CSI: Braden Sanders-Stokes: Gone

A/N: I certainly hope this chapter makes up for the last one which was way too short, and had no action. If it seems like Braden is still three years old, that's my fault. I still picture him as a toddler sometimes, and I'm wondering if maybe I should have kept him at that age, but he will grow up, and the events of this chapter will help with that. Speaking of which, there is a violence WARNING. This chapter is not nice, and touches on a rough subject, if only briefly. Part of the inspiration for this chapter came from a documentary on skinheads I happened to come across on tv a few weeks back. Stacy will probably say this requires a Kleenex WARNING at the end, so I'll put that in, whether you need it or not. In the end, please enjoy this chapter, and as always, let me know what you think. Thanks for being patient with my slow writing. Enjoy...

Summary: An investigation becomes personal when Braden doesn't come home from school and no one seems to know where he is. Braden is ten years old, in this, the twelfth chapter.

Your son is gone. If you wish to see him again, alive, stop investigating my skinhead brother and give yourselves up for sacrifice.

"Where is he?" Nick asked the thirteen-year-old boy, Devon, in a voice that was almost too calm for the situation.

Greg stood close by, along with the detective Brass had assigned to their case. They stood on the front porch of Devon's parents' house, his mother next to him. Her hand was on his shoulder.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You know where they took him."

"I swear! I don't know!"

Nick moved forward, getting in the boy's face. "I know you know. And you'd better start talking..."

Greg pulled him back. "Nick!"

"Don't you dare threaten my son!"

Detective Harwood stepped between Nick and the boy. "Ma'am, the other boy we talked to mentioned your son was in the group Braden was last seen leaving school with."

"Well, he's already said he doesn't know anything about that Braden boy's disappearance and you can't even tell me this other boy's name. How's that gonna help?"

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but we can't jeopardize the case in anyway. If Devon thinks of anything, please, give me a call." The detective handed her a business card before the three of them headed back toward his cruiser and their SUV.

"Nick," Greg stopped his husband.

Nick spun to face him, a tortured look in his eyes. His mouth opened to say something and then shut.

"You and I are going back to the station."

"What?" Nick's eyes widened and he stepped away from Greg.

"We need to take a step back from this. Let Detective Harwood do his job."

"Greg, no... no, you can't be serious... We need to find Braden. How can you not want to find him?"

"You know I want to. You know I'd do anything to get him back. But you're starting to jeopardize things. This is too personal for us to be involved."

"Please... G..."

"Give me the keys, Nick."

"No..."

"Nick... Hand them over. Now. I'm not giving you a choice."

He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed before grudgingly pulling his car keys out of his pocket and handing them to his husband.

"You can handle the rest of this without us, right?" Greg asked the detective after taking the offered keys.

"Yeah, no problem."

"Greg, what did we do wrong?" Nick asked back at the station.

"We didn't do anything wrong." Greg held him in a tight embrace as they stood in the empty waiting area.

"Last time we fought."

"He didn't run away this time."

Another voice spoke up, "You didn't do anything." They looked up to see Bobby in the doorway. "I heard he was last scene with kids he didn't hang out with."

"That's what Jimmy and Patty both say."

"Then that's where you should be looking."

"We are... Detective Harwood is."

"You removed yourselves from the case?"

Greg nodded.

"Good thinking."

"Hey, how're you two holding up?" Warrick asked from behind Bobby as the other man moved further into the room.

"Don't ask." Nick shook his head.

"We'll find him. And don't you forget that."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try. It's just so hard on this side of the fence. I'm used to going out there and doing something."

"I heard Greg dragged you away."

Nick looked at his shoes. "He did. He had to. I don't know what I would have done..."

"We all face difficult times like these at least once in our lives. You'll live through it. We'll get the little guy back and he'll be just fine."

Nick didn't say anything and Greg's stomach was twisting further into knots.

"Bobby, where's my results?" someone asked.

"Coming! Guys? I've gotta get back. But please, keep me updated. If there's anything I or Jack can do, let me know."

"Thanks and we will."

