Hey guys! I've not updated in a while, but hopefully I'll have more time to update these days. Maybe I can even update an one shot today but I can't promise anything. So R&R, hope you like it, all that disclaimer stuff... Have fun reading!


The drugs made him sleepy and dizzy, but it made him stronger as well. Every time after he woke up from the state the drugs brought him in, he felt stronger. The pain would leave and he wasn't feeling like a miserable ladybug. In these moments he didn't feel sadness or pain; he felt anger. Anger for what the man did to him. His mind was clean, the drugs made it calm and clear. Though some pains were covered, his back was in a constant pain the drugs couldn't cover up. As well was his face and Greg was afraid the scar was going to inflame. He was covered in dirt, his own blood, Russell's blood, dust and little pieces of things that once had been his shirt. He was hungry and thirsty all the time and didn't even know how it would feel to just drink a lot. Greg was lying in his standard position; on his stomach. He had hoped the torturing would stop after he had told the man about Russell. That he maybe could get something to drink.

Morgan… would Morgan be safe? The children… if they were born already, or if they hadn't died… maybe Morgan had already died… There were no drugs that could kill these thoughts. They didn't stop. They didn't leave his mind, he could feel the fear in his veins though he knew he shouldn't think that way. This fear was even worse than all the pain he felt, his rasping throat and empty stomach together. He had to know she was okay, but there was no way he could find out. It was so unfair! His mind kept on thinking and thinking and when he would fell asleep, his dreams were full of visions from Morgan's dead body, died by the birth of her children. A voice that kept saying she hadn't been strong enough, that she had needed someone by her side but that the father of her children hadn't been there. He woke up, drenched in sweat. As if it wasn't hot enough already. While he was still panting and staring at the ground, another flow of anger covered his body.

Get up. Just get your bloody body up and stand. I can't stand. Yes you can. Pain, anger, fear… he was thirsty, hungry and tired. He hold onto the wall with one hand and tried not to fall down. His breathing was short and painful. With violent movements of his chest, he closed his eyes and slowly got his breathing under control. The whole room turned around him; the two chairs, the withered table, one door behind which was probably another room and the door. He took a step towards it, which was like ten paces away from him. A horrible feeling spread through the leg he had just stepped with and he cried in pain as he fell against the wall, suddenly shuddering. Go on. He hold onto the wall and took another step. Another shot of ache in his leg and he just knew it was because of his back which was injured too much. Sweat beaded along his face and dripped on the ground and he lost the control of his breathing again. You can do this. He slowly lifted his leg, his foot left the ground. He moved it through the air and carefully placed it down. A gasp escaped from his mouth when the pain got him.

But then there he was, the young man, he just walked into the barn. He was holding the syringe and looked at Greg with some kind of surprise on his face. He placed the syringe on the table next to him and knitted his eyebrows. Greg didn't know why. Or how. Mostly he didn't know why at this moment. His hands grabbed the chair that stood the closest. It was easy to firmly hold it, but lifting was harder. But he did. With a furious scream he rose it above his head and swung it through the air. A loud 'crack!' sounded when the wood hit the skin. First there was surprise but then fury in the man's eyes as well as pain. Do it again. He did. The chair broke the second time he hit his hostage taker, but that left sharp edges which Greg used to continue his attack. He hit and hit until the man fell down on the ground. Of course he had tried to defence himself but how? Nothing was helpful. So now Greg tried to stay on his feet. Every single part of him trembled. Coughs were interspersed with gasps for air. What had he done? Was the man dead? His mind was shaking along with his hands. Now he needed it…

There, on the table, there it was. The needle. He stumbled towards it which could've been for hours. But then he grabbed the syringe and bit his lip as he felt the plastic locked in his trembling fingers.

You're a terrible person for doing this. Drugs are bad. But he needed them more than ever, he would die if he didn't… he brought the syringe to eye-level and looked at it. The liquid was still there. Actually his hands shook too bad to do this properly. The needle blooded his upper arm for a few times before he had found the right place. He was hissing his breaths. When he pressed the liquid through the needle into his arm, he let out a little groan. The syringe slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground, but the last bit of drugs was in his body. There he stood waiting for it to work. It took some time but the pain began to reduce slowly. Horrible thinks he yelled at himself inside his head. He was a drugs addict, a complete loser. A murderer. But he felt stronger now. He hadn't felt this way for days. Even he didn't know if it was a good or a bad feeling; strong, but strong because of that he had probably killed someone and had used drugs. Anyways, feeling strong felt good for that moment.

