Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“—see if you come to regret that, Agent Booth—”

“You do anything to hurt him and I’ll—”

“Booth, he’s holding something!”

“Look out!”

“Sweets!”

The shouts were echoing all around him. He couldn’t tell exactly where they were coming from—above? Behind? In front?—but no matter their direction, they were too loud to ignore and he tried to open his mouth to respond, only to find nothing was coming out. It was dark in the abandoned subway tunnel—he wondered why, before recalling the explosion, and the shouts and the gunfire, and someone grabbing onto his arm and pulling him out of the rubble that had once been part of the tunnel roof.

It had all happened so quickly and it blurred together in his head—it hurt trying to pick apart one moment from another. But what had happened after that? He couldn’t seem to remember, just like he couldn’t remember why he was lying against the cold wall, shivering and shuddering and feeling something crawling down his forehead.

“Sweets! Sweets, where are you?”

The shout echoed around him, unexpectedly close and loud, and he winced and gasped, one hand going up to his head to find crusting blood on his cheek and fresh warmth on his fingertips. He started to push himself up against the wall, before sliding back down with a stifled moan, something in his ankle aching so terribly he was sure if he looked down he would be sick.

“Booth…”

It came out as a mere whisper, and he swallowed thickly, trying to call out again and managing only a gasp as pain started to make itself known when he shifted too much and his leg ached once more. He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them as the pain started to subside again, deciding he had to look down and see how bad his leg was injured no matter what. But he couldn’t see. Was it the tunnel? Was it him, the injury on his head? Either way, panic started to build up in his chest and he tried to call out again. “Booth! Doctor Brennan…”

Brennan? Had the doctor been there? She and Booth and Sweets had all been together at some point—had Hodgins been there? In the tunnel? It seemed they had all been together…

No—no, he was getting confused—that had been earlier, when they’d been looking at the bones they’d found, and then later at the lab and…and…

He blinked, jerking his head up when he realized it had fallen against his shoulder. Had he passed out for a moment? It was impossible to tell and he was getting colder and his leg was aching and there was no sight of the burly FBI agent who had been calling his name. He tried to swallow again—god, his throat felt so dry and closed up, but he had to shout, had to be found because he knew he wasn’t going to be walking out of there by himself—

“Booth!”

He waited, but there was no reply, and he called again, only to give into a fit of coughing on the third try. Something felt tight and painful in his chest and he grit his teeth, wrapping one arm protectively against his ribs. The movement travelled down to his injured leg and he bit his lip and grabbed onto the thigh of his injured leg once more, riding through the pain.

“Help,” he tried when he finally got his breath back. “Help!” he called louder, voice still raspy and weak. “Booth! Someone! Some…” He let his head fall back against the wall as he felt a tug towards unconsciousness, but he refused to give into it. One more try—he had to give it one more try. He took in another breath, closing his eyes tightly in preparation for the pain sure to follow a deep breath—

* * *

Coughing from the dust brought up by the partly collapsed tunnel, Booth pushed himself up from where he’d fallen on his ass and frantically looked around for Bones and Sweets, his gun still miraculously in his hand.

“Booth?”

He jerked his head towards the familiar voice, relief falling over him as he saw Bones already standing and stumbling towards him, one hand holding onto her right arm that was hanging limply at her side.

“Bones!” Scrabbling over the broken concrete and rocks to her, eyes raking over her anxiously. “You all right? What’s wrong with your arm?” He demanded, a hand going to the shoulder of her good arm.

“Nothing. It’s merely dislocated.” She told him dismissively, her eyes looking over him with worry. “You?”

“Fine, fine. Was Sweets by you?” He asked even though he knew he wasn’t. Not unless the blast had blown him away from the psychopath with the detonator.

“No.”

They looked at each other, Bones sombre. “Do you think he—?”

“No! No.” Booth repeated firmly, his grip tightening a bit on her shoulder as his gaze went pensively over to the veritable wall of rubble that was either blocking them from Sweets or…or crushing him. He dug his phone out of his pocket, cursing when he saw it had cracked and was now useless. “Where’s your phone?”

Bones immediately pulled out her phone, eyes narrowed as she studied the screen.

“Does it work?” Booth asked impatiently.

“Yes, but I don’t have any reception in here.”

“Great, go to the entrance or whatever and call backup and an ambulance, an excavator team I don’t care, just get them down here.” He ordered.

She nodded, hesitating a moment before leaving. “Booth, that man could have placed more explosives in the tunnel, it isn’t safe. Especially with half of the ceiling gone, it could come down on you at any minute.”

“I’m not leaving him!” Booth said more sharply than he intended. He sighed and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll be careful, go make the call.”

Still reluctant but knowing she wasn’t going to be able to convince him, not without wasting time that Sweets might not have, she nodded and squeezed his hand. “If there starts to be groaning or sounds of stress from the support beams, or dirt starts falling, get out. The tunnel could finish collapsing in seconds so don’t—”

“I get it, Bones.” He squeezed her hand back as he pushed her towards the exit. “Go.”

She frowned, torn between her desire to stay with Booth and get backup there as soon as possible. But there wasn’t any real decision to make. Not in this situation.

“I’ll see you soon.” She said briskly, eyes still worried.

Booth nodded. “Yeah.”

As she finally left, Booth turned back to the wall of rubble, his gun slipping back into his holster as he tried pulling away some of the smaller pieces and calling out for Sweets. He didn’t hear any response and didn’t make any noticeable headway in breaking through to the other side, his fingers bleeding and jacket torn well beyond repair.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration he glared at the wall, resisting the urge to kick something. The last thing he needed right now was a broken toe.

He wasn’t ready to give up on Sweets, who was definitely alive and not suffocating under the crushing weight of rubble in the dark and alone. Unless that freak show with the explosives was with him.

Hands clenching into fists, Booth prayed that Sweets was alone and switched his attention from the debris to the walls on either side.

He was just in the middle of examining the first wall, hoping that maybe there was an airshaft or access tunnel or something, when he heard the ominous rumble.

Dammit!

Turning away from the wall, intending to run for exit like he’d told Bones he would, his eyes caught on the rusty door still half hidden in the fading smoke and dust on the opposite wall.

The rumbling had stopped, he still had time—or at least that’s what he told himself as he hurried towards with hope rising through his worry for Sweets.

Hastily pulling aside the rubble that had landed in front of the little door, more of a hatch really, he put his hand on the handle only to hear that stupid rumbling sound again.

This time he didn’t even get a chance to swear before the ceiling fell.

* * *

Outside, Bones was just finishing on the phone when she heard the tunnel collapse, again, fresh dust and particulates whooshing out and threatening to choke her as she hastily scrabbled from in front of the tunnel, her lungs burning.

Coughing, the dust settling, she stumbled back to the entrance and ran desperately inside. “Booth!”

She got about twenty yards before she was stopped by an almost identical wall of fallen debris that had separated her and Booth from Sweets. And now her from Booth.

Staring at the wall in helpless frustration, Bones stood there for far too long before she forced herself to move back to the entrance of the tunnel, her eyes bright with unshed tears because Booth was going to be fine, it might not have been a total collapse, he and Sweets were both going to be fine.

And if she repeated it to herself often enough maybe she could even believe it.

Chapter Text

For a while there, Booth didn’t think that he was going to be able to ever breathe again, his mouth gritty with dirt and who knows what else as he crouched by the stupid little door, arms held protectively around his head.

