Warning!: This fic contains mentions of blood, nausea, death and possibly light mentions of torture. If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, do not read!

The fic is set shortly after Rossi joins the team, thus I guess it could be considered slight A.U. since Spencer's headaches started earlier.

The fic is not slash, but I guess you could read it as "paired" if you want to, though none of the characters will be purposefully paired.

~oooo, o, o0oo, o0oo, 000 ~

Cold. Everything around him was so cold. He couldn't see, couldn't smell or hear anything. Nothing except darkness and the constant, painful throbbing from the left side of his head. Everything else was empty, quiet and cold. So very cold.

Reid's mind was clouded in a milky fog. Everything was twisted and blurred beyond recognition. Nothing seemed to work properly. His mind was idle and clumsy, falling around the different thoughts which were swimming around in his head. His body didn't seem to respond when he tried to move. Even time wasn't following its own conventional laws anymore. It was all so strange, such an alien concept. It felt as though the world had suddenly stopped, leaving nothing but emptiness and confusion.

Eventually he was able to grasp a single line of thought. Open your eyes. It somehow stood out from the rest of the incoherent mess which was echoing off the insides of his skull. Something about it was important. Over and over again the thought sounded in his head. Open your eyes. Open them.

He tried to obey, tried to force them open. But it was harder than he expected. His eyelids felt like they had been glued shut and it took a surprising amount of energy to open them even slightly. Through narrow cracks his chestnut brown eyes peered out at the world around him. Much like his mind his surroundings were cloaked in a thick fog. He tried to make sense of what was happening around him as the milky cloud and the darkness constantly shifted and melded together.

The fog seemed to loom over his body, reaching out towards him with long, wispy fingers. He realized that he had been laying on his stomach this whole time. The ground felt hard and very cold where it pressed against his cheek. Slowly his mind started to catch up. Within the sea of confusion more and more urgent thoughts began to surface. Where was he? What happened? Where was his team? These rang out loud enough for him to take notice. He tried to hold on to them, hoping that they would keep him grounded.

Deciding that the best way to begin the search for answers would be getting up, Spencer slowly moved his hands to where he can push himself into a sitting position. The process was already proving difficult however since his arms felt like they were made of lead. Even the smallest of movements seemed to take ten times the amount of energy it was supposed to.

With what felt like a great deal of effort he lifted himself up. It was only once he was sitting that he noticed another colour in the scene around him aside from the darkness and the white of the fog. There was red. Dark crimson liquid stained the ground around him. The sticky, half dried substance covered his hands, his arms, it had even seeped into the fabric of his shirt and his brown cardigan.

Blood. So much blood. Who's was it? Was it his? It couldn't have all been his, there was way too much. No one could live after losing this much blood. No, at least some of it had to belong to someone else. His hand traveled up to his left temple, toward the source of the painful throbbing. He silently winched as his fingers came into contact with a gash which was still fresh and sensitive to the touch. A thick stream of blood flowed down the side of his head, covering his left ear and glueing his hair to his skin.

Something about this situation felt all too familiar. Fear started to well up in his chest as he stared at the fresh red liquid that covered the tips of his fingers. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The thing that scared him the most was that his mind wasn't working properly. He closed his eyes, hoping that this would help the confusion pass more quickly, but his thoughts were still jumbled up and following a single line of thinking was proving to be difficult.

Opening his eyes again he noticed that the fog had began to pull back. Several dark silhouettes started to form within its cloudy white cover. Most were just unidentifiable shapes and shadows which were spread across the ground, all except for one. A small spark of hope showed in his eyes as he realized that one of the figures looked somewhat like a person. As the fog continued to slowly clear up, the silhouette appeared increasingly like the figure of a man.

"Hello?" Reid called out, realizing that this was the first time he had spoken since he found himself in this situation. His voice sounded weak and almost as if it echoed back and forth around him against non existent walls. His voice must have been enough to gain the man's attention because he moved, like he was turning around to face him.

"Morgan? Is that you?" Reid hoped beyond all other hopes that the figure was indeed his best friend. Morgan would know what was happening. He would know what to do. If nothing else Reid wished for the man he considered his brother to be there with him now.

"He's dead." The figure spoke with a tone which sounded too much like disgussed as it started walking towards the young profiler. His voice was all too familiar, so much so that even with his mind still messy and this thoughts blurred Reid could nearly instantly recognise it. "The other are too. All of your sinful friends are dead."

