Welcome. Thank you for your interest in this story.

This happens after the episode "Entropy", Season 11, and contains heavy spoilers from it. It was going to be the first part of a multichapter story, but then the rest seemed to disappear from my mind. This one was gathering cobwebs in my computer, so I decided to publish it, in the hope that the rest of it comes out some day. For the moment, this is just a one chapter.

Warnings: Coarse language, violent imagery, lots of angst.

I'm not a native English Speaker. Every critique, concerning the story, but also spelling and grammar, will be highly appreciated.

POSSIBLE NIGHTMARES

A Criminal Minds Fan Fiction

The stench of urine and vomit in the room was almost unbearable. However, the man didn't seem to notice. Like a child, he was sitting on the dirty bed with his back against the headboard, completely absorbed by the strident music and the black and white images coming from an old TV set.

On the screen, Charlie Chaplin was running away from some police guy, who had caught him and his very young son breaking windows, to fix them later and charge for it. It was hilarious, and the resident was laughing heartily, with tears in his eyes, as if it was the first time he saw that movie.

For him, it was.

His laughter still had the contagious quality it had in the past. Nonetheless, in the years of his youth, to hear him laughing like this was so infrequent that between his friends it was basically considered a miracle.

His face, in spite of the long time and his disorder, still kept traces of his once fascinating attractiveness: his slightly pointy nose, which was almost too small for the size of his eyes, his fine eyebrows, his prominent cheekbones and the tiny dimple in the centre of his strong chin, all features inherited from his mother.

His once pink lips now were pale, thin and dry, surrounded by wrinkles. His hair was a long white mess, the same colour of his stubble, in spite of his relatively young age. He had a bald patch on the right side of his head, where he had been tearing his hair away for years due to his OCD, sometimes even causing bleeding to his scalp, and painfully screaming when his caregivers had to restrain him to stop that.

He was wearing a very old and dirty blue t-shirt, with the legend 'keep calm and don't regenerate' stamped on it, mismatched socks with holes on them, and a diaper. He still knew that tonight was cold and he had a blanket draped around his bony shoulders. He had plenty of scars, most of them around his left knee, which he couldn't move properly anymore. It had been causing him pain for ages, but he had learnt to live with it. He didn't take anything to stop it, not because it was his will, but because he had forgotten how to ask for pain killers.

These days, his big brown eyes didn't have the shine and expressiveness they had when he was young. He had huge bags under them, with purple blood vessels showing all over the white skin. He had cataracts in his right eye, a white cloud covering most of the surface of his iris, but no one cared to fix it. His mind was crumpled, anyway. It simply was not worthy.

It was hard to believe that this drooling mess of a man, this idiot who hardly knew anymore if it was night or day, was once one of the most coveted minds of the FBI, one of the brightest men in the country, with an IQ of 187, capable of reading 20,000 words per minute, with an eidetic memory and plenty of doctorates. Today, he didn't even know how to read. He didn't remember his own name... He was wasted.

He didn't have any family either. His mother died in a mental hospital many years ago, and his father committed suicide a short time after. He never had a wife, or children, in fear to become a burden for them, just like his mother was a burden for him since he was a child.

The man was in this facility and not wandering in the street, just because the government owed him too much. He had been an elite member of a BAU team for almost twenty years, and he trapped, or helped to trap, some of the most dangerous serial killers in America. He did it untiringly, day after day until the moment he broke down, when a case he was working in took the lives of four of his colleagues. It was then when the other 'gift' inherited from his mother suddenly surfaced.

He laughed again. Now Charlie was running on top of some roofs, making the bunch of police guys that were after him, look ridiculous when they couldn't trap him.

Immersed in the movie, he barely heard the door of his room opening. He had no idea that no one should be there at that time of the night. He was surprised when he saw the woman entering, but she didn't bring food with her. He had learnt that every time someone came through that door, they always brought food with them.

The woman was short and skinny, her face beautiful and her dark eyes sharp in spite of her age. She was wearing perfect make up, and her dark brown hair, which had some white strands, was perfectly combed in layers across her shoulders. She was wearing a black party dress, and a fur coat. She was smiling, in spite of the smell.

Now the movie was completely forgotten.

