Whoops, forgot to put up the little thing:
Sadly I don't own Criminal Minds, this is just an alternate universe where fanfiction comes to life, enjoy~
Chapter Four
Roughly 56,597,034 people leave the world every year. 155,000 a day.
Reid felt his mind slowly balancing between consciousness and unconsciousness, hearing a mixture of noises and sounds. At first there was panic as he felt his body being lifted and poked, something rubbed his arms, tugging tightly. He heard beeps, shouting, a mixture of calm voices telling him that everything was going to be okay; he was just fine; it was a success. He wondered what had happened, where he was at. Was he at a hospital? A home for the insane? He felt his finger twitch as he slowly came above the drug induced coma. Gaining control of his body parts, he forced tired eyes open, startled by the bright lights boring down on him.
The room was quite small, colored white on the walls, ceiling, and tiled floors. Two little blue chairs sat beside his bed, in those seats a sad faced Garcia and worried Hotch. Her bright blue eyes trailed over her boy wonders, bright pink lips quirking in a smile. As quick as a flash she was beside him, brushing loose strands of curly brown hair away from his face, a small tear falling from her eye.
"How are you feeling?" She asked in a gentle tone.
Reid stared at her at first, taking in deep breaths. "F-fine" he managed out. The bubbly blond smiled.
"That's my boy" she said. "I'm terribly sorry to say though, but mommys here to interrogate you."
"My mother?" Reid was taken aback a little. "She isn't aloud out of the hospital without-"
"Garcia no rude nicknames" Rossi's voice startled the boy wonder. Garcia moved away from her friend, taking her place back next to Hotch who was still looking over the young boy.
"Now, Dr. Reid," Rossi drew in the young boys attention. "Why didn't you come to get help."
"Rossi, with all due respe-" Hotch began.
"Agent Hotch, let me ask a few questions."
Reid stared at the higher up agent who was now weighing on one foot. "I-I didn-n't need h-help, or s-so I th-thought" he stuttered out.
"Dr. Reid, you knew that it was bad, you knew that you were hurting yourself and drawing attention from others. Is this what it's all about? Did you want attention of your corrupted life?" Rossi rose his voice.
"N-no! No! No..." Spencer panted. "I-I did it..." He shook his head, closing his eyes. Why did he do it? Why was he self-harming? "Self harming is an addiction...it was...the only way. The only way I could stop that one" he held his head in between his forearms. His body was shaking, a million emotions running through him at once.
"Is that it? You couldn't have your drugs so you took on another addiction?" Rossi glowered at the young profiler.
"It was to much to take, so much to do, so much pressure...bending, breaking...When someone cuts themselves, pain relieving chemicals called Endorphins are released to relieve stress or emotional pain. Most people who cut themselves have experienced problems in their backgrounds that may include low self-esteem, eating disorders, drug or alcohol abuse, impulsivity, neglectful parenting and other traumatic experiences. Many people who cut themselves also have a history of sexual or physical abuse."
"Reid stop-"
"Other self-injurers use it as a means of expressing anger because they feel better taking those feelings out on themselves rather than on others. Many actually enjoy the pain that they experience during the act of cutting."
"Stop it kid, please" Morgan pleaded.
"Millions of American teenagers and adults will voluntarily injure themselves today. Some will cut themselves with a knife or razor Others will burn their skin with matches or a cigarette. Some will hit themselves or bang their heads against a wall, or pull out their hair, or stick needles into or pick at their skin or break their own bones. Millions more will do this tomorrow, and next week, and during the coming year. While the majority consists of young women between ages 13 and 25, both men and women voluntarily injure themselves. Most do so from the early teens to mid-life and beyond. While they may occupy any position in society, nearly all have a common history—they were abused as children. Such abuses range from not receiving sufficient love and attention from alcoholic or mentally-ill parents, or being ignored by self-absorbed or physically-absent parents, to overt verbal, physical, or sexual abuse. The common denominator is that each of these victims feels severe, deep, and ongoing emotional pain."
A sharp pain knocked Reid from his repetitive rants on the text book knowledge of cutting. His eyes widened as he was thrown a little to his side, his cheek stinging. Garcia was shaking right in front of him, tears flooding down her round cheeks. Her hand slightly raised, a red discoloration filling it. She had slapped him. Little Garcia had hit her friend, her older quirky brother. She felt her lower lip tremble as she collided her body into his, hugging him tight.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't take it anymore" Garcia whispered into his hair. "Stop saying those scary facts, please."
Reid felt a smile wear his lips as he hugged her back. "Sorry" he managed to say without stuttering.
"It's okay, but your going to have to stay a few months in rehab. And then you'll have to take a phsyc eval. If you pass it you're welcome back, but you still will be under constant watch" Hotch informed.
"Yes sir" Reid nodded.
"Promise you'll get better" JJ said, leaning in the door way with Prentiss by her side, each woman holding a coffee.
"I promise" he smirked.
"Scouts honor?" Garcia laughed.
"You know what's interesting about Scouts Honor is that If a scout says "On my honour it is so," that means it is so, just as if he had taken a most solemn oath. And that-" Reid started up.
Morgan laughed, rubbing his friends head roughly. "Good to have you back pretty boy" he said.
Reid glared at his older friend, his brother; than at his new family. Adoring eyes echoing hope into the young profiler. He smiled, and finally the young profiler felt all the weight of the world coming off of him, melting away. Happiness and light filled his numb heart, warming up the ice that sat on his chest, melting away all the cold apathy and negative emotions. And he was ready for new emotions. However bitter they were, or no matter how sweet, he was ready for them. Because life was simply as it always was; beautiful.
Hotch says;
"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."
― Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss