Author's Note: I've been lost in a stream of midterms, work, and the general Murphy's Law that has been my life lately. But, watching Heroes the other night during this fabulous fight scene between my two boos (Peter and Sylar . . . *sigh*), this idea started niggling at me; because apparently watching a show about supernatural beings makes me crave Criminal Minds.

Well, anyways, as much as I love the whole episode of "Revelations" (who doesn't?!), it's always bugged the crap outta me with how many scenes are missing from it – this one especially. Sew, I figured that the best way to get my toes back in the water, writing-wise, might be to tackle the experience. Thus, this exists.

Warning: Spoilers for Criminal Minds, Season 2, Episode 17, "Revelations." ( . . . duh . . . )

Disclaimer: I don't own CBS. I don't own Spencer Reid, or the television show he stars in. And I don't own James Van der Beerk or his portrayal of Tobias Hankle. And that upsets me so much that I'm going to have to take it out on Reid. Are you happy now, patents. Huh? HUH?

Don't feel obligated to review – it's nice, but I breathe air, drink water, and eat food . . . I'm capable of surviving without them. *Smiles*

Do enjoy

"By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.

Open, locks –

Whomever knocks.

What is't you do?"

Macbeth (Act IV, Scene I)

"Shoot him, you weakling – he's a Satan!"

Spencer Reid stayed uncharacteristically quiet as he lay on the cool, crunchy ground of the large cornfield, his hands held up in surrender and his breathing scattered as he watched what had to be one of the most curious and disturbing phenomena he'd ever seen.

Tobias Hankel, their unsub, was talking to himself.

But, Reid knew, he has no clue that he's doing it.

They had profiled a team of unsubs working together, convinced of the end of the world, and bringing sinners to their reaping as some sort of sacrifice. Only recently, Reid himself had suggested that their "team" might actually just be one killer on a psychotic break, battling with multiple personalities. It made sense, with the level of fanaticism and organization, as well as the little details like the matching shoe sizes and one set of fingerprints found at the crime scenes. And Spencer had read hundreds of books and texts about Dissociative Identity Disorder – their "duo-in-one-mind" theory fit perfectly with the outline of their suspect they'd managed to build.

But knowing all this did little to comfort Reid when he was weaponless and scared at the hands of the deranged murderer standing over him, who was pointing a revolver at him that kept lowering for second, and then raising and aiming steadily at his chest, as the unsub's expression flittered and twisted; different looks were passing over Tobias's face, emotions changing from terrified to angry to contemplative in rapid succession along with his thoughts – a tumble of distorted feeling after feeling.

Reid could have calculated exactly what his odds were of surviving this encounter – not good, he knew – but forced himself not to focus on a very possibly impending death, and instead place all of his energy into pursuing the one tactic that might just be his best chance at survival.

Which was why, as he sat there trembling, he made no move except to lift his hands further in apparent compliance, raise his head so that he was staring directly into the unsub's eyes, and whisper, frantically, desperately, "I know, I know, I know" in response to Tobias's pleadings that he didn't want to kill anyone.

"No – I-I ca-agh – !"

Tobias's voice was grinding, as though he was fighting back a massive headache, and he doubled over in agony for just a second as, his angrier and more dominant personality took over again. Reid made to move a little closer, thinking in the back of his mind that if he could make it known that he was a friend and not foe, then Tobias might put down the weapon. Before he even got a chance shuffle his feet, the muzzle of the gun was pressing directly against his temple, the body before him was deadly calm, cool, collected, and still, and the voice that came from Hankel's face was not, horrifyingly, the voice of Tobias Hankel at all; it was a deeper tone, one full of hatred and menace.

The other personality.

"Get up, boy."

"Ok-kay," Reid gasped as the cool barrel of the revolver was shoved harshly to his forehead, and, trying his best not to fall, he stood, his legs shaking almost as badly as his voice as he repeated his desperate mantra.

"Okay, w-w-whatever you want."

"Move."

Still holding his hands up to show that he had no intention of attacking, Reid was spun around and shoved forward, and began slowly, carefully moving forward as the unsub frog-marched him deeper into the cornfield, the pistol never moving from it's spot on Reid's head.

Spencer didn't know where they were going, or what the unsub's plan was – and that knowledge – or lack of knowledge – alone petrified him more than the thought of being shot.

What were they doing?

What did Tobias – or this other side of Tobias – want with him?

Why?

And why, Reid thought desperately to himself, why, oh why, was I so stupid as to tail him without backup? Why didn't I take JJ with me?

At that, Spencer's eyes, tightly squinted shut before, burst open, and he gaped as he remembered.

JJ.

He had been running back to get her; she had called for help.

She could be hurt.

Reid had to find her, had to help her.

I can't – not like this. I can't lead Tobias back to her, he reminded himself as he stumbled over something on the ground, and the man behind him growled and pushed harder to get moving again.

I have to escape.

He looked around. There were no visible, useful means for a getaway; Tobias had grabbed his gun when he'd punched him earlier, and there was nothing but corn all around them.

I could use my watch, Reid considered briefly, desperate, before realizing that the body of Tobias Hankel, compared to his, was much bigger, stronger, and thicker – he would lose in a hand-to-hand fight instantly, even with the other man being in such a delusional state.

