If I Could Be Bounded In A Nutshell, a criminal minds fanfic

She was pregnant and all that was on her mind was not the pain, horrific, mind-splitting pain her body was in, but the baby inside her. Please, she thought desperately; she didn't want it to suffer. And if they were going to suffer like this, have their bodies destroyed like this, couldn't they just kill herself and her baby to keep them both from suffering?

Her body was going mottled and bloated, submerged in filthy water. The wires and nails...were they jammed into the insides of her cheeks and through her skin, pulling her mouth apart? She felt the air excruciating on the gashes in her cheeks, her gums rotting from the exposure. There were clips keeping her eyes open...her mouth and eyes were both dried-out husks. She had stopped trying to scream days ago.

She heard the door crash open and the two dark figures walk over towards her. One of them...a woman...she recognized the shape and the voice...starting turning a lever and she was raised up from the cramped, grime filled bathtub. She was too far-gone to care anymore. She knew her baby was dying. Her heart felt like one raw bloody nerve just thinking about it, but her eyes were so crusty, she couldn't even cry anymore. She wheezed hoarsely instead, breath rattling around her throat.

The man stepped forward. His face was cold and unforgiving. She saw the rusty glint of the scalpel shine in his fist as he grew closer and closer. She thought she knew what he was going to do. The scream died at her lips as her eyes moved from side to side, trying desperately to move away from the blade.

The first cut was right below her collar-bone. The dry sob ripped apart her throat with bile and acid, as the blood bubbled down her skin. The red poured into the green water as he sliced between her breasts and over her bulging stomach. Her body screamed with agony and she just wanted to close her eyes and give up. But they wouldn't even allow her that, the clips in her eyes like burning pokers. Wordless wheezing echoed from her destroyed throat as she retched helplessly. She had no idea what she had done to deserve this...she must've done something wrong in her life to deserve this...but her baby? What had her baby done?

As she felt her life leaking from her in bloody, gooey clumps, she saw the man's hands reach inside her slimy stomach. The woman, standing by the sink, stared at her with burning eyes. Her last breaths rattled in her throat as with a slick slurping sound, a malformed twisted shape was pulled out of her. She stared at her baby, trembling with horror. It was mottled and shrunken...dead. She wanted to reach out and hug it's lumpy misshapen body into her arms.

And for a moment she didn't care about the horrors she'd been through. Didn't care about her dying body and blackening, swollen limbs. All she knew as the world went dark and her body went cold, was that the last thing she saw on this earth was her baby. And that was enough. That was enough to make her last breath trembling with joy instead of fear, as twin sets of eyes bored into her and her life oozed away down the drain.

A young man walked across a busy, traffic-clogged street, straps of his carrier bag digging into his chest. Pushing back his wavy brown hair with long tapered fingers, he walked down a few darkened side-streets, and then clattered through the double-doors of his apartment building. The cleaner, Hannah, smiled at him as he walked towards the stairs.

"Good evening Doctor Reid," she greeted him and he smiled nervously back, sending her a small jerky wave.

He frowned as he reached the stairs. His constantly working mind had noticed that the corridors seemed a little too narrow and tall, the green of the walls contrasting a little too much with the scratched burgundy of the floor. Most people would pass it off, say they were just imagining it, their minds merely playing tricks on them. Spencer Reid knew that his mind did not often play tricks on him. But he couldn't put his finger on what exactly his mind was trying to tell him.

A fair bit of climbing later, he reached his floor, the niggling feeling at the back of his neck growing stronger. The fluorescent lights seemed a little too bright and the contrasting green and red of the corridor made his eyes sting slightly. Fumbling for his keys as he walked towards his door, the sinking feeling in his stomach grew stronger. He paused next to his frontdoor, pricking his ears and looking up. There seemed to be a scratching noise in the ceiling above his head. Rats maybe? He sincerely hoped not. He looked down again, and felt himself jump.

There was a little furry, orange body lain out on the burgundy floor. It looked like a cat, lying stiffly on its side. It was clearly dead and he felt his stomach clench up as he took a closer look. It's belly was sliced wide open, from neck to tail, intestines sprawled out around it. It's mouth was pulled into a broken rictus grin, what looked like nails and pieces of wire jammed into its cheeks to keep it open. Its eyes were huge and staring.

Spencer's felt his whole body clench up with revulsion. Who the hell had done that to the poor thing? He didn't like the idea of someone killing pets in his apartment building. He had enough psychopaths at work to deal with, he didn't want any here as well. Swallowing nervously, he walked into his apartment.

Pulling his carrier bag off and placing it neatly on one of his many, many bookshelves, he collapsed onto his small, slightly battered couch. He let his eyes fall shut, his bones aching with tiredness, a shaky breath escaping his lips.

The prickle at the back of his neck was growing stronger and stronger and he twisted his shoulders around in discomfort. There was something...wrong here. And the feeling of not knowing what that was unnerved him deeply. Opening his eyes, he glanced up. The scratching at the ceiling was louder then ever, a strong, un-breaking scraping at the plaster.

Too loud for a rat to make.

He felt his stomach slowly sink and his skin tighten up. He got to his feet. He knew something else was wrong as he walked cautiously across the floor. His mind was working over, trying to put two and two together.

He suddenly became aware of another sound...not from the ceiling. His stomach lurched as he realized...it was from somewhere inside the apartment. He reached for the gun at his holster. His fingers grasped at nothing and he looked down confusedly. He always had his gun on him. What was going on?

As he stepped into the doorway, fumbling for his phone next, he realized where the sound was coming from. His bathroom. He felt his throat close up and his heart started thumping painfully in his chest, as his grasping fingers found nothing. He suddenly knew...knew that if he tried his home-phone, it would be dead. That the spare gun he kept in his bedside drawers would be gone. He suddenly just knew...there was someone...something in his ceiling...

What was that noise in his bathroom?

It was rushing, pouring water.

Water pouring into his bathtub.

Someone was running themselves a bath.

Why?

He heard something move behind him. A slow steady movement. A million sentences flashed through his mind, anything to save him, but no words could escape his mouth

And the water came cascading down, overflowing onto his tile floor.

His eyes snapped open. It was morning and his lamp was still on, the faint dreary sunlight pouring through his bedroom curtains. He got to his feet, staring down at his mismatched socks. He ran his hands through his sweaty hair and face. Bad dream...just a bad dream. But as he sat on his small bed alone, the images came rushing back to him...was there something in his ceiling? No...no of course there wasn't.

Had a pregnant woman really had her stomach sliced open? No. Of course not, don't be ridiculous. It was a nightmare. A nightmare, he thought as he stumbled for the bathroom. The vomit burnt his throat as he curled around the toilet, choking and retching. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

For a moment he couldn't remember...was the woman a memory from a past case? It took his mind a split second to work it out. No...of course not. He would've remembered how badly the rest of the team would've taken a pregnant woman being tortured, mutilated and then having a forced cesarean, her dead baby being ripped out of her stomach. His own stomach lurched again and he felt himself gag.

Garcia would've stopped cracking jokes, going horribly sad and serious, the case reminding her that some people had nothing good in them at all, which often she could ignore. Emily would be shaken up as well...this was all too...abortion like for her. She'd be reminded of the nightmares she had when she was a teenager after Rome.

JJ would've taken it the worst of course. A pregnant woman being sliced open and her dead baby taken away? She would've been struggling to keep a cap on her emotions the whole case and then Hotch would've comforted her on the plane home. Of course...Hotch would've taken it hard as well...his mind on Jack and Haley.

Rossi would probably have to comfort either Emily or Hotch at one point. Get their heads straight. Give them some tough love, to calm them down. Rossi would keep a cool head, but his mind would be on those lovers and partners he used to have, all the families he could've started, all the families from cases long, long ago he had failed to save.

And Morgan would've hated the idea of a woman suffering like that. Horrified at the ending of a kid's life in such a brutal way, when their mother was going to give them such a good life. No kid deserved to have their life ripped away like that...

The young man sat down on the toilet lid, his chest aching a little, thinking of all the times the team had been hit hard and heavy by a case and they all felt like the ugliness in the world was just too much. There were too too many times to count.

The problem with being a genius and having a job like this was that his imagination could churn up the most grotesque ways to die, in terrifying clarity.

But he had to get over himself. Sure, he'd had a pretty disgusting nightmare. But it was only that...a nightmare. He was a grown man for goodness sake. You'd be more worried if you weren't getting bad dreams with his kind've job.

With that thought, he got himself ready quickly, craving a good strong coffee, before hurrying out the door.

The week was mainly paperwork and his dreams stayed basically normal. He merely marveled at his gruesome imagination...he recognized that his subconscious had brought up a case from awhile ago, with a comic book writer whose pregnant wife had been murdered by a gang, and mixed it up with all the many, many instances where a male would torture women. Maybe he was remembering Austin a bit as well? Forced to clean up her own blood with her stomach slit open? And hadn't there been a husband and wife team, who'd stolen children from their mothers not so long ago?

His subconscious was mixing it all up together like multi-colored vomit and trash. He found it very interesting. Of course, now that he was out of the moment, he found himself analyzing himself, picking the dream apart, turning it around and around with fascination. He found himself conveniently forgetting the emotions that had gone along with the dream. He didn't have to bother with that right now.

After two weeks the dream had been quickly forgotten.

It wasn't their fault the little asshole was such a freak. He was a little skinny weirdo who kept quiet and stuttered over every sentence. It was normal to push him around a bit, pull a prank or two. He just had to get over himself.

The three crying teenage boys were on their knees, pressed side by side, hands tied around their backs. Their faces were streaked with grimy tears and their malnourished chests were covered in gashes and scars. The boy in the middle had half his face covered in green vomit, his hair slicked up with the putrid smelling mess and three of his fingers cut off. The boy on the right was missing an eye, pus and scabs sliding down his cheek. The boy on the left had a huge stretch of flesh flayed off from his arm and his mouth hung open, revealing the stump which had once been his tongue.

A huge, grizzled man clomped over, and the three boys tried to move backwards, whimpering with fear. He was holding a bucket of something which sloshed violently when he set it down.

"We haven't done anything to you..." the boy in the middle sobbed. "We don't even know who you are, you sick fuck."

The man said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. He grabbed a chunk of the boy's hair and pulled him over towards the bucket as he desperately tried to get away.

"Don't..." the teen with the missing eye gasped. "Don't, please, we'll do anything you want, just don't..."

A smile of grim satisfaction grew on the man's face, as the boy screamed in agony, face dunked in the sizzling liquid. Was it acid? Or boiling water? Whatever it was, when he was pulled up again, huge red burnt blotches covered his face, as tears and snot came running down his ruined cheeks and chin.

The teenager with the flayed skin closed his eyes so he wouldn't see.

The retching sound filled the cabin as the boy vomited again, the yellow phlegm dribbling down his front. The man took him by the back of the head and pressed his face into the green and yellow mess on the floor. The sobs were muffled by the wood and bile and dust.

