knew that too. He would do anything and everything for Wyatt, and it sometimes disgusted him. Especially when he thought about what he had just done, or what he hadn't done the afternoon he had seen what he had been trying to ignore and forget ever since. It'd all been fine; a visit to see his brother, small talk, the usual...until there'd been a muffled crash from somewhere that couldn't be pinpointed, and Wyatt had turned for a moment, sighed angrily, and then looked back at Garrett.

THEN
(5 Days)

"Is this a bad time?" Brown asked, innocently, and Wyatt clenched his teeth. "Yeah."

"Oh…oh, okay. I'll just…I'll go. Sorry."

"That'd be best. And don't come by anymore without telling me. Christ."

"Sure. Sure. Okay."

Another loud sound made Wyatt fist his hands and push his brother towards the door. "Show yourself out, will ya?"

"Yeah…"

"Great." Wyatt mumbled, and then cursed under his breath as he went to the door under the staircase, his hand on the knob, and then glared at Brown in a warning to leave.

Brown did so, but didn't quite shut the door behind him. Instead, he waited a moment, and then peered back in, reentered, and slowly made his way over to the staircase. He heard his brother saying something, but couldn't quite make it out, and so he went a few steps down into the basement—he was just helping…right? In case Wyatt was in trouble?—and bent down to see.

"Holy shit," he breathed out as he fully took in the sight of the guy that was chained to the fucking ceiling, hanging there with his feet only just touching the ground, and Wyatt grabbing his face to silence his cry as the older man dug his fingers into the younger's waist. "You're gonna do what I say, you hear me? Huh?" And then Wyatt cursed loudly and jumped back, looking down at his hand. "You little fucker!"

"Don't put shit in my mouth!"

Wyatt laughed, shaking his hand by his side. "Still upset about that, are we?"

"Fuck you!"

"Patience...there'll be time for that."

"Don't you touch me!"

"I can do whatever I want to you."

"No!"

"Yes."

The guy spat in Wyatt's direction, hitting somewhere on his person, and then jerked his head forward when Wyatt went to slap his mouth. Wyatt cursed again and pulled away, and then kicked the guy between his legs, eliciting a sharp cry. "You try that again, I'll knock your fucking teeth out."

"Go…to…hell!"

"Oh, you're already here." Wyatt moved his hands to wrap around the other's neck, and Brown stared, open-mouthed and completely immobilized, as his brother choked this guy—this kid—until he stopped moving. Brown himself must have then made a noise because Wyatt suddenly turned to look at him, surprised, releasing the other, who thankfully began coughing and gasping.

"Oh, brother…" Wyatt said, scornfully, shaking his head. "I wish you hadn't seen that."

But Brown had seen. He stood and hurriedly went back up the stairs, shaking, and then left the house, got into his car, drove home, and locked himself inside to think of what to do.

Of course, he ended up doing nothing at all.

NOW

After a long few minutes of silence, composing himself, Brown nodded and bit his lip. "Okay. Whatever you want."

"It always is, hm, brother?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"You look sad...but...aren't you the one who brought him back for me? Aren't you the one who helped me clean the house so there was no evidence left? The one who taught me how to properly do that in the first place?"

"Yes..."

"Then shut up." Wyatt waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Really, do you care more about him than me? Than making it all up to me? Than what mother told you to do?"

"No. No. Never."

"Good. Garrett, he loves me. He's just confused. He won't be after I'm through with him tonight. It won't happen again. It'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Okay. Okay." He frowned and tugged on his arms pointedly. "Can you let me up now? I have to take a piss."

"Are you going to try to get out, too?"

"No! Christ!"

Wyatt looked him over suspiciously before getting the scissors from the kitchen to clip the ties around his brother's wrists, allowing him to stand. He then placed a hand on the other's shoulder, establishing his dominance as Brown instantly stopped. "Don't make me hurt you, too."

Brown agreed quietly, and then Wyatt turned to look out the window as he heard a car door slam. He cursed several times before going over to the door and jerking it open to see the little bastard staring at him like he was surprised Wyatt was mad.

"You're dead, whore." Wyatt said, shaking him roughly, and then forced him back inside, threw him onto the living room rug, and kicked him in the stomach. "What the hell were you thinking?" he exclaimed, and when Reid could only splutter nonsense he looked over at Jeremy, who now had a bottle of beer in his hand and a sour expression on his face. "What the fuck happened?"

"He ran a few blocks over...wouldn't have found him if it hadn't been for that nice old lady, right, kid?"

"Someone saw him?" He bent down next to Reid and grabbed his face. "Someone saw you? Huh?"

His pet cried harder, nodding, and Wyatt slapped him so hard he went silent for a second, stunned. "You little shit!"

"I-I'm-m s-sorry M-Master! I'm sorry! Please!"

