Bones 1. Booth

**Warning:** Contains (or shall contain) major ooc-ness and Sweets!whump. Sorry for any pain, horror or otherwise my writing may cause you.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bones or any characters herein.

Booth's heels clicked against the hard, tiled floor. His pace was quick and his course planned; his steps taking him to a place where he had been so many times before. Usually it was a place that he enjoyed visiting, filled with people he enjoyed as friends. So, it was a bitter feeling that blossomed within him, when he realized that it would no longer hold that same meaning- not if he had to tell them, not if he had to tell them _here_.

'Stop that.' Booth commanded himself, his stride growing longer and longer. 'You don't have time to think, not on that.' Every part of Booth suggested otherwise, but he shook the thought off. It would not help him now, would not help his friends, his_ family_. He would have to deal with this, get through this, and pull _everyone_ else along with him, kicking and screaming. 'Let everything be fine,' he prayed for not the first time today, and then let himself come to a stop. He had reached his destination, and the stillness of the Jeffersonian was shattered when Booth threw open the lab doors.

Instantly, the staff was on him like a pack of wild dogs. Flurries of 'What happened?' and 'Oh god, is it true?' and even 'God damn it Booth! Give us a straight answer!' ricocheted off his federal issue jacket and onto the tiles below. The chairs where the team had obviously been waiting were overturned in their haste, and Booth could only stare at the abused furniture as he reached into his bag. He couldn't face the team, not now, not like this, so he fixed the upholstery in a dark gaze and upon finding the right folder, threw the papers down loudly on the table in front of him.

The team froze. Then, slowly they all came to stare at the documents bundled before them. The implication Booth made was clear, and, surprisingly, Hodgins was the first to sink back down and hesitantly, fumble the papers into his hands. Cam and Angela soon followed suit, one on either side of Hodgins, eyes focused on the obvious federal jargon before them. Booth made note of this; knowing full well that if his wife didn't already know the horrors of that folder, she would be down here with them, probably craning her neck over the three, trying to read. As it was now, Bones was up in her office, watching her phone and hoping-just hoping that the call would be made, that they could call this whole thing off. That call wasn't coming, so all Booth could do was stand and watch as the rest of the team glanced over the horrors that he hoped they would never have the encounter.

It was no surprise to Booth when the looks darkened, from pure worry to something else entirely. Hodgins' left hand clutched in a fist, his eyes hardening with anger that mirrored Booth's own when he first read the print. His other hand squeezed Angela's shoulder comfortingly, as her eyes had quickly begun to tear. On the other side of him, Booth watched as Cam's professional façade came tumbling down. The usual mask of dominance and understanding slipped, leaving a horrorstruck expression in its wake. If it had been any other situation, Booth would have laughed. The great Jeffersonian team, who had stayed strong through mass murders and angry serial killers and a fucking _sniper _who took down one of their own, brought down by six sheets of paper in a plastic binding. Absurd. Booth had read it though, seen the horrors written down there, and he understood. God, he more than understood. And as he watched them reread the lines, hoping to whatever-the-hell they believed in that they read it wrong, he prayed that they had. That they all had.

His prayers weren't answered. Angela is crying now, soft moans that are muffled by her hands, as she tries to get a grip on her emotions. Hodgins' hand rubs circles on her back, but Booth can see the angry tears that threaten to slip out and knows he is no less affected than she is. Cam is still rereading, scouring with that doctor-brain of hers, tallying up broken bones and bruises, trying to remain clinical in something she is just too invested in. Booth knows she's finding too much, and with every little tidbit of medical slur that is thrown in her face, her heart just keeps on breaking. There is no way to piece them back together either, nothing, except for the one person- one person who they need to come back. Their little family may never be the same without him.

He's there, teetering over that chasm of thought, when a voice brings him back to reality "This is all true?" Hodgin's voice is wavering. "That-_that," _and his voice breaks. His chest expands as he takes a breath, tears in his eyes threatening to fall. Booth watches his hands clench and unclench as he tries and fails to get his anger under control. "That _monster _did that to Sweets? Our Sweets?"

The agent feels himself nodding. Back on the couch, the entomologist stares, still processing the information, as his wife breaks into new sobs. Cam is the only one who seems to have composed herself, but Booth can still see the parent in her raging underneath her seemingly calm exterior. The pathologist has pulled the tattered remains of her professionalism across her face, to the point where someone who didn't know her would think she was unaffected by the news. That is, until her eyes widen and a soft gasp escapes her throat, coupled by a startled glance at Booth, who quietly understands why she chose to be affected now. Her brain has come to the only viable conclusion as to why he would have put them through this, and every part of her body is trying to tell her it couldn't be so. Booth can only brace himself for the question, yet he knows it will do no good. There is nothing that can prepare him for hearing that.

