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Time	By : cr8zymommy Category: 1 through F > Criminal Minds Views: 4585 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Spoilers for the Fisher King episodes, sorry folks lol
Usual disclaimer as well as warnings. :)

The boy stared out the window of the car, his eyes soaking in the sights around him. There were other cars on the road, in all sorts of shapes and colors. There were businesses—some that he could name, though how he knew that name he didn’t know—and houses and so many different things. All of it seemed familiar and yet not at the same time. He felt almost like he should know these things.
His eyes slanted toward the front where Garcia and Morgan, with Morgan behind the wheel. They’d been quiet for a while, leaving him to his thoughts, to which he was grateful. It seemed like there was so much inside his mind. So many things, all of them were pounding him, threatening to break him apart. He couldn’t seem to sort them out.
He found his thoughts drifting back to the station. Back to when he’d thrown himself at Morgan. Shame coiled in his stomach. He should never have done that. But, oh, he’d simply ached to be held right at that moment. To feel so safe and cherished. Even to him, those thoughts sounded dramatic, yet he couldn’t help it. It was how he felt.
Part of him was terrified that Master was going to find out about it. He always found out. Yet, another part of him, a part that was so tiny it almost wasn’t there, told him that Master only knew because he videotaped it all and there were no cameras here. That thought had him trembling. He was being disloyal to Master. In so many ways, he was proving what a bad boy Master had always said he was.
But why did being bad end up feeling so good? Was he a bad person? A sick person who got off on being bad? Was that why Master did what he did to him? Was that why he hurt him the way he did, because he could see inside him and see that badness?
The boy shook his head. He pushed his thoughts away from that wonderfully wrong embrace he’d been in. Instead, he thought about the words that Morgan had spoken with the tall, angry looking man. Hotch, the others had called him. Morgan had told Hotch that “I don’t think we should go to a hotel. I mean, I know it was logical and all, letting Garcia and I stay with him, but I think it’d be better if we took him home.”
“Home?” Hotch had said, sounding surprised. “Do you really think that’s wise? First off, it’s about an hour drive from here. Second, what if it triggers more than you’re prepared for, Morgan?”
“I hope it triggers something. The sooner he knows who he is, the sooner we can help him heal.”
“Not all victims come back ok, Morgan. You know that. It can take time. Simply walking him into the apartment might do nothing at all. You have to be prepared for that.”
Morgan had given Hotch a soft smile that the boy had thought looked a little sad around the edges. Why that pulled at his heart, he didn’t know, but it did. Even more so when Morgan said “I’m prepared for any of it, Hotch. The drive, it doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t happen today, that’s ok. As long as it takes, I’m going to help him out. I won’t leave him.”
Those words put a nice, warm glow down in the boy’s chest. He found himself wanting to be around Morgan and yet, at the same time, wanting to run far, far away. Morgan made him feel things he had forgotten even existed. He brought comfort and security. Even, dare he say, a small measure of happiness. But on the flip side of it, the boy knew that those things weren’t safe. A part of him that was locked in self-preservation shied away from those feelings. They only brought him pain. Not to mention that being in Morgan’s presence made the little box in the back of the boy’s mind rattle more and more. He was terrified it was going to break soon and all the pain he kept locked in there might come leaking out. It might consume him.
Suddenly he realized that the car had stopped. They’d been riding for a while now but his thoughts had kept him occupied so that he’d lost track of their traveling. He looked up now, seeing a strange building in front of him. A part of his brain supplied the word—apartment complex.
“We’re here, sweetie.” Garcia’s voice floated back to him.
With trembling fingers, the boy unhooked his seatbelt, not even sure how he knew how something like that worked. Master had only taken him in a car twice and each time, he’d hidden in the trunk. But his fingers seemed to know what to do to unhook his belt and to open the door.
When he stood beside the car, Garcia moved beside him, one of her arms coming around his waist. He jumped instinctively, bracing for a blow he was sure was coming. The flash of pain that came from his wounds being touched was pushed down before it could be noticed.
He heard the two talking to one another, though he paid no attention to it. All his attention was focused on the arm around him that was slowly propelling him forward. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to go in there. Didn’t want to walk up the staircase. What was at the top he had no idea but he knew he didn’t want to find out. His breathing hitched slightly. His head started to spin just a little. No, no, he didn’t want to go.
That arm kept bringing him further and further forward. Slowly he was helped up the stairs, up two flights, his urge to panic growing stronger and stronger with each step he took. Then they were in a hallway and he couldn’t seem to make himself take another step. The logical part of his mind was confused. There was nothing here that could threaten him! But the illogical part, the part that ran off of his instincts, wanted nothing more than to turn and run as far and as fast as he could manage.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
Garcia’s soothing whisper broke through a layer of the panic. The boy wanted to reach out, to take one of Morgan’s hands in his and feel that strength and comfort once again. He just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it. He drew into himself, trying to lock away the fear as he’d done countless times before. Then, with a deep breath, he put one foot in front of the other.
