Request.

Warnings: Blood. Suicide attempt.

Morgan got the phone call at exactly 2 a.m, as if he was just waiting for that exact time. Outside the wind was howling and the rain was loud and the trees were being thrown against the side of the house.

When he opened the phone, Morgan saw it was Reid calling. Reid who generally requires far less sleep than a normal human being, and who had a habit of staying up far too late. If it was another call to point out the irrelevance of some theory Morgan couldn't give two shits about, or to report some new, ground-breaking science that would change the world as they knew it, Morgan would be quite content in slamming down the phone on his friend. But as he answered, the voice on the other end was bland and lifeless. Almost unrecognisable, and a far cry from Reid's usual cheerful enthusiasm for anything and everything.

"JJ and I went on a date once."

Morgan couldn't tell if Reid was drunk, or high or what.

"She said.. do you know what she said? She said I was cute... and I thought... but she said I was like her brother, and she didn't want to ruin our friendship."

"Kid, you okay?" He asked, because suddenly his hands felt numb and his heart was beating just a little bit faster.

"Hotch kicked me... broken rib."

"Reid." Morgan said slowly. "Have you taken something?"

He heard Reid groan, but the kid didn't deny it.

"They don't stop, Morgan." His voice broke. "Don't wanna be like her..."

"Spencer! You need to tell me what you've taken." Morgan was already scrambling out of his bed, and struggling to pull on sweatpants.

"I changed my mind." He said softly. He sounded so tired. "I don't wanna anymore. I'm just.. don't know...stupid."

Then the phone went dead.

Morgan bolted down the stairs. He hoped the kid was drunk so he could yell at him, push him on to the couch and tell him to sleep it off.

But Spencer doesn't get 'drunk'. He doesn't even drink.

When Morgan reached Spencer's apartment, he used his spare key to enter. Hotch's words floated around somewhere in the back of his head, "use only if it's an emergency." He had to step back because it smelled so strongly of booze and there was a pile of vomit right in front of the doorway. Regardless, Morgan relaxed a bit.

The kid's drunk. He told himself. He's just drunk.

He still rushed in to the bedroom. There was empty bottles of booze everywhere, and it seemed like there was just as many puddles of vomit, too. All of Reid's books were on the floor, and his blankets had been torn from the bed and duct taped to the windows. There were intricate, hand-drawn maps covering the walls and newspaper clippings tacked up on top of them.

Jesus Christ, Reid.

He was momentarily distracted. Not by the stink and the shock, but by Reid's letter from Gideon laying on the floor, smeared with blood, and his One Year medallion next to it. There was a photograph of a man Morgan could only guess was Reid's dad with words scribbled across it, and most disconcertingly, on top of that was a bloodied razor blade.

"Reid!" Morgan called. "Where are you?"

When he entered the bathroom, Reid was pale as hell. He was sitting in a bathtub of bright red water with a bath towel held to his wrist.

"I changed my mind." Reid managed. He didn't sound airy and tired anymore. He sounded broken and terrified, and Morgan didn't know what to do. So he stood there, mouth agape, with Reid staring at him with wet hair and wet eyes. He didn't move until Reid held up his wrist.

"Help me."

Then Morgan jumped into action, lifting Reid out of the bathtub and laying him down on the cold tiles. Reid was cold. Freezing. Shaking. Shivering. But the bath water was still warm. Reid was fully clothed, and Morgan watched his friend's blood stain the white tiles. He lifted Reid's pant leg and saw the slashes. And he froze again. But only for a second. Then Morgan found the phone Reid had left on the flood, and he dialled for an ambulance.

"Spencer, did you take anything?"

Reid shook his head. Morgan wasn't convinced. He looked amongst the bottles and cans and sprays and wet toilet paper on the floor, and dug a toothbrush out from under shards of a broken mirror. He turned Reid on to his side and stuck the toothbrush down his throat, making him cough and gag and throw up until he was satisfied there was nothing left.

"What the hell, kid." Morgan muttered. "What the fuck."

"Morgan..." Reid whispered. "No hospital."

"The ambulance is coming."

Then Reid started to cry. Wailing and screaming and showing Morgan just how desperate he was. But Morgan couldn't comfort him because his hands were wrapped around the butchered wrist.

"I hear them." Reid cried, he slammed his free hand into the side of his head. "Always hear them."

Morgan had seen it coming for months, they all had. And they had all refused to accept it. They told Reid his headaches were due to stress. That his paranoia and delusions were a result of too little sleep. When he had gone off at Prentiss for no reason, they dismissed it. When he had pulled apart one of the iPads because he was convinced someone was watching him from inside it, they had laughed it off. Reid's greatest fears were becoming a reality, and they hadn't done a damn thing to help him. So when Reid had seen an out, he had taken it.

"You don't know." Reid gasped. "I'm.. I'm not..."

Morgan could hear the ambulance and he prayed Reid could hold on until they made it to the hospital, but there was so much blood.

"Reid, we're going to help you, okay?" Morgan tried. "Spencer. I promise you."

Reid stared. He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob, and Morgan watched his feverish eyes close.