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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
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The silence in the room seemed almost deafening. Shock played over each face present except for Spencer. The young man knew his face was a mask of panic and confusion. Should he know who this man was? And, if so, why didn’t he? Why didn’t he know him? Everyone was looking at him like he should. But he didn’t. There was no memory attached to that face. No recollection that sparked at the man before him; a vague sense at first that the voice was familiar, but there were thousands of people that sounded semi-alike in their voices. He could simply be thinking that this Ethan fellow sounded like someone else.
Ethan was the first to recover. “What do you mean, you don’t know me? Man, we’ve been friends a long time. We’ve known each other for years.” He said slowly. As if speaking slower would make his words more understandable. Or like he was speaking to someone with a mental handicap. I’m not retarded Spencer wanted to tell him. I just have absolutely no idea who you are. But he didn’t say it. Of course he didn’t. This man was a stranger; there was no telling how he would act or what he was capable of. What if he was here to hurt him?
That thought had him paling and clutching tighter to Morgan’s hand. This ‘Ethan’ wouldn’t hurt him, would he? He wouldn’t try to do anything to him? What if…what if he wanted to Have him? No, no. No! That couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. Master told him not to let anyone else Have him. He belonged to Master. No one else.
It was no surprise when Aaron moved just a little more in front of Spencer, not totally blocking him, but offering him shelter and preventing Ethan from coming forward. “When Spencer came home, he didn’t remember any of us.” Aaron said calmly. “His return of memories has been kind of fragmented. Not everything seems to be in the proper place yet.”
That was a good description for it. But that meant that there were still people he didn’t remember? Was he going to come across more people like this who knew him? People he wouldn’t recognize? The thought was terrifying. How much more was he missing?
He couldn’t stop himself from peeking out around Aaron’s shoulder. The comfort of the two alpha males, people he knew would protect him, gave him the confidence to whisper “We…we were friends?”
“Well, yeah, man.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair. His expression seemed pained. “We were. Good friends, too. You really…you don’t remember anything about me?”
“Your voice, maybe. I don’t know.” And it made his head hurt to think about it. His mind was switching into overdrive, trying to find some kind of memory, something to help him with this. Why couldn’t he remember an entire person? Not just missing fragments, but a whole person! With his free hand Spencer picked at his pant leg again, trying to draw the itchy fabric away from his skin.
The hand holding his squeezed softly. It drew his eyes to Morgan, who wore a kind expression. “Pretty boy, don’t force it. Remember, it comes easier when you just relax. It’ll come back to you. You just have to let it happen naturally.”
It amazed him how his mind seemed to calm under Morgan’s simple words. Just that reassurance from him and Spencer felt his tension drain away a little. “Ok.” He whispered. Morgan was someone he knew he could trust. Someone who wouldn’t steer him wrong or hurt him. In Spencer’s world, that was an amazing thing.
“Why don’t we move this somewhere other than the entry way, my lovelies?” Garcia said as she stepped toward the group. There was a wide grin on her face that was meant to set everyone at ease. “I have coffee on. I’m sure we’d all like a cup, right?” As she spoke, she put a hand on Ethan’s arm, gesturing him toward the dining room. Aaron followed them.
That gave Morgan and Spencer a moment together. The older man turned to Spencer, bringing a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The warm feeling it gave Spencer was surprising.
“Are you ok with this, Spencer?” He asked him. The fact that he asked, that his face suggested that he really cared about the answer, made the warm feeling inside of Spencer grow. It was gestures like this that reaffirmed in Spencer’s mind the trust he held in Morgan. “Yes.” His answer was a whisper. “You’ll stay with me?”
“Of course I will.” Now Morgan was smiling at him. It brought back a little of Spencer’s earlier peace. “Now let’s go before they begin to wonder about us, kid.”
The two moved toward the dining room. Spencer was walking slowly, trying to maintain his even pace. His ankle was starting to get sore again and he didn’t want to show it, no matter what his friends said. That kind of training was just too hard to kick. When Morgan let go of his hand to sit down, Spencer’s training kicked in even more and had him stepping back toward the wall, sliding silently down. He ignored the pain that caused in his back and his ankle, simply squatting there with his hands folded in his lap and his head down. Occasionally Master had him stand this way when there was dinner guests; close enough to serve and observe but also out of the way.
Ethan was the first to notice. His eyes were locked on Spencer as the young man had started to slide down the wall. “Spencer, what are you doing?” he asked curiously. His eyebrows were drawn down. It gave his face a serious cast.
