This was originally going to be a multi-chapter fic, but the plot bunny ran away after I posted the first chapter. So, I turned it into a longish one-shot. I wrote majority of this in the middle of the night with my sleep deprived brain working in overdrive, so I hope it makes sense.
Please read and review :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Matthew Gray Gubler is the love of my life.

Spencer dodged yet another branch as he ran full speed through the forest. His legs were screaming for him to slow down and his lungs were refusing to expand for him to get a deep enough breath. He could feel the blood drying on the side of his head where a few wayward twigs had caught his skin. Still, he pushed himself forward knowing that slowing down would only increase Donovan Pruitt's chances of escaping.

He watched the beam from Derek's flashlight dance wildly thirty yards ahead and to the west. His own flashlight was of little assistance in the thick wood. It was nearing two o'clock in the morning and the night sky was pitch black as the moon was entering the new moon phase. He hated the dark.

Spencer narrowly missed a fallen log as he was distracted by a gunshot coming from the west and Derek's familiar voice shouting.

"Pruitt, put your hands where I can see them!"

A few feet more and Spencer found himself hiding behind a large sycamore. He took one heaving breath, trying to tame the pounding in his chest at least a little, before he stepped around the trunk. He aimed his gun directly at Donovan Pruitt's back. Pruitt stood with his arms raised in a sign of surrender, shoulders heaving as he struggled for breath, and his head cocked to the right. A few leaves fell just over Derek's shoulder. The movement distracted Spencer. He nearly fired his weapon thinking it was another person.

"You're surrounded, Pruitt. Don't try anything stupid," Derek warned.

Pruitt slowly nodded his head before collapsing to his knees. Spencer was in the process of telling his brain to move when suddenly he heard a gunshot and watched Derek fall almost in slow motion to the hard ground. He didn't know how it happened— logic only told him he did do it— but two bullets found their way from his gun straight to the back of Donovan Pruitt's skull.

And then he was running. And screaming.

Derek's hand was placed firmly over the gaping hole in his abdomen, but it wasn't enough to even begin to staunch the bleeding. Spencer's knees gave out and he found himself crawling the last couple of feet to his friend. His hands were trembling, harder than when he had went through the dilaudid withdrawals. He wasn't trained for this. He was always the one getting caught in the middle of the crossfire. Not Derek. Never Derek.

Derek blinked sluggishly and took another gasping breath. "N-nice… shot."

"Morgan," Spencer pleaded. "Stay awake."

Derek blinked again and made the worst facial expression Spencer thought he'd ever seen as he roughly pushed his palms onto the wound. He shouted into his earpiece, praying it wasn't too far out of range.

"Morgan's shot! Officer down! Need assistance immediately!"

He shouted the message again. Thrice. Four times. Finally, he received static and a broken voice saying something about "location."

"Kid," Derek whispered. He was fading out fast.

Spencer was terrified. The dark he could handle. But this— his best friend, his brother, bleeding out beneath his fumbling hands, it was too much. No number of doctorates or hours spent reading or anything could fix this.

"We need help now!" he screamed into the blanketed darkness.

"Kid," Derek tried again, but this time Spencer could hear the stress. He also heard footsteps coming up from behind. He made eye contact with Derek right before cold hard steel came crashing into the side of his head and he knew nothing.

o.O.o

"The last location on Man Candy's phone pinged…"Garcia trailed off in his ear. He heard clicking and tapping and the rolling of the wheels of her chair. "According to this aerial shot, he was about a mile and a half south of a river."

Hotch looked to the stout sheriff at his left. "Is there a river in these woods?"

Sheriff Todd thought about it for a second. "More of a large creek, really."

It was dark. The city lights were too far away to even cast a glow on the sky overhead. The moon was gone and too many clouds blocked out the stars. If it weren't for the flashlights and the headlights of the cruisers and SUVs, Hotch thought he would be essentially blind. A glance at his watch told him it was nearing one o'clock. None of them had slept in over twenty-four hours and by the looks of things, sleep was nowhere in sight. Not until he had his two agents back.