But he did breathe, a bit, the air sharp to his burning lungs, and when his heartbeat stopped jack hammering in his heart, he wrenched open the little door, his own life possibly depending on it as well as Sweets.

Half expecting it to stick or to lead to a brick wall, he was pleasantly surprised to feel a draft on his face.

Fumbling about in his pockets, Booth was again granted a stroke of luck by having his penlight uncrushed and working perfectly.

Crouching, he entered the access tunnel and headed down it towards the direction of Sweets.

Just when he was starting to get a cramp in his leg and Booth was starting to wonder if he’d ever see the end of the tunnel, his penlight landed on another rusty door.

Going to it eagerly, he deflated when he saw that for some absurd reason, there wasn’t a handle on this side of the door and who knew if there was another door further ahead or if all the doors didn’t have handles on the inside—he hadn’t spared the first door a second glance once he was through.

Slamming a hand on the door with a frown, he paused and then drew out his gun, using the butt of it to knock on the door.

“Sweets! Sweets, if you can hear me, say something, anything—Sweets!” He didn’t have much hope of Sweets being able to hear him past the door, it seemed to him that he had gone much farther than where Sweets would have been after the collapse, but the dark had put off his sense of time and direction, his watch suffering the same fate as his phone, for all he knew he had passed Sweets long ago and now was just as stuck as the psychologist.

Grimacing, he hammered on the door again. “Sweets!”

* * *

Sweets blinked and closed his mouth as the muffled shout reached him, unsure if he had heard or imagined the voice. But there was a sound accompanying the shouts now—a dull, muffled sound that—could it be someone—hitting something? Knocking on something? A flutter of hope rose in his chest and he shifted just a little, trying to get more air into his lungs.

“Here—Booth! I’m—” He coughed, and realizing he couldn’t sound much louder than a whisper without making his ribs feel like they were on fire. “I’m—I’m—” He was grounding his teeth now to keep from crying from the pain flaring up in his leg as well as his torso, but he had to make some noise so they would know where he was—

He felt around with his free hand, for something—anything—and found a sizeable piece of mortar. If he was remembering clearly, there had been piping on the lower part of the wall and—yes! He could feel it just behind him, pressing into part of his back. One hard knock, and a dull clang echoed through the tunnel.

Booth jolted at the sound, a grin spreading subconsciously over his face as he hammered again on the door. “Sweets! I’m here—I’m—” He broke off, smile fading as he realized he still had no way of getting out the access tunnel. “Sweets? Can you hear me? Can you move?”

Sweets knocked once more against the pipe to confirm that he could indeed hear, and then let the rubble drop from his hand, blinking away the tears of relief that had sprung to his eyes at Booth’s voice. He hadn’t been imagining it! Booth was there, and—and…

And he couldn’t answer him back or move to the sound of the voice, not without experiencing excruciating pain in his leg. His first thought was to pick up the piece of rubble again and use—use morse code or—or something, but besides the basic SOS he was a bit shaky on anything else, and he didn’t even know what he would ask or say. If Booth was there, though, help had to be right behind him, because it was Seely Booth, and the FBI agent was as resourceful as they came.

Frowning as he got no response other than the loud tapping, Booth had to assume Sweets was too injured to move or he was cut off from the door.

Both of which were not good at all, especially if it was the former.

“Sweets, I’m going to try and get to you, but it might take me a bit—just hang on, and don’t move if you’re injured, all right? Just stay where you are.” He ordered sharply as he sat back on his haunches to look over the stupid handle-less access door, penlight running over the frame again and again.

There had to be a way…

Shifting his weight, Booth braced his back on the other side of the small tunnel and kicked out as hard as he could, hoping the door was rusted enough to break under the repeated assault.

It didn’t.

Giving it another couple of kicks just to be sure, Booth wiped sweat from his brow and ran the penlight over the length and width of the door once more.

The damn hinges weren’t even on this side!

Cursing a little more vehemently under his breath, urgency sending another spike of adrenaline through his veins, Booth stared hard at the door, hoping that maybe he’d just overlooked something simple and obvious.

Putting away his gun, he ran his fingers along the edge of the frame and used his pen light to look at the surrounding wall.

There had to be a way to open the door, it didn’t make any sense to make a door that couldn’t open from the inside, especially since it was a freakin’ access tunnel. People’d be getting stuck in here all the time if there was only one way in and out—

His fingers caught on a small lever hidden by the edge of the frame right about where the locking mechanism would be.

Sending up a prayer of thanks, he tugged on it with bated breath—

CLICK

Pushing open the door that was stopped from opening fully by fallen rubble, Booth squeezed out and searched around frantically for Sweets, the narrow beam of the penlight darting back and forth.

“Sweets!”

“…here…” The weak voice came from his right, more of a hoarse whisper than anything else.

Scrambling over the large pieces of concrete and only stubbing his toe twice, Booth barely avoiding landing on Sweets as he almost lost his balance, the penlight landing on Sweet’s left arm and travelling up to his face, blood standing out starkly against the younger man’s dusty face.

Crouching down beside him, hand gripping tightly onto his shoulder, Booth realized for the first time just how worried he’d been about the psychologist, a weight lifting from his chest as he physically laid eyes on him at last.

“Sweets.”

Chapter Text

     The penlight went a little too close to Sweets’ eyes, the younger man wincing and attempting to turn away as his eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry.” Booth apologized with a grimace. His brief view of the younger man’s face hadn’t been good, his expression pained and blood still oozing slowly from the nasty gash on his temple.

     “How hurt are you?” He asked, penlight already moving to examine the rest of Sweets for injuries.

     “Don’t know,” Sweets answered, voice tight with pain. He knew he had to look bad, judging by the tone in Booth’s voice. “It—it hurts all over. Careful—the leg,” he added, as an afterthought, when Booth had already turned his light to it. Blood soaked the calf of his right leg, and as Booth examined the torn fabric, it became obvious that shrapnel from the explosion had imbedded itself deeply into the young man’s lower leg, a large piece still sticking out of the concrete flooring underneath his ankle, effectively pinning him in place.

     Okay…so. Okay.

     Booth wasn’t a doctor, but he seemed to recall that you should leave things in rather than pull them out—something about increasing blood loss and the possibility of severing arteries…

     Not seeing how he could help Sweets, Booth sat down beside him, their shoulders pressing together, and tried not to think about the all the blood.

     “Bones called for help. It should be here soon. So no passing out on me, all right? You’re going to be just fine.” He told the younger man sharply. “Sweets?”

     “I’m…” Sweets blinked and then paused, not sure what he had been about to say, and decided to not say anything. Now that Booth was there, it didn’t seem as important to hold onto consciousness. Brennan was safe, Booth was…wait, where was the doctor? She wasn’t with them, was she? It didn’t matter either, he supposed, so long as she was safe. Yes, she was safe and help was on the way and he could just close his eyes and…

     Frowning with worry at the younger man‘s sudden silence, Booth nudged his shoulder urgently. “Sweets? Stay awake for me, all right? Just keep those eyes open. Help’ll be here soon, just don’t fall asleep.”

     Sweets blinked, not realizing his head had started to fall towards Booth’s shoulder, and he straightened a little, wincing and hugging his arm firmly around his ribs. “’m not,” he lied belatedly. “I’m awake.” He wasn’t going to be for much longer though, considering how hard his eyes were trying to close. He spoke again, in an effort to do as Booth ordered. “Did…did you catch him?”