The look terrified Spencer. Had he done something wrong? Was he displeasing the guest in the home already? That hadn’t been his intention! He’d been trying to, to be good! No matter that this guy said he knew him, he was a guest in the house. Rules around guests were vastly different than others.
Morgan turned in his chair to look at Spencer. His eyes were suddenly sad. Though he didn’t stand, he did hold out one hand to the trembling man. “Come here, pretty boy. You sit at the table just like the rest of us. Please?”
Unsure, Spencer looked at his hand and then up to his face and back again. Really? “I…I’m not supposed to.” He whispered as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to get in trouble. “Master makes me s-stay at the wall w-when guests are here.”
“Your Master isn’t here, Spencer, and you don’t have to listen to him anymore. Remember? It’s just us here.”
He bit his lip, the two parts of him warring together. It was scary, how easy the Boy came back out in him. In his mind he chanted his name, over and over. Then he reached out and took Morgan’s hand, pulling himself away from the wall and sliding into the chair beside his best friend. His shoulders hunched in and he bowed his head a little, trying to make as small a target as possible. Under the table, his and Morgan’s hands stayed linked, a silent support for him.
Garcia was passing around coffee for everyone, playing the part of hostess. The room seemed quiet while she did so. But once she sat down, it seemed like enough had been enough for Ethan. The strange man made a strangled sound and spoke in a hard, demanding voice. “Ok, what the hell is going on here? I want some answers! No one even called to tell me you’d come home, Spencer Reid. I had to find out on the news when they said a lost FBI agent had been found. Then, when I fly all the way up here, all your office tells me is that you’re taking some personal time. I had to hunt down the contact numbers you gave me and call around until someone told me to look for you here!” He sounded furious at the end of his rant. “Now I get here and you tell me you don’t even know who I am and you try to sit against the wall like a dog and you’re talking about some Master. What is going on here?”
With each word that came out of Ethan’s mouth, Spencer drew further and further into himself. He knew the sounds of anger intimately. He knew all the degrees of that emotion. Right then he knew that Ethan was furious and it absolutely terrified him. He let go of Morgan’s hand to bring his hands back to his lap and grip at his pants. His whole body tensed in preparation for what was coming.
Through the roaring in his ears Spencer vaguely heard Morgan snap out “Hey! Watch your temper in my house, man, or get out. Do not yell at him. You have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Then someone tell me what’s going on! What happened to my friend, here? And who the fuck is this Master fucker?”
Aaron’s voice came next, calm as always in the center of the storm. “Spencer was held hostage for almost two years. Beyond that, what happened to him is his story to tell if he so chooses. We are not obligated to divulge those kind of secrets. They aren’t ours to tell.”
“So what, is this Master, this Vincent bastard, he was the jerk who held you, Spencer? What the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Cause I swear, I’ll kill the man myself.”
Through the fog, Ethan’s words penetrated, bringing to life a reaction in Spencer that he had no control over. This man wanted to kill Master! No! He couldn’t do that, could he? Master was Master. No one hurt him. No one did anything to him. Boy needed his master. He needed him! Spencer’s head jerked up and his eyes were wide. “No!” he croaked out. “Don’t you touch him! You stay away from him!”
The only thing that kept Spencer from jumping out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder was that, even in this state of mind, he recognized the touch as belonging to Morgan. His wide eyes shot over to his friend. Morgan didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. His voice was soothing. “Don’t worry, Spencer. No one’s going to hurt Vincent, ok? No one is going to do anything to him. He’s still in jail, just where he was before. Ethan didn’t really mean that he was going to kill him, ok? He’s just upset about you being hurt. That’s all, sugar.”
He wasn’t going to? “But, why’d he say it, then?” Spencer asked quietly. “Why would he say that?”
“He doesn’t know everything yet, sugar. He has no idea what happened to you or what your relationship with Vincent is.”
Spencer looked over at Ethan, cringing at the look the man wore. “Master is Master.” He managed to screw up the courage to say. To him, that said it all. But when Ethan still looked confused, Spencer tried to find the words to say this right. “Master teaches me to be strong. To be good.” When still Ethan looked lost, Spencer turned back to Morgan. “Can, can you help me? He doesn’t…he’s not understanding.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently before dropping back to Morgan’s cup. He nodded at Spencer and then lifted his face to Ethan. “Vincent kept Spencer in his basement this whole time. He…trained him. Hurt him in an effort to teach him to be a ‘good boy’. He beat him constantly. We’ve only had him back for a little bit now and we’re still working on the healing from this. Right, Spencer?”
