15

Paint it Red

Patrick and Lisbon froze, the tiny laugh echoing in their ears.

"No," Patrick breathed, looking around frantically.

"Patrick…" Lisbon reached for him. Before she could touch him he flew across the room, slamming into a wall, tearing stitches open. "PATRICK!"

He was on the floor, clutching his side, coughing, trying to breathe.

He looked up, his heart tearing, lips shaking as he looked at his baby-girl. She was smiling maliciously, her angelic face twisted in demonic horror.

"SAM, DEAN!" Lisbon yelled, running toward Patrick.

"You wanna play a game, Daddy?" His daughter giggled. He shook his head.

"No, no, baby, please," he begged, shaking his head.

"Don't be mean, Daddy," she frowned. "Let's play hide-and-seek."

Lisbon was almost to him. She was right behind the girl when she fell, running into something she couldn't see. She shook her head, dizzy.

"Please-"

"We'll hide." Sam and Dean ran into the bullpen, drawing their guns. "And they'll seek."

A blink later and they were both gone.

"PATRICK!" Lisbon stood, spinning around.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean bellowed.

"Where did they go?" Lisbon demanded. "Where the hell did she take him?"

"We don't know," Dean said truthfully. "But they can't get out of this building."

"And how the hell do you know that?" She growled.

"It'd take to long to explain but trust us, they can't take Patrick anywhere out of here."

Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby came up behind them, sawn-offs in their hands.

"Search the building!" She ordered. "Patrick's daughter took him somewhere but they can't get out of the building!" They nodded and took off in separate directions.

"I'm gonna check upstairs," Sam said. Dean nodded.

"I'm goin' with you," he said to Lisbon. "Just in case you need the back-up."

"Fine!" She said, storming off and running for the stairs. These things were strong enough to kill now. If they didn't find Patrick soon… She didn't even want to think about it.

Dean kept pace with her, just as worried. He may not have liked Patrick very much because of how nosy he was, but the last thing he wanted was for him to die because they didn't find him in time.

Lisbon was frantic. Patrick, WHERE ARE YOU?

He had his hands over his ears, crying into his knees, trying not to listen to the horrible voices around him.

"He slit my throat, Daddy," the little voice said, her icy hand forcing his eyes up. "Look." She pointed to the large gash, now turned green against her pale and putrid skin.

"No, no, no…" he moaned, face returning to his knees. "Please, please…"

"Wassamatter, Daddy?" She asked, her laugh horrible. "Can't look at me 'cause it's your fault?" He sobbed harder.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

She threw him to the other side of the shower room, slamming him into the tile so hard it broke.

"Sorry won't bring me back." She threw him to the ceiling, letting him crash to the floor.

He coughed hard, covered in blood from new wounds and the old ones that had come unstitched.

The shower heads came on, drenching in icy water in seconds. He started to tremble, staring at his daughter. She giggled, smiling. She tossed him around like a rag doll, jumping up and down and clapping her little hands together, joyous at her father's agony.

He finally landed face first on the tile again, coughing, blood running down the drain as he choked on the small amount of water that rested at the bottom. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, but an unseen force shoved him back down again.

"Please…" He whimpered. "Don't do this, please." She giggled.

"Silly Daddy, we aren't done yet." She made him stand up, throwing him to the back wall, letting the freezing water soak him to his bones. He trembled violently, stifling his sobs with little success.

"You're not a very nice daddy," she frowned, pouting. "But you didn't have a very nice daddy either, did you?" He shook his head helplessly. She giggled.

"Well he wants to talk to you," she said, looking on the other side of the room, toward the janitor's closet.

Patrick's face went white when he saw who was standing inside it.

"No," he shook his head, eyes never leaving the closet. "Please, please, don't." He looked at the man's evil smile, that same smile he used to get right before he was beaten senseless. She tilted her head a little, sending him flying into the closet. The door slammed with a BANG! , the room echoing with her giggle.

"NO! NO, NO, NOOOO!" Patrick's screams replaced it, banging on the door in a panic.

All sound ceased for a moment, nothing but the steady hiss of the water running.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Lisbon felt goosebumps shoot up her spine as the awful scream resounded through the building. At least they were the only ones left in it.

She looked at Dean, who looked just as scared as she did, and bolted toward the sound.

"Patrick?" She yelled. "Patrick, where are you?"

They ran into the shower room. The scene that met them was enough to tell them what had happened. There was still blood smeared on the tile, the water still running, the only sound besides her and Dean's heaving breaths.

"Patrick?" No sound. Just the water. "Patrick?"

Dean looked down at the floor, at the slow drizzle of blood that trekked across the floor. He nudged Lisbon, gesturing to it. Her eyes got wide when she saw where it ended.

She ran for the closet, ripping the door without regard for what else could be on the other side of it.

"Teresa!" Dean bellowed. She hit the floor just as the gun fired.

The man that had been standing over Patrick disappeared in a whirl of smoke.

Patrick's body was still, his eyes closed, soaked in water and blood. Lisbon gingerly touched his face, pushing his sopping curls out of his eyes.

"Patrick?" She said softly. "Patrick, wake up." She felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when she found one. "Patrick," she shook him lightly, her hand on his icy cheek. "C'mon, honey, wake up, look at me," she was getting frantic.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, instantly filling with tears and fear. He started to struggle a little, whimpering and crying.

"No, no, no, please!" He choked, shrinking away, trying to get away from Lisbon's hands.

"Shh, Patrick, Patrick, it's me!" She exclaimed, holding him still. He looked up at her, his eyes gut-wrenching. He clung to her as tightly as he could, shivering and sobbing violently. "It's alright, it's alright, shh…"

She took one of the towels from the shelf above them, wrapping it around his gooseflesh strewn shoulders.

"It's okay now," she soothed. "Shh," she kissed his temple. "Hush, hush, it's alright, sh…"

Dean was looking at the state of the room, closet and Patrick, trying to see all of the damage that was done and make sure the brat didn't show up again.

There were pieces of tile in Patrick's arm and shoulder from where he had broken the wall. The tips of his fingers were bleeding. Dean frowned and looked at the door. His eyes grew.

Whatever the hell had been in here was enough to make Patrick try to claw his way out. He looked terrified enough to. He was bruised and cut even more now, every one of his stitches from early busted. His lip was split, a deep purple bruise on his jaw, eye swollen just a little.

If he didn't get warm soon he'd catch hypothermia. Dean wasn't sure if he was shaking so hard from fear, crying, or cold, though.

"Teresa," Dean said. Lisbon looked up at him, surprised that he had called her that. "We need to get him out of here."

She nodded, absently stroking Patrick's hair while he sobbed.

"Make it stop," he breathed. "Make it stop, please…"

-Awn. TLC next chap!-