"Listen, I've got a case to get back to. Keep me posted too, alright?"

"Sure," Greg's voice was barely a whisper.

Warrick and Bobby disappeared down the hall just as Jimmy walked in with his father."Hey Jimmy. Dan," Nick greeted.

Greg nodded beside him.

"I heard some guys talking about you at school today," Jimmy addressed them, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt. He was looking down.

The knotted stomach flipped over, forcing Greg to cover his mouth in case he was going to loose his lunch. He didn't.

"What did they say?" Nick asked.

"Said it was a sin... what you do. That it was wrong."

Both men looked up at his father.

"I see nothing wrong," Dan said.

"I don't understand. You're nice. What's wrong about that? What did you do that's so bad? I know lots of people who don't have a mom and a dad."

Greg knelt in front of him. "Well, some people just don't see what you see. And not everyone believes the same things you do."

"I don't get it."

"Um, think of it this way, I've known you for many years, right?"

"Right." Jimmy nodded emphatically.

"And I like you a lot, because I know you, and I've seen proof that you're a good kid. But someone else might hate red hair, for example. And just because they hate red hair means they don't like you. Even if they don't know you."

"That's not nice. Or fair."

"I know."

"Why would they do that?"

"I don't know."

"Just because you're together shouldn't mean people hate you. I'll show them!" Jimmy's hands turned to fists. "Bring those idiots on!"

"Jimmy! What's gotten into you?" his father asked.

The boy's shoulders slumped though his eyes were still alight with anger. "Sorry, Da. But it's not right!"

"I know it's not. But the officer we spoke to is going to do everything he can to find these boys and bring Braden home. Ok? That means you can stay out of it."

"Yeah, maybe."

Greg stood up. "Did you tell Detective Harwood?" he asked Dan.

"We were just in with Captain Brass."

"Good."

After they'd gone, Nick found a chair and Greg sat beside him, turning into him, resting his chin on his husband's shoulder, his lips barely touching his neck. Nick's face was buried in his hands. They sat this way for hours waiting for news on their son. Any news except that which Doc Robbins would tell them.

People came and went, some they knew, others they didn't. Those they knew looked in on them with expressions of condolence while everyone else either gave them odd looks or didn't seem to notice them at all.

With one arm resting on Nick's opposite shoulder, Greg rested his left hand on Nick's knee. His husband placed a hand over his and intertwined their fingers.

Catherine looked in, and, upon seeing them, walked over, setting a hand on Greg's shoulder. He knew she was there, felt her comforting hand, but couldn't bring himself to look up or say anything.

"I took over your skinhead case," she stated. "If I find something that relates to Braden, I'll be sure to let Harwood know."

A few moments later she left just as silently as she had come.

Minutes turned into an hour... into another... and another.

"We've got a lead."

Both men looked up to see Brass. "Harwood just called. He's got a location on Braden. We just have to find him."

Greg untangled himself from Nick and stood up. "We're coming with you."

"I was hoping you would."

"Where is he?" Nick asked, getting to his feet beside Greg.

"In an abandoned house off the strip. Harwood's headed there now."

Arriving at the old, grey, crumbling house, they found Harwood babysitting two young teenage boys sitting on the front steps, their hands cuffed behind their backs. Two patrol cars were parked beside Harwood's sedan, their officers inside, watching the action from where they sat.

"Captain, Jake Dent and Bleary Whet. Found them sitting right here on the front steps. They're not giving up his location."

Their eyes widened for a moment as they looked from Brass to the two CSIs.

"Captain?" the voice of the blonde teen, Bleary Whet, quavered just a little.

"You can't even file for missing persons until twenty-four hours have passed!" the other seemed more sure of himself and his knowledge of the law.

"Yes. Captain. And you forget about the ransom note you left for them." Brass inclined his head toward Nick and Greg. "I know you didn't sign that note. But once we get a writing sample, I'm sure it'll match up to one of you. Besides, they're close, personal friends, so they don't have to wait so long."

The blonde's eyes widened, while the long black haired teen's eyes narrowed.

"You can do that? Match writing..."