Spencer nodded. After another brief smile, Morgan kept talking. “He blocked all of us out so he wouldn’t hurt as much anymore while he was there. When he first came home, he didn’t remember any of us. Apparently not all his memories are back all the way yet. So it may take him a while to remember you. Just, be cautious. Don’t touch or come close unless he gives the ok and most definitely don’t yell at him or threaten Vincent. You won’t like the results.”
“He suffers Stockholm Syndrome.” Aaron added quietly. “He injured cops and medics both when they tried to take him away from Vincent at the house where they found him.”
Surprisingly, Spencer actually didn’t mind them sitting here and discussing this in front of him. He actually preferred it to them talking about it when he wasn’t there. He didn’t care that Ethan knew what the truth was. He didn’t care who knew. This was his life. Though, as each day passed he was slowly coming to see how wrong that life had been, a big part of him wasn’t able to let go yet.
The voices continued around him for a while. Spencer paid them no attention. He just sat in his chair, his hand sin his lap, listening to the hum of voices without registering the words. His fingers picked at his pant legs, trying to control the urge to shuck them all of right then and there. Morgan said he was allowed to dress how he wanted here at home, but maybe those rules didn’t apply with a guest in the home. Spencer didn’t want to embarrass Morgan by breaking a rule. So he sat there and tried not to think how confined he felt; how much his skin itched underneath the rough material.
He didn’t start paying attention again until he heard his name. With wide eyes he looked up, not quite sure what was wanted of him and terribly afraid he’d missed something important. “I’ m sorry, what?”
Ethan gave him a hesitant smile. “I was thinking of things we used to do together. They thought maybe if I talked about it a little, it might help you remember.” He said hesitantly. “We didn’t really share a lot of interests. I mean, we both started at the FBI, but I never made it through training. I play jazz down in New Orleans now. Intellectually, you were always smarter than me. But we shared interests in books. Does any of that spark anything?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“We had a few favorites together. We would get together sometimes and read Shakespeare. Or you’d introduce me to some old book that your mom told you about. I remember the first time you got your hands on Dante’s Inferno. You came over and read it out loud to me in English so I could understand what you were saying.”
It was as if the entire world suddenly closed in on Spencer. He froze totally; not moving, not blinking, not even breathing. A memory slammed into him with the force of a freight train, giving him no time to prepare himself, no time to stand up against the onslaught. But it wasn’t of Ethan. It wasn’t reading this story to him.
No. so strong was the memory, Spencer actually felt as if he was kneeling on the cold basement floor once again, being bent onto all fours. He felt the hands gripping his hips and heard that disgusting voice, sick with the dark passion that the boy hated so much, demanding he recite. Something. Anything. As the first thrust ripped through him like a knife, he screamed out the first words that came to mind, the start of Dante’s Inferno.
Right on top of that memory came another, stronger and harder than the last. The sound of laughter echoing around him. The sick smell of blood and semen on his body, in the air. Vomit on the floor. And sweat. Always Master’s sweat. “I liked that story, boy.” That voice made him shudder. He hated it. Hated that sick sound in it that foretold something horrible. “You think he was right on hell? Wait till you see mine. Wait till you see the hell I made for you.”
Just barely did Spencer have enough of a grip on reality to finally make his body move. He pushed back from the table, trying to get away from them. To get away from everything. The room felt like it was closing in on him, crushing him down. He didn’t want to remember this! He didn’t want to think about it!
Voices were crying out to him but he couldn’t respond. He shoved back from them so hard that his chair knocked over, toppling him to the ground. He didn’t care. He scrambled on all fours, trying to get away from any of the hands that reached toward him. Spencer pushed himself against the wall, into the corner of the room. There was no way out. They all blocked his exits.
A howling sound filled the room that Spencer knew wasn’t coming from him. It sounded muffled and far away. Then another sound, one he didn’t recognize, only seconds before he heard something scraping on the ground. Spencer curled into himself, shielding his body, hands gripped tight in his hair as he tried to push the memory away. No, no! No!
Suddenly something was in front of him, warm and furry, snarling at the crowd of people. That snarl was enough of a shock for Spencer’s brain to clear just enough for him to see who was in front of him. Clooney. That was Clooney. The dog was standing between Spencer and the others, his lips curled up while he snarled low in his throat.
Shaking, Spencer reached one hand out, resting it on the dog’s neck. The warmth of the contact pushed some of the memories back. A sob broke free from Spencer’s lips and then he found his arms suddenly full of warmth. Clooney had turned toward him and Spencer flung his arms around the dog, clinging to him as the sobs ran convulsively through him.
