mentions of drug use and overdose. ReidCentric, no slash.
song The Funeral by Band of Horses

I'm coming up only to hold you under.

There's a pinch and then there's a haze that you escape to. The horrors that have filled your vision for the last few days are gone. There is only a nice, calming feeling as the clear liquid flows through your veins. You slump off the toilet and lean against the bathtub, letting the chill from its cold surfaces creep its way through your clothes and sink through your skin. Your eyes drop and you once again get lost in the blur of the past, of memories from before that you tried so hard to push away and forget. Because when you're flying high, the memories don't matter, because you aren't making them push their way into the light. It's the drug. It's always been the drug.

I'm coming up only to show you wrong.

It's Wednesday morning. You wake up in cold sweats and there's an itch in your veins and you're twitching so much that you drop your coffee mug and when you try to clean it up, you cut your hand and the blood flows freely from it. You stare in amazement as it slowly pools and then drips down your hand, onto your wrists, and then onto the floor. You should have left for the office a long time ago and all you can focus on is getting a fix. You stumble into the bedroom and get your instruments ready. It is much too easy to slip the needle into your vein and the moment the liquid devil is inside you, you start seeing ghosts of the past. You slid down the wall and feel as the syringe tumbled out of your grasp. You feel yourself leaving reality and close your eyes as the memories play like old time movies before your lids.

And to know you is hard.

You vaguely hear the door being kicked open. You don't know how much time has passed since you injected yourself, and after a quick glance at the bedside clock, you learn it was not nearly enough. You hear your name being shouted and your blood turns cold. You don't want to be found. You know you should do something, anything, but the drug has yet to leave your body and you find yourself unable to move. Your bedroom door opens. You can't see him, but you know it's him when he says Reid? Oh my god, Reid! as he rushes over, shaking you. You raise your eyes slowly, but it takes too much effort and you lower them again. Kid, what did you do to yourself? he asked no one (seeing as its apparent if you can barely hold your eyes up, it's very unlikely you can talk.) He shouts to an unseen person and suddenly there's a second person in your bedroom. With your luck, the entire team is there and they are all bearing witness to your lowest low. He tried to talk to you, but your eyes close and he starts screaming Pretty boy, open your eyes. Don't do this! Help is one it's way! but all you want is to sleep this horrid high off. You're convinced this is all a fake memory and in a few minutes, you'll wake and you'll tidy yourself up a bit and head on to work, claiming traffic was horrible. It's when you hear the sirens that you know this isn't a hallucination and with that realization is the harsh reality that everything you worked so hard on will be destroyed in a few short minutes. Realizing that makes your heart beat fast, sweat more, and now you really need to close your eyes because this is all too much. The last thing you remember is seeing the clock on the bedside table reading that only eleven minutes have gone by since you pierced your skin with the needle.

And we wonder to know you all wrong.

You wake up in a hospital room and your "savior" (though bitterly and resentfully you yell inside your head that he should have left you the hell alone, you were doing fine before he got there and ruined everything) sees that you're finally awake and demands to know what you were thinking. When you remain silent, he informs you that your superior is on his way with the rest of the team and none of them is all too happy about the phone call they received. Without saying a word, roll over the best you can with all the needles poking you (you laugh at the irony) and close your eyes, because there are still ghosts from the past lingering, and you can't bring yourself to confront them.

We were really too late to call.