Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS, not me.

JJ stepped carefully through the wet leaves covering the uneven dirt, old oak trees casting long shadows in the moonlight. Cold wind bit at her cheeks but she pressed on, watching the sweep of her flashlight over the sodden ground. The plantation grounds were quiet, almost peaceful.

Crack.

She stumbled at the sound of the gunshot. "Shots fired! Shots fired!" she heard someone shout, and adrenaline pumped through her veins.

"Reid!" Hotch screamed, and she knew it was bad if Hotch was screaming, Hotch never lost his composure, never sounded panicked...

She ran over the side of the ridge and looked down. There was the old cemetery, crumbling gravestones circled in a wrought iron fence, and in the beams of the flashlights she could see a limp figure lying in the red clay.

He can't be dead, he can't be dead, he can't be dead…

JJ skidded to a stop. There was a body on the ground, yes, but there was someone huddled beside the corpse in the cold dirt. Her flashlight beam caught wide bright eyes in a pale face.

Spencer.

"There he is," Hotch said, and JJ holstered her gun with shaking fingers. Spencer crouched over the body of his captor, his shoulders heaving, staring at them in wide-eyed disbelief.

Hotch got to him first. He knelt beside Spencer and took him gently by the arm. "Reid," he whispered, and Spencer blinked hazily. Hotch helped him to his feet, catching him as he wavered. Spencer gazed around the circle as if he didn't recognize them. He didn't even have the strength to hold himself upright, his knuckles going white as he clutched Hotch's arms.

Hotch shifted him in his grip and made him meet his eyes, searching his face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Spencer blinked and touched Hotch's shoulder, as if he needed to reassure himself that he was real. "I knew you'd understand," he said in a small wobbling voice, and he threw his arms around Hotch's neck. Hotch hugged him back tightly. Spencer looked so small in his broad embrace and she saw the tension begin to drain from Hotch's shoulders.

Spencer let go first, still gripping Hotch's shirt sleeve, and scanned the people standing around the tombstones as Hotch held onto his waist. His eyes locked on JJ's.

She didn't know what to say, or what to do, but Hotch took Spencer gently by the arm and guided him towards her, tugging his arm around her neck, and she lunged for him. He flung his arms around her and she hugged him as tight as she could; his knees buckled and she held him upright, letting him press his chin into her shoulder. "I am so sorry," she whispered in his ear.

"t's all right," he said, his voice surprisingly strong. He cupped the back of her neck, as if she was the one deserved comforting, and her eyes welled up. "It wasn't your fault."

He let go, trying to smile at her, and his balance shifted sharply. She looked down and saw his feet were bare against the cold wet undergrowth. She ran her hand over his back, helping him balance as Gideon put an arm around his waist, letting him lean into his shoulder. "Let's get you out of here," he said.

JJ stepped back and she caught Morgan's gaze. He was watching Spencer, his eyes suspiciously wet, and he nodded towards her. She half smiled, brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. Hotch was right. All was forgiven.

She caught up with Hotch, her hands deep in her pockets. "He's dead?" the sheriff was saying, clearly shocked.

"Our agent shot him," Hotch said.

"Is...is the kid okay?"

"He's alive."

"Should we call an ambulance?"

Gideon caught JJ's elbow. "It'll be faster if we drive him ourselves," he said. "Hotch, JJ. I want the two of you to take him to the hospital. The rest of us can secure the scene."

"Where is he?" Hotch asked.

"He needed a minute," Gideon said.

JJ squinted in the dark. It was starting to rain now, a soft wet drizzle that soaked into her hair. She could see Spencer standing next to the body, arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders slumped. "He's going to be okay, right?" she said.

"Let's get him help at the hospital first," Gideon said. "We can repair the rest of the damage later."

She watched Morgan approach Spencer cautiously, palms up. Spencer took a hesitant step towards him and Morgan caught him against his chest. Gideon and the sheriff kept talking, but she tuned them out. Spencer was limping badly; Morgan pulled his arm over his shoulder and kept his other arm tight around his waist.

Hotch stepped away from the conversation. "We're going to take him to the hospital, the sheriff is calling ahead so they know we're coming," he said. "Morgan, you and Prentiss stay with Gideon and secure the scene. Coroner is en route."

"I can go with him," Morgan argued.

"Morgan," Gideon said. "Let Hotch and JJ take him. We need you here."

Morgan didn't look very happy with that response. "Help us get him in the car," Hotch said. "Gideon, call me if you need us." He came around on Spencer's other side and took hold of his arm.

"Come on, pretty boy," Morgan coaxed. "Almost there. We got you."

Spencer raised his head. "Are we going home?" he asked.

"Hospital first, then home," Hotch said. He opened the back passenger door of the SUV. "JJ's going to sit with you, okay? We'll be there soon."

He caught her eye and nodded towards the open door. She took the hint and climbed in first. "Come on, pretty boy, you can do this," Morgan said as he hoisted Spencer into the backseat. JJ caught him, twisting around on the bench seat so he could rest against her shoulder.

Hotch dug around in the trunk and tossed a spare jacket at JJ. "He's freezing, cover him with this," he said. She draped it over his shoulders, tucking the edges around his arms.

Morgan leaned into the SUV, squeezing Spencer's knees. "We'll see you soon," he said. "Don't worry. You're gonna be okay."

Spencer nodded, his eyes glassy over in the dim overhead light. "Thank you for finding me," he said.

Morgan smiled. "Don't make it a habit of getting kidnapped, kid," he said. "But we'll always find you."

He closed the door as Hotch got into the driver's seat and revved the engine; the light switched off and left them in darkness. "Nearest hospital is about forty minutes away," he said.

"Forty?" she repeated.

Hotch turned on the sirens. "We'll make it less than that," he said.

Spencer shifted against JJ, trying to brace himself. "I don't...I don't need to go to the hospital," he said. He pushed himself upright and the jacket slid off his shoulders. "Can I just go home?"

"We need to get you checked out," JJ said. Even in the low light she could see the dark blood dried and cracked on his temple and cheek; she smoothed his hair back, looking for the injury. "I know you'd rather go home, but at the very least we have to make sure you're clear to fly."

He shivered, hard enough for his teeth to chatter. JJ picked up the oversized jacket and guided his limp arms through the sleeves. His skin was like ice. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she pushed the cuffs over his hands.

"I'm so glad we have you back," she said.

Spencer didn't seem to hear her. He stared blankly in front of him, shivering, his mouth drooping. She touched his cheek. "Spence?"

He raised his head sluggishly. "Hm?"