     “Who?” Booth suddenly stiffened not bothering to wait for Sweets to answer when the answer came to him a split second after asking the stupid question. How the hell could he forget about the damn reason they were down here in the first place? “Damnit! Did you hear anyone else in here with you?” He questioned urgently as he drew his gun and shifted forward onto his knees, light playing out over the area. Skin crawling as he knew that he was alerting their position to whoever might be around but knowing it was far too late to stop using the flashlight now, Booth looked around apprehensively.

     “No.” Sweets became a little more alert in response to Booth’s sudden disquiet, now worried that maybe the psycho who’d blown up the tunnel was still crawling around somewhere in the dark with them. Not for the first time he was relieved to have Booth with him—him and his gun—but then his thoughts turned to— “Brennan—she’s out there—”

     Anxiety spiking, Booth glared at Sweets—not that the man could tell unless he shone the penlight onto his own face. “She can take care of herself. Besides, unless that guy is indestructible, he probably killed himself in the blast. He was right next to you.” Getting to his feet, Booth peered at the darkness warily. “I’m going to look around.”

     “No—wait—” the plea escaped before Sweets could stop it, but he meant it regardless. The thought of being left alone in the dark, even if it was just for a few minutes, was enough to make his heart start racing again. He tried to sit up a little more, inadvertently tugging on his damn leg and a pained hiss escaped him as he grabbed onto his thigh as if that would help disperse some of the pain.

     “Sweets!” Booth was back at his side in an instant, penlight flashing towards the man’s face before he aborted the movement, remembering how he almost blinded Sweets the first time, instead directing the beam at his bloody leg. “Don’t move, dammit! Christ—just stay still, huh, okay, stay still!”

     The young man gave a short, stiff nod to show he’d heard, not saying anything as he squeezed tightly on his thigh until it finally felt as if the pain was beginning to die down. He was trembling, and his hand was shaking badly when he eased his grip, but Booth couldn’t tell if it was from blood loss, his head injury, or the pain. Regardless, Sweets himself seemed oblivious to it; his eyes had slid shut again and he was leaning his had back against the wall of the tunnel, breathing in short pants as if it hurt to take in a breath, his other arm tightening around his ribs.

     Exhaling sharply, Booth started to reach for Sweets only to remember his gun. Putting it away, he gripped tightly onto the younger man’s shoulder, reassuring himself that Sweets was here, alive, and not going to die, not if he had anything to do with it. “Don’t scare me like that, Sweets.” He ordered sharply, concern manifesting itself as annoyance.

     “Sorry,” the young man croaked, opening his eyes when he felt pressure on his shoulder. He couldn’t make out Booth’s face, but obviously he was becoming a burden the agent didn’t need when there was a murderer still on the loose. He tried to make his voice sound stronger than he felt. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You—you should go find him. I’m fine here.”

     Booth made a living by reading people, for strangers he was good, but for people he knew? They were open books. And right now Sweets was telling him that he was the opposite of fine, which he already knew and had been ignoring in lieu of telling himself that they weren’t screwed and Bones wasn’t in the middle of a fistfight with a lunatic. Great going. What‘s next? Kicking puppies? “…sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” He muttered uncomfortably. “When you yelled I thought—well never mind. I’m sorry let’s just forget it.”

     "Already forgotten,” Sweets answered. He swallowed thickly, tilting his head to try and make eye contact with the older man, and upon failing just tried to look where he guessed the man’s face would be. “Do you…” He coughed and winced, tasting blood on the back of his throat. “—do you think he’s really dead?”

     “I don’t know.” Booth admitted, eyes roving over the darkness once more. “Unless I find a body, there’s always the possibility that he’s either under the rubble or further down the tunnel.” Or outside, with Bones. His jaw tightened, his grip on Sweets’ shoulder subconsciously tightening as well.

     “You should look,” Sweets said after a moment, not mentioning the same unspoken fear that he guessed had gone through Booth’s head. Brennan was as tough as they came, but even she had her limits against a madman, and anyone who was willing to blow up a tunnel in an effort to destroy evidence definitely qualified as a madman in Sweets’ book. “I won’t move. I’ll be fine.”

     He was lying, but Booth didn’t have the luxury of staying and making sure he didn’t bleed out. His hand moving before he could stop it, Booth gently tousled Sweets hair and stood up. “You’d better not. I’ll be back in a minute. Five at the most. And no sleeping.” He warned.

     “I’ll try,” Sweets promised, and then, before Booth could correct him, he added, “I mean…will?” His brow wrinkled as he considered the changed in wording and wondered if it even made any difference, then decided no, given their circumstances, it didn’t matter at all. He could almost hear Bones and Hodgins scoffing at his worrying about his English given he was lying on the ground half-conscious. And normally how he spoke didn’t even really matter unless they were—

     He blinked, aware he had been staring at the light in Booth’s hand. “Won’t,” he settled on tiredly. “Won’t…sleep. Go.”

     Booth hesitated and then nodded. “Okay. Good.” He paused, unmoving as a sudden thought came to his head. “Sweets? You still have your gun?”

     The younger man frowned and carefully reached up the hand he had curled protectively around his ribs. It disappeared under his coat, towards his holster…and then the young man inhaled sharply. “Gone,” he rasped out, and he started to turn his head left and right as if he could catch sight of it lying somewhere on the ground around them. “Booth, it’s gone—”

     “Did you draw it?” Booth demanded, penlight searching the ground near Sweets in sharp arcs. Please say you drew it, he prayed.

     “N—no…at least—” Sweets clenched his jaw and brushed a trembling hand across his eyes. “I don’t—thi—think I did.”

     “Could it have fallen out somehow during the tunnel collapse?” Booth asked even though he knew it hadn’t. There was a sinking feeling in his gut as he continued his desperate search, not waiting to hear Sweets answer as he had a sudden image of Bones with a flash of red exploding out from her chest—

     “Dammit!” He growled as he widened his search. If the gun hadn’t fallen loose, wasn’t lost somewhere under the debris, that meant that psycho had it—and Bones was out there alone.

Chapter Text

     Sweets listened as Booth started to search the area around him for his missing gun, and in an effort to help he started to grope around as far as his arm could reach without straining his ribs. Maybe it was under him or—or behind him somewhere, or at least…

     “Booth—”

     Booth didn’t hear what he said next, gaze locked on what the thin beam from the penlight had landed on several feet away from the downed psychologist.

     A torn coat caught on a piece of bloodied rebar.

     It wasn’t Sweets, which meant it could only belong to one other person, a person that was easily able to slip out of the jacket with probably only a superficial wound given the small amount of blood left behind.

     The dark squeezed in around Booth, his penlight hurriedly clicked off as he crept away from his position as quickly and silently as he could, gun in hand—

     “Booth!” Sweets called again, not noticing the only light around them had disappeared, because he could feel the cool metal of his gun just under his fingers. He’d never been more relieved to find something in his life—but it was still just out of reach, and he strained to reach it, gritting his teeth against the pain that was making itself known in his injured side—but huffing behind his teeth, arm tucked against his side, he started to lean further, and further out, until his hand finally was able to grasp the barrel—

     “Agh!”

     A boot ground down hard on his wrist, and he could hear someone bending over, the scrape of metal on rock as the gun was lifted out of the rubble.

     “Be quiet,” a deep, terribly familiar voice ordered. “Be quiet and don’t move or I’ll shoot your head off, Mr. Psychologist…and that goes for you too, Mr. FBI,” it continued louder, and Sweets stifled a groan as more weight was applied to his hand. “Turn that light back on. Or I’ll kill him. And you know I will.”