"Good evening, Spencer..." She said, and something seemed to click in the man's mind. "Seems like these twenty years were very unkind with you. Good, just as I imagined. I always wanted to see you like this. I lived… to see you like this."

She licked her lips with anticipation and produced a gun, which she pointed straight to the man's face.

He opened his eyes wide with recognition, but he didn't scream. No one would come, anyway. He didn't remember, of course, but he had nightmares almost every night. The staff of the mental institution was used to hear him screaming. They didn't bother to come, most of the time. Some of them, secretly, considered him a nuisance, and that he would be better dead.

"Of course you have no idea what is today's date, do you?" The woman said, with a smirk. "Today is January 13th, 2036. I have been waiting patiently for this date, to fulfil my promise."

"C... C-cat?" He whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. She chuckled.

"Wow, I'm flattered." She said, coming so close to him that he could feel the coldness of the metal of the weapon on his forehead, and smell her perfume above the reek of his own filth. "I must've caused a great impression in you, if you do remember me. Even better."

"P... please..."

"There's one thing you should know about me, Spencer. I always keep my promises. Always!"

She pulled the trigger.

There was a loud noise, like thunder. Blood, small pieces of bone, brain and white hair spattered on the walls all around the body, the bed, the headboard, the ceiling and the TV screen. Catherine Adams laughed with satisfaction, cleaning some crimson drops from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"NOOOOOO!"

The shriek that escaped the young man's throat was spine-chilling, like the cry of a wounded creature, eerily paired with the loud noise of a storm outside. When he opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was and he fell out of the bed, with the blankets tangled like claws around him. His heart was racing. He was covered in sweat, trembling like a leaf and panting in a disturbing manner.

In the darkness of the room, broken only once in a while by the blue glimmer of lightning, he could see a painting of a vase with red poppies on the wall. For him, those scarlet shapes were nothing but blood stains. His own blood, dripping… pooling on the floor... messing everything. In his mind, the music of the Chaplin movie was still playing, mocking him, laughing at his face. A ridiculous requiem for a ridiculous man.

Terrified as he was, Spencer got up and ran out of that place, as fast as his legs would carry him.

-v-v-v-

Derek Morgan woke up suddenly, startled by the scream he heard in the room next door. His heart skipped a beat as he automatically grabbed the gun from his nightstand, in the dark, and got up, eyes wide open in high alert.

He ran to the door, and opened it quickly but carefully, just in time to see the young man, who was wearing only some old sweatpants as pyjamas, disappearing desperately through the emergency exit at the end of the corridor.

At the same time, the door next to Spencer's in the other side opened.

Aaron Hotchner emerged from it, holding his weapon with calculated moves, just as he did every time they were on a raid. The only signals that would tell that he was asleep at the time of the scream, were that he was wearing a navy blue silk pyjamas, and he had messy hair.

For a moment, both men exchanged a meaningful look. Then Aaron motioned for Derek to follow his distressed friend, while he decided to go into Reid's room, to see if he could find the reason for his sudden panic.

The curtain of the balcony door was partially open, letting the lights of the storm spill inside, every now and then.

Hotch found out that Reid's weapon, his watch and his phone were still on the bedside table. He checked every corner of the room, including the bathroom, the closet and the veranda, and the only thing that he found out of place was the pile of jumbled blankets on the floor, telling that the young man surely had had a nightmare. Aaron knew Spencer's history with nightmares, but he wondered how bad it had to be this time, to cause such terror.

After going down three flights of stairs, Derek opened the door of the emergency exit. He was greeted by a gloomy and lonely street, and soaked in seconds in cold heavy rain. For a few moments, he felt a slight discomfort in the pit of his stomach, looking in every direction, wondering where his best friend would be. He could not help but imagine a terrified young man, almost naked, running away in the middle of the night, drenched and cold. Disappearing.

He felt immense relief, when he saw Spencer's skinny figure, slumped in a concrete bench in the park across the street, with his back to him.

Morgan put away his gun in a pocket of his shorts, and crossed the street in the rain, thankful that Reid was not run over when he did so. He walked the short distance between the sidewalk and the bench, making enough noise to be sure not to startle his friend.

Without saying a word, Derek sat next to Spencer, who had his hands clasped on his lap and was staring at the distance. He was shuddering badly. Morgan didn't know if it was because he was cold, or because he was crying.