"Charles?" Reid swallowed as the small spark of hope he had was instantly extinguished, leaving dread and panic to take it's place. He could feel his heart leap against his chest, his breathing speeding up as well. Instinctively he tried to move back and away from the man who was coming ever closer, but his body still felt heavy and weak. The best he could manage was to lean away slightly.

Once he realized who the man was all the pieces in his mind began to fall into place. His clothes, his head injury, it was the same. It was exactly the same as that day. Only back then there was much less blood. With his mind cleared up his surroundings soon followed suit. The fog lifted enough to clearly reveal all the figures which were still silhouettes mere seconds earlier. The man who he had been talking to was, without a doubt, Charles Hankel. Or at least it was Charles's personality in charge of Tobias's body. The young man stood in front of him, only a few feet away. His entire expression was twisted to reflect pure hatred, a look which Spencer doubted the real Tobias would've ever worn.

The others which were previously mere shapes and shadows that he couldn't identify were now clearly the rest of his team. They were all there. Morgan. Jay-Jay. Rossi. Everybody. And they were all lying motionlessly in their own pool of blood.

Tears started pricking his eyes as he looked from one member of his family to the next. He couldn't speak, couldn't breath. This couldn't be happening, none of this could be happening. Not to them. Not like this.

"Morgan?" He called out again as his eyes came to a stop on his friend. This time his voice was barely over a whisper. The older profiler was lying closest to him. His face, which Reid knew could hold the brightest smile he has ever seen, was now dreadfully expressionless. The man was so close, if Reid could only move slightly towards him he was sure he would be able to reach him. He shook his head, trying to discard the images from his memories. But it was already too late. They were forever seared into his mind. The curse of having an eidetic memory.

"Look at me, boy!" Charles demanded, his voice booming and filled with unspoken threats. Reid instantly did as he was told, remembering clearly the consequences of disobeying this particular personality. The man stepped closer to him, close enough that if he reached out just a bit he would be able to touch his shoes. He towered over him. Everything about him screamed dominance and intimidation. "They deserved it. They were agents of the devil. The world needed to be purified of their hell-bound souls." He practically spat the words.

"They weren't sinners. They were people. Good hearted people." His voice was feeble and broken, a clear reflection of his will. The tears were flowing freely down his face now, leaving two clear lines where the blood and dirt was washed away. Sobs shook through him and fear caused his entire body to shiver. There was nothing left for him now. His entire life was meaningless. Without them, without the only real family he had ever had, he was nothing. "They were good people."

"Be quiet!" Without a second of hesitation Charles hit Reid hard in the face, causing the young profiler to land to his side, sprawled out on the ground. He didn't even show a hint of remorse as he watched Reid curl slightly into himself, trying to shield himself from the pain and possibility of being hit again. "I didn't say you could talk."

While his cheek burned with fresh flames of pain Reid could feel his heart aching in his chest. Few people knew that emotional pain could truly be felt at a physical level. But even if he wasn't aware of this fact he would never have described the feeling as anything less than real. It was the worst pain he had ever felt. All the fear and despair he had experienced throughout his entire life was nothing compared to the pain of losing his team.

"They were sinners, just like you. And like them, you deserve to die." Without taking his eyes off of Reid, Charles took a revolver out from behind his back. It's exterior seemed to gleam in the dim light of their surroundings. Giving the cylinder a light spin he pointed it directly at Reid's head. "I made sure that it's fully loaded this time. No way you can get away. Not even the devil himself can escape a bullet."

Reid didn't do anything to stop him. What was there he could do? He already knew Charles wouldn't listen to reason. And even if there was a chance, what would be the point? His life was already over. There was no need for him to fight back. No point to even try.

Instead he shifted his body so that he could look at Morgan. Despite all the blood he actually looked quite peaceful. As Spencer listened to the sound of Charles pulling back the gun's hammer he reached out as far as he could towards his friend until his hand was resting on his shoulder. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be close to his team. He wished he wasn't alone. In that moment he wished someone was still alive and was there with him. Because despite being open about his fear of the dark, his single greatest fear was to die alone.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't here. I couldn't stop him. I'm sorry." One last tear fell down his face. A tear made of fear, sorrow and guilt. And as it dripped to the ground, a loud explosion echoed within the fog.

~ 0o0o, o0, 0o ~ 0o00, 000, oo0 ~ ooo, o, o, ~ 00, o ~

It was about one in the morning when something started pulling Aaron from his sleep. Not that the disturbance was necessarily a great one, but having been an agent for many years now he had grown quite sensitive to noticing when something was out of place, even if he wasn't awake. So once his subconscious recognized that something about his surrounding had changed he soon regained full awareness.

