A/N okay so this is a very Crow-centric chapter, but I'm waking JJ up in the next one (I hope) so hang on in there. Warning here for references to sexual abuse in this chapter- nothing explicit though.
thanks as always go to Cupcake, TeaOfTheMonth, justine, AWChic, moonie912, Casie01, rmpcmfan, l0vetakesnoprisoners, Guest, pxlenno and Jareau37.
"Hey Momma, what've you got for me?" Morgan asked as he opened the plastic evidence bag containing Crow's clothes and the items he had on him when he was taken to the hospital.
"I think I've got an ID on this vorona guy. I expanded my search through cases nationwide trying to find a partial match for his DNA profile and I got a hit." Garcia replied, "On October 19th 2011, the body of a 60 year old man was found in a log cabin in Antrim County, Michigan. He had been shot in the head, execution style."
"I sense you're building up to a name, Garcia." Morgan said, his voice was coaxing.
"Well that's sort of the thing. I have two names. Crow is between 30 and 40 years old right?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Well the man found in the cabin's name was Samuel Castan. He owned a family run construction business in Detroit, Castan and Sons. His sons' names were Peter and Sebastien."
"Were?"
"Samuel Castan was on vacation at the log cabin with his two sons. Their bodies were never found."
"And let me guess, both sons would be aged between 30 and 40 today."
"And thus we reach my dilemma. Peter would be 38 and Sebastien would be 35."
"Well at least we know who he is now, if not exactly who. What else can you tell me about them?"
"I haven't got much. Their parents divorced when the boys were young, Peter was 8 and Sebastien was 5. Their mother won full custody and remarried within 2 years. This is where the story turned sour. Police were called to the household numerous times due to domestic disturbances but no charges were ever filed against the stepfather. I've also found records of suspicious trips to the emergency room for both boys but it would appear the older brother was a target more often than the younger. When their mother died in 1990, they went to live with their father in Detroit."
"Okay, thanks Babygirl. Let me know if anything else turns up." Morgan sighed and hung up, looking over the grand total of items belonging to Crow. A dirty pair of shorts, a t-shirt that was stiffened with dried blood- blood he knew once flowed inside the veins of Crow and JJ- and a crowbar and blanket they had recovered from the Ghosts' quarters.
There was also broken chess piece tied into a necklace but Morgan knew that had belonged to JJ. He also knew that Santiago knew something about that necklace that the BAU team didn't.
He shook his head and began putting the items back into the bag. It wasn't much, certainly not something that he could leave in Crow's hospital room so that he had something familiar when he woke up. As he was replacing the shorts, however, he realised there was something tucked into the fabric of the waistband.
Frowning, he carefully eased out the 'something'. It was a folded piece of tattered card. It was faded and water damaged. There was the remnants of what looked like blood staining one corner. It was fragile at the folds, it had been unfolded and refolded regularly.
On the card, Morgan could see very pale colours, faded and distorted to that the image the once portrayed was entirely unrecognisable. It must once have been a photograph, of what, he had now idea but whatever it was, it must have been important to Crow for him to keep it for this long. He carefully refolded the photo and slipped it into his wallet where it wouldn't be damaged, then resealed the evidence bag.
He was about to leave, then stopped for a moment. Santiago would disapprove but he could deal with Santiago later. He opened the evidence bag once more and took out the chess-piece necklace, placing it carefully in his pocket. He knew the items were about to be released from evidence, taking them one day early wouldn't do any harm. He knew the necklace meant a lot to JJ.
4 months ago, Ghost Complex of the Boston Second.
Jay slowed down and listened carefully as she approached the door of their hideout. From inside she could hear an incessant thudding, along with grunts of effort. Suddenly she heard a shout. Reaching the door, she loosened a knife from its sheath and opened the door slowly. She was taken aback by what she saw inside.
Crow was hacking at the wooden planks on the right hand wall with his crowbar. Sweat was pouring off his body, soaking through his shirt as he pounded the wood. She could see small lines of blood where his wounds from the past couple of days had reopened due to the excess strain. But that wasn't what shocked her.
He was crying. Tears flowed freely from his eyes and the skin around them was red and puffy. He seemed oblivious to her presence. His cries came out as ragged gasps, his face a picture of self-loathing and desperation. Anger and frustration burned in his eyes.
She returned her knife to its sheath and walked over to him carefully, saying his name softly so that she wouldn't startle him. Ghosts startle easily. He didn't hear her, so she spoke again, louder this time, and placed her hand on his arm. Her left hand, so that he would know it was her; she was the only Ghost owned by Boston who was missing their left index finger.
He stilled as soon as he registered her touch. Almost immediately the anger and frustration died, leaving only self-loathing and desperation. The crowbar dropped to the floor with a loud clang. His breath still came in ragged gasps. He was still crying.