The shoes they’d got for him felt awkward on his feet. It made his steps unsteady. The clothes were a strange sensation as well. He wasn’t used to feeling anything on his skin but pain and blood. It was those odd sensations he focused on to keep his fear from getting control of him. Focus on one thing and the rest of the world slowly tends to disappear.
They stopped in front of a door about halfway down the hallway. When Morgan put a key in, unlocking it, a small whimper slid past the boy’s lips. He didn’t want to go in there. Why were they making him do this? He didn’t want to be here!
Yet, when the door swung open, the boy found himself moving again. This time there was no arm to propel him forward. No one was touching him. It was as if something had taken over; like someone else was in control of his body, making it move into this place he didn’t want to be in.
He couldn’t stop himself from looking around the room—a living room—as he walked in. Everywhere he looked he saw books. Stacks of them. On the coffee table, on an end table, on shelves against the wall. Even some piled on the floor. He stepped into the living room, one hand coming up to touch against a book on the shelf. Chaucer.
“My mom used to read me that. It’s widely considered as the first valentines’ poem.”
“Your mom read you valentines poems? Hello therapy.”
Where had that thought come from? That was Garcia’s voice, the second one. Had the first one…had it been his? Was that his own voice he was remembering? It sounded like him. But, why couldn’t he bring up an image of his mother? Why could he remember those words, but not a woman reading him this valentine poem?
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. The little box in his mind rattled once more. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be here anymore. Didn’t want to think this way. It hurt, God it hurt! But he couldn’t stop himself from continuing on. He couldn’t make his feet take him back out of the apartment. Instead, they carried him further in. Past the dining room, which led into a little kitchen. More books, everywhere, on every surface. All over there seemed to be books.
Down the hall, next. The further down he went, the more he felt his breathing trying to hitch. Yet still he could not stop.
There were pictures on the wall. Images of happy, smiling people. He refused to look at them. One glimpse sent pain shafting through his heart, his mind. After that he kept his eyes off of them. His mind screamed at him to run away before the pan grew too much. But onward he went until he reached a door. His hand trembled when he lifted it. Though he rested his palm against the door handle, he couldn’t seem to make it turn. Couldn’t bring himself to go beyond there.
It was as if opening this door was something so much bigger. What lay beyond this door, he didn’t know. But something told him that, if he opened it, there would be no going back for him. This would start him down a path that he wouldn’t be able to step off of until it finished. Could he do this?
The biggest part of him screamed No! He needed to leave here. He needed to go back to Master. Back to the things he knew. Back to the world where he had lived. Yet there was a small part of him that didn’t scream; it whispered. Taunting him. Tantalizing him with promises he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Once again that spot in his mind tried to break free, to push forward and take over. It was stronger than it had ever been. The rest of him instantly rebelled. He dropped his hand, taking one step back, then another, then another. He couldn’t go in there; he just couldn’t! They couldn’t make him do this. No…no! “No, no. No. No!”
He backed straight into something solid, sending his panic sky high. Instinctively he tried to move, to step away from whatever he’d touched, but he stumbled, dropping down to the ground. There was a crash when something fell over beside him and the part of his brain that worked only for his survival took over, shoving all those other thoughts back. He curled into the fetal position, his hands covering his head, apologies spilling past his lips.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry! Please, I’m sorry!”
Footsteps echoed behind him, both the hard sound of boots and the click he knew to be heels. Hands touched him and he couldn’t keep the scream locked in his chest. No! “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do it! I’m sorry!”
“Kid, kid! It’s ok!”
It wasn’t ok. Nothing was ok. Nothing was ever going to be ok again. “I didn’t mean to break it! I’m sorry!”
“No one’s mad, kid. Come on now, breathe for me. Calm down. No one is mad at you. It was an accident.”
But Master was mad. Master was always mad. He knew that. Master wasn’t there, though, and the boy knew what he had to do. What Master had trained him to do. His hands let go of his head, balling into fists. He struck his head once, twice, almost three times. Then hands were locking over his and voices were talking to him, but it all turned into a haze. The air in his lungs felt like it was being torn from him and the world spun in violent circles.
Master hated it when he let himself pass out. Hated it because the boy couldn’t react then. So he did the one thing he’d taught himself to do. With a great gasp, the boy drew into himself, pulling his mind and his sense of self deep inside, until he couldn’t see the world around him, couldn’t feel it, could do nothing. His body physically reacted to things, but his mind was gone. He was safe in the realm of his own mind.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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