A/N: This would be my first Criminal Minds. The inspiration came from watching old episodes of CM (specifically Revelations and other such traumatizing episodes for Reid) and looking through quotes for CM. I came across the quotes "I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind" and the one where Reid says he's not sure when he'll be able to close his eyes and not see his nightmares. And so came this short oneshot. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own CM. I don't even own coffee. I do own thirty-one dollars, though.
Season: While it doesn't specify any particular event, it is set after Revelations and many cases. Therefore, we could say it's season five.
Warnings: Mild blood, mentions of death, implication of drugs and way too much sugar in coffee.
The faces peered at him, many bodies cluttered about him and invaded what was left of his personal space. It was silent, but for the pounding in his ears, and not one of the numerous entities spoke. They couldn't, they were dead. And some he doubted could speak even if they were still alive.
They were nameless, despite the fact they once lived and had family and friends they remained nameless. A nameless ghost can't hurt you. They can haunt you, invade your dreams, but could never hurt.
They stare at him with dull, lifeless eyes. Some don't have eyes, or their faces were too mutilated to see the eyes, but he felt them stare nonetheless. Cold, piercing stare that aptly damned him with each movement, each shuddering breath, each skipping heartbeat.
There was blood on his hands, pooling beneath him, crusting on his clothes, sinking past the cotton and into his skin.
He had the sensation of falling. A sensation that began years ago, in the dark, in the pain. It leeched in, pulsed through his veins, left him craving more. And while the darkness and pain left, the faintest hint of falling remained. It teased and taunted, and the nameless dead condemned him for it.
Because he was weak, he'd give in so easily and for a moment, just a single moment, the stares and condemnation would lessen. And when it went away, with bitter taunts and involuntary shudders, he would beg and beg for more. Just a little more, just to stop the stares. The faces. The blood on his hands.
"Reid, we got a case." Derek Morgan called over the murmurs of the bullpen.
Reid sighed, sipping his coffee as he walked. As the lukewarm liquid, sweetened by mad amounts of sugar, filled his mouth he mentally added more nameless faces to his nightmares.
Sometimes there just wasn't enough coffee.