"No! Shut up! Do you realize what you've done? Do you? I'm gonna fucking kill you! You don't get to beg!"

"Please..."

"What'd I just say? Huh?" Wyatt stood up and drove his shoe into the other's side again. "What'd I just say?"

"I can't beg! I'm sorry, sir!" Reid gasped, and when he tried to shield himself, twisting over so his back was facing The Man, He only kicked him there, too, which caused such an intense amount of pain that he nearly blacked out, deciding that being hit anywhere else would be more desirable than that. In the brief moment that Wyatt stepped back, scowling down at him, Reid managed to scramble away and get to his feet, panting, staggering back and looking for anything that he could protect himself with. His eyes landed on a half empty bottle of beer on the table beside him, and he froze, uncertain.

"You touch that," Wyatt growled, "and I'll break it and shove it up your ass."

Reid paled, because he knew that anything The Man said when He was this angry was not a bluff. He lowered the hand he hadn't realized had been raised, as if reaching for it, and took a few steps to the side.

"Come here!"

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Come here!"

Trembling, Reid obeyed, and then He grabbed his neck and brought him closer until their noses were touching. "You lay down there, and you shut the fuck up, and you stay there. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," he said, almost a whisper, and then he dropped to his knees and lowered his head.

"I said, lay down!" The Man shouted, and Reid flinched, crumpling the rest of the way down and crying out as he felt His shoe crash into his side again, and then again, and then His fist, until he lost track of everything except how much it hurt. "Please!" he tried one last time, but it only made Him more angry and therefore more violent, and so finally he simply curled up, went limp, and took it like he was supposed to, because maybe then he'd be allowed to continue the life that everyone here seemed to think was worthless.

"Stop!" Brown finally exclaimed, closing his hands into fists, unable to watch any more, and yet Wyatt refused to even acknowledge him. Jeremy had, by now, gone to some room down the hall and shut himself away from the situation all together, although for a while he had stood there, arms crossed, just observing as the younger man was pummeled into his own living room floor with an expression that made it seem as if he was only worried about his rug being ruined.

Of course, that was all Brown was doing either...observing. And, terribly guilty, he left the room, just the same as Jeremy, and just the same as always, he locked himself away.

"You little shit," Wyatt spat again once he'd finished, breathing hard, and then he knelt beside Reid, grabbed his hand, and bent it forward enough that he cried out. "Remember what I told you I'd do last time if you ran again? What I promised to do? Huh?"

"Yssrr..."

"What'd I say?"

"Yssrr."

"No, what did I say?"

Reid licked his lips and winced when all he could taste was blood; it was a struggle just to keep his eyes open, let alone make his voice work. "Y...s'd y'd...brr...'ist."

"What?" Wyatt smacked the younger man's cheek so he would come to. "Speak up!"

"S'd you...w'd br...br'k m'ist. M'ist. M' wrist."

"Good. You do remember."

Reid whimpered when He pulled harder on his hand. "D'nt. Please. Please don't."

"You couldn't have just stayed in bed, huh, pet? Avoided all of this?" The Man clicked His tongue and shook His head, and Reid blinked hard up at Him. "'m so s'ry, M'ster. Please. I'm sorry."

"Now I'm faced with going against my own word, or having you useless and crying all the time."

"D'nt have to." Reid weakly jerked on his arm. "L'go. Please. Don't. I'll be good. I'll be s' good."

"Will you, pet?"

"Y-yes, Master."

"How do I know you won't try to run away from me again?"

"'Cause 'm y'rs. I'm yours."

"And?"

"I love you. I love you, Master."

"That's good, pet. That's very good."

Reid huffed out a breath of relief as he was released and The Man stood up, and he heard His footsteps retreating. He sounded calmer, sounded like maybe He wasn't going to hurt him anymore—he was hurt already. He'd learned. He'd learned his lesson. He didn't need anymore...he couldn't take anymore...

"But it's not good enough." The Man said at length, kneeling back down, and Reid looked up at Him in fear, eyeing the same bottle Reid had almost picked up before that was now in His hand. "You really fucked up this time." And then, in what was almost a single motion, He grabbed Reid's arm, splayed it onto the floor, and then brought the bottle down against his wrist with what felt like like every ounce of strength He had. A pain like Reid had never experienced before completely whited out everything else, and he screamed, instinctively kicking out and trying to get Him the hell away from him.

"You won't again, though, will you?" He stood and nudged Reid with his foot, and Reid shrieked again, rolling over as if trying to escape from and avoid what had already happened. "Will you, pet?"

"I...can't...I...I...It's..."