JJ frowned and reached overhead to turn on the lights. Spencer was pale, dangerously pale, and his pupils were dilated. "Hotch, I think he's going into shock," she said. She raked Spencer's hair away from his forehead. "Spence?"

He sighed, soft and shaky. JJ touched the side of his neck; his pulse shot rapidfire under her fingertips. "I just want to sleep, I think," he said. "I'll feel better...once I get some sleep."

"No," she said, anxiously searching his face as his pulse raced. "No, Spence, I need you to stay awake for me. Stay awake, a little bit longer, just until we get you to the hospital."

His face crumpled. "But I'm so tired," he said.

"I know," she said. She took his hand and squeezed tight. His palms were raw with erupted blisters. "I know, but you can't sleep. Not yet. Stay awake. Talk to me."

"About what?"

"Everything," she said. She shifted him against her, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing her other hand to his chest. His heart beat rabbit-fast under her palm. "Tell me everything you'd like."

He obeyed and talked hesitantly, softly, giving her facts that she barely understood because all she needed to hear was his voice. His energy was waning fast, she could tell, and she guided his head to lean against her shoulder.

"How's he doing?" Hotch asked.

JJ looked up, almost surprised to see lights and buildings flashing by out the window. They were back in civilization. "He's holding on," she said. "How much longer?"

"Ten minutes."

She brushed Spencer's hair back from his forehead. "You hear that? Ten minutes," she said. "Almost there. Stay awake for me, okay? Stay awake. Just a little bit longer."

"Do I have to keep talking?" he rasped.

"Just a little bit longer," she repeated. "We can't let you go to sleep."

He sighed heavily. "I can...I can't…" He coughed hard. "Can't think of...anythin' to talk about."

"Okay," she said. "It's okay. Don't worry." She looked out the window, searching the skyline. "You don't have to talk. We're almost there. Stay awake for me."

She kept her arm around his waist, holding him tight against her side, and her other hand rubbed his chest in soothing circles. Every so often his eyes started to slide shut and she nudged him awake.

Hotch pulled the SUV into the hospital parking lot and parked as close to the emergency entrance as he could. "Let's go," he said, and JJ winced at the sudden rush of cold air as he opened the passenger door.

She shifted Spencer up and towards the open door, bracing his arm to keep him from falling. "Don't worry, I've got you," Hotch said, and he caught Spencer by the elbows as he stumbled out of the car.

JJ climbed out after him and slammed the door shut. "It's freezing, we need to get him inside," she said.

Spencer swayed like he was drunk. "Give me...a second," he whispered. "I'm gonna..."

He doubled over and vomited on the pavement, catching Hotch in the crossfire. Hotch grabbed him around the waist before he could fall. Spencer kept coughing and choking but there wasn't much in his system, and soon he was bringing up nothing but air and bile. "Deep breaths," Hotch said quietly. "Slow, deep breaths. You're all right."

"'m sorry," Spencer mumbled, his breath coming as a wet wheeze. He stayed half-folded in Hotch's grip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm so sorry…'

Hotch sort of smiled. "Reid, I have a toddler," he said. "I've been puked on so many times I've lost count." This didn't seem to make Spencer feel much better. "Come on."

Spencer took a heavy limping step and JJ stopped him. His feet were bare against the cold pavement. "Hotch, don't make him walk," she said. "He's hurt, and without his shoes-"

"I can walk," Spencer said, but Hotch picked him up in an easy gesture, one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. "I can walk, you don't have to carry me…"

Hotch carried Spencer into the ER despite his protests. It was deserted at four in the morning, not a single soul there except the nurse at the reception desk. Hotch set him down gently in a cracked vinyl waiting room chair. "Wait here. They're expecting us, I'll let them know we're here," he said.

JJ looked at Spencer under the painful fluorescent lights and her heart dropped. He looked terrible. His skin was yellow and waxy, making the dark bruises on his arms and face look even more vivid blue and purple, and he was filthy. She sat down beside him and took his hand in both of hers. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He shrugged, his jaw working silently. "We made it," she said. "We got you out of there. We're going to get you help. Everything's going to be all right now."

He stared blankly at the floor. "Tobias is dead."

"I know," JJ reassured him. "He can't hurt you."

Spencer's face crumpled. "He's dead," he repeated, his words slurring. "He's dead, and I-" He coughed hard. "JJ, I don't feel good."

She tucked his hair behind his ear "I know, but don't worry, they're going to take care of you," she promised.

"I don't…" he started to say, but his voice trailed off and he slumped in the chair, his head falling forward.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, catching him by the shoulders. He'd gone completely limp, his body heavy in her arms, and she staggered under the shock to lay him down on the floor. "Spencer, what-"

His eyed rolled back in his head and a violent tremor ran through his body. "Hotch!" she screamed, and Spencer started to seize.

She knelt on the floor, watching in horror as his muscles contracted tight, making his body jerk sharply. Hotch leaned over, his heavy hand on her shoulder, as several nurses bent over Spencer. "You have to let him ride it out," he said. 'There's nothing we can do. They'll take care of him."

It seemed like an eternity, watching Spencer's limp body buck against the unyielding floor, his long arms and legs uncontrolled, his head slamming into the tile over and over again. She touched his hip gingerly, the only part of his body she felt she could touch safely. The convulsions started to slow. Hotch squeezed her shoulder and she placed her hand over his fingers.

Gradually Spencer went still, his jaw still working compulsively and a soft keening noise breaking from his throat. "There we go, honey," one of the nurses said. "Under four minutes. Perfect."

"Is he all right?" Hotch asked.

"We'll see," she said. "We'll get him settled in a room and get him checked out."

"Can we stay with him?" JJ asked. She rubbed Spencer's bare ankle. "I don't want him to wake up alone."

"Sure, honey, sure," the nurse said. "He'll be a little tired, a little confused. Might help him to have a familiar face there when he wakes up."

"You go with him, I'll check in with Gideon, let him know we made it," Hotch said.

JJ nodded. "I'll stay with him," she said.

And she did, she stayed close as they loaded Spencer onto a gurney and brought him into a private room. He didn't make a sound as they settled him on the bed, the starched white sheets a sharp contrast to his dirty pale skin. She watched his face anxiously for any signs that he might be waking up as they worked over him, removing his tie and cutting off his sweater vest, setting an oxygen cannula in his nose.

She hadn't realized that one shirt sleeve was rolled up and she frowned. "What are those marks on his arm?" she asked.

"Looks like track marks," the nurse said, probing at the inflamed red dots in his inner elbow. "He must have been injected with something. A couple of times, it looks like."

JJ bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. What else did Hankel to do him?

A tech worked over Spencer's arm, attempting several times to start an IV. "Hey, can you give me a hand? He's so dehydrated his veins are collapsing."

