Hi everyone! Because I think this chapter is a bit odd, I wanted to post it sooner rather than later. Also, it may be a bit upsetting for some. Thank you for being the best fanfiction readers and reviewers! :) I'll be posting a more substantial chapter this weekend.
"People are strange when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly when you're alone. Women seem wicked when you're unwanted. Streets are uneven when you're down. When you're strange, faces come out of the rain. When you're strange, no one remembers your name." -The Doors, "People Are Strange."
"Hotch?" Reid called down the long hallway, which was rolling with fog. It was so thick he couldn't see his own shoes. His gun remained anchored to his hands, arms straight and pointing towards the ground as he crept forward.
"Hotch?" He called again. Why had they separated? And where was the rest of the team? Why the hell was he always alone?
"Pretty boy?" Only one person would call him by that nickname, and it definitely wasn't Hotch. Spinning into a doorway that rose from the mist, Reid entered, arms now fully extended.
The room was as white, too white, as if he was standing under a very bright, powerful examination lamp. The severity sent waves of pain through his brain. Reid groaned, dropping his defenses to shield his eyes.
"Morgan? Are you alright?" He managed to ask. "Where are you?"
"I'm right here!" Morgan sounded calm, but his voice told Reid otherwise. It was the tone of someone in trouble, but someone desperately trying to hold everything together. It was a infliction Morgan often used to keep order in place when it was needed, and Reid was grateful he had become skilled at detecting this subtlety. Grinding his teeth, Reid became rigid once more, forming the stance he had been taught during his training. The very same stance Morgan had helped him perfect during their years working together.
He took a few steps forward, still unsure what he was walking on because of the thick fog and the painful white light. Just when the room seemed to end, Reid stumbled, nearly falling over. He caught the wall with one hand and it morphed to bricks. The sterile surroundings disappeared and he was outside, yet still enclosed in a room.
"Reid..." Morgan's voice was close, so much closer than it had been before, but it was weak. Reid looked at his feet only to see the crimson waves of red covering most of Morgan's body. Where it was coming from, he couldn't tell, but Reid dropped to his knees almost instantly. His hands fumbled over Morgan's shoulders and chest.
"Morgan..." He chocked, "Don't worry. I'm going to help you. Just concentrate on staying still and awake." Morgan slowly closed his eyes before opening them again. He tried to meet Reid's gaze, but Reid avoided his look. Reid knew he wasn't able to employ the protective canvas that Hotch had mastered so many years prior. Morgan, Hotch, and Emily were better at this self-protection than he was, but the situation wasn't good. If Reid didn't stop the bleeding soon, Morgan wouldn't live much longer. He couldn't let his coworker, one of his best friends, see his fear. He titled his head towards the blood, which was now coating his hands in a thick layer.
"Just tell me where you're hurt..." Reid's hands were stained and he wanted to wipe off the red, start over, and take a deep breath. Instead, he resisted the urge to scream.
"He's worse now..." Morgan groaned as Reid reached for his side, finding the deep hole. What the fuck happened?
"Who's worse, Morgan? The unsub?" It hadn't occurred to him until then that he had been searching for an unsub, but, now, the prospect made complete sense.
"You should know he's worse. It's been bad, kid. Real bad." Reid furrowed his brow in confusion, attempting to stop the heavy flow from the small hole. He didn't know if the bullet, or whatever had punctured Morgan's skin, was still inside.
"I know." Reid nodded, pretending. "I know it's been bad, but we'll work through it, alright?" Morgan shrieked in pain when Reid's hands pressed downward once more.
"I'm sorry, Morgan, but I have to stop the bleeding." Morgan nodded with tears pooling at his cheekbones. Reid had never noticed how pronounced they were before.
"Where's your phone? Call Hotch and tell him that you've been hurt." Reid didn't know why he hadn't thought of this earlier and he wanted to reach for his own phone, but his hands were needed elsewhere. As if Morgan had been electrified, he jumped, yanking at Reid's wrists.
"You have to get out of here, Reid!" Morgan was frantic, pushing his hands away. He tried to sit, but only reached an odd crunch-like state before flopping back to the ground.
"I won't leave you like this!" He protested. Morgan shook his head.
"Find them...Find the rest of the team, kid." An icy cold overwhelmed his body. Where was everyone? Hadn't he been looking for Hotch just moments prior?
"Morgan..." Reid tried placing his hands on Morgan's wound once more, but it had increased in size. Unbelievably, the small hole had become gaping. "You need help. I'm not leaving you...I can't..."
"You have to, Reid." Morgan spoke through gritted teeth. "You're the only one who can fix this." Reid wasn't sure if he meant his injuries or this extremely fucked up situation.
"Mor-"
"Go Reid! Please," Morgan was begging and Reid hated the sound. He pulled back, stopping on his knees.