The news Garcia had called him with thirty minutes ago would normally have filled him with renewed vigor and a sense of let's-arrest-our-unsub. That had all flown out the window when, yes, she had informed him that Donovan Pruitt was their unsub, but that he was not working alone. Jesse Goff, the first victim's brother, was responsible for the murders. Pruitt had the easy job, kidnap the unwilling victim. Goff was responsible for the horror, the blood and gore. And right now at this exact moment, Morgan and Reid were in pursuit of Pruitt, who was leading them to a trap.

Hotch took a deep breath. He studied what he could see of the group of officers around him. A group of ten, including Emily and Dave, stood around him in a sort of half-circle. All were alert and waiting for orders. They were small in numbers and the woods were vast. Probability was not looking in their favor.

Hotch addressed Sheriff Todd. "Can you lead us there?"

"Sure can."

The trek into the woods was not the most enjoyable experience of Hotch's life, but it was definitely one he would never forget. Branches snapped and cracked beneath their feet. He stepped over a log and landed in a large puddle. He would have fallen if one of the officers— Jefferson, he thought— hadn't caught his forearm. Someone cursed behind him. An owl screeched. Crickets chirped. He felt goosebumps rising on his arms.

The sudden static in his earpiece was so unexpected he startled. He stood in place and felt someone bump into him from behind. He offered no apology, but held up his hand and signaled everyone to stop and be silent. Nothing happened for thirty seconds, then the static was back and this time it brought a voice.

"…shot! Offi… diately!"

His heart plummeted to his stomach. He was sure the blood had drained from his face, but it was so dark that no one would notice. He was vaguely grateful for that.

"Reid?" he called.

His heart was pounding again, an increasingly fast thumpthump-thumpthump, but it was still settled somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. If he wasn't careful, he would be sick.

He shouldn't have let him back in the field so soon. Reid would be much safer behind a desk or at the station staring at a map on the wall.

But he's with Morgan, his inner voice assured him.

Morgan would protect him. He was safe with Morgan. Morgan was strong and level-headed unless someone he cared for was in trouble. Often times that someone was Spencer. Spencer was a trouble magnet. But had Spencer said "shot?" What if Morgan was shot? If Morgan was shot, Spencer would be in hysterics. What if Spencer was shot? Oh God. If Spen—

Static again.

"Mor… hot! Offi… tance immdediately!" The last word came through loud and clear. Hotch connected the broken words together and felt new chills.

He turned quickly, searching for Dave in the darkness. He found him, Rossi's equally dark eyes illuminated by the glow of someone's flashlight. Aaron's mouth was suddenly dry, but all of the words still tumbled forward.

"Reid is coming through. Morgan's been shot."

There were murmurs and curses from the group. Someone checked their gun to make sure it was loaded. Questions were asked. A thousand more questions ran through Hotch's mind.

"Reid, can you give me your location?"

He called for Spencer three more times and received nothing. Dead air.

"We can't be but another two miles away from that creek your analyst was talking about," Sheriff Todd informed him.

Two miles could mean an eternity in these woods. Aaron found himself praying for some kind of miracle.

They took off with an urgency in their steps. The urgency led to even more ungraceful stamina, but they were all determined to go on. The trees suddenly began to thin out, though hardly noticeable, and a clearing appeared before them. Hotch sped into a jog. The group began to fan out. His flashlight was jumping wildly but when it landed on a dark figure that was most certainly not a log, he carefully trained the beam onto it.

A body.

He fell to his knees beside it. Something dug painfully into his knees. Two bullet holes to the back of the skull covered with brown shaggy hair. Hotch thought he might vomit.

But the build was all wrong—slightly overweight, average height. He turned the head and found himself staring into the dead eyes of Donovan Pruitt. There was a satisfied grin on his face. It kindled a new fire in Hotch.

"I've got Agent Morgan!"

Hotch was up and running in less than a second. Chest heaving, sweat pouring, and all of the worst case scenarios taunting him in his mind. What he found was no better than what he had imagined.