The man worked fast. Leaving the boy to sizzle agonizingly in his own sick, he turned to the boy with the missing eye. He reached for a small leather strap in his pocket, and pulled out the teen's bare feet from under him. He squirmed and pleaded uselessly as the first smack of the leather came lashing down at the soles of his feet.

It was vicious, the smacks raining down on him, the man's arm like a machine, flaying the skin away. Screams and howls reverberated from every corner of the tiny cabin. The predator worked away until there was no flesh left, the boys soles left bloody and warped before pushing him to his side to cry helplessly on the floor.

The third teen, clenched his eyes shut even tighter, knowing he was next. The predator took a firm hold of his shoulder, flicking out a small switch-knife.

"We're sorry," the boy in the middle heaved, voice scratchy and broken. "We're sorry...we didn't know..."

His words were ignored as the man made dozens of small punctures in the teen's chest, arms, cheeks and neck. He walked off to take something from a bench in the corner of the room. Walking back, the boys saw that in one hand he held a small packet of salt and another packet of sugar. In the other hand, he held a jar of buzzing flies.

Ripping open the salt packet, he poured some on the middle boy's face, who howled in agony as the grains stuck to the sticky, crusty red burns eating up his face. Even his tears were unbearable now as they trickled down his cheeks. Turning to the boy with the missing eye, he bent to smear the left over salt on his flayed feet. The pain was too much as he retched and twisted with agony.

For the third boy, who was trying desperately not to cry, the man ripped open the packet of sugar. He smeared the sticky substance into each of his small knife wounds and then grabbed the jar of flies from the ground. He opened the lid and let them loose, getting up and walking towards the door, as they crawled over the boy's sticky skin. Not able to hold it in anymore, he screamed in horror, flies filling up his eyes and mouth.

As the predator reached the door, he turned around to look down his nose at the slowly dying boys.

"That's for Spencer," he said, before he walked through the doorway, slamming it shut behind him.

He woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, feeling his stomach heave uncontrollably. His legs were twisted up in his bedsheets and every part of his body seemed to be shaking. It was dark, pitch black except for the small lamp at his bedside table he always "accidentally" forgot to turn off during the night.

He stumbled madly to his feet, fumbling for the light-switch. The blinding light stung his eyes and his breath tumbled uselessly from his parched lips.

Hadn't those boys been...hadn't they been the main three kids who had led the attack on him in high-school? Hadn't they been the ringleaders behind stripping him naked and tying him to the goal-posts all those years ago?

Yes...

But they were just...just teenagers. To have something like that happen to anyone...but to kids...sure...they hadn't been...fantastic kids sure...but still...

It was sick.

Who was that man? He didn't recognize him from anywhere, but he had turned up in his dreams before. The dreams with him were always violent...they'd sometimes included those three bullies...but they'd never been as gruesome as this. But the man always seemed to be protecting pre-pubescent Spencer in some way, although he was doing it in a way that grown up Spencer felt sick to the stomach about.

His mind immediately fell on Carl Jung's dream archetypes and the text was at his tongue in a heart-beat; Carl Jung identified the archetypes as the basic building blocks of the imagination. Stored in a region of the mind that Jung termed 'the collective unconscious', it was a reservoir of primal imagery that all humans held in common over the centuries. Spencer identified the man in his dream immediately as the Shadow; the dark side of the conscious self. Shadow represents the aspects of the personality we would prefer to keep hidden. Jung defined it as something a person had no wish to be. A primitive, instinctive side that is increasingly likely to emerge the more we try to suppress it. It commonly appears in a threatening way, as a sinister stranger or an assailant.

He could almost see Prentiss rolling her eyes at the wordy explanation and Hotch's "stop-talking-now," glare he would send his way. He grinned, feeling slightly comforted at the thought.

But another memory came flashing back to him and this one didn't make him feel comforted at all.

Being tied to that post, exposed and crying, some people laughing, others looking away with embarrassment for him, but not having the nerve to do anything to help; not wanting to be the next one targeted.

As the night wore on, the fear and humiliation had changed to silent rage. Let them die, let them die, let them all die.

Older Spencer knew that was a perfectly reasonable response to what he'd been through. Anyone would react that way in a similar situation. But he didn't really want something like...something like that to happen to anyone? Right? His skin prickled uncomfortably and he felt himself shudder.

He needed a drink of water.

He shuffled over to his small kitchen, turning on every light along the way. Opening his cupboard and grabbing a glass, he poured himself a nice tall drink and sipped at it. The fear was quickly being shoved to the furtherest parts of his mind as he tried to replace it with more calming facts and logic. He didn't want to deal with all that other stuff right now.

Back in his room his fingers fluttered a little nervously at the light-switch, before he clicked it off. His bedside clock told him that it was exactly 2:16 in the morning.

In the darkness, out of the warm light of his kitchen, the memories of the dream came rushing back to him. The boy...Peter Thornton he remembered, he was the quarterback who had stepped on his glasses and put him in a head-lock so hard, he thought his neck might just snap as Jackson O'Shaunessy and Ken Hand tore off his shoes and socks and...and...

And Peter Thornton had all the skin flayed off his feet and it was so much like when Spencer was tied up in that cabin and Tobias but it wasn't really Tobias, it was Charles and Charles had his bare foot in his lap, demanding him to confess his sins, confess, confess and the wood came screaming through the air and the sole of his foot felt like it was on fire and...

He switched the light back on, brightness illuminating the room. Hands shaking slightly, he walked over to his bookshelf and picked up some of his heaviest, most complicated books, choosing a few in Latin and Arabic, dragging his language dictionaries out as well. He walked over to his bed and curled up on top of his blankets, the massive books sprawled out around him, as he picked up his glasses from his bedside table. He chewed on his fingers as he flicked through the pages.

He definitely needed a distraction.

"You alright Reid?" Morgan came up beside him as he poured himself his third cup of coffee, blinking his eyes blearily. "You look pretty beat."

He stifled a yawn as Morgan placed his dirty cup in the sink, suddenly remembered the crack down by annoyed co-workers on cleaning your dishes and grabbed the dish-rag to start rinsing it.

"Um...uh..." the younger agent stuttered for a moment, mind clicking over at top speed. "A car in the street had their alarm go off at exactly sixteen minutes past two in the morning and I couldn't...couldn't get back to sleep..." he poured nearly all of the sugar into his cup, stirring a little too hard as he did so. "Weird right?"

"Yeah, that's rough man," Morgan said, the usual wide grin at his lips. "Take my advice, tell everyone you were preoccupied with a lovely young lady all night...much more glamorous then a car alarm, eh?"

He made a little unbelieving noise in his throat, face going slightly pink.

"Er...I'll keep that in mind," he said looking away. Morgan chuckled and tossed the rag back into the sink before walking off, patting him on the shoulder as he left.

"What was her name?" Prentiss teased from her desk, clearly bored with her paperwork as he failed to hold back another tremendous yawn. He rolled his eyes at her. You couldn't get away with anything, working with profilers.

"Don't be stupid," he grinned a little. "It was just a...car-alarm kept me awake..."

"Well you can catch up on sleep on the plane," Hotch was suddenly walking through the bull-pen, JJ at his side. Emily and Spencer started packing their papers away immediately. "We've got two homicides in New Mexico. They both share a similar MO..."

"And what's that?" Prentiss demanded as she fell into step beside him, Reid struggling to keep up with them, pulling the straps of his carrier bag around his shoulder.

"We have two red-headed females and they both worked as mid-wives..." JJ said and Reid felt his stomach do a little nervous twist. Females...mid-wives...pregnancy...stomach sliced wide open.

"How exactly did they die?" he asked, making sure his voice didn't shake too much as they walked into the conference room, where Rossi and Morgan were already standing.

"Blunt-force trauma to the head and internal bleeding..." said Hotch, nodding slightly at the other two in greeting.

"So beaten to death pretty much," Rossi said, eyes narrowing. "Sounds like a disorganized killer."

"Both the bodies were found dumped at the side of the road, with no attempts to hide them..." JJ put in.

"So the unsub wants to depersonalize his victims..." Morgan added, a frown creasing his face.

"And make them look like trash," Prentiss finished, disgust clear in her voice.

"There was a two week break between the kills," Hotch said. "And from the marks on the bodies, it looks like the victims were dragged across the ground..."

"Doesn't look like the unsub charmed them, then," Morgan stated. "More like he attacked anyone who fit his standards as soon as he had the chance to."

"Maybe they were a surrogate for an ex-wife, girlfriend...?" Prentiss suggested. Hotch nodded, eyes sweeping around the team.

"We'll talk more about this on the plane," he said. "Wheels up in thirty."

He swept out of the room, Prentiss and Rossi by his side.

It didn't take them very long to catch the guy. Martin Walters Junior, a janitor at the hospital where his first two victims worked, was responsible for a collection of red-headed exes, one who had cheated on him and another who was demanding a hefty alimony. Quiet and meek in day to day life, Martin took his anger out on any red-headed substitute he could find.

After collapsing into tears after a brutal interrogation from Prentiss and confessing everything, the team said their thank you's and farewells to the local police and made off. However, a brief phone-call from Hotch set them all back a bit.

"The jet's having a few issues," he told them. "We're going to have to stay here an extra night."

There were a few moans from Rossi, but no-one really minded. They all shuffled back tiredly to their rooms. They'd had to bunk up, two to a room lately because of budget cuts and soon Emily and JJ were giggling about the films they could stay up to watch and Rossi was telling Hotch about what drinks the hotel had to offer and which ones they could sample.

"The game's on tonight," Morgan said to Reid, a teasing lilt in his voice. "So if you keep me up all night with your statistics, smart-guy..."

Spencer smiled a little and excused himself to make a quick run for the nearest convenience store. The rest of the team were too busy chatting and joking around to take much notice.

In the store, the youngest agent made an immediate beeline for the candy aisle, mind beginning to jump around madly.

Sure, a sugar-rush didn't last very long and ingesting too much food before sleep was known to cause heartburn and anyway, after the sugar high he'd feel groggy and more tired then ever, but then he'd be on the plane and he could take a nap on the plane and not go into a deep enough state of sleep to have anything more then a fleeting dream or two, but if he fell dead asleep tonight, right after the end of the case, without his mind buzzing on all the ways to solve it, there was a bigger chance he could have one of his nightmares and there was no-way in hell he was going to wake up a complete emotional mess with Morgan a bed away and Emily and JJ next door...

It wouldn't hurt to pick up some extra Instant Coffee as well wouldn't it? He might need something a little more substantial then Twizzlers and Skittles to keep him up all night. He spent a few more minutes browsing around for stuff that could keep him awake.

The clerk raised an eyebrow slightly when he reached the counter, before she began scanning the items. A couple of minutes later, he was making his way for the door, heavy grocery bag under his chin.

