Redemption (boyxboy) (18+)

Chapter Thirty-two

Nate wakes to gunfire.

He knows the sound intimately; he knows the ear-shattering explosion when it comes from his own hand and the muffled popping sounds it makes from miles away. He's even been jolted awake by it before.

And it doesn't particularly scare him - at least, not until he notices that he's alone. The cabin is cold and empty, the door swinging in the winter wind.

But still, it takes too long to process the two separate thoughts of Reid is missing and gunshots. His mind refuses to make the connection, but his body has already figured it out. He's climbing out of bed, fear weighing in his bones until they're made of granite, his muscles pleading with him to stop, to stay in the safe blankets that still smell faintly of Reid's skin.

He stumbles to the door and pulls on his shoes, and that's when it finally all clicks into place. The floor next to his battered boots is empty; that's the place where Reid's should be.

And then Nate is moving so fast it's like he's flying, not bothering with his coat, not feeling the snow crunching under his feet or the frozen air whipping against his skin.

Because he's following the messy tracks to the tree line, stopping short when he sees the pool of red - so much blood, he swears he can smell the coppery tang of it in the air - against all that white snow, Reid's face gone nearly pale enough to match.

He's still. So perfectly, horrifically still.

Nate sees Elsa too, vaguely, but he shoves it into the same box he has kept Devon's memory in since that night back in Lansing. Elsa doesn't matter now, not really. Not when Reid's blood is fucking everywhere and Nate's knees are soaked and freezing from the snow because apparently he fell down beside Reid at some point.

Nate's hands hover over him, trembling, useless, and it's like he has never seen blood before because he's mesmerized. He doesn't want to see it, he never wanted to see this, but he can't look away from the glistening red slicking Reid's side and he knows that this image will be burned like a brand on his brain. That it's the last thing he will see before he goes to sleep, if he ever finds enough peace to sleep again.

It's all so sluggish and quiet, like the cold has frozen him, too, and maybe time itself. But finally, finally, a clear thought surfaces from the din inside his head.

There's something I need to do. Help. I should get help.

Nate doesn't have anything on him except cash, Reid's badge, and his own ineffective hands. But he notices that Reid's jeans are bulging at the hip and it's not his gun - that's lying a few inches from his right hand - so it must be the phone. He chokes back a sob as he reaches into Reid's pocket, his mouth forming silent, nonsensical apologies to Reid for the invasion - he's still not moving, his skin too cool and unresponsive - and scrolls through the short contact list with shaking fingers until he finds Ben's name.

What he wouldn't give to be able to call, to hear a reassuringly familiar voice on the other end of the line. Instead, his fingers fly over the tiny keyboard, forming words that he can't even fully comprehend.

"It's Reid. He's hurt. It's bad."

The little swoop noise of the text as it sends seems to echo in the frozen silence, the phone nearly cracking in Nate's iron grasp.

Answer me answer me answer me answer-

1,600 miles away, Ben stands. His desk chair rolls away behind him and he's already dialing the emergency number on his desk phone with one hand while texting with the other. "Tell me exactly where you are."