"Of course. It's easy. Like finger prints." Brass grinned.

"Friends? You call them..." Jake, the one who'd narrowed his eyes, half stood up, his handcuffs rattling together as he struggled to get free. Detective Harwood kept a steady gaze on him, ready to jump if he made one wrong move.

"Did I mention I work with them too?"

Jake sat down with a loud thump and two pairs of wide eyes landed on Braden's fathers.

"You know what that means? You do anything against them and you're doing it against the entire police department."

Jake Dent blinked and looked back at Brass. "How'd you find us here?"

"One of your friends gave you up."

"No, they wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, well, they did. Next time, know exactly who you're messing with before you mess around. You're under arrest. Harwood, get them out of here!"

Brass led the way into the house, his gun drawn. Nick un-holstered his as well. Greg stepped carefully behind them.

"Braden!" the youngest of the three called out. "Braid!"

There was no response.

Walking down the hall they entered the kitchen. One pot sat on the stove with something white encrusted around the edge. Opening cupboards they found no child. The door into the diningroom had almost fallen off its hinges, hanging crazily in the frame.

Greg's stomach turned, just thinking about Braden in such a place, somewhere he couldn't call out to them. Nick's knuckles turned white around the handle of his weapon.

They moved into the livingroom where a ratty old couch gave off a foul stench. Brass looked behind it.

"Dead cat."

Upstairs they found bedrooms with peeling wallpaper. The first held a wooden twin bed, the frame broken. No mattress. The closet was empty. The bathroom next door was free of humans but not of mold. The second bedroom held the worn out twin mattress, covered in dark stains.

Greg's stomach cramped up. He stopped, not wanting to go further, afraid to call out Braden's name, no matter how old the stains were. The closet was empty. There was no blood trail. He told himself the stains were old. He had nothing to fear... yet.

The last bedroom was an empty beer can party. Two soiled mattresses lay on the floor. Doubles. They were covered in candy wrappers and used condoms now dried out. A small whimper escaped Greg's lips but no one looked at him or offered any form of comfort. Their eyes were locked on the closet door which had a rickety diningroom chair under the knob.

"Braden?" Nick's voice came out as a squeak.

There was no response.

Keeping his weapon ready, Brass approached first, pulled the chair away, flinging it across the room before reaching for the knob with his free hand. He yanked the door open and thrust his weapon inside.

Nick's arms fell heavily as he let out a sigh. He holstered his gun and fell to his knees as Brass moved aside.

"Are you alright?"

A small head nodded beyond Nick's shoulder and Greg realized Braden was there. The ten-year-old didn't look happy to see them, or relieved to be found. He wasn't smiling up at them as Nick bent forward and untied his hands from behind his back. Instead, he looked from his Da to his Daddy as if deep in thought.

Greg, who felt unable to move, was surprised Braden wasn't at least scared from nearly having Brass's nine millimeter thrust in his face, never mind being locked in the closet of an old house. He looked somber and Greg was unnerved.

His husband's hands were now on their son's shoulders. "Braid?"

He blinked.

"Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Greg found himself on the floor beside them, unsure how he got there.

"I'm ok."

"What did they do to you?"

"Just talked."

Just talked? About what?! Who in their right mind kidnaps a child just to talk to them?!

"Can we go home?"

"Yes. Yes. We can go home."

This time Nick willingly handed Greg the car keys.

When they emerged from the dark house Detective Harwood was already leaving and Brass was waiting by his car for them. Greg realized he hadn't noticed when the Captain had left them alone upstairs.

"We're going home."

"I need a statement from him regarding what happened."

"No." Nick's eyes locked with the Captain's, emanating a fierce will over what would happen to his son.

"Come on, Nick. You know I need that if we want to get these kids for anything. Don't let them walk free."

Greg placed a hand on Nick's arm. "He's right, Nick. Let's just get this over with."

His husband tore his gaze from Brass and let it fall on Greg. He saw the torture he was feeling.

"We're not CSIs here. Just parents. We need to do this."

"Look, I won't even make you go downtown. I've got a tape recorder in the car. We can do it right here. Get it over with. Then you can go home."