He didn’t hear Aaron gathering Ethan, leading him out of the room, out the front of the house. Aaron wanted to give Spencer the privacy he needed with the two people he was most comfortable around. He also planned on taking advantage of the moment to try and calm Ethan down and explain a few things to him.
Spencer just continued to sob into Clooney’s neck. When he heard movement, he felt Clooney’s body vibrate with another snarl. He lifted swollen, wet eyes, looking to see who was coming toward him. He wasn’t afraid of who it was. The dog was protecting him. Then he saw it was Morgan. “Hush.” He gasped out to Clooney, who instantly quieted, letting Morgan come closer. The older man squatted down, one hand resting gently on Spencer’s arm.
How long it took Spencer before he stopped sobbing, he had no idea. But eventually he was down to silent tears. His body felt weak, drained. Morgan must have been able to see because he murmured something that Spencer didn’t understand and then he was moving him, lifting him into his arms. Spencer didn’t protest. He clung to the warmth and safety of Morgan’s arms.
When he felt himself being laid down on the bed, he opened his eyes to look at his two friends; Garcia stood just behind Morgan. “Will you two l-lay with me?” Somehow he found the strength to ask that. Neither of them hesitated.
Garcia took a seat on the bed, holding one of his hands between hers. ”You want to talk about it, sweetie?” She asked him gently.
Morgan sat at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He gently lifted Spencer so that his head was cradled against Morgan’s stomach. Clooney hopped up and lay against his back. He was surrounded by safety and warmth. That was what gave him the courage to start to speak.
“I was…I was there, again. Not at the normal house. At the quiet place he went to. A place where he kept me sometimes when he…when he wanted to make me scream the most.” A small shudder ran down Spencer’s frame, making the bed tremble a little. “I was kneeling on the floor in my dream. It…it was the inferno, all over again.”
“The inferno?” Garcia asked.
This time Spencer’s tremble was more pronounced. Morgan stroked a hand soothingly over his hair. “Shh, kid. It’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it.”
But Spencer just ignored him. He had to get this out or this memory would eat him alive. “He made me recite, over and over. It pleased him.” He whispered. “One time, early on, I…I recited Dante’s Inferno.” He heard the small sounds they made and knew they understood now what had triggered this. “It seemed r-right. I was in hell. M-Master, he liked it. So h-he made his i-i-inferno.”
The two friends stayed quiet, allowing Spencer to gather the courage to go on. After a minute, he did. His voice was flat, the stutter absent as he spoke in an almost detached way. He felt himself almost detaching from his words. It was the only way he would get it out.
“The first layer of hell is limbo. Then lust, gluttony, greed, anger, heresy, violence, fraud, and treachery. Master made his own levels for me to go through. He took me out there, out to that little place, so he could experiment without fear of being heard.”
It was almost easier to speak now. His words were so detached he barely even realized he was saying them. “He was excited about a new game. He called it the Inferno. Instead of Dante’s Inferno, he made his own levels. First, though, he decided that Hell wasn’t right where I was. Hell wasn’t bright light and sunshine. Hell was dark. He knew I hated the dark. So he…he made me close my eyes and put superglue on them.”
Morgan went completely still. There was a loud gasp from Garcia’s direction. But Spencer wasn’t done.
“For limbo, he figured that it meant that one was between life and death. So, he strangled me until I passed out. Then he revived me and would do it again. Lust was a simple one. He raped me, over and over, in every way he knew how to do, until I was lying in a pool of my own blood. Greed, he whipped me, demanding I beg for more until I lost the ability to speak. Anger. He ordered me to defy him so that he could beat me. Then he’d make me stand and defy him again and beat me again. Hours it went on.”
His voice fractured for a second, that calm breaking. Spencer had to force it back into place. He could see, clearly, the images that went with each one. But he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.
“Violence was the simplest. He beat me with his bare hands then. Fists and feet. After that, I think he got bored trying to connect them. From there he simply did what he wanted. He drew me a bath to clean me and tried to drown me. He left me naked tied to a tree overnight. That was seven levels. That was as far as he got. He didn’t make nine like Dante. Twice, in the time he had me, he did this. I almost didn’t survive either time. It took me a week of no touching to recover from each one.”
Now the control finally broke. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears ran down his cheek and he felt the sobs building back up. Image after image flashed into his brain, hitting him so hard it was like a physical blow with each one. The pain built and built until he didn’t know if he could take it anymore. So his mind resorted to its most natural defense. It drew him down into unconsciousness; he passed out before he saw the tears on Morgan’s cheeks or heard Garcia sobbing lightly nearby. His mind went down into the dark where nothing hurt anymore.
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