Emily nearly kicked the door down when he walked by hers and JJ's room. She was out of her work clothes and into a T-shirt and track-pants and JJ was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds in her pajamas. Both, too his mild terror seemed to be in a state of hysterical giggles.

"Come on Spencey," the dark-haired woman crowed, dragging him in by the arm. "We're watching Zombieland!"

"Zombie..zombie what?" he stuttered as JJ turned up the volume probably way too high and Emily pulled him down to sit at the edge of the bed.

"It's another one of those movies about the zombie apocalypse..." the blond woman grinned, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you the one who loves horror movies Spence?"

"No, this one isn't scary!" Emily insisted excitedly as Reid placed his grocery bag on the floor. "It's funny as hell...and Woody Harrelson's a total badass..."

"He was in Cheers wasn't he? I loved that show when I was little," JJ said and muffled giggles. "Sam and Diane, oh my god..."

The two women burst into more squawking laughter. Reid grinned and scavenged around for his Skittles as they turned the volume even louder.

It took him about five minutes to start loudly picking apart the plot discrepancies, much to his co-workers annoyance.

"...it doesn't make sense, if the zombies were actually dead bodies reanimated then you could suspend your disbelief for a little awhile, as long as they didn't try to pull out some half-baked explanation like this, I mean these zombies are apparently alive and have some kind've infection, which doesn't make the slightest bit of sense because..."

JJ chucked a pillow at him as Emily stole some of his Twizzlers. His mind ticked over madly as he chewed on a big handful of Skittles.

"...they can't be alive, unless they have some form of leprosy because technically the whole zombie population would die out from infection and blood loss and you can't just eat a person without cooking them first, it's like have you ever tried to eat a cow or a pig you just picked up from the farm, of course not, you'd be violently sick, so technically after the police force and army takes all of these people out, all the others would die in a matter of days and we wouldn't have this whole scenario in the first place..."

The dark haired woman sighed loudly and turned the television up to it's highest point. Spencer's ramblings was drowned out by the roar of the DVD. He tried to speak up but JJ yelled over the ear-splitting noise about how she wanted to watch the zombies get chainsawed in peace.

"Hey! Keep it down!" someone, probably Morgan kicked at the walls separating their rooms. "I'm trying to watch the game!"

"Sorry Derek," JJ hollered back. "Spencer's talking nerdy to us!"

"Come here and watch the rest of the movie!" Emily yelled as she turned down the volume.

"If you value your life, say no," Reid implored of him through the wall, feeling himself giggle despite himself.

"Despite the allure of your offer, I think I'm gonna have to pass up," Morgan chuckled through the wall as he turned up his own television. "I mean, it's such a hard decision between horror movies and football..."

"Whatever," JJ snickered. "You don't know what your missing out on."

"A lot of biological inaccuracies..." Spencer tried to say before Emily tossed her pillow at him too. They heard Derek laugh from his room.

"I'm sure you'll find some kind've way to have fun without me," Morgan teased. JJ rolled her eyes, grinning as they settled down to watch the rest of the film.

Through the rest of the movie's run, Reid managed to down two cups of coffee and finish off half of his candy. As the two woman got sleepier and sleepier, he felt himself get more and more wired up.

"Why are they turning on all the lights and speakers and rides with all the zombies obviously in a very near radius..?" he asked as JJ dozed in and out of focus. Emily rolled her eyes to the ceiling:

"I don't knoooow Spencer..."

"It's both ridiculous and highly illogical..."

"Yessss Spencer..."

Reid found himself so engrossed in the film's climax, he barely noticed that JJ had fallen asleep in the bed beside them. As finally, the end credits began to roll, he turned around to see that Emily could barely keep her eyes open.

He fumbled slightly for the remote, noticing his hands were shaking a little. He deduced that the sugar-high and caffeine kick was to blame. He heard the woman yawn loudly behind him.

"What did you think?" she asked as she reached over to snatch the remote and press the eject button. He grinned widely, long fingers grappling for more candy.

"Yeah! I liked it," he chirped back. He wanted more coffee...but he could have a caffeine overdose which would be kinda bad.

"Although the love interest and main character are probably displaying transference, as they were alone for so long and the girl only had her sister for company and the romantic feelings they were experiencing can probably be explained by them meeting the first individual of the compatible sex and similar age in how many years..."

Emily collapsed in a heap on the mattress. After a few more minute's of his ramblings, she made very loud exaggerated snoring noises. Reid twisted the ends of his shirt around his fingers twitchily, biting back a giggle.

"Okay, okay I get it, I get it," he climbed to his feet, stumbling slightly over his feet. "Night Emily."

She waved groggily, smile at her lips. "You are insanely hyper, Spencey."

"Actually it's a bit of a myth that sugar causes hyperactivity, it actually causes restlessness..."

"Your gonna end up getting kicked in the head if you keep Morgan up with your nattering..."

"Oh, I found an interesting book down in the foyer, I'm going to try and find all the incorrect usages of grammar and syntax..."

She did a sort've half snort, half sigh of exasperation.

"You are something else Doctor Reid," she mumbled with amusement. Spencer played with his fingers a little nervously and looked at JJ turning around in her sleep. All the caffeine was making his brain feel like it was fizzing out of control.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said. "Have a good sleep."

She waved at him groggily. He nearly skipped out the door, feeling like there were about six springs in his step, half-empty grocery bag bouncing behind him. He could underline all the mistakes in red Magic Marker, like his mother used to do with her papers, while marveling over the lack of grammar and spelling lessons her students suffered from and explaining to Spencer why a certain student did a particularly good job analyzing a certain passage of a certain book as he listened attentively, glasses slipping off of his nose...

He had to creep very quietly into the bathroom to get changed, Derek dozing in bed, the TV still blaring. Reid had bunked up with Morgan enough times to know the man was a notoriously light sleeper.

All Reid had to do was turn the light on and Derek was shifting around, cracking an eye open blearily. When he saw who it was, he quickly settled back down to sleep again.

A few minutes later, he had turned the TV and lights off and was sitting in a chair with a book, book light and magic marker. While technically, having all the lights blaring was a good method to keep you awake, he didn't really think Derek would appreciate it. There were actually a few methods he could try, like drinking cold water constantly, because not only was it a shock to the system, it was pretty hard to go to sleep with a full bladder. He would keep that in mind when he went back down from his sugar and caffeine high and anyway, correcting the book could keep him occupied.

Watership Down...wow. He hadn't read that since he was six. He smiled, as he got his glasses out from his pocket.

The digital clock ticked over. 3: 34.

They had to be up by seven.

He'd been dozing in and out of sleep for he didn't know how long. He had twenty-two pages of scribbled notes on the novel, seven pages dedicated to the symbolism and meaning behind anything and everything he could find between the covers. He knew the further he went along, the flimsier the connections were getting, but he didn't care. He had to keep awake.

He wished he could've brought some more books with him...

Aha!

More water!

He'd already had one a few hours earlier. That and the coffee from before had made him have to tiptoe for the bathroom nearly three times now.

He had considered going through the bible in the drawer, but that made a place in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He passed the idea up without a second thought.

He felt like his eyeballs were going to drop out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt his head nodding forward.

Sighing, he padded over to the kitchen again and poured himself the biggest glass of water he could manage. He sipped at it, knowing gulping it down would just give him a stomach-ache...although a stomach-ache could distract him from how exhausted he was.

Aha!

The TV Guide and room service menu!

Yes, he could go through them and rearrange sentences to make new ones or circle specific words to make interesting phrases and...and...

Tiptoeing over to the TV, he tensed as Derek rolled onto his side and hugged the pillow under his chin, snoring loudly. It was...interesting...no Spencer, analyzing people's sleeping habits was weird, weird, weird and JJ hadn't broken the habit of sleeping with her hands over her belly and she always seemed confused when she rolled over and the other side of the bed was empty and Hotch was still tense and coiled up even in sleep, as though the slightest noise would have him springing for his gun and Rossi took up as much space as humanely possible as if displaying even in his sleep that he was the alpha male here. And Emily hid her face in her pillow and curled up into a ball like she wanted to hide something. He hadn't really seen Garcia sleep, but he guessed she would have as many pillows, stuffed animals and fluffy blankets as possible and would snore and mumble to herself, because nothing could shut Penelope up, not even sleep...

And it was interesting, because Derek always ended up hugging the pillow and you don't ever sit next to Derek on the plane if he's fallen asleep, as Prentiss had discovered when she had to poke him in the arm to get him to pull his head away from her shoulder. Reid had just cracked him over the head with the book he'd been reading when it happened to him.

He knew why Derek felt uneasy sleeping alone and why he got nervous at every bump in the dark, even if the man would never admit it to anyone. Uncomfortably pushing the thought from his mind, he picked up the sparse reading materials and made his way back through the darkness to his chair. Taking another sip of water, he snatched his magic marker up again, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm.

He wouldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't fall asleep...

The red glowing numbers blared into his skull as he slumped, open mouthed and eyes heavily lidded.

5.25

A strange slow calm had washed over him. The silence was almost deafening in his ears and his mouth felt like it was filled with gritty sand filled cotton.

He idly thought how he would have to resort to his last weapon to keep himself awake.

Feeling like he was almost floating on air, he stepped slowly into the kitchen where his still half-empty grocery bag sat on the bench. His over-busy brain felt oddly hollow as his hands moved of their own accord into the bag. He pulled the items out, swallowing dryly, wavering on the spot, head thumping like a drum. He set the last of his groceries down on the bench.

A carton of chocolate milk.

A shaker full of chocolate sprinkles.

A can of whipped cream.

And a box of Count Chocula cereal.

If a few bowls of this couldn't keep him awake for the rest of the night (early morning really) then nothing would.

Technically he was fixing himself an early breakfast.

Get a bowl and spoon from the cupboard. Tear the box open with teeth and pour a huge sugary mountain of cereal into bowl. Crack milk open. Pour over mountain. Sprinkles. Nice sprinkles. Yummy nice sprinkles. Shake whipped cream, press down on nozzle and spray...

"Reid? What the hell are you doing?"

He jumped violently, chocolate sprinkles clattering like rain to the tile floor. It took his usually quick-as-lightning mind a second or two to catch up. Derek Morgan stood on the other side of the bench in an old t-shirt and boxers, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking groggy and tired.

"Reid it's half past five in the morning. Why are you still awake?" even in his half-dead state, he could recognize that "don't bullshit me" tone in his voice. He felt the first strings of panic flutter into his chest. He could just see it now...little Spencer crying to big brother Morgan about his scary nightmares...

"Just...just got the munchies 's all..." he half slurred, motioning towards the bowl. He sprayed more of the whipped cream on top the cereal and then covered the white frothy lumps with the sprinkles that hadn't been relocated to the floor. He saw Derek cringe as he stuffed a few huge spoonful of the sugary atrocity into his mouth, cheeks bulging with soggy brown cream.