When he collapsed onto her, hugging her as though his life depended on it, it took everything she had to fight the panic that rose in her throat, to override the instinct that was telling her to fight, to run, just to escape. Because he needed her. And beneath the smell of sweat and blood, there was a scent that was distinctly 'Crow' and that scent signalled safety.
She allowed herself to relax in his arms and wrapped her own around him, then gently lowered both of them to the ground. She stroked the nape of his neck as he cried into her shoulder. She didn't try to hush him, or tell him everything was okay because in their world, things seldom were.
Eventually his sobs quieted and he pulled away, embarrassed and ashamed. He tapped his temple with his first two fingers, Sorry.
She shrugged awkwardly and tapped her knuckles, it's okay, then touched two fingers to her lips briefly and turned her wrist outwards, want to talk about it?
He didn't answer for a long time. She didn't push him, just moved so that she was sat next to him with her back to the wall. Glancing across to the wooden planks on the other wall, her eyes widened as she saw that the section Crow had been hacking at had been worn through so that she could see the rock from beneath peeking through. He must have been down here for hours.
"Do you know what date it is?" He asked her quietly. She shifted uncomfortably and shook her head. She tried not to keep track of the date, it only served to remind her how long it had been since… Before. And reminders like that only made it harder to keep the memories of her life before suppressed.
"It's September 24th. Today would have been Peter's 38th birthday." He almost whispered it, another tear falling down his cheek.
Jay tapped her temple and looked down, I'm sorry. She knew that Peter had been his brother, and that he had died around the time Crow had been taken. She knew that Peter was the object of most of his nightmares; she had lost count of the time he had screamed or muttered his name in his sleep.
"He was always trying to protect me. Ever since we were kids… Until the day he died."
Bass groaned as he opened his eyes, then looked wearily around the room. They were still here. It was dark, and cold, and wet. He shivered involuntarily and went to rub the soreness from his neck. Of course, he couldn't. His hands were tied behind his back to a concrete pillar. His ankles were also bound.
How long had they been here now? He couldn't remember the last time he had had anything to eat. He had lost count of the number of times they had been beaten. His entire body ached. He smacked his lips; damn he was so thirsty. He'd kill for a glass of water right now.
"Bass."
He heard a hoarse whisper from behind him. It was Peter.
"Bass?" Peter whispered his name again.
"Yeah." Bass croaked in reply. His throat was scratchy.
"You okay?"
"What do you think?"
He heard Peter cough violently and tried to twist around to see if he was okay but the concrete pillar to which they were tied blocked his view. "You okay?"
"What do you think?" came Peter's grim reply. Bass almost smiled. Maybe he would have, but he had strict instructions from his split lip not to. "Bass, I need you to promise me something."
Bass frowned. "Yeah, anything." He said, although he had a nasty feeling about this. Peter sounded exhausted, his voice was tight with pain.
"If you see a chance to escape, you take it. Doesn't matter if I'm with you or not. You get the chance, you run. Whatever happens, you have to survive. You have to live. Understand me?"
"What? No. I don't care what they do to us, I won't leave you here." Bass replied vehemently. "When we escape, we escape together."
"Don't be stupid, Bass. My leg is broken. I would only slow you down."
Bass didn't say anything.
"Bass. You owe me. You remember all those hits I took for you? You remember all the times that bastard swung his belt at me instead of you? You owe me."
It was a low blow and he knew it, they both knew it. There were things their stepfather had done to him that Peter didn't know about, things he'd never told anyone, but his brother had protected him as best he could. It was true, he did owe him.
"I know." Bass murmured.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Suddenly the door on the far side of the room was flung open, and three men from earlier stalked across the room towards them. They cut the bindings around their ankles and the ropes securing them to the pillar but their hands remained tied behind their backs.
The leader shoved Bass forward and pressed the butt of his gun into his back, forcing him to walk. Peter yelled in pain as the other two men dragged him to his feet. They took most of his weight as they walked him forward, following the leader and Bass.
Once in an adjacent room, the man controlling Bass forced him into one corner of the room whilst the other two shackled Peter against the wall. They made no move to stop him as he slid to the ground, desperate to keep the weight off of his leg.
Bass flinched away as the leader removed his whip from his belt but his eyes widened in disbelief as the man tossed it on the ground in front of him. "Pick it up." He said coldly, pointing his gun at Bass. Bass didn't move. He just stood there, staring him down. "I said, pick it up!" the man shouted this time, cocking his weapon.
"Bass. Do as he says." Peter murmured. Bass was about to protest but thought better of it and tentatively picked up the whip.
"Thrash him. Do not stop until I say so." The leader ordered. "Or I'll shoot you in the head. I only need one of you."
Bass felt sick to his stomach. "What? No. I'm not gonna hurt my brother."
The man holding the gun didn't say anything, he just pressed the muzzle of the gun against Bass's temple.
