Thanks for reading! I'd just like to let you know that there are probably two or three more chapters left of this story, and also that I'd like to add a warning for character death. Just in case I feel like killing someone. You know.

Everything sounded like nothing and smelled like asphalt.

Reid became vaguely aware of his arm moving back and forth—who was doing that? Was he having a seizure?

Reid moved his head slightly—no, not a seizure. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness of the room, a young boy's face came into view—a face covered in ashes and blood and tears—mouthing the same words over and over, although Reid was incapable of understanding them.

Stephen.

Reid tried to sit up—but he realized that he was still attached to the chair.

"Stephen," he gasped, his voice barely coming out, "The key…" He could only just make out the faintest hints of his own whisperings as his hearing gradually returned to him.

The boy just stared at him, with wide eyes. "Dominique," he whispered softly.

Reid's eyes made their way over to the limp form of his previous tormentor—her gun lay several feet away from her, discarded. Reid wondered for several seconds whether she might be unconscious; before he saw the slab of granite that had landed on her chest and the large pool of blood that had soaked through her blouse.

Gritting his teeth, Reid reached for the body—he caught hold of Dominique's arm and pulled her towards him, letting out a loud grunt of effort. Stephen just watched him in stunned silence.

Reid pulled the body further towards him, then desperately reached for the pocket of the now blood-stained pants; he rummaged around blindly for several moments before his hands touched something hard and metallic.

Yes.

Hands trembling with excitement, he crammed the key into the keyhole of his handcuffs, twisting it around for several moments before he finally heard the click.

Stephen watched him silently as he wriggled his way free; he got to his feet, then checked himself over. He didn't appear to have been injured badly at all—the thing that had caused him to pass out was his head hitting the floor when the chair fell over.

After he had finished checking himself, he glanced over at Stephen—he, too, seemed to be relatively unharmed, although extremely terrified.

"Are you alright?" Reid asked him seriously.

He just stared at Reid with wide eyes. "Fire," he whispered eventually.

Reid's head flashed towards the doorway; he could see the smoldering remains of cement blocks lying in piles; there was a giant, gaping hole where the door should have been. Reid glanced up—he could barely see the specks of light shining down from the ceiling, and figured that they must be very deep down in the basement—whatever impact the building had suffered, it must have hit the gas tank, and now the basement was the only place left that hadn't been burnt to smithereens; however, it wouldn't remain safe for very long.

"We have to get out of here," Reid said to Stephen.

The boy pointed a trembling hand at the limp form of Dominique.

"She's dead," Reid snapped. "I'm sorry. We can't help her anymore. If we stay here, we'll be dead, too. Got it?"

Stephen nodded slowly; but his eyes were still wide, as if he were in a trance.

"Come on," Reid said; he grabbed Stephen's hand and pulled him through the doorway, looking for anything that might have once been a staircase. He pulled the boy through the smoldering piles of rubble; Stephen was perfectly silent, following attentively and perfunctorily, until another cascade of rocks fell down and missed the boy by inches.

"Help me!" the boy froze in place, his eyes wide, flickering from side to side as if he were a rabbit trapped in a cage.

"It's alright," Reid said urgently, "We're going to be fine. We have to keep moving."

Stephen shook his head back and forth rapidly, ripping his hand away from Reid's and clasping his hands over his ears. "We're going to die," he whimpered, "We're going to die, Dr. Reid…"

"No, we aren't, its fine, as long as we keep moving," Reid insisted. But Stephen didn't move. He remained very still, clasping his ears, his eyes staring at the ground.

"We can't give it to them," he whispered softly, as if reciting something from memory. "They want something from us…some kind of sanction…but if we value our lives, we must not give it to them…" He covered his face in his hands. "Project X is all that awaits us," he muttered. "Project X is all that awaits us. Project…Project X…"

Reid grabbed the boy's chin and forced him to look at him. "This doesn't have to be like the book, Stephen," he said. "You and I are friends now. You just need to trust me, and we'll be fine. I promise. Alright?"

Stephen stared at his face with wide eyes, unspeaking. "You promise we'll be alright?" he whispered.

"I promise." Stephen stared at him for another agonizing moment; however, after what appeared to be some careful deliberation, he got to his feet and put his hand in Reid's once again.

Reid was just about to give the boy a reassuring smile when he was aware of another rumbling, similar to the first one; he stared up at the rocks piled high above him with wide eyes, then turned to face the child in front of him.

"Stephen," he whispered, his mouth going dry. "Run."