Oh yeah...health freak Morgan was probably calculating how much time he'd spend in the gym working that all off.

"Are you trying to tell me you just got up now?" he said, his dark eyes like x-rays as the younger man avoided his piercing look. He fumbled for a few moments, feeling dull and dizzy, mouth flapping open and closed like a surprised goldfish.

"Uh...no...the..the mattress was too lumpy for me. I couldn't really get comfortable so...uh...I decided to get some...Count Chocula," he bit back a yawn and cracked a sheepish grin. Derek didn't return it.

"Car alarms in the street? Lumpy mattresses? C'mon man, talk to me...what's been keeping you up all night?"

Spencer gulped down the creamy chocolate, beginning to feel slightly ill as he felt his eyes narrow slightly with anger.

"I said it's nothing..." he snapped, looking down. "I'm fine."

He picked up his overflowing bowl and walked with a purpose through the archway, past the man, who was still looking at him closely and back into his chair. His stomach protested as he stuffed himself with food, feeling more and more childish as he did so. Just finish it and pretend to go to sleep...he didn't have long to go till seven anyway.

"Reid, you know you can talk to me about anything."

There was that uncomfortable tug at his stomach again...the one that had nothing to do with the recent influx of junk food. He was...he was a grown man for goodness sake.

A grown man in Star Wars pajamas, refusing to go to sleep and eating Count Chocula with chocolate milk after staying up half the night, hyped up on candy.

Oh god.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Morgan gave him a look like he had finally cracked, as he pushed his fist into his mouth madly stifling giggles. He bit into his cheek so hard, he tasted blood on his tongue, trying to hold it in. Derek narrowed his eyes confusedly and he erupted like a volcano, letting out a mad shriek of laughter, almost dropping the bowl onto his crotch.

"C'mon man, let's get you to bed..." his hand was at his shoulder and that made Spencer laugh even harder. His brain felt like it was melting from the lack of sleep, his eyeballs liquifying and dribbling out of his skull, his stomach filling up his fingers and toes.

"It's just...it's just..." he babbled, wheezing slightly for breath, eyes crossing to look up at Derek desperately.

"It's just what, Reid?"

The younger man motioned madly at his half empty bowl.

"I mean...Count Chocula, Derek...Count Chocula."

He thought he saw the corners of his mouth begin to curl upwards. He squeezed his shoulder a little as he took the bowl from him.

"Yeah Pretty Boy. Count Chocula."

He paused for a moment, before motioning with his hand.

"You got shit on your face..." he said and Spencer wiped at the cream at his lips casually, trying to hold back the desperate tears of mirth forming in his eyes as he got to his feet.

He wavered on the spot, feeling his legs almost buckle beneath him. The older man was still staring bemusedly at him, trying to guide him towards the bed, but he just pushed at his hands like they were flapping birds.

"You don't hafta...tuck me in man...I'm cool...I'm cool..."

He waved his hand around half-heartedly, like he was swatting a fly before taking two steps and collapsing face first onto the mattress. He felt himself losing consciousness immediately.

He felt something heavy and warm being thrown over him and he grunted confusedly.

"But tha'ss your blanket man..." he murmured, cheek smooshed into his pillow, eyes drooping closed.

"Don't think I could pull yours out from under you?..."

That was stupid and untrue because Spencer was a skinny little twerp and as Emily would say after one two many drinks, Derek was "built like a brick shit house." But he didn't care cause the blanket was so warm and snuggly and he wanted to stay under it forever and ever.

"I'm going to get terrible indigestion, y'know," he informed the other man. Derek let out a snort of laughter as he climbed back into his own bed.

"Sure thing kid."

Spencer felt his lips curl up in a tired grin as his eyes dragged shut and refused to open again.

There was a man sitting across the table in the dark interrogation room. His face was deathly pale and his eyes were liquid black, mouth hanging loosely open. He wore a spiked dog-collar around his neck and a long-sleeved band t-shirt. His nails were painted black and he had piercings in his chin, nose and eyebrows, and three holes in each ear. A spiky mess of purple hair fell over his face.

Sitting across from him were two men; one was broad-shouldered and strong, with a stern, grim face and sharp, piercing eyes. The other was slighter and twitchier, with doe-like eyes and messy, brown hair.

The purple-haired suspect stared at them both, his face empty and slack. His fingers moved slowly at the silver table as he looked over at them.

"Don't understand..." he said, in a dull, emotionless voice. "Why am I in handcuffs if you don't want to have sex with me?"

The older man's lips thinned almost to the point of disappearing. The younger agent's shoulder's crept up under his ears and his cheeks glowed red.

This had been going on for too long. Too many agents had stared the man down, tried to pry answers from him, tried to get him to say anything. And they got nothing but that blank stare back. It was as if someone had slid their sticky dirty fingers into the man's mind and erased absolutely everything, until all that was left behind was a white, blank slate.

The older man spoke, words calm and measured;

"We know what those men did to you, Mr. Carmichael. And you know they'll do the exact same thing to someone else, if you don't give us their names."

The words seemed to be spoken into a empty abyss. There was absolutely nothing behind his eyes. They bored into the agents across the table like twin drills. Then he blinked slowly and his mouth dropped even further open.

And he knew...he knew...

Something more horrible then he could ever imagine had happened to this man.

And he felt like he was surging forward...

Sinking down into those dark, bottomless eyes, sinking into the endless, black space.

He was in a grey, cold place. A warehouse of some kind. He saw the overcast sky through the cracked, broken windows. Saw the dust and spider-webs strung between the wooden rails in the ceiling.

Oh god...his knees. They were bleeding and slashed...pressed into the harsh, concrete floor. He let his head flop down bonelessly. Naked. Bruised. Sticky, congealed blood slowly oozing from between his legs to form a pool around him. Splashes of the scarlet drying around him.

He tried to lift his wrists as the metal cut into his skin and the chains creaked against the ground. Please...he didn't want to be here. Please...he had to get out before they came back.

And he felt himself falling further and further away...sinking away into something deeper and fainter, falling away into the pits of somebody's mind. The ice-cold wind blew over his naked body as he tumbled through the darkness. He opened his mouth so wide, he felt the corners of his lips crack and his eyes bulge out almost grotesquely, the muscles in his neck pulling tight.

He was somewhere different now. Somewhere from a long, long time ago. In an old, tiny house, where somebody used to live. He was floating, floating up to the ceiling, looking down. Down at a small room where a child with long, black hair sat alone at the end of a bed, fists clasped in its lap. Its jaw was set and tight, lips closed firm, eyes too dark and haunted to belong to anyone so small and innocent.

He knew the door had closed hours ago, a man leaving the room, eyes cold, hands sticky. The child would sit and stare for hours...eyes dark. Showing nothing. And when it stood up, its face was too drawn and its posture was too hunched over and it looked too old, too old.

The man in the ceiling wanted to sob. He didn't want to see this anymore.

And so he floated...

...floated after the child as it pushed the door open with its fingers. Floated after the child as it walked with slow, deliberate steps down the hall. There were faint noises from down somewhere far, far below them.

The small corridor seemed to be distorting...the walls melting and bubbling, the carpet a twisting, slippery pit. The child stopped by a door at the end of the hall, staring up at the handle, still and quiet.

The silence stretched on for far too long. The child stared up at the door-knob, mouth hanging loosely open, dark eyes blinking slowly. The man stared back down, looking at the small bubble of blood that slid slowly from the child's shorts and down its leg. He felt the sickness surge in his stomach, twisting, churning bile.

Thump.

They both blinked.

Thump.

The walls trembled. The child's mouth hung open even further.

Thump.

There was something down there. He didn't want to go down there. Please...turn around, run away, go back.

Thump.

But the child's hands clenched and unclenched, raising slowly up. He couldn't...he couldn't...

Thump.

And his throat felt like it was being lined with cement.

And the door was pushed slowly open.

The kid swallowed roughly as it stared down into the abyss. The sounds were growing louder...stronger and closer. Its breath rattled in its throat as it stepped forward. He watched helplessly as it disappeared into the darkness.

He felt his vision fade and his body fall forward.

The darkness was hot and suffocating and the heat was almost unbearable. He gagged with revulsion...the sharp sweetly rotting stench of death filled up his mouth and nose, his body recoiling with disgust. He saw the small, orange flames in the distance, the air distorting with heat.

His vision slowly adjusted in the sweaty murkiness of the room. He saw a figure, small and shaking at the bottom of a creaky set of stairs. He could see its white face and the tears beginning to dribble down its cheeks. The clanking, thumping noises were so loud, he felt the sounds beating painfully in time in his skull. The stink made every part of him clench up and shake...he needed to get the kid out of here. He needed to help. The kid couldn't see this...

He saw the tall, burly shape at the end of the room, slick muscles clenching as he pounded a hammer into a white-hot sheet of metal. But the child wasn't only looking at him. He was looking at a wall of something flesh colored and decaying, hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

Bloody, ripped muscle and skin...stitched together to make one long, huge, bleeding wall. Eyes feeling huge in his skull, he turned to look at a set of drawers in the corner. Saw the lamp...but the lamp-shade wasn't...wasn't fabric. Saw on the ceiling...hoops with putrid stumps of what used to be hands hanging, rotted and bloated.

The huge man with the sweat pouring in his eyes suddenly straightened, red, ruddy face turning in the darkness.

He felt dizzy and weak...the heat and the stench was making his body feel like it was melting away.

And when he turned, he saw the child's mouth fall open again. And its eyes almost burst out of its head in horror, as the tears poured down its cheeks.

And it started screaming.

And screaming.

Screaming so loud, he thought its throat would rip apart with the sounds.

And the predator surged forward...

And he was floating away again...the dark, wet room disintegrating like ash into the shadows. The child...left alone to the red faced giant's mercy. He was tumbling, tumbling back.

Back to a grey, cold place. With broken glass on the floor. With something heavy and rusty hanging around his wrists, ankles and neck. He felt a harsh tug at his neck and for a moment, all the air in his lungs was completely gone. He gasped and choked for air. Someone tugged at the chain even harder and he felt his face being forced up. Laughter echoed in his ears.

"Fucking pretty ain't he?"

"Look at those black eyes, man..."

"The hair...it's the purple hair, isn't it?"

His stomach did a huge repulsive turn and the vomit bubbled up into his mouth. The laughter grew louder as it dribbled down his chin and he bent over, feeling it splatter onto the concrete.

This wasn't him.

This wasn't happening to him.

He looked down at his chipped, black painted nails with short stubby fingers...and the pin-prick holes in his arms. Those he recognized...but there were much, much more, dozens more, some new, some old and faded, some scabbing over and bruised.

