dead to me| 2- s. r

TWENTY-FIVE

WARNINGS: violence, gore, mentions of death, emetophobia (vomiting)

You carefully walk down the steps to the basement, your senses on high alert as you reach the bottom of the stairs, carefully opening the door at the bottom. The basement isn't finished, and it seems as though it's used mostly for storage or something or the sort.

It's dead silent in the basement, making you even more terrified, wondering if you've walked right into a trap without any backup, or anyone knowing your whereabouts.

You carefully turn a corner, occasionally glancing behind you to avoid being taken off-guard. You feel the need to vomit when you see dried blood on the floor, inhaling the musty smell of the place. You walk into the main area of the basement, finally laying eyes on a bruised and beaten-up Spencer, slouched over in a chair with his arms and legs restrained.

His head is dropped onto his shoulder as he appears unconscious, making you run over to him and crouch down in front of him, placing two of your fingers to the side of his neck, sighing in relief when you feel a pulse.

"Spence, baby can you wake up? It's me," you whisper, shaking him softly, tears welling up in your eyes. He lets out a loud groan and starts to lift his head up, slowly starting to come to, clearly confused out of his mind.

You can't tell what his injuries are as his entire shirt is practically soaked in blood, so you carefully life up the fabric, seeing an assortment of cuts and shallow stab wounds, as well as severe bruising around his ribcage. You also immediately spot the gunshot in his foot, his yellow stock stained red. You carefully run your hand along the bruise on his abdomen, barely brushing over it before Spencer is crying out loudly, shaking his head as tears fall down his face. It's possible he has a few broken ribs, possible internal bleeding from the looks of it. He needs a medic.

"Y/N?" He breathes out, eyes finally focusing on you. You nod your head, "I'm here, you're gonna be okay," you murmur, reaching out to run your hand along his jaw, careful to avoid any of the bruises and cuts, "We're gonna get you out of here."

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut and groaning loudly, "N-No," he cries. "You need to go. Now," he instructs, struggling to breathe with the amount of pain he's currently in.

"No, I'm not just gonna leave you here," you scoff, walking behind him and moving to untie the ropes around his wrist, halting the movement when you hear a gun cocking from behind you, and feel the cool metal of a gun being pressed to the back of your head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he tuts, making you slowly lift your hands above your head and stand to your feet, coming face to face with Nathanial for the first time since you visited him in prison. He's now cleanly shaven, his appearance looking older, but now resembling the boy you used to know. "You said you'd let him go if I came," you point out.

"Did I?" He questions, not allowing you to answer before he's grabbing your shoulders and kneeing you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you. "I guess I lied," he chirps, landing a punch to your jaw, the rings on his fingers leaving a gash behind as you fall onto the concrete floor.

You groan as you feel your body being lifted into a chair as you try to catch your breath, feeling your hands and legs being tied to the chair similarity to Spencer.

"Do you mistake me for a fool, Y/N?" He asks rhetorically, "He was never going to get out of here. Not alive, at least. He'd never stop looking for you and you know that."

"Please, Nathanial. He needs medical attention or he could die," you plead softly, hoping it might allow him to sympathize with you more.

He tilts his head to the side and pouts, "then that would mean there's another person who's died because of you. Look at what you did to him, he probably hates you for it."