Chapter Five: Treading Through History

When Auror Giles Onasi inspected the results from his detection spell, he rather expected to see unfamiliar Apparition coordinates, which would ideally lead him straight to his missing coworkers. He was not expecting to see a set of coordinates so deeply etched in his memory, he would know them half-dead and completely insane. Blood drained from his face, his skin going cold and clammy; fine tremors ran up his spine and through his hands.

"Giles?" Parker's concerned voice rang as if from a distance; his heart thudded and roared in his ears.

With an effort, Onasi regained control of himself, clutching his hair. It had been years, he didn't even remember what the area looked like, and, and…he was hyperventilating. Which was bad. Very bad. Why was it bad again? Oh, look, black spots… Why were there black spots?

Parker grabbing his shoulders was a welcome anchor. "Giles, breathe," he ordered, no give at all; the Auror obeyed without thought. "That's it, just breathe." When the brunet had sucked in several more steadying gulps of air, the Sergeant asked, "Giles, do we need another Auror on this?"

Gooseflesh prickled…Simmons would know; Locksley would know. He shook his head violently. "I can… I can do this." Now if only he could make himself believe that. Straightening and ignoring the worried glances being traded behind his back, Giles inspected the coordinates again, plotting out their best route. Simmons and his squad were long gone – plus his techies were getting close to Apparition sickness any way – so a Portkey would be best.

Although the Neo Death Eaters would detect any Portkeys made outside Magical Toronto, as long as he made them right before departure, it wouldn't be an issue. Rope…rope would be reusable and easy to grab onto. Stuffing down the old memories, Onasi dissipated his detection spell and conjured a length of rope. Although he knew his techies had climbing rope, conjured rope would take his spell better than the tough, braided nylon climbing rope.

Another tremor ran through him as he cast the Portus (1) spell, focusing on those coordinates. Old memory bubbled, but he shoved it away. "Ready," he called, doing his best to sound more confident than he felt.

"Then let's go," Agent Rossi snapped.

It was exactly the same as he remembered it. Trees towered over them in this area of the forest, with a tiny, protected clearing right where they were standing. Grass and dirt, with a stubborn flower here and there. Revan's safe spot – the location he set for all his emergency Portkeys.

"Come on, Giles, it's far enough away from the city that Muggles won't find it." A pause. "I always liked it. Quiet and peaceful."

The older Auror shook his head, but a fond smile worked its way across his face. "Okay, Revan. But give me the coordinates, willya? I need to know where we're going."

Old pain ran through his soul and Onasi wrenched his eyes away from that spot and stalked past it to the trees. He cast several detection spells, but they were alone – no sign that anyone had even been here in years.

"Anything?" Lane's voice was tightly wound, with fear for his best friend lurking.

"No…nothing magical," the Auror admitted.

"I've got something," Agent Gideon called from across the small clearing.

"Parchment," Lou agreed, crouching to inspect their find. Frowning, the tan-skinned constable glanced up. "It says, 'Tell them.' "

" 'Tell them'?" Agent Rossi echoed, turning towards Onasi. "Sounds like a message for you."

His mouth dried up even as nausea bubbled in his stomach. Memory surged and he frantically stuffed it down again. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. It wasn't, it couldn't; his teeth snapped closed over a whimper. No, he wasn't going back there…he couldn't…

Parker touched his shoulder and he jerked away as if scalded. The negotiator held up his hands, palms open as the Auror reflexively backed up, instinctively trying to get space and make himself look smaller. "Giles, stop." Firm, but gentle. "We'll find them." Hazel shifted to Lane. "Call Locksley; let's see if we can get a batch of Lost Soul Potion going. This lead's a dead end."

"How long will the potion take?" Agent Hotchner asked, frowning. "Your constables are injured; they need medical attention as quickly as possible."

Giles blanched at the idea of finding them dead, just because he couldn't get a grip. Yet the thought of telling them, ripping open wounds that had never healed… His eyes trailed back to that spot; shivers rattled his body, but…

He owed them. They'd given him a chance, a new partner, stood beside him through thick and thin. To let his techies die, just because he couldn't face his own past…

Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out everything save his heartbeat. Memory clawed and this time he couldn't push it back.

"Morgana died in '93." Even to himself, his voice was distorted and distant; his lips were numb, but somehow they still moved. "On Samhaine." Her eyes meeting his, the soft sigh of her final breath as he screamed for the Healers and clung to her, weeping into her hair. It had taken six Healers to pry her body away from him.