They got the IV in his arm eventually, taping the tubing in place and hanging the bag of saline. A nurse moved Spencer's hair away from his temple, a little too briskly, and cleaned the wound near his hairline.

"He's going to need a couple of stitches."

JJ looked away and paced a little. Thank god he was unconscious for this. They sewed him up quickly, six neat black stitches marching across his temple.

A nurse cut away at Spencer's pants, leaving him dressed in just his dirty button down shirt and boxer briefs. He looked horribly, impossibly young, and JJ swallowed down the lump rising unexpectedly in her throat. And now she could see that his left ankle was swollen to twice its normal size, the skin red and purple with bruising. No wonder he couldn't walk.

"Come help me with this, he's covered in splinters. What the hell happened to him?"

"We don't know, exactly," JJ said. "We know some of what happened, but not a lot." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "What's wrong with his ankle?"

"Broken, or maybe badly sprained. We'll take x-rays in the morning."

They worked over the soles of his feet, pulling out splinters until the skin was red and raw. His ankle they wrapped and elevated on a pillow before draping an icepack over it. They cut off his button down shirt- she could see the bruises on his chest where Tobias Hankel dragged him back from the dead- and dressed him in a hospital johnny buttoned at the shoulders. He was still dirty, still pale, but he looked cared for.

The nurse used a syringe to draw clear liquid from a small glass vial. "What's that?" JJ asked.

"Dilaudid, it'll help with the pain and let him sleep," the nurse said. "We can't give him a lot, it's pretty addicting, but we'll do what we can." She draped a stiff hospital-issue blanket over Spencer. "We'll let him rest for now. We'll bring him in for x-rays in a little bit. How about you just sit with him for a while."

JJ nodded. The nurse set a chair down beside the bed and left the room. She sat down slowly, watching Spencer's face. He was still pale, but the terrifying waxiness had faded away. Gingerly she stroked her fingertips along his arm, feeling the steadiness of his pulse.

She had almost drifted off herself when she saw his lashes flutter. She rubbed her eyes and stood up, watching his face anxiously. His eyes tracked rapidly back and forth behind his closed lids and his lips parted. She squeezed his hand gently, careful of the bandages over his blisters.

His eyes opened slowly and traced around the room. He tried to speak but nothing came out but a panicked whimper. "Hey, hey, sh," she soothed, leaning over him and smoothing his hair away from his forehead. "Do you remember what happened?"

He hesitated. "Tobias?" he rasped.

"Yeah, we got you from Tobias," she said. "Hotch and I drove you to the hospital. That's where you are now. Do you remember?"

He nodded. "Head hurts," he rasped. "And my stomach."

She kept stroking his hair. "You had another seizure," she said. "In the waiting room, when we got you inside."

He blinked. "Another one?" he whispered. "I didn't...I don't remember…"

"You had a seizure while Hankel was holding you captive," she said.

He looked confused for a moment, but recognition flashed in his eyes. "I had a seizure," he repeated. JJ ran her thumb along his jawline. He choked out a sob. "I...I died. JJ, I died."

His face crumpled. "You're safe now," she reassured him. "Spencer, I promise. You're safe."

He looked up at her and raised his arms- Spencer, who feigned confidence and shrugged off all their attempts to care for him, sweet but stubborn- he raised his shaking arms like a child begging to be held, and she did, she hugged him tightly, pressing her hand to the back of his head. He cried into the crook of her neck, huge sobs that wracked his slender frame. She rocked him in her arms, pressing kisses to the side of his head, and she let him cry without telling him to stop or calm down or pull himself together.

Spencer cried until his body went limp with exhaustion, his sobs quieting into the occasional hitching breath. JJ didn't move him, just let him lean into her warmth, hoping that it comforted him. She stroked his narrow back in slow up-and-down lines.

"I'm so tired," he whispered into her shoulder.

"I know," she said. "You have to be exhausted." He leaned away from her, his eyes red-rimmed and tears clumping his lashes. She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead gently. "Lie down. You'll feel better."

He obeyed and she tucked the blanket around him, careful of the IV in his left arm. He dozed off in seconds. She touched his cheek, drying a left-behind tear.

"He's asleep?"

JJ turned around to see Hotch in the doorway. "Yeah," she said.

Hotch didn't answer. He stepped closer, gazing down at Spencer. "I've never seen him like that," he said.

"Me neither," she said. "He bottles everything up. If they didn't have him drugged up to his eyeballs on painkillers, he might not've said anything at all."

Hotch was quiet, but his eyes were soft. "Go get some rest," he said. "I'll sit with him."

"No, I'm not tired, I-"

"I'll sit with him," Hotch repeated, gently but firmly, and she knew better than to argue.

She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in Spencer's blankets, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. "You'll call me if he needs me?" she asked.

"Absolutely."

She didn't want to leave him, but Hotch wasn't giving her an option. "Don't turn all the lights out," she said softly. "He's been in the dark for too long."

He was in the cabin.

He was in the cabin, and he could smell the hot ammonia of burning fish guts, taste blood and bile in his mouth. He could feel the sharp pain in his ankle, the throb of a headache in his temple, pressure against his ribs, metal cutting into his wrists. He was cold, he was so cold, and no one was coming…

He lurched upright, IV tubing pulling at his arm, trying to pin him down. He wasn't in the cabin, he wasn't, but he didn't know where he was and he was alone again…

Spencer threw up. Cold oxygen flooded his lungs through the plastic tubes in his nose but he couldn't catch his breath, and he threw up again all over the blanket that scratched at his legs.

A warm hand cupped the back of his neck. "It's okay. You're okay, just breathe."

He struggled to obey, gasping and coughing, and the hand moved to brace the small of his back. "You're okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

He coughed again and swiped at his watering eyes. "Where...where…" he tried to ask.

"You're in the hospital."

He shuddered, cold tremors running through his limbs, and he remembered. "JJ?" he whispered.

"It's just me."

Spencer squinted at the figure standing by his bed. The bedside lamp had been left on, casting a warm cheerful glow, but his vision was blurry. "Hotch?"

"Yeah, it's me," Hotch said. "I'm going to call the nurse, okay? We'll get you taken care of so you can go back to sleep."

Spencer nodded. He slumped forward, his eyes half-lidded. The oxygen settled in his lungs, helped him breathe again. Dimly he heard the nurse and Hotch talk in low voices. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but at the same time he felt like he could never sleep well again.

Cool hands poked and prodded at him and he scrunched up his face. "JJ?"

"She's asleep," Hotch said. "I can go get her right now."

He shook his head and immediately regretted it. "I want to sleep," he mumbled.