At first he couldn't pinpoint the source of his untimely awakening. Things seemed relatively normal. He was still in bed. Not his bed per se, since they were on a case at the time, but still the same bed he had fallen asleep in earlier. There weren't any signature noises of an unwanted intruder in the room either. There weren't any footsteps, no sounds of someone messing with the doorlock or searching through any of their stuff. The only noises which could be heard were the songs of crickets outside, his own light breathing and… Sobs?

Was someone crying?

Having recognized exactly what it was that had woken him, Hoch sat up in his bed and took a quick look around the room. What had seemed dark when he had fallen asleep earlier looked surprisingly different now that his eyes were adjusted to the lack of light. The door to the room was still closed, which was good, and everything else was still in the same place they had left it before bed. Their go-bags were still on the kitchen table and there were no signs that anything had been disturbed. Now sure that everything else was in its place, Hoch turned his attention toward the only other person in the room.

The town they were in for this particular case was rather small and hotels were few and far between. The one closest to the police station had no single person rooms to offer them, so they had no choice but to share rooms for a few days. It's happened before, so the idea wasn't a new one. Usually in situations like these Hotch would have shared a room with Rossi, but this particular time around he had landed with…

"Reid?" Quietly he called the younger agent's name, more to confirm whether or not he was awake than anything else. After a while had passed with no reply from the other agent he pulled the covers off his legs and slid out of bed. He turned on the bedside lamp on his way over to the young man's bed.

The first thing Hotch noticed was that he was curled up in the fetal position. His shoulders shook to the rhythm of the sobs which sounded clearly in the small room. Though Aaron couldn't see much of his face, he could make out the glimmering lines of tear tracks down his cheeks. With his concern for the youngest team member steadily growing he carefully placed his hand on his arm.

"Reid. Reid wake up." He spoke louder this time, but he made sure to keep his voice as gentle as possible as he lightly shook his arm.

"Hotch!" Reid suddenly startled awake, the motion and Hotch's voice being enough to finally pull him from his restless sleep. Within an instant he was sitting upright. At first his eyes were wide with panic, instinctively wanting to dart across the room as his mind took a moment to determine exactly where he was and what was happening. But once the light in the room hit his eyes it sent terrible shocks of pain going off in his head, as if the part of his brain right behind them was being aggressively impaled with several long needles. Unintentionally he allowed a small scream to escape his lips as he instantly squeezed his eyes shut again. He covered one of his eyes with his hand, the other lightly reaching out to Hotch, who still held his arm.

"Hey. Reid are you alright?" Though the unit chief tried to keep his tone as calm and steady as possible it was still clear that he was worried to anyone who had known him long enough. More so now that he was able to get a more thorough look at the other man.

Even to someone who wasn't a trained profiler it would be obvious that the kid was having a headache. Going by his reaction to light it was probably a bad one too. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he shivered fiercely. But the thing that bothered Hotch the most was the blood. At some point during the night Reid must have developed a nosebleed because there was a line of blood running over his lips and dripping onto his nightshirt as well as the bed covers. Another, older path was still visible from where it had previously flowed over his cheek whilst he was still laying on his side, resulting in his pillow and parts of his face to be stained with it.

"Hotch?" Reid sounded relieved, as if he wasn't completely sure of his presence before. A small smile flashed across his face for a fraction of a second before it was once again replaced by a pained look. " 't hurts." Reid replied with a quiet whimper. Realizing that the bedside lamp must be quite a bit brighter to him than he expected, Hotch quickly switched it off.

Spencer visibly relaxed as darkness once again enveloped the room and the blinding pain was lessened to a severe throb rather a constant stabbing. Finally daring to reopen his eyes he was met with the coffee brown ones of their team leader who was kneeling slightly in order to be at the same height as him. The only reason why they were able to see in the dark at all was that the room was illuminated by the dim light which seeped through the thin curtains from outside.

Realizing where he was and what had happened he quickly wiped his hand over his face, embarrassed about having been caught crying in his sleep and wanting to remove any evidence of tears as soon as possible. Seeing his hand come back with a fresh smear of dark red across it send cold shivers running down his spine. Blood. How could there be more blood? Frantically the inspected the side of his head with his fingers, searching for the raw, bleeding gash. It wasn't there.