"I'll come back for you, Morgan. I promise." Reid couldn't stop his throat from closing. Morgan gave him a weak smile, one that Reid had seen on too many victims before, and he understood that he'd be back, but Morgan wouldn't be the same. Nothing would. He was walking away before he had a chance to look behind him. There were more rooms to search.
And, apparently, there were more bodies to find.
Prentiss was four rooms over from Morgan. Reid found her on a bench that was overlooking a set of mountains. When he timidly rounded the corner, he saw her far-off gaze, vacant eyes, and cold fingertips. He also didn't fail to notice the single gunshot hole blasted into her forehead. He pressed both his fingers to her neck, but was not surprised when he didn't feel the uniformed tapping. He stood for a moment, staring at her empty expression, wondering what had happened and what had gone so terribly wrong. Yet, before he left, Reid grabbed her credentials. He wasn't sure why.
JJ wasn't far either, just down the hall, but her body was pristine. No cuts. No marks. Nothing to explain how or why she died, but, somehow, the life had left her. The empty room offered no clues, and Reid hollered in frustration and grief. Why was he too late? Who or what was he supposed to stop? Rage pumped through his blood and he turned to leave, but something made him pause. Turning once more, Reid stopped to cradle JJ's cold body in his stained hands, crying into the golden waves of hair that smelled like lilacs. He added her credentials to Emily's, nudging forward with the sense that he wouldn't like what came next.
He smelled the remnants of flames before he entered the room. Garcia's body was burned beyond recognition, but pieces of scattered, colorful fabric told him it was her all the same. The coils that were wrapped to her limbs extended from a tower of computer monitors that adorned the entire far wall. Although Reid nearly gagged at the smell of her singed flesh, he thought that, maybe, just maybe, Garcia dying among electronics was an appropriate fate. He avoided looking at her disfigured corpse and, instead, focused his attention on the strewn bits of color splattered in odd places around the room. The cheeriness didn't match the starkness surrounding him, but, then again Reid realized, neither did Garcia. Instead of taking her charred credentials, he pocketed an untouched hair ribbon. It just seemed right.
"Hotch!" He bellowed in the hallways, wondering what calamity had befallen the unit chief. Admittedly, the dread in his stomach was growing. By now, three of his coworkers were dead, Morgan had bled out, and Hotch was nowhere in sight. Reid was certain he wouldn't find his boss alive.
"Hotch! Can you hear me?" Spencer was both relieved and horrified when Hotch's calm, collected voice echoed from a nearby room.
"In here, Reid! In here!" His feet couldn't keep up with the rest of his body, and Reid stumbled through a door frame. The fog, he quickly realized, was not fog, but smoke billowing outwards from a small fire burning in the corner. The floor was made of old, uneven wooden slabs that creaked in protest with his every step. Hotch was tied to a chair, and, although he looked beaten, he was alive. Unlike the rest of the team, Hotch was alive. Reid ignored the surge of numb as he rushed to help his boss.
"What happened?" He queried, yanking at the ropes binding Hotch's wrists together. Once freed, Hotch lowered his head, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Reid's stomach rocketed again. Had he ever seen Hotch look so dejected?
"You don't know?" His voice was composed, but there was a darkness weighted inside.
"I don't know. I have no idea, but I can help if you let me." Hotch chuckled bitterly, shoulders shaking, as he brought his head level once more. It was then that Reid noticed Hotch wore one sock, had one bare foot, but his usual black shoes were nowhere in sight. Why this unnerved him, he couldn't tell.
"What do you know, Reid?" Hotch worked at rolling his right shirt sleeve towards his wrist. Reid watched the crinkled fabric cover Hotch's forearm.
"Morgan's hurt, Hotch. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are...dead." He managed to say. Hotch visibly flinched before meeting Reid's eyes.
"I'm not surprised. He's stronger now." Hotch said, rubbing his sore wrists with the fingers of his opposite hand.
"The unsub?" He asked, wondering when he'd understand. Forgetting who or what he was chasing never happened to him. Actually, Reid realized, he never forgot anything. Ever.
"No." Hotch shook his head, standing to his full height with Reid's help. For the first time, Reid realized he was taller than Hotch. He slouched to avoid towering.
"I can't believe you haven't figured it out by now." Hotch's eyebrows met in the center of his forehead.
"What's going on, Hotch?" Reid felt the anger rising, but, deep down, his body had grown cold. The kind of cold he always felt before things went irreversibly wrong.
"It's stronger, Reid." Hotch finally said. "We tried to help you, but, as you can see," Hotch motioned to the odd room they were standing in, "It became too powerful."