     Gritting his teeth, Bones held the penlight out from his side and flicked it on, the beam landing on Sweets chest, gun aiming in the general direction of the voice. It was no use—shifting the beam of light only revealed that the man had the barrel of Sweets gun pressed just under his ear.

     He couldn’t do anything.

     “Okay. The light is on. Now what?” he asked levelly, not lowering his own gun that was luckily hidden in the darkness.

     “Now you’re going to throw that gun over here where we can see it,” ordered the man. The murderer they had been searching for. The madman who had blown up the tunnel, who’d been showing classic signs of devolving into a full blown obsession with Dr. Brennan. If Sweets hadn’t already been perspiring, he would have started. The barrel of his gun felt like it was already burning into his skin, and he stiffened as the man shifted, digging it a little further into him. “And carefully, or else my finger just might slip…”

     Biting back a curse, hand tightening on the penlight that flickered a little under the pressure, Booth wordlessly clicked back on the safety and tossed the gun on the ground between the three of them.

     “Good…now move back. As far back as you can go. And don’t think about losing that light because if it goes off there’ll be another way to light up this space that I don’t think your friend will like.”

     “Just how much explosives are in this tunnel?” Booth growled bad temperedly as he backed up as instructed, a piece of concrete sticking uncomfortably into the small of his back.

     "Enough for all of us to go up in one final blaze of glory,” replied the man enigmatically. He shifted, slowly making for the gun between them while keeping the barrel of the gun he did have aimed at Sweets. “Speaking of all of us…I don’t see Doctor Brennan here with us.” He sounded almost worried, but Sweets knew better than to think it was out of actual concern for the doctor; in all likelihood the man was beginning to wonder if he’d have a chance to display his brilliance to someone who would understand it. “Did she have the same luck as Mr. Psychologist here?”

      “What are you going to do?” Booth asked sharply, not answering him about Bones. “If you’re trying to kill yourself, you did a helluva job the first time round.”

      “I don’t intend to die here with you,” said the man sharply, almost condescendingly as though Booth should have known better. “Your arrival set things into motion prematurely. I wasn’t ready! She should have come alone. And then it would have been the two of us, and the bodies and the bones, and she would see my genius for what it is…”

      Somewhere in the back of his head, Sweets was analyzing the man’s speech and keeping track of the obvious signs of narcissism and criminal insanity and ever-present infatuation with Doctor Brennan—but in the forefront of his thoughts he couldn’t stop thinking about how unsteady maniacs tended to shoot people and the man had a gun on him and Booth, both of whom he didn’t need alive and wouldn’t want alive so long as his intention was to be the sole subject of Bones’s attention…

      “And what genius is that, huh?” Booth glared at the man. “Killing those people? This case is just like a million others—”

      “Just—like—a million others?!”

      “Booth—quiet,” Sweets tried to warn him. Aggravation at this point was more likely to speed up the process of their murders, not slow it down, and he could tell just by the tone in the man’s voice that he was very seriously considering pulling the trigger.

If they could just last until Bones and their backup arrived—they just had to buy some time because it’d already been a long time and help had to be close. He spoke to the man standing over him, trying to get his attention before he did something they’d all regret. Well, he and Booth would regret, anyway. “He doesn’t—” he coughed, and grit his teeth against the pain of his ribs grinding in his chest. “He doesn’t—understand—not a scientist l-like you—”

      “A million others? Like me?” The man didn’t seem to hear the psychologist at all. “You’ve never met someone like me! She’s never even seen bones like the ones I prepared for her to see!”

      “You think she’s going to give you the time of day when she finds out that you killed her friends?” Booth demanded harshly. He knew it was a risky game he was playing but he wasn’t about to let the crazy man go after Bones. All he needed was the man to make one wrong move… “She won’t listen to you, won’t let you explain a damn thing because she’ll be too busy having you thrown in jail. And then who’s going to listen to your ‘genius’ plans, huh? No one. And you‘ll just be another statistic. Like all the rest.”

      “I—am—not—like—that—rabble!” The man snarled as he stepped forward, his back to the downed Sweets, his full attention and gun now directed solely at the FBI agent standing across from them.

      The wounded psychologist’s first feeling was of relief as the gun turned away from his head, but it quickly turned to apprehension as he realized now it was no longer pressed to his neck because it was directed at Booth. In his head, he could imagine the trigger being pulled—see Booth lying dead and motionless at the bottom of the tunnel…

      No, no—he had to stop that from happening, had to get up even if—Sweets shut his eyes tightly, biting back the cry of pain that almost escaped when the smallest of tugs on his ankle sent a thrill of white-hot agony up his leg. Even if it meant experiencing more of that. He couldn’t just lie there and watch Booth get shot—

      He had to do something!

      “She’ll see that,” the madman whispered, his voice becoming louder as he took aim. “She’ll see I’m not common, like you. She’ll have no choice. You’ll all see that once I’m through remaking your bones for her—!”

      Booth threw the penlight at the man’s face, rolling to the side as best he could amid the rubble as a shot dug into the cement just where he’d been standing a moment ago. Not giving the man a chance to turn back to Sweets, Booth lunged for him, the penlight’s flickering light just enough for him to orient himself correctly—his shoulder slamming into the man with a meaty thud and a sharp exhalation of air.

      They went tumbling off into the dark as they collided, crashing into the rubble and debris strewn across the concrete floor, the sharp tang of blood filling the air as bodies met unforgiving metal tracks. But that did not stop either man.

      Sweets, half-risen and breathing hard from the exertion, sweat dripping off his chin, could hear the fight as it continued a few yards from his position, the muffled grunts and blows echoing out into the space around them as the two fought for control of the gun the man still held clenched in one hand.

       Booth tried to slam the man’s gun hand onto the ground, hoping to loosen his grip and take back control of the situation. But the man had no intention of letting him gain even an inch as he tried to gouge his eyes out, Booth twisting his head out of reach. Changing tactics as the man flipped their positions, Booth scrabbled for the hand still on his face, nails digging into his skin, and wrenched one of the digits back, the sound of bone snapping audible to both the men.

       A yelp of pain was quickly followed by a growled curse, and the man jerked back his injured hand while simultaneously ramming a knee into Booth’s stomach, fighting to aim the gun at the agent’s torso so he could pull the trigger and be done with it—

       Winded, Booth struggled to keep the gun pointed away from him, his elbow smashing against the man’s face twice in succession. There was a sickening crunch as the man retaliated by grabbing onto his hair and smashing his head onto the ground, bright flashes of colour exploding in Booth’s vision, his grip weakening on the gun.

       The man stumbled back, finally able to yank his hand and the weapon out of the FBI agent’s grasp. He fumbled to take aim before Booth could rise and retaliate, he himself panting and dazed from the strikes he’d taken across the face, but a victorious smirk came over his features as he started to squeeze down on the trigger—

       —Only to fire wildly when the bright penlight blinded him unexpectedly from the side.

       Booth wasted no time and lunged desperately at the man, his hand closing around the hot barrel of the gun as he twisted it towards the man’s chest, both men hitting the ground hard from the impact. They rolled across the tracks, pain blossoming out from Booth’s side as the gun went off, the man refusing to relinquish his hold for even a second. Both hands going to the gun, Booth again tried to turn the barrel away from his chest, fingers struggling for control of the trigger—

       A sharp report echoed in the tunnel—and then, silence.