"You're lucky this didn't break," The Man said, placing the bottle back on the table, and then loomed above the other, looking down on him in every meaning of the phrase. Reid got to his knees, choking on his tears, and held his hurt arm up and out towards Him like he thought He was going to do something about it. The Man gave him a look, like maybe Reid should have realized he didn't deserve to be cared for, at least not right now, and then He turned and walked away. "M-Master!" he called after Him, but He just continued on, locked the door, glared back at the other, said, "I'll hit it a lot harder if there's a next time." and then disappeared into the hallway, and Reid could do absolutely nothing but sit there in utter, humiliating defeat.

Then, he bent over, pressed his forehead to the floor, held his injury tightly against his chest, and cried.

xxx

"Guys! Get in here!"

The team, practically in hysterics by now, hurriedly crowded around Garcia, her laptop, and the information they'd been waiting all night for—hopefully, at least. It'd been hours since they'd returned back to the hotel room, since they'd practically torn about the precinct in search of anything they could find on who they believed was responsible for their friend re-disappearing, and when they'd come up empty there, along with on the phone, they'd left it up to Garcia and her computer intelligence. It had never let them down before...and they hoped that it wouldn't begin to let them down now.

"There are no connections between Brown and Duboir," she said at length, and their shoulders slumped. "But he does have a brother."

"A brother?" Hotch crossed his arms and scowled. "And he's connected somehow?"

"Well, yes and no."

"Garcia!"

"I know! Okay, remember how I went through all the men that she had contact with? Well, turns out one of her coworkers from before she quit, which by the way happened right after her miscarriage, was a man named Wyatt Anderson, who, coincidentally, seems to only randomly appear about nine years ago. I looked for him for a while, but I couldn't find anything. His records, like, don't exist, and for me to say that, they don't exist. But then, low and behold, it was a little easier to find Brown's step-brother, Bruce, and well, here's their pictures side by side. Tell me it's not the same guy."

"He's dyed his hair...cut it...gained weight, but...that's him. No doubt," JJ said, and there was a moment of awkward, uncomfortable silence in which all of them realized that this was the man who had hurt Spencer, who had hurt the children...and who had taken Spencer back.

Garcia broke it with a shaky breath. "I've gotten everything I can on Bruce, which was difficult, and it isn't much, but here we go. Bruce's mother married into the Brown family when Brown was thirteen, and Bruce was nine. Five years later, their father was killed in what was deemed an accident; he fell down the stairs. The mother went into this crazy drunk depression spiral thing that she never got out of, and two years after that she died from liver failure caused by an overdose with alcohol. Then, Brown went to school for and joined the FBI, and Bruce went totally and completely underground, and there's no sign that they ever even talked to each other again. I looked up Brown's telephone records and occasionally he gets a call from or makes a call to a random number, and they all ended up being disposable cells or payphones from essentially all around Illinois."

Rossi sharply sighed. "That's how they would've kept contact, especially if Bruce didn't want to be seen..."

"Did the investigators think he killed the father?" Emily questioned, narrowing her eyes, and Garcia replied with, "That's the thing. It was never under investigation, or at least, if it was, there's no records. Both kids insisted they weren't home at the time it happened, and his blood alcohol level at time of death was way over what it should have been at point eleven. And, well...the man hadn't exactly had a good record, so I'm sure the police were excited to get him off their hands."

"And by that you mean...?"

"Total creep. Yeah. Went to jail three times for a total of three days on charges of child abuse, but none of it could ever be proven, and his wife bailed him out each time."

"Sexual abuse?"

"Every kind of abuse."

"So if the abuse became too much to handle," Hotch said, "and no one was doing anything about it, they might have felt there was no other choice."

"But then mom gets depressed, and it was all for shit." Morgan scoffed. "That'd be the reason he left and changed his name. He didn't want anything to do with it anymore."

"Mariana, if he beat her as much as Reid said, might have been a substitute for his mother."

"Who didn't do anything while they were suffering," Garcia added. "She must have reminded him of her when they met...which, by the way, was at her one and only job, at a banking business about an hour from their house. He's worked there for five years, but, of course, hasn't been in for nine days."

"Alright. Morgan, JJ, and I will go down and see if we can talk to his coworkers. The rest of you stay here in case anyone comes by with new information."

Garcia nodded, and then she slumped over on her desk as they left, burying her face in her hands.

Emily's phone rang, and it was heartbreak to realize that no, it wasn't about someone having found Reid. Not yet. Instead, Emily sat down on the bed behind her and said, "The autopsy reports are back on Mariana Duboir. She suffered a stroke; died in her sleep. Never felt a thing. And...well, they recovered the last of the eight bodies in the backyard. The last one couldn't have been dead for more than three weeks, they said."

"Three weeks..." Garcia said quietly. "Three weeks."

"We couldn't have saved them, or the others." Rossi said, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she nodded. "I know. I do."

"We were close, though." Emily murmured, sadly, after a moment, and Garcia swallowed her sorrow and again nodded her agreement. "Yeah. Close."

She could only hope that they wouldn't just be 'close' when they found Reid again...

If they found Reid again.