Hotch stared at the building in front of him as it gave a final lurch, the cinderblocks giving way and falling into the ground. He sighed, then turned towards the army general.

"Is Quantico secure?" he asked.

The general nodded gravely.

"Any survivors from the building so far?" Hotch asked.

The general shook his head. "The top levels were incinerated immediately," he said. "I'm not going to send my men in to try and rescue survivors, if there even are any. It's a suicide mission."

Hotch nodded slowly. He and then general approached the building, which had ceased to show any signs of explosion for several minutes. "All's quiet here," the general murmured, raising his eyebrows. He turned to go back towards his men.

It was at that moment that something caught Hotch's eye.

"Wait," he muttered slowly. The general turned around.

"You see something?" he asked.

Hotch shook his head, thinking that his mind was playing tricks on him. "No," he muttered. "Never—wait." He was certain of it this time; he had seen one of the rocks move, ever so slightly. "That boulder—it's moving—"

"Of course it's moving," the general said, "The building's falling in."

"No, it's moving…up." He blinked. "Like someone's pushing it."

The general frowned, squinting at the building. "Which boulder did you say…?" But Hotch had already started walking. When he saw the boulder move again, he broke into a sprint. "Someone's trying to get out!" he shouted to the general, who was gawking at him with an open mouth.

Hotch knelt down next to the rock; he knew that there was no reason to believe what he was thinking—he didn't want to think the name, lest he let himself hope—but there was some human being trapped down there, and he was going to try and help them get out.

Hotch grabbed the boulder and pulled at it with all of his might. "Help!" he shouted at his colleague; the confused general came ambling over, then knelt beside the rock.

"We'll move it on three," Hotch said, projecting his voice as loud as possible; so that not only the general could hear him, but the person below, as well.

"One," Hotch gasped, tightening his hold on the rock, "Two," he braced his feet against the ground, "Three!" After a moment of pulling with all of his might, Hotch felt the boulder give way; the momentum of the pull caused him to fall backwards, lying on the ground with an undignified "huh!"

As he lay on the ground, slightly stunned, he saw the general reaching his hand into the hole; a blackened, ash-stained hand rose up to meet it, and seconds later a figure emerged from the hole.

For a split second, Hotch felt a shudder of disappointment—the figure was so covered in soot that he was practically unrecognizable. But the disappointment only lasted for a moment, before he felt a swell of disbelief and elation and happiness and wonder as he beheld the familiar figure in front of him. "Reid," he whispered, the word sounding strange on his tongue; the young man he'd more or less condemned to death an hour earlier was now standing in front of him.

Even more striking was the fact that Reid appeared to be carrying the limp form of a small boy.

"Get the paramedics down here, now!" the general shouted at the hill. He turned to Reid. "Are you alright?" he asked. "You'd better sit down."

Reid didn't move. He was staring at the child in his arms; the young man was very still, yet his eyes gave away a rather fevered, panicked intensity as he looked at the boy's face.

"Reid," Hotch said, taking a step forward—but Reid didn't move. Slowly, as if in a daze, he lowered the boy to the ground. Hotch noticed with a jolt that the child's eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.

"Jesus Christ," the general muttered.

Hotch stepped forward and took hold of Reid's arm, firmly. "Reid," he said. "You need to see the paramedics now."

Reid made no indication that he had heard him, until Hotch tightened his grip and tried to pull him away from the child's body. He resisted with a strength that Hotch had not originally believed him capable of in any circumstances, let alone in the condition he was in. It was as if Hotch wasn't even there.

"Stephen," Reid whispered, staring at the open eyes of the child. "We didn't give it to them."

"Reid," Hotch said, "We're going now." With the help of the general, he lifted Reid and managed to pull him away from the boy—Reid seemed to give in suddenly, as if he were too dazed to fight back. He turned his face towards Hotch.

"I broke my promise," he said, his voice sounding flat and hollow.

Hotch shook his head wordlessly—he tried to hold the young agent's gaze, tried to offer some sort of comfort or reassurance; but something in Reid's eyes frightened him. There was something dark; something poisonous; something that spoke of the depths of manic nihilism, of nonsensical and chaotic tragedy, of a damage that could not be reversed. Hotch had seen variations of it in men before; but this time, the look was coupled with his own feelings of guilt and loss. Hotch felt a quiet horror settle deep inside of him, and he couldn't help but look away.

"Come on, Reid," he muttered, his eyes on the ground. "Let's get you to a hospital."

Thanks for reading! I hope I didn't depress anyone too terribly. Please, please review and tell me what you think!