Disclaimer: See my profile

Warnings: Graphic descriptions, frightening events, much cursing

Authors Note: I must apologize for the extensive wait, but RL got out of control. But enough with excuses. I hope that you enjoy and please voice any questions that you may or may not have. We are coming close to the end, close but not quite there and my goal is not to confuse. Please do leave a review. Hope that you enjoy.

Previously: It was all Read needed, this small confirmation to fight. To bypass this paradise and return to his reality. His fucked up, shitty wouldn't be would fight for Morgan.

"Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today."-Thich Nhat Hanh

...

Morgan watched Reid's body lurch forward. He watched his friend gasp for air. He watched his eyes flutter open, his hands cradle the jagged metal in his stomach. He watched as he cried out in pain, tears falling from his brightening eyes. He watched him pull his body from death to life. Yet he did nothing.

Hotch rushed from behind Morgan, pushing him aside as he worked to stabilize Reid. Assessing the situation.

Hotch seemed to be the only one thinking clearly. Emily was shrieking, crying heavily as torrents of sobs wracked her fragile body. Rossi stood unmoving, his eyes glazed over as he mumbled, a prayer? JJ, though still far away, could be heard, her sob a piecing sound that blended with Emily's.

"Morgan, snap out of it!" Hotch yelled. He didn't brother to look over at him, his attention was solely focused on Reid. The young man coughing, his movements jostling injuries, the blood flowing faster, his breaths shallow gasps.

He would die.

"Morgan! Morgan!" Hotch was screaming, his coarse throat strained with the effort. Morgan still had not moved. He couldn't shift his attention, he needed to focus on Reid. Only Reid. But, as Hotch analysed his colleagues injuries he was aware that no matter what he did, he would need help. "Morgan! I need you to help me!"

Still nothing, the dark man sat unmoving, his eyes glazed over. Hotch curse under his breath, as his fingers sloppily worked to stop the bleeding. Prevent further damage.

The blood continued to flow. The warm, crimson ooze showing no signs of ceasing.

He could not do this alone.

"MORGAN!? HELP ME! HELP REID!" Hotch shrieked, downing out all other noise. The cabin became silent, the shock began to fade. "MORGAN! ANYONE! HELP ME!" Hotch began to cry, unable to hold back his tears. He dropped his hands to his sides, defeated. "Please.."

He knew there was no one, yet...

"Please. I can't do this on my own..."He looked up from the lifeless body of his young subordinate whose eyes were glassy as they gazed unseeing. Dead.

Reid was dead.

Hotch couldn't help but stare at the young man. The man he had loved as a son.

He had allowed him to die.

All of them.

Hotch turned around, finally seeing through his warped mind, the carnage before him. The death. The destruction. The loss. His eye finally seeing his reality. The fog lifting.

The dead bodies of his family, strewn through the wreckage like leaves. Lax and dead.

His mind relayed the moments following the crash, the nightmare that had left him uncovering the dead members of his team, his family.

He had uncovered them all. And they had all died.

Emily the young, brilliant, dark haired woman lying beside him, dead. Her body twisted unnaturally, her spine snapped. There had been nothing anyone could have done to save her. She had passed on moments following the crash. Hotch had held her lax body in his arms, cradling close as he pretended she was still alive. Through his pain he spoke to her, combing his mangled fingers in her jet black hair. He had not wanted to say goodbye. But he had.

"Hotch." It was barley audible and yet the clarity was unmistakable.

Rossi.

"ROSSI!?" Hotch howled. He searched the wreckage frantically, working to find any clue of Rossi's location. "Rossi?"

Silence.

Hotch waited. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Yet the voice did not come again.

And even as he looked, moving through the wreckage like a madman, subconsciously he already knew the truth.

Rossi would not call out again.

He fell to his knees and cried. How long? He would never know, but he remained.

A small noise.

Hotch gazed over to the corner of the plane and saw the outline of a muscular, dark-skinned man.

Morgan.

A barely alive Morgan who was wheezed and struggling to stay alive. He run over, desperate to keep his colleague from deaths door. He managed to clear away the wreckage that covered him, only for all hope to fade away. He could now see the extent of Morgans' injuries and he knew he would not last.

Morgan would die.

"Hotch?" Morgan asked weakly, through a haze. His mind detaching from reality.

Hotch had held the dark man close, trying to comfort him in his last seconds. He held him tight, he did not want Morgan to go. "I'm here."

"We-we fo..." Morgan's voice trailed off. His eyes closed and his body went limp. He was gone. And just like that Derek Morgan had died.

"AHHHHHH!" Hotch had shrieked, releasing Morgan's dead body from his grip as he jumped to his feet. "NO NO NO NO!" It was like a chant, a blood-churdling rant that emptied Hotch of his humanity. Blinded by his rage, he had barreled into a golden airplane seat that lay aside Morgan's wreckage pile. He had pumped it sending it flying across the floor, revealing what it had hidden underneath.