The tug at his neck was vicious now and he heard them hissing and swearing down at him as he looked back up. They were pressing in close around him, a circle of red, angry sweaty men with clumps of hair and bulging muscles and there was nothing soft or small or fresh in this grey, concrete place except for him and they were pushing in closer, closer...

Close your eyes. Clench them shut. Lips turn thin and white and pressed together. Feel the acid bile eat away at the back of your throat, harsh and sharp and revolting.

He wasn't here. He wasn't here. He was far, far away. He wasn't here on his knees on the ground with these men standing around him, with something...something wet sliding down his cheek...into his hair. Into his eyes...down over his lips and dripping off his chin...

Something sharp tugged behind his navel and he felt himself fall backwards through the darkness and then out, out, back into somewhere familiar, next to a familiar body. He stared across the silver table into the man's black, black unfeeling eyes. He felt Hotch stir slightly next to him, voice still droning on.

He knew his eyes were growing damp and every part of him was shaking, shaking. He wanted to leave, he needed to get out of here right now. He was going to dry retch and empty all the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Something moved inside the man's eyes...something like coiling, wriggling serpents twisting and untwisting, deep, deep within them.

He knew.

Hotch's words meant nothing.

But he looked into his horrified honeyed eyes and he knew. He knew.

And Hotch's words were cut off, when he saw the man's face crumple all at once. Saw it crease and push in on itself like a smashed, rotten piece of fruit. He turned and saw the tears in the younger agent's eyes as the man across the table started to sob uselessly. Spittle dribbled down his chin and snot dripped out of his nose.

"It's my job," he hissed through clenched teeth, eyes boring into the huge brown ones across from him. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me...this is my fucking job."

"Any way to get your fix?" he bit out...knowing...knowing that time when he would do anything...anything for the pinch at his wrist and the venom pulsing down his veins.

"I need to forget..."

"But these men...what they did to you..."

And his face grew tight and harsh, mouth sucking in and turning down.

"I don't care," he spat. "If they pay me, I don't care."

His eyes, narrowed with hate, grew smaller and smaller, almost disappearing into the folds of his face.

"If you cared so much Spencer Reid, why weren't you there? Why weren't your people there when all those people disappeared years and years ago? When a little boy went in and out of the emergency room, his body ripped to shreds? You know he peeled off their skin while they were still alive? Shot them full of some drug to keep them quiet?"

His upper lip curled back, showing cracked, yellowing teeth. Suddenly, all the tenseness seemed to leech out of him, his shoulders sinking, his whole face drooping like he was made of melting butter.

His eyes told him all he needed to know. Burning, condemning eyes that told him, it's too late to try and help me now. Your too late...your too late.

And then the shield went down and the sticky fingers came clawing back in, pushing nails like pocket knifes into his ears and letting everything in his mind bleed out, like pulsing chunks of brain matter.

Those eyes were empty again.

He was gone.

And there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

The morning light oozed through the shades on the window, shining inside the hotel room. His eyes were gummed over and his red face was plastered into the pillow, stuck together with hair and drool. Cluttering noises echoed from the kitchen and a delicious smell filled his nose. Someone was making coffee.

He was up and out of bed in a matter of moments, cringing a little at the strings of hair in his mouth, face flushed and hot. He barreled towards the bathroom.

"Hey sleepy-head," he heard someone call out affectionately. "I'll save you some coffee."

He blinked a little confusedly, mind deadened and dull.

"Th..." his lips felt glued together and he blinked again, licking them, staring down at his hands. "Th...fanks Morgan."

He stumbled into the room and locked the bathroom door behind him. In a few minutes, he was standing under the blistering cold spray of the shower, trying not to slide uselessly down onto the floor. In the privacy of the bathroom, he felt his chest tighten so hard, he thought it was going to warp in on itself and pins and needles prickle behind his eyes. He closed them and let the huge, hot tears dribble from between clenched lids. If he pressed his lips together tight enough, Derek wouldn't hear him.

Uriah Fenton Carmichael had been a real person but...but the team had never actually managed to get any information out of him at all. There'd been a man who was going around killing gay prostitutes in New York and Uriah had been the one who got away. They'd read up on his horrific childhood, raped by a serial killer father, in and out of abusive foster homes ever since, before turning to drugs as a young adult. They found the killer quickly, but not with the help of Uriah. He had sat in his chair and said absolutely nothing.

They'd sent Prentiss and Reid in first, as Uriah was so used to huge, alpha males breaking him down, the team reckoned a female and a young man the same age and build as him would appear less threatening. Then Rossi had tried his hand...then reluctantly they introduced Hotch, although Uriah had shut down as soon as he walked in. JJ had even spoken to him, which had done nothing. Morgan had been a last resort and that had obviously been a bust as well. By then, Garcia had picked up a trail leading them right to the bastard's door and they had to let Uriah go.

Spencer had tried to push him out of his mind. Uriah was the same size and age as him and his arms were covered in puncture holes and that had...unnerved him slightly. He quickly made himself forget, not wanting to dwell on it. He felt something pinching and tingling at the back of his skull, hairs at the back of his neck prickling, eyes burning.

Yet another person who had slipped through the cracks...left to rot in a world without anyone there for them. Routine check-ups at home would've saved him...the signs about his father should have been obvious. Someone should have put two and two together.

He shouldn't...he shouldn't have...

He shouldn't have been found dead two months later, overdosed with his pants around his ankles in an old alley-way behind a bar.

Spencer, of all people, should have tried to help.

He knew how hard it was to suffer through drug-addiction on your own.

He should have done something.

But he hadn't.

Pressing his head into the icy tiles of the shower, he felt goosebumps prickle over his skin. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, he couldn't do this...

For christ's sake, grow some balls Spencer, shut up and stop acting like a goddamn whiny bitch.

He slammed his head against the tiles and chewed at the scabby flesh inside his cheek which he'd chewed at the night before, feeling fresh blood burst onto his tongue.

If the team found out...about how pathetic he was being...

He loved his team like a family...he couldn't deny that. But he was...well...sometimes he wondered...he knew it was stupid but..it was just...he was the youngest by a damn lot and it was a typical psychological reaction for the team to feel protective of each other, after what they'd all been through together, as going through adversity with other people brought a feeling of companionship between the people affected, that was a known fact.

Humans were social creatures after all and one of their most in-built instincts was to build bonds with others. Another instinct built into humans was a nurturing, protective side and it was a proven fact that sometimes the larger your eyes were in relation to your face, the bigger chance you could trigger someone's maternal side. Even vicious predators like the tigress that had nurtured little piglets because that instinctive maternal side had kicked in. Some animals used that technique defensively and as soon as the would-be-predator let its guard down it attacked, which kind've told you that it doesn't matter how weak and adorable something looked, it can still jump up and claw your eyes out if it was put in a fight-or-flight situation. This explained why when humans saw an insect they wouldn't feel exactly protective, but when they saw a kitten or puppy, they might feel gushy and motherly, because large eyes instinctively remind animals of infants who need protecting and really, he couldn't blame the team for sometimes treating him like he was a lot younger then what he was, he did have rather large eyes after all...

Although he knew it wasn't anything personal...the team was protective of everyone...he still didn't want to give them an excuse to treat him like a baby.

He just had to remember what Gideon had told him when he'd first started having work related nightmares and he'd be fine. Perfectly fine. He was a goddamned federal agent for Christ's sake. He needed to toughen up.

Feeling a tiny bit better from that...well pretty testosterone-fueled pep talk, he turned off the flow of freezing water and stepped out to go grab himself a towel and climb into his old clothes from the day before.

Outside in the hotel room, he thanked Morgan again for the coffee and let him chuckle and pat him on the back of his neck.

He was going to be okay. He sipped at the coffee that Morgan always made a bit too strong for his liking. He was going to be perfectly fine. He firmly ignored the pinching, niggling feeling at the back of his skull as he gulped down the steaming, hot liquid, feeling it burn as it went down.

The next few days were full of paperwork. But on the third day, Garcia came bustling in to the bull-pen, all pink scarves and flowery dresses, bangles and earrings clinking as she made everyone in the near vicinity know she was coming through.

"Guys, guys, guys!" she shrieked, grin splitting her face in half, eyes twinkling with mischief as Prentiss, Morgan and Reid all turned to look at her. JJ, who had been talking to another agent, turned around to see what all the fuss was about.

She threw a handful of papers onto the nearest desk, giggling madly. JJ picked one up and a smile grew over face.

"Karaoke night?" she said, raising an eyebrow. Prentiss moaned and fell down head-first onto the desk as Morgan burst out laughing. Garcia clapped her hands together, smiling so widely, her scarlet lipstick and shining teeth nearly engulfed her entire face.

"Yes, yes, yes! You know that bar I took you lovely bunch of kittens to, for my b'day bash? They've started running a karaoke night every Friday and therefore," she tapped JJ on the nose with her fluffy green pen. "We must be there. On Friday. Pronto."

"Karaoke is dumb," Emily said in an exaggerated voice, still face-down on the desk.

"I can't sing," Spencer clucked, looking slightly panic-stricken and Morgan and Garcia laughed even harder, like two evil, diabolical masterminds.

"Well I'm up for it," JJ grinned enthusiastically. "Will can tag along. We'll have to get a babysitter for Henry though..."

"I bet he has a sexy singing voice," Garcia teased. "I'm dragging Kevvy-Wevvy along too."

"I'm up for it, baby-doll," Morgan said. "I know you couldn't miss out on me shaking my thang to ."

She laughed joyously, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Oh honey, you know I wouldn't miss that for the world. Emily my dove, want to unleash your inner goth again and let your singing soul soar for the heavens?"

Emily snorted a little and raised her hand in a thumbs up.

"Reidy? I bet they'd have some Devo for you to shake your booty too," the blond goddess giggled, fluffing up his already tousled hair. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Yeah, you wouldn't even need the words on the screen would ya smart-guy, I bet you could recite every single lyric by heart," Morgan teased. The man pouted a little.

"Actually, an eidetic memory has more to do with mental images, the word is coined from the Greek eidētikos which is from eidos, meaning "form" so I can't really remember the lyrics from a song just by hearing it once, although if I read it..."

Morgan ruffled his hair, a lot harder then Garcia had done, grinning as Prentiss moaned again and JJ and Garcia rolled their eyes in unison.

"Right-o genius, calm down," he said, white teeth shining. "Your going to have to find a better way to use that mouth of yours this Friday night."

Reid saw Garcia choke back laughter and he frowned at her. Morgan stared at her for a second, before he caught the implications behind what he'd just said. He rubbed at the back of his bald head a little awkwardly.

"Very funny Penelope," he smirked before walking off. As soon as he left, JJ sent Garcia her "mother-thinks-your-being-very-silly" look and Prentiss sniggered like a school-girl.

"What? I don't get it? Did that mean something?" Reid asked, completely lost. Penelope was beginning to get a very bad case of the giggles.