"I know," Hotch said. The nurse injected something in to his IV tubing, flooding a chill into his veins, and he shivered. "They're going to give you something to help you rest, and something for the nausea. Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?"

"Mm-hm," he said.

The medicine kicked in quickly. It wasn't as powerful as the dilaudid, but it helped, and his stomach stopped twisting. He floated pleasantly between sleep and awake for a little while, and the last thing he remembered was Hotch's broad hand resting on his forearm, the weight reassuring him, grounding him.

He faded in and out throughout the morning on a soft medicated haze, vaguely aware when they took him for x-rays and a CT scan and brought him back to his room. He was never alone, though, there was always someone sitting beside him even if he couldn't focus long enough to see who it was. Mostly he just slept, deep dreamless sleep where his mind stayed quiet.

He woke up to sunlight streaming through the window. He was still tired, but it was a lighter kind of hurt, softer, almost a pleasant ache.

"Well, good morning, sunshine."

"Morning?" he mumbled, trying to push himself up.

"Hey, hey, hey, not so fast, pretty boy," Morgan said, catching him and helping him sit up. "It's about three in the afternoon, you've been sleeping for most of the day. How're you feeling?"

"M'okay," he said, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his hand. The oxygen cannula bumped up against his nose.

Morgan brushed his hair out of his eyes. "How about a scale of one to ten?" he asked.

Spencer exhalted slowly. "Five?" he said. Maybe a six or seven, but he could undersell it.

"We can handle a five," Morgan said. "Hey, you hungry? They brought you a tray about half an hour ago but you were still out like a light."

He hadn't remembered that he was hungry until Morgan mentioned food, and now that the nausea had subsided he was starving. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm hungry."

Morgan got him settled and pulled the plastic wrap back from the tray. "It doesn't look great, but it's something," he said.

The portions did not look enough to be substantial- rice, soup, jello, applesauce, toast. He reached for the jello cup first.

"Hey, wait, dessert goes last," Morgan said, prying the cup out of his hand. "Nah-uh. Eat that first, then you can have jello."

Spencer scowled. "You're not my mom," he said.

"Somebody's gotta be right now. Eat your toast."

Spencer scowled as Morgan leaned back in his chair and turned on the television. Reluctantly he picked up a spoon and shoveled the plain rice in his mouth. The meal was bland, but it filled him up surprisingly fast.

"Good. You earned your jello," Morgan said, handing him the cup.

Spencer peeled back the foil lid. "Where's everyone else?" he asked as his spoon broke through the surface of the red-tinted gelatin.

"Gideon and Prentiss at finishing up at the station," Morgan said. "JJ and Hotch are tying up loose ends at the Hankel place with Garcia. And it's my turn to be on Reid-watch. Gideon was here earlier."

"When can I leave?" he asked.

"As long as they give you a clean bill of health, we're gonna bust you out of this joint today," Morgan said. "We'll fly home in the morning. As long as you're up for it."

"I'm up for it," Spencer said, jabbing the spoon into the jello.

Morgan was quiet for a moment. "You know, you've gone through a hell of a lot over the past couple of days," he said. "You don't have to be okay. You don't have to put the brave face for our sakes." Spencer was silent. "You know you can talk to us, any of us."

"I don't…" he started to say. He thought of the dark cabin, the smell of burning bleach, the life draining from dark mournful eyes. He looked down at his hands. "I...thanks. Thank you."

Morgan smiled at him. "You still hungry?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"Are you hurting at all? I can call you a nurse, get you some of those good painkillers."

He paused. "Morgan, do they still have my stuff? The clothes I was wearing when I...I mean..."

"Yeah, they saved everything," Morgan said. "It's all bagged up. Don't worry."

Spencer sank back against the pillows. "Oh, good," he said. "That's good."

"Are you sure you don't want any pain meds? You're looking a little rough."

"Morgan, I just got held prisoner for twenty-four hours in a cabin that looked like it was straight out of a horror movie," Spencer said. "I'd be surprised if I didn't look rough."

He had tried to make a joke, but Morgan's brow furrowed in concern. "Reid, you were missing a lot longer than that," he said. "Almost two and a half days."

He faltered. "I was?" he said.

Morgan got up, patting his knee. "I'm gonna call the nurse and get you meds," he said.

The meds weren't much more than industrial strength ibuprofen, but they helped, and exhaustion was already beginning to pull him back down. He drifted off to hazy half sleep, dozing off to the sound of Morgan's Superbowl recaps on ESPN.

He woke up when the doctor came in to check him over, shining a flashlight in his eyes and probing at the stitches in his forehead. Morgan stood close by, arms folded, asking the questions Spencer was too tired to ask.

"How's his ankle?"

"A bad sprain. He'll be fine if he stays off it and rests for a few days."

He wasn't good at resting.

"How's the concussion?"

"He's responding well. He'll probably feel a little out of it for another day or so, but I don't see any reason for concern."

He didn't know he had a concussion, but it wasn't that surprising.

"Anything else we should be looking for?"

"The bruising on his chest and wrists should clear up in a few weeks. I'm more concerned about the seizures. Two in a short span of time is a little worrisome. Keep an eye out, he may be susceptible to more seizures in the future."

Two seizures? He didn't even remember either of them. The first one, a little, but definitely not the second.

"He's clear to fly though, right?"

"He should be fine, just monitor him closely."

At least he'd be able to go home.

In the end the doctor cleared him and Morgan signed off on the discharge paperwork. A nurse came in and disentangled the oxygen cannula from his face and the IV from his arm, pressing a bandaid in its place. "Your go-bag is still at the hotel, but they've got these for you," Morgan said, handing him a set of plain blue scrubs. "They're gonna get you a brace for your ankle too, but you won't need that longer than a week. You need help?"

"No, I've got it," he said. "Just give me a second."

"All right," Morgan said. "I'll be right out in the hall. Call me if you need me."

Spencer slowly unbuttoned the hospital johnny and set it aside. His whole body was sore in spots that he didn't know could be sore, but he pulled the top on carefully. The pants were harder; he leaned his elbows heavily on the edge of the bed to brace himself up. His sore left ankle hit the floor too hard a couple of times, hard enough for him to mumble a couple of choice words under his breath, but he managed to dress himself and sit down hard on the edge of the bed, the room spinning.

"Hey...Morgan?" he called. "Hey, I'm ready to go."

Morgan stuck his head in the room. "All right, let's hit the road," he grinned, but his smile faded. "Kid, you okay? You're white as a ghost."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because if you need to stay in the hospital an extra day or two, it's fine, we can always-"

"I'd rather leave," Spencer said. "I'm not...I'm not a huge fan of hospitals."