"You said Sweets was kidnapped." And both Angela's and Hodgins' heads snap up. "Was he… did….Was Sweets kidnapped by his father?" All heads turn to Booth, whose eyes are ringed with red. He opens his mouth once, twice, and then closes it with an audible snap. Shaking, his hand runs through his hair, pausing when it blocked their faces from view, a barrier between him and them. 'Get yourself together, Seeley.' His mind commands, and with an audible sigh he forces his hand away from his face. Beseeching looks have masked his teammates' faces, begging him to tell them wrong, for Sweets to jump out, laughing from behind them and tell them it was just some horrible joke. It hurts him that cannot give them that comfort.

"Yes."

And he watches as one word seals the fate of them all.


	2. Bones

**Warning:** Contains (or shall contain) major ooc-ness and Sweets!whump. Sorry for any pain, horror or otherwise my writing may cause you. Bones and Booth are totally ooc in this. Sorry! I have trouble characterizing them when they're sad…. They're just so tough!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bones or any characters herein.

Brennan hears rather than sees Booth enter her office. Years of working with the man had enabled her to accurately discern his footsteps from others, to the point where it surprises even her. Usually, the thought of him coming up to greet her makes the pheromones in her brain secrete faster than they usually do- a symptom of her love, but now the act is muffled by something she cannot bring herself to ignore. Grief.

It hung around her – which was only a colloquialism as grief obviously cannot hang- seeming to make the air in the room hot and heavy. Brennan wallows in it, this air of grief, eyes only for the phone she has placed on the table. Logically, she knows that staring at the device will not increase the probability of it going off, but she cannot bring herself to tear herself from it, even when Booth is right beside her, his breaths heavy in her ear.

"Bones." He mummers, and wraps his arms around her. His face presses up against her neck, and already, she can feel the telltale wetness seeping into her shirt collar. There are no sobs to be heard, not from her Seeley, but Brennan knows he is distraught. Small hitches in his shoulders tell of his inability to calm himself, and he is obviously crying- a sure sign of sorrow. Nothing she does will relieve it though- the despair is fresh in her heart as well- so she only leans up against him, sharing what little strength she has. Tears of her own mix with his forming a river of misery that trails down her neck. They stand there for a while, encased in their own bubble of grief, before Booth loosens his grip-pulling away from the embrace. Brennan has not once taken her eyes off the phone.

"I told the team. They're on it right now. We'll find him." Booth assures, but the clenching of his fists tell otherwise. The folder, that has not left his grip since he came in, crumples under the pressure. Already, the Child Protection Agency seal has faded from too many worried hands, but somehow 'Lance Sweets' still remains tacked across the top of the file in cramped Arial font. That's what snaps Brennan out of her trance, the sound of crinkling paper, and immediately her hand clamps down on his-stopping the motion. Startled, he jerks his head upward, only to watch her red-ringed eyes refill with tears.

The air is stifling for a second, and Brennan vaguely notes it's the second colloquialism she's thought of today, before shakily releasing a breath and a few traitorous tears. "It's a part of him." She explains, gesturing wildly to the paper in his hands. Her mind immediately informs her that she's being illogical, that paper cannot be a part of an actual human being, but she pushes the thought away. Logic is an important part of her, yes, but in the last few years, she's realized that there is something much more important, and their soft-scientist is a part of that.

Booth is just staring by this point, but his hand is slowly releasing its hold. He nods, slowly at first, before the motion becomes more meaningful and more repeated. His eyes glaze over for a second, thinking over what she just said, before letting out a small breath.

"They took me off the case." He says, turning away from her in shame. Anger mars his usually happy features; the protectiveness giving him the look of a wolf- and a livid one at that. "They think I'm too involved-hell, _I_ think I'm too involved, but I can't stand just sitting here, not when that _monster_ has Sweets- could be doing who-knows-what to him." Booth grits his teeth, as Brennan winces, immediately thinking back to the scars that stained the psychologist's pale skin, something Sweets had finally shown to Booth only the month before, baring his soul to him with unwavering trust. A trust that Booth thinks he failed.

"You couldn't have done anything." The words are out of Brennan's mouth before she can think them through. Guilt, unbarred, flashes across Booth's face as he tries to contradict her, but she knows it's coming and plows through his remorseful theories. "Moore drugged you, and then he drugged Dr. Sweets. You had no idea he was Sweets' father- biologically I mean" she adds at Seeley's angry glance, "and you can't fight off drugs. The only person that you can logically blame is Moore."

Disbelief still speckled Seeley's face when she was done, so she added the only thing she could think to fix the situation. She quietly added, "And Sweets would hate it if you blamed yourself," before kissing his cheek, gathering up the phone-whose silence Brennan hated more than almost anything else now, and walking out of her office. Her head held high, she began barking orders at whoever came her way, following the heavily beaten path to the lab below. She could no longer allow herself to swelter in grief. She had a son to save, and God-forbid she met the bastard who took him; she might end up being the next murderer Booth brought in in chains.


End file.