"Who...what...are your referring to, Hotch? I can't figure this out without any clues." Hotch nodded, reaching for Reid's pocket. In a flash, he had the hair ribbon and Emily's and JJ's credentials.
"This is proof, Reid." Hotch said with a trace of sadness, shaking his head side to side in obvious disappointment. "You knew it was becoming too powerful. You knew how destructive it would get, but you let it manifest. You could have done something..."
"Wait," Reid blinked rapidly to align his thoughts, "You mean I'm the reason why Morgan's hurt and JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss are dead?" Hotch smiled, flashing his white teeth in a crazed crescent that made Reid's flesh prickle.
"Exactly. We tried, Reid. We really did, but it was too strong."
"I can make it right!" he rushed. "Just tell me what this 'it' is, Hotch. Tell me so I can fix it." Hotch shook his head, eyes focused on something in the doorway. Reid turned, gun reflexively extended once more.
"It's too late, Spencer." The familiar, mumbled voice said. "We're all too late."Jason Gideon stepped from the shadows, edging into view. His face was scratched, as if clawed by some wild animal. Both his eye sockets were eggplant purple and swollen. Reid swallowed, watching how the deep marks cracked and Gideon winced.
"Did...I.."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry." Reid felt his eyes brim with tears. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else..."
"But you did." Hotch's voice came from behind him, and Reid spun once more.
"You know I'd never do this, Hotch." He pleaded for understanding, but the blank expression on Hotch's face told Reid that the man didn't even register his words. "I'd never..." Hotch silenced him by holding up the credentials and ribbon from his deceased female colleagues. Had he really caused their deaths? How come he couldn't remember?
"Hotch, I don't know what happened or how...I can't remember."
"That's because it was too strong," Gideon offered from the door way. Reid let out a frustrated growl.
"What the fuck happened? Can one of you please tell me?"
"Look at your hands, Reid." Hotch said. Reid did was he was told. His palms were stained with Morgan's blood, and the sight burned his eyes. He tried rubbing his hands against his pants, but the crimson color stayed. He pushed furiously against his cords, but the color became darker. The more he tried, the worse it became.
"That won't work, Spencer." Gideon told him, sounding bored with the conversation. "You can't erase what's been done."
"But I can try to be better..." He protested weakly, shooting a pleading look from Hotch to Gideon. To Reid's surprise, Hotch smiled.
"Then prove it."
"I don't know how. What do you expect from me?"
"We expect," Gideon growled, circling Reid like a wild animal stalking its prey, "That you do what you have to do. You're smart, Spencer. You know there are things left to do. There are gaping holes, so to speak." For the first time, Reid wished that Gideon would be more upfront. His abstract wording made everything all the more jumbled.
"Start with what you know." Hotch encouraged, although his tone was less than supportive. Reid squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Morgan, the blood, and Derek's cryptic message. How and why was he the only person responsible for this destruction and its end?
"I'm not sure..." He debated. Hotch's eyes narrowed in his direction.
"There's always a reason." Gideon mumbled, sounding more like he was speaking to himself than to Reid. "We do everything for a reason."
What did I do that's so horrible? How did I make this mess?" Reid's voice was rising with each question, and, if he could hear his unfurling panic, he knew both Hotch and Gideon could too.
"For a genius, you're not too smart." Disgusted, Hotch shook his head from side to side. His lips molded into a fine, white line.
"What?" Reid could barely see through his watery stare. His oscillating feelings, this conversation, and the smoking fire were not a good combination for his tear ducts.
"I didn't kill them..." Reid whispered. He couldn't stop his tears. This wasn't right. Nothing was right anymore.
"Maybe not." Hotch debated, "But maybe you did. In the end, Reid, we're all alone. We're the only one who gets to see our own downfall. It's only fair, you know." Now Hotch was the one talking in abstracts. Reid's brain was beginning to pound a painful rhythm against his skull.
"You're saying, if I understand you right," he attempted to comprehend, "Is that it's not fair to drag others down too?" Gideon jumped, as if electrified by some unforeseen current.
"Now you get it!" Reid's face twisted into confusion. Taking notice, Hotch began to chuckle, but the sound was void and hardened.
"You chose me, Reid." Hotch said, laughing manically. "I have to admit, we were all surprised when you picked me over Morgan or Gideon."
"Yeah," Gideon chimed, now standing on the side of Reid that wasn't occupied by Hotch, "I really thought you'd pick me." He remarked, squeezing Reid's shoulder in a way that should have felt reassuring.
"Guys..." Reid's voice left him when the familiar silhouette appeared by the fire, as if from the fire. Suddenly, the "it" made sense. Reid tried to run, but Hotch was faster, yanking Reid's gun away. The metal clanked across the floor, landing in front of the adjacent wall. Soon, there were rough hands pushing him onto the chair he had freed Hotch from just moments earlier.