"That's fair," Morgan said. "Sorry I don't have any shoes for you, but...guess what." He rolled a wheelchair out of the hall into the room. "Look what I found."

Spencer sighed. "I don't need a wheelchair, Morgan," he said.

"Yeah, you do. Come on, pretty boy."

"I'm fine, really, I'm fine," Spencer protested as Morgan helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

JJ ignored his protests. "You have his pain meds?" she asked.

Morgan shook the white paper bag. "I got 'em," he said. "One every four hours, or as needed. They put him on a round of antibiotics too."

Spencer scrunched up his face. "You got my clothes, right?"

"Yeah, that too," Morgan said. "They're pretty torn up and bloody though."

"I know, I just…"

Morgan squeezed his shoulder. "We all gotta handle things our own way," he said. "JJ, you got this?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine," she said. "Thanks, Morgan."

Spencer watched the door close behind Morgan and sighed. "I don't need a babysitter," he said.

"I'm not your babysitter, I'm just...keeping an eye on you," she said. "Plus, you're not exactly super mobile with your sprained ankle. You at least need someone around to get you things."

He huffed and brushed a limp lock of hair out of his eyes. "I suppose I can agree with that," he said.

She smiled. "You need anything right now?" she asked. "Are you hungry?"

"I think I just want to take a shower," he said. He tugged at the neckline of the borrowed blue scrubs. "And get out of these."

"That's probably a good idea," she said. "I can get your clothes for you. Think you can manage the rest?"

He was already pushing himself up from the bed. "Not a problem," he said.

JJ hid a smile as Spencer limped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Stubborn and self-reliant to a fault. He had to be on the mend already if he could sass back.

She unzipped his go-bag and dug around for something he could sleep in, eventually finding a soft gray tee shirt and a pair of striped flannel pajama pants along with a pair of boxer briefs. He didn't have much in the way of comfortable clothes; she made a mental note to figure out what he could wear for the plane ride home in the morning.

She tapped lightly on the bathroom door. "Spence?" she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the sounds of the shower running.

"...hm?"

"I got your clothes. I'm putting them on the bathroom counter, okay?" She opened the door enough to put the clothes down. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Uh-huh."

She closed the door behind her and surveyed the hotel room. Morgan had left the pain pills by the TV and the patient belongings bag propped up on the floor by the dresser. She frowned. Spencer was so insistent about it. Why did he need to keep the bloodied clothes they'd cut off of him?

Someone knocked on the door. She opened it to find Garcia standing in the hallway, her arms laden down with bags. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I know, I know, Hotch said we should give him some space, but I couldn't help it," Garcia said, a little sheepish but clearly still unrepentant.

JJ opened the door a little wider to let her in. "He's taking a shower right now," she said. "Come on in. What'd you get?"

Garcia held up a brown paper bag. "I figured he'd be hungry," she said.

"You're probably right," JJ said. "Morgan said he ate what they gave him at the hospital, but that was a while ago, and I'm sure it wasn't very good."

Garcia unpacked black styrofoam boxes from the paper bag onto the table by the window. "I stopped by a local place," she said. "I didn't go too crazy, but I know what he likes. Oh, and-" she held up a plastic Target bag. "I know the young doctor isn't so fond of clothing that isn't sweater vests, but I'm sure that doesn't make for the most comfortable outfit to travel in, so I got him a few things."

"Garcia, you're an angel," JJ said.

She beamed. "I try," she said. "And I figured...this was the best way I could be useful." Her bright smile faltered. "Is he...is he really okay?"

JJ looked down at the carpet. "He's...he's in pretty bad shape, but he's going to be fine," she said.

"No, I mean...we saw what Tobias did to him, and that has to only be a fraction of what he went through, and-" Garcia exhaled heavily. "What else did happen to him?"

"He hasn't really said," JJ said. "He's been pretty out of it. I imagine he won't be ready to really talk about it for a while." She squeezed Garcia's arm. "I'm sure he'll talk when he's ready."

The bathroom door opened and Spencer limped out, his wet hair hanging around his face. "Garcia?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to see you, sunshine," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just tired," he said. "A little sore, I guess."

Garcia cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on each cheek. "You look wonderful," she said. She pulled him into a warm hug. "Oh, I was so worried about you." She pulled back, surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes behind her blue-rimmed glasses. "You just... you just get some rest, okay?"

She hurried out of the room and Spencer hid a yawn behind his hand. "You hungry?" JJ asked. "Garcia brought you some dinner."

"Yeah...yeah, I think I'm hungry," he said. He hobbled slowly over to the table and she pretended not to notice his heavy limp. "This definitely looks better than hospital food."

"I'm sure," she said. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to change." She set the plastic utensils down for him. "I know you don't want a babysitter, but I'm sleeping in here with you tonight." He opened his mouth to protest. "Someone has to wake you up every couple of hours, Mr. Concussion."

"Fine," he grumbled. He scrunched up his face at her. "Shouldn't it be Dr. Concussion?"

"All right, Dr. Concussion," she said. "Eat your dinner. I'll be right back."

She had already moved her things from her room to Spencer's; she picked up her pajamas out of her go-bag and crossed to the bathroom to change. They'd all bickered over who was going to stay with Spencer, but Gideon had decided on her and that was that. She didn't mind. She was grateful. A part of her still kept reminding of her guilt, every time she looked at him.

She brushed her teeth and tied her hair back into a ponytail, then picked up the blue hospital scrubs discarded on the floor. After a moment she threw them away, stuffing them into the small trashcan. Spencer wouldn't want to keep those.

She walked back into the room to find Spencer still at the table, his spoon dangling limply from his fingers as he rested his chin sleepily in his hand. "How's dinner?" she asked.

"Great," he said. "I'm just getting really tired."

"That's normal," she said. He'd eaten most of his dinner, that was a good sign. She pried the spoon from his hand. "I think you're ready for bed."

He pushed himself up out of the chair and swayed, catching himself on JJ's shoulder. "I can't put any weight on my ankle," he grimaced, the words bursting out as if he'd been trying to hold them in.

"That's okay," she said. She wrapped her arm around his waist. "I've got you."

He leaned heavily on her, his steps unsteady. She helped him over to the bed, tugging the covers back, and he sank down. He looked better now that he was clean, but his eyes were purple-shadowed with exhaustion.

"Come on, lie down," she coaxed. He obeyed, too tired to argue, and she pulled at the covers to tuck him in snugly. She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Do you need anything?"

"Hm-mm."

She stayed there for a moment, stroking his damp clean hair, but he was asleep almost instantly, his breath rising and falling deep and steady. After a while she turned off most of the lights and left him to sleep.