"My name is Spencer Reid… Doctor Spencer Reid." The young man whispered, with a broken voice, without looking at his friend. "I was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. My birthday is October 9th. I'm 34 years old, and I am a Federal Agent. I'm staying at Harrington Hotel, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, at room 312. We're here to catch the Allentown Slayer."

"Reid, what's wrong? What's this all about?"

"For a moment, I didn't know where I was." The young man said, and sighed. "I didn't know who I was… and it lasted more than three seconds."

Derek considered to place a hand on Spencer's shoulder, but at the end he didn't do it. Instead, he kept looking at the distance, at the little brightness reflected on the raindrops from an old light post.

"After Hankel…" The young man continued, lowering his sight. "All these years, I had doubts… many serious doubts… but now I've finally come to the realization… that there is no god."

Morgan could feel clearly the despair radiating from his friend, like the heat from a fireplace.

"Why are you so sure?" He asked.

"Well. Because if he does exist, he is a fucking manipulative bastard… or my sins are the size of the damned Burj Khalifa."

Lightning illuminated the scene for a second, then it came the noise. Reid exhaled an ironic chuckle that could've been mistaken with a sob.

"I've tried to live my life and do my job in the best possible manner." He continued, bitterly. "I've tried to help people and not judge them. Yes, I have taken four lives. I did it because it was the last resort, because they were killers and my job was to stop them. If I didn't do it, more innocent people would've died. But believe me, Morgan... from the moment I did it, every single day I have wondered if I could have acted differently to avoid those deaths. I can't find an answer. Every time we go to the field, I secretly beg to the destiny, god, the devil or whatever it is out there, to allow me not to kill anyone, even if I would not hesitate to do it if I had to."

Spencer ran his hands through his drenched hair, and closed his eyes.

"Yes, I put my mother in a mental hospital…" He went on. "But it was necessary and unavoidable. I couldn't give her at home the care and attention she gets at Bennington. She's better there than she could've ever been with me. I didn't run away like my father did, either. I write to her every day. I try to be with her every time I can, even if she doesn't recognize me. I wish I could be with her, take care of her, hold her in my arms, kiss her and tell her that everything's going to be all right, all the time… but it is not possible."

The young man stood up and faced Derek, unwittingly exposing his almost bare body to him, the same way he was exposing his soul.

"Those are my sins, Morgan. I think I paid for them a long time ago, with interest!" He said, raising his arms, as reproaching the heavens. "Why should I keep paying? What else have I done to deserve this?"

He fell on his knees, completely exhausted. Now, he didn't even have the energy to cry.

"In my life…" He whispered. "I have lost everything, over and over again. Everything. I don't want to lose my mind too… It's the only thing I have… It's not fair…"

With a sigh, Derek kneeled right in front of him and this time, he placed both hands on his shoulders.

"Spencer, I wish I could promise you that you will not inherit your mother's condition." He said. "I wish I could promise you that they will find a cure for Schizophrenia and eFAD soon… I would give anything… but I can't. The only thing I can promise is that I will always be there for you. You will always have me by your side. I will never let go."

Reid made a thin line with his lips, and the only thing he could do, was to nod gratefully, lowering his sight.

Derek smiled.

"Now kid, please let's go back to the hotel. I don't want us to freeze to death. It's damned cold." He said as he got up and offered his hand to his friend to do the same. Only then, Reid realized he was almost naked, and his face became red as an apple.

"People will think I'm crazy… you must think I'm crazy." He whispered between his teeth, as he got up and embraced himself, totally embarrassed.

"Nah, don't worry." The dark skinned man said, removing his t-shirt and placing it on his friend's shoulders. "At this time of the night, there's hardly anyone around. They shouldn't care, anyway. And me? Pretty boy, I understand you better than you think. Everyone needs the chance to break down, to blow off steam once in a while. I do it in the gym, you do it at a park in the rain. There's no difference."

They crossed the street, and Derek was once again relieved when they entered the hotel lobby and were greeted by the heating of the building. The only person around was a man in the reception, who gave them a curious look. Luckily, in his hurry to get into the elevator, Spencer didn't notice it.

"It must've been horrible." Morgan said, while he absent-mindedly pressed the button for the third floor.

"What?"

"Your nightmare. It must've been really bad…"

Spencer shrugged.

"They always are." He said.