Chapter Text

“Booth?” Sweets shone the penlight around indiscriminately as he searched for where they had fallen, wavering where he stood before the light finally caught sight of two bodies lying on the tracks just ahead. 

“Booth—ghnn—”

He almost fell when he tried to take a step forward, white hot pain racing up his thigh, but the psychologist clenched his jaw determinedly and managed to hobble forward, dragging his bad foot as he made his way to their side, fully prepared to brain the madman with a piece of rubble if he lived and Booth was dead, his heart constricting painfully with anger and adrenaline and fear at the very thought that Booth might be hurt—

The bodies shifted and the psychologist immediately halted—abruptly the madman’s body jerked upright.

Manic eyes locked onto his for what seemed like an eternity—he almost forgot how to breathe—but just as it occurred to Sweets to do something—anything—the light faded in the killer’s eyes and he slumped over lifelessly, Booth shoving him aside and grimacing as a hand went to his side.

“Thanks for the light thing, Sweets—gave me the opening I needed.” He muttered distractedly as he double checked the body for a pulse. The slug through the chest should’ve been enough proof, blood pooling around them, but that little penlight was going to go out sooner rather than later and he’d very much like not having to worry about some zombie-like corpse coming after them.

"Y-yeah…” Now that he knew the man was dead, Sweets gave him only a passing glance under the penlight before he directed the thin beam at Booth, then at the blood that covered the agent’s coat. “Booth, you’re hurt—”

“It’s nothing—hey, you shouldn’t even be standing!”

Booth got to his feet with a grunt, satisfied that the crazy guy was dead and now free to worry over how the little penlight was wavering. And not because of all the abuse it had taken but because the hand holding it was unsteady. “Come on, sit over here away from dead guy.”

Ignoring the painful pull in his side from his newest gunshot wound, a little deeper than a flesh wound, he’d be fine, Booth dragged Sweets’ arm over his shoulder and used the limited light of the penlight to get Sweets as comfortable as possible on a slab of concrete, his back braced by the partially intact subway wall.

Crouching down by the younger man’s leg, Booth examined the heavily bleeding calf with a worried frown. When the kid had gotten up he’d also pulled whatever the hell had been sticking in his leg and now the blood was really going good. Damnit—he couldn’t lose any more blood.

“I’m going to wrap your leg up and get a tourniquet going. It’s going to hurt like a bitch but it’s that or have you bleed out.” He said grimly as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his dress shirt, tearing it as needed for rough bandages before he started covering the wound. That done he pulled his belt free and tightened it just above the knee.

Sweets gasped as the makeshift tourniquet constricted, the pain immediately intensifying and without thinking he tried to stop what Booth was doing, the feeble light from the penlight shaking and going everywhere before it dropped out of his hand and rolled away.

“No—stop—”

In his weakened state, it was easy enough to fend off the hand trying to stop him, Booth feeling for the younger man but continuing what he was doing. “Sorry, Sweets. Has to be done.” He muttered finishing up in the darkness. “I’ll loosen it in a bit. Just try and breathe through the pain.” He finished lamely, knowing how useless words were in a situation like this when heavy duty pain meds and a sedative would be better.

Once done, Booth gave Sweets’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “Hold on, okay? Help’s gotta be on the way by now. You know how efficient Bones is, right? Just hold on.”

Sweets didn’t answer immediately; he was breathing hard and fast, trying and failing to follow the advice to just breathe through it because what did that even mean anyway—but gradually it did seem to diminish, even if it was just a little bit. His brow wrinkled as he recalled Booth’s words, and he opened the eyes that had slid shut, though he couldn’t exactly make out the other man in the dark.

“Why…why isn’t…she here? Now?”

“No signal in the tunnel.” Booth fumbled for the penlight, the light even more erratic than before. Great. So then they’d be stuck in the dark as well as under a stupid damn mountain. “Then there was another cave in. Couldn’t get out but I could make it to you—and that creep.” He gestured pointlessly over to where the corpse slowly seeped. “So it all works out. Case closed. Must be some type of record.” He mused to himself as he sat down beside Sweets and played the light aimlessly across the wall of rubble stopping off this end of the tunnel.

For a while, Sweets remained silent, finding it difficult just to keep up an even breathing pattern, let alone speaking, and just watched the light as it flickered across their surroundings. A few times he was unsure if he passed out or if the light went out and then turned back on. Gradually, however, as the adrenaline began to die down, the throbbing his leg grew worse and he felt compelled to speak, in an effort to ignore it. “Your…watch…work?”

Booth shook his head and then realized that Sweets wouldn’t be able to see the motion. “Broke in the first cave in. Yours?”

It took the psychologist a beat too long to answer a simple, “No.”

Sweets could feel the broken face of his watch on his wrist, cold, shaking fingers coming in contact with the bruised flesh he couldn’t seem to feel as much as before. In fact, all of the pain seemed to have plateaued. It was gradually becoming more bearable, and even though in the back of his head he knew it wasn’t a good thing, it was still somewhat of a relief to not feel the aching sensation coming from below his knee.

“How long—” He swallowed thickly. “How long, do you think?”

Booth didn’t like how strained Sweets voice sounded, his own brow scrunching with worry as he looked sideways at the younger man in the dark.

“What? Till we’re rescued? We’re not too far away from the city, Bones is Bones and we’re both FBI agents, well, technically, so probably a couple more hours depending on the tunnel I guess.” Booth looked upwards warily as the tunnel groaned on cue. Jaw clenching anxiously, he thought about going further into the tunnel while the penlight lasted and looking for another way out. But then, even if he did find something, miraculously, what about Sweets? He was a mess. Even walking a few feet had him swaying and about to pass out—any further than that?

Nu-uh.

“…Booth?” Sweets closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, turning his head slightly so he could just try to look in the direction of Booth. “If…she doesn’t—”

“She will, you know Bones.” Booth cut him off sharply. He turned the penlight down to Sweets leg. “Look the bleeding’s already slowed up, you’re going to be fine. All right? So none of this doom and gloom stuff, Bones is going to get help, they’re going to dig us out, and everything will all work out, okay? Okay. Good. Just—don’t go to sleep.”

“Booth, it’s import…important to accept—”

“Don’t! Don’t, Sweets.” Booth warned.

Sweets paused at the unfamiliar tone in the agent’s voice. He couldn’t quite place what emotion it came from in his steadily worsening condition, but something about it disturbed him. Despite seemingly the opposite to the cool and collected Brennan, Booth also tended to keep his emotions tightly under control. When either the doctor or the agent lost their firm grasp on those emotions, there was always cause to be concerned.

Sweets wished he could have pointed that out to Booth; about how much he and Brennan had in common. They probably knew the majority of it already after years of working together, and Brennan wouldn’t be impressed when Sweets pulled out the technical terms in relation to the psychology behind their actions and relation to one another, but still.

He would have liked to have the chance.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t—” Booth huffed and leaned back against the tunnel wall from where he’d unconsciously tensed away from, his arm pressing against Sweets. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. You had nothing to do with what happened. A crazy guy with too much time on his hands did. If you want to talk, fine, go ahead, but no more of this morbid stuff. And don’t fall asleep.” He felt like he’d told Sweets that more times than necessary already, but once more couldn’t hurt.

“…I won’t.”

And despite realizing that he might not make it out of the tunnel alive, Sweets found himself smiling at the firm assurance behind Booth’s order to stay awake. They would be found, and everything would be okay. Booth believed it, without a doubt. He believed in Brennan without a doubt.