Nick's shoulders slumped and Greg saw him cave.

"Alright. Fine."

Greg knelt in front of the silent boy. "Brass just needs to ask you a few questions. Ok?"

"I want to go home."

"We will. I promise. But we have to do this first."

Brass reached into his car and brought out the recorder. Switching it on, he began to speak into it, reciting the date, case number, his name, and Braden's. He got down to the boy's level, taking Greg's place.

"Braden, can you explain to me what happened? When, where, and how you ended up here? If you know the names of those involved, that would help."

"They took me from school in a big car."

"Do you know what kind? Was it a van? Or a truck?"

"Van."

"What color was it?"

"Don't know."

"What about the boys? How many were there?"

"A lot."

"Ok. Ok. Do you know any of their names?"

Braden looked up at his fathers, his eyes moving to each in turn before finding the Captain again. "I don't know them."

"But you go to school with them, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"And you don't know them?"

"No."

"Ok. Alright. What did they do? When they brought you here? Did they tell you why they wanted to lock you in a closet?"

"Just talked."

The cop's eyebrows rose. "About what?"

Again, Braden looked up at his fathers. "Do I hafta tell?"

"Well, it would help."

"I don't want to."

"It's ok, Braid. They're not gonna do anything like this again," Greg consoled him.

Braden's eyes danced between the Captain and Greg, then Nick.

Now Brass was looking up at them. "Maybe it would be best if we talked alone."

"What? No!" Nick's left hand dropped onto his son's shoulder.

"Nick, you know how this works. What are you afraid of?"

Braden shrugged out of his grasp. Greg took his hand and led him back to their SUV. He didn't let go, but turned to face Nick.

"It'll be ok. He can handle it. And so can you."

"I just don't understand why he can't tell us what happened." Nick was looking beyond Greg. "He's talking."

"Look at me." Greg took his chin between thumb and forefinger, bringing it down so Nick was looking at him. "Sometimes you have to learn to let go. This is one of them."

"You don't really believe that."

"I have to. But it doesn't mean I want to."

As soon as Greg had their front door open Braden took off upstairs to his room. Nick put his gun away and went to let Comet out into their fenced in back yard. When he turned Greg was right behind him, arms outstretched, welcoming him into a hug.

"It'll be ok, Nicky. You know we've both been through tough situations we couldn't tell anyone about. You especially. He'll tell us when he's ready. Ok? All we have to do is be there for him. That's it. That's all we can do."

Nick buried his face in the crook of Greg's neck. "Yeah, no, you're right. I know it. It's just hard to be on this end of everything."

"Just think about what he's going through. Something horrible happens to you and you don't feel like you can tell those you love?"

"That's a horrible thought," a new, younger voice, sneered.

Nick whipped around, unwilling to let go of his husband. Greg's eyes went wide, fear claiming his suddenly erratic heart. He clung to Nick's hand as if it were the hand of the last living human on earth in the middle of a wild hurricane.

Standing before them, five men in their early twenties with shaved heads and tattoos, wielded riffles and large hunting knives. Greg recognized one of their tattoos as the Swastika, and their faces as those of the skinhead group they had been investigating for several recent, and very violent, murders. Catherine had just taken over the case. His hands began to tremble and he wished fervently that Nick hadn't put his gun away.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Nick asked.

"And how did you get in here?"

"You stupid fags left the door open."

He was beyond feeling offending. His breathing came quick and his heart beat thudded in his chest. His hand tightened around Nick's, his knuckles turning white. He wanted them gone. Wanted them gone from their home, from his safe haven.

"What the hell do you think we're doing here?" One of them pointed toward his tattoo. "We're here to cleanse this town of people like you."

"You also put my little brother in jail for educating that kid you call yours."

"Wh... what?"

"You heard me. My brother tried to teach that poor kid of yours what you really are. But you interrupted the lesson."

Greg felt his knees going weak as he clutched at Nick's hand. He thought of his son locked in a closet. He wanted to call out to him, to make sure he was ok, but words failed him. It was possible some of the other kid's words had somehow reached Braden. Maybe he'd been debating whether or not having two fathers was ok. A lump formed in his throat.

