The back of Hotch's hand collided with the younger man's cheek. Reid's scream died in the back of his throat as his head snapped violently to the left. Immediately, and with equally vicious force, Hotch swung the same hand forward and his palm struck the other side of Reid's face with a loud, hollow slap. Reid yelped like an abused dog and covered his cheekbones with his cold, clammy fingers, trying desperately to quell the sting. His tongue flickered over his mouth, smearing the blood from a newly formed crack on his lower lip.
"Shut the hell up," growled Hotch, pinning his subordinate's shoulders to the ground.
"Okay, okay… I'll shut up. Just get off of me… please," Reid whimpered.
"I said shut up!" The last word was emphasized by a heavy blow to Reid's face.
Tears welled up in Reid's eyes, blurring the wrathful face above him. His jaw throbbed where Hotch's knuckles had just struck him. He wanted to scream or cry or beg, but he was afraid what the consequences might be for making another sound.
"That's better." Hotch's voice came from a distance and Reid blinked and turned his head; saline spilled from his tear ducts and cleared his sight and he saw that Hotch was now on the other side of the room, sitting on top of the unfinished paperwork on the desk.
"Get up."
Reid sat up and shifted position, attempting to rise from the floor, but his head felt unusually heavy and the room was suddenly spinning.
"Get up and come here."
The young doctor was on his knees, trying to push himself up with his hands because his knees were like ungreased hinges, refusing to work properly. Unfortunately he did not possess enough arm strength to lift his upper body and fell hard on his chest, jarring his head and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Razor sharp pain sliced through the left side of Reid's head and as he lay gasping for breath; he brought a hand up to cover his temple only to touch a wet, sticky substance.
"What the – ?"
Beneath the fresh blood something solid and cold was protruding from Reid's flesh. A flood of shock and panic suffocated him.
"You made me do it," a deep, emotionless voice hissed in his ear. A remorseless voice. "You insisted on disobeying me."
Despite the searing pain, Reid's whole being was overcome by a paralyzing fear. He couldn't move, couldn't even look up to see Hotch crouching there next to him, but a bloodied hand hung in Reid's peripheral vision.
"Oh my God, Hotch, what have you done?" he demanded hysterically, attempting to tug the impaled pen from his temple.
"What have I done?" laughed the mirthless voice. "What have you done?"
"I haven't done anything! Why are you doing this to me? I didn't do anything!"
"Really, Spencer?" a woman's voice echoed from the door. It was a familiar voice.
"M-mom? What are you doing here? You've got to help me!"
"You've got to help me!" the voice mocked coldly. "Why should I help you when you didn't help me? You locked me away."
"No, Mom, please! I can explain..." Reid reached up towards the tall maternal figure that was now hovering over him.
"Why are you talking to a lamp?" Hotch quipped snidely, grabbing the collar of Reid's shirt and yanking him onto the desk.
Sprawled across the hard wooden surface, Reid was sobbing. How were they back at the desk? Where had his mom gone? Had he sent her away again?
Something was tugging at the side of his head. He reached to touch it and his fingers grazed a clotted pool of blood. The pen was no longer there. Reid's hand slipped down the side of his face and landed with a dull thud by his nose. The liquid coating his fingers was midnight black. It was ink. There was ink pouring from his brain.
"Too much loss," he whispered, attempting to stop the leak with crumpled sheets of paper. "Help."
But Hotch was gone and Reid was all alone in the office. Lying on the table, his whole body shaking, he closed his eyes to the dimming world and blacked out completely.
After an eternity or no time at all, a scared voice called into the darkness and stirred the young man's senses.
"Reid!"