Looking down he was able to make out the splotches of dark on his light coloured nightshirt and the bed covers. The number of spots were steadily increasing as the crimson liquid continued to drip onto the fabric, falling from somewhere. He tasted the coppery tang on his lips and noticed the warmth trickling down his chin. Touching his upper lip his fingertips were painted red. A nosebleed?

"Reid look at me." He bounced slightly as he was suddenly reminded of the other man's presence. Silently he scolded himself for forgetting about his surroundings. He turned to look at Hotch again, noticing that he was gently holding the wrist of the hand Reid had used to reach out to him earlier.

"Are you alright?" He asked again, hoping to get a clearer answer this time. Hotch spoke in a tone of voice which he usually saved solely for Jack. It was both soft and surprisingly comforting, something which they rarely heared from the team leader. But at the moment he was concerned, and considering the situation he had decided it best to use kid gloves while dealing with the team's resident genius.

"Yeah. Um, I - I think so." He answered after a while. It wasn't entirely a lie. He was conscious, which was okay enough he guessed. He was basically as alright as anybody could be if they had a throbbing headache and severe nosebleed. But he was already ashamed enough as it is. No need to pull others into his problems.

Hotch eyed him closely, watching for any signs of discomfort. He already knew Reid would sugarcoat his own problems, the question was how much. "Okay." Since Reid seemed more relaxed Hotch decided to accept the answer for now, though he still wasn't sure whether or not to trust that it was truthful.

"You should get cleaned up." Hotch lightly ordered as he stood up next to him. Reid didn't want to admit it, but he felt somewhat dazed. Looking up at the other man it took a while for his mind to fully register his words and for him to reply with a slight nod. The fact that his thoughts were still sluggish truly scared him. Why couldn't he think straight? Why did his head hurt so much? So many thoughts, questions, bouncing around in his head.

"I'll see if I can find a towel or something to help stop the flow." Hotch offered as Reid slid out of bed. He was just about to step away from him when he saw the way the younger man swayed on his feet and the near faint look in his eyes. He thanked his years of training and experience as an agent for his quick reactions as he caught the kid split seconds before he fell over, resulting in him holding him up in an awkward, hug like hold. Feeling a small spark of panic light in his chest he repeatedly called for Reid's attention and told him to stay awake. Thankfully the dizzy spell passed soon enough.

"You still here?" Hotch questioned as Reid started to show signs of coherence again. Regaining control of his body Spencer pulled away from the team leader, stubbornly wanting to refuse the support offered to him.

"Yeah, 'm okay." Despite the fact that the team's resident genius was extremely independent and had an arguably "bad" habit of insisting on dealing with things himself, Hotch decided that now wasn't the time to let the kid have his way. The fact that his speech was slightly slurred and he still wobbled quite a bit sealed it. Taking Reid's arm Hotch placed it around his neck, wrapping his own arm around Reid's back to offer him as much support as possible.

Whether Reid was still light headed or he was simply too embarrassed to speak was unclear, but the young man only offered quiet mumbles of protest as they slowly made the rest of the way to the small hotel bathroom. Luckily the bathroom had its own window, allowing enough light into the room for them to see quite well where everything was. Once there Hotch quickly grabbed a nearby washcloth and handed it to Reid who idelly used it to roughly clean his face before pinching his still bleeding nose shut with it.

"'m sorry." Reid apologized as he leaned with his arm against the bathroom sink.

"Sorry for what?"

"Your shirt." He gestured toward the splotch or red on Hotch's clothing where some of Reid's blood had transmitted onto the shoulder of his shirt. It must have happened when he fainted. It made sense since the stain was right around where Spencer's head was at the time.

"Its nothing Reid. Besides, yours looks a lot worse than mine." Hotch said in a reassuring tone, trying not to give Reid anything he could blame himself for, knowing how prone he was to feel guilty over the smallest things. Studying the younger man as properly as he could in the blue shaded darkness Hotch sighed internally as he realized they would both need a change of clothing.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." He hesitantly excused himself, leaving Reid to lean against the bathroom sink on his own for a short while. Moving quickly he retrieved two random clean shirts, one from each of their go-bags, before returning to the bathroom.

When he came back it was clear as daylight that the kid was exhausted. His eyes were half shut and he looked like he could pass out any second. Realizing that there was probably no way the younger agent would be able to change his shirt without somehow hurting himself, Hotch figured it would be best if he assisted.

"Let me help." He offered as he placed the clean shirts on the closed toilet seat and reached out to help steady Reid as he stopped leaning against the sink. Stubbornly the young profiler pushed his hands away.