JJ.

The young, compassionate woman reduced to skeletal remands and charred boiled skin. Her body burned away, the skin charred and raw. But her face remained. And throughout his tears Hotch could glimpse the features of this beautiful woman for the last time. The woman who had lost her life so abruptly, had died a death so unjust. Had it been her scream that he had heard?

Hotch gazed over her calm, serene face. Her broken, destroyed remains and he felt something inside him break. Something crumple from within, something he would never be able to repair.

Hotch said goodbye to JJ. Another member of his diminishing family.

There seemed to be no greater torture, moving from one loved one's dead body to the next. There was no worse punishment, no crueler faith. What had he done to deserve this?

He had lost everything.

Why had they died? Why had he survived? The question repeated in his mind. Over and over...Why?

He recalled the events that had led up to this nightmare. It had been him. This was all his fault?

Why had he survived? The question came again. He had an answer.

Because he needed to suffer...

His body quivered with the memories. Shuddered with the knowing that he had cause this nightmare.

It was his fault.

He had killed them all.

Emily.

Rossi.

Morgan.

JJ.

He found the slightest flutter within his chest. Reid? Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe he had lived and somehow through this nightmare, there would be light. Could it be true?

He found his answer when he uncovered the disjointed hand of his missing colleague. He pulled away rubble and found the rest of him. The rest of his burnt, bloody body that barley clung to life.

Hotch tried to work quickly, pulling away the rubble piece by piece. But his efforts were in vain.

"Reid?" Hotch spoke to the unmoving young man. Would he receive an answer?

There was movement, and once again hope reappeared inside Hotch as Reid gazed at him, his eyes still bright and full of life. "Hotch?" He rasped, his voice displaying his weakness. "I'm not ready to die."

"Don't give up Reid. I'm getting you out." Hotch cried determinately. "Don't you give up on me." He clawed at the pile, his fingers bloodied and raw. He ignored the pain, the new sensations that pelted his body and worked to free his trapped, dying colleague, his family.

Reid was freed by some miracles. But it was evident that his condition was critical.

Like Emily, Morgan, Rossi and JJ, he would die...

Hoth pulled Reid into his shaking arms, trying to ignore the gagged metal protruding from his abdomen, the burns that littered his decaying skin. The evident infection.

"I feel cold," Reid spoke softly, his eyes gazing at something only he could see. He smiled. "Do you see that?"

Hotch looked in the direction Reid was staring but saw only darkness, death. Nothing that would bring him any happiness, or a smile to his face. "What do you see?" He wound not pretend to understand. Reid was going to leave him, venture to a better, happier place and he would be left behind. Alone. "Reid?"

The young man didn't answer. His ragged breaths became nonexistent, his head fell forward as his body went limp. His eyes still open, gazing but not seeing.

And just like that Spencer Reid had died.

Hotch shuddered as he brought his mind back to reality, the memories causing him too much pain. He stared at the relaxed face of Reid, still clinging to his lifeless body. He felt sadness, heartache, but above all he felt... jealous.

"WHY? WHY DO YOU GET TO LEAVE ME?!" Hotch yelled, his mind a red haze as tears streamed down his battered face. "IT"S NOT FAIR!" He threw Reid's dead body aside, pushing himself up to his feet unsteadily. He ignored his physical pain, the throbbing in his heart was whole consuming.

"YOU BASTARD!" He shrieked. "YOU DON'T GET TO LEAVE!" He felt his body shudder, his eyes blinded by rage. Fear. "YOU DON"T GET TO GO!"

Silence. His words solely echoing.

Couldn't he just forget? Recreate a reality where none of this ever happened?

His illusion. The save haven he had created when he had wanted to escape the truth.

He created a world where his family had survived against all odds. Bypassed every expectation or statistical evidence that would suggest other wise. Where he had felt safe. Where he hadn't been alone.

He lifted his tear filled eyes from the comfort of his arms and gazed toward the sky, only seeing darkness in the night. He had never been a religious man, though he felt comfort as he ogled. "I can not survive without my family. I no longer have a reason to live. What is there to live for?" He answered his own question. "Nothing."

He felt his hand grasp what it had been looking for. It gleamed in the light as he brought it to his chest. "I'm done."

He did not have time to act, as a noise erupted through the desolation of the quite. The shard dropped from his hand, his mouth gapped open. "What?" He gasped. He had to be mistaking. Listening, the noise persisted. It was unmistakable.

It was the beep of an alarm clock.

A/N: Please review. Leave comments to what you believe it happening. If you do figure it out, I must applaud you. Thank you for reading! Also, keep in mind this is still not a death fix, despite how it may seem. Next chapter will certainly relive confusion. And once again, I hope that you enjoy.

TBC