He dreamed he was in the guidance counselor's office. He was eleven, maybe ten, his legs too short for his feet to touch the floor. He slipped a little bit off the wooden chair, the tips of his scuffed sneakers dangling precariously. The guidance counselor sat at her desk, shuffling through papers, cool late morning light filtering through the window behind her.

"Spencer, I was informed about your parents' divorce," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear about that."

The counselor had a collection of snowglobes on the shelves behind her desk- little plastic knickknacks from New York City and New Orleans and San Antonio covered in a liberal coating of dust. He stared at them. "There's one divorce filed about every thirty-six seconds in the US," he said, distracted.

"Yes, well...divorce can be very difficult for a child."

Sixteen snowglobes. This lady had sixteen snowglobes lined up on the shelf, and she wanted to talk to him about how his father walked out.

He realized she was looking at him, waiting for him to say something. "Pre-adolescents often struggle with their parents' divorce because their sense of self-awareness amplifies their pain, but they lack the skills to cope with the situation," he offered.

This didn't seem to be the response the guidance counselor was looking for. "Spencer," she said gently. "I don't think that you've properly addressed that your father leaving you is a traumatic experience. It's okay to talk about what you're feeling right now."

A tiny plastic person had broken away from its base in the Honolulu snowglobe, resting on the fake sand. He imagined picking up the snowglobe and swirling it around, watching the poor little person with its crudely painted face rushing around and around and around in a sweep of dizzying iridescent glitter.

"Spencer?"

He opened his eyes and stared into the dimness of the hotel room. The light had been left on in the bathroom and the door was cracked just enough to let a little light spill into the dark. He could hear the clank and whirr of the heater, smell the industrial detergent scent of the sheets. The guidance counselor was gone, replaced by JJ sitting on the edge of the bed, her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Just a second and you can go back to sleep," she said. "Tell me what year it is?"

He sighed heavily. "2007," he said.

JJ smiled. "Good," she said. "Go back to sleep."

He didn't think he'd be able to fall asleep, but he did, sinking hard and fast. This time he dreamed he was in school again, but he was in the physics lab, skipping lunch to sit alone with homework spread around him. He could feel the slick texture of the secondhand textbook with its battered corners, the slight pull of hunger at his stomach, the way the silver stool wobbled as he shifted his weight.

But he wasn't working on his homework. He held a makeshift blindfold in one hand, a folded piece of lined notebook paper in the other.

I heard you think I'm cute. Well, I think you're pretty cute too. Meet me in the physics lab at lunch...but close your eyes or you'll ruin the surprise.

He'd found the note in his locker that morning before homeroom. Amber had signed it at the bottom in her swirly, swoopy writing in purple gel pen. She was a freshman- four years behind him in school but two years older than he was. She was all long blonde hair and big green eyes and bubbly laughs that could be heard over all the noise on the bus ride too and from school.

After a long moment, he tied the blindfold over his eyes and he waited. He sat in the dark, listening to the sound of his own steady breathing, and then he heard footsteps on the tile floor.

"Hi, Spencer."

He swallowed hard. "Hi, Amber," he said.

"I see you got my note." She was close to him now; her long hair brushed against his arm. "You've been waiting for me."

"Uh-huh," he said. "You said...you said you had a surprise for me?"

"I sure do," she said. "I think I'd like to kiss you, Spencer."

The blush started in his chest and warmed all the way up his neck. "Really?"

"Uh-huh, really," she said. "Just sit very still. And wait."

He obeyed, his heart pounding in his chest. She was painfully close now; he could smell the sweet pea scent of her perfume.

And then she grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up over his head, dragging the blindfold with it. He yelped as the sleeves peeled off his arms. "What are you doing?" he screeched, tumbling off the stool.

He could see Amber now, laughing that beautiful bubbly laugh with his tee shirt in her hands. "Oh my god, they said you'd fall for it, but I didn't think it would be that easy," she said.

"Picking on Reid is like shooting fish in a barrel," another voice said, and he looked up in horror to see the next class filtering into the lab, carrying their backpacks and books and staring at him. He grabbed his shirt out of Amber's hands and ran out of the room, out into the hall, but people were staring at him there too and he kept running, running, running…

"Spencer?"

His eyes flew open. Again, the dimly-lit hotel room. Again, the sound of the heater and the smell of detergent. Again, JJ sitting beside him. She wasn't smiling this time. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Bad dreams?"

His mouth went dry. "Something like that."

She stroked his hair back from his temple. "You were tossing and turning," she said. "I think you're due for your next painkiller. You want one?"

He nodded. She got up, the bed shifting, and he pushed himself into a sitting position. The room spun and a cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He didn't want the painkiller, he wanted the dilaudid, wanted the bliss and the warmth and the disembodied forgetfulness- but he didn't want it, didn't need it, it wasn't him.

JJ sat down next to him, a glass tumbler of water in her hand. "First, though," she said. "When's your birthday?"

"October 28th," he said, his eyes half-lidded.

"Thanks, Dr. Concussion," she said. She tipped the pills into his hand; when he popped them in his mouth she handed him the glass. The water was soft and tepid but he drank quickly. JJ took the empty cup back. "Hopefully that helps. Go back to sleep, okay?"

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the painkiller to kick in, falling into that dizzy sick feeling of being too tired until he started to doze.

This time his dream was unfamiliar. And that itself was unfamiliar. He remembered everything, didn't he?

He was home, home in Las Vegas, lying on the living room floor reading. It was Friday; he'd stopped by the library on the way home from school to stock up for the weekend. He was engrossed in his reading, until a firm knock on the door startled him.

He remembered everything, except the things he chose to forget.

He answered the door with his book under his arm. "Hello?" he said.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" He nodded. "Is your mother home, sweetie?" He nodded again. He was usually good at talking to grownups, definitely better than trying to talk to other eleven-year-olds, but something about their solemn expressions scared him into silence

"Spencer, who are you talking to?"

Diana stood in the hall behind them. She was having one of her better days- she had showered that morning, even gone out to teach her class that afternoon and pick up something for dinner. Spencer ran to her, throwing his arms around her waist, and she hugged him.

"Ma'am, we're from child protective services," the taller man said. "We got a call recently about your son's welfare."

He buried his face in Diana's stomach. The conversation blurred in his ears but he knew what they were talking about. He knew what it meant.

One of the men took him aside to talk to him in his room while the other talked to his mother and took a look at the house. He did his best to answer, knew what they wanted to hear. But he was scared. He was so scared.

The social workers spoke to each other in the hallway in low voices. Spencer couldn't hear but his heart pounded wildly in his chest. He sat on his bed, hugging his pillow, and waited.

