Title: Victim
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: R
Author's Note: Spoilers for the S7 CSI: Vegas episode "Fannysmackin'."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders, unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Where was everybody? Why wasn't the team here?

Greg could sense the people bending over him; he felt detached, as though he was floating in some far-off place, divorced from the reality around him. The pain would set in again all too soon, clawing and tearing at his mind and body, but until it did, he was blessedly numb.

He could remember every second of what had taken place, even though all he wanted was to put it out of his mind and forget everything. The gang beating up a helpless victim, one of them coming at him with a rock -- and the sickening crunch when his car had hit the guy.

He'd sat there in stunned silence for a few moments; he hadn't known what to do. Maybe if he hadn't frozen, if he had simply backed out of there and waited until backup got here, then he wouldn't be lying here on the ground, feeling as though he'd been ripped into tiny shreds.

Greg didn't want to make a sound as the paramedic touched his face; he didn't want to groan and then whimper in pain. But he couldn't hold the sound back; everything hurt, and that throbbing pain was coming back in waves, attacking him all at once.

This was what it had felt like when he was being kicked and punched; the pain had seemed to become a part of him, sinking into his flesh and bones and imprinting itself there like it intended to make a home inside his body and never go away.

He would never have believed that physical pain could be so intense if he hadn't felt it himself. It didn't seem possible for anything to hurt so much; he had never taken this kind of physical abuse before, and he had wondered at the time if it would kill him.

He was probably lucky not to have had his head smashed open and his brain splattered all over the dirty pavement, Greg told himself, closing his eyes and trying not to cry out as the paramedic's fingers brushed his face. He could easily have been killed; he was lucky to be alive.

The guy he'd hit hadn't made it out of there alive, he thought, tears springing to his eyes. The last thing he had wanted to do was hurt anyone, much less kill another human being. He'd never thought that he would have to do that. He'd never thought he would be faced with that kind of decision.

But if he hadn't done it, then he would be dead -- and self-preservation was one of the strongest instincts any human being had. It had been that guy, or him; he had no doubt that he would have been assaulted and murdered if he hadn't hit the gas pedal.

Only he had been assaulted, Greg reminded himself, groaning again as the paramedic turned his head to the side. He couldn't see out of that eye; he could barely see out of the other one. The thought of losing his eyesight brought a broken sob to his lips.

"I'm going to be blind, aren't I?" he mumbled through swollen lips. "I can't see anything. I can't see!" His voice was rising in panic; blindly, he grabbed at the paramedic's arm, only to have his wrists restrained gently, a soft voice in his ear.

"No, you're not going to be blind, Mr. Sanders," the paramedic explained to him, his voice patient. "We don't know how extensive your injuries are, but I don't think your eyesight is compromised. Lie still. You could have a concussion, and we need to get you to the hospital."

Greg thought he closed his eyes, but he couldn't tell. He could feel pain spreading over his entire face; briefly, he wondered how bad the wounds were, and if he would have any kind of scars from them. That was one thing he didn't want to think about -- or deal with.

He'd always been such an ugly duckling when he was a child -- and it hadn't gotten much better during his teenage years, Greg thought ruefully. It was only in his early twenties that he'd blossomed and started to think of himself as being good-looking.

He didn't want to lose that, as shallow as it might seem. He didn't want to go back to being the guy who could never get a date, who wasn't considered worthy of even a first look, much less a second one. He didn't want this night to have such an impact on the rest of his life.

It would already have an impact, Greg told himself, trying to lift his head as he heard sirens in the distance. He had killed a man. That was not only going to impact his life, but his career as well. He might even lose his job for this, even though it had been in self-defense.

The movement made him feel dizzy; he had to lower his head again before he passed out. Black spots swam in front of his eyes, the only thing that he could see other than a few fuzzy pinpricks of light. At least he wasn't going to lose his eyesight. That was some small comfort.

His eyes must be swollen shut from the beating, he thought, trying to take a more practical tack in looking at the situation. He'd been kicked and punched for several long moments before the gang had heard the sirens of the first responders; they'd beaten him pretty badly.

But at least he was alive -- which was more than he could say for one of the gang's victims. He didn't know if he'd managed to save the life of the man they'd been beating up when he'd seen them. No one had told him anything about the other victim's condition.

Victim. That was how everybody would think of him now, as a victim of a violent crime. It wouldn't matter that he'd just been doing his job to the best of his ability. Everyone would think that he was a victim who couldn't take care of himself.

Greg didn't want to be thought of as a victim -- though at the moment, that was exactly what he was. For the first time since he had become a CSI, he was on the other side of the fence -- and he didn't like it. Not at all. This wasn't somewhere he wanted to be. Not ever again.

What would his parents think once he told them about this? That thought made panic rise in his throat again; he coughed, then drew in a breath of air and nearly choked. It was painful to breathe; he wouldn't be surprised if he had at least a few broken ribs.

He was still alive. He had to concentrate on that. He couldn't think about his parents now, or his job, or the rest of his life. He had to remember what had happened so that he could give the team all the information possible when they got here to work the scene.

He could hear them now; that was definitely Sara's voice. They knew what had happened to him, and they would take him out of here, get him to the hospital, and find out who had done this. And he would become a part of the process -- both as a victim and as a CSI.

If he could make the choice, this was not the side of that fence he wanted to be on.

***