"They made Revan my partner the next year, after I socked Paul Ryan in the jaw for making fun of Morgana." Actually, the other man had said much worse than that, right in front of the whole office and Giles had gone for his throat, but they'd hauled him off before he could do worse than the jaw.

Absently hugging himself, the trembling man stared blankly at that spot. "I was a mess, but Revan wouldn't give up. Wouldn't walk away. He made me believe in myself again." Merlin, he hated this, hated the utter stillness as the rest listened to the worst days of his life. "It was… It was December 24th, 1995." He stopped, gathered himself, breath coming in short pants. A bitter bark. "Christmas Eve."

"You were ambushed," Roy whispered. "Watson killed Revan." He looked around. "Is this…"

The Auror shook his head. "This is where Revan's Portkey brought us," he managed. "On Christmas."

He fought, wildly, as they tried to take him away from Revan. They couldn't, he wouldn't let them. Teeth found their mark, drawing a yelp from one of his attackers. Touching, they were touching him. His skin howled; he drove his head backwards into another attacker with an animal wail.

One was down, nursing a black eye, but the rest were on him, touching, hurting, clawing; his soul wailed anguish.

And Revan never moved.

"Stop touching him and get back!"

They let him go, but one tried to grab him again as he scuttled out of reach and back to Revan. "He needs medical attention."

Black eye yanked the man away while the speaker knelt down to his level; he stared back warily as he hunched protectively over Revan. "Whatever you're thinking, Brian, do it fast!"

"Fast isn't the plan," the speaker murmured, his eyes fixed on him…on Revan.

He shook Revan's shoulder. Revan wake up? But he didn't. A keen built in his chest, but he remained in his spot, watching the attackers warily. Waiting for red pain to come at him. Fear shook him, but to run would leave Revan to them. He couldn't do that.

"Giles? Can you tell me what happened?"

Pain jabbed his side as he curled around Revan. Whimpers broke free; they would hurt him, they would hurt Revan. No, no, no. No touch, no hurt, no more red pain. He risked a glance at the speaker, the tormentor watching him, waiting. Couldn't run…couldn't let him hurt Revan.

"We're not going to hurt you," the tormentor said. Lies. "We won't touch you, either, not unless you want us to."

His head shook vigorously as a new whimper rose.

"Okay, no touching."

No touch? No hurt? No red pain? Words tore their way free from his throat. "Revan?" A blonde tormentor past the speaking tormentor jumped. "Help?"

Aching sorrow in the speaking one's eyes. "I'm sorry, Giles." Was he Giles? "Revan's dead."

"Not. Dead." Words hurt, but they had to understand. Revan not gone. She gone. Not lose Revan, too. "Help. Revan."

The speaking tormentor edged closer and he curled around Revan, protecting with his own body, skin already protesting. Touching, Revan was touching him. Not let Revan die.

"Giles." Firm and somehow familiar. "If you want help, we have to get close, understand?" A slow, grieving breath. "Revan wouldn't want you to stay hurt while he's being looked after."

Grief. Like when she died. His head came up, studying the speaking tormentor. Sorrow, anguish, grief, loss. No. Revan not dead. But no air brushed his cheek. No breath stirred his hair. He slumped, releasing Revan. "Gone," he whimpered. "Like. Morgana."

The speaking one edged closer, but didn't touch. That was good. "I'm sorry, Giles. He was a good man…a good friend."

Gone. Never coming back. Pain engulfed him, but it wasn't from his skin, wasn't from the red pain. "Hurts."

He let them touch him, even as his skin wailed and that touch tore him to pieces. Revan was dead. Morgana was dead. Dustil was dead.

Can I die too?

The parchment appeared right in the center of that spot. The spot where Revan's body had been, for hours on end before the Healers had finally Stunned him and removed them both – he'd attacked them again when they tried to move the body and not even Brian had been able to get through to him.

Parker retrieved the folded sheet, opening it. "Coordinates."

A trembling hand reached out and Giles was absently grateful when the Sergeant was careful not to touch him as he handed the parchment over. He frowned at the new coordinates; they weren't familiar, not offhand. But they were close.

Glancing around, the wizard pulled his wand and dared a soft, "Point Me," as he focused on the coordinates. The wand spun briefly, then stopped, pointing into the woods. "We can walk," he managed to rasp. "Close enough for a Point Me spell."

"Copy; Eddie, take point."

"You got it, Boss."

Onasi blinked when he realized he was surrounded; Roy at his side and the rest of Team One ranged around the pair, blocking the profilers' view. None of them touched him, a gesture he couldn't help but appreciate; his partner hovered, concern evident.

Away from the clearing, his shoulders relaxed, though old memories still boiled and churned beneath the surface.