"Don't worry your sweet little head over it, my pretty foal," she told him, gathering up her karaoke papers. "I'll see you three divas on Friday. I'm gonna find Rossi and Hotch...I bet they both have a little bit of Beyonce in them somewhere and I'm going to help them unleash her."

The three women burst into another fresh wave of laughter before the blond tech-kitten bustled off again, clearly on a mission from God. JJ said goodbye before returning to her office and Prentiss grinned at the man over the dividers separating them.

"Karaoke, huh Spence?" she raised an eyebrow, dark red lips stretched wide. "You up for it?"

"Of course," he grinned back. "I've been told my voice highly resembles that of Barry White."

The dark-haired woman cackled loudly before chucking a piece of screwed up paper at him.

The bar was small and intimate, with honey colored lighting, fluffy carpets and cushy booths, armchairs and poufs to lounge in. Of course Penelope had convinced Hotch and Rossi to join...Jack was with his aunt at one of her friend's parties. Prentiss and Kevin were squawking along to Uptown Girl on a small stage with a karaoke machine nearby, people cheering and egging them on. Will, snuggled up next to JJ and the rest of the team were all sitting around, laughing and drinking. Garcia had bagged herself a couch, Hotch had gotten a chair and the rest were sprawled around either on a pouf or the floor.

"No, I won't ever forgive you for that," Hotch was saying, a small glass in his hand, eyeing Derek closely. "Your the one who taught my son his first cuss-word."

To the untrained eye, it would look like the man was being serious but the rest of the group knew him well enough to see he was only teasing. Derek sitting on the floor next to Penelope's leg, threw up his hands defensively, grinning and playing the guilty part.

"C'mon man, cut me some slack! Not like I did it on purpose..."

"Yeah, I think dropping Christmas turkey on your foot excuses anyone from letting a naughty word slip," Rossi backed him up, smirking over at Hotch as the rest of group laughed, remembering their Christmas party a year before.

"You know how long me and JJ worked on that turkey?" Penelope griped down at him, taking another sip from her champagne glass.

"Derek, I think you just saved us all from visiting the emergency room with severe food poisoning," Will quipped and JJ made an affronted noise, slapping him and Penelope slashed a finger across her throat in his direction, giggling.

"I think someone's sleeping on the couch tonight," Derek teased back and JJ smirked at him, snuggling back down next to Will as he put an arm around her.

"You know I love everything you do, including your cooking," he told her and she grinned, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"Anyway," Hotch continued, corners of his mouth quirking up just slightly. "I got in trouble with his pre-school teacher. Apparently he saw one of his friends drop a toy on the ground and thought it was appropriate to yell out 'oh shit."'

Everyone exploded with laughter as Derek hid his face in mock shame. Penelope smacked him on the shoulder as Emily and Kevin came running back, out of breath and giggling. Kevin squished in next to Garcia and JJ tugged at Will's shirt cuff, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. He let out an exaggerated sigh and she grinned, wrinkling up her nose, eyes sparkling.

"Anything for you, sweet Jennifer," he drawled and they got up to take on the karaoke machine. The rest of the group cheered as JJ blew them kisses.

"You know," Kevin hiccuped slightly, eyes crossing, plastered to his tech-goddesses' side. "There's a punk cover of the song Uptown Girl, by this band called Me First and..."

"The Gimme Gimmes! I love them!" Penelope shrieked and Rossi made a point of covering his ears. She pressed her red painted lips to Kevin's cheek with a wet smack. "And that's why I love you, my lovely slice of pineapple."

"Pineapple?" Rossi inquired, looking Kevin up and down, as he slowly flushed bright red. "That's a new one."

"What Dave, you have a list of all the nicknames Penelope uses now?" Hotch demanded and that made everyone laugh again. Over at the stage, JJ and Will were doing a soulful rendition of Under Pressure.

"Your looking awfully sleepy Spencer," Emily commented, lounging around on the ground next to Derek. The young man blinked a little, curled up on the ground next to the pouf where Rossi was sitting, drink cradled to his chest. He had been very chatty at the start of the night, but was now content to sit and let the conversation wash over him.

"I'm fine," he replied, lazy smile slowly crossing his face. "Just not feeling very talkative."

"Someone take down the time and date," Rossi teased. "You'll have a headline in the newspaper next morning; Spencer Reid finally shuts up."

He pouted as the group chuckled at his expense. He'd had a few more drinks then what he usually did. For the last three days, his mind had been drifting back to the memories of his nightmares and he had slept restlessly, jerking awake every time he felt himself drifting too far into his subconscious. Hopefully he would be in such a drunken stupor, that he'd have a rather dreamless sleep tonight.

The night drew on, Emily and Penelope dragging him up to do a rendition of Cool For Cats and Derek happily performing Super-Freak for a lot of appreciative women. They even managed to drag Hotch up to sing a bit of Springsteen, before he threw in the towel and gave the mic to Rossi.

Will, JJ and Hotch all had to get home early and as it got later and later, the small crowds around them slowly dispersed.

It was nearly twelve when they decided to head home. They made their way for the door, Rossi offering to drive a tipsy Emily home and Kevin and Penelope talking about calling a cab and picking up their car the next morning. Derek, who never really drank anyway, motioned for Spencer to follow him towards the car-park. Spencer, knowing he really couldn't get home by himself and who'd been driven to the bar by Penelope and Kevin anyway, followed him feeling a little shaky on his feet.

They drove off, Spencer dozing in the front seat, Derek tapping his fingers at the wheel and humming along with the late-night radio. He was going to sleep like a log when they got home. He felt his stomach do a tiny nervous twist. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, he felt his fingers clench slightly into the soft, ribbed material of his cords.

It took them another five minutes to arrive at his apartment and Derek drove up right next to the front doors, before turning to grin at the younger man.

"You good to get up there yourself kid?" he asked and Reid mumbled a little, rubbing his eyes and opening the car door.

"I'll be good. Thanks Derek," he replied. He looked up at the apartment building and the thought of Hannah the cleaner, probably being in her own house by now, crossed his mind. He felt his body tense up all at once...the first of his dreams sliding into his mind's eye immediately. He sat, frozen on the spot.

"You alright man?" he heard the older agent say. He flinched and looked back around.

"Um...yeah...just a little bit intoxicated," he said, trying to keep the sudden nervousness from sliding into his voice. Derek grinned at him, but his eyes seemed to narrow slightly.

"Alright. See you later Reid," he said. "And lay off the Count Chocula, okay?"

The young man gave him a thumbs up and got to his feet, clunking the door shut behind him.

Inside the building, it was deadly quiet. He walked towards the elevator and pushed the up-button, pressing his forehead into the wall to wait for it to come down. He waited and waited, but after a few long minutes the elevator still hadn't arrived. Looked like he was going to brave the stairs.

Was it...just his imagination or was the silence a lot...heavier then usual? He felt something prickle at the back of his neck and he turned to stare down the foyer. He shook his head. He was just acting paranoid, remembering the bad dream from weeks before.

He jogged up the stairs, still feeling hazy from the drinks. At one of the landings, he pressed a hand into the green wall, pinching his nose and catching his breath. The silence of the building seemed to be sinking down on him...did...the walls look...a little too green? Greener then usual? The floor a little too red?

Stop it.

He was being stupid.

He felt his stomach shrinking in on itself and his throat close up. There was nothing here. Nothing at all. No monsters in the shadows, no murderers waiting for him around the corner. He was acting like a child.

When he reached his floor, he slid his hand into his pockets for his keys, his eyes scanning the corridor for anything out of the ordinary. His heart jolted painfully in his chest all at once. Was that a...?

No. It wasn't. With a meow, the tabby kitten pitter-patted down the corridor, stopping to curl around his legs. He sent it a shaky smile, but he still felt sick to his stomach, hands trembling uncontrollably. His eyes flickered over to his front door and he breathed in. He took a step towards it...

Skritch.

...

Skritch, skritch, skritch.

All he felt in that moment was complete blind terror.

It was coming from the ceiling.

There was something in the ceiling.

It was just a dream, just a dream it wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't...

He felt himself sink slowly to the ground, pressing himself up against the opposite wall. He let out a long shuddery breathe, he hadn't even noticed drawing in. He was acting crazy. It was the alcohol making him behave like this. The real Spencer Reid would know he was acting stupid and go the hell to bed and...

Skritch...

Skritch, skritch.

He let his eyes clench, shut as the scratching sounds grew stronger. Oh god...oh god, oh god, oh god. He couldn't go in there. He couldn't. There was going to be someone behind the door waiting for him.

If he ran down into the alley by the apartment, he was going to find Uriah Fenton Carmichael, bloated and rotting, froth ringing his mouth and flies buzzing around his face. There was going to be a group of men in his house who'd push him to the floor and do horrible things to him and ejaculate on his face, there was going to be a man with a scalpel, filling up his bathtub with water, a putrid half-formed baby lying in a pool of rotting placenta on the floor, there was going to be a boy in his bed with his eye gouged out, begging him for mercy, saying he was sorry, there was going to be a boy with no tongue, swollen and crawling with maggots in his cupboard, there was going to be pus-dripping hands hanging from his ceiling, his wall would be stitched up decaying flesh, there would be a woman with her mouth ripped up in a rictus grin beckoning for him to come closer, her slimy intestines curled around her water-swollen feet, there was going to be a boy with vomit in his hair and two huge men, one, sweaty and red-faced with a dead-eyed child on his knee, the other man moving towards him saying "see how I look after you Spencer, look at what I do for you, can't you see Spencer..." They were all going to be there, waiting for him, waiting for him...

There was a tiny meow as the kitten nudged at his shaking hand with its nose. He looked down and it rolled over onto its side, staring up it at him with its huge golden-green eyes. He let his fingers scratch at its soft, grey striped fur.

He couldn't go inside. He couldn't.

What was he going to do?

He suddenly noticed how damp his cheeks had gotten but he couldn't be bothered wiping them. He was drunk and scared out of his mind and now he was crying. Yeah...here he was, Doctor Spencer Reid, federal agent, brilliant genius, who went up against and took down some of the most twisted minds in the country, reduced to a crying drunken mess outside his front door all because he'd had a few scary dreams.

He picked up the kitten, stroking it as it squirmed happily in his lap. So much for the so-called Reid effect. Its soft fur and warm body helped to soothe his rattling nerves only slightly. But whenever he thought of going into his apartment again, he felt his insides freeze up, cold water rushing through his veins, freezing him on the spot. He laid his head against the wall and breathed in hard. Maybe he could just sit here until he got his nerve back. Stopped acting like a complete idiot.

Hand curled in the kitten's fur, he barely noticed as the liquor and lack of sleep took its toll and he slowly, slowly began to nod off.

"Reid?"

He jerked awake with a jolt, sunlight blazing through the corridor. His body was stiff and aching, his mouth like a sewer, a heavy thumping behind his eyes. His hands were clasped around nothing...the kitten sleeping beside him. Blinking confusedly and looking up, he saw a familiar, broad-shouldered figure standing over him, holding two coffees and a paper bag.