“I won’t,” he repeated faintly.

Brennan would come in time. She would probably be leading the way too, because Dr. Temperance Brennan would be damned if they ordered her to stay back because of the danger—there had to be a name for that type of complex but Sweets couldn’t think of it—and they’d hear her voice and then the paramedics would be right behind her, “I won’t…”, and then before they knew it they’d be in the ambulance and the hospital and there’d be the crisp white sheets and the slightly off-putting scent of antiseptic and…

His head dipped unconsciously towards Booth, eyelids flickering and sliding shut.

Chapter Text

Booth started at the sudden weight on his shoulder, penlight immediately going to Sweets' face to see the man straightening up embarrassedly, eyes blinking slowly against the weak beam of light.

“…You okay?” Booth asked stupidly, wincing internally at accidentally drawing attention to the other man. He just hadn’t expected Sweets to lean on him, and in the dark, with a dead body out of sight just there, he was jumpier than usual.

“Yeah,” Sweets answered automatically without thinking about it. He tried to move a little further away, but even though he couldn’t really feel his leg that much anymore, some feeling remained in his ribs and they protested the movement after so long staying still. He turned his head away from the light, blinking drowsily as he let his head fall back against the cold wall behind them instead of the agent’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he whispered.

Booth shifted awkwardly, the light once again moving somewhere on the far wall. He coughed. “You cold?” He asked, not sure how to go about saying ‘hey, if you want to lay your head on me, it’s fine, because you might die and if you don’t I won’t bring it up ever’ but the words didn’t want to come together in a sentence that didn’t sound completely stupid so he left those thoughts where they were.

Sweets wondered if he should tell him that he could no longer feel his lower body, and that the trembling wasn’t as bad as it first had been when he woke up in the tunnel because his body no longer seemed to have the energy.

"No,” he finally decided to answer, and then after a moment of hesitation, “I can’t…really tell anymore.”

That wasn’t good, Booth thought, fresh worry gathering in the pit of his stomach and sitting there heavily. “That’s probably shock.” He said lightly as he stood up, light playing over the ground so he could retrieve his suit jacket that he’d abandoned what seemed like forever ago.

Sweets stiffened as he heard Booth rise and started to leave, anxiety making him want to sit up or call out and ask the agent where he was going, but then he forced himself to remain put. Booth wouldn’t leave him alone in the tunnel. He wouldn’t. At least…he wouldn’t without a good reason. One hand dug into the fabric of his pants, fingers tightening into a worried fist.

It didn’t take long to find the coat close to where he’d first found Sweets, Booth grimacing as he stooped over to pick it up, his graze to his side pulling uncomfortably. Straightening, he returned to Sweets and tucked the jacket around his torso carefully. “I’d strip the dead guy, but that seems just—wrong. In so many ways. So tough luck.” His half-hearted joke falling flat.

Sweets smiled weakly at him all the same, giving him a look as if he’d given him the shirt off his back—which wasn’t too far from reality, but still.

“…Thanks, Booth.”

Booth didn’t reply just sat down beside him again, shoulder once more pressed against his, a reminder—to both of them—that everything was shitty but at least they weren’t in it alone.

“So how crazy would you rate this guy anyway, Sweets? On the crazy-as-hell scale. Being willing to explode yourself, that’s pretty insane right? All that kamikaze, I’ll die for my cause, sort of thing has to be near the top of the list. Not to mention what he did to all those people.”

The psychologist side of Sweets would probably be very interested in answering that question, but the other side of Sweets—the side trying to hang onto consciousness because Booth had ordered him to do so—couldn’t be bothered to think anything beyond a simple, “Ten. Definitely…a ten.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was giving him too, with an extra gold star for being extra freaking creepy.” Booth shifted restlessly. He didn’t like just hanging around, he liked to go out and be the one to get things done. He didn’t doubt that Bones was calling in the cavalry, but the waiting was killing him. And probably literally sapping the life away from Sweets. If there was a faster way to the surface, Sweets could be airlifted out in no time.

“Guy like that, willing to blow himself to kingdom come, think he’d bother having an escape route?” He asked trying to keep the hope from his voice.

There was a pause, and then, “No. Not…likely.” Sweets managed to force his eyelids back up, but the lure of sleep was growing closer with every passing second and he was hard pressed to keep them up. The dim light on the opposite side of the wall, moving occasionally in Booth’s grasp, was almost mesmerizing. “Nars…narcissistic. Plan wouldn’t…fail.”

Shoulder slumping, Booth nodded, a hand passing across his face. “Yeah. Guess not. No point in checking out the rest of the tunnel then—” The penlight flickered and died, this time staying dead and leaving them in complete darkness. “Great. Just great. Exactly what we didn’t need.” Booth shook the penlight and fiddled with it blindly but the light refused to work again. “Damnit.”

Sweets blinked a few times, not sure why Booth swore until he realized the light had disappeared. “Oh. No more light,” he whispered aloud to himself. But it was okay. Brennan would have her own.

He was going to point that out to Booth, but somehow the words didn’t quite make it out of his mouth, except as a slurred garble.

Forgetting about the penlight in an instant at the pathetic sound that sounded far too much like a death rattle, Booth found Sweets’ shoulders in the dark and gripped them tightly, eyes panicked. “Sweets? Sweets! Talk to me, buddy, come on!”

Silence greeted him—and then Booth felt a hand tug weakly at his shirt sleeve. “’wake,” the psychologist mumbled. “Still…’wake…”

Almost dizzy with relief, Booth glared at the psychologist in the dark.

“Well then act like it! Damnit—don’t do that to me!” His sharp tone was blunted by his nerves putting a wobble on his words, Booth swearing he’d aged about ten years in the time it took for Sweets to speak. “Damnit!” He repeated for good measure, his hold on Sweets’ shoulders refusing to weaken, the strangest idea growing in his head that if he let go Sweets would just drift away and he wouldn’t even know it.

Licking his lips, mouth unusually dry, Booth amped up his glare, which was wasted in the darkness but made him feel better and more in control, and spoke as evenly as he could. “You are not dying here, Sweets. Not under my watch. Okay? So get that in your head. You. Are. Not. Dying. Here. End of story.”

Sweets swallowed with difficulty, trying to answer, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to form any more words. And even though it should have sent a dull panic through him that he was beginning to lose the ability to communicate, he was beginning to feel almost…euphoric. At peace. Feeling was slipping away from him, the weight of his body fading as if he’d never had to carry it, the pain in his body easing until it was a dim afterthought.

Despite his promise to stay awake, he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He was being pulled under, but he felt the urge to hold on for just a moment longer, just for the sake of the man next to him. Booth had to know that he tried. That he was trying, for him, not to die. But even the pressure of hands on his shoulders was fading away, until eventually, there was nothing.

“Booth,” he finally managed to whisper, his voice sounding far away even in his own ears. “I can’t…”

Keep my promise.

His head fell back limply, and he knew no more.         

“Sweets!” Booth tried to get the younger man to answer him as he frantically fumbled about to find a pulse.

Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please god—

Thumpthumpthump.

“Thank you.” He whispered hugging the limp body to his chest in relief. “Thank you.”

Remaining like that for a moment more, still positive that if he lost contact with the psychologist he’d be gone for good, he finally loosened his grip and rearranged the younger man so that his head was cushioned on his leg, a protective arm around his shoulders.