But that's it, Reid thought as he struggled to move more slowly, shuffling and lessening their progress to wherever it was Tobias was taking him. He's switching back and forth so rapidly, with such precious little control – if I can just make it to the next change, I can run while he's distracted with keeping a handle on himself.

His legs were longer than Tobias's, and Reid was sure that, if he could just get a head-start, he could outrun the other man, and hide until it was safe to return to the farm.

Reid didn't smile – he couldn't, not in this situation – but he was very pleased with his plan. And even more so with the fact that, as it was the more violent version of the unsub present now, when the next switch began, he would be left with remorseful, terrified Tobias – increasing his odds for getting away all the more, as the latter man was not a sadist, and would likely be much more confused after regaining control. Maybe just enough so for Reid to make it back to the barn, and to JJ.

They marched in silence for a few moments more, and then Reid felt the slightest, barest hesitation in the weapon being held to his face. A faint haltering, and then trembling.

It was happening.

He stopped, and prayed that the unsub was too distracted to notice as he began to arch his back, preparing himself to flee.

He waited until he heard the first pained grunt of Tobias trying to take over his body again, and then Reid flung himself to the right, turning and starting to run.

Before he could even take one step into the rows of corn, there was a yell, and then a crashing, exploding pain on his temple, blinding the young genius for just a second as he slumped to the ground, his vision darkening.

The last thing Spencer Reid thought he heard before falling unconscious was Tobias's regretful voice, weeping, "No, no, no-ooh . . ."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tobias Hankel squatted low, hands clutching tightly at his ears, trying to look anywhere but at the crumpled figure on the ground before him.

"How could you do that?"

He was running back to the other devils. He had to be stopped.

"There were other ways . . ." Tobias moaned quietly, agonized by the thought of how his father would punish him for allowing this to happen.

It's better that he's dead. Now sit up straight, like a man.

Whimpering, Tobias stood and turned, intending to walk back to his truck to leave – his father said that they had to go now – when he heard a very slight, gasping breath from behind him. Startled, he shot back to the agent lying on the ground, kneeling beside him as he felt for a pulse.

"He's alive!" Tobias couldn't have been happier; he hadn't let his father kill an Innocent, he wasn't going to Hell . . .

Finish him, then. He's a Satan.

"No!" Tobias shouted, gripping the boy in his arms and shielding him from his father. "God sent him to me, and when everything was lost, He returned this one to me. God gave him to me, Father!"

He'll be of no use – dead weight. Kill him – the Lord will forgive you this.

Tobias's voice was pleading and frantic, as he clutched the unconscious man as close to him as he could. "No!" He shook slightly, having never defied his father before. "I c-can't, the Lord won't allow –"

Quit your sniveling! His father roared – he was angry. So angry. That was bad, very very bad . . .

Fine. Put him in the truck. We have to go now.

Nodding, grateful that his father was letting him keep the other man alive, Tobias made to stand, scooping the small, slight body in his arms. As he did, the agent, with his eyes closed and unaware, shivered and made a weak, groaning sound.

He's in pain, Tobias realized, and felt a crushing wave of guilt for allowing his father to hurt someone who had committed no sin.

He shouldn't be in pain.

Looking around to make sure that Charles was nowhere near, Tobias dug deep in his pockets, and his hand emerged a moment later, a needle and small, clear bottle of a familiar drug in his grip. He pulled off the drawstring from the hood of his coat, and looped it around the other man's skinny arm tightly. He waited a moment for the tourniquet to take effect, and then filled the needle with a small amount of the fluid from the medicine container. Tapping out the bubbles, he looked at the soft, sweet face before him, and smiled in a way that was meant to be comforting.

"This'll help you," he assured, as he lifted up the agent's sleeves, and then, nodding, plunged the syringe deep inside his arm, pushing on the end of the needle to make sure that its contents had fully emptied into the other man's body.

In his arms, the boy let out a small shudder, and then moved no more.

Satisfied that he had made things right again, Tobias stuck the supplies back in his pocket, and bent his knees, using only a little of his impressive strength to lift the figure before him, and walked the two of them towards his father's dilapidated old truck.

Seeing his dad nowhere in sight, Tobias opened the passenger-side door, and scooped Reid into the seat.

Keep him on the floor – we don't need the police to see anything.

"They'll never get us; God is on our side!" Tobias protested weakly. Hearing his father growl again, and not wanting to upset him enough to take away the Gift he'd been given, Tobias reluctantly moved the body to the floor. As an afterthought, he removed his coat, and wrapped it around the young man – it was cold out.

Ignoring his father's snort of disgust at this, Tobias, his teeth chattering, climbed into the front seat of the vehicle and stuck his key in the ignition. As he did so, he thought, distantly, he might have heard the sound of police sirens.

Still confident that they were going to be okay – even more so now that this other had joined them – Tobias nonetheless started the engine, and backed out of the cornfield, keeping his headlights low, and the radio off. He spared a glance at the deeply blacked-out man on the floor next to him, and tried to push any thoughts or regrets out of his head.

They had many miles ahead of them.

Author's Endnote: Ahm . . . I think I might have to write more of these. That was kinda theraputic . . . Hm.