"Reid, what're you doing down there?"

The man blinked again and swallowed painfully, rubbing a hand that smelt faintly of cat hair over his face. He tried to pull himself up to his feet and felt every muscle scream in protest.

"Oh ow..." he muttered to himself, as his knees almost buckled underneath him. There was a big hand at his shoulder, steadying him immediately. He swallowed roughly again, feeling the throbbing behind his eyes increase as he pushed his hands into his temples and gasped for air.

"Reid, what's wrong? Talk to me..."

"W-what are you doing here?"

Morgan stared at him beadily, as he wavered on the spot.

"I dunno...reckoned you'd have one hell of a hangover so..." he motioned at the coffees in his hand. Spencer just stared at him for a little while. He remembered the last time he had gotten drunk, Emily had shown up at his door with coffee and take-away. The protective team thing kicking in again, he guessed.

"Have you been sleeping outside for the whole night?" he demanded, something shining in his eyes that made Spencer feel a whole lot more nervous then usual. He looked away, never good at maintaining eye-contact.

"I...uh...um...couldn't find my keys," he said, staring down at where the kitten was curled up, still peacefully sleeping. He felt a sudden pang of jealousy towards it. He could happily live the rest of his life as a kitten. Be a lot less stress...

"C'mon man, how stupid do I look?"

Spencer just bit into his bottom lip, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"I'm not leaving until you give me a better answer, Reid."

His hands clasped around his keys and he drew it out, turning it around and around his fingers. He didn't know how to explain it...he knew whatever he said would sound ridiculous.

Oh god, the vision flashed through his mind again...Morgan, all concerned and caring, telling Garcia about poor Spencer's bad dreams, Penelope clasping her hands over her heart, face falling at the idea of her little baby being upset, being attacked into one of her bear-hugs in the middle of the bullpen, drowning in her perfume and necklace drenched bosom as she cooed over him, JJ and Emily looking at him with sad understanding eyes, Rossi patting him on the shoulder and giving him that look that said, "don't worry little soldier, don't let the big old bad world getcha down," and Hotch pulling him aside to tell him it was alright kiddo, we got your back, don't have to stay up with bad dreams with us by your side, and then everyone fussing over him, sending him little smiles all day, and pats on the back. And Morgan would get him coffee and Garcia would draw a smiley face on one of his folders. And Emily or JJ would invite him out for a movie night and it would all be nice and lovely, and he appreciated the concern, but he should be able to deal with this himself, he should be able to and he couldn't, why couldn't he...?

Morgan took the keys from his hands and moved to open his front door. Spencer looked at him, moving the coffees and paper bag around in his arms before cracking it open. His apartment was no longer a scary place of horrors in the daylight...if Morgan was here the night before, he probably would've begged him to kick the door down and go through the place with his gun pointed...

No. No he wouldn't have asked him that, because that was fucking stupid. He pressed his hands into his temples even harder.

"C'mon Spencer," Derek called over his shoulder. "Sit down."

Derek Morgan had such a "don't-fuck-with-me" voice. It scared unsubs into confessing during interrogations, it was calm and cool, but with a bite to it that clearly said think twice before you try to pull one over him...

But anyway, Spencer Reid could give just as good as he got. Anyone who knew him well enough knew that although he had a nervous smile and jittery hands, he could dig his heels in very, very deep if he wanted too. He'd heard Rossi once hiss to Hotch that "the kid's as stubborn as an ox. He won't do anything I tell him." Anyway, that was back in Rossi's early days and he'd been going about catching an unsub in a slightly incorrect way, and after ignoring Reid's arguments, he'd just decided to ignore Rossi until he realized that of course, what Reid was saying was a hundred per cent correct as per usual...

"Reid," the voice wasn't raised, but there was an undercurrent to it that made him jolt away from his daydreaming. "I'm not going to ask you again, man. Sit down."

There was a slight pause as Reid frowned at him, pushing his hands even further into his pockets. Derek sighed and he saw him running a hand over his face.

"Please."

Hesitantly, the young man stepped forward. He sat down on his small, battered couch, door falling shut behind him. He looked in the paper bag that Derek had set on the coffee table along with the drinks. It held a few Danish pastries and some cinnamon doughnuts inside. Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but Spencer didn't care as he wormed one of the doughnuts out of the bag and took a big bite out of it, powdered sugar raining down to land in his lap.

Morgan pulled up a spare chair and sat down. He looked at the contently munching man and Spencer pushed the paper bag over towards him. He fished out a Danish pastry and bit into it, picking up one of the coffees. Spencer picked up the other and sipped, making a loud approving noise. It was so sweet, it was more like liquid sugar then actual coffee, with a caramel shot and plenty of cream. The other man grinned at him.

They ate in silence for awhile. Spencer knew Derek wanted to get talking, but he was happy to just sit and eat. He really had no idea what to say. He'd slept outside the night before because he thought the contents of his nightmares were going to pounce on him as soon as he walked through the door? He stayed up to the wee hours of the morning, hyped up on sugar and chocolate because he was terrified of what his mind would offer up to him as soon as he went to sleep?

It was so amazingly pathetic, he felt himself smiling despite himself.

Derek just stared at him for a moment and Spencer looked anywhere but at him.

"You know...it's not childish to have nightmares Reid."

Spencer almost felt like rolling his eyes. Of course he had worked it out, he was a profiler for goodness sake and Spencer always wore his heart on his sleeve.

"But it's childish the way I'm dealing with it," he pointed out quietly. "I mean...I've stayed up analyzing all my books and eating sugar and drinking cold water to stay awake...it's absurd."

"There's nothing absurd about trying to deal with bad dreams..."

"Yes there is if I'm a grown adult, with a greatly important job which I need to put my full attention and concentration into. If I can't deal with what I see on the field, what am I even doing here...?"

Morgan just looked at him, as he sighed and played with his food sullenly.

"And...and Gideon said to think of all the people we save. Which is nice and all but...but look where that got him."

Morgan cracked a tight, little bittersweet smile. Spencer fiddled with his hands, feeling a hot dull flush rise in his cheeks. Morgan shifted forward, and steepled his fingers together, looking over them at the younger man.

"Sometimes..." he said, and seemed to pause a little, looking for the right words. "I think the nightmares show us that we're still human."

The younger man swallowed down the last dregs of his sugary drink, sucking his lips between his teeth to taste the last of the creamy moisture at his mouth. He looked at Morgan uncertainly from the corner of his eye.

"I mean...I know that, I know it's good I'm not totally indifferent to the nightmares, it shows the job hasn't...made me cold or unfeeling. But...I don't want to be...scared to go to sleep anymore..."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Morgan...have you ever had nightmares so bad, you didn't want to ever go back to sleep again?"

The older man was quiet for awhile, eyes sharp and intense. He looked away for a bit, sending a hand over the back of his bald head and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah...of course," his voice was suddenly low...quiet...and the younger man raised his eyes to him, watching his Adam's apple bob a little as he swallowed, his lips thinning and his eyes darkening.

"Lately..." and Derek barely ever looked this uncomfortable, his huge muscles tensing in a rhythm under his dark skin. Spencer just stared at him nervously.

"Um...I still get the usual nightmares every now and again. But when you guys get into trouble...I have those kind've dreams that shake me up real bad. Just like anyone else would Reid..."

His words seemed slightly stilted and Spencer knew that he didn't like showing a side of himself that was different from the typical big, bad, tough guy or the protective manly man. He felt something twist up deep down inside his chest as he sunk down slightly into the sofa.

"After...Elle got shot," he closed his eyes a little, letting the words begin to tumble from his mouth. "I had this...dream where...I was out on the tarmac watching her walk off towards the jet. I remember calling out for her...yelling at her to come back right now. But I couldn't move and she didn't even turn around. I knew she could hear me, but she didn't care. She just boarded the jet, not even looking back and the door closed up behind her. I remember seeing the plane fly off and the wind pushed me down. And then I woke up."

Reid could feel his chest tightening and something scratchy itch at the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, eyes prickling.

"And...when Hotch was in the hospital after...Foyet," he cringed a little at the name, the words beginning to bubble out of him like flowing water. "He was smiling at me, in a crowd of people at this train-station. And I couldn't push past them. I remembered it was a lovely sunny day and when Hotch got onto the train, he looked out at me from the window and...I felt everything grow colder. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the people around me started fading away. And Hotch wasn't smiling anymore...he was...frowning. And then the train went around the corner..."

He opened up his eyes and flashed him a small smile, that was so terse and forced, it was more like a grimace. His eyes, to Reid's shock, were growing damp. Reid didn't know how to react...Morgan...he hardly ever showed any vulnerability to anyone.

But he was talking again...so Reid bit into his lip and sunk his nails into his knees to keep himself from trembling too badly, as he listened to the words tumbling from Derek's mouth.

"The one with my baby-girl was the worst," he admitted, rubbing his head again and grinning a little sheepishly, the smile not reaching his eyes. "When she got shot...I had this awful nightmare. I was above this pool of water and she was drowning...kicking and screaming and begging for me to help her..."

Spencer wanted to do something...pat him on the shoulder. Smile sympathetically. It all sounded fake and stupid in his head. All he could do was sit and stare, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and wet.

"I kept trying to drag her up, but something kept pulling her back down...she was in so much pain and I was so scared. And then the water went all black and tarry and she started sinking, making these...gurgling noises. I remember...the last thing I saw before I woke up was her face being covered up with black mud..."

He turned away for a second to brush the pad of his thumb over his eyes. He coughed and cleared out his throat loudly, trying to disguise his emotions the best he could.

"And you, smart-guy...Jesus...your the only one I had a dream about twice..."

Spencer felt his shoulders slowly move up underneath his ears and his cheeks flush scarlet.

"Me?" he said, hating himself for letting his voice go all tight and squeaky. "You dreamt about me? Twice?"

Morgan chuckled a little, although his eyes were still watery and damp.

"Yeah you genius. The first one was...uh, after Georgia..." he hesitated, knowing Spencer didn't like bringing up that time in his life. But the younger man's eyes were wide and curious. So he pressed on.

"It sounds really stupid now but you...you were growing wings."

"Growing wings?"

"Yeah...like a bird. But...it was like you didn't want to. And you were grimacing like you were in pain and yelling out for me to make it stop. Your whole back split open at one point and I saw your face...kinda warp and crack...until you...were turning into a bird...beak and feathers and everything. I grabbed onto your legs to try to get you to stay...but you started flapping your wings and clawing at my face..."

He fell silent again for a moment before he swallowed hard and continued on.