He felt tense—as if he hadn’t already been—wound tighter than a spring, all this energy and no place to put it because like hell he was leaving Sweets now. They’d already ruled out the idea of the maniac having an escape route anyway, but Booth had been willing to look around anyway, Sweets might’ve been wrong about the guy.

Booth fidgeted, his hand moving to splay across Sweets’ chest, finding comfort in the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage. If he was breathing, he was alive, and that was good. It was good.

But how long? How long could Sweets last down here? He’d already lost a lot of blood, had lost even more when he’d tried walking on it—add in shock and Sweets’ chances weren’t looking great.

Booth’s jaw tightened and he swiped an angry hand at his eyes.

Bones was going to find them and Sweets’d be taken to a hospital and he’d be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

Left with only the sound of Sweets barely there breathing and his own louder breaths, the darkness in the remains of the tunnel oppressive and far too much like a mausoleum, Booth did the only thing he could—he prayed.

Chapter Text

Despite the condition of her arm, Bones insisted on being there when the digging crew broke through all the debris in the tunnel to the first pocket where she thought Booth would be stuck.

But it was empty and showed signs of a possible third collapse that had added another layer to the wall that had separated them from Sweets what felt like weeks ago instead of hours.

Booth wasn’t there.

That was all she could think as she continued to look around frantically for him, pulling away pieces of debris along with the rescue team despite their continued protests.

She had to find Booth and Sweets.

That was the goal she gave herself, compartmentalizing it away from the feelings involved so that she could focus on her work.

Find Booth and Sweets.

Bones didn’t let herself think about what condition they would be in when she found them, if they’d even still be alive which was doubtful considering the amount of time it had taken for the rescue team to arrive and their subsequent breach of the first wall in their way to finding Booth and Sweets.

Rationally, she knew they were working as fast as they could, wary of any further cave ins and leery of any more explosives left behind by the madman. But irrationally, she found their pace far too slow. They were supposed to be a rescue team but if they continued crawling along like they were, there’d be no one to rescue.

So she waited, with a great deal of impatience, for the second wall to be circumvented.

It didn’t make sense for Booth not to be here, not unless he’d found another way out which was highly unlikely. Yet…they hadn’t found any sign of Booth which had to mean that he’d defied the odds again. But then why couldn’t she find the way he’d taken?

Staring at the wall of debris as though she could bore a hole through it out of sheer willpower, Bones continued to wait, anxiety skyrocketing every time the rescuers stopped and an ominous rumble sounded beneath their feet.

She couldn’t let them stop, they had to find Booth—

“We’re through!”

Instantly, Bones was down by the knot of people looking up as one of the rescuers wriggled into a hole leading to the other side of the debris.

“I would like to go through next.” She said firmly.

“Not gonna happen, Dr. Brennan.”

“What? Why not? I am quite adept at spelunking and can be of great use to you.” She informed him, brow knitting. She had to see them for herself.

“The best way to help is by staying back, Dr. Brennan. Let us do our job.”

“No—” She started, but one of the workers bumped past her and she cut off with a pained expression, holding her arm closer. The man leading the dig noticed and immediately gestured over someone else.

"Take Dr. Brennan out of here, it isn’t safe—”

“No! I have to be here—I have to be here,” she repeated when the young man started to lead her back the way they had come.

“Sorry, Dr. Brennan, you heard the man, it’s not safe—”

“But Booth—”

The man ignored her protests, gently but firmly escorting her all the way outside of the cave and into the waiting arms of the paramedics she had ignored earlier.

“No—I’m fine.” She snapped as she was forced to sit down on the edge of the ambulance, leaning away from them as best she could.

“Dr. Brennan, you told us your arm was dislocated, now you know the risk of leaving it like that, even with the sling—”

“My arm holds no importance right now.” Bones told them curtly, expression frustrated. “I have to be there when they find Booth—”

“The rescue team will keep you informed, Dr. Brennan—”

“Given their slow manner thus far, I find that highly doubtful. No, I have to be there—”

Again, her attempt to get up was foiled and this time the paramedic gave her a warning. “Stay here, Dr. Brennan. Let us take care of your arm and then I promise we’ll let you go diving back into that cave again and let the rescue team handle you. But only after we see that arm.”

Bones didn’t like the attempt at getting her to remain with them, if necessary she knew the proper way to relocate her arm with nothing more than a suitably sized tree, and she would not be forced to remain here twiddling her thumbs when right now Booth and Sweets could be in critical condition.

Before she could tell the paramedic any of that though, her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. She’d almost forgotten it existed until that very moment, for a brief, delusional moment she even thought it might be Booth. Upset, she looked back at the tunnel entrance and rescue team, resolving not to answer it because nothing mattered right now more than Booth and Sweets and they were lying somewhere in that tunnel and what if they weren’t just injured? What if—

Her phone continued to insistently buzz, annoyance sparking in her as she ignored whatever the paramedic said and dug it out of her pocket, about to decline the call when she saw who it was from.

She hurriedly swiped to answer and almost immediately Angela’s voice was on the line, tight with worry and relief and anxiety.

“Sweetie! Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Are you all right? What happened? Why did you ignore my calls? Never mind all of that, just tell me where you are!”

Despite the frantic edge to her best friend’s voice, Bones still found herself being comforted by it, her voice wavering a bit as she tried to get a word in. “Angie—”

“Oh no, what happened? Where are you? I’m tracking your phone—”

“Angie, wait. I—” Bones swallowed. “I’m fine.” The watching paramedics exchanged a glance that she decided to ignore. “But Booth—” She exhaled raggedly. “There was a cave-in. We were looking for Evers and went to the abandoned tunnel. The man was insane, he let off explosives and Sweets got trapped and then Booth tried to get to him but there was secondary collapse and he told me to go get help and then—” She took in a bracing breath, reminding herself that letting her emotions control her wouldn’t help the situation. She wiped at her eyes. “The rescue team is attempting to reach them now. They were almost through before I was removed from the site.” She said briskly, gaze once more on the tunnel entrance.

“Oh my god.” There was stunned silence. “Oh my god. And you’re okay?” Angela asked in disbelief. “Honey—”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Bones demanded. “I’m fine! It’s Booth and Sweets who could be—” She broke off, refusing to think like that because they were fine. Booth and Sweets were both fine.

“Oh, honey—” A soft exhale, Angela’s voice turning soothing. “I’m worried about them too, but that doesn’t mean I’m not also worried about my best friend who was in an explosion and a cave-in. And it also doesn’t mean that me and Hodgins aren’t coming over there. As in immediately. I’m already walking out of the building right now.”

“You don’t have to do that, Ang—but…thank you.” Bones said quietly, relieved and touched.

“Anytime, sweetie, you know that. And I’m staying on the phone with you the whole trip.” She added firmly. Her voice softened. “Everything’s going to be okay, honey.”

“You don’t know that.” Fear trickled back up her spine. The rescue team should know something by now. They should have come out and told her what they found. Who they found. Why weren’t they coming out yet? Her hand tightened on her phone. “The chances of surviving a cave-in are small enough but a second cave-in drastically reduces that chance and—”

“Sweetie.” Angela interrupted. “Sweetie, take a breath.”

“But Booth—”

“Will be all right.” Angela stated firmly, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as Bones. “Hey. How many times have you two beaten the odds before? He’ll do it again.”

“You have no way of knowing that—" Bones didn’t have a chance to continue pointlessly arguing against Angela’s optimism, because a sudden shout from the front of the tunnel entrance suddenly sounded out, loud and excited and instantly taking all of Bones’ attention.