Morgan laid still as a stone on the forest floor with a black spot, still wet, soaking his abdomen. His hands froze, hovering above his agent's body. His mind went blank. He didn't know what to do. Someone noticed and began compressions.

He forced his hands to either side of Derek's head. He begged, pleaded, ordered him to respond. Prentiss jittered beside him. He was getting ready to completely lose all self-control when Derek's mouth twitched. A few agonizing seconds more and Derek opened his eyes. They were glassy and so filled with pain that Hotch could feel it.

"Oh, thank God!" Emily gasped.

Hotch, however, felt no relief. He still had to find Spencer. Derek, he knew, was in no condition to give them any information. Hotch gripped Derek's shoulder and hoped that he could somehow feel the apology and care and worry in that small gesture. Then he stood and started giving out orders. Emily was told to go to the hospital with Derek. The unspoken "inform Garcia and JJ of what's happening" was understood. A few of Sheriff Todd's men stayed behind the collect Donovan Pruitt's body.

"We can come back at first light," Todd suggested. "It'll be easier to continue searching then."

Hotch almost punched the man. He would never be able to rest until Reid was back in his line of sight. Goff's actions would escalate due to Pruitt's death. They needed to find him soon. If anything happened to Spencer… again…

"We can't wait any longer," he insisted. "We're searching now."

Rossi looked hesitant.

"I'm not leaving these woods until we have Reid. If you'd rather wait," he cleared his throat. There was no reason to take out his frustrations and worry on his friend.

Rossi huffed and looked him square in the eye. "I'm not leaving without either of you, but I still think you're an idiot."

Sheriff Todd breathed through his nostrils. His face was red and he looked to be in pain. Hotch thought he might have a stroke from the frustration he was feeling.

"Alright, how do y'all want to do this?"

o.O.o

Spencer came back to consciousness with a painful jarring of his bones as he was dumped unceremoniously onto the wooden floor of an old hunting cabin. His wrist snapped and his head bounced. He screamed. Hands were on him almost instantly, dragging him up by the collar of his button down. He was mostly upright when a right hook connected with his cheek that sent his head reeling backwards.

"You're mine now!" His captor snarled before the fist connected with his nose this time. He felt the blood trickling out. He really wished whoever this was would stop.

He tried with great effort to open his eyes. When he finally had them open, he almost wished he had left them closed. The room was fuzzy and spinning. There were three different men in front of him. No, two. Wait. No. Three again. His head was throbbing. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to go home. He wanted to talk to his team. He wanted to know what happened to Morgan.

Morgan.

Where was Derek? Was he alive? How long had it been? Had anyone heard his distress call? Why was he always getting himself in these situations?

He stopped asking questions because it hurt too much to think. To breathe, really. His eyes were slipping closed again. Maybe if he could just sleep for a few minutes…

"You killed Don," the man, apparently the unsub's partner—how had they missed that?— accused him. His voice was strangely calm now. This was never good.

"Donovan Pruitt was a killer," Spencer tried to reason. All FBI training and procedures for how to behave during a hostage situation disappeared from his mind, along with most coherent thoughts. His head hurt really, really bad.

"You're wrong!" The man insisted. He shook Spencer with a force that rattled his bones. He was going to pass out soon if the man didn't start using gentler actions.

Maybe, Spencer thought, that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Something snapped in the man's eyes and he became frantic. He released his hold on Reid and began pacing the room anxiously. Spencer's back collided into a table and his legs collapsed beneath him. He struggled to maintain the position on his knees. He was teetering back and forth, trying to stop the movement of the room around him. It wasn't working.

The man ran his hands nervously over his bald head. A marled scar stretched from the back of his left ear to the center of his skull. It looked familiar. Now looking at him and seeing that there was, indeed, only one of him, Spencer recognized him. Jesse Goff, brother of Jimmy Goff. Emily and Derek had interviewed him.

Huh.

"We can't stay here." He, Jesse, had stopped pacing, but he was still looking nervously around the room.

