Chapter Text
“I ought to bury you alive in there. Give you time to think about what you’ve done.”
“I know what I’ve done.”
“Don’t talk back to me! Dig.”
Spencer digs. Slowly. The shovel is too small and his body is trembling. It’s cold. There’s a disconnect somewhere. In his brain, in his bones. Everything hurts. He’s digging his own grave. He’s trying not to think about that.
He stops, exhaustion weighing him down. He just needs a minute, just to catch his breath. It’s barely a second. Hankel’s eyes narrow.
“What are you stopping for?” He demanded, and Reid sniffled, digging again. His body is giving out, giving up. His chest hurts. His head hurts. He can’t breathe. “Dig faster!”
His voice cracks. “I’m not strong enough.” And he’s not. It’s not an excuse. He’s in pain, he’s scared, he’s digging his own grave. He has minutes left to live, if he’s that lucky. Hankel snarls at his response.
“You’re all weak.” He rips off his coat, setting the gun down as he declares, “Get out of there.” Spencer moves, spies the gun. He has minutes. Not many. Not enough. He grabs the gun, prays to a god who has barely been on his side, and lifts the weapon, cocking it as he aims towards Hankle, who stares him down. Even though Spencer has the gun now, it’s painfully obvious who holds the real power. His captor towers over him, a gleam in his eye, and Spencer can’t stop his hands from shaking.
“Only one gun in that bullet, boy,” Hankel tells him, and Spencer falters. But it’s now or never, and he can see the lights through the trees. Even if the bullet isn’t in the chamber, or his shaking hands cause him to miss, he’s not alone anymore. Whatever Hankel does to him, the others are going to hear it.
Reid pulls the trigger and the gun clicks. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. A smile breaks out upon Hankel’s face.
“Looks like God has abandoned you.”
It’s Reid’s only warning before the gun is ripped from his hands and tossed out of reach, a fist cracking along the side of his jaw. He’d intended to stay quiet, stay strong, but that didn’t last as he cried out at the contact, falling to the ground and curling in on himself, trying desperately to protect as much of his body as he could as Hankel rained punches down upon him.
“There!” He heard someone—Morgan?—shout off in the distance. “I heard something! This way!”
They’re the last words Reid is completely cognizant of, because a moment later Hankel’s fist catches the side of his head and he sees stars, ears ringing. His body betrays him, giving up, and pain explodes as some of his bones give and then break. He thinks he screams. The pain is too blinding to be able to tell.
At some point, he’s aware the beating has stopped. He’s aware of a fist in his shirt, hauling him up before he’s gripped tightly, a blade pressed to his throat. There are lights in front of him. Flashlights. Reid can barely open his eyes, blood dripping into view and a headache screaming at him from a possible skull fracture.
Someone is shouting. Hankel keeps jostling him, backing up, and Reid thinks he’s going to be sick as he’s dragged backwards, a boneless human shield, feet dragging through the dirt. His head lolls against Hankel’s shoulder, baring his throat to the sharp blade against it. Hankel’s got an arm under both of Reid’s, across his chest and pressing against broken ribs.
CPR + beating = many many broken bones. Some distant part of Reid’s brain told him. At least one third of resuscitated patients sustain rib fractures and at least one fifth sustain sternum fractures .
He stares blankly up at the sky and wonders exactly how he's going to make it out of the situation alive. He blinked sluggishly, more facts filtering through the haze.
If CPR is performed after a cardiac arrest, it’s crucial to transport the person to a hospital immediately. Well. That hadn’t happened, obviously. He hopes the team intends to get him to a hospital when they rescue him. He has the vaguest of recollections of the camera being on before Hankel knocked him back and his brain went dark for a few moments before he came too after CPR. While CPR can help restart the heart and circulate blood, it’s a temporary measure. Without further medical intervention, the person is at high risk of further complications, including brain damage or death.
Well. He’s already died once. And chances are, he’s about to die again. So at least he doesn’t have to worry about brain damage. Not to say he has no faith in his team, of course, because of course he does. But he also has logic, and almost definitely a concussion, which is telling him that right now, his odds of getting out of this alive are, well, not good.
“Let him go, Hankel,” someone says, but the lights are too bright and his headache is too headachey that he really can’t make out who exactly is speaking.
“He’s a sinner,” Hankel snarls behind him, squeezing Spencer a little tighter, forcing an involuntary, high pitched groan out of him as his broken ribs shifted. “He has to die.”
“He’s a government agent.” Oh, that was Hotch. That was almost definitely Hotch. Even concussed, Spencer can tell that much. “Your sentence is going to be a lot worse if you kill him.”
“He abandoned his own mother,” Hankel declared. Exodus 21:17. And he that curseth his father or his mother shall surely be put to death. “By his own words, he has admitted this.”
“He’s scared and in pain.” Prentiss. Spencer thinks that might’ve been Prentiss. JJ doesn’t…JJ’s not quite that confident in the field. “He was willing to say anything if he thought it might give him an out, a way to escape.”
Not entirely true. Spencer thought, though he’d never breathe a word of that to any of them. I had given up. That’s why I quoted it. That’s the real reason I told him what I did to my mom. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sorry.
The blade breaks skin. Not a lot, not enough for him to bleed out, but enough for a trickle of red warmth to drip down his neck. Spencer’s only half aware of it. The others are very aware of it. He hears them remove their safety and knows they’ve made the choice, whether they like it or not, to bring Hankel down.
They’re either going to nail a headshot or they won’t have any choice but to shoot Reid and hope the shot goes through to Hankel as well.
“Hankel,” someone says again. “You’ve lost. It’s over. Let him go.”
No one moves. No one speaks. And then, quiet, Spencer hears JJ. “Tobias.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. Like she’s afraid of Charles Hankel hearing her. “Tobias, are you there?”
“My son is weak,” Charles says, but Spencer has felt a shift. It’s working. The identity is shifting. If JJ keeps pushing, if she keeps trying –
“Tobias,” JJ says again. “Tobias, you’re not a killer. You don’t want to hurt him. He needs help, Tobias. We have to get Spencer to a hospital.” He feels the body behind him ripple, coming to a halt. “Can you help us get Spencer to a hospital, Tobias?”
There’s a long, very long moment of silence. And then, slowly, the blade moves away and Spencer hears Tobias’ voice crack,
“What’ve I done?”
The arm holding him up shifts. Instead of an arm wrapped around his ribs, it’s two hands under his arms, lowering him to the ground. His eyes flutter as he opens them and he sees movement, rushing, frantic, until Gideon is leaning over him, blocking his view.
“You’re okay,” Gideon says. “You’re going to be okay, Reid, just hold on. An ambulance is coming.”
JJ kneels at his other side. “I called the ambulance, Spencer,” she tells him, a weak and worried smile on her face. “They’re coming. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled.
Gideon frowned. “Why?”
“Because I…” I gave up.
“Hey.” Morgan appeared then, joining their group. “Hankel’s in custody and the ambulance is almost here. Paramedics have been alerted to our location.” He eyed Spencer. “How’re you doing, kid?”
“Tired,” Spencer replied.
“Stay awake a little longer,” Prentiss requested, another face leaning over him in the darkness.
“Okay.”
He felt Gideon squeeze his hand. “You did good, kid,” Gideon murmured. “I told you you were stronger than him.”
Spencer just gave him a weak smile, squeezing back.