Outside, Comet whined at the back door but no one let her in.

"Nice place you've got here." One of the skinheads used the butt of his riffle to knock a glass candle holder off the mantle. He watched it shatter on the floor and grinned, moving on to the family pictures framed on either side of it. The corners of the frames dented the floor and the glass fell out, covering his heavy boots with broken pieces. Glass crunched under his boots as his eyes scanned the rest of the room for breakable items.

"You really shouldn't get kids in trouble. Especially when they're trying to grow up with proper values. Unlike yourselves. What on earth are you teaching that boy? That it's ok to sleep with another man? That's sick. Truly sick."

"Twisted."

"Twisted," they agreed.

Nick stepped in front of Greg, his hands pushing Greg a safe distance behind him and letting him go.

"Nick..."

"I would strongly suggest you leave. Now."

"Or what? You'll hurt us?"

"Not until you get a beating that'll last for the rest of your life." A meaty fist met a meaty hand and ground into it. The young man smiled, seemingly delighted at the thought of making mince meat out of Nick.

The other four laughed at his remark.

A hand shot out sending Nick to the ground. Comet began to howl at the back door. Greg didn't even realize he was crying until tears began dripping from his chin. He fell beside Nick's unmoving body but was kicked away by a steel-toed boot. Strong arms caught him and wrestled his hands behind his back as he struggled to get free. A chair was thrust under him, knocking into his knees, forcing him to sit down. His hands were tied to the back of the chair by a plastic strap so tight he was afraid it would cut his skin.

"Please don't hurt him. We didn't do anything to you. Your brother put himself..."

A pistol butt slammed into his cheek, nearly rotating his head all the way around.

"Don't give me that bullshit about how he put himself in jail. Cause he didn't. He was just doing the world a favor until you went and got involved." He looked back at Nick. "Now, see, there's no sense hurting him if he can't feel it. But this should do the trick."

The largest of the skinheads brought his hunting knife to Nick's arm, thrust the point in a few centimeters and twisted the blade. Nick's eyes popped open and he was already screaming.

Greg's mouth was covered in duck tape by the man behind him. He could only stare in horror at the blood issuing from Nick's wound.

"You two are going to learn a harsh lesson today. Sadly, it won't do you any good because you're going to die shortly after."

Nick looked up at Greg, calmer now, though breathing heavily, and locked eyes with him, pouring all of his love into that look.

Something hard hit Greg across the face. Again and again, and again, the pain blossomed behind his eyes. Nick lowered his own, sadness filling them.

It was then Greg realized someone was asking a question of Nick, "Where's the fucking brat?!"

When Nick refused to answer Greg was hit harder. His vision swam before his eyes. His husband became a blurry form, but he kept praying he would keep quiet. Greg tasted blood in his mouth but when the man hitting him turned his attentions to Nick he knew the fate of his family rested in his hands.

Gathering the strength and courage to act, he stood up, bent forward with the chair on his back. Half blind from the tears in his eyes, he swung the chair toward the nearest skinhead, knocking him to the ground. Vaguely, he was aware of Nick's horrified face yelling at him to stop.

Two pairs of hands grasped the chair's legs, halting his movements. The plastic bit into his wrists but he refused to let on how much it hurt. The fifth man was back on his feet, seemingly unhurt by the blow Greg had given him. His face was turning red and his eyes had closed to slits.

The next thing Greg knew he was flying through the air, crashing through what sounded like glass. Nick was shouting frantically before his voice was muffled. Greg landed on his hands, unsure where he was, just as another crash could be heard from inside the house. He feared for Nick's life but couldn't get up, couldn't do anything more to help him.

"Police! Freeze!"

Relief washed over him at the sound of Detective Sophia Curtis's voice but quickly dissipated at the sounds of the ensuing fight. He wasn't sure how many cops she'd brought with her but the fight sounded vicious. There was a scream, yelling, a gun went off, and Greg closed his eyes, unsure what he would do if he were faced with Nick having been shot again. Possibly even a fatal wound this time.