Spencer swallowed down the vomit rising in his throat. "Why not?"

Jesse laughed. Not a pleasant sound that made you smile or join in, but a chilling maniacal sound. Almost hysterical. "Too obvious! They're searching for us!"

They. His team. Please, let his team find him. He tried to bargain. Jesse did not like that and punctuated his ire with a swift kick to Spencer's side. He collapsed sideways and didn't hold back the vomit this time.

Jesse started yelling again, but Spencer couldn't understand a word he was saying. His mind was preoccupied, trying to keep him breathing and alive. He thought he was going to be sick again. Suddenly, he found himself being dragged off the floor and shoved out the door. He took two steps and fell. Jesse simply scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack.

Please hurry, he silently pleaded.

o.O.o

They found the cabin.

Hotch actually froze in place as he looked at it. Old, dilapidated. The wood was actually rotting in some places. The roof had been patched in years past but was crumpling again. Small in size, one room. Only a single widow, located on the east wall. And yet all he could see was that cabin in Georgia. Reid beaten and bloodied and broken and dead—

"Hotch, the cabin's empty."

Reid wasn't here. He wasn't being held inside. He wasn't bleeding or dying. At least not here.

He started walking north without even thinking about it.

Rossi and Sheriff Todd protested behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"They could have gone anywhere in these woods!"

He didn't stop walking. He had an instinct. He always trusted his instinct.

o.O.o

Spencer blinked. The woods were glowing. That wasn't right. It was the middle of the night, or technically early morning. He blinked again. The glow was still there. The glow was getting brighter. He wondered if Jesse could see it. He wasn't about to ask.

With the approaching light came shadows. People. His heart began beating faster. This could go one of two ways.

He had to look away because even from a distance, the light sent sharp needles through his skull.

"Jesse Goff!" A familiar voice barked. It was enough to catch Jesse off guard. He stopped walking and turned with enough force that Spencer's head snapped sideways. His neck popped and everything felt wrong. He was so dizzy… so tired…

He was pulled over Jesse's shoulder and planted in front of him. A large, hairy arm tightened around his neck. He kept blinking, hoping to at least see what was happening, but had no luck. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was going to die, right here, with help standing just out of reach.

Jesse shook him for good measure. "You come any closer and I'll kill him!"

Spencer believed every word.

His senses began to dull. He couldn't feel Jesse's hold on him. Everything was a roar in his ear.

When he found himself falling almost weightlessly through the air, it was then he realized he didn't feel Jesse because Jesse was no longer holding him. And even worse was that the roaring was actually the sound of the creek.

o.O.o

Jesse Goff went down with a bullet to the chest cavity from Rossi's gun, but Hotch didn't know that because he was too focused on getting to Reid. Reid, who was currently drowning. Luckily the stream was lazy and the current didn't seem to be all too happy to whisk his troublesome agent away. How, in spite of everything the last three hours had brought, this small miracle had happened, Hotch wasn't sure. But he thanked God or whoever that it was happening.

He jumped into the water and slipped on a rock, but caught his balance and began searching for any kind of sign. Two flashlights appeared on the bank and their beams glinted off the water.

"Reid!" he shouted. A chorus joined in from the bank.

And then he saw the head bob just above the surface. The water reached the middle of his chest. Spencer could have stood in it. But Spencer was unconscious and drowning.

When he reached his youngest agent, he gripped him tightly and dragged him back to the shore. Two sets of hands reached down and assisted in pulling them both from the river. Hotch crawled to where they had laid Spencer and immediately began chest compressions.

Rossi was muttering something beside him, maybe a prayer. Sheriff Todd was talking into his headset. But Hotch's hands didn't stop their mission on Spencer's chest. Reid's face was ghostly white. The permanent rings around his eyes looked like bruises. His lips were tinged blue.

