-NO JISBON! k? :)-

12

Bloodshot Eyes

"Lisbon…help me." She was scared, no she was terrified. Had he really just said what she thought he did?

"Wh-what's wrong?" She asked, her hands on his shoulders. He looked at her, lips shaking. "Hey, hey, easy, it's alright, Patrick. What's wrong?"

"I c-can see them, Lisbon," he choked. "I can see them."

"See who?" She could feel him trembling underneath her hands.

"M-my wife and daughter…I can see them, Lisbon." Her eyes grew to record size at his quivering words. She looked at him, into those bright blue pools of agony. It made her chest ache to look into those eyes.

"Like, like nightmares?" She asked. He shook his head.

"No, no when I'm awake. I th-thought they were nightmares t-too. I see them when I'm awake." She carefully touched the scratches on his face, thumbing his cheek. She could partially see a bruise coming out of the collar of his shirt on his neck. His wrist looked as if someone had grabbed it, hard. "I h-haven't slept in almost t-ten days."

"Did…did they hurt you?" She asked, though she already knew the answer. He nodded, tears in his eyes.

"P-please, Lisbon, I…I can't do it anymore. Please…" He broke down entirely then. He fell against her, sobbing almost violently. He trembled against her, his face in her neck.

"Shh…it's alright, Patrick. It's alright. Shh…" She stroked the back of his head.

Van Pelt walked around the corner to see where Lisbon was. She froze when she saw the scene in front of her, turning on her heel and walking back into the bull-pen.

"Interrogation room," she said brusquely, gathering files in her hands.

"What?" Dean said, looking up at her. "Why?"

"Just get up," she sighed. They were still for another beat before standing and making their way out. Dean came back in the room, grabbed Castiel's collar and drug him away.

Lisbon was still holding Patrick, trying to get as much information out of him as she could.

"It's my fault," he sobbed. "It's all my fault." Lisbon shook her head.

"No, no it's not your fault, Patrick, you didn't know what he would do."

"I should've just kept my stupid mouth shut," he spat, his words filled with self-loathing.

"Patrick, can you see them right now?" She asked. He shook his head. "Were they angry when you first saw them?"

"No," he croaked. "No, th-they were happy to see m-me. Then…then they got mad…" He started to sob again, harder than before.

"Okay, okay, Patrick, it's alright. Shh…" She touched his cheek, lifting his face. "Okay, Patrick, come with me." She took his hands, helping him stand. She led him into the bullpen, setting him down on the couch. His couch.

"I'll be right back, alright? Don't move." She touched his face again before walking away.

He sniffed, his face soaked in tears, trembling all over. Lisbon came back a few moments later, a pillow and blanket in her hands. She set the pillow on the arm of the couch and gently took his hand.

"Lie down, Patrick," she said gently. "It's okay, lie down. Shh…" He rested his head on the pillow, sighing, still shaking , his breath coming in quick gasps.

She covered him up, tucking the blanket around him and rubbing his forehead. She pushed his lank curls out of his eyes. "Shhh, you need to sleep, honey, alright?"

"Y-you believe me, d-don't you?" Those eyes…It was as if his sanity depended on her believing him. He was so scared, so broken. This is how he felt every day, on the inside anyway. He'd been worn down so much he had no façade to protect him anymore.

"Yes, Patrick," she said honestly. "I believe you." His sobs started again and he leaned into her hand, relieved.

"Shh, hush, hush, it's alright. Shh… Just sleep, Patrick. Just sleep." He looked so miserable, so broken, so alone. It was tearing her up looking at him. She knew what the grief did to him on a daily basis, she could see it whenever someone brought up Red John. There was that moment of anguish that flashed in his eyes before he shut down and got angry.

Not now. Now there was only that horrible, horrible agony that stripped his face naked and made her want to hug him until he wasn't crying anymore. The poor thing…

She continued to rub his forehead, seeing the fatigue appear in his weary features. He sniffled, still crying softly. She was surprised she didn't see blood on his chest from his shattered heart. "Shh," she soothed. "It's alright. Don't cry, don't cry, shh…"

Slowly, Patrick's eyes closed a little more as the minutes went on until they finally closed. His breathing was deep, even, and his sobs ceased. She wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. She sighed, standing gingerly, trying not to wake him.

She walked into the room with everyone else, rubbing her temples.

"What's wrong with Jane?" Cho asked.

"I think I know who the next victim is," she said, exasperated. The two brother's eyes grew.

"Patrick?" Sam asked.

"He just told me what you guys told us about word for word. What's happened to those other people is happening to him."

"Who's he seeing?" Dean asked.

"His wife and daughter," Castiel said. Everyone in the room turned.

"Cas, how do you know that?" Dean said.

"I know a lot about people, Dean. You know that."

"And how is that?" Rigsby asked. Dean and Sam exchanged glances as Castiel turned his attention to the young man.

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

The room froze. Sam sighed, hanging his head. Dean rested his face in his hand.

"WHAT?" Cho exclaimed, showing more emotion than he had the entire time Sam and Dean had been there. Castiel just looked at him. "Ghosts, fine, monsters, okay, but this? No, no, nuh uh…" He shook his head.

"He's telling the truth," Sam said. "He's an angel."

"Prove it," Van Pelt said quietly.

Without warning, thunder crashed, the sun disappeared, and black shadows spread behind him in the shape of wings.

Lisbon backed into the wall behind her, Cho remained motionless, Van Pelt's jaw was almost on the table and Rigsby fell out of his chair.

"Told ya," Dean said. Sam looked around at everyone, smiling a little as the shadows faded and the sun came out from behind the clouds.

"Alright, Sammy, go call Bobby," Dean sighed. "I'll deal with them."

Sam nodded and stood, taking out his phone.

"Hey, Bobby, quick question…"

Patrick opened his eyes when he felt the temperature around him plummet. He huddled closer into himself, looking around, his eyes still swollen.

There she was. Her hands were clenched into fists, lips pulled back in a snarl. She looked as if she were decaying, her chest heaving, blood all over her from the wounds that monster had inflicted on her. Her eyes were filled with such hatred as she looked at him. He started to shake.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She grabbed his shirt and threw him across the room. He cried out when he struck, coughing when he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

"Please…" He choked. "Please, no…" She grabbed his face, nails biting his skin.

"I'm gonna do to you what he did to me," she hissed, a knife in her hand.

"Please," he gulped, trembling. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"I'm done listening to you, you pathetic, worthless piece of shit!"

The knife went through his shirt, sliding down his skin.

"LISBON!"