“We found them!”

Chapter Text

It was the noise that drew Booth out of his prayers, bowed head jerking upright, eyes darting around uselessly in the darkness. For a moment, he even thought he’d imagined the sound, the air getting warm and close as their oxygen supply started to run low, and then he heard it again—

Digging.

And it was getting closer—

He coughed as dust started to trickle down from the roof of the tunnel, an ominous creak from somewhere in the darkness making him tense and tug Sweets’ limp body closer, a protective arm still wrapped around his chest.

More digging.

And more digging.

And—god, he knew they had to be careful, but couldn’t they move faster? Sweets was barely—Booth angrily cut off that line of thought, clenching his jaw tight enough to hurt.

He waited.

More digging.

More waiting.

Booth would have gone over to the wall of rubble to help at this rate, but like hell was he leaving Sweets alone. So he was stuck just listening, impatient gaze locked in the general direction of the sound.

As he waited, worst case scenarios played through his head over and over again, each one making him more tense than the last, one hand curled into a fist as he checked Sweets’ pulse every few moments. It kept getting weaker, harder to find. Booth almost had a heart attack before he finally found it and he swallowed, gaze desperately returning to where the noise was increasing in volume. The psychologist didn’t have much time left.

Come on. Come on, come on. He chanted urgently. Come—

Harsh light broke through a gap in the wall, relief flooding through him even as they blinded him, hope surging up in his chest.

“I found them!”

“We—” Booth coughed, dust threatening to choke him and eyes watering from the force of the emergency light being aimed right at him. “We need—”

“Just hold on, buddy, we’re coming to get you!”

It was probably meant to be reassuring, and if he hadn’t felt Sweets chest suddenly still under his hand, maybe Booth would have listened.

“Sweets? Sweets!” Booth squinted through the bright light still invading their impromptu cave, shaking Sweets desperately. “No. Nonono—Sweets!” He wasn’t breathing, oh god, he wasn’t breathing!

Panic clawing up his chest, Booth had the younger man moved flat onto the ground and was doing compressions before he even realised he’d moved, vision blurring as he shouted at Sweets to just take a damn breath—

“—et me, sir.”

He flinched at the sudden closeness of the voice, feeling numb as he was gently but firmly pulled aside and someone else took his place by Sweets’ side.

“—all right?”

He blinked, gaze torn away from Sweets’ too still body and looked into the clinically concerned eyes of some man wearing rescue garb.

“Agent Booth, let me take a—”

“Sweets—” His voice sounded strange, like he’d overused it. He swallowed. “—help him first—you have to help him first—he—he stopped breathing, I couldn’t—”

“Booth!”

The familiar voice immediately drew his attention to the source, something in his chest easing as he saw a disheveled Bones forcing her way past the rescuers, refusing to let them drag her back outside the tunnel, her worried eyes locking onto his.

“Booth!”

“Bones!” You shouldn’t be in here, it’s not safe, he wanted to tell her, but the words caught in his throat when he just looked at her, alive not caught in the cave-in like the small dark part of his mind kept telling him had happened. She was alive—she was okay. He swallowed thickly. “Bones.” He repeated quietly.

She was through the gap in the wall in seconds, and impulsively dropped down to her knees to hug onto him tightly to reassure herself he was living and breathing and not—not what her mind had been imagining. Memories of the Gravedigger kept trying to claw their way out of her head but she shoved them back down forcefully, well aware she was no longer trapped in a small vehicle with Hodgins. She could feel Booth trembling under hands and she pulled away to get a better look at him, mouth opening to tell him he needed the medics to look at him, but then her gaze finally slipped to Sweets.

The first thing she’d noticed when she’d breached the line of rescuers and stood on the wall had been all the blood. On Booth’s hands, on his shirt—but he was conscious. Sweets was not. So then all that blood—

Booth caught her gaze and shifted away from her, looking back at where Sweets was undergoing a flurry of activity, two medics giving terse questions and answers as they attempted to stabilize the young doctor, his hand unconsciously tightening on her arm.

Feeling the palpable emotion coming from Booth and feeling her own emotions coming dangerously close to the surface as they administered CPR on the young man, Bones did what she did best and compartmentalized, switching her focus onto the wound one on Sweets’ leg, which appeared to be the cause of his current condition. If that wound had been present on remains, she would point out the wound appeared to—appeared…the tibia and fibula were…were…

She couldn’t do it.

This was Sweets. Not some remains in a lab. He was the psychologist who tried to dig too deeply into the inner workings of Bones and Booth’s relationship, the young man who looked far too inexperienced to have “doctor” as his title and this was their friend. And now because of that friendship, he was lying there looking more dead than alive, his body limp and unresponsive to everything the EMTs were doing.

Sweets should have never been there, just as Booth never should have been; she was the one who should have been faster at recognizing the marks in the bone from the madman’s first victim, maybe then Booth could have brought him in for questioning before—

“We got him!”

The triumphant statement from the two medics drew her out of her thoughts, she and Booth letting out exhales together, the doctor unaware of when she’d even started holding her breath. Sweets was back with them.

He was alive.

Thank god, Booth thought fervently, blinking rapidly. Thank you. Thank you.

They rose together, and Booth made a move as if to go closer, inadvertently jostling Bones’ injured arm that she’d been keeping close to her chest, her sharp inhale making him immediately move to tuck her protectively against his side, worried eyes flicking between her and Sweets. What had those damn EMTs been doing out there the whole time if not seeing to Bones? “Your arm—”

She hastily tried to explain. “There wasn’t time—”

“There will be outside,” one of their rescuers interrupted before she could say more, the man gently but firmly pushing the two of them towards the entrance. “Bring the stretcher!”

“Bones—”

“It’s all right, Booth—Sweets is the one who needs medical attention, not me—” She insisted.

He gave her an exasperated look, but then Sweets was being moved onto a stretcher and more rescuers were moving to guide them out of the hole and then—then they were finally outside.

And Sweets was still unconscious.

“Come on, we can see you two over here.” A medic tried to get them to leave Sweets’ side, both refusing to budge.

“I’m fine, alright? Just tell me about Sweets.” Booth demanded tersely.

“We’re going to get him airlifted to the nearest hospital,” the medic explained patiently, gaze going back and forth between Booth to Bones’ intent faces. His voice softened a little. “Buddy, we’re doing all we can for him, but you both need to be looked at, okay? We didn’t go down there just to help one of you—”

“Go on, Bones.” Booth gently pushed her in the direction of the waiting medics.

“What about Dr. Sweets?” asked Bones, and Booth tried to answer that he was okay, that the kid was going to pull through, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words, something else slipping out.

“I have to go with him. Bones—” She could see the torn look in his eyes, his desire to go with her to reassure himself that she was alive and safe after everything that happened vying with the protective urge to ride in the ambulance with Sweets in case—

In case he never made it to the hospital.

She didn’t let him agonize over the decision, squeezing his arm with her good hand. “Angela and Hodgins are on their way,” she said simply. “I’ll be fine, Booth. Go.”

He gave a short nod, a brief look passing between them that said more than any words could, and then his hand left hers, the agent making his way quickly to the other ambulance where Sweets was still being loaded in.

He climbed into the back alongside the paramedic, and for just a moment Bones was struck by the urge to climb out and join them, but logic won out. There, she would only be in the way. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of Booth holding Sweets’ hand—

And then the doors to the ambulance closed, and there was no more.