"Damn it, Aaron. Talk to me!" Rossi spat the words in his face.

"Or, if not me…then someone! Anyone! But get whatever's inside there…" He pushed a finger with painful force against Hotch's forehead. "…get…it…out!"

It was too much…too much…too much all at once! Hotch's brain wanted to skitter away and hide under something. One of the emergency vehicles. One of the blankets stacked in the ambulance. A cabbage leaf. Anything! Just hide…hide…hide!

But Rossi had hold of his shoulders. A firm grip that would never relent. Would hold him squarely under the spotlight of examination while he squirmed and squirmed and couldn't escape.

"Talk, Aaron! NOW!"

All that emerged from Hotch's throat was a strangled whimper.

AND THAT WAS WORSE THAN ANYTHING! It was the sound of a throat that had been ripped open at the side! A neck that was spurting hot blood into the uncaring air! So warm with his body's departing life that it would steam for a moment! Send fragile, lovely swirls of vapor into the night sky, carrying his soul up with it.

He couldn't breathe! It was happening!

Is this what death is like?! Yes…Peter Lewis whispered into his ear. This is what your death is like. Feel the liquid racing down your neck, your shoulder, your chest. Pooling in your clavicle, pooling under your feet.

He could feel Lewis's moist breath tickling the tiny hairs inside his ear.

"HOTCH!" Rossi's fingers dug into him, jolting him back into his body.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

From a distance, the team watched their leader melt down.

"Jesus Christ. What did they do to him?"

"There wasn't that much time. It didn't take us that long to get here."

"But look at him."

"Jesus Christ…"

"It's the drug. It punched a hole in his reality and dragged him right through it into the unsub's world."

"That doesn't sound very scientific, Spence."

"It doesn't feel very scientific to Hotch. It's still in his system. He's fighting it, but…"

"What? But what?"

"We already know it's a modified hallucinogen. Users' brains can develop highly individualized reactions. Like LSD in the 60s."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning sometimes permanent alterations occur. On a cellular level." Reid could feel the eyes locked on him, building their own nightmare scenarios.

He was sorry he couldn't offer any better comfort than avoiding the phrase 'brain damaged.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi wasn't getting anywhere.

Bullying didn't work. Maybe some other tactic.

He cradled Hotch's face between his palms, forcing the man's wet, brown eyes to look at him.

"Alright, Aaron. Alright. You're safe. No one will hurt you here. I won't let them. Don't look away! Stay with me. C'mon, keep looking at me." When Dave was sure he had the Unit Chief's attention, he lowered his voice, the badgering quality gone. "Alright, Aaron. You opened the door. You went in. What happened next? Start there."

Hotch swallowed so hard, Rossi could feel the vibration through his hands, his fingers.

I know what happened. I saw it. He wanted me to see it…she said so…

Trauma was blurring the edges, but the central image, her words, were clear. Would remain sharp and crystalline 'til the end of his days.

The woman waiting for him. Because she'd been told to. Because it was all for him. Theatre of Blood. Audience of One.

"In here, Aaron…In here…" The manic light in her eyes. The knife in her hand. Her last words… "He wants you to see this."

And then the slice.

And the woman's life ran out of her neck…her neck…her neck…

And the dish ran away with the spoooooon…

And Hotch's mind skittered into a far, dark corner where it could gibber all alone.