The taller man came into his room. His words blurred together in a dull roar but he held out his hand, and he knew.

"No," Spencer said, shaking his head. "No, I don't want to go."

"Spencer?"

"I don't want to go!" he shouted, scooting back on the bed and kicking wildly. "Don't take me away, don't take me away!"

He screamed and he cried, but his mother hung back, expression blank, burrowed in her sweater, and the stranger's hand was insistent, looming closer, fingers grasping around his skinny bicep.

"Spencer!"

He screamed, striking out blindly, but no one listened to him, no one rescued him, and his mother turned away, and the man holding onto his arm balanced a syringe in his callused fingertips, and Tobias held the needle to his bare vulnerable arm, his dark eyes bright and hopeful.

"You think I'll get to see my mom again?" he asked, and dark red blossomed over his chest, and the spent syringe fell to the dirty cabin floor with a soft plink, and Spencer screamed, pulling his wrists against the handcuffs, but he couldn't move, they'd taken him, they'd taken him, they'd taken him-

"Spence, Spence, it's okay, no one's taking you away."

He opened his eyes, gasping for breath, and he wasn't in the cabin, and he wasn't a little boy in his childhood bedroom, and he wasn't chained to a railback chair in a cabin in the woods. The lamp on the nightstand switched on, casting warm yellow light in the dark room, and JJ was sitting beside him, her hands gently pinning his bruised wrists to keep from striking out. "No one's taking you away," she said. Blonde hair had been tugged free from the side of her ponytail, hanging over her face as if someone had pulled it out by the handful. "Just a dream. It was just a bad dream."

He choked. She was right, it was a dream, but it was real, it was all real. She let go of his wrists, her hands sliding to cradle his. "Who was taking you away, Spence?" she asked, rubbing the pads of her thumbs over his palms.

It was a dream, he thought, his heart beating staccato against his bruised ribcage, but it was real, it was all real, it had happened before and it could happen again and-

"Sh, sh," JJ soothed. "Easy, tiger. Slow down."

She placed his clammy hand against her cheek and he could feel her soft breaths, warm and steady, and he mimicked her until the harsh wheezing in his lungs began to die down. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

She smoothed his sleep-mussed hair. "You have nothing to be sorry about," she said, and he closed his eyes, fighting against the pull in his bloodstream because if she knew about that, she wouldn't be saying it.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes he was tucked snugly under the covers, the nightstand lamp still on, early morning light filtering through the crack in the curtain, and JJ was asleep on the other bed, her hand outstretched like she was reaching for him.

JJ barely slept. She had set her alarms to go off every two hours so she could wake up Spencer for the concussion protocol, but he kept running through nightmares- waking up screaming, shivering in her arms while she tried to soothe him, falling abruptly into exhausted sleep before the cycle began again. Most of the time he couldn't speak, couldn't explain to her what was happening, just mumbled gibberish until he fell asleep again. The only coherent thing she could ever get out of him was apologies, and she didn't know why.

She let him sleep as long as possible while she showered and dressed. The flight was going to to be rough, she just knew it. As long as they could get him out of this godforsaken place and get him home, he'd be fine.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed Spencer's back. "Hey, time to get up," she said. "Wake up, Spence. We're going to leave for the airport in about half an hour."

He cracked open one hazel eye. "Hm?" he said blearily.

The bruising on his cheek had turned to darkest purple. "We're leaving soon," she said. "You ready to go home?"

"Uh-huh."

"Get up and get dressed, okay?" she said. "Garcia picked up some clothes for you to wear that might be more comfortable. Don't worry about your bags, I'll take care of them."

She busied herself with packing as he got up slowly and stiffly from the bed and limped over to the bathroom. He was feeling a little prickly, she could tell. He didn't need her fussing over him right now. She definitely didn't need to bring up the nightmares.

She packed her things first, then Spencer's, but she hesitated before she reached for the hospital bag. "Hey, Spence?" she called. "Are you sure you want to keep this?"

"Keep what?"

"The patient belongings bag from the hospital," she said. "They had to cut your clothes off you, Spence, even if you're able to wash the blood out I don't think any of it is wearable…"

He limped out of the bathroom. "No, I want to keep it," he said. "It's...it's complicated."

She folded the white plastic bag as best as she could and packed it away. "It's fine," she said. "How are you feeling? It's probably about time to take more of your pain medication."

"I"m okay, I don't need it," he said. "I feel better."

He was lying and they both knew it. His hazel eyes were ringed in dark bruises and his face was deathly pale. But she zipped his bag shut and stood up, choosing not to say anything. "I like the clothes Garcia got for you," she said.

He glanced down; he was dressed in black joggers and a soft blue henley shirt. "I'm just glad she didn't stick with her typical colorful palette," he said wryly.

JJ stood up and handed him his converses and his jacket. "How's your ankle?" she asked.

"Oh, it's better," he said. "The brace is helping."

Someone knocked on the door; she opened it to find Morgan grinning at her. "You two ready to go?" he asked. "The others headed to the airport already."

"Yeah, just about," JJ said. "Hey, Spence? You ready?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling with his sneakers. "Yeah," he said absently.

"You need a hand?" Morgan asked.

"'m fine."

Morgan caught JJ's eye and she shrugged helplessly. He walked over to Spencer and, without a word, knelt down to tie his shoelaces. "I can do that," Spencer said quietly.

"I know you can," Morgan said. He stood up and held out his hand. "Doesn't mean I can't help. Now, you ready to go home?"

"Absolutely."

The drive to the airport was fairly quiet. Morgan drove, occasionally chatting idly about nothing, but JJ found herself glancing in the rearview mirror to keep an eye on Spencer in the backseat. He stayed quiet but he didn't sleep, staring out the window instead, apparently lost in his thoughts.

They had to move slowly through the airport; Spencer's pace was slow and unsteady. Briefly she thought about getting him a wheelchair, but there was no way he'd accept that. At least he allowed Morgan to carry his bag.

It was a deceptively sunny day, but it was freezing on the tarmac. Wind whipped her hair back from her face. "Yikes, let's get on the plane," she said, tugging strands of hair out of her mouth. Spencer stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, and he started to climb the steps slowly. She had a suspicion- he probably didn't want to be fussed over, or stared at. But she said nothing.

She followed Spencer into the plane, Morgan at their heels. He hesitated and she touched his back lightly, nudging him forward. The others were already seated, waiting. "Hey, look who we've got," Morgan said; she could hear the grin in his voice.

"Welcome back, Reid," Prentiss said.

"How are you feeling?" Garcia asked anxiously.

