So… I know I haven't update my other stories since I'm a horrible person and all. I just haven't been feeling it /: anyways I'm posting this because I want to + I can. Set in S1E6 "L.D.S.K"

"You know why they took away boy genius' gun?"

Reid glanced up at Hotch, realizing he was being talked about again.

"Why?" The UnSub only glanced briefly at Reid before looking back at Hotch, not paying the boy much mind.

"He failed his qualification. Twice a year I gotta listen to him whine about requalifying. So I tutor him… and he fails again."

Reid turned his gaze to Morgan, who sat on the other side of him. Looking up at him with wide, sad eyes.

Morgan wished this would quit, that it would all go away. Surely Reid had to know Hotch didn't mean these things that way, right? He was too smart for that. He forced himself not to make eye contact, although it was obvious the younger man wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged by Derek, just wanted a gaze to let him know it was all a show. He couldn't give it to him. Morgan kept his eyes on the unsub, doing his best to ignore his little brother. He knew Hotch was in conversation with the man, but he wasn't able to keep his concentration on them enough to keep track of the conversation.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Morgan glanced towards Hotch.

"You can ask." The killer answered, waiting to hear what the 'favor' may be.

"I figure the chances of my getting out of here alive are pretty slim." Hotch said, his face still only indifferent.

"So?"

"I want to kick the snot out of this kid."

Reid's head snapped the other way as he hurriedly looked up at his superior, his eyes impossibly wider than they already were.

"Hotch—"

"Morgan." Hotch snapped back, shooting him a glare. This was what they had to do to get out of this mess.

"He's made my life miserable for three lousy years." Hotch continued. Morgan felt something tighten around his wrist. He looked down to find Spencer's hand gripping there tightly, the boy's gaze back on him.

"Knock yourself out." Was the Unsub's answer, and that was all Hotch needed before he was out of his seat, knocking Reid to the ground.

Morgan felt Spencer's grip on his wrist be lost as soon as Hotch shoved him, and he had to consciously hold his own hands to his chest to stop from reaching out and dragging Reid back to his side—back to his protection.

"How smart are you now, smart guy?" Hotch's foot connected with Reid's ribs each time he spoke. "It's front sight, trigger press, follow through!" Each instruction was punctuated by another blow to Spencer's side.

Morgan gritted his teeth at Spencer's soft cries, forcing himself to finally glance the other way, unable to watch any longer.

"It's not that hard, a Dalmatian could do it!" Hotch's voice was so harsh, Morgan reminded himself once again that it was all an act.

"Let go, let go!" Hotch pulled his leg away from Spencer's hands, making sure the younger boy had the gun first.

"Feel better?" The man asked Hotch, who nodded, attempting to catch his breath. "I think he got the message."

Morgan reached over, attempting to pull Reid in closer once again, glancing up when he heard the unsub speak once again.

"What's that?" No sooner had the man lifted his gun to aim for Hotch's head, that he was on the ground, a bullet through his own. Morgan glanced down at Reid on the ground next to him, Hotch's backup gun in the kid's trembling hands.

As soon as he was able to finally make eye contact with Morgan, Spencer dropped the gun, crawling closer to his friend. He stopped when he was pressed closely to Derek's side, turning his head to rest his chin on his friend's shoulder, his eyes still on Morgan's face. Searching. Waiting for something, any acknowledgement.

"You did good, pretty boy." Morgan murmured, doing his best with his bound hands to comfort the poor kid. He reached over to mess with Reid's hair. "You did good."

Morgan sat next to Reid on the back of the ambulance, letting the kid stay as close as he needed. It made him feel better, anyways. He felt like he could protect him now, even if he hadn't been able to earlier. He felt the grip on his lower arm, and once again glanced down to find Reid's hand gripping there. When he glanced up, he quickly found out why. Hotch was coming over, seeming to keep his distance, attempting to gauge the situation.

"Reid.." Hotch started. "I hope I didn't hurt you too badly in there. I hope you know, those things I said.. I didn't mean a word of it."

"I know." Reid gave him a small smile, tilting his head. He was about to say something else when Hotch reached over in an attempt to squeeze Reid's shoulder, a brief show of affection—something Hotch didn't often allow himself with his teammates.

Reid tilted his head the other way, however, at the touch. Pressing further against Morgan, he gripped tighter at his friend's forearm.

Hotch pulled his hand back, allowing it to drop to his side. "Reid.."

"He just needs some space, Hotch. Give him that." It came out more harsh than Morgan had intended, but right now he was in protector mode, and wasn't sure he cared what Hotch felt at the moment.

Hotch stood for a moment, silent. He cast a glance at Reid again before turning to walk back the way he had come.

Morgan was quiet until Hotch was gone, then turning to glance back at his shadow, clinging to his arm. "Reid, look at me."

Reid lifted his head, his sad eyes meeting Morgan's once again. His grip loosened on his friend's arm.

"None of what he said in there—not a bit of it was true, okay? He doesn't feel that way about you, pretty boy. None of us do. You're not a nuisance , or—or a bother to anyone. Do you hear me?"

The only response he got was a nod, but he didn't miss the soft twitch at the side of Reid's mouth, the way he did when there was a smile that he didn't want to show, or—in this case—that the sadness just overwhelmed the brief moment of relief.

Reid rested his chin against his brother's shoulder, a soft sigh being the only noise he made, followed by a grimace as he reached one arm to wrap around his bruised ribs. "Morgan, if we go to the hospital—"

"We're going, Reid. That's not an if. And yes, I'll be right here with you the whole time, to answer your question."

All Morgan got in response to that was a smile—a real one this time—and his friend's body leaning against his once again. There was no need for a thank you—he got that from the look he was given. And that was really all he needed, because he understood.