Hi all! I couldn't let that amazing episode get away without a little Post-Traumatic Hotch. That ep damn near gave me a heart attack! Therefore, this is a post-ep to 10x21 "Mr. Scratch". It's not necessarily spoiler-y, but if you haven't seen it yet, this probably won't make very much sense...

Panic

The world around him was fuzzy and black and shrouded in shadows. The darkness creeping around every corner, getting closer and closer, boxing him in with nowhere to go. He could feel the gun in his hand, the cold of the metal seeping into his bones, into his very core. Inch by inch he moved, slow and steady though inside his heart was hammering as if he'd run a marathon. His ears picked up every sound, the floor creaking under his shoes, the wind blowing the trees outside, the branches scraping against the windows like nails on a chalkboard. His breath came in short puffs. His eyes refused to adjust to the dark. But he pressed on in his search.

Somewhere in this house was his Unsub.

Somewhere in this house was his Partner.

But where?

Peter Lewis sat in a dark corner hidden from sight, watching. His arms wrapped around his bleeding victim's chest, gun in his right hand resting on his victim's shoulder. He enjoyed watching the agent trying to maneuver in the dark, trying not to let himself be consumed by it. He enjoyed the feel of the ragged breathing of his victim as he lay propped against his chest, helpless. He watched as the agent was so careful, so cautious with every step, searching for what he couldn't find.

The strangled cough of his victim caught the agent's attention.

"Peter."

"Agent Hotchner."

"Let me see your hands."

"Come a little closer and you can see them for yourself."

Against his better judgment, Hotch took a few steps closer to Peter Lewis, the panic swelling up at what he was afraid he'd find.

"Are you frightened yet, Agent Hotchner?" he said calmly. "Remember, I know what scares you. I've been inside your head."

As Hotch moved closer the shapes of two bodies sitting in the corner, one propped against the other, came into focus. He could hear two sets of breathing, one ragged and unsteady, the other even and calm.

"No," he gasped.

"Is this your fear?" He pulled David Rossi's head up by the hair to face Hotch. Blood dripped from his mouth and stained his shirt. His face was scratched. His eyes were barely open, struggling to focus. He couldn't have held his head up on his own.

"Dave..." The panic surged, choking his voice, tensing his body, trapping the air in his lungs.

"Aaron..." Dave tried to utter, though it came out as an unintelligible groan.

"Or is this your fear," Peter Lewis sneered as he raised the gun to David Rossi's head and pulled the trigger.

"NO!"

Aaron shot up in bed gasping, sweat beading on his brow and rolling down his back, lungs begging for air, eyes searching for his friend.

"Hey hey, settle down." He felt the comforting hand on his arm before he saw it. He looked up with wild, panicked eyes and found his friend staring back at him.

"Dave..."

"I'm right here. You're okay. You're..."

Before he could finish the sentence Aaron lunged for him, throwing his arms around his neck in a fierce embrace.

"You're alive," he struggled to say around the lump in his throat. "You're alive."

"Shhh, it's okay," Dave tried to soothe him. "It's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

As he held a panting, scared Aaron Hotchner in his arms for the third time this week, David Rossi was stuck with an impossible dilemma.

How to get Peter Lewis out of Aaron Hotchner's head.

Before he destroyed him completely.