Spencer made a strange, gurgling noise and suddenly dirty water was spewing from his mouth. Aaron gently eased Spencer onto his side and held his shoulders as he continued to dispel the water and who knew what else. Spencer collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily, completely spent. Hotch wanted to yell at him, but didn't know what for. Instead, he somehow found himself gathering his youngest agent into his arms and holding him with enough force to probably break him—which wasn't an exaggeration because Reid was too thin—but he was just too relieved to have the genius back. He thought back to that night in Georgia less than a year ago. He squeezed the kid even tighter.

He could feel Spencer shivering, could hear his teeth chattering as Spencer's sopping wet head fell into the crook of his neck and rested on his shoulder. Hotch rubbed his hands furiously over the young man's arms and back, hoping to restore any sort of warmth into his body. Rossi's hand appeared and with it a jacket. Hotch wrestled it around Reid and prayed it brought the kid an inkling of hope.

Rossi squatted beside them and began inspecting a cut on the back of Spencer's head.

"I'm getting too old for this, Kid." He said. "You'll be the death of me."

Spencer's lips twitched. Hotch thought it might be a grimace, but the relieved look in his eyes told the truth. He pried Reid away from him and grimaced as he got a good look at the gash Rossi had been inspecting. Spencer managed to tell them his other injuries, mainly a sprained wrist and some bruises. All in all, it could have been worse. Much worse.

"Well, I don't know about y'all," Sheriff Todd spoke. His voice was naturally loud. Spencer flinched. "But I'm ready to get out of here."

And never come back, Hotch thought.

o.O.o

Derek was going to be ok. The bullet actually hadn't done too much damage. Another miracle in the midst of this nightmare. The doctor's main concern had really been the blood loss. But, after a transfusion and orders for a strict diet and bed rest, he declared Derek would most likely be discharged within the week. Penelope was going to have a field day, Hotch thought darkly.

He rubbed his eyes and shook himself in order to keep himself awake. He hadn't slept for nearly forty-eight hours now and it was beginning to settle in his bones. He was beyond tired, he was weary. He was exhausted. But, he refused sleep until he knew for certain that the entirety of his team would be safe and whole.

Spencer had regained most of his color, but he still managed to blend in with the sheets on the hospital bed. There were ten stitches holding the skin together on the back of his head. His wrist was wrapped in an ace bandage and a small ice pack was placed on top. A black bruise was blossoming on his left cheek.

The heart monitor beeped indicating an increase in rate and Spencer groaned. Hotch watched as he cautiously opened his eyes. The lights were dimmed and the blinds were closed, still he winced. Reid swallowed convulsively a few times. Hotch reached for the small pan and only let go when he was sure Reid would be ok without it.

"You really have to stop getting yourself into these situations."

Spencer shrugged. "You always find me."

Hotch was fuming. "That doesn't mean I enjoy it."

Spencer looked like he had been stung. "Sorry."

Hotch wanted to tell him that he had nothing to apologize for. He wanted to make Spencer promise that he would try to keep himself safe and not run head on into trouble anymore. But he couldn't. It was all too fresh in his mind for him to brush it off right now.

"You're on desk duty for a while." Spencer got a stubborn look on his face and opened his mouth to protest. Hotch cut him off. "Do not argue with me."

Spencer rolled his eyes like a child and huffed. "How long is a while?"

"Until I say so," Hotch answered in his best parent voice.

Spencer slipped further into the mattress, pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and turned his back to Hotch. He was pouting like a five year old. If the underlying issue in this situation had been less serious, he might have found it humorous.

"Whatever," Spencer said, petulant. "I'm going to sleep."

Hotch sighed. His team was back together. A little rough around the edges and would take some time to heal back correctly, but they were here and alive. It was more than enough.

He relaxed into the chair, closed his eyes, and slept.

Some of y'all are probably gonna be mad because I sort of glanced over the Morgan situation. I love him just as much as the others. His plot line would have been followed more in depth in the full story, but seeing as that all fell through, I wanted to have this one shot focus on Spencer (because I am obsessed and in love with him.) That being said, please don't hate me. The full length story will always be a possibility. After all, I have part of it written already.