"Greg."

Sergeant Greg Parker sighed, glancing over at his team leader. "I know, Eddie. Whoever took Wordy and Spike knows exactly what happened back then."

"He didn't recognize the second location," Ed pointed out.

Parker shook his head. "I don't think he'll recognize any of the others. This location – I would bet he'd been there several times, before Revan died."

"He knew it."

A sharp nod.

Lane scowled. "He doesn't want us calling Locksley."

"No more than I'd want you calling my sarge from my days in Homicide," the negotiator countered gently. "She knows about this, Eddie. She'd have to; she's been an Auror longer than Giles and it's a small division." Sighing, Greg ran a hand over his head. "She told us he was suicidal after his wife died, Eddie. We just didn't have the details."

"Suicidal, sure, but…" the constable trailed off. "Greg, he needed a rubber room!"

Parker shushed his team leader, not particularly wanting their teammates to overhear the conversation. "And I needed rehab," he said simply.

"It's not the same," Ed protested.

"So what would you do, Eddie? Take away your brother's partner because he had a rough patch after he lost three people he loved to Nick Watson? Kick Giles off the police force and destroy the new life he's built for himself?"

The lean sniper dropped his gaze, abashed. "No."

The sound of rushing water ended any further discussion. Frowning, Greg moved ahead and stepped through the trees to find himself at the top of waterfall. Sharp rocks marched across the swiftly flowing river's edge and the drop itself… Parker shuddered at a twenty meter fall and hastily edged back.

When he glanced behind him, Giles was staring past him at the river, paler than a ghost and trembling again. His stomach dropped.

Suicidal and half-insane…Dear God.

No. No, no, no, he couldn't do this. He didn't even know how he'd managed to tell them about that day. The second-worst day of his life. Roy caught him as his knees gave out; his skin shrieked and memory swept over him.

Gone. Morgana. Dustil. Revan. Hurts. The skeletal man stared at the rushing water, rubbing bare shoulders. The robes had itched. They'd let him outside to enjoy the sun. He'd gone there, looking for Revan…only to remember… Revan gone.

"Giles?"

Disinterested brown looked up at the sound, then the deepest depths of his mind whispered. If he didn't do it now, they would stop him. They would make him keep living, forcing him to endure the pain of losing everything he was, everyone he loved.

"Giles! Where are you?"

He fumbled for the water, swallowing a yelp as bare feet and knees objected to the sharp twigs and rocks under them. Hurts. Make it stop. No more hurt.

A shout of discovery rang out. "Giles! Don't do it!"

He flung himself in the water, but he'd misjudged. His body slammed into the sharp rocks instead of going over the edge. Whimpering, he struggled to get his frail, emaciated form to resist the water's flow long enough…

Someone grabbed his wrist, dragging him upwards and out of the water. They didn't let go until they'd hauled him back to shore and away from the edge. He struggled, but his strength was nonexistent; sobs wrenched his chest, but he couldn't squirm free.

"Don't do this to yourself," the man whispered once they were well away from the edge. "You're better than this."

"Revan. Gone." Morgana. Dustil. Gone. All gone.

"It's going to get better for you, I promise."

Silver hair couldn't promise. He whimpered, gazing longingly at the water. No more pain.

"Brian, did you find him?" Another man appeared, glanced down at him, then up at the water. Swore.

"Come on, Nathan, let's get him out of here." His rescuer dragged him up, sounding tired. "Can Anne get him out of St. Mungo's? They're not even trying."

"I think so, but where would he stay? He can't go home like he is, Brian."

"He can come home with me."

A grunt. "Another one of your wild ideas?" Disapproval rang.

Silver hair shrugged. "If nothing else, I can get some meat on his bones. I've seen skeletons with more muscle."

Parker was touching him; his skin crawled, but he lacked the energy to pull away. Hollow eyes lifted to worried hazel. "How long had it been?"

"Six weeks," he mumbled, wishing he could find a handy rock to crawl under.

"And Brian saved you?"

Onasi nodded, his throat tight. Nathan Simmons had been his training Auror, but Brian Wilkins… Off-the-wall and very much a rogue, Brian had been a maverick Auror who got the job done while still being empathic enough to devote over three years of work to nursing an insane, skeletal wreck of a man back to health. Back to sanity. Arrogant, pushy, and very much the typical entitled pureblood, but by Merlin, if Wilkins took you under his wing, he believed in you and never backed down. Or gave up. Losing him had been yet another sledgehammer, right to the heart.

"Got another parchment," Lou called.