"No! Stop! What are you doing? Hotch! Gideon! He's right there!" But his hands were tied. Hotch and Gideon stepped back to his sides, flanking him as the figure approached.
"We have to get out of here!" Reid screamed, comprehending that his two coworkers, probably the two he most respected, had just tied him to a chair.
"Sorry, Reid." Gideon said with a facial expression that told Reid he was anything but sorry. "But this is for your own good."
"Hotch?" Reid whispered. The unit chief's eyes flickered to the team's youngest member before staring straight ahead with soldier-like precision. And, when the familiar man bent to his level, grabbing his right arm and shoving his sleeve up to the elbow, Reid realized it was a trap. There was no way out. No one would save him this time.
"It's alright," Gideon told the hesitating form, "We'll make sure he doesn't escape this time."
"No...please..." Reid tried to beg, but his voice was a cracked whisper.
"Tell me it doesn't help." The voice sang. Reid screamed. The needle plunged downwards and the world became a distant haze.
Reid bolted upright, screaming, face slick with tears, and covered in a layer of cold sweat. He concentrated on working his lower body free from his tangled sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body shook, and, instinctively, Reid reached to the familiar folds in his elbow, half-expecting to feel and see the small injection point. At the touch, he stomach heaved, and he rushed to the bathroom, narrowly missing vomiting in the toilet by a mere matter of seconds.
"It was just a dream..." He mumbled to himself, falling backwards from his heels to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest as his tailbone dug into the hard tile floor. The pain reminded him of his own body, so Reid pressed harder. What had happened? Resisting the urge to be sick again, Reid recalled the strange dream, its weird fog, bloodstains, and Hankel's all too familiar needle. What had Hotch said? It was stronger now?
"You're okay." Reid reassured himself, feeling the tremors work their ways to each one of his extremities. The sensation felt too much like withdrawals, and Reid buried his face in his shaking palms, trying to make sense of everything.
Morgan wasn't hurt, his female coworkers weren't dead, and Hotch and Gideon hadn't ambushed him. He wasn't responsible for anyone's death or downfall. After a few silent repeats, these facts became tangible. Reid grabbed the edge of the bathtub, hoisting himself upwards. Both of his hands rested on either side of the sink and he looked upwards, startled by his own reflection.
His hair was skewed, sopping with sweat, and plastered to his damp forehead. In the fluorescent light, his skin appeared translucent and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Reid sighed, letting his head roll forward. The tense muscles at the back of his neck stretched, but did not give. When he spoke, Reid stared into the sink basin.
"It was just a dream about Tobias. He's dead. It wasn't real." His voice echoed off the walls, causing Reid's arm hair to prickle. This isn't over yet, he thought. You need closure and you know there's only one way to get that. Reid sighed again, ignoring the thought while moving towards the shower. The water came on with a rush of steam, and Reid shuddered at the looming memory of fog.
The hot liquid stung his bare skin and Reid tilted his head back, allowing the water to wash away his nightmare, Gideon's betrayal, and the months behind him. The warmth eased his tense muscles and Reid stood, immobile, allowing the pleasant sensation to relax his hyperactive nerves. You've been back a full night and you're already having nightmares, he internally berated. That didn't take long. But the dream, even with its obscurity, felt so real. Hotch's deadpan stare, Gideon's garbled words, even Morgan's warning-why had the feelings it evoked been so poignant and raw? Would this loop never be over? Reid shook his head, flinging water droplets to each side of the shower. Would he ever be able to put this behind him? Would he ever understand?
"You know what you have to do, Spencer." It felt odd to be speaking aloud to himself, mainly because his mother often did so during an episode, but Reid also know he didn't even feel remotely crazy. In fact, with the warm water pulsating onto his body, his thoughts seemed more lucid than they had been as he struggled between tangled sheets. Reid reached for his shampoo bottle and poured a nickel-sized dollop into his withered palm. For a while, he concentrated on scrubbing his too-long hair, rinsing the product, and continuing with his other showering rituals. The routine slowed his racing mind and, by the time he stepped out of the shower on the fluffy bathmat, he knew what needed to be done. Reid made a mental list as he dried his body and yanked clothes off the hangers in his closet.
He found the familiar messenger bag by the front door and Reid rushed around his apartment, shoving his FBI credentials, overnight clothes and toiletries, his cell phones and chargers, and a book into the bag. In the kitchen, he made a few pieces of toast with a thin layer of butter. His stomach still felt too queasy to ingest anything heavier. With a pained look at his new coffee maker, Reid vowed to use it when he returned. By the front door, he pulled on his fleece, grabbed his keys from the hook, and headed for the bus stop across the street. He would go, make his peace, and be at the BAU on Monday before anyone noticed he was gone.