He had to go now, there was nowhere to go, but he couldn't stay here either. His eyes went back to the body lying on the floor. The blood was dark and there was much, way too much. He had done that himself. He retched and he suddenly felt terribly ill. His hands found the wall again and he stumbled out of the building. He began to breathe in and out the cold air. Cold. Finally, after all that time of heat… at night it had been cold outside but not inside the barn, as if all the heat of the desert gathered in there. As the wind tickled his burnt and bruised skin, he stood there. The pipes of his jeans were ripped and dirty. The flaps just moved softly with the wind around his ankles. He didn't wear more than that. His dirty, thin chest went up and down so fast he thought he would lose control of it. Automatically he wrapped his arms around himself, stroking the skin of his bruised arms. Around him was nothing more than darkness. He turned around and vaguely saw the barn he had been in. Bigger than he had thought but still a horrible view. There, next to it, was the car. Greg took a step and still felt pain, but less than before. Thanks to the drugs. His hands clasped the car and he threw away the canvasses in the back just to see if there was something useful. A thought popped up. Russell had been lying in here. It seemed so unreal that the elder man had been with him a few hours ago. Suddenly he noticed a repeating tick-tick-tick-tick-tick, he first startled but then noticed it were his own teeth. Greg felt stupid for feeling cold, he had wanted to be cold... There was nothing in the back of the car so he hastily grabbed the car door. It wasn't locked, why would it have been locked it anyway? There it was, a bottle. His sweaty but trembling hands grabbed it and he saw that there was just a little bit left. The water was warm and nasty but he didn't care. He threw the empty bottle away, it wasn't enough. He searched for some more but didn't find anything. Greg also knew he had to flee now, he didn't want to stay there any longer and maybe the man would be still alive. He didn't have the keys of the car, but he didn't want to go back to the barn either. He just began to walk. Walk, step by step, hiss after hiss. His arms firmly wrapped around himself. And then he began to sing, why was he singing? Was he becoming mad? He sang different songs; children lullabies, Marilyn Manson, songs Morgan listened to. He didn't stop walking, it was as if he was in a trance which kept him walking. His 'singing' was nothing more than little mumbling but it helped soothing the fear that came with the intense darkness around him. He had never been afraid of the dark, but now… Everything was scary.

X

'LVPD!'
'Stokes, wait!' Brass ran just behind Nick and tried to stop him, but the Texan didn't listen. Nick pointed his gun around, didn't see anything and looked around to find Greg. A body was lying on the floor close to his feet.
'No!' He fell on his knees and searched for his flashlight. When it was on, he saw it wasn't Greg. A man, not older than 30, was lying on the floor with blood around his head and a chair next to it. There was blood on the chair as well. A syringe was lying a few feet away. Nick looked up to see an angry Brass, but he eased when he saw Nick's teary eyes.
'Is it…' he whispered.
'Yes it's him.' Russell suddenly was next to Brass. Finn was keeping him from falling down as he swallowed and looked around.
'Greg?' No answer. 'He should be here. He left, I guess,'
'Maybe with the car.' Nick was already on his feet again but Russell shook his head. 'The car's still there. I think he… he is now walking in the desert somewhere.'
'N-no… No screw this Greg!' Nick ran out and cursed loudly in the cold, black air. 'We gotta find you! But how are we gonna find you in this!' he yelled. Sara had followed him and now put her arm around him.
'Hey come on man, Brass is already calling the helicopter which will give us light and it won't be difficult to find him once we have light, we'll go look for him.' Some cops stayed with the body and to investigate and wait for an ambulance, while Russell, Brass, Finn, Nick and Sara got into the two Denali's.

X

Nick hated the fact that it was so extremely dark. He had never wanted light any more than that right moment. He wanted to see where he was driving and where Greg was. He heard, far away, the sound of the helicopter and saw a vague light beam. He hoped they found Greg soon because he knew the boy wouldn't survive that long out in the desert, in the dark, bruised… A little beep sounded from Brass' radio and a tensed voice sounded.
'There's someone lying on the ground, half a mile at ten o'clock from you guys! Shall we get down?' Nick immediately turned the wheel and started driving in the said direction. Brass looked at him and then brought the radio to his mouth.
'Yeah, we're nearly there. Make sure your paramedics are prepared.' Nick swallowed hardly. Half a mile, it couldn't be far away now… Nick wanted to drive fast but not too fast, he didn't know what speed to drive… They were near the helicopter's light beam.
'Nick! There!' Brass pointed. The Texan stopped and rushed out of the car, falling down on the sand. He struggled to get up and ran towards the body lying limp on the ground. Sand was blowing around them because of the helicopter's wind and Nick's eyes were tearing. Not only from the sand. Greg's body looked so… lifeless. And he fell down again, but now next to the body. He lied flat on his face but he had to get up…
'Greg… No!' He grabbed the young man's thin wrist while Sara knelt down on the other side of Greg. His eyes were closed and his mouth opened a little. He didn't seem to feel the sand or anything else. The loud noise of the landing helicopter didn't even bother them. Nick sobbed with shocks as he tried to feel a pulse. Under his fingers was a very, very soft throbbing. 'Greg!' He gasped. 'He's still alive but weak! Where're the paramedics!' he yelled. Sara was stroking Greg's soft hair as her tears fell on his face, his face with the scar and the bruises, his face which was so thin and pale, but covered in dirt and blood. Men in white jackets came running towards them with a stretcher. But suddenly there was Russell.
'Don't put him on his back!' He yelled above the thudding sound of the helicopter. 'You can't! He has to be on his stomach, please!' The paramedics listened without asking but they saw why when they turned the man around. Sara gasped and buried her face in Nick's shoulder. The Texan could only stare with wide open eyes at the long, thin cuts, dirty, bloody and unkempt. Nick cried soundlessly. While Greg was dragged away to the helicopter, Nick noticed Brass standing beside them.
'I wanna go with him.'
'Nick you can go. I take care here. Just go now.' Brass reassured him. And Nick let go of Sara and rushed to the helicopter. To Greg.


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