Bass swallowed but stood his ground. "I don't care what you do to me. I won't do it." He said stubbornly. He had hoped to sound defiant but he couldn't help the slight tremor of fear in his voice. He could all but feel the man holding the gun to his head smile.
"I'd be less concerned about what I'm going to do to you, and more concerned about what I'll do to him." Bass almost sighed in relief as he felt the gun removed from his temple. But his relief was short lived. Without hesitation, the man pointed the gun at Peter and shot him in the foot.
Peter screamed in pain and clutched at his foot.
The two other men rushed forward as Bass took a swing at the leader, rage overtaking him. "You sonofabitch! I'll kill you, I swear to God. I will kill you!" he yelled, fighting with all his strength against the two men restraining him. The leader just laughed and picked the whip up from the floor again.
He shoved it into Bass's hands. "I don't shoot to kill. There are plenty more places I can leave bullets without him bleeding out."
Bass froze as he heard a dry laugh coming from behind him. It was Peter. His voice was pained and quiet but it was filled with as much contempt as he could inject into it. "You always were a weakling. Never had the strength to do what needed to be done."
"What?" Why was he saying this? Bass shook his head in confusion.
"A coward, that's what you are. What kind of kid hides behind his mother and his brother expecting them to take the hits for him? Huh? A weak, snivelling coward." He was trying to make Bass angry, and it was working. But he still hadn't raised the whip. So now it was time for Peter to cross the line.
"But 'That's Life' isn't it?" A line he had now crossed, he could see it by the way Bass was now stock still, realisation dawning on his face. He knew he had to keep going though, no matter how much pain it might cause him. "Yeah, I knew exactly what that song meant. I knew exactly what he was doing to you."
"You knew." Bass whispered. Shame contorted his face, followed by anger and then fury. "You knew?!" He shouted. "You knew and did nothing?"
"And do you know why? Because when he was doing his business with you, he wasn't beating on me and mom." Peter shouted back. It wasn't true. He had been afraid, but not of the beatings or the insults. He had been afraid that if he had tried to stop him, he would have started coming into his room at night instead.
Something inside of Bass broke. He let out a howl of rage and swung the whip through the air, cracking a strip of flesh from Peter's skin. "I needed you!" He swung the whip again. Peter did his best to control his stifled shout of pain as Bass yelled again. "Every night, he would come into my room! Every. Single. Night!" With each word he brought the whip crashing down on his brother. "And you. Did. Nothing!"
His brother's screams cut through him like a knife. He knew this was illogical, there was nothing Peter could have done. But years of silence and shame and pain were finally coming loose and right now his rage was unstoppable. Beside him, he vaguely registered their captors laughing.
He lost count of the number of times he thrashed his brother, but after a while his rage abated and he sobbed as he swung the whip one final time, exhausted. Peter was unconscious, and it was probably a blessing. Bass sobbed uncontrollably and collapsed in on himself, overcome with guilt. God, what had he done?
Suddenly he felt the cold muzzle of a gun being shoved between his shoulder blades. "Did I give you permission to stop?" the man asked coldly. "Keep going."
Bass just stared at him. "No. I'm done playing your sick games."
"Do it. Or I'll wait until he's conscious again and put a bullet in his other foot, and then one through each of his hands."
"I won't." Peter was right, he was a coward.
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, you made a promise to him to survive. You swore to him that no matter what happened, you would live."
Bass recoiled. How did he know that? He hadn't meant it, well, he had. But not like this. 'No matter what happened' didn't mean killing his own brother.
"How do you think he would feel if he came to, just so that I could shoot you in front of him? You know it's almost tempting, just to see the look on his face." The man examined Bass closely. He had hit a nerve, but it wasn't enough to push him over the edge. He switched tactics.
"You know, you would be being merciful, really. I don't see the point in wasting a bullet on him, you see. When we clear out of here, he's gonna die of exposure. In pain and alone. With only the rats chewing on his flesh for company. Will you condemn him to a death that painful? At least now he's unconscious, he doesn't even know what's going on."
Bass didn't even try to stop the tears that ran down his face. There was no doubt in his mind that his captor would follow through with his threat.
"I'll make you a deal." The man said quietly. "You keep going 'til you can't swing that whip no more, and I'll let you finish him off with this." He showed Bass the knife on his belt. "Nice and quick. He won't feel a thing."
Bass felt sick. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He was barely even aware as he turned back to his brother and raised the whip once more. "I'm sorry." He whispered.
Crow looked up, tormented by guilt. Jay could see it was tearing him apart. "I killed my own brother." He whispered, tears flowing freely from his eyes.
She squeezed his hand. "It wasn't your fault." She murmured. "We've both done things we're ashamed of. Unforgivable things. Taken lives we wish we hadn't. I guess that's why we're here."
A/N well I hope that was worth the wait, again I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted but I'd love to hear your ideas in the meantime.