"Please, dear God," he mumbled. "Don't take my family away from me. Please. I'll do anything you want."

Another gun went off. Nick let out a grunt and then a cry of pain. Greg swallowed the ever growing lump in his throat.

"What the hell! We're the ones doing good around here! You have no right to arrest us!"

"What? Killing people is doing good? I don't think so."

"When it's a fag, yes. And when it's a whole family of them, even better!"

"Get them out of here!"

Warm hands cradled his face, thumbs wiping at his wet cheeks. A desperate voice spoke, "Come on, baby, it's me. Please wake up. I can't loose you. Not now. I love you."

Greg blinked his eyes open to find Nick, his beautiful husband, hovering over him.

"Oh, thank God!" Nick lowered his head to Greg's chest for a moment, letting out a rush of air and a half sob. "Thank God," he whispered.

"Braden? Where's Braid?" Greg asked, his voice so quiet only Nick could hear him.

"Sophia's getting him. He never came downstairs. He's probably scared to death. I didn't know if I should get him or come to you first. She pushed me over here."

"It's ok. You did ok. I'm sure he's fine. He has to be fine. They didn't find him. Right?"

"No. No they didn't. They didn't." Nick shook his head. "We need to get you free. Come on, I'll pick you up and he's gonna cut your hands free." He motioned to a nearby cop holding a pair of scissors.

"Ok."

Nick gently lifted him a few inches. A whimper escaped his tight lips as the cop descended on him and tried to cut the plastic around his wrists. He wanted to close his eyes and forget the pain but Nick's grimacing face wouldn't let him.

"Your arm."

Blood dripped from his husband's biceps, as he strained to hold him up, off the chair. It looked a little worse than the first time he'd seen the fresh wound in his upper arm.

"I'm fine."

Once he was free of the chair, Nick carried him over to the couch, putting a pillow underneath his head. He brushed sweat slicked hair out of his eyes and Greg realized his vision had cleared.

"I just need to know that you're ok."

"Just my wrists hurt, that's all."

EMTs were already swarming around him, ready to patch him up.

"Daddy!" Braden ran full tilt toward him until a police officer, the one who'd cut his bonds, stopped him.

"Best let the EMTs work, ok?"

"No, let him come."

The cop let Braden go and he ran to Greg's open arms. His eyes were large and shining.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, kiddo. I'm fine. Are you ok?"

Braden nodded.

"Mr. Sanders-Stokes, we need to finish cleaning your wounds. Would you hold still?" the EMT's voice held an irritation in it.

Greg offered up his wrists, hissing as the antiseptic went to work.

"Nick, you should have that arm looked at." Sophia was standing over them.

"Yeah, yeah, I will."

She motioned to a third EMT standing aside from the two working on Greg. He began to examine Nick's wound.

Braden looked around at all of the commotion while sitting on Greg's legs and holding Nick's free hand. A nearby officer held Comet on her leash.

"How'd you know to come?" Greg asked the detective.

"Your amazing son here called 911." She gave Braden a big smile.

"You did?" both fathers asked in unison.

"I had to," he said, his cheeks flushed. "They told me it was wrong for you to be together. But they don't know you. And when they came here and hurt you... I knew they were wrong."

The EMTs finished taping his bandages into place and Greg sat up, wrapping his arms around Braden.

"Thank you, Braid. Thank you so much!"

A/N: So, I thought at the end of September that I would be able to write two chapters a week and have this story finished by November. Ha. Not gonna happen. Sorry folks. As things stand now, this will be the last chapter to be written and posted before Wrimo. During November, you can check my personal wiki (queenoftheuniverse.) for my original fantasy novel, Servants of Darkness. Once that's finished, I'll get back to this as soon as possible. And after this story is done, I will be working on my merman story, Strength of Soul, I promise! However, there is something else you need to know. I just got a new job! The one I've been wanting for a long time, the one I got a Masters degree for. I'm not sure when the start date is yet, but that might affect a few things like my writing. We'll just have to wait and see at this point.