"I can do it myself." He insisted despite the fact that it felt like the world was slowly spinning around him and though the lack of light had decreased the severity of his headache it was also making it hard to see.

"Reid, you're tired, you have a headache and you practically fainted less than ten minutes ago. I'm not going to risk you hurting yourself just to save you some embarrassment."

Hotch must have finally gotten to him because Reid stopped trying to win the argument and after that he simply cooperated, no longer having the energy to complain. Hotch got the feeling that he wanted nothing more than to just get it all over with so that he could go back to bed. And he couldn't blame him.

The process of getting Reid's shirt off was rather awkward since his movements were clumsy and despite being the shorter of the two it was only by a slight amount and he was still considerably tall, making it somewhat difficult for the older agent to help him get the shirt over his head. Once it was successfully removed Hotch bundled it up and tossed it to the side. They could always deal with cleaning it up in the morning.

"Hotch." With his upper torso now completely exposed Reid noticed for the first time how cool the night air was. It sent new shivers down his spine and combined with his lightheadedness caused his stomach to twist and turn uncomfortably.

"What? What is it?" Hotch's concen rose again when he recognised the slightly panicked tone in his agent's voice. He readied himself to support him again should he pass out a second time

"I don't feel good."

Nothing else needed to be said as Hotch instantly realized what was happening. Without a second's hesitation he cleared the clean clothing off the toilet, opened the lid and guided Reid into a kneeling position over it just in time for the kid to empty out his stomach in the porcelain bowl. The shocks that ran through Reid's body caused his headache to flare up, making it so bad it was enough to again form tears in his eyes. Seconds turned to minutes as the agonising process continued. Eventually, after what had felt like hours, his sickness was reduced to dry heaves, few and far between.

"Do you think you can stand?" Hotch asked when at some point it finally seemed to stop. He was crouching beside the sick agent, wanting to be as close as possible incase something happened. Reid merely gave a small nod in response, winching when the motion aggravated the pain behind his eyes. Working as carefully as possible the two rose, though at this point it was more like Hotch was picking Reid up. Thankfully by now his nosebleed had stopped, the blood having finally clotted.

While Reid washed out his mouth in the sink, Hotch grabbed Reid's clean shirt. Using a few techniques he had learned from the countless number of times he had to dress a sleepy Jack, Hotch eventually managed to get Spencer into it. They didn't even bother to pick up the now bloody washcloth from the floor where it had ended up during Reid's nausea wave. Instead they simply made their way back to the bedroom.

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" Hotch asked as he practically carried Reid to bed. It was both surprising and worrying how little he weighed under Hotch's supporting arm. He felt sure that even if he really did have to carry him, the lanky built profiler wouldn't be much of a challenge to pick up.

"No, 'm tired. J'st want to sleep." Reid mumbled as he gratefully crawled back under his covers. The patches of red which still stained his pillow and bed didn't bother him much, he didn't have enough energy to be bothered even if he wanted to. If it wasn't for the way the mattress slightly dipped down with a newly applied pressure he wouldn't even have noticed Hotch sitting down on the side of the bed.

"You know we are going to have to talk about this." Hotch informed him, watching him closely as he seemed to relax in the comfort and warmth of the covers. He knew that Reid would want to forget all about this by morning and go on pretending it never happened, but this wasn't something he could just ignore.

"Y's."

"We'll discuss it tomorrow. Get some sleep. You can stay in late if you'd like, we should be able to handle things on our own for a while." Hotch suggested as he stood up and soon disappeared back into the bathroom, presumably to change into a clean shirt himself.

"'k" Was Reid's only response. Unable to fight off the exhaustion any longer he gratefully allowed the cool, quiet realms of sleep to numb his pain and pull him away from the world around him.

~ oo, 00 ~ o0o, oo, 00o, oooo, 0 ~ oooo, o, o0o, o ~

The following is an author's note.

So you really read all the way to this point? Wow, I'm flattered, really. Thank you for taking the time ^_^. This will either be a one-shot that ends here, or if you people really want me to continue it I'll make it a multi chapter fic. You're choice.

So, you know the deal. If you want you can leave your thoughts in a review. The good. The bad. Those messy little sticky bits in between which you don't know whether to love or hate. Feel free to tell me exactly what you think, no sugar-coating. Also if you want you can guess what's wrong with Spencer. And if you don't want to review, that's cool as well. Anycase, thanks again for reading. Have a good day/night.

Munchkin out! *poof*