Oh goodie. He could torture himself some more…

Ed resisted the urge to swear as he inspected their arrival point. The tiny room stank of old blood and death. Sam helpfully located a palm sized electric lantern in his gear, turning it on so they could see. Lane wished he hadn't. Three wooden beams still sported ragged old rope embedded with blood and gore. There were no bodies, but it was all too easy to see the utter misery this place had held.

Giles wasn't standing any more – he'd barely been able to stagger up and cast the Portkey spell to get them away from that bloody waterfall. Roy supported his partner's weight on one side while Agent Rossi supported the other side, sympathy plain as the Auror trembled and shook in the grip of old memories.

Agent Gideon had quietly suggested calling another Auror in before they'd left the forest, but Greg had simply shaken his head. Much as he hated it, the sniper knew why.

Their new subject was targeting Giles. He had Wordy and Spike in his clutches and he was using that fact as a weapon against the traumatized Auror. If they pulled Giles out, they wouldn't be able to find their teammates, a horrid reality that left Ed longing for his sniper rifle and a target. Preferably their latest subject's head.

Animal-like whimpers came from the usually proud Auror; the constable turned away in vicarious shame for the spectacle. They should've called Locksley and used the Lost Soul Potion instead of forcing Giles through this…this nightmare.

"Easy, partner, I got you," Roy said, but Onasi didn't seem to hear.

"Revan," he whimpered. "Revan…"

Greg closed in, his touch somehow doing what none of them could – bring the tormented man back to himself. "Easy, Giles," he whispered as hollow brown eyes focused on him. "This is where Watson did it?"

Another whimper and a nod.

"Got it," Agent Hotchner announced, yanking a parchment off the middle pillar.

"Eddie."

Understanding, Ed put his shoulder to the rotten door, busting it out. They weren't staying a millisecond longer in this place of fear, torture, and death.

Sam blinked in puzzlement at their latest destination, a random street corner in a rougher part of Magical Toronto. He traded glances with Jules, her expression thoughtful. Behind the constables, Roy was trying to get his partner to stand on his own again now that they were away from that dank, gory cellar. Remembering the unmistakable signs of violence, Braddock shivered.

"This is it," Jules whispered suddenly.

"What's it?"

Solemn dark eyes lifted to him. "Where Revan and Giles were ambushed."

Sam's blood ran cold. It fit. Where else would they be sent besides the place where it had all begun? "How long before we break him?"

"I think we already did," Jules replied mournfully.

He thought so too. Blond and brunette turned, watching as Giles looked around, paled alarmingly, and nearly collapsed again – Roy and Rossi caught him. The Boss descended, his touch and voice once again dragging the Auror out of his grisly past and back to the present.

"Giles, Giles, why here? You and Revan didn't even fight Watson's people; they ambushed you."

The guilty moan made all of them cringe and Onasi attempted to curl in on himself. "Revan's…Revan's informant wanted out weeks before we pulled her. We…I…needed more. Revan talked her into staying, but I'm the one who ordered it. If we'd pulled her out when she asked…"

"Stop." Sam stepped forward, his eyes boring into the other man's. "You made a call; the best one you could with what you knew at the time. For all you know, her cover had already been blown." He stopped, judging the guilt, then added harshly, "If you're to blame for Revan's death, then I'm to blame for Matt's." Inside, his gut twinged, but he held Giles' gaze without flinching.

"Got our next destination," Jules announced, straightening up with the latest piece of parchment. "Maybe this is it?"

Sam sure hoped so.

Roy was sick and tired of being no use to his partner – sure he could keep Giles upright all day, but why was Giles responding more to Parker and Team One than his own partner?

So when they landed in a cluster of shipping containers with a piece of parchment prominently taped to the closest one – a dark green one – Roy left Onasi in Rossi's care, stalked over to the message, and ripped it off the door.

" 'Tell them about St. Mungo's,' " he read aloud, turning on his heel to see Giles pale once more. " 'And about how many times you tried to commit suicide.' "

Giles dropped his gaze, shuddering violently. He drew breath, then froze at a ripping noise.

Roy finished ripping the parchment in half, then turned the pieces and tore them in half. "Enough," he spat. "Enough of this!" Another rip as the lean detective trembled himself. "You know what, partner? I don't wanna know! You went through hell and I don't care how many times you tried to make it stop."

Tears spilled from two sets of eyes as the detectives locked gazes.

"But if you ever try again, I'll kill you myself," Roy snarled.

In the middle of the dirt clearing, another parchment appeared out of thin air, gently tumbling to the ground.

[1] Spell used to create Portkeys. From either the Latin 'porta' meaning 'gate' or 'portare' meaning 'to carry'.