Spencer hung back, nearly leaning into JJ. "Better, thank you," he said, almost shy.

"Go ahead and sit down," Hotch said. "Get comfortable. It'll be a few hours before we get home."

JJ guided Spencer over to one of the bench seats and he sat down heavily. His ankle had to be bothering him more than he was letting on. "Do you need anything?" she asked.

"No, thanks, I'm...I'm okay," he said.

"Is it okay if I sit with you?"

He bit his lip and nodded. She stowed her bag away, then sat down next to him. He looked away from her, gazing blankly at the window across from them.

Gideon got up from his seat, a book in his hands. Spencer didn't acknowledge him immediately, but he looked up after a moment. Gideon squeezed his shoulder and placed the book in his hands. "It's good to have you back, Spencer," he said.

Spencer sort of smiled at him. Gideon patted his shoulder again and went back to his seat. JJ watched Spencer trace his fingertips over the cover before opening it up.

She settled into her seat as the plane started its journey down the runway. It would be a couple of hours before they made it back to Virginia, and they'd have to finish up the casework, but she'd be home in time for dinner, and then all this would be over.

The plane picked up speed, taxiing down the runway, and she felt slim fingers creep into her hand. She glanced at Spencer out of the corner of her eye. He was still reading, not looking at her, but he was reaching for her. She took his hand and squeezed gently, and he didn't let go.

It was an easy flight, all things considered. The others talked quietly here and there; JJ flipped through a magazine she'd borrowed from Garcia. Beside her Spencer read his book slowly, occasionally dozing off. But she kept holding his hand. Until he decided he wanted to move, she would stay.

The flight was more than halfway over when the book slipped from Spencer's hand and fell to the floor in a flutter of pages. She smiled as she leaned over to pick it up. He had to be tired, it would make sense that he would fall asleep-

She froze. His eyes were open, but glazed over. "Spence?" she whispered. "What's wrong?"

He reached for the buttons at the neckline of his shirt and his fingers tapped against his collarbone, sharp and jittery. She set the book down. "Spence, what's wrong?" she repeated. "Come on, tell me what's wrong."

His fingers kept tapping, his eyes kept staring straight ahead. Panic spiked in her chest. "Spencer, please, just say something."

She didn't notice Gideon standing beside her until he knelt down to get a better look at Spencer. "What's happening?" he asked quietly, resting his hand on Spencer's knee.

"I- I don't know, he dropped his book, and his hand is shaking, and he won't answer me-"

Gideon stroked an errant lock of hair away from Spencer's pale, drawn face, watching his slender fingers tremble. "Morgan said the doctor mentioned he might be susceptible to seizures," he said.

"Is that it? A seizure?"

"A complex partial," Gideon said. He was calm but she could see the concern in his furrowed brow. Spencer began to claw at the side of his neck, his fingernails scratching at his skin, and she reached for his wrist. "We can't stop it. We just have to wait."

JJ settled for taking hold of his free hand with both of hers; his fingers were limp and clammy in her tight grip. His face was blank, expressionless, but the corner of his mouth twitched. She kept watching his hand, waiting for the tapping to stop, and after an eternity his fingers began to still.

"There we go," Gideon said quietly.

Spencer blinked, his lashes brushing against his cheek, and his breath caught in his throat in a little sob. "Hey, sweetheart, welcome back," JJ whispered.

His jaw jerked unsteadily as he stared at her, confused. "You had a seizure, a small one," Gideon said. "You're all right."

Recognition slowly dawned in Spencer's eyes. The scratches on his neck and collarbone were red, but not bleeding. "I had a seizure," he repeated, slow and slurring. "Did...did everybody see?"

"No, no, nobody saw," Gideon said. He stood up. "Just rest. JJ's right here, she's going to stay with you."

She wrapped her arm around his shaking shoulders. "Do you want to lie down?" she whispered.

He didn't answer, but he clumsily lowered himself down until his head rested on her knees. She immediately adjusted, letting him get comfortable, and he collapsed, drawing his knees up so his long legs could fit.

Gideon unfolded blanket and draped it over him. "Let me know if anything else happens," he said.

She carded her fingers through his long tangled hair; she could still smell the fresh soapy scent of his shampoo. "He's not okay, is he?" she said quietly.

Gideon paused. "He's got a long road before he'll be himself again," he said at last. "A long, lonely road. We just have to be here for him when he needs us."

Spencer closed the door and locked it. He had never felt so relieved to be home before.

They had all fought over who was going to take him home. He kept insisting he could take the metro home himself, but they would have none of it. Morgan even tried to take him to the hospital, saying he needed another MRI.

In the end Hotch won, and he was grateful for that. Hotch drove him home in comfortable silence, carried his bag up the stairs to his apartment, and left him with a gentle reminder to call if he needed someone.

He felt like a zombie, like his limbs didn't belong to him anymore. He shuffled over to his bag and dug around through its contents. The white plastic bag from the hospital hadn't been touched.

He'd slept on the plane, after his seizure, and his dreams had been hazy and muddled, scraps of shadows that scared him but he couldn't put a name to it. Even though he was awake, even though he was home, he could still feel them chasing after him.

The clothing in the bag was stiff with dried blood. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down, searching, digging-

His fingers closed around a glass vial.

The craving had been clawing at him for hours now, persistent, crawling under his skin. He knew it would help, knew it would take away the dreams and the pain and the fear, knew he would feel better, he would just feel better.

He paused, the tip of the needle touching delicately against the crook of his elbow.

Is it worth it?

The needle slid into his skin.

Everything was fine.

Author's Notes:

AT LAST.

This was my endgame all along, I just wanted to write a post-Revelations recovery fic, but then it...exploded. I feel like there was so much that wasn't shown or even mentioned, and Spencer definitely had a lot of damage that needed to be addressed.

Also, a headcanon: so seizures can be triggered by extreme stress, head injury, and psychological distress/trauma, so I firmly believe that not only did Spencer experience more seizures throughout his life after the events of Revelations, but I think they were a factor in his chronic headaches later on. So that may be a thing that will continue to show up in this fic, and other things I might write about Spencer later on.

So this major angst is over, but that means...time for the drug addiction/withdrawal/recovery arc! Originally it was going to be three chapters, but it's expanded into four, so...you're welcome.

Lots of love and special thanks to mythepoeia, firepoppies, mnc7851, fishtrek, and a guest for reviewing! Y'all are the wind beneath my wings.

As always, I'm accepting prompts and conversations at my tumblr, themetaphorgirl!

Up next: he didn't think he needed it, but he did, and he couldn't stop, and he was spiraling out of control, and no one could see that he wasn't waving, but drowning