"I had the same dream again after you were in hospital during the anthrax case. It was a bit different this time though. I could see in your eyes that you were in pain...but you kept on...kept on telling me it was gonna be alright. That you had to go. And I was yelling at you to stop being so goddamned stupid, that you weren't going anywhere. But when your face started cracking open and you started flying away...I...I knew I had to let you go...even though I didn't want you to go...and you didn't want to go either. I just knew I had to let you fly away..."

His voice had suddenly become hoarse and choked and he pushed his knuckles into his eyes as hard as he could. The young man could feel his whole body shaking as the wetness slide down his cheeks. He remembered...the weightless, soaring feeling in his chest as his life ebbed slowly away from him. The white light shining behind his eyes. But when he awoke again...there he was...at the end of his bed, eating Jello.

"I dream about...pregnant women being tortured and having their babies ripped out of their stomachs," Reid said, voice catching in his throat as the tears dripped down the end of his chin. "And the kids who used to bully me being mutilated and ripped to pieces...and...Uriah Carmichael. I dreamt about what his dad and those men did to him, except...except those men were doing it to me instead and...and..."

"We can't be the superheroes all the time kid," Derek told him, voice firm through the creakiness. "Sometimes we stuff up. But for all the people we should've helped, there's so many others that we saved..."

"I just...I just don't want to be reminded of all the horrible things we see in the safety of my own home. Why does it have to follow us everywhere? Why can't we have a break from it?"

Derek's eyes bored into his and he swallowed around the huge aching lump in his throat.

"This is the life we've chosen. Everything comes with a price, man...but...but I always try to remind myself...that even though there's nothing we can do to get rid of all the horrible ugly shit in this world...that it's part of the natural cycle, y'know. Good and bad...life and death...they're both always going to be there. And you and me and the rest of the team...we a part of that cycle...and those horrible people out there, are too. We're the ones who help balance the badness out. Without us...without people like us...it would just tip in a heart-beat. And that's why we're here. That's why we do what we do. To keep that balance. To balance the evil out."

Spencer pushed his palms into his eyes, pushing the bubbling tears away. He sniffed, knowing his nose was running and not caring in the slightest.

"What if I...what if I can't deal with being a part of that balance anymore?"

Derek didn't break his gaze, lips just as thin and terse as ever.

"Then you leave...and you figure out how else your gonna belong in this world."

The younger man breathed in hard, biting his lip and exhaling through his nose, making his hair fluff up with the sharp breath. Breathe in, breathe out...calm down. Calm down.

"And you need to know, Reid...your stronger than what you take credit for. Those dreams...they terrify you, hell they'd terrify anyone. But I'd bet a lot of money if you went up against any of that in the real world, you'd get through it...and you would bring those people down. I've seen you do it a million times before and I know you could do it a million times again. You need to have more faith in yourself."

He felt himself swallowing for the umpteenth time, tucking his hair behind his ear and nodding shakily, brushing madly at the corners of his eyes.

"I...I know...I know that...thank you Morgan..." he sucked in air, letting it fill up his lungs. "I was just being stupid..."

"You weren't being anything," Derek told him firmly. "Your only human, Spence. Nightmares like that would scare anyone."

He allowed himself to smile weakly.

"Even you?"

The older man smiled slowly back.

"Especially me, smart-guy."

Spencer sighed slowly as he felt himself sink even further down into the sofa. Derek stacked the empty coffee cups on top of each other and rose to his feet. He looked down at the man from his great height.

"And now your going to get a proper sleep. I don't care if it kills me," he slid the cups into the empty paper bag and flashed the man his pearly white smile, before motioning for him to get up. Spencer obeyed, feeling comforted at the thought of the other man sliding back into his old brotherly role.

"Your not tucking me in, man..." he said half-heartedly as he padded into his bedroom, stepping out of his shoes and quickly getting down to his undershirt and boxers.

"The hell I am," he shot back. "Your going to be tucked in whether you like it or not, pretty boy. I've got two younger siblings y'know, I'm the goddamn master at tucking people in."

Spencer smiled despite himself. He heard Derek grabbing a few spare pillows from his cupboard and an extra blanket as he climbed into bed. He felt the tiredness sweep over him as soon as his head hit the pillow, but the older man was by his side in a heart-beat clicking his fingers.

"Head up," he said and Spencer raised his head dutifully to let him push the spare pillows underneath him. The spare blanket was pushed in tight around him and he couldn't help but grin. It was a bit odd having big bad Derek fluff his pillow and tease him about whether the mattress was lumpy enough, but he couldn't help but enjoy it.

"Sleep tight," he told the man, who felt his eyes slowly droop shut. "I'll be in the front room if you need anything."

He was about to leave when Spencer called out, his eyes still firmly closed; "Derek?"

He heard him pause at the door.

"Yeah Spence?"

Spencer made a half-clucking noise in the back of his throat.

"Don't...you won't tell anyone about this will you?"

There was a silence for a few long moments.

"Of course I won't, kid. You tell them when your ready," he said, voice lower and gruffer than usual. "Y'know they won't ever judge you."

"I know," Spencer replied, voice muffled with sleep. "I just...I just want to tell them in my own time."

Derek made a little noise in his throat.

"That's fine," he told him. "Now get some sleep."

The young man turned over onto his side under the warm, comforting blankets, head sinking down into the pillows as he heard Derek leave the room. He felt himself falling into a deep, heavy sleep once more.

There was a dead tree across the train-tracks and he watched as it's leaves began to unfurl from it's branches and it slowly bloomed back to life. Then the green all fell off the tree and it shriveled and died, before repeating the process over and over again.

He was sitting in a busy cafe, in the railway station, sliding a chess piece across the board, waiting for his opponent's next move.

"Check-mate," came the familiar, fatherly voice from so long ago now. As he pushed the knight across the black and white squares, he felt himself sigh a little in frustration, looking around at his fallen pieces. But in the end, he didn't really care that much. It was a beautiful, sunny day and he was playing chess with an old friend. What more could he ask for?

"I don't think I'll ever win one of these," he murmured self-depreciatively and felt the man's warm gaze looking fondly over him.

"Of course you will," he replied softly. With one hand, he swept the pieces from the board. "Whenever you lose something, you can always reset. Try again. Do a better job next time."

"Yeah," he said, feeling the small smile cross his face and something warm and calm spread through his stomach and down to the ends of his toes. "I know."

He heard the distant blast of the train echo in the distance and watched as the older man turned to look at it, ascending over the far horizon.

"That's my ride," he said as it drew closer and closer. He grew a little sadder, not wanting this to end. The two men rose to their feet and the younger of the two took the other's old, grizzled hand, shaking it.

"I'll see you another time, Spencer," he said, that affectionate smile gracing his lips, his rough but comforting hand clasping his thin, soft ones together.

"Most definitely," he replied back, feeling his eyes sting just a little. The older man caught it at once and the smile grew more tender.

"Don't worry about me...I'll be fine," he told him, voice low and reassuring. "It's just another big adventure."

"Yeah...I know you'll be okay," he said his voice cracking. "But I'll miss you."

He patted his hand with his own firmly, as the train pulled into the station.

"I will too, I will too," he said, his own voice straining, dark eyes going damp. "But I think there's someone here for you, stopping off at this station. And there's going to be a thousand more trains, dropping off a thousand more people every day. It's just the way things go."

The younger man was about to say something, before the train blasted a warning signal loudly. His mentor sent him one last smile and the young man raised his hand in a tiny wave. Beaming widely he turned around to walk off, raising his hand in a wave behind him.

The young man stuck his hands into his pockets and watched him board the train, no hesitation at all.

Just another big adventure.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to see a small, slim figure fall into step at his side. The blond woman grinned up at him a little bemusedly, happy, gurgling baby tucked under her chin.

"What're you doing here, Spencer?" she said, bouncing the baby up and down in her arms. "I was just waiting for Will to come pick us up."

The man felt something stir deep inside of him as he looked down at the chubby baby's sparkling blue eyes and wide smile.

"Um...I was just seeing someone off," he said and the woman's eyes softened.

"I understand," she said, cuddling her child close to her breast. "Look, I think Henry recognizes you. Smile for your Goddaddy Henry!"

"Hey JJ?" he said, as he looked over at the train slowly fading away into the distance before turning back to the infant's cooing face. "Do you want to play a bit of chess while you wait for Will?"

The young woman beamed, her dimples showing in her cheeks, identical to the one's in her baby's cheeks. "It would be an honor."

They walked back over to the cafe table, where he saw the pieces had already been reset. Of course they were reset, he thought to himself as he sat back down in his seat.

Across the rail-road tracks, the dead tree was crawling with black buzzing flies. He looked back around again, licking his lips, stomach churning. The woman's eyes were strange and bittersweet.

"I wish...I wish sometimes it'd just...leave us alone," her voice cracked slightly as she squeezed her child protectively to her chest.

He stared down at the baby's tiny hand clenching and unclenching around the woman's necklace. His fingers twirled nervously around the top of his King piece.

"Yeah..."

The tree collapsed into a huge pile of dust, the cloud of flies disappearing off into the bright blue sky.

"Do you...d'you...think we'll ever escape it?"

The child's eyes were such a deep, unearthly blue, identical to the sweeping skies above them.

"No. Not really."

She hugged the squirming, giggling child even closer to her chest.

"I guess there's always other things we can focus on, rather then...rather then all of that."

From the huge pile of ashes across the train-tracks, green roots began to sprout, leaves unfurling and extending from thin twiggy branches. The smooth, fresh tree-trunk rose higher and higher from the ground, stretching and reaching out towards the soaring heavens above.

"Yeah..." he said again, and he tried to keep his voice from hitching. "I don't...w-we c-can't let it take over...over everything...can't let it take over our lives y'know..."

He felt her fingers gently interlace with his across the table. She softly stroked the inside of his wrist.

"It won't," she told him soothingly. "It'll be okay."

Her eyes were such a dark-blue, they were like the very depths of the ocean. Her voice was so soft, like a faint voice, calling out for him as he sunk deeper and deeper into the sea.

"I promise."

And when he woke up again, twisted under his blankets, his face was drenched with tears and the sobs were catching in his throat. He heard footsteps at the door and felt a heavy comforting hand at his shoulder.

And he just wished so badly, with every fibre of his being, that one day he'd finally be able to believe her.

"We're always gonna be here, whatever you choose to do with your life, do you understand me pretty boy?"

I do.

But he just...

He just wished...

Wished that one day the flies and the decay would just go away.

But the one thought that kept him from collapsing in on himself, kept him breathing, kept his mind from bubbling over;

You see the flies and the decay in real life...you make it go away. You make it better.

"Reset.

Re-order the broken pieces.

Try again.

Do better next time."

He could.

Oh please, he could.

Pleaspleaseplease.

"...try again next time..." words wheezed and cracked from his throat. "Derek...try again next time?"

"Yeah, Spence. You keep on trying for next time."

And he cried until he had nothing left.

And he fell into a white tumbling nothing, big, strong hands splayed against his shoulder.

And he slept...

And he slept.