DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY COPYRIGHTED MATERIALS HERE IN... they are merely the things with the feathers, that perch in my soul, and sing the tunes without th words, and never stop at all...

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be touched by an angel? Have you ever wanted to be a comic book hero? I have. I used to wonder... now I know. This is our story. A story of dreams and angels. A story of curses and killing. A story... that might have never been told. Let me take you there - -

I was flying. The clouds were soaring away below me, almost melting out of existence. I was racing the wind. I had to find it.. something important.. I was almost there-!

It wasn't the alarm that woke me up, it had been my mother screaming.

"Mom! What's wrong? What happened?" to my surprise, I wobbled a bit. I was standing! I was standing at the edge of my bed. I was up on the end rail! I had my arms stretched out in front of me as if i had been reaching for something. The window in my room was open. Sunlight was pouring in and the curtains were flowing in the wind.

"Spencer!", my mom screamed.

I turned to quickly toward the sound of her voice, and fell backwards onto my bed in a heap of blankets and flailing limbs. I fought with the covers for two minutes before gaining control, and leaping out of my bed.

"Spencer!", my mother gasped reproachfully, "What on earth were you doing?"

The memory of the dream was fading fast. Everything about it had been so vague.. "Ah.. I-I think I was, um dreaming..", I stuttered hazily.

"About what?", my mother asked, as if no mere dream could possibly explain what had just occurred.

"I, Ah.. I think- I think I was, um, flying?"

my mother balked. "Nightmare! My baby! My baby could have died!"

I recognized the signs of one of my mother's episodes, and rushed to her side. "Mom! It's okay! It's okay. It was just a dream, just a dream..", I held her close to me, and stroked her hair for comfort.

"My boy. My sweet, innocent, little boy..", she sobbed into my shirt.

I became aware that I was still wearing my uniform from yesterday. I must've just come here and collapsed.

"Scary dreams..", she kept mumbling into the fabric, "Scary dreams that do scary things.."

"Mom?..", what did she mean?

"Scary dreams that try to take you away, Spencer!", she whispered earnestly up into my face with wide, frightened eyes.

"Mom!", I half-laughed, "It's okay, nothing was trying to take me away."

"But- but I saw him, Spencer! I saw him try and coax you out the window!"

My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean, mom?"

"The evil man", she shivered. "The evil man that tried to take you. But I wouldn't let him, never!", she cupped my face in her right hand, "I'd never let him take you.."

I was confused, but smiled for her.

And then, as if changing a t.v. channel, she switched the subject abruptly. "I brought you some breakfast, Greeta helped make", she said, retrieving the tray from the steam trunk at the edge of my bed.

I knew by 'helped make' my mother meant Greeta, her nurse, had made it while my mother had watched and commented from her perch on her favorite kitchen bar stool.

"Wow!, Thanks mom!", I said more heartily then I meant to, which made me realize just how hungry I was, "It looks great!" I took the tray from her gently, and snuggled back under the covers to enjoy my breakfast.

"I wish I didn't have to go back today", my mother said wistfully. She gazed at me so longingly.

"It's okay, mom", I said comfortingly, reaching out my hand, and patting her arm, "You know I'll visit."

"I know", she sighed reluctantly, "It's just not the same.. I'm glad you managed to arrange this in the first place, by the way." she smiled proudly at me, "Hope you didn't get into any trouble."

I smiled at her. She was pretty much my everything, and Hotch had known that when he had approved her stay. He'd convinced the doctors to let my mom stay with me a few days, as long as she was constantly supervised. This thought made something occur to me- "Where's Greeta?", I asked, panicked for a moment.

My mother's face fell. She looked confused. "Well, That's the strange bit", she answered hazily, "She was supposed to come upstairs with some orange juice, but.." she looked out my open bedroom door, and into the empty hallway.

My throat constricted in fear. What if mom hadn't been taking her pills? What if something had happened to Greeta? "Mom.. I'll be right back", I said, setting the tray aside and getting up.

"What is it, Spencer", my mother asked worriedly.

"It's nothing. I just need to check on Greeta."

"I'll help!", she beamed.

"No, That's okay. I need you to stay here, Alright?"

"O..kay?", my mother agreed warily.

I quickly, yet silently as possible, rushed down the stairs and into the hall leading to the kitchen. I stopped short in the entry way. There was orange juice slowly spreading blood-like across the floor. I could see a hand lying just behind the counter. I entered the kitchen with a feeling of dread growing in my heart and making it heavy. I found it difficult to breathe. There lay Greeta; sprawled out on my hard wood floor, covered in orange juice, hair fanned out in every direction. I stood, looking down on her, slightly stunned for a few moments, before I swung into action. I quickly tried to find a pulse. She had one, a blessing and a miracle, but it was barely there. I ran to the portable phone and grabbed it from it's place on the kitchen wall. I dialled 9-1-1, and listened to the ringing impatiently.

"9-1-1, What's your emergency?"

"This is agent Dr. Spencer Reid, with the behavioural analysis unit in the F.B.I. I need a bus right away to 553 halloways drive, apt.3. I have a home-care nurse unconscious, with a fading pulse, in the kitchen area of the apartment. It appears she has collapsed for some reason. I also have a schizophrenic mother here as well, she's fine, but I need someone to take her back to the institution."

"Alright, sir. We'll send someone straight away!"

"Spencer!", my mother called out cheerfully, trotting down the stairs, "Your breakfast in gonna get co..-ld.." when she saw Greeta, her eyes went ablaze with terror. "Oh no!", she squeaked, "He must've gotten her, Spencer!"

"Who are you talking about, mom